Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1)

by M. Lee Holmes

  “No!” Terryn shouted and spat down at Zane’s face. Zane let go of Terryn, reached a hand up to wipe away the saliva and frowned. He turned and left Terryn hanging in the cold dungeon.

  Though he never fully lost consciousness, he could not recall how much time had passed before Zane returned. With him, he carried a hatchet and a long metal pole much like a harpoon with jagged teeth on one end. Terryn froze in terror at the sight of the devices, wondering what Zane meant to do with them.

  He set them next to the long table, walked towards the lever on the wall and lowered Terryn to the floor. He grasped him from behind the shoulders and dragged his limp body to the table, throwing him on top carelessly and strapping his arms and legs down tightly.

  He stood at the end of the table at Terryn’s feet and held the hatchet tightly in his hand. “I will give you one last chance, Terryn. Tell me now or you will wish that you had.”

  Terryn broke into a hysterical fit and cried mercilessly. Tears fell from his opened eyes and he could not stop them. Even if he wanted to give Zane the information he sought, he would not have been able to speak. Zane shook his head disappointedly, raised the hatchet in the air and Terryn watched in horror as he thrust it down with strength and severed his foot clean off.

  Terryn howled and raged. His head flew back and his eyes closed tightly. He screamed and thrashed against his restraints, trying to free himself in any way necessary. There was no use. He could feel his blood as it poured freely from the open wound and when he finally got the courage to look, he felt his heart pounding and suddenly he thought he would lose consciousness again. It wasn’t until Zane lifted the spiked pole that Terryn’s eyes widened once more and he felt more awake than ever.

  “No! Please no!” He begged but Zane grew a small, crooked smile on his face as he realized the fear Terryn felt at that moment. He suddenly felt sick with the knowledge that Zane enjoyed this and he turned his head to the side and vomited.

  The scream escaped his lips without him realizing it. He had no control over the jerks and thrashes his body made. He felt the pole enter his open wound and Zane grunted as he shoved it through, up the length of Terryn’s leg and pulled it back out hastily.

  Terryn thrashed and tried to wriggle free but any movement he made caused his entire body to shudder in agony. The blood from his wound came out in spurts, caused by the jagged teeth that had ripped apart his insides. Each time he tried to jerk free, a wave of fresh blood poured onto the table and dripped to the floor in a pool.

  Zane watched as Terryn’s head bobbed up and down and his other leg kicked at the restraints holding him down. He no longer seemed to be coherent and soon he was quiet again. His head dropped to the side and his eyes rolled back uncontrollably. Vomit and saliva dripped from his gaping mouth and Zane suddenly felt he could not stand the sight of him any longer. He left to find a healer and told them to severe the prisoner’s leg and cauterize it. The healer bowed to him and hastily made his way to the dungeons. Zane spun around and called after him- “if you fail to save his life, it shall be you I strap to the rack next!” The healer’s footsteps quickened and soon he disappeared out of sight.

  Myranda snuck through the darkened hallways as though she were a thief trying not to get caught. Her hands shook with fear and she could feel cold sweat dripping from her brow. She had waited until the castle grew silent with the night- then crept out of her chamber slowly. She knew she could not be seen.

  As she moved through the castle stealthily, she thought on the poor prisoner in the bowels below. She did not know who was being kept underneath the stone floors but she could hear him crying out for mercy at night as she tried to sleep. Finally, she decided that she could stand it no longer- she had to go see who it was.

  When she came around the corner that led to the dungeons, she stopped. She could see someone shuffling through the dark with a small lantern. From the looks of it, it was a man and he walked quickly and with purpose. He disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell and Myranda, taking a deep breath, followed. She stopped at the top of the stairs, closed her eyes and began to focus on the shifting of her body.

  Shifting was easy for her. It was a skill she had realized she had when she was young and all her years living in the castle, she felt it important no one knew of her ability. She kept it a secret from everyone, including Mayvard.

