Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 8

  Emeric stirred. He twisted his head and shouted, causing Valindra to jump in fright. He thrashed with his legs and cried out; “no more!”

  Valindra reached down and grasped him by the shoulders. “Do not fear me. I am here to help you.” With these words, Emeric slowly stopped thrashing and opened his eyes to see Valindra for the first time.

  He blinked at the image of her face- pale and soft like a baby’s. Her eyes were the deepest of blues he had ever seen and her hair was the color of the sun- or so he told himself. The last time he had seen the sun was so long ago, he had begun to forget what it looked like.

  “Who are you?” He managed to whisper in his deep, raspy voice.

  Valindra smiled down to him and reached her hand underneath his head once more. “A friend.” She replied as she poured more water into his mouth. This time, Emeric accepted the cool refreshment and felt the life the water brought back to him trickle down his throat and into his chest. When it was all gone, he sighed with relief and laid his head back onto the pillow, unable to take his eyes off Valindra.

  “How did you know I was here?” He asked with a louder and stronger voice.

  “It does not matter how I know. All that matters is that I have come to deliver a message.” She replaced the lid on the waterskin and wrapped it back around her shoulders.

  “Yes?” He asked, hoping the message had come from Lord Ivran or someone back home.

  “To not lose hope.” Valindra replied. She saw disappointment flash behind his eyes so she continued; “that help is on the way. Though you cannot be rescued yet, you will be.”

  “How?” He asked with skepticism. “How can you be sure of that?”

  “The armies of the realm are assembling at our doorstep and the King’s army has abandoned him. It will not be long before the castle is taken and you are set free.”

  “And if I should die before then?” He wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer from her. Such a cruel fate it would be to suffer as he had and not get the chance to return the favor to the Queen.

  “I shall come to you every night. So long as you are under my care, you will not die.” She smiled warmly at him to reassure the poor suffering man and he, in return, could not help but smile back. It had been so long since he last smiled and the smallest bit of joy it brought him was most welcome.

  Valindra stood and reached into her gown pocket, pulling out a small vial with a clear liquid inside. She pulled the cap off and held it over him. Emeric’s small joy vanished at the sight of it and he shook his head in objection.

  “No. No more potions. Please!” He begged. He realized how small and childish he sounded but cared not. He could not bring himself to drink any more potions, knowing that it would render him helpless.

  “Tis a sleeping aid.” Valindra told him but still he shook his head. “It will help with the pain.” He turned his head away from her but Valindra would not give up. “Please drink it. You will sleep for a few hours, regain some strength, and when you wake you will feel refreshed and strong. You will feel like your old self again. And you will need your strength for when you are free.” This Emeric knew to be true and slowly he turned his head back to her. He opened his mouth and let Valindra pour the liquid in. It was warm and tasteless and traveled quickly down his throat and to Emeric’s surprise it was almost pleasant to drink- nothing like the tonic the Queen forced him to choke down.

  When the potion was gone, Valindra stood and grabbed her candle. She placed a gentle hand on Emeric’s bare chest and smiled down at him one last time. “I shall be back tomorrow night. Just promise me one thing?”

  Emeric nodded his head. “Anything.”

  “If the Queen returns; do not let her get inside your head. She is trying to break your spirit. If you allow her to do so, she has won.”

  Emeric shook his head in answer. “Should the Queen return to me, I will imagine it is you who have come and no matter what she does to me, my spirit will remain free.” Valindra had never been so touched by words before in all her life. She could not resist the urge to touch this man. She wanted to feel his heart and so she moved her hand to where she knew it beat and stood for a moment without moving. She could feel the pounding of his heart beneath his flesh and she could hear it like a drum, traveling up the length of her arm to her ears.

  Finally she let go, turned and opened the door to step back out into the dark corridor when he asked her one last question- “what is your name?”

  She whispered it so any guards outside could not hear- “Valindra” and vanished into the darkness, closing the door softly behind her.

