Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (26 page)

              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 quelling 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

“
W
hat 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.

“I’ll not be handing over my good sheets to get blood stains all over ‘em!”  She huffed angrily.

Rhada sighed and pulled her coin purse from her belt.  She removed five gold pieces, which was more than enough to cover any expenses Madam Liscal would have due to her actions, and set them on the table in front of the innkeeper.

Madam Liscal’s eyes widened as she reached forward and slowly counted the five pieces, almost not believing her own eyes.

“Sheets?”  Rhada asked impatiently and Madam Liscal snatched up the gold and disappeared into the back of the inn once more. 

“I know this man.”  The young boy said.  He was mopping the blood next to the second man Rhada had killed but was staring at the deceased’s face rather than the floor he was trying to clean.

“You knew him?”  Rhada asked, only half interested.  She suddenly felt exhaustion creeping up on her and a strong desire for this night to end so she could forget it ever happened.

“Yeah.  His name was Mulvaus Haksin.  He was from Elipol.  He helped my father plow his field sometimes.  He and father grew up together.”  The boy had stopped mopping as he spoke.

Rhada felt a lump catch in the back of her throat.  She suddenly regretted allowing him to aid them. 

“I am sorry for your loss.”  She said, not knowing what else she could say to ease the suffering of the young man.

But the young man did not seem to be suffering.  He looked up to Rhada with a small grin and said; “not my loss.”  He turned his head and spat at the corpse.

Mayvard stepped forward and placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Do not disrespect the dead!”  He said in anger.

“Disrespect?”  The boy asked, shaking his head and pulling free of Mayvard’s grasp.  “Believe me, this man showed no respect for the living during his life.  He took my sister’s innocence before she even knew what innocence meant.”  His face contorted in hatred as he gazed back down at the man.  “I would have killed him myself if I ever saw him again.”  He said in a quieter tone.

Rhada looked down to the deceased as well and suddenly felt a slight release of pressure.  Imagining that the man deserved his fate put her mind a little more at ease.

“What is your name, boy?”  She asked.

“Gerrim Wentby, Madam Protector.”

“What is your purpose here in North Fort?”

Gerrim looked down to the dead man at his feet before replying, “I was coming to see my betrothed.  I arrived in North Fort only an hour ago and decided it too late in the night to go knocking on her door, so I booked a room here at the inn.  I’m glad I did, elsewise I never would have witnessed the death of this man.”  He gestured again to the corpse at his feet.

Rhada realized he must have come in whilst she and Mayvard were in their baths.  She looked to Gerrim with curiosity.  “You are to be married?”

“Yes, Madam Protector.”  Gerrim looked up at Rhada.  “I am betrothed to Lady Emely Mendis.”

“Protector Fendrel’s daughter?” 

Gerrim nodded. 

Rhada glanced at Mayvard with apprehension before saying to Gerrim; “Protector Fendrel is dead.”

Gerrim’s gaze hardened at these words.  Rhada was surprised to see loathing in his eyes as he stared at her now, the same loathing he had reserved for the man Mulvaus.  It was as though delivering this news was as great a crime as molesting his young sister. 

“Did you kill him?”  Gerrim asked with hatred in his voice.  He suddenly dropped the mop in his hands, unwilling to help her any longer.

“Of course not!”  Rhada replied, a bit more defensively than she meant to sound.  “These men,” she gestured to the two corpses on the floor, “came here to North Fort to deliver the news to Emely.  I only know of his death from their lips.”

“So it may not be true.”  Gerrim argued, his tone softening slightly.

“It is true enough.”  Rhada said.  She would not explain to him how she knew it was true.  He would just have to believe her word.

“They deviated from their duty of informing Fendrel’s daughter of his death in order to attempt an assassination on me.”  Rhada gave Gerrim a look of regret.  “If you show me where she lives, I shall deliver the news myself.”

Gerrim furrowed his brow.  “I do not think receiving the news from you would soften the blow for my beloved.  I shall tell her.  It will be easier coming from me.”

“As you wish.”  Rhada said, ashamed to admit that she was relieved. 

“How did it happen?”  Gerrim asked.

Rhada shook her head.  “The details were not given to me.”  She would not repeat the same fictional story the three assassins had told to her.

Gerrim stared at Rhada for a few moments with hollow eyes before turning back to his mop. She got the sense he did not believe her.

Madam Liscal returned with three sheets in hand.  She handed them to Mayvard who began unfolding them and stretching them out over the bodies.  Rhada took the third sheet from him and told him she would take care of the body outside.  When she stepped back out into the cool night air, she sighed with relief.  She had begun to feel the inn was suffocating her. 

