Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2)

by M. Lee Holmes

  He sat huddled in the corner with his head hanging low and his arms dangling at his sides. He sat without moving, without acknowledging her presence.

  They’ve locked me in here with another prisoner? She wondered as she took a step forward.

  “Hello?” She whispered to the man but he did not answer, nor did he flinch at the sound of her voice.

  She stepped closer and closer until the darkness no longer shielded him from her eyes, and gasped at the sight before her.

  All the flesh from his hands and wrists had been eaten away by rats, leaving nothing but bones. His one good leg was stretched out with his foot turned at an angle and Rhada could clearly see where the rats had gnawed on the tips of his toes. His other leg had been severed almost at the knee and the gaping hole had been plucked free of all the meat.

  Rhada closed her mouth to prevent herself from shouting. She knelt down before the rotting corpse and looked closely at his face.

  He had died with his eyes open wide. But where there were once eyes, maggots now filled the holes, weaving in and out of his rotted flesh as they consumed like the little gluttons they were.

  Then suddenly, Rhada could once again feel the strange sensation of tears forming in her eyes as the face became recognizable to her. Though his skin was gray and leathery and sagged from the bones, there was no mistaking the poor page’s cheekbones and thick, curly hair.

  Terryn.

  Rhada quickly stood and walked to the other side of the cell where she pressed her back and her bound hands against the wall for support and slid down slowly, stretching her feet out like Terryn had done.

  He was shrouded in darkness once again, but Rhada could clearly see the outline of his rotting corpse from the opposite wall on which she sat and she stared at it all through the night, never able to fall asleep.

  Chapter 33

  Lord Ivran commanded his men to find the castle chefs and order them to make a fine meal for everyone. They had raided the kitchens, bringing whatever foods and wine they could find. Some of them eyed him with an air of suspicion as they refilled his goblet, or placed a slab of whatever meat had been cooked on his plate. But others were not so hostile. Many of them, especially the young ladies it seemed, were rejoicing and laughing while they served his soldiers. Some were even flirting with the men and the more his men drank, the less likely they were to ignore these advances.

  There had even been a young serving girl who seemed to be flaunting herself in front of Lord Ivran. He had initially thought it to be his imagination, until the girl lowered a sleeve to expose her shoulder and winked at him. He smiled politely then turned away and sipped his wine. He felt no stirrings for any other woman besides Meira.

  After his belly was full, Lord Ivran commanded the servants to start taking food to the courtiers who were being confined to their rooms, until he could think of what to do with them. The rumor that had been whispered into his ear was the majority of them were glad he had arrived and taken the castle. He hoped this rumor was true.

  As he watched the servants lift trays of steaming meats, fire-baked potatoes, carrots, apples, nuts, and sweet cakes and leave the great hall to begin serving the others, his thoughts turned to Rhada.

  The courtiers were being considered prisoners and he was making certain they were fed. Should I feed all of my prisoners? He wondered as the last of the sweet cakes were swept away. He quickly banished the thought, not feeling generous enough to share with her. He shivered when he pictured her face in those moments she thought were to be her last. Her eyes had locked onto his and though he showed no sign of fear to her, his body had been shaking from it. Her hate-filled gaze was truly terrifying, just as it had been in his dream. The Lord of Death. He could not shake the thought.

  I shall show her no kindness- for she deserves none. On our journey to Stonehill, she will eat. But she will not know the taste of this fine food. She may eat stale bread from my pocket.

  Lord Ivran took a drink of his wine, refilled the glass, and drank some more. He drank until sleep was heavy behind his eyes. Next to him, Lord Onas was already drifting off to sleep, his chin falling into his chest and his arms dangling loosely at his sides. Every few minutes, he would snort and sit up, look around confusedly, then drink from his waterskin.

  Lord Ivran chuckled at the old man then looked out to his men. As the night wore on, the sounds of their celebration were fading. The great hall was now filled with a low hum of mumbling voices, a sound that was almost soothing.

