“Kiss me...”
The yell shot through his skull like a red-hot poker. Mordraud found himself bent over, a quarter inch from Deanna’s sleeping face. He pulled back, panting in shock.
He was dreaming. He’d dropped off and hadn’t realised. Another shout brought him squarely back to reality. Deanna woke with a start, and looked around without understanding what was happening.
They were under attack.
“What’s wrong? Where are we?!”
“Shh! Stay down and don’t move!”
Mordraud pushed the curtain slightly to the side, to see the camp. Six, maybe eight men. They were shabby, and armed as best they could with farming tools. Bandits, most likely. The four escort soldiers were battling, with help from the cart-drivers.
“Mordraud, I’m frightened...”
“Don’t worry! Just a couple of thieves. Our men are fending them off well... Try to stay calm.”
He attempted a convincing voice, but even he didn’t believe his own words. He couldn’t see who was faring best.
Something blacked out the carriage’s small window. Mordraud heard Deanna scream behind him. “There’s more of them!” she shouted, in the hope that the soldiers would hear her. The wooden door flew open and Deanna was dragged out by a bearded man with a face pitted by infection. Mordraud hurled himself after her and grabbed her ankle, struggling pointlessly for a brief instant.
“Let me go! HELP ME!”
The other door of the carriage was pulled off and Mordraud felt his pelvis seized by two large hard hands. In a flash he was outside with his legs dangling in the air. Deanna was screaming in desperation over the other side. The whole camp had become a battlefield.
“DEANNA! DEANNA!” he bellowed, thrashing around like a person possessed.
“Keep still you, you repulsive little rat!”
Rat.
It was The Stranger’s voice. The Stranger’s breath, his stench of wine and his rough skin. Mordraud’s left arm began trembling uncontrollably.
“MORDRAUD!”
The sound of clothes being torn, as if the air itself had been ripped.
Mordraud yanked his head back and smashed it against the bandit’s jaw. A whiff of greasy hair slapped him in the face. He edged his mouth forward and drew on all his might to bite the man’s neck, on the jugular vein.
“BASTARD! GET OFF! Leave me alone...”
Mordraud tore off a large chunk of flesh, and found himself panting under a waterfall of blood.
“MORDRAUD!”
The Stranger teetered and let go. Mordraud landed on his feet but at once leapt towards the carriage roof. Long wooden splinters sank into his palms and disappeared under the skin. Yet he felt nothing, homing in on Deanna’s voice alone.
The carriage was rocking beneath him but it didn’t stop him getting to his feet. Below, Deanna was struggling with another Stranger. Her ripped dress hung in tatters from her shoulders. Mordraud jumped down, clamped to the neck of that vile swine.
“Come here, you. What d’you think you can do?!”
A punch. Another. Then another. His head boomed as if it were empty. The thief was scratching his back in an attempt to be free of him. Mordraud struggled to suffocate him, but he was too weak. He didn’t have a man’s arms, like in his dream. His were mere sticks of nerveless flesh. All his strength was suppressed by panic, by the fear that something awful might happen to Deanna.
Mordraud’s hand slipped down. It reached the hilt of a knife secured at the bandit’s waist. He didn’t hesitate an instant.
The blade went in as if into butter, around his whole grubby neck, until the head almost lopped on the body.
Deanna was screaming, hammering her face in her hands. A gush of blood struck her full on, while Mordraud pushed himself backwards in a desperate attempt not to topple on her. The weight of the dying outlaw crushed him to the ground. Everything went black.
***
“Have you heard? Mistress Deanna was attacked...”
“They say it was thieves.”
“So far east? Within the Alliance’s boundaries?! For love of the Gods...!”
“They must have been deserters who took to the scrub... People can’t stand it anymore...”
The whole inn was telling the same story that evening. Gwern carried on working unperturbed, but his usual cheeriness had waned. Nobody knew if there’d been casualties. Only that Deanna was unharmed.