She walked briskly to the body of the last man she had killed, glad that the hour was still late and everyone in the small town of North Fort remained in their beds.  She had no desire to attract a gathering out here. 

Rhada stood over the body of the man that had pushed himself into her blade, allowing Bloodbinder to spill his own blood.  His eyes remained opened as they had in his final, choking moments.  The pain remained frozen forever in his blank stare.  His skin had already turned gray and cold and as Rhada knelt beside him, unfolding the sheet to cover him, his last words rang in her ears.

Someone else is plotting to kill me.  Someone else is seeking revenge. 
She had never met these men before and wondered who it could be that they all knew.  Protector Fendrel would have been her first assumption but Protector Fendrel was dead.

Lord Doran. 
She had never thought the man capable of such malice but she
had
destroyed his beloved city and killed many of his people; acts that could cause anyone to act with such boldness. 
Has Lord Doran hired assassins to track me down? 
She knew her journey north would have been a perfect opportunity for an assassin to strike.  She was away from the comforts of home, with only Mayvard to protect her. 

Her eyes studied the dead man at her feet as though he would tell her all his secrets if she gazed at him hard enough. 

He will have to hire men of much higher skill than these three if he wishes to kill me.  Or send his entire army after me.
  Rhada shuddered at the thought.  Assassins, she could handle, but a small army…? 

Rhada quickly covered the body with the sheet and spun around to fetch Mayvard.  A deep fear had grown within her and she did not desire to stay and find out what Lord Doran had planned for her.  As she walked, she scanned every alleyway and dark corner she came across, fully aware that a man could be hiding in the shadows, waiting for the most opportune moment. 
Perhaps Lord Doran is here, hiding in the darkness, watching my every move. 
The rational part of her mind was arguing that she was being paranoid, but still, she could not shake the feeling that her death waited around every corner.

She pushed the door to the inn open and gestured for Mayvard to follow her.  She ignored the curious gazes of Gerrim and Madam Liscal as they ascended the stairs towards Rhada’s room.  She shut the door carefully behind her and locked it.  She grabbed her discarded traveling clothes from the floor and began to quickly dress.

“What is going on?”  Mayvard asked as he watched her precarious movements.

“We are leaving.”  She replied without looking at him.  She was pulling on her leather boots. 

“Are we not going to take the dead men to the undertaker?”  

“Let them worry about it.”  She said, gesturing towards the door.  “I will not stay here another moment whilst there are assassins creeping about.”  She reached down and pulled on her leather gloves, fastened her cloak to her back and grabbed her traveling bag from the end of her bed, slinging it over her shoulders.

“Rhada,” Mayvard began in a gentle voice, “These men acted on a whim.  No one else would dare attack you.”

Rhada looked up to Mayvard and scowled.  “You do not know that for certain.”

“These men were not assassins.  They were farmers and merchants who happened to be carrying swords and a grudge.”

“And how did they acquire their swords, I wonder?”  Rhada asked.  “Do you not think it possible that Lord Doran gave them weapons?”

Mayvard shook his head.  “No, I do not.”

“Then you are a fool.”

Mayvard sucked in his breath and held it for a moment, trying not to let Rhada’s words sting him.  He understood the pressure she was under and wondered how he would react if an attempt on his life had just been made.  Finally, after he felt calm once more, he said; “If Lord Doran wanted to kill you, don’t you think he would have hired more competent men?  Men who were better suited for the task?  He has seen you fight in battle with his own two eyes.  He knows what you are capable of.  He would not send three farmers with cheap steel to attack you.”

Rhada’s shoulders slumped and her hard gaze softened.  She looked around the room for a moment as though she were lost but when her eyes fell back on Mayvard she knew she was acting irrationally.  She regretted calling him a fool, for he was no fool, she knew.  But she decided it best not to say anything.  She hiked the bag higher upon her shoulder and said; “all the same, we are leaving.  Pack your things and meet me at the stables across the street.  I will prepare our horses.” 

With that, Rhada stomped away from him and out the door, letting it fly open to hit the wall with a loud
bang. 
Mayvard sighed and looked down to the floor with sadness.  He would never understand what it felt like to be as hated as she was- never understand the feeling of strangers that wanted him dead.  And so he decided, as he stared at the dried blood on the floor of her room that had come from the healer’s stab, he would obey without question.  He was her protector, and he would do his duty until he no longer could.