Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (22 page)

              He was a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes and when he spun around, his eyes fell on Rhada and he froze.  He reached a hand up and grabbed his companion by the shoulder.  The other two turned and when their eyes met Rhada’s, they grew wide and they froze like their companion.

              “Tell the High Protector what you told me.”  Mayvard commanded the tall man.  He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

              Rhada began to lose her patience.  She rolled her eyes and stepped right up to the tall man.  “Yes it is me, the High Protector, and if you have something of importance to say, you’d better say it quickly before I lose my temper.”

              The man nodded and cleared his throat, obviously trying to pull himself out of his daze.  “Y… yes Madam Protector.  We were just telling your companion here…”

              “Captain.”  Rhada corrected the man.  She could not help notice the shaking in his voice as he spoke.  “This is Captain Mayvard Stoneward.”

              The man nodded, glancing quickly at Mayvard and then back to Rhada.  “I was telling your Captain that Protector Fendrel is dead.”

              Rhada, taken aback by this news at first, glanced from one man to the other before her eyes fell back to the tall man.

              “Dead?”  She asked, truly curious.  “How?”

              “He was killed in Mordrid twelve days ago, in a fight with the King’s guard.”  He stood taller, clearly regaining some confidence.

              Rhada narrowed her eyes at the man, wondering if he was simply making up stories.  “Why was Fendrel in a fight with the King’s guard?  And what was he doing in Mordrid?  His people are here.”

              It was not the tall man that answered but one of his companions who had gathered his courage.  “They say he was drunk and causing a ruckus.  The King’s guard tried to intervene and he attacked.  What he was doing in Mordrid, I cannot say but we were asked to come here and give the grave news to his daughter.”

              Rhada nodded in understanding.  Their story, though a blatant lie, was concocted to make her stop asking questions.  She decided to allow them their secrecy, for now. 

              “Well,” Rhada said, trying to show compassion with the tone of her voice, “I bid you well with that and please give the young girl my condolences.”  All three men glanced at each other with disbelief.  Rhada tried not to let the hurt she felt show through her eyes and suddenly had the desire to lock herself in her room.  She turned and stomped away as quickly as possible, asking the innkeeper to send more tobacco to her room as she walked past.

Once inside the confines of her rented room, Rhada shut the door tightly and threw Bloodbinder down onto the bed.  She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to shut out the image of the three men’s faces. 
They will never know the truth! 
She was shouting at herself in her mind. 
None of them think I am sincere.  None of them think I care! 
She opened her eyes and stood motionless in the center of the room.  Her eyes began to water slightly with the knowledge that what Mayvard had said earlier was not true. 
Never will they listen to me, no matter how I try to reach out to them.  The realm despises me and it is my fault. 
She looked down to her shaking hands and realized that, not only did the realm despise her, but she despised herself. 

Half an hour later, when Rhada had stripped herself of almost all her leathers, leaving nothing but her wool undershirt, untied at the top and hanging slightly open, and her bracers, which she had yet to remove, a knock came at the door.   Glad that she was still wearing her leather pants, she rose from the bed and walked to the door, stepping over her discarded boots.  Mayvard’s face was revealed with the opening of the door- a look of dread smeared across the fine lines of his sun-worn skin. 

“I’ve told the innkeeper to send a messenger to the healer of the town.  He will be here shortly.”

Rhada frowned.  She had forgotten her promise to Mayvard to see the healer but was slightly relieved she would not have to leave the confines of her room to do so.

“I’ve also arranged for a bath for both of us.”  Mayvard’s face grew red when he said this and Rhada found herself smiling, despite her apprehension at having to get dressed and traverse to the bath room.

“Why are you so embarrassed?”  She asked.

“Madam Liscal- that is the innkeeper’s name- informed me we are in luck, there are two tubs.  But they are in the same room, side-by-side.”  Mayvard bowed his head.  “If you desire to bathe first, undisturbed, I shall wait until you have finished.”

Rhada shook her head.  “Nonsense.  I have no shame and neither should you.”  She placed a hand on Mayvard’s shoulder and gently guided him inside her room, closing the door behind her.

“Before the healer arrives, I would like to discuss what those travelers in the tavern told us.”  Mayvard waited for Rhada to sit at the edge of the bed before he took a seat in the chair opposite her.  She grabbed her foot and began a soothing rub.  “I do not believe what that man said.”

Mayvard blinked in confusion.  “Why not?”

“Because he was lying, that is why.”  She began popping her toes one-by-one.

“How could you tell?”  Mayvard asked, resting his arms on either side of the chair.

“He was blinking uncontrollably as he said it.  I have been a part of many interrogations during my term as High Protector and I have developed quite a keen eye for the telling’s of a liar.”

Mayvard nodded, not disputing that it was true.  “But what reason would they have to lie?” 

Rhada placed her foot upon the floor, raising her other foot up to begin working on it.  She shrugged her shoulders and sighed.  “The answer to that question is a curiosity I must investigate.” 

“I heard the men order rooms from the innkeeper.”  Mayvard told her.  “They will be here all night.”

Rhada looked skeptical.  “Unless they wish to avoid me at all costs, they may flee.  I do not think it was a part of their plans to run into the High Protector.” 

“Shall I go see if they are still here?”  Mayvard asked, already rising to his feet.

“Do not give them any reason to be suspicious of you.  Order more ale and tell the innkeeper you are waiting for the healer to guide him to my room.”

With a swift nod, Mayvard was through the door and gone from Rhada’s company.  She decided to smoke her pipe while she waited. 

She walked across the cold floor with bare feet and sat in the chair that Mayvard had previously occupied and lit her pipe.  She pondered the travelers’ lie as she slowly smoked, wondering what Protector Fendrel really had been doing in Mordrid.  She had been able to discern that his being in the outer city of Axendra had been the truth, but the rest of what she had been told was made up. 

