Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 11

  Lord Ivran was choking and coughing and the hand that held him belonged to the rider. His face was hidden behind a shadow but Lord Ivran knew who it was. There could be no mistaking the Lord of Death. He knew the stories; he had heard them as a child.

  The Lord of Death lifted him off the ground with one arm, squeezing his neck tighter and tighter as he did so. Lord Ivran gasped and kicked his feet but could not escape his grasp- he was too strong. Then on a cusp of wind that filled the air, he heard laughter. It was not a joyful laughter, but laughter full of malice and hatred and the voice was not of a man. Suddenly, the shadow that shrouded the Lord of Death’s face melted away to reveal Lord Ivran’s prey. Rhada’s eyes burned into his, making his cold flesh crawl with an icy chill. He could feel the fear inside of him growing and watched in horror as her eyes turned from black to a fiery red. Fire began to burn through his flesh, down to his bones and when he tried to scream, only a plume of smoke escaped his lips.

  Lord Ivran sat up with a jolt and instinctively pulled his blade out from under the blankets. He breathed heavily into the crisp, morning air as he surveyed the area. All was quiet and serene, as though the world around him was unaware of the danger they were in. He pulled the blankets away from his body and stood, never loosening his grasp on his sword.

  All around him were sleeping men, snoring into the pale light of early morning. The fire that burned the night before had died out and only a small billow of smoke remained. Lord Ivran took in a deep breath as his memories slowly returned to him. Though he could not shake the High Protector’s face from his dream or the feel of her cold grasp on his throat, he set his sword down on his blankets and left the safety of his camp. In the distance he could hear the sound of a small stream bubbling through the trees and he walked briskly towards it, falling to his knees and cupping his hands underneath the cold water to splash on his face.

  It took several more moments for Lord Ivran to fully awaken and when he did, he sat in silence, watching the small stream roll past him.

  He knew it had been a dream- he told himself over and over again no harm could come from a dream, but something about it had seemed so real. Never before had he felt so much in a dream. There had been times in his life when stress had made him dream of near-death situations, but never had he actually been afraid for his life. Never before had he felt the cold grasp of death on his neck, squeezing the life from him. It was a dream unlike any other and he decided at that moment never to speak of it to anyone.

  As he pushed himself to his feet, he doubled over in pain- his sudden cry echoed in the silent grove. He reached his hands up and placed them on either side of his head and held it with force, trying to squeeze out the pain that riddled him. The headache had come on suddenly and with such a force, he found that he was blind against it. He fell back to his knees and cried out again as the pain pounded inside and made him wish he had never woken.

  The sound of footsteps behind and the feel of strong hands on his shoulders made him realize that he had cried out loud enough to wake some of his men and he was being lifted to his feet and dragged back to camp. The hands sat him down in the dirt and Lord Ivran knew from the smell of smoke that he was sitting in front of the now perished fire.

  He did not open his eyes and he could not take his hands away from his head, not even when a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and a bottle of strong smelling liquid was pressed to his lips. He leaned his head back and took a sip of the burning spirit, knowing it would help soothe the pain.

  “My Lord? What has happened?” A familiar and troubled voice asked. Lord Ivran turned his head and saw through his watered eyes that Protector Stanwyck was sitting next to him with a caring hand on his shoulder and a concerned look etched on his face.

  Lord Ivran found it difficult to speak but when he did, he knew his words were slurred as though he was drunk, but he spoke anyway. “My head- it aches so fiercely. I must lie down.” He leaned all the way back until he could feel the cold ground below his head and shut his eyes once more, not realizing that he immediately fell back into a deep sleep.

  Sometime later, when the sun was approaching midday, Lord Ivran woke and sat straight up to find himself surrounded by his men. The fire had been restarted and there was freshly caught duck from the stream roasting on a spit. He looked around and found his men looking to him with worry. Protector Stanwyck, it seemed, had not left his side and placed his hand gently upon Lord Ivran’s shoulder once again.

  “Is everything alright, my Lord?” He asked quietly.