  She felt her body begin to shake and suddenly, she was shrinking- smaller and smaller until she was on hands and knees and the walls around her loomed up higher, past her vision.

  She crinkled her nose with the new smells that forced their way through her nostrils- water and mold and… blood. Her eyes only took a moment to adjust and suddenly, she could see in the dark. She scurried quickly ahead, trying not to forget her purpose. It was easy for anyone who shifted to let the animal mind take over but Myranda had spent many years training her human mind to stay strong against the will and natural instincts of the animals she morphed into. She rushed as quickly as her four little legs could carry her, down the stairwell and towards the now blinding light at the end of the hall. She could see the door open, the man walk in and she rushed ahead faster and faster as the door began to shut behind him.

  She squeezed herself through the small, remaining crack of the opened door just before it shut and ran along the edge of the wall, hoping that she had not been seen.

  Zane turned away from the door without giving any notice to the small rat that had followed him in. He walked down the corridor and through the prison cells until he found Terryn’s. He peered inside and saw Terryn huddled in a corner of his cell, eyes closed and mouth wide open. His entire body shook and he spoke soft, incoherent words into the darkness around him.

  Zane tapped lightly on the cell bars and after a moment of trying to ignore the sound, Terryn opened his eyes. The fright that shone through them gave Zane a new glimmer of hope. Terryn had been able to withhold his information longer than any of Zane’s previous victims. He had not expected this from the frail, young man and was beginning to grow impatient.

  Earlier that day, he had ridden out to the King’s camp to give an account of his progress with the prisoner- which he found himself growing nervous about. The King, however, seemed to take the news well and told Zane to continue prodding to the best of his ability, seemingly uninterested in the information that Terryn potentially possessed. Zane had a sudden feeling the King cared nothing for what Terryn might say under the pressure of torture, so long as he was being tortured. A cruel punishment for disobeying his King.

  All the while that the King and Zane spoke, Lady Ashryn sat on Firion’s lap and stroked his cheek admiringly. The sight made Zane’s face turn red with anger. It wasn’t until later that evening, when the King had passed out from drink, that Zane and Lady Ashryn could steal away.

  They lay in the grass naked, bathed in the moonlight, smoking Zane’s pipe. He blew small puffs of smoke into the air and smiled, his arm outstretched and Lady Ashryn’s head resting peacefully upon it.

  “You must get that little whelp to talk.” She said to him quietly. She reached a hand up and struck with her finger a smoke ring that Zane had blown, causing it to break and float away sporadically.

  “I am doing all I can.” Zane replied. “He is much more resilient to the pain than I imagined.” Lady Ashryn frowned.

  “The King is growing impatient. He desires to attack now but without knowledge of how many allies Lord Ivran has, he can do nothing. I have informed the King that he is outnumbered. And without the High Protector, he will not move his forces.”

  “By the time the High Protector returns, it will be too late.” Zane replied, blowing another smoke ring into the air.

  “She must return!” Lady Ashryn said, sitting up and staring down at Zane through narrowed eyes. “Have you forgotten our plan?”

  “How could I forget?” Zane asked, a little offended by the question.

  “It must look as though she is killed in battle. Let her do most of the quel
ling of the rebellion, then kill her and you, my love, shall be the new High Protector and I shall be Queen!” Her smile returned as she lay back down by Zane’s side.

  “What makes you so certain the King will make you his new Queen?” He asked unsurely, knowing that Lady Ashryn planned to kill Queen Scarlet whilst the King was distracted with the upcoming battle.

  “You just leave that up to me. Worry about the task I have set before you. If Lord Ivran’s allies are not with him, you can lead the King’s legion to Ylia and attack there. If Lord Ivran is killed, his forces will scatter.”

  As he stared down at Terryn now, he thought about Lady Ashryn and her desires. He wanted to be with her, no matter where she was but he felt her desire to be Queen was a bit ambitious. And if the Queen is killed and King Firion makes Ashryn his new wife, I will have to stand aside and watch that pig put his hands all over my woman! He had no desire to live in such a manner but he would obey Lady Ashryn no matter what.

