Mordraud, Book One

by Fabio Scalini

  “It doesn’t make sense,” was all Gwern managed to say.

  “Yes, there’s a trick. Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  Saiden led him to a flight of the enormous staircase. He began climbing, but Gwern failed to follow. There were no banisters. Impossible to even imagine someone might be brave enough to walk on it. It went too high. Its form was illogical.

  “If you want to learn about chanting, I think you need to find yourself a bit more courage.”

  Gwern sprang onto the first steps, staring at the ceiling with cold sweat burdening his neck. Only then did he realise that the sole light present in the tower descended from the roof. This was made of a clear glass dome, with its weight tentatively supported by a fine steel grid. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight. The tower’s cylindrical wall generated a play of shadows that transformed the sky cap into a well-mouth, populated by porphyry cubes overflowing everywhere with geometric precision.

  The central staircase was the backbone, the skeleton to a being of the abysses.

  “We’re here. What do you think?”

  Gwern blinked in confusion. They stood before the first cuboid. The stair landing led to an open door, through which shone the appealing light of a candle. It was a rather small but comfortable all-purpose room. A nice bed in one corner, and a washbasin in another. Plus a slate desk.

  The trouble was he couldn’t remember how he’d reached it.

  “That’s because you were in awe of the tower. Don’t worry, it happens to everyone who sees it for the first time. You’ll soon get over your amazement. You’ll grow accustomed to it...”

  “But... how’s it possible that...? Well, I don’t understand!” stammered Gwern. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to. He’d expected to report to Master Saiden, perhaps do some sort of a test. Instead, the man was behaving as if they were old acquaintances. His fixed gaze left the boy perplexed and disoriented. Saiden seemed to be obsessed with something right in the middle of his sternum.

  However inexplicable the tutor’s conduct might be, Gwern had not the least doubt on his intentions. It was a sort of induced faith. He didn’t realise it, but it was as if Saiden emanated around him an infallible confidence that could be blindly trusted.

  “This tower was built by the Aelians. A rare example of their tastes in architecture. It’s remained just as it was in the period when they used it as... who knows what.”

  “Aelians?!”

  “That’s right” replied Saiden with nonchalance.

  “And how’s it managed to resist all this time?! Didn’t anyone ever, well, plunder it?”

  “The door has always been locked tight.”

  At the statement, Gwern felt he should inquire no further. His attention shifted elsewhere.

  “I didn’t think the Aelians would have appreciated a place like this.”

  Saiden smiled and strained his eyes.

  “Usually, a person’s first question is... Who are the Aelians?”

  “Umm, I’ve heard a few of their fairytales. They’re quite popular where I come from.”

  “Ah, I see...”

  Saiden chuckled again and showed him into the room. It was all neat and in order. There were clothes more or less of his size, and a couple of books on the pillow. Novels. He recognised the leather bindings – they were from Sernio.

  It was a fantastic place to live.

  “I’ll explain in more detail about what’s in this tower tomorrow. Then, when you feel ready, we’ll start working on you a bit.”

  “We can begin straight away if you like!” Gwern burst out eagerly. All those incongruities had excited him. He was itching to see and to go up the rest of the staircase.

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty, if I were you...” replied Saiden, still with a smile stamped on his lips. “Leave my fee on the table tomorrow morning.” He went out, shutting the door behind him, and Gwern found himself alone, wondering exactly what he meant.

  ***

  “Madam... May I come in?”

  “No.”

  Adrina didn’t give up and knocked again, with a light yet determined touch.

  “What do you want?! I told you, you can’t come in!”

  “Mordraud is downstairs and he’s asking for you.”

  Deanna leapt up like a taut spring, and the book she was reading while lying on the bed tumbled to the floor.

  “I don’t care. Tell him I’m busy.”

  “But he insisted...”

  “And so? Let him insist. I’m busy at the moment,” she reiterated, as she urgently opened up her make-up chest. “Send him to do the shopping, get him to do something. He is still one of our servants.”