  Lord Ivran nodded his head, realizing that his headache was gone. “Yes. I am fine now, thank you.”

  “You had us very worried.” Aiduin said. He approached them from behind with a bowl of fresh stream water and handed it carefully to Lord Ivran as to not spill. Lord Ivran took it gratefully and drank as much as his stomach could hold.

  “It was only an aching head- apparently from lack of sleep. I am fine now.” He told them reassuringly.

  Not wanting to discuss his troubles, or remember the horrors of his dream any longer, Lord Ivran turned to Stanwyck and smiled. “You seem well this morning.”

  “I am much better.” Stanwyck replied with a smile. “I slept well last night and woke this morning with a new-found energy.”

  “I can see that.” Lord Ivran observed. His smile faded however when he looked to Stanwyck’s soaked bandages and realized that his wound had bled over the night. He knew he would have to get Stanwyck to his wife or his new-found energy would soon run out.

  “What happened to you?” He asked with curiosity, unable to stand not knowing the truth any longer.

  “I am not exactly certain myself.” Protector Stanwyck admitted. “I remember that I was thirsty and I walked to my horse for a drink. There is a brief memory of a familiar sword and I can clearly see the High Protector’s face then all is blank. I cannot remember a thing after that.”

  Lord Ivran nodded; knowing the blow to his head rendered his memories useless. “They must have assumed you dead and fled.” He said after a moment of trying to put the pieces together.

  “Perhaps.” Stanwyck agreed. “When I woke, I was blinded by my own blood and began to wander aimlessly. I was uncertain of where I was going but I suppose I chose the right direction.” He chuckled to himself at his dumb luck.

  “I suppose you did.” Lord Ivran agreed. “Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?”

  Stanwyck pondered for a moment and said; “I remember the way the High Protector looked. Death was upon her face- I barely recognized her.”

  Lord Ivran stiffened at this news. The image of her face in his dream returned. The Lord of Death. He thought to himself. I saw it on her face as well. When he realized that Stanwyck was staring at him strangely, knowing Lord Ivran was thinking on something but not sharing his thoughts, he straightened and cleared his throat.

  “So she is sick then?” He asked aloud and Stanwyck nodded his head in answer.

  “That much of what Tirdan said was true. I suppose he really was trying to get her back to Axendra so the healers could save her.”

  Ivran nodded in understanding. “Let us hope that does not happen.”

  Two days later, Lord Ivran woke with the sun burning into his closed eyes and sweat pouring down from his forehead. He sat up in his bed abruptly, throwing Meira’s outstretched arm aside. She grunted in her sleep and turned her head away from him without waking.

  Lord Ivran looked around his tent in confusion, wondering how he had arrived there. It did not take long for his memories to come flooding back and when they did, he let out a small sigh of relief.

  They had arrived the night before with Protector Stanwyck as healthy as could be. Meira tended to his wound but found that it did not, after all, need to be stitched. She cleaned it better than anyone else could have and wrapped it in new bandages. By the time the night had been set in for several hours, Stanwyck and his men, along with Lord Ivran and even his beautiful wife were all rejo
icing in drink. Stanwyck had to be carried to his tent, for the ale had gotten the better of him. Lord Ivran knew that morning even he had drank too much. He could feel the remnants of the good time he had had last night pounding behind his eyes. He placed an open palm to his forehead and shut his eyes tightly, trying his best to block out the burning sun.

  More sleep will cure me. He thought to himself as he lay back down next to Meira and tried to focus on resting.

  Just as he was beginning to drift off once more, footsteps could be heard outside his tent. Lord Ivran silently pleaded that they were not coming for him but when he heard a familiar voice call out; “My Lord? Are you awake?” he knew sleep would have to wait.

  He threw the blankets aside and stood, wincing in pain as the throbbing in his head intensified. Angrily he pulled his leather pants on but did not bother with a shirt and threw open the tent flap to reveal to his guest the skin of his bare chest.