A drunken bar fight. 
She thought with a scoff.  It seemed unlikely that the Protector from Laydon had fallen that low. 
And if the King’s guard was in Mordrid, that means Captain Theodoric led them there.  Theodoric would not travel all the way to Mordrid just to arrest an unruly and drunk Fendrel.  Not unless the King commanded it.  And if that were the case,
she wondered,
why would the King command such a thing? 

She was no closer to answering any of these questions when Mayvard returned with the healer.  Once again he knocked at the door and she told him to enter.  The door opened slightly and she heard Mayvard ask the healer if he wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a moment.  Then Mayvard entered alone and closed the door behind him.

“I purchased ales for the traveling men and took them to their table myself, that way I could sit and drink with them.  I was there when the innkeeper brought over a key for a room so now, if they had any plans to leave, they cannot.  It would look too suspicious.” 

Rhada smiled and nodded.  “Good work.”  She commended. 

Mayvard turned and reopened the door, ushering the healer inside before closing it once again.

The healer was a middle-aged man with small, beady black eyes that looked out of place on his round face.  His hair was the color of night, like Rhada’s, but lacked the fullness of hers.  He had begun to bald on the top of his head, leaving a mop of stringy hair tapering around his face.  In his youth, he may have been a slender, spritely man but with age came weight, awkwardly distributed to different parts of his body. 

“Rhada, this is Daskin Porter, the healer for North Fort.”  Mayvard gave an introduction.

“Madam Protector.”  Daskin said with a bow.  When he stood tall, he looked to Rhada with narrowed eyes, a gaze that suggested to Rhada he would rather be anywhere else than standing in the same room with the High Protector.

“Daskin.”  Rhada said the healer’s name in acknowledgement. 

“The Captain tells me you have suffered some injuries from an attack of a ghost wolf.”

“That’s right.”  Rhada said pulling down her shirt to reveal the scratches on her shoulders.

Daskin, carrying a satchel in hand, moved closer to examine the wounds.  He placed his fingertips on the cuts Rhada had made with Bloodbinder and pressed, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, Rhada thought.  She clenched her teeth as the wound reopened and blood and puss began to ooze anew.

Daskin set his satchel on the floor and knelt beside it.  He took out a small knife and a liquid vial.  He turned the knife over in his hand and poured the liquid over the sharp steel.  He then poured the liquid onto a cloth and began dabbing at her injuries.  Once he was satisfied the skin around the wound was clean, he raised the knife to make a fresh, new cut.

“Can she not have a poultice for the pain first?”  Mayvard asked out of concern.

Daskin lowered his knife and turned slowly to Mayvard with narrowed eyes, angry at the interruption.

“This morning, a mother gave birth to three babies, one right after the other.  No poultice was spared for her.  This afternoon, a child fell from his horse while rounding up his father’s sheep and broke his arm.  No poultice was spared for him, for I am only a small-town healer.  The herbs required for pain poultices are only afforded by the wealthiest of healers- those who dwell in your hometown, I would assume.”  

“I need no poultice.”  Rhada said with a sympathetic smile.  “Please continue.”  Mayvard huffed and took a seat on the edge of the bed with his arms folded angrily across his chest.

As the healer brought down his knife to cut out the infection, he said; ‘two years ago, I was called to aid in South Fort.  What I found there were victims of war- bloodied, burned, broken.  None of them received poultices for pain either.”

Rhada’s compassionate smile faded and Mayvard stood.

“How dare you?”  He shouted, causing the healer to jump and slice her uninjured skin.  She winced and looked down at the new wound as fresh blood began pouring down her chest and disappearing underneath the loose-fitting shirt.

“I dare because I speak the truth.”  Daskin said, glowering up at Mayvard, unafraid of the stoical man towering over him.

“Mayvard,” Rhada said in a calm voice, “leave.”  Mayvard’s look of anger turned to a look of hurt as his gaze shifted to Rhada.

“Go and take your bath.  I shall meet you there when Daskin is finished.”  Mayvard left without any objections, pulling the door open with unnecessary force. 

“Forgive him.  We have had a hard journey.”  She said, hoping Daskin would continue the task at hand without any more conversation but Daskin began his speech again as he tipped the knife back in her direction.

“I could not bear the shame of how many died under my care during the days I spent in South Fort, so I came back and refused to help anyone for a time.”  Daskin’s knife punctured the other shoulder and dug deeply into her wound.  Rhada clenched her teeth as she felt the tip of the blade touch bone.  It sent a shockwave of pain down her arm and she lifted a hand to knock the knife from the healer’s grip.  He cried out in surprise and jumped back.  Rhada got swiftly to her feet, holding her gushing shoulder with an open palm, trying to stop the blood flow.

“Get out, you old fool!”  She shouted, fighting the urge to bury his surgical knife deep into his eye.  He bent down to gather his things but Rhada placed a foot on the satchel.

“Leave the bag.  I will tend to my wounds myself.  You can pick up your belongings from the innkeeper in the morning,
after
I am gone.”

“But… a healer is not a healer without his equipment.”

“A healer is not a healer without his
head
and you are lucky I am letting you keep yours!”

Daskin needed no further warning.  He bowed to the High Protector before scurrying out of the door.  She listened to his hurried footsteps descending the stairs before falling onto the floor and examining the damage that had been done. 

The wound was deep, there was no question, and she was forced to do the stitching herself.  She dug through the satchel until she found a long, pointed needle and what she recognized as sheep-gut stitches.  She then took the vial’s contents, sanitized the needle and poured the rest of the liquid over her injuries.  She threaded the needle and made herself comfortable next to the hearth where the lighting was best.