Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) (35 page)

Chapter 30

M
yranda stood on the balcony in her chamber, staring off into the distance at the city that surrounded her.  She took in deep breaths of the cool night air and watched as the distant lights twinkled and vanished.  She smiled at the beauty of the sight before her, never growing tired of it.  There were times when she wished she could go back to Axendra and live as she had growing up- in her parent’s large, two-story home with her twin sister.  She found herself missing the simplicity of her childhood- before she knew that she was a Sorceress.

              Their home had been on the very edge of the city and some days, she and Syranda would travel through the crowded streets and meet new people or play games and on other days, they would vanish into the forest and not emerge until the sun was setting.  She sighed with sadness, knowing her childhood was long gone, along with her parents and her home. 

              Along with the gift of having certain powers, came the torment of long life.  Myranda had already surpassed those that she knew and cared for in life.  Her age was very close to the High Protector’s but even Rhada would perish long before Myranda departed this world.  Some called it a gift as well and would often times express their jealousy to her.  Myranda called it a curse. 

              As she looked on, she rested her elbows upon the stone railing in front of her and held her head in her hands.  She could not remember a time when she felt so at peace with the world and sighed with satisfaction. 

It was in this moment, when all was quiet and serene that they appeared- thousands of men emerging from the darkened line of trees, dressed in their chainmail with swords held high.  They marched forward in unison towards the castle, raising their blades even higher and it wasn’t long before they reached the doors and began pounding on them, attempting to break them down.  Myranda could feel the tremor from where she stood each time they thrust their weight into the doors.

              Myranda’s heart filled with panic.  She knew they were coming- the King had told her this but she had not been prepared for them so soon.  She began backing away to run and tell the King the rebels had arrived when another sight stopped her.

              From the edge of the forest, another army emerged but it was not an army of men.  Myranda moved forward again and peered over the edge to see.  The pale, cold faces of the dead could be seen marching in haste towards the rebels and they did not hesitate to throw themselves upon the invading army to devour them. 

              The cries of frightened men traveled to Myranda’s ears and she cried out as well as she watched the rebels being torn apart below.  The shadow walkers grabbed them by the throats and tore at their flesh or ripped their eyes from their sockets and their tongues from their mouths.

              Myranda stood on her balcony, unable to move from fear.  It wasn’t until she saw a shadow walker climbing up the side of the castle towards her that she backed away from the edge.  She screamed as the shadow walker flung itself over the edge and looked to her with its dead eyes.  Its jaw had somehow been knocked loose and was dangling at an odd angle but this did not stop the monster from letting out a loud, gut wrenching howl.  

              Then out of the forest came another sight, a dark and menacing shadow emerged and everyone froze to watch it take form.  Myranda could clearly see his red eyes glowering in her direction.  He thrust himself forward and turned from a mass of darkness into a ball of flame.  As the flames traveled forward, it grew in size and all who tried to run were swallowed up in its heat.  The rebels screamed and clambered over one another to escape, shadow walkers stood with smiles on their faces as they were consumed just like the rest.  The guards in the castle who had begun pouring out to fight the rebels were soon consumed in flame as well and Myranda stood in horror as the heat touched her flesh.  She knew it was too late- that she would not be able to flee.  She watched as her skin curdled and melted away from the bones beneath.  She tried to scream but the flames swallowed up the sound as they washed over her then all was dark.

              The scream escaped her lips as she sat up in the blankets.  They had been given to her by the guards in the camp- large, soft bear-skin blankets that she lay atop as a mattress and one covering her naked body as she slept.  Outside, the world was still dark but she could see the faint glow of a dying fire burn through the transparent tent flap. 

              Myranda winced in pain as the headache took hold of her.  She leaned forward and rubbed at her temples, knowing it would only help for a moment.  Luckily, she had thought to bring with her a poultice the alchemist had made for her and she hastily threw the blankets aside and made her way to her traveling pack.  After she drank it, she threw on her robe to cover herself and left her tent, knowing the King needed to hear about her vision.