‘I just want to hear that Mordraud wasn’t hurt and is safe...’
They’d all seen Deanna’s manservant arrive. The rumour had soon proved true. One dead soldier, more injured, but Deanna was still alive. Adraman had come to the fief a week after the attack, to speak to Eldain before taking a break. As soon as he heard the news, he set off, without dismounting from his horse and taking his personal guard with him.
“Hey, Gwern, do you know what you have to take out?”
Larois was waiting, tray of beer in hand, for him to return from his world of speculation. Gwern took the order but hung around, not really knowing what to do.
“Table at the end, the one under the blunt spear. Come to the kitchen after that – we need a chat.”
Gwern moved mechanically, handing out the tankards without looking the customers in the face. That evening he could think of nothing but his brother.
“Go home. You need to rest.”
Larois wasn’t in the mood for discussion. She seemed very concerned too. Gwern didn’t object, and untied his apron.
“Try not to worry, though. They’re talking about one soldier dead, no servants.” In her haste to slice a celery stalk, the knife went too close to her fingers and Larois cut herself. Gwern had never seen her so agitated.
“I’m the one who got him into this wretched situation,” was all she could say.
“No, you’ve no reason to feel guilty,” Gwern said. “Who could have predicted something of the kind?!”
“You’re probably right,” replied Larois, but she didn’t seem overly convinced. “Go home now, go on! Get some rest. I want you in better shape tomorrow!”
Gwern went out through the back without protesting. The innkeeper took a clean cloth and pressed it to her finger, staring at the blood-stained chopping board. A good piece of celery to throw away, she mused, trying to distract herself. It didn’t work.
“Let’s hope those two don’t go getting any funny ideas...” she mumbled, mopping up the mess she’d made in annoyance.
‘Why didn’t I think of it before?! And now this, without Adraman to protect her... Only Mordraud at her side... No, he really is too young for her. Deanna couldn’t risk such a scandal...’
Larois tossed the cloth away and guzzled a glass of wine filled to the brim.
‘Come on, there’s the stew to finish,’ she thought.
She took the ladle and began irritably stirring the huge pot hanging over the fire.
‘What an awful day.’
***
“How’s your hand?”
“Better. I think I’ll take the bandage off tomorrow. The wound’s healed enough I reckon.”
The villa gardens were gorgeous – a lush green park with benches, white gravel paths and ponds covered in water lilies. A cool quiet gem.
Mordraud spent most of the day outside with Deanna. Calming her hadn’t been easy. She relentlessly touched her face and neck, and twisted and tugged at her hair. He’d laboured a whole afternoon to get a single word from her mouth. He only woke up again the day following the raid, but he was in fairly good shape really, apart from the long cut on the palm of the hand he’d used for the knife. Others had come off much worse.
One guard got a blow to the head so hard that it sent his eyes from their sockets. He had never come to. Another had a large bluish bruise on his back, and still found breathing hard. Two carters had bandaged heads and talked confusedly.
Deanna hadn’t spoken to a soul till she reached her home, three days later. Instead of dining and resting a while on a real
bed, she washed herself again and again all night. She’d only accepted to eat something when forced.
“Adraman should be here any minute.”
“Are you glad?!”
“I don’t know... I feel a bit strange,” she replied, brushing her neck and her white blouse at bust height. She always did that when pensive. As if checking that the thief’s blood had in fact disappeared.
“You’re missing him...” he whispered, astonished.
“You’re embarrassing me, stop it! You know I don’t speak to you about such things.”
“Why not?!”
Mordraud was especially curious to know why. The two of them spoke about everything, except Adraman.
“Because... I don’t.”
“Hmm! Keep your secrets then!”
Deanna was as cheerful and flippant as he’d seldom seen her before. “Exactly. A girl has to have her secrets... Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t understand girls,” Mordraud responded, crossing his arms. Behaving like a child could have its privileges. Deanna would never have spoken so much if they’d been the same age. She might not even have wanted to spend time with him.