  Lord Ivran scanned the room and saw Lord Doran sitting with Lord Guyon. They were laughing and chugging away at their ales. When Lord Guyon’s eyes flitted upwards and saw Lord Ivran watching, he raised his glass in the air to salute and Lord Ivran did the same. The young man next to Guyon followed their example, spilling some of his ale onto his lap. He was the young boy who said he had killed the Captain. The more Lord Ivran looked the lad over, the more skeptical he became. The boy was scrawny and a weakling. He did not even look as though he possessed the strength to pull a bowstring taut. It seemed it would take a miracle for the boy to overpower Captain Mayvard.

  Lord Ivran had sent out a dozen men to find and retrieve the Captain’s body for his own reassurance. But after several hours of searching they came back empty handed. Ivran decided he would have to worry about it later. He had more important things to worry about, such as his prisoner below.

  He wondered what Rhada was thinking at that moment; if she could hear their jovial celebration. He hoped that she could. He hoped she knew that all hope was lost for her. It was a sickening feeling, having the ability to hate someone as much as he hated the High Protector. But he still saw her countless victims in his dreams; still smelled their burning flesh as though he was standing before the pyre of death she had built. But even so, he had been relieved when he was offered another way of punishing her without having to kill her. He had no desire to be bound to the magical blade that had been her tool for destruction all these years. He wanted to find the sword and destroy it; rid the realm of ever having need of a High Protector again.

  Lord Ivran rested his head in his open palm and stroked the rim of his wine glass with the other. It would be dawn soon and he was beginning to feel the strain of exhaustion pulling on his eyelids like strings. He did not fight the urge to sleep and as the sound of Lord Onas’s snoring filled the air, Lord Ivran’s eyes fell shut.

  Ivran felt the hand which was supporting his head with an open palm, slipping in his sleep. He jolted awake just in time to catch himself as he was falling out of the chair he had been occupying all night. He straightened himself then looked around the great hall to see if anyone had noticed his fall.

  Lord Onas sat next to him, holding his waterskin in both his hands down at his lap. His head was lowered, with his chin resting on his chest and Lord Ivran could hear him snoring softly. The waterskin was tilted just enough that if it had had any contents left inside, they would have spilled all over Lord Onas’s lap.

  Several hundred men slept with foreheads to the tables, or lined the walls of the great hall, all slumped over on top of one another, sleeping peacefully or shifting uncomfortably. Their snores resonated off the bare walls, filling the great hall with the soft hum of sleeping men.

  As Lord Ivran shifted and began to get comfortable to once again slip into a much needed rest, his eyes grazed the tiny windows that were situated near the ceiling at the other end of the room, showing him that dawn’s first light was just beginning to peak over the horizon.

  He sat up taller and stretched his neck so that he may see the sunrise. The light that peered over the distant forest was golden in hue and seemed to grow brighter with each passing moment. The tops of the trees that had been so foreboding during the night now turned a soft green with the light and Ivran could see the water from last night’s rain glistening on the leaves like jewels.

  As Lord Ivran stared out at the glorious sight of the sun making its first appearance for the day, his soul was suddenly wa
shed over with a feeling of peace. He could not help the satisfied smile that spread across his lips. Last night, the sun set on a broken kingdom. This morning, it rises on a free people.

  “My Lord,” the sound pulled him from his daydream. He turned in his chair and looked to the men who had just entered the great hall. They stopped where Lord Ivran sat and bowed low to him. The man leading the procession was tall and muscular, with light blond hair that curled in ringlets around his cheeks. His armor was made from hard steel and his sword dangled proudly at his side.

  “You are Protector Thomelin Northway of Nid, aren’t you?” Lord Ivran asked, wondering why Thomelin had not presented himself to Lord Ivran at their camp before they left for battle.

  “My Lord has a strong memory.” Thomelin said with a grin. “I was a young lad when I was made Protector of Nid and you came to my investiture.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Ivran remembered it well. Thomelin was a young boy no older than twelve, the youngest man in history to be made a Protector. His golden locks were even longer then and Lord Ivran could not help but snicker at the conversation behind him between two men, joking that the lad looked like a little girl.