  Terryn quivered and moaned pathetically as he stared up into Zane’s harsh eyes.

  “I have decided to give you a break from your torment, for the time being.” Zane said in a soft tone. Terryn’s shaking slightly subsided at these words and he looked into Zane’s eyes questioningly. “And tomorrow, you shall be brought to my quarters and we will dine together.”

  Terryn said nothing. He merely lowered his eyes to his severed leg and stared at the remaining stump. His hands fell limply to his sides and Zane decided to let the man rest. He is going to need the rest before his suffering continues.

  When it was clear that Terryn would say nothing, Zane turned and left him alone. He was exhausted from his journey back and desired the comforts of his feather bed.

  Once again he did not take notice of the rat that scurried behind him, nor did he notice the next night as it followed him into his chamber where Terryn already sat in wait at a table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair across from Terryn and sat down. Two plates had been placed at the table and when Zane lifted the lid from his, the sweet smell of pork filled Terryn’s nostrils. He had survived off nothing but molded bread and water for the last several days and he found excitement growing within him for the first time since being taken prisoner. His excitement quickly vanished, however, when Zane pulled the lid from Terryn’s plate to reveal a brown, sludgy substance that protruded a smell so foul, Terryn found himself fighting the urge to vomit.

  Zane grasped his fork and knife and began carefully slicing away at his pork roast. He placed a small piece in his mouth and chewed slowly, moaning with satisfaction every few seconds. Terryn merely sat motionless and watched.

  Finally Zane spoke, motioning to Terryn’s plate as he did so- “have you no appetite?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

  Terryn, finding himself unable to speak, shook his head and Zane frowned. He threw his fork and knife down angrily, stood, walked over to Terryn and grasped his fork, scooping a large bite of the brown mush and holding it to Terryn’s lips.

  “I had this specially made just for you! You will eat!” He shoved the fork forward and Terryn had no choice but to open his mouth and take in the foul liquid that was called his dinner. It tasted like raw meat that had been chewed up and spit back out. He gagged and opened his mouth, spitting the bad meat out.

  Zane stood over him shaking his head. He turned and sat back down in his chair. “No appreciation. I assumed this would be better than that moldy bread you have been forced to eat these last fourteen days.” Terryn shook at the knowledge of how long he had been imprisoned.

  Zane continued to eat in silence until his plate was empty. He grasped his wine glass and sipped it slowly, never taking his eyes off of Terryn.

  “I suppose you are wondering why I invited you here today, Terryn.” He sipped again and waited for a response. Terryn merely stared blankly at Zane so he continued- “I am offering you one last chance to save yourself. If you tell me how many allies Lord Ivran has at his side, I will grant you that which you long for most- death.”

  Terryn felt tears welling up inside. Zane was right- it was death that Terryn craved. He had abandoned any hope of being found and rescued or escaping and running back to Lord Ivran. He knew it was foolish to believe in such things. Death would find him in the dungeons and he wished it would find him quickly. The thought of his soul being put to rest was the only thing that consumed his mind.

  Terryn shook his head- “death will find me soon enough.” He replied. He knew it was true. He could feel his body beginning to give way.

  “Tis true.” Zane replied. “I can see death in your face even now. But you are holding on for something- you are fighting death. For what reason I cannot say but it is foolish of you.” Zane sipped his wine and stared off into the distance for a moment. When he looked back to Terryn, he smiled.

  “You hate the King, don’t you?” He asked slyly. Terryn did not reply. “You also hate the High Protector- that much is obvious to me.” He sipped again and leaned back in his chair, softening his gaze towards Terryn and smiling slightly. “Would it comfort you to know that by giving me the information I seek, you will be helping to ensure their demise?”

  Terryn’s eyes lit up at this news. They searched ahead until they focused on Zane and he seemed to sit up straighter in his chair. “How is that possible?” He asked with a shaking voice.