  “He’s a soldier now, madam...”

  “Of course, but what difference does that make?!”

  She’d used up all her red lip-powder. She hadn’t bought more for who knew how many months, and only in that instant did she regret not replacing it. “Adrina, that’s enough now! Go back downstairs and leave me in peace!”

  The covering on her cheeks was too thick. Those bags under her eyes were unbearable. Too little sleep was to blame. Deanna worked frantically, at a palm’s width from the mirror, trying out various colour combinations. She wasn’t happy with any of them, naturally.

  “First my dress!” she whispered, so as not to be heard in the passage. Knowing Adrina, she was still there eavesdropping at the door. She had plenty of dresses but they were all awful. Or at least they all seemed awful at that precise moment, on that accursed day.

  Mordraud stood waiting twitchily in the dining room, fiddling with his sword hilt. He hadn’t managed to find a decent outfit and so he’d bought the first clothes he’d come across at the market stalls, to wear in place of his stinking leather protections. He’d washed and tied back his hair. Since that time they’d forced him to crop it, when he was a newcomer at the Rampart, he’d left it to grow, returning to his beloved shaggy mane.

  He looked like any ordinary young man. A village lad. But he’d brought his sword with him anyway. As if he might have to tackle an ambush from one moment to the next.

  He’d thought and thought again about that day, during his journey with the other soldiers returning from the Rampart, but he hadn’t come to any good conclusion. He’d avoided rest periods through any means possible, even slipping out into the scrub precisely on the day of summons, but they’d convinced him in the end. Adraman was against splitting up the units, and so he was obliged to take leave for the sake of Hammer, Benno, Giant and the others. He couldn’t deprive them of their well-earned rest. He really didn’t feel he could.

  Spring was in its fullest splendour, and the assaults along the whole front had begun again. Apart from a few forays to shore up the weaker chinks in the defence lines, and always together with whole battalions of soldiers, the rest of the time was spent desperately striving to keep boredom at bay. Cambria was unusually subdued. Assaults on the Rampart weren’t expected for months, and it really did seem the right moment to spend some time at home, in the warm spring sun, reaping frigging bunches of flowers and enjoying some excellent sweet wine. Mordraud had had a knotted stomach every single second of the journey.

  He didn’t want to see Deanna. Not after that night, when he’d run off into the shadows in that terribly romantic and idiotic way. He’d been a brute. A wretch. An imbecile. A grimy traitor.

  “You’re a bastard,” she’d told him as they made love. And she was absolutely right.

  If there had been battles, even faraway and pointless ones, he’d have rushed off to them. Yet Cambria had decided to take things easy just that year. Bad luck within bad luck. And now, on the road home, he’d had to finally face the implications of his actions. What should he say to her? How should he behave? And with Adraman? And with the servants, the people in the town, his fellow fighters, his brother...? The list was endless.

  ‘It should have all stayed just a fantasy. Now I’m trapped...’

  Yet, since he really was trapped,
he wanted to at least see her to work out what she thought. He didn’t care what insults she might fling at him. To the contrary – that would be better. At least he’d be able to set off in peace with himself, a rejected yet content man.

  But when Deanna descended the stairs and came through the doorway, Mordraud understood that those too were only fantasies.

  He’d never seen her so gorgeous. With the cunning that only she was capable of, Deanna had selected a casual but shamelessly sheer dress that revealed the shape of her breasts, the contours of her hips and her slim waist. When she sat down opposite him, the red fabric slipped between her thighs, perfectly hinting at the cavity amid her legs. Her raven hair was glossier and wavier than usual, held in place by simple but well-chosen metal grips. Her gaze was accentuated by a veil of dark make-up.

  “Hi...”

  “Hi.”

  Mordraud stretched out a hand to take a chair but entirely miscalculated the move. The result was the chair fell on his feet, the table juddered and some empty glasses overturned on the tablecloth. Deanna didn’t smile, not even for an instant. Mordraud would rather have witnessed a thicket of swords emerge from the walls, or perhaps a couple of bloody-thirsty Lances. It would have been far more relaxing.