  Even so, Thomelin was the son of Dorson Northway, one of the mightiest war heroes in all of Kaena’s history. Dorson had been a mercenary for the King himself, sailing large contingents of men across seas to fight for their allies whenever they were needed. King Darrion was always concerned for lands afar, wanting to keep their relationships with other trading realms strong.

  Dorson was eventually made commander of King Darrion’s navy. A large fleet in those days, boasting six hundred strong ships built for war. Their hulls were made of snakewood, a heavy, nearly indestructible wood.

  Dorson had won around sixty battles on the sea over the span of twelve years. During these battles he had lost only one ship.

  It was well known that Thomelin was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps. At the age of five, he could fight the best of men in the training ring. Though he did not possess their strength, he moved with speed and agility that no one had ever seen before. By the age of twelve, Lady Kandyl had seen fit to dub him the Protector of Nid. A year later, Lady Kandyl disappeared and when it became apparent that she was not returning, Protector Thomelin took over.

  “My Lord,” Thomelin continued, “I am ashamed to admit that my men were slow on the road. We only just arrived in Axendra several hours ago, after the battle was fought. A source told me you were resting so I took the duty of cleaning the castle grounds upon myself and my men. We have been working tirelessly all night to gather our fallen comrades and separate them from the enemy. Should I send word to the people of Axendra they can search through the corpses for their loved ones?”

  “Please do.” Lord Ivran answered. He was glad Protector Thomelin had taken on this grim task.

  “Where shall we bury those who are not claimed?”

  “I leave the decision to you. Right now, I have something of great import to take care of.” Lord Ivran stood from his chair and Thomelin and his men bowed to him again.

  Lord Ivran began walking through the great hall, ordering his men to get on their feet as he passed. Most of them stirred at his words and they woke those who did not.

  Lord Ivran stood in the center of the great hall and waited for all of his men to wake and rise. Once they were on their feet, they looked to him attentively, waiting for him to issue orders.

  “There is a prisoner in the dungeons of this castle that must be transported to Stonehill. I need volunteers to travel with me and I will take no less than thirty men!”

  “Thirty men?” Thomelin chuckled. “Thirty men for one prisoner?”

  “This is not just some prisoner. It is High Protector Rhada and I am not taking any chances. She will be transported to Stonehill with no chance of escape or being rescued.”

  “We shall go with you, my Lord!” Lord Ivran spun around to find Hadrian and Aiduin shoving their way through the men who surrounded them. “We will not miss the chance to see the witch off to her prison.” Aiduin said. Lord Ivran could see anger in their eyes- no doubt they hated the High Protector for the death of their friend, Stanwyck.

  Lord Ivran nodded to them, glad to have their company.

  “I shall go as well.” Lord Doran volunteered. “And I will bring my best men with me.”

  “Very well.” Lord Ivran said with a smile.

  “I will also travel to Stonehill with you, my Lord.” Lord Ivran turned and found Protector Thomelin standing before him with three men; all wore the same large grin on their faces. They all seemed to be of the same age and Ivran guessed that they were Thomelin’s most trusted companions. Of the three, one man stood out from the rest. He was not taller than Thomelin but much stouter; with broad shoulders and thick arms. His hair was cropped short and his sneer was more than unsettling. Lord Ivran assumed that this man was Thomelin’s Captain, though what his name was, Ivran could not say.

  “And why do you wish to go?” Lord Ivran asked, suddenly not trusting this young man and his cohorts.

  Thomelin’s smile grew larger as he stared at Lord Ivran with his enchanting brown eyes. “I simply wish to aid in any way that I can to secure the safety of our realm.”

  Lord Ivran could see within Thomelin’s devious grin that he was not exactly telling the truth. He wondered what Thomelin could have been holding against the High Protector to make him seek vengeance but decided it was none of his business and he should just be grateful for the man’s help.