  Emeric closed his eyes, already feeling the effects of the sleeping potion, and whispered her name into the night- “Valindra. Valindra.” Even as sleep began to take hold of him, he could hear her name floating in the air around him and he dreamt of the setting sun, blinding him with its warm light.

  Chapter 10

  The journey to Axendra thus far had been made in almost complete silence. Stanwyck rode atop his horse quietly humming different tunes every now and then, while Mayvard cringed, trying not to let Stanwyck see how much it bothered him.

  They stopped to take a short nap and allow the horses to graze. Mayvard sat next to Rhada, who lie underneath his only blanket which shielded her from Stanwyck’s view. Though Stanwyck had pulled his hood over his eyes and began to snore, Mayvard remained on his guard. He knew that one slip of her hood could mean death for both of them.

  He contemplated leaving Stanwyck while he slept and riding onward to Axendra alone, but he couldn’t risk Stanwyck waking while he was packing, so Mayvard closed his eyes as well and slept.

  By midday they were off again and moving at a steady pace. Mayvard kept his horse a few paces behind Stanwyck as they walked and never looked the man in the face.

  Later that day, heavy clouds had rolled in, threatening to pour rain down upon their heads. When night fell, darkness blinded them completely. Stanwyck stopped his horse and sighed in frustration.

  “Tis too dark to see the road.” He complained and Mayvard nodded his head in agreement. “Perhaps we should camp here for the night. I’ll build a fire, we can have a nice warm meal then be off again as soon as there is enough light to guide our way.” As much as Mayvard did not like the idea of stopping, he had to agree that continuing on in the dark could be hazardous to their horses.

  He followed Stanwyck to a grassy spot right off the side of the road. Both men dismounted and Mayvard settled Rhada down for the night. He felt around her face to make certain her hood was properly covering her identity then turned to find Stanwyck standing next to his horse, digging through his traveling pack. He pulled out a small box and began searching on the ground for something. Mayvard, realizing what Stanwyck was searching for, found a large, thick stick that had fallen from a dead tree. He picked it up and handed it to Stanwyck who thanked him and sat on the ground next to him. He pulled a small, leather pouch from his belt and opened the strings. He dipped the tip of the stick inside the pouch, coating it with what Mayvard assumed was boar’s fat. It was the most commonly used flammable substance.

  Some time passed before Stanwyck was able to ignite the tinder from his box and carefully, he transferred the tiny flame to the stick Mayvard had found for him. He brought the tip of the stick close to his face and began to gently blow on it, causing the flame to grow. Mayvard watched with a tinge of jealousy at Stanwyck’s ability to make fire. Though Mayvard had always considered himself a skilled fire-maker, he did not carry with him the same patience Stanwyck possessed. Mayvard was always in a hurry to create the flame, often times snuffing it out on accident and having to start over. Stanwyck, on the other hand, treated the flame as though it was a newborn child- gently caressing it and encouraging it to grow and take form.

  Once the flame was bright enough to re-light the world around them, Mayvard found himself smiling in appreciation of Stanwyck’s creation.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” He asked, truly c
urious as to who had taught Stanwyck to create fire.

  “My father.” He replied with a small smile. “He was a skilled woodsman. He hunted and trapped for a living and often took me along when I was old enough. He taught me the necessity of never being caught on a cold night in the forest without a fire to warm your hide. He taught me how to create a flame with just a stick and a rock but I much prefer the method of tinder and flint- saves time.” Mayvard nodded his head in agreement.

  “Shall we gather some wood?” Mayvard asked but Stanwyck was already getting to his feet.

  “I’ll hold the flame if you gather.” He said and both men began searching the surrounding trees. To Mayvard’s delight and surprise, the thicket around them was full of dried logs and twigs small enough to use as kindling, and it was not long before they had gathered enough for a decent fire. Mayvard used another large stick to dig a small hole in the dirt where he stacked the logs in a tower formation so the flame could survive. Then Stanwyck leaned forward with his torch and after a few moments of igniting the kindling and each piece of wood, he carefully blew on the flames and they had a proper fire going.