  “What is it?” He asked with his raspy, dry voice. He tried to clear his throat before he had to speak again. He had to squint against the blinding light of day and saw that it was Protector Stanwyck standing before him.

  Stanwyck seemed startled by Lord Ivran’s rough greeting, but quickly composed himself and even tried to smile at the tired and irritable man.

  “May I have a quick word with you, my Lord?” He asked.

  Lord Ivran grunted in irritation but stepped outside his tent nonetheless. Stanwyck led him to the fire where they both took a seat. He held out a waterskin for Ivran and he took it without thanks, drinking all of the refreshment within.

  Before Lord Ivran could speak, Stanwyck turned to him and practically shouted; “The High Protector must be killed!” His face was red with anger and his hands were balled into tight fists.

  “She will be.” Ivran replied, slightly stunned by Stanwyck’s sudden anger. He placed a hand on Stanwyck’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I vow to you, on my life, the High Protector will be punished for her crimes. None of us will forget that which she has done. But remember Stanwyck, you are not the only man here who has suffered by her actions.”

  Stanwyck’s shoulders slouched and he unclenched his hands. “I cannot wait.” He said as he looked away from Lord Ivran’s gaze. “We should not wait. The longer we wait, the more time the King has to prepare.” He looked back to Lord Ivran pleadingly.

  “My Lord, let us march into Axendra now! Let us take our banners and swords and ride into the city. We can take the city for ourselves; I know it!”

  Lord Ivran shook his head. “We must wait until I’ve had news from Bhrys.”

  “And what if they do not come?” Stanwyck asked. “What if Lady Omylia decides to stay loyal to the King and sends her army to join his? Will we still attack? Will we still try to avenge this realm? Or will it be a lost cause?”

  Lord Ivran turned his eyes away from Stanwyck. This, of course, was a question he had asked himself several times. If Bhrys refused to join his forces, how could he still lead an attack on Axendra? The only thing he would accomplish would be to lead his men to their deaths. And if I do not attack? He wondered as he pondered the question once more. All I will have accomplished is proving to the realm that I am an incompetent coward. And then the High Protector will still come after us. He closed his eyes as the pounding in his head returned.

  Protector Stanwyck waited for Lord Ivran to answer but when he did not, he spoke once more; “If Bhrys does not join us, we have lost, haven’t we?” Lord Ivran nodded his head.

  “We will lose before we have even begun.” Ivran replied. He opened his eyes and looked back to Stanwyck with sorrow. “I cannot attack Axendra without Bhrys.”

  “Then send an assassin to kill the High Protector and the King.” Stanwyck pleaded in a whisper. “If you cannot attack them with an army, attack them with one man. They will never suspect it!”

  “The last man I sent to the castle has yet to return to me.” Lord Ivran replied. “I assume the worst has happened to poor Emeric and I will not send another man into that fate.”

  “You can send me!” Stanwyck looked around to make certain there were no listening ears around them before continuing. “Send me. I go willingly, knowing what my fate would be should I be caught. Send me to the enemy to defeat them in the shadows. The realm will thank you for it.”

  Lord Ivran shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “I will go whether you ask it of me or not.” Stanwyck replied with anger. “You cannot stop me.”

  Lord Ivran studied Stanwyck for a moment and realized that he was right, he could not stop him, but he could try to talk some sense into him. “Men have tried to kill the High Protector before and none of them have succeeded. You know the sword gives her powers that we cannot understand. You should not underestimate her, Stanwyck, and you should not rush to kill her simply because your head is filled with the will to avenge your lost pride. Think about this rationally, my friend.”

  “I have!” Stanwyck replied angrily. He stood and clutched the hilt of his sword as though he was about to run into battle at that very moment. “Where others have failed, I will succeed. You shall see.”

  “At least wait until I’ve heard news from Bhrys.” Lord Ivran pleaded. It was his last attempt to keep Stanwyck safe. “Wait until Lord Doran and Protector Raibyr have returned. Give them a chance to secure our fates and if they come with ill tidings, then you are free to do as you please.”