              When she reached his tent, she was greeted by a guard who sat outside the flap, chewing on a venison rib bone.  When he saw Myranda approach, he stood up tall and greeted her with a nod.

              “I must speak with the King.” She told the guard and he looked to her with apprehension before entering the King’s tent to wake him.

              From inside, Myranda could hear the faint sounds of shuffling and groaning.  When the guard reappeared, he gestured for her to enter and she pushed herself inside.

              King Firion sat up in his bed with his legs thrown over the edge.  He wore his tight, black leather leggings with no shirt.  Myranda’s eyes grazed the shining flesh of the King’s bare chest in the firelight.  Large, tight muscles decorated his chest and arms, giving him the appearance of a warrior.  She suddenly felt embarrassed by the King’s half-nakedness and turned her head away before speaking.

              “Forgive me my King but…”

              “Let me guess, you have had another vision?”  He said this with annoyance and Myranda was afraid that perhaps he was angry and would find a way to punish her. 

              “Yes.”  She replied meekly, as though she felt guilty for her vision. 

              King Firion began to rub his head slowly, as though the prospect of Myranda’s vision gave him as much of a headache as actually having the vision had given Myranda. 

              “Well, come,” he said with anger, turning his gaze towards her, “tell me what it is that was important enough to wake me!”

              Myranda stepped forward bravely and looked directly into the King’s eyes.  “I saw the rebels.  They marched upon the castle and swiftly overtook it.”  She failed to mention the shadow walkers- for what purpose, she could not say but she suddenly did not wish to mention them in that moment. 

              King Firion stood and moved to his flagon which was still full of ale from the night before.  He drank it slowly while gazing at the flickering light before him.  “So,” he whispered as if speaking only to himself; “they are on the march.”  He shook his head in disappointment and turned back to Myranda.

              “Lady Ashryn had sworn to me that Lord Ivran would wait until the High Protector has returned.  It seems as though she lied about that as well.”  As he said this, he squeezed the flagon in his hands so tightly, Myranda was certain it would shatter.

              “The time has come to return to the castle.”  He said louder, turning his attention back to Myranda.  “I’ll need to strategize since I do not have the protection of the High Protector- which I have you to thank for that.”  This he said with spite and it was in that moment that Myranda knew King Firion hated her just as much, if not more, than the High Protector hated her.

              “Have you had any premonitions as to when she will return?”  He asked almost hopeful but Myranda shook her head.

              “None, majesty.  She has not entered my visions since they left for Tyos.”  King Firion stared at her with fire in his eyes- the same fire she saw in her vision, the fire that had destroyed the castle and everything inside.

              “Go gather your belongings.  We will begin our return journey within the hour.”  With that, King Firion waved Myranda away and she gladly accepted his invitation to leave. 

              Outside the King’s tent, she suddenly felt as though she could breathe again and sighed with relief.  She found herself longing for Mayvard as she made her way back to her tent.  She wanted his comforting arms around her, telling her that all would be well.  Mayvard had a way of staying optimistic.  His enthusiasm never faltered, even when Myranda felt that it was hopeless.  It was one of the many reasons she loved him and always needed him near her.  Without him, she would have run away from the castle and the evil King long ago.  She would have forgotten her sworn duties and hid in the forest like her cowardly sister.  She would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of her days alone- secluded from the rest of the world and all the people in it if it were not for Mayvard. 

              She pushed the flap of her tent open and stumbled inside, near to tears.  She sat on the folds of her blankets for a moment and closed her eyes, feeling the effects of the poultice already kicking in.  Her headache began to vanish and in its place, a sleepless dream began to take form.  She could feel his arms around her, his lips on her ear.  He whispered to her gently, telling her to be brave but bravery was not something Myranda prided herself in having and she opened her eyes once more in panic.

              She knew then where her anxiety came from- she was afraid to return to the castle.  Without Mayvard there to protect her, the castle would fall under the invasion of the rebels and all who ever aided the King would be killed, including her.  Then another, more terrifying thought entered her mind- the shadow walkers.  If they truly had returned to this world and were descending upon the castle as well, there was no hope for any of them.  They would all perish or worse, become a part of the legion of the dead.  Myranda shuddered where she sat and found tears beginning to stream down her face.