  “Lady Ashryn and I have plans of our own.” Zane sipped the last of his wine, stood and began to pace behind his chair. “I feel I can tell you this because you will not have a chance to repeat it to anyone.

  ‘I will start with the High Protector. She will be difficult to kill, yes, but I shall gladly do it myself. And when she is dead, Bloodbinder will be bound to me and with it, I shall slay the King in his throne.” Zane’s smile returned and he stopped pacing to look at Terryn. “I have a better chance of killing them than Lord Ivran does. I can assure you they will fall by my hand. All I need to know is what I will be up against and you may die knowing that you did some good for this world.” He stepped closer to Terryn’s chair, placed his hands on the arm rests and leaned down close to Terryn’s face. “Have you anything to say to me now?” His heart fluttered with the knowledge that he had finally gotten to Terryn.

  Terryn leaned back, away from Zane’s gaze and took a deep breath to steady his voice. When he spoke, it was with clarity and pure hatred- “There was a time I thought there was no one in this world that was more evil than the High Protector. I was wrong. There is someone more evil and he stands before me now.”

  Chapter 21

  “What in the bloody blue sky have you done?” Madam Liscal shouted over her counter. She stepped out from behind it and towards the two corpses that lay strewn across the floor. Mayvard had pulled them together and laid them side by side while Rhada, with wet cloth in hand, was trying her best to wipe up the blood that had spilled on the floor and tables.

  “That is none of your concern.” She snapped angrily at the innkeeper. She had no desire to explain herself.

  “None of my concern?” The innkeeper asked in disbelief. “It bloody well is my concern! You have murdered two innocent men in my inn! I think that very well makes it my concern!”

  Rhada threw down her wet rag and stood, glowering at the old woman. “Keep your voice down, woman, or I shall be forced to gag you!”

  Madam Liscal opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it when she saw the look in the High Protector’s eyes. But Madam Liscal’s silence came too late. Rhada turned her gaze towards the stairs as curious sleepers who had been woken by the shouting began descending.

  “Gods have mercy.” An old man said in a solemn, shaky voice as he stared at the bodies and blood-soaked floor.

  A woman behind the old man screamed and covered the eyes of her two children as she ushered them back up the stairs, and a young man not yet twenty, stared with wide eyes, first at the bodies, then up at the High Protector.

  “Is there another war?” The young man finally asked.
“Are we under attack?” Rhada noticed there was no fear in the young man’s voice, just a strange curiosity. She shook her head.

  “You have started a war in my inn?” Madam Liscal began shouting again. “I must send word to Protector Fendrel. He will save us!”

  “Please, everyone, listen to me carefully!” Rhada said, raising her hands to get their attention. When she spoke, the others fell silent.

  “There is no war. These men fought me willingly, by their own choice. They desired to end my life and I gave them a fair opportunity but they failed. I am sorry that you had to witness this but we will do our best to honor the dead. We will hand them over to the undertaker for proper cleaning and burial arrangements.”

  “Why not burn them as you did with the dead of South Fort?” The old man asked with a scowl.

  Rhada felt herself begin to shake with fury. Bloodbinder became restless at her side, warning her not to turn to violence. She obeyed the blade but turned away from the accusatory stares of the patrons, afraid she would not be able to restrain her sword hand much longer.

  “Mayvard, get them out of here.” She said through clenched teeth and Mayvard stepped forward to usher them back to their rooms. Most of them went without argument, except the young man and Madam Liscal.

  “I can help.” He said. Instead of turning back up the stairs, he headed towards the bodies on the floor. He leaned over them, examining their wounds then grabbed the wet rag Rhada had dropped and began soaking up the blood. Rhada glanced to Mayvard and shrugged her shoulders. She decided to allow the boy to aid them.

  “You’ll never get the blood out of the floor with that!” Madam Liscal said and she disappeared behind her kitchen door. When she returned, she had a mop in hand and she delivered it to the boy.

  “May we have some sheets to cover the bodies with?” Rhada asked; looking down to the dead men’s half open eyes.