Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (2 page)

              And then the King smiled at him as though he had never done anything to wrong the realm.  Viktor’s guilt nearly crippled him. 
The young man still has faith in me.  He still believes I know what I am doing. 
Viktor smiled back but only as a courtesy- while his lips smiled, his heart shriveled and turned to dust within his aching chest. 

              “High Protector Viktor!”  The King exclaimed in a loud, throbbing voice, as though he meant to clear up any confusion amongst the guests as to who it was that knelt before them.  Viktor doubted anyone in that room did not know his name or his face- he had become a dark symbol amongst the people. 

              The King stood and stepped down from the podium on which his throne was perched and reached both his hands forward to place them upon Viktor’s shoulders as he stood. 

              “Are you ready to begin, my friend?” 

              Viktor shuddered at this question, and he thought he saw a flicker of confusion pass over the King’s eyes.  He knew what he had to say in response but he wasn’t sure if he was truly ready.  The sword at his side had been silent ever since he entered the room, which meant to him that something was terribly wrong.

             
Can I really do this?  Can I condemn another young man to die all because I will not admit the true purpose of the blade? 
He had already gone over these questions in his mind time and time again and each time the answer was always the same- yes.

              “I am ready, your grace.”  Viktor said with forced confidence.  The King’s smile grew ever wider and he gave Viktor’s shoulders a firm squeeze before stepping aside and raising his right hand to his guard.

              “Bring in the protégé!”  The King commanded and his guard promptly bowed and left by one of the side exits.

              Viktor stood as motionless as if he were made of stone, waiting for the young boy to be brought in and all the while ignoring the rigorous pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. 

              When the guard returned, he was followed by six more guards that formed two solid lines to escort the lad into the great hall.  He trudged alongside them with his head held high and his eyes wide. 

              He was even younger than Viktor had expected.  His face was soft, like a child’s and glowed with the radiance of innocence.  He looked no older than five and ten, with golden, silky hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled in the light of the room.  He was tall for his age and skinny.  Viktor wondered if this boy had ever lifted a sword in his life.

             
If he
is
the chosen one, we have a lot of work to do. 

              The guards stopped in front of Viktor to bow before turning towards the back of the room, leaving the young boy whose name was Dillon Waters at his command.    

              Viktor looked him over.  He could clearly see that underneath his courageous-like visage, his chest was heaving erratically with each breath, and his hands, which dangled loosely at his sides, trembled.  His eyes, which were still as wide as they could be, twitched every so often as he tried to keep eye contact with Viktor.

             
This boy is too young to die.  I should tell the King to send him away. 
Viktor could not look upon Dillon’s face without the weight of his guilt crushing him. 

              Slowly, Viktor turned to find the King had retaken his seat at the throne but his smile had not faded.  Viktor knew what he had to do, he had to save Dillon. 

              He stepped forward with a heavy foot and looked to the King apologetically.  The King’s smile finally dissipated and was replaced with a questioning gaze.  He could clearly see something was bothering Viktor.  But as Viktor’s lips parted to tell the King of his doubts, the sword began lightly buzzing at his side.

              This was not the same screaming noise he had heard from the blade moments ago, but a calming, soft melody that seemed to be trying to ease Viktor’s plight.  He placed an open palm against the leather-bound hilt and listened intently to the soft rhythm of the sword.  There was no mistaking what the blade wanted from him.  It was saying to continue with the test.  Viktor realized that the blade only needed to be within proximity of the young boy to know that he showed some potential.

             
Perhaps this test will not fail after all. 
Viktor thought with a genuine smile.

              “I am ready to perform the test.”  Viktor said to the King, whose smile returned. 

              Lord Dervish Tibbott of Lerous stepped forward to announce the young man he had escorted across the realm to deliver to Viktor.  “Dillon Waters, son of Hatherford and Nellie Waters, fish merchants and traders in Lerous, has come before the kingdom today to answer the call of the High Protector, who has named him as possible heir to his position.”  The silence which filled the room then seemed even thicker than before.

             
The people are just as nervous as I am. 

             
Two guards stepped forward and grasped Dillon by the wrists with one hand and the shoulder with the other, keeping him in place.  Dillon’s nervous trembling was now visible to all.  His quivering chin and shaking legs were obvious to everyone. 

              Viktor stepped as close to Dillon as he needed to be and could not help notice Dillon’s eyes dart from him to someone in the crowd.  Viktor followed Dillon’s gaze and saw in the crowd an older woman who shared Dillon’s thin physique, holding a handkerchief to her tear-streaked face and trembling just as much as the boy. 

              Viktor turned his eyes quickly back to the boy and tried his best to hide the fear he felt then. 

             
You must do this.  The sword has led you here.  Do your duty! 
Viktor scolded himself.  He took a deep breath and placed a gentle hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

              “You are brave, Dillon.  Your mother should be proud of you.”

              “S…s…she is, H… High Protector.”  Dillon struggled to respond through chattering teeth. 