             
Mayvard where are you? 
She wondered.  She got a terrible feeling that it was too late for him, that he had already been swallowed up by the darkness.  It was an unstoppable force and it was making its way towards Axendra. 

Chapter 31

I
t had been a hard journey for Mayvard; holding onto Rhada’s seemingly lifeless frame, keeping her from falling out of the saddle, but it had been an even harder journey for his horse.  He had kept the beast running at full pace for as long as it could run and even when it tired, he forced it to trot.  The horse now panted loudly into the night air and refused to move any faster than a snail’s pace.

              Mayvard finally gave in and led the horse off the road a ways so they would be shielded from the eyes of travelers… or armies.

              Once they were sufficiently hidden from view, Mayvard dismounted, pulling Rhada down with him as carefully as he could.  She fell to the side and he caught her, then he gently leaned her against the trunk of a tree and went back to his horse to unpack.  The beast had already began its search for a patch of grass to graze on but Mayvard grabbed him by the reins and pulled him back, making the steed whip his tail angrily. 

              The first thing he grabbed was his water, which he drank with a thirst of a man that had been riding in the sun all day.  He then poured a little into his open palm and wiped away the dust from his face. 

              Mayvard turned and made his way over to where he left Rhada.  She sat slumped like a puppet with no puppeteer against the tree.  Her arms resting heavily at her sides and her chin dropping down to her chest.  Mayvard grasped her by the chin gently and lifted her head. 

              She had not woken since the morning they left South Fort and Mayvard’s fear that she would not survive until Axendra began to grow. 

              Carefully, he squeezed her cheeks with his fingers and thumb to make her mouth open just enough so that he could pour a slow stream of water down.  He had done this several times while they were on the road and most of the time she choked and spit it back up but other times she swallowed it.  This time, however, she did not choke or swallow.  The water pooled on her tongue and when he released his grip on her jaw the water spilled out of her open lips onto her lap. 

              “Rhada?”  He said in an apprehensive whisper.  He reached his hand up and stroked her ice-cold cheek, hoping to get some sort of response from her.  She did not stir.  If he could not see her chest rising and falling as she breathed, he would have believed her to be dead already.  Her skin was pale and clammy, her body was limp and unresponsive, like that of a corpse and she never made a sound- not a moan or a sigh. 

              Mayvard shook his head in disappointment then stood.  He replaced the cap on his waterskin and made his way back to his horse.  The beast had wandered a few paces away in the darkness and it took him a moment to see its black silhouette against the moonlight. 

              He replaced the waterskin and grabbed his blanket then spun around to make a bed for himself but the blanket caught on the hilt of Rhada’s sword, which was strapped to his saddle, and when Mayvard turned, he could see it had been pulled from its scabbard slightly. 

              Mayvard studied the steel of the blade for a moment.  It shone brilliantly in the moonlight.  He had always been fascinated with the sword; as had the rest of the realm.  It was a blade forged with magic and only its master could wield the magic within.  Mayvard found it truly fascinating that the blade chose its master- the master did not choose the blade. 

              For centuries, this blade had been passed on from one High Protector to the next.  It was said that when the time came, the blade would whisper a name to its master, telling him or her who to pass the blade onto.  Mayvard wasn’t certain how a sword could whisper a name but he thought perhaps it was more of an internal feeling than a whisper. 

              Then there was the test, to see if the person’s whose name had been whispered truly was meant to be the High Protector.  The sword had to know what was in a person’s heart in order to bind itself to them.  Mayvard shuddered at the thought.  He had no suspicions of the blade ever calling his name to test but he was frightened of it all the same.  He feared if ever it was him that had to answer the call, he would cower and run. 

              Bloodbinder had to pierce through the flesh and into the heart, killing whomever it was testing.  Only those worthy of the blade had their lives restored to them and then they were forever bound to the sword- master and sword became one, speaking in a language only the two of them understood. 