  “You look well,” she said, without taking her eyes off him. Two wonderful eyes, right on him. “You’ve grown your hair. It suits you.”

  “Thanks,” he interrupted, agonisingly embarrassed. “You, too... You’re looking like things are not bad...”

  “No, not at all. The spring’s gorgeous here in Eld. And at the front? Is it still freezing cold?”

  Mordraud heard among her words an almost screamed Let’s hope so!

  “No, the good weather’s come there too.”

  “Why are you here, Mordraud?”

  “I just wanted to... well...”

  “Whatever you wanted to do, forget it!”

  Mordraud released an invisible sigh of relief. ‘Go on, throw me out! So we can get this over with.’ But the euphoria lasted barely an instant. Deanna crossed her legs with an indifferent air, and the red dress artfully slipped just enough to outline a strip of bare skin rising from her feet to her thigh. Mordraud felt overwhelmed by that now familiar cramp in his abdomen, the one he was used to when thinking about her. Except he wasn’t just thinking. His fantasy was there, just a few inches beyond his fingertips.

  “I’m not here to... You know what I mean... That...”

  “No, I don’t know. To what?”

  ‘She’s playing with me! She wants to watch me suffer like a dog!’ he mused, floundering. He wasn’t especially surprised. The jabbing surge suddenly swelled.

  “To do what we did that night...” Mordraud went on, weighting his words carefully.

  “Would you like to refresh my memory? I don’t recall.”

  The cramp had reached all his internal organs. At that speed, he’d die in the most insane manner.

  “When we... made... love...”

  “That wasn’t love,” she retorted in a precise and unmitigated lash. “You took me by force. You pounded me against the wall.” Mordraud was losing his concentration, hanging as he did on the words from her lips. He’d never realised how well they pronounced the word pounded.

  “And you did with me what you wished. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

  “Well...”

  “Make sure it is enough. There won’t be a second time.”

  “But I didn’t want to...”

  “Haven’t I made it clear? Never again will I allow you to pound me against a wall, grope around under my dress, kiss me...”

  Mordraud had by now plummeted into utter confusion. Instead, Deanna seemed a portrait of composure. He was ready to kill to have her another time. To even get himself killed.

  “Better that way... I’ll be going. It’s late.”

  “Your first good idea. Be off with you.” Her fingers toyed with the laces loosened above her bust. “I have a book I want to finish, and it’ll take me until late. Very late.”

  “Yes, I’ll be going...”

  Mordraud tripped on the overturned chair, tried to set it right, but the damned thing toppled again, and in the end he gave up on it, exiting as swiftly as he could. Deanna ran her hands through her hair, letting it flow behind her, as he reached the door, eyes directed at the room. He almost knocked over Adrina, who’d returned at that precise moment, in her arms a large parcel wrapped in a cotton cloth.

  “See you later, Mordraud. The usual time, be punctual,” she told him, but he was busy making his getaway.

  “What’s happened?! Everything alright?” the serving woman asked Deanna as she placed her load on the table.

  “Yes, we had a little chat, just like old times. By the way, there’s a change of programme. Mordraud won’t be dining with us.”

  “But you sent me to buy all that fish, specifically because he’d be eating too!”

  “I got it wrong, I’m sorry.”

  “Why is it you’re all made up? And what a lovely dress...” the woman commented in an extremely mischievous tone.

  “Adraman will be here any moment now. Can’t I look beautiful for my husband?”

  Adrina didn’t reply and went off to the kitchen grumbling about all the money she’d spent at the market. Deanna smiled again and stretched out her legs, leaving her gauzy red dress to drape around her hips.

  ***

  “I’m off now. I’m going back to the front,” Mordraud bellowed at the top of his voice as he ran along the cart-filled road. “I’m going to attack Cambria. Alone. I’m going to slaughter them all, alone!”