  “How many men is that?” Lord Ivran asked Lord Doran. Doran turned and began counting his men, Hadrian and Aiduin and all the men who stood around him, ready to serve, and Thomelin and his three companions.

  “Forty-five, my Lord.” Doran said with pride.

  “Forty-five.” Lord Ivran repeated with a grin. “Forty-five will be a fine number.”

  “Shall I go fetch her, my Lord?” Lord Doran asked and Lord Ivran nodded.

  “Make certain that her hands are bound tightly and her mouth is gagged. I do not wish to listen to any words she may wish to say on our three day journey.”

  Lord Doran nodded and when he turned to leave, all his men followed.

  When Lord Ivran spun back around, he saw Lord Onas sat awake and stared with shining eyes at the men who were gathering their belongings for their journey. Ivran made his way back to the old man and smiled.

  “Can I trust you to watch over the castle while I am gone?” He asked.

  Lord Onas nodded and tried to drink from his waterskin, realizing it was empty. He pulled the leather pouch away and frowned.

  “I’ll have that refilled for you.” He took the waterskin from Onas and turned.

  “Thomelin!” He shouted, pulling the young man’s attention back to him. “Take your men and Lord Doran’s men and find enough horses for all of us. Check the stables and the castle grounds. There are bound to be some abandoned steeds from last night wandering about.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Thomelin nodded and gestured for his helpers to follow. They shuffled out of the room in a thin line.

  “Hadrian.” Lord Ivran called. Hadrian was standing in a corner of the room next to Lord Guyon and his Protector. “Go to the kitchens and pack food for our journey.” He stepped closer and handed Lord Onas’s waterskin over. “Fill this with whatever spirit you can find.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Hadrian replied with a bow.

  Lord Guyon stepped forward. “My Lord, I should like to help Hadrian pack. It is the least I can do. Unfortunately, I cannot travel east with you. I must be returning home.”

  Lord Ivran nodded. “No doubt your new wife is anxiously waiting your return.”

  Lord Guyon smiled and nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Very well. Good luck on your journey.” Lord Ivran waved him away.

  “And to you.” Lord Guyon and Protector Josef turned and followed Hadrian to the kitchens.

  “Shall I send word to the women it is safe for
them to travel to Axendra?” Lord Onas asked as Lord Ivran made his way back to the table.

  “Please do.” He replied. He wanted his wife to be there with him more than anything, but he knew she would be upset when she arrived only to discover he had left on a journey.

  “You are taking a great risk, letting the High Protector live.” Lord Onas said, pulling Ivran’s thoughts away from his wife.

  “There is no risk. She will be secure there. No one has ever escaped from that fortress and lived to tell about it.”

  Lord Onas released a small “humph” in reply.

  “You disapprove?”

  “Remember who it was that issued her orders. Sure, she was the one to carry them out, but if anyone deserved a fate such as Stonehill, it was the King.”

  As Lord Doran returned with Rhada in tow, Ivran’s eyes fell upon her and he knew that Lord Onas was wrong. “Perhaps the King deserved Stonehill. But I could not take his throne while he was still alive.” Lord Onas shrugged his shoulders.

  Lord Ivran stepped away from the table and stomped stoically to where Lord Doran and his men stood. They had formed a blockade around the entrance of the great hall with Rhada in the center. Her hands were bound behind her back and two men held tightly to her elbows. Just as Lord Ivran had commanded, a handkerchief had been placed between her teeth and tied tightly behind her head, preventing her from speaking.

  Rhada’s eyes fixed upon him as he stood before her. Though they were bloodshot from lack of sleep, they were livid with rage. Ivran could feel it pulsing through the air between them. Her hair and skin were caked with dried blood, giving her an even more frightening appearance. He shuddered, wishing he was not so determined to take her to Stonehill himself. He did not want to spend the next three days in her presence.

  “Someone clean her up.” He said angrily as he pointed to the blood from last night’s battle. “And meet me at the stables.”

  “My Lord!” The voice that called after him was raspy and harsh and came from the other side of the great hall.