              Many young aspiring men had been pierced with the blade, never to awaken again.  Mayvard pitied them whenever he thought about it.  He could imagine them riding up to the castle of Axendra with pride, knowing that they had a chance of claiming the highest honor of the kingdom next to the King himself, only to be stabbed in the heart and buried in the tombs of Axendra. 

              Mayvard turned and looked to Rhada with watery eyes.  He tried his best not to think of Rhada riding to the castle for her test- the blade being placed at her chest. 
She must have been so frightened. 
He cared so much for her; the thought of her having to live through such a gruesome test gave him chills.

              Mayvard walked to where Rhada was seated and spread his blanket out over the dirt.  He sat atop it and wrapped his arm around Rhada’s shoulders, pulling her head into his chest.  He closed his eyes and listened to her soft breathing, worried that it may stop at any moment. 

              Throughout the entire realm, Rhada was feared by most.  The mere mention of her name seemed to make people tremble, and Mayvard had seen with his own eyes what she was capable of.  She was fiercer than any other warrior on the battlefield.  No man could match her skills and speed.  She even seemed to possess a strength that was far beyond anything normal, especially for a woman her size.  Though she was not small, she was not as large as some of the brutes she had faced in her past.  Several times Mayvard had stood by and watched in awe as she worked to keep up her strength.  She could pull herself up with one arm ten times before tiring.  She could push the heaviest boulder they used during training across the training field twenty times before collapsing- Mayvard had only been able to accomplish such a feat nineteen times. 
One day I will beat her. 
He had told himself but as he looked down to her now, he wondered if he would ever get that chance.

              Despite her monstrous strength and her hard personality, Mayvard loved Rhada as he would love a sister.  She felt to him like a child in that moment, wrapped tightly in his arms for comfort. 

             
She
will
make it to Axendra alive!  I will get her there in time for Myranda to save her, no matter what! 
Mayvard decided to allow his horse a few more moments to rest and graze and then they would be on their way once more.

              He leaned his head against the trunk of the tree and gazed up to the stars.  He did not realize how harshly his exhaustion would take hold of him.  He had not slept for two whole days and the weariness of his ride caught up with him.

              Slowly, his eyes began to close.  Only once did he startle and open them again, shaking his head to shake the tiredness away but after several more moments, his eyes closed again and his head dropped down to his chest and he was snoring quietly into the night.

              By the time he woke the next day, the morning sun was already high in the sky, signaling to him that midday was upon them.  Mayvard cursed under his breath and pulled Rhada back up where she had fallen into his lap.  He leaned her back against the tree and stood, grabbing his blanket angrily and rolling it up as he went to search for his horse. 

              He found the beast some distance off, lying in the sun.  When Mayvard approached, the horse got to its feet, knowing the time to move on had come.  He stuffed his blanket inside his saddle bag, took a drink from the waterskin and pulled the horse back to where Rhada waited.  He did not bother with breakfast; he knew he would have no time to eat.

             
The enemy army will be upon me shortly if I do not start moving. 

              Mayvard grasped Rhada underneath the shoulders and lifted her to her feet.  He tried his best not to touch her icy skin, for it sent shivers down his spine.  He lifted her with a grunt, onto the saddle, leaning her against the horse’s neck so she would not fall and he kept one arm on her shoulder as he mounted behind her. 

              He kicked his horse into motion with urgency and led it back to the road.  Once there, he pushed his horse into a trot and was happy with the knowledge that perhaps he was still indeed in front of the army of South Fort.  But when he came around a bend, he was greeted with the sight of a vast, open field and a large camp with thousands of tents and men and horses. 

             
He pulled his horse to a halt and stood upon the hill, gazing down at the armies below. 

             
This is not the army of South Fort! 
He realized with panic.  What he was looking upon had to be several armies, all joined together for a single cause- to overthrow the King. 

              Just as Mayvard was about to turn his horse and run back the way he had come, two sentries spotted him and began making their way towards him with swords at the ready.  He realized he could still run and hide within the dense trees he had just emerged from, until he heard the sound of a horn from behind.  He spun in his saddle to see another army coming up the road from behind him with incredible speed- the banners of South Fort waving proudly in the pre-afternoon breeze.