  Pedestrians dodged to let him pass, chattering in amusement. His face must have been particularly comical. He didn’t know where he could go. Gwern had finally left. Not Larois’s place, not for the life of him. That old hawk would work everything out in a flash. The only viable option was the dorm lads, who’d certainly already started on the wine.

  “I want to kill someone!”

  The peasant woman in front nearly dived out of the way in fear. Mordraud went on running, in the hope of expelling the tension that had burrowed into his stomach. It didn’t work.

  “Wine’s the only alternative...” he concluded, cursing. “Damn them... It’s going to be a horrendous night.”

  ***

  “I’ve never seen you looking so lovely!”

  “It’s all for you, darling.”

  Adraman embraced his wife and kissed her in disbelief. Deanna didn’t put up the usual defences. To the contrary: she seemed unrestrained and more willing than usual. “Why don’t we go upstairs for a while?” he asked tentatively.

  “The dinner can wait,” was her reply. Distracted by enticing thoughts, Adraman didn’t pick up on the meaning of every nuance of expression on Deanna’s face. He was so overwhelmed by the welcome surprise that he couldn’t notice how cold and artificial she really was, like a splendid porcelain doll – perfect and yet fragile.

  But even if he had detected it, he probably wouldn’t have cared, caught up as he was in that rare occasion. He would have his ration of happiness that evening, at least for one night.

  Deanna gave herself without protest. It was quick, painless and even pleasant at times. Adraman was fearfully excited, and Deanna made sure everything went as best it could. Too much for him, too little for her. Not an hour had passed before he was sleeping soundly at her side, smiling and relaxed.

  Deanna could then slip out of bed, notify the servants that their masters wouldn’t be dining that evening, and finally enjoy her reading room.

  To finish that long, extremely long book.

  ***

  “And so I did... THIS!” Mordraud lifted his tankard above his head and doused all those present with wine. When he crashed it to the table, he was left gripping the pewter handle while the body flew off and cracked against the wall of the room. “And him... WALLOP. Dead. Stone-cold.”

  “Great one, boss! D’you remember Ice’s face?! More or le
ss... like this...”

  Benno threw his mouth open, tilted his head to one side and widened his eyes like a lunatic. Mercy and Giant laughed until bent double on their seats. Hammer was peeling the end of a salami with a large knife, chuckling coarsely at each new tale or quip his friends came out with. No tavern for them that night. Mordraud had joined them at the barracks with a large keg of wine on his shoulder, they’d locked the kitchen door after dinnertime and had got down to revelry.

  “Go on, Mercy, just for tonight...”

  “What is it, chief?”

  “Tell us why they call you Mercy!”

  Mercy’s face was suddenly overcast. His smile vanished. His hands stiffened on the table. The atmosphere turned icy in a flash.

  “Because I was looking for a good nickname. One of those that make people shit their pants.”

  Mercy spoke in extreme earnest and with conviction. They all nodded in satisfaction at the explanation.

  “Nothing more?”

  “No...” he returned in a glib tone. His hand slipped to the grip of one of his two daggers. “What makes you think that, boss?”

  Mordraud stared at Mercy in silence, a serious look on his face. Then, at the same time, they both burst out laughing, spraying wine and bits of bread.

  “Hey, Benno, and that time on the Rampart?” went on Mordraud, caught up in reminiscing. “I’m scared... I’m crapping myself... I want my mum...”

  Mordraud pretended to cry theatrically, but the pantomime cost him his balance. He came close to ending up on the floor, like a real dork. Giant, as usual, seemed as sober as if he’d taken a long draught of rainwater, and caught him in mid-air.

  “Boss, you really are a duffer... at drinking, I mean!”

  “Well, you must have a hole somewhere for the wine to drain out of... you friggin’ holey dwarf!” Mordraud touched the man’s face and shoulders with a concerned air, then grinned and slapped his hand on the table. “I’ve got it! Your arse is attached to your mouth! That’s why you never get drunk!”