Mordraud, Book One

by Fabio Scalini

  “So, in your case too the line of the front is to be redrawn, am I right?!”

  “No doubt about it, sir!” Gallar replied. “And I would like to add, if I may... I’m happy, and so are my men, that you have taken the reins of the Alliance!”

  Many applauded his words. However, not all. Only many.

  “I don’t know what you might have said to those river swine of the Rinns when they threatened to withdraw... but you must have really put the jitters up them! Not only did they wait out until the end of the winter before leaving, but they’ve also taken their own initiative to lend us a hand!”

  ‘A smart captain,’ concluded a satisfied Adraman. ‘He’s already worked out what we want to do... That’s how I like it – fewer people to convince!’

  A nod of the head called Mordraud to his side, and the young man stepped up agilely to unravel the roll of maps they’d prepared together. He selected one, and waited patiently, standing near the throne.

  “If nobody else has anything to report...” Adraman waited in silence, but none of those present asked to speak. He and Mordraud looked at each other for an instant, assented, and at last Adraman spoke about what he’d been hatching for days.

  “Given recent developments on the front... I believe it is clear to all that things are changing, and swiftly... Therefore...”

  Adraman slowly exhaled, and seized his courage in both hands. He’d prepared a much better speech than that one, but he was lacking the coolness to handle the audience. ‘Who gives a shit!’ he thought.

  “I’ve decided we will attack Cambria.”

  A deathly silence enveloped the hall. Adraman waited, ready to defend himself from a rabid barrage of criticism, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that Mordraud too was hunched, ready for the onslaught.

  Which however did not rouse. The silence ensued, as if his suggestion had never existed. Perplexed and confused, he looked about and waited further, yet nobody spoke. Not even a whisper. He and Berg glanced at each other, subtly shrugging their shoulders in disbelief. Mordraud placed a hand on his shoulder, nervously tapping his fingers.

  “Nobody has any objections?!”

  A man slowly made his way through the crowd. Gallar, commander on the northern front. As he passed, all the other captains acknowledged him with a nod of the head and then hung back, out of respect. Adraman felt a clammy shiver creep up his spine. ‘They want him in my place, and now he’ll claim it, in front of everyone...’

  “Sir, this idea... of attacking the Empire... Eldain also outlined it, the last time we saw him alive, seated on that throne... Which has given us the chance to reflect on it. To talk about it among ourselves. Nothing else has been discussed for weeks, both in the north and the south. I also took the liberty – and I hope you won’t be annoyed, sir – of asking the opinion of our allies in the north, as far as the coasts... and the reaction was similar from all.”

  “And... what was the response?!” Adraman inquired, striving not to appear too bewildered.

  “That the time has come to make those turds in Cambria eat some of their own crap... pardon the language, sir!”

  “So... You all already agree on it?!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mordraud, Berg and Adraman looked at each other, and burst out into loud laughter. The first time since Eldain’s death. It was a great feeling. Adraman called back order with a decisive clap of the hands.

  He really might achieve Eldain’s dream.

  “Well, men... We’ve come up with a plan...”

  ***

  “YOU’RE A PACK OF RAVING MADMEN!”

  Adraman approached her to calm her, but Deanna lashed him with a slap, and then another, and if he hadn’t stopped her she’d have gone on, until flaying her hands. Adraman took it all in silence. Compared to the pain he felt in his heart, those smacks were gentle caresses.

  “We have to. Please try and listen to me, at least for a moment... We must act now. Once Cambria has put the Rinns straight and curbed the disease, it will be the end for us. THE END, do you understand that?!”

  “And attacking a city that hasn’t been captured for centuries, how does that sound to you?!”

  “Cambria’s never been so fragile...” Adraman attempted, but the way Deanna was looking at him made him realise it was hopeless. The woman there before him was not his wife. It was that being that took possession of her when she succumbed to depression. Her voice was different, even her eyes were no longer the same. Whatever he said, she wouldn’t hear.