  Lord Ivran had supplied them with dried beef, fruit, bread and cheese. They held the meat over the flame to warm it up just a bit and Mayvard could not help but sigh with satisfaction at the taste of it. It seemed so long ago since he last ate a proper meal and he just now realized how hungry he had been. With all the worry over Rhada and her illness, he had quite forgotten about his own needs until now.

  Stanwyck chewed his food quietly then looked over at Mayvard who had just shoved the last bite of dried beef into his mouth.

  “Shouldn’t your wife be fed as well?” He asked with concern.

  Mayvard stopped chewing and looked down to Rhada who lay completely still next to him. He turned his attention back to Stanwyck and shook his head.

  “She cannot. Her appetite has dwindled significantly.”

  “Perhaps some water then. I have not seen her eat or drink anything our entire journey. Surely she must want some water?” Mayvard shook his head once more.

  “Her condition is so bad, not even water will stay in her stomach for long. I finally gave up forcing it down her throat.”

  Stanwyck looked down towards Rhada and shook his head in sadness. “Forgive me if I seem forward but only a person close to death would deny themselves nourishment.”

  Mayvard looked down to the ground, not knowing how to reply to Stanwyck’s comment. It was true that when Rhada was in this state she would not eat or drink. Mayvard had tried to force her a few times but each time she would choke and cough it back up. He had made certain to feed her well during her consciousness at camp and he even saw some strength returning to her, but he knew that Stanwyck spoke the truth- only those who were in death’s shadow denied themselves the chance to get well again. Suddenly, he lost his appetite and set his fruit and bread aside. He no longer felt that he could sit next to Rhada without holding her and comforting her. But this he could not do in front of Stanwyck and when he looked over at the man, he suddenly felt he could not sit so close to him either.

  Mayvard stood, picked up the stick they had used to start their fire and held it over the flames to re-ignite it.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Stanwyck asked as he took a bite of bread.

  “I must relieve myself.” He replied and Stanwyck did not ask any more questions as Mayvard disappeared into the night.

  As he trudged through the thick trees, he kept his gaze turned down towards his feet to avoid tripping over rocks and branches. Finally, he stopped and looked back to find only darkness. He had traveled far enough; the light from their fire could no longer reach him. He sat on a large rock and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Mayvard knew it was dangerous to leave Rhada alone with Stanwyck, but something inside of him told him to get away from Stanwyck quickly. Each time he looked at the man’s face, he saw nothing but the face of the enemy and all of his instincts told him to kill Stanwyck. But he had made a promise to Rhada and though he could not understand Rhada’s reason for wanting Stanwyck to go unharmed, he would keep to his word.

  As he sat, he realized there was another reason he could not look Stanwyck in the face. The entire realm was rebelling against them because of their defeat two years prior. They were angry and wanted revenge; revenge against the King and revenge against Rhada. They all hated Rhada which made Mayvard hate them in return. But none of them fully understood the pressure she was under; they would never know that the King held her under a tight thumb. The King was mad, Mayvard was sure of it, and Rhada was forced to do his mad bidding.

  She had been threatened by him before, threatened with years in the dungeons should she disobey him. Rhada had refused the King’s orders only once. King Firion had commanded her to travel to South Fort and burn it to the ground. Rhada pulled Bloodbinder from its scabbard and laid it at her feet. Mayvard remembered how his heart was pounding in that moment but he did the same with Bel’dak. She had told Mayvard not to be a fool, but he cared not. He would follow her to the dungeons if he had to.

  The King simply laughed at their act of defiance. He stood from his throne and pointed at Rhada, saying; “pick up your sword, or I shall pick it up for you!” Mayvard was stunned when Rhada obeyed. She stood in contemplation for a moment and explained later that the realm would suffer far more should Bloodbinder find itself in the hands of the King.