  Protector Stanwyck considered this for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. “Alright.” He said and he released his grip on his sword. “But if we attack with Bhrys at our side and are successful in taking the castle and capturing the High Protector, I ask only one thing.”

  “And what is that?” Lord Ivran asked in reply, though he knew what Stanwyck was about to demand.

  “That you let me kill her myself! I cannot begin to describe to you the joy it will bring me to watch the life leave her eyes by my hand.”

  Lord Ivran considered this for a moment. “Very well. The King shall be my target and the High Protector shall be yours. But you must promise me one thing.”

  “What is that?” Stanwyck asked with curiosity.

  “That if we succeed in storming the castle and destroying Axendra’s army, you will not go after the High Protector on your own. Promise you will wait until she has been captured and I have had the opportunity to place the death sentence upon her head.”

  Stanwyck hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so important for Lord Ivran to sentence her before she died, but finally he nodded his head in agreement, knowing that Lord Ivran’s intentions were good and decent; that he was the type of man who wanted to see justice brought to the realm and was not out for pure vengeance like the rest of them. Though he had agreed to Lord Ivran’s request, as he walked away, he thought to himself how glorious a victory it would be should he find the High Protector on the battlefield and cut her down where she stood. He would remove Bloodbinder from her cold, dead grasp and with the most powerful blade in all the realm, the blade that had been used to destroy so many lives, he would remove her head from her shoulders and Bloodbinder would be his.

  With what little strength remained to him, Lord Ivran turned and made his way back to his own tent where he found his wife sitting naked on the bed, the sheets drawn off of her and piled onto the floor. A small pool of vomit lay next to her feet and when she looked up to her husband, her eyes were full of shame.

  “I had too much to drink last night.” She admitted, looking down to her feet with tears in her eyes. Lord Ivran chuckled slightly at the sight of her, reached over to the bedside table for a handkerchief and wiped away the last of the vomit from her lips. He grabbed his waterskin and let her drink the rest of its contents.

  “My dear, sweet wife.” He said lovingly as he stroked her forehead. He gently pushed her back into the bed and pulled the blankets to cover her. “You rest all afternoon if you need to and don’t get up until you are feeling better.”

 
“But the cooking…” She began but Lord Ivran stopped her.

  “There are plenty of wives to cook for the camp today. I will inform them that you are under the weather.” When she closed her eyes and turned away from him to fall back asleep, Lord Ivran reached for the blankets and rolled into bed next to his wife, wrapping her shivering body in his arms for comfort. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep but the conversation he had with Stanwyck had left a foul taste in his mouth. His mind was racing. How exactly does one go about killing the Lord of Death? Lord Ivran doubted that any man could, and Stanwyck was no exception.

  Chapter 12

  When Myranda woke, she woke to the burning light of the sun filling her room. She raised a defensive hand to shield her closed eyes from the worst of it but there was still an orange hue that seeped through her lids. She could feel them begin to water as she slowly sat up in her bed.

  As she began to open her eyes and acclimate to the morning light, a soft knocking came at her door.

  “My Lady, Myranda? Are you out of bed?” She recognized Valindra’s voice.

  “Yes!” Myranda shouted back angrily. “Come in.” The soft squeak of hinges moving made Myranda turn her head and she watched with narrowed eyes as Valindra entered the room. She wore her usual dark red servant’s gown, but where her hair was usually tied back in a tight bun, it was loose and flowing.

  “Good morning, my Lady.” Valindra said with a cheery voice that made Myranda tense in anger. She smiled as she walked past the Sorceress and towards the wash basin where she began to pour some fresh water for Myranda to wash her face with.

  “Valindra, you forgot to close the curtains last night… again!” Myranda said irritably as she pointed towards the open window. Valindra had to shield her eyes as well as she turned to look at the open curtains.

  “My apologies, my Lady.” She replied, rushing quickly to the window and grasping the curtains. She was about to pull them closed when she stopped and peered down to the courtyard below.