  “Cambria will squish you like flies...” Deanna replied, an insane smile on her puffed red face. She must have been crying all day, thought Adraman, as he tried to move closer again. Deanna pushed him away with brutal force, knocking him to the wall. Then she sprang back and hurled herself to the floor.

  “Don’t hurt me! Don’t come near me!” she screamed shrilly, scratching her arms without realising it, huddled on the ground. Adraman stood still, shocked by that bleak image. Gradually, he backed off to the door and opened it, yet she didn’t even look up. She just went on rocking on her heels, curled over something only she could see, cradled in her arms.

  “Your daddy wants to die my little one... Your daddy’s going off to war and is never coming back...”

  Adraman left the lounge and ran down the stairs. Adrina was waiting in the hall, worried by all the screams.

  “Is everything alright, sir? How’s Deanna?”

  “Not very well, Adrina” Adraman replied feebly.

  “What should I do? Should I go on...?”

  “Yes, keep an eye on her... And when you can, keep little Mordraud with you... at least for a few hours, even if only to see how he is and change his nappy.”

  “Fine, sir, but... don’t you think we should... well...”

  “No, don’t even mention it!” Adraman exclaimed furiously. “I’m not having my wife carted off by the warden at the nuthouse, Adrina... Don’t even think such a thing again!”

  “I’m sorry, sir... I didn’t mean to...”

  “She’ll get over it. She’s just got too many thoughts bouncing around in her head. Ask the herbalist for some soothing brews, I’m sure she’ll be back to her old self in no time.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Adraman nodded, but wasn’t at all convinced of his own utterances. Deanna was deteriorating, and he could do nothing more than order her a couple of herbal infusions. Yet he could not delay his departure simply because of his wife, when the future of the whole Alliance was at stake. The council had decided, and they had to act as quickly as possible. Every day more could cost them dear, very dear.

  Just two days to go till they set off, and if everything went according to plan, another month before they arrived.

  “Deanna, please... try and hold out...” he muttered to himself as he raced towards the castle. “I’ll be back... You’ll see that I’ll be back...”

  He’d have liked to say those words to her, embracing her and consoling her. But that wasn’t his Deanna, not that woman he’d talked to.

  ‘She was a stranger...’ Adraman mused, chewing over the word that was as bitter as bile.

  Now it was too late.

  For everything.

  ***

  Flames. Ruins. White spongy smoke, laden with the stench of corpses. A washed-out sunless purple sky. No longer merely two men, as tall as towers, black thorns of night. There were dozens, hundreds, thousands. All circling her, and her son. No, it wasn’t her son. He’d grown up. It was Mordraud, as a lad. He was kissing her, but she’d aged. She looked at her hands. They were covered in blisters, and bleeding.

  When they pulled him out of her arms, she felt better. When she saw them swoop on him, in the most abject ways she could imagine, she didn’t avert her eyes.

  Like all the other times.

  Deanna woke up screaming. Dawn had already broken. Beside her in bed there was no Adraman. He’d spent the night away from home, the last before his departure. He’d stopped
by the house at sunset, but she’d let him find her already in bed, and pretended not to wake up. Adraman had shaken her, called her name, begging her to say something, but Deanna had not reacted. She didn’t want to see him. In her mind, they were all already dead. Him, Mordraud, their soldiers. Everyone. Her dreams were condemned to coming true. She went over to her baby’s cot, stretched down her arms to pick him up, but clutched thin air.

  Mordraud wasn’t there.

  “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?!” she gasped in dread, tossing away the covers, the pillow, overturning the straw mattress. Mordraud wasn’t there. Deanna looked about, flung the cot away and growled like a wild beast.

  “I heard you, the other day... you vile bastard... She’s taken him, hasn’t she?!”

  Deanna threw the door wide and rushed downstairs. The house was still in slumber, swathed in silence. Dawn filtered through the closed windows. She reached the servants’ quarters, eyes blind with rage, and opened the door to Adrina’s room. The serving woman was dozing peacefully in her place of rest. With Mordraud in her arms.