The cook of the house, an old lady everyone referred to as Adrina in honour of her long service to the Adren family, came out from under the portico calling to Deanna loudly.
“The master’s here! Deanna! Your husband’s arrived!”
“I have to go! See you later, Mordraud.”
Deanna returned to the house at a brisk pace. ‘She’s an utterly different person...’ thought Mordraud, with a twist of envy. Adraman really was lucky to have such a gorgeous wife.
‘Forget about it, young man. Besides... I need to talk to him. I have to manage to make him notice me! I rescued his wife... He’ll have to show some gratitude...’
Mordraud rubbed his hands together, envisaging the evening’s dinner, when they’d all be together. He thought about his brief battle over and over again, trying to savour once more the energy he’d felt surge over him, but the euphoria had faded.
Certainly too soon.
He realised only then that it now tasted of something stale.
“This ladies’ lifestyle is making me go soft,” he muttered in disgust. “I mustn’t lose sight of...”
Of what, he pondered. What was he losing and what was he gaining?
‘Damn it all! What’ve I started thinking about now...?’
A bout of toil would get him back on track. Mordraud rushed to the woodshed behind the house and began splitting a few logs with an old blunt axe. He went on until he heard the bell calling everybody to supper.
As was tradition, the villa’s dining room was decorated to celebrate the arrival of the master of the house. Egg-glazed bread wheels and garlands, bunches of dried flowers, and long coloured canvas bows were all hanging from the walls and metal chandeliers, or placed along the length of the central table, together with flasks of wine. As customary, Adraman was supposed to prepare the food with the servants, and would serve the first helpings himself. A decades-old custom introduced by his grandfather to celebrate the coming of the warmer season.
Adraman reached the estate exhausted by a journey without rest. The stable-lad hadn’t managed to take his horse in time before he was already in the house and calling Deanna at the top of his voice. As soon as he saw her appear at the head of the stairs, he ran to her and kissed her passionately. She did nothing to avoid the kiss. They held each other tightly for a good while, teetering on the top step, until all the weariness he’d built up during his frenzied haste caught up with him. The cavalryman swayed frighteningly and grasped at the wrought iron banister, gently slipping to the ground to appease his shattered legs.
“You need to freshen up. Come... we’ll go to the bedroom.”
Adraman had never heard his wife talk in such a kind and gentle voice. He obeyed in silence, still stunned by his excess of emotions. The servants had watched everything from the floor below, and when they saw the couple disappear through the doorway, they shook each other’s hands, smiling with joy. Mordraud joined in the celebrating, but with much less enthusiasm than his fellow staff. He was unaccustomed to seeing Deanna at Adraman’s side, next to another man that wasn’t him.
“I have to stop it, I have to...” he mumbled with a gloomy expression, as he poured himself a generous glass of red wine. He drank it down without breathing, and filled up another straight away. And then another.
‘There, that’s better,’ he muttered to himself, nodding numbly. ‘That’s what was needed.’
“And what do we do now?!” Vosco, one of the stable-hands, asked the others. “Should we wait for the master? Should we start preparations?”
“There’s no hurry... We can wait an hour or two,” replied Adrina, the cook. Of all those present, she was the oldest and the closest to the Adren family, and her word was law.
Mordraud huffed without being noticed and went outside, carrying one of the bottles. The silence of the portico at sunset would guide him to clearer ideas.
It was actually the wine that helped him. Mordraud wasn’t used to drinking, except when Deanna asked the waiter for a glass of liqueur after dinner. Larois had occasionally caught him hiding a couple of tankards of beer while working, but back then he just wanted to be a bit like the army men who spent their evenings getting drunk and telling gruesome stories. The memory made him smile broadly, and it became ever more amusing with each new sip from the bottle. The sunlight was fading at the horizon, tingeing the countryside in a strong red.