              “This will only hurt for a moment.  It will be over before you even realize what has happened.  And when you rise, you will rise as the new High Protector of the realm.”  Viktor smiled at the boy as he said this, as though being High Protector was the greatest reward that could be bestowed upon anyone.  And in the eyes of many, it was.  Only the High Protector knew what a burden the position could be.  But neither Viktor nor any of the High Protectors who came before him had explained that to the people of the realm.  They allowed the illusion of power and splendor to continue for the sake of ‘the test’.  If there was no desire to be High Protector, no one would show up for their test and risk their lives for a job they had no desire to have.  Though it was against the laws of the realm to be absent for the test once one’s name was called, those who were weaker of heart would flee the realm in fear. 

              “
Will
I rise?”  Dillon asked with uncertainty. 

              Viktor’s smile faded with this question and his pounding heart began its ferocious rhythm once again.  The sword, however, continued to encourage him so he nodded and said; “I am certain of it.”

              That seemed to relieve some of Dillon’s tension.  His rigid stiffness vanished and his chin stopped shaking as though he had been caught in an earthquake. 

              Dillon’s eyes darted past Viktor and to his mother who stood in the crowd.  Viktor saw the nod of reassurance Dillon gave to her and hoped beyond hope that this was the last time he would have to perform this test. 

             
If this boy does not rise, I will have his mother to answer to.  I will have her torment to haunt me for the rest of my days.

             
Viktor stiffened and grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to get the test over with.  He pulled the sword free of its scabbard and raised it to Dillon’s chest.  The light of the room dripped down the steel of the blade like water from a fountain, illuminating the intricate words carved into the flesh of the steel;
Lim Canarte Bae Elei. 
The sword itself was white and glistened like new, save for the mysterious red streak that ran down the center of the blade like a stain of blood, forever remembering the sacrifice that was made to forge it.  The hilt suddenly felt heavy in Viktor’s hand- thick with the weight of his burden.  The black leather that was so tightly wrapped around it seemed to shrink in his grasp, loosening his grip upon the blade.  He tightened his arm and squeezed the sword, hoping he would not drop it.

  The guards on either side of the boy braced for whatever struggle Dillon may give them but the boy stood resolute and firm, holding his footing so that Viktor would not miss his mark. 

              Viktor felt his own hands begin to tremble as he placed the tip of his sword at the boy’s heart.

              “The blade that was bound in blood must bind to the blood of its new master.  It must see the true nature of one’s heart to give itself over.”  Viktor remembered these words from the day of his test.  They were the last words his ears heard before the blinding pain and flash of light that changed his life forever.

              Dillon clenched his jaw tight and took in a deep breath, bracing himself for the impact of the sword.

              Viktor closed his eyes and before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the sword forward with enough force to pierce through bone and flesh.  He could feel the familiar suction of the victim’s body absorbing the steel as though it was not an alien object forcing its way in.  He could hear the nearly inaudible gasp of surprise as the sword took its victim’s breath away, and finally, he felt the weight of Dillon’s body pulling the sword downward as he fell lifelessly to the ground- the guards on either side of him guiding him gently down.  Before he lie flat upon the ground, Viktor pulled the sword free and slowly opened his eyes, waiting for the sign of light that would restore Dillon to his previous, living self.

              He held his breath in that moment- his eyes unable to look upon anything else but the steady stream of blood draining from Dillan’s wound, dripping to the stone floor beneath.  He felt his own heart stop in that moment, waiting for any sign of life.

             
It should have happened by now
. 
The light should have come.
 

              Viktor was unaware of how long he stood, staring at the corpse of the youngest man he had ever killed, but it became apparent to all who were present the test had failed, the boy’s life would not be spared, and the soft hum of disapproval began to fill the great hall.

              Then all other sounds were drowned out with the wailing of the boy’s mother.  She rushed forward, nudging Viktor with her shoulder as she ran past him, and knelt beside the body of her son upon the floor.

              “My boy!”  She cried.  “My only boy!”  Her sobs echoed off the walls and pierced through Viktor’s flesh like a thousand tiny daggers.

             
That is the wail that I will carry with me for however long I may live.

              “Viktor!”  The King’s summon pulled Viktor from his stupor.  He jumped slightly at the sound of his name being called and turned to the King and gave him a bow.

              “This is the third young man to lose his life for the sake of the test!”  The King no longer wore a smile upon his face and his voice rang with anger.

              “Forgive me, majesty, but I hoped this would be…”

              “You hoped?”  The King asked.  “You were uncertain?”

              Viktor nodded and the wailings of the boy’s mother grew even louder.

              “Clear this room!”  The King commanded his guards and they began escorting people through the many doors lining the great hall.  Dillon’s mother had to be pulled away from him and dragged across the floor.  Lord Dervish rushed to her side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, helping the guards escort her from the room.

              When they were alone, the King stepped down from his throne, while the Queen, silent and motionless, watched with stone-hard eyes from her seat.

              “Is something wrong with the sword?  Can you not hear it correctly?”  The King asked. 

              Viktor sighed and found he could not look upon the King’s face without discomfort.  He lowered his gaze and bowed his head.

              “You may tell me anything, Viktor.”  The King’s voice was soft once again, encouraging Viktor to speak to him.

              “There is a name, a name the sword will not give up on.  But I have refused to acknowledge this name and begged the sword to choose someone else.  I see now that I cannot ignore the wishes of the blade any longer.”

              “And why would you want to?”  The King asked confused.  “What is the name of the man the sword is whispering to you?”

              Viktor raised his head and met the King’s gaze.  “That is the problem.  The name the sword whispers to me is not that of a man.”