Sneak Peek: The Watchman

Last but not least in the Anthology is The Watchman, inspired by Ezekiel 33. It's been a fun ride for me; I hope you've enjoyed these little previews as well. As I mentioned, this one makes the turn toward fantasy; so don't be thrown by the weird names all of the sudden.

THE WATCHMAN

The only life saved by retreating would be his own.

  

Merrak stood in the shadow of a large maple, barely daring to breathe. Slowly and smoothly he raised his bow; his muscles tensed, and strained, as he drew the arrow to his cheek. He peered down the shaft of the arrow, willing himself to be calm and steady. He could not afford to miss. Drawing one smooth breath, his fingers relaxed, and the arrow sprang forward.

He smiled, and lowered the bow; a nice buck, one he and the Brothers could eat of for at least a week. Rubbing his arms briskly, Merrak eyed the skin of the deer, thinking of the winter that would soon arrive.

He approached the buck and leaned his bow against it. As he worked to pull the arrow free, he stopped suddenly, sat back, and listened intently. The forest was quiet, and the wind passed through branches long bereft of foliage. He turned slowly, catching a glimpse of a man ducking behind a tree to his left.

Merrak turned back to the deer and pulled the arrow free. He wiped the head in the dirt, and cleaned it of blood. Grasping his bow, in one fluid motion he drew the arrow, turned to his left, and sent the shaft flying into the oak. The man stood half behind it, raised his arms, and smiled.

“Easy, friend, I mean no harm,” the man said, stepping fully out from behind the tree.

“Why do you think I sent the arrow into the tree, instead of your heart?” Merrak asked without malice. He lowered his bow. “Is it your custom, friend, to go skulking behind trees then?”

“Only in unfamiliar woods, approaching an unfamiliar person wielding a bow so expertly as yourself,” the man replied. “My name is Lordgrim, of Novam.”

“A lord?” Merrak asked.

The man laughed lightly. “Unfortunately, no; I am afraid my parents had higher aspirations than I did. Though,” he paused, considering. “I am not sure how Lord Lordgrim sounds, as an appellation.”

“I am Merrak, of nowhere in particular. What brings you so near Castle Fleete?” Merrak asked, rising to his feet.

“Just passing through, as it were,” replied Lordgrim. “The plague has struck Novam, and I am seeking a safe route through to the coast.”

“Are you indeed?” Merrak asked. “Since the war began, routes of safety are scarce in number, especially near Castle Fleete. I am surprised you did not know.”

“I had heard the fighting moved northward?”

“The fighting moves like a wasp,” Merrak replied. “First it is in the north, then it is in the south. One cannot know where the fighting is from week to week, sometimes.”

“A strange war,” Lordgrim mused. “You seem to have avoided it?”

“I stay with the Brothers in Weylyr Abbey,” Merrak replied. “We are left to ourselves.”

“And whose side are you on?” Lordgrim asked suddenly.

Merrak smiled. “We are left to ourselves,” he repeated. “I kill only that which is required for the Brothers and I to survive, and only to supplement what we can grow from the earth. Anything else seems unnecessary to me.”

Faintly, on the wind, Merrak heard a horse snort, and a branch snap as though trod upon.



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