  She re-sheathed Bloodbinder, ordered Mayvard to do the same with Bel’dak, bowed to the King and stormed out. The next morning, they were marching for South Fort. It was there that most of the destruction had occurred and Mayvard was certain it was the reason they wanted to fight again. Though Rhada had not actually given the command to set the town on fire, one of her soldiers had done it anyway. The blame, of course, was placed on Rhada.

  Mayvard was the only person who knew of Rhada’s plight. He was her guardian, her protector. He watched over her while she protected the realm. She would do anything to keep the King at peace, even if it meant destroying a small farming village.

  Mayvard wished he could change things. He wished he could make the rest of the realm see what he sees but Rhada would not allow it. The knowledge of their hatred towards her tormented him every day and he was fully aware that just being by her side made him an enemy of the realm as well, but he would never leave her.

  Mayvard breathed in deeply and let the air out slowly, trying to calm his anger but nothing seemed to help. One more day. He told himself. One more day traveling with this fool then we will be in Axendra and I can forget this ever happened. This brought little comfort to Mayvard and still his anger grew when he thought about their arrival in Axendra and having to allow Stanwyck to walk away.

  Something from behind made Mayvard jump and turn his attention back to camp. It was a voice, like that of a man bellowing out a battle cry. He was on his feet before he even knew he was moving, running through the thick shrubbery and tripping over rocks and roots he could not see in the dark. He dropped his torch when the light of camp came into view and pulled Bel’dak free from its scabbard. Rhada was in trouble, he knew it. Stanwyck had discovered their secret and despite his promise to Rhada, he would do what was necessary to save her.

  Stanwyck sat quietly watching the fire as he ate the last of his supper. Though his thirst was overwhelming, he did not stir. He was mesmerized by the dancing flames before him. Watching them calmed his nerves which he knew was necessary. Though Lord Ivran seemed to trust Tirdan, Stanwyck had decided to stay on his guard. He never trusted any man before getting to know them personally. He had hoped that sometime along their journey, Tirdan would reveal something about himself that would put his mind at ease, but the man remained silent as the grave.

  Stanwyck peeled his eyes away from the fire and looked over to the woman who was hidden underneath a blanket. He wondered why Tirdan kept her face covered at all times but never asked. And though Tirdan had disappeared into the bushes, Stanwyck would no
t betray the man by sneaking a peek at her. He did not like giving strangers reasons to not trust him.

  Unable to deny his thirst any longer, Stanwyck stood and made his way to his horse where his waterskin awaited him. He hastily pulled off the lid and drank almost all of it down. When he finished, he replaced the waterskin in his pack and was about to turn away when something glistening in the fire light caught his eye. He stopped suddenly and stared, knowing that what he looked at was the hilt of a sword, strapped to Tirdan’s horse and hidden underneath his bags.

  Stanwyck was unable to control his curiosity. He looked to his left then to his right but could not see Tirdan’s flame re-emerging from the thicket so he took a few small steps towards the blade and stopped when he was close enough to touch it.

  He knew Tirdan had a long sword strapped to his back at all times, but how could a man of such limited means own two swords? He studied the hilt as he gingerly ran his fingers over it, knowing that Tirdan could return at any moment. Gently, he pulled it forward ever so slightly to get a good look at the quality of the steel. It was as though all time stopped and Stanwyck had frozen with it as he stared wide-eyed at the steel. He could not move nor speak and only the sound of his beating heart reached his ears.

  “Lim canarte bae elei.” He knew what legendary sword this was as he spoke the words aloud. He had seen it up close many years ago and never would he forget the inscription or the blood-red streak. It was during the first rebellion. Rhada had led her army to Tanis and forced him to his knees- her blade at his throat. He reached a hand up to where it had drawn blood all those years ago. He was only alive today because he begged for his life. His people cried out for him to ask for mercy. After what had happened in South Fort, how could he not? His small village of Tanis did not stand a chance against her vast army and so he swallowed his pride and begged like a dog. Stanwyck could never forget that day. It still haunted him in his nightmares and now here was the blade, the very same blade he had looked upon that day and saw his own blood dripping from- the blade that very easily could have removed his head with one swift stroke.