“It’s so lovely here... We couldn’t see the sunset, or the dawn, from our house.”
“And what could you see?”
Mordraud was startled and wobbled on the bench, going close to falling to the floor and feeling silly. He hadn’t heard Adraman approach under the portico.
“Sir... I didn’t realise you...”
“Don’t worry, lad,” he said with a smile, pointing to the empty part of the bench. “Can I sit with you for a moment?”
“Of course... There you are...”
He’d certainly drunk too much. The simple action of creating a bit of space at his side made his head spin dangerously.
“Aren’t you hungry? The servants were waiting for you.”
“They can wait a little longer,” the captain replied cheerfully. “I wanted to talk to you, alone.”
Mordraud straightened out his brown shirt nervously, trying to recall if he’d washed after cutting the wood. No he hadn’t, going by the woodchips caught up in the weave.
‘Great: drunk and dirty as well,’ he thought, frantically.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to reprimand. Quite the contrary – I wanted to thank you, Mordraud... with all my heart.”
“For what?!”
“And you have to ask?”
He’d never looked at Adraman from so close up. He wore on him all the marks of the front, of a life tormented by troubles and decisions to make. His hair was speckled with white and parched by the elements. Yet with that scarlet light blanketing everything, his imperfections and his age seemed to disappear.
“You saved Deanna! And they tell me you killed one of the marauders!”
“Two...” he replied, automatically. The one with the chewed neck was his by right, even if he didn’t see him die.
“Really?!”
“Yes. The first one, who pulled me out of the carriage, should be counted too. I bit a chunk out of his throat...” Mordraud’s eyes bulged as he listened to what his voice was saying. “Well, it was only a small bite, a tiny one... I was lucky... I didn’t know what else to do...”
“You certainly don’t have to make excuses for yourself! Who knows what those pigs would have done to my wife if it hadn’t been for you!”
“They’d have had to kill me before touching Deanna.”
The sentence came out on its own, ushered by the wine and the echo of anger. Adraman ruffled his hair roughly but with much affection.
>
“I’ll take your word for it! So now let’s come to the point.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Firstly, you should no longer call me Sir. I’m Adraman to you from now on.”
“Okay, S... Adraman.”
“Excellent. Now, tell me what you would like in exchange for what you did. Anything.”
Adraman was kneeling in front of him and was staring in expectation, without the least trace of mockery in his eyes. Mordraud stammered something, embarrassed and muddled.
“Go on, be bold. You have my soldier’s word of honour.”
“I want to fight with the rebels!”
It was his moment. When would he ever get another chance like that?
Adraman stopped for an instant, staring at him in silence, and Mordraud was afraid he’d said something immensely idiotic. But he couldn’t back out now.
“I ask you to express a wish... and you want to go to war? I would have expected the opposite perhaps,” the captain exclaimed in astonishment.
“I’ve been thinking about it for years, and I train every day. I’m strong enough to handle a sword... and I’d like to see Cambria in flames!”
Adraman stretched his hand towards him without uttering a word.
“Go on, squeeze it!”
Mordraud obeyed, and the cavalryman closed his fingers round it at once. He had the strength of a blacksmith’s vice. Mordraud yelped in pain, but held out stoically. Adraman pulled the arm, dragging Mordraud towards him.
“If you can’t free yourself from my grip, then you’re not ready to fight.”
Mordraud began tugging, first with one arm and then with both, but even when he dug his toes into the ground it seemed as if his hands were trapped within a boulder. Adraman was breathing normally, while he was panting and gritting his teeth.
“You’re still too young. You’ll have to wait a year or two.”
Mordraud’s hand was touching his chest at heart-height. “When you manage to free yourself, then I will see to granting your wish... even though I don’t want to.”
“You gave me... your word... a soldier’s word,” murmured Mordraud, still busy pulling in despair.
“I know, and I almost regret it. I certainly didn’t expect such an absurd request.”
Mordraud, Book One Page 23