  She’d fallen asleep with him, after taking him away. Adraman had asked her to do so – she was sure of it.

  Nobody would take her son away from her.

  Deanna crept up to the bed, disentangled Mordraud from Adrina’s embrace, and covered his mouth before he could whimper.

  “You won’t take my son from me ever again. He’s mine alone. Nobody else’s!”

  Adrina blinked awake, without understanding what was going on. “Madam... I took Mordraud to change him, and I must have nodded off... You were already asleep, and he was crying... I’m sorry...” she uttered in a faltering voice.

  Deanna did not reply.

  She yanked the pillow out from under the woman’s head, and pressed it down on her face.

  Mordraud writhed in fright, but Deanna held him tightly to her body so he wouldn’t wriggle free. Adrina thrashed about, but the mother’s strength was murderous. She tamped the pillow down onto the servant’s face with all her weight, until the old woman’s legs stopped kicking.

  “Don’t worry, my little one... She was already dead, like all the others... Nothing’s happened... I didn’t do anything...”

  Deanna returned to her room with stealthy paces, set the cot right and placed Mordraud in it, among the blankets. What she’d done had already evaporated from her memory. She felt as if in a dream, light and remorse-free. In any case, what had she done wrong? Adraman was leading all Eld’s men to die, to be crushed against the walls of Cambria. Once they perished, who remained at home would be condemned to their end. There would be nobody to defend the front, protect the homes, fight off the foe. The women, the children and the elderly were already doomed. Whether sooner or later, it made no difference.

  She attempted to doze off, but couldn’t. The morning’s light glowed stronger, and a blade of brightness swathed through the curtains, bathing her bed exactly where her head was. Annoyed, she got up and took Mordraud in her arms. He began to whine, bothered by all that bustle. She tried to lull him, singing to him, but her movements were too brittle and strained, and her voice was off-key and out of control. Deanna felt calm, but her body was racked with panic. She was quivering like a leaf, without even understanding the reason.

  “Be good... shh... Go to sleep, go on!”

  She could do nothing – the little one seemed inconsolable. Deanna took a book from her table and sat on the bed. It was her favourite book, the one Mordraud had read to her so many times she’d lost count. She loved the stories about the Aelians. She began reading one out loud, dabbling her fingers around the baby’s mouth, who however struggled with his tiny hands to keep her away. Deanna shut her eyes, swallowing a resurgence of wrath, grabbed a candle, and held it near the book so she could read more clearly. She went on even if Mordraud was crying, and he cried on and on, never ceasing.

  “They were better before. I don’t understand them now...” she muttered in surprise. However hard she might try to grasp what she was reading, she didn’t succeed. The words slipped away without lodging in her mind. Her child’s bawling was smashing up her brain.

  She had to get him to stop. Immediately.

  “That’s enough now, Mordraud... shh... shh...” she hummed, rocking with him.

  “Shut up, Mordraud!”

  Her head was on the verge of bursting. She released the candle and clamped her forehead, to hold out against the jabbing at her temples – a scalpel scraping against her poor bones. She let out a sudden piercing scream. A long harrowing note, that broke off abruptly. Deanna smiled, and yelled again. She liked the way her voice bounced off the walls. As if she were no longer alone. Finally, Mordraud stopped wailing.

  Deanna drew a sigh of relief, then glanced at the book. A page had caught fire, and Mordraud was staring at her with an amused beam.

  “Hey, you like fire, do you?! It really is lovely, isn’t it?”

  Deanna tossed the candle to the floor, seized the burning page and tore it from the volume. It didn’t matter – she no longer liked that story. She held the charred sheet between her fingers until the fire had nearly consumed it all, then let it fall to her feet. Mordraud clapped and grinned happily.

  “It looks like a little golden bird, doesn’t it, Mordraud? A flame-fairy dancing, just for you... Look! Look!”

  Deanna ripped out another page, brought it to the candle and set light to it. She held it above Mordraud’s head, enjoying the way his hands reached up to catch the little fairy. When the sheet finished, she found another, and then another. Mordraud laughed and kicked, stretched out on her lap.

  “You’re looking more and more like your daddy... your real one... But anyway, what does that matter?! They’re all dead, my little one... And we’re alone, you and I... We’ve been left alone...”

  On the floor, littered all about, the firebirds had ceased to fly.

  But something else had taken their place. Its breath rose from the bed, from the table-legs, from the woollen blankets. “Look, my love...” Deanna remarked, toying with her son’s cheek.

  “The dragon has come... all for you!”

  Mordraud was no longer laughing. He gazed about, confused by the smoke and the reddish glow, crying desperately. His wailing merged with the cracking of the wood, torturing Deanna’s ears yet further.

  “Shh, it’s nothing... shh...” she murmured sweetly. “Dragons don’t exist, my darling... It was just a game... just a game...”

  But the flames devouring the room were terribly real.

  ***

  The army had set off before dawn broke, under the eyes of the few Eld inhabitants left at home: just women, children and decrepit old men. Adraman had accepted anyone who wished to join them, even veterans no longer in service or disabled ex-soldiers, and he’d given similar orders to his messengers sent off to scour the villages in the entire region. The commands at the northern and southern fronts were already on the move, with the intent of assembling all their men and then converging at the Rampart. Every other stronghold, all the old defence lines had to be dismantled and emptied of weapons and forces. If Cambria were to opt to attack at that precise moment, it would be the end for the Alliance. Yet by now Adraman knew all too well the Empire’s muddled mechanisms. The Rinns had become the main problem for Cambria, and the sole reason for concern for Loralon and Asaeld.

  ‘They just have to hold out a few weeks more... I’m not asking much...’

  Mordraud rode at his side, together with Berg. The roads were clean and the air was fresh with spring and the night’s rain. The battalion was somewhat disheartening: just a few units of foot-soldiers and a handful of cavalrymen with a rather threadbare appearance. But their numbers would swell along the way. Then, at the Rampart, the bulk of the troops waited. However steeped in excited tension the atmosphere might be, he couldn’t be part of it. His fellow fighters laughed and joked, some were praying, others still were muttering who knew what oaths to the Gods. Instead, Mordraud could do nothi
ng other than think of home, Deanna and his son. He would so very much have liked to say goodbye to them before setting out, but he hadn’t dredged up the courage to do so. Not after the last time he’d met her, and certainly not after glimpsing Adraman’s expression outside the entrance to the house, at sundown before departure.

  On reaching a first village, a few hours later, Adraman gave orders to load up water and set off again straight away. Mordraud was waiting astride his horse, looking around nervously, while Berg ensured orders were briskly carried out.

  “Everything alright?”

  “Yes, well... fine...” he replied, instinctively tightening the reins. Adraman put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “You sure? You seem a bit distant.”

  “No, you’re wrong. I was thinking about... what we’ll do when we reach the Rampart.”

  “That’s not true. Your mind’s not on the battle. I know you rather well.”

  “I tell you it is!” Mordraud returned hotly. But Adraman shook his head and moved in closer.

  “Make a quick trip home, Mordraud.”

  “I don’t see what...”

  “You don’t need to pretend, my boy. Say goodbye to Deanna before leaving, and then catch up with us at the next camp. You can’t go into battle in this state. You’ll get yourself killed at the first charge.”

  Mordraud was about to reply, but Adraman’s gaze drained his forces. He assented bleakly and turned his horse round on the road just covered.

  “Thanks, Adraman.”

  “There’s nothing wrong in saying farewell to a friend. Now off you go! Don’t take too long.”

  “I’ll be back by tomorrow!” Mordraud assured, as he galloped off. Adraman was right. If he found himself face to face with the enemy in that state, he’d definitely end up dead. He could do nothing but think about her, wondering if he’d ever see her again. What they were undertaking was a journey that, for many, would be with no return. Perhaps for him too.