The moon would be ready to rise within minutes, risking his exposure. The guard hacked and spit directly onto Mordon’s cloak covered back. The lack of a splat must have caused the man to look down.
“What the hell?”
Mordon did not hesitate, instantly drawing his sword as swiftly as his reflexes allowed. The surprised guard stepped back on the broad surface of the stone, bringing his wide sword over his head to strike downward in an automatic reflex of his own.
The wraith came from out of the darkness and nearly sliced the man’s head from his body with her two curved-bladed knives. She turned away from Mordon as swiftly as she had attacked the guard. The curved blades she held glinted in the light from the stars.
Mordon reached out with his left hand, quickly snatching the dropping sword from the air before it hit the ground.
The dying man atop the cornerstone tried to stanch the blood pouring from his neck with his hands, but it was useless. The body slumped and then fell away from Mordon behind the stone with a thud. All was silent once more.
The low, angry, and pleading voice of the wraith came to Mordon’s ears through the night’s starlit blackness.
“Fool, you wear grey. It will be white in the moonlight. My master saw only the one I killed. In this darkness, he is never satisfied. I could kill everyone in Widley at night but he wants to see their deaths in the light of day. Abandon the cloak before the moon rises, and be gone from here quickly. They change guards every hour. It is nearly the time of their rotation.”
Mordon felt like a fool indeed, not knowing the affect the moon would have on his cloak. He would remove it as soon as the moon came up. This wraith had probably saved his life, and yet she still faced away from him. It wasn’t as if he could really see her in the darkness. The form was just a darker area of the night. Perhaps her master would somehow be able to see something of his outline if she faced him. But going back without answers was not on his agenda if he could help it. “You have my thanks, lady of darkness. But unless you can tell me where their horses are kept, I will keep looking.” The wraith kept her face pointing in the opposite direction from where he stood.
“There are no horses, Mordon of Widley. My master had his armies take them with them when they left two years ago. These men are to stay until they have killed everyone left in these ruins.” She paused for several seconds, “I am here to kill them as well.”
The smell of blood reached Mordon’s senses; an aroma he was used to smelling. He would rather remember the feel of a woman’s touch, or the fragrance of lilacs, but there were no more left to bloom. Mordon could hear men talking and striding closer to their position. He no longer worried about protecting this woman, or that she may be trying to harm him, but he did need to move and quickly. In a soft voice, “Come to the tower at your convenience, my lady.” There was nothing else to say. He had no time and the men’s voices were just beyond the nearest pile of rubble.
Knowing the search for horses was now pointless, Mordon ran as silently as he could back toward the castle. He had nearly entered the higher rubble piles when a man yelled behind him, telling him to stop. In a pig’s eye he would stop. He could hear them giving chase, yelling for others to join them. If he had known how many there were, he might have turned and enjoyed a good fight.
The rapid footfalls following him stopped, and so did he. His position did not allow him to see the men, but there were angry voices of being blocked from their goal, then screams. He did not have to see what was happening. It was over in less time than it took for his heart to beat a dozen times. Mordon began jogging back toward the castle. He knew the wraith did not like the killing. Her lacking any self-will must be a story of terrible consequence and utter folly. He now owed the wraith a great deal.
Mordon came to the abandoned buildings and continued into the wide area of stone flagging outside the castle’s outer wall. The moon had chosen to ride its sleigh from below the horizon, shining its beams of soft, yet brilliant light across the landscape of broken buildings. Mordon stood in its light coming between the two buildings behind him. The light did as the wraith said and turned his grey to white. He stood out like a draft horse in an open field of grass.
Mordon pulled the cape from his back and jogged to the open arch of the castle’s outer wall; throwing it into the shadows. He still felt exposed, but not as much as he would in the light of day.
The tower held no draw to his present state of mind. His trip to Scatley’s camp had nearly cost him his life, twice. Finding out there were no horses was disappointing, but did not dampen his desire to leave Widley. There just had to be a way. Perhaps Simper was his answer. He would find and talk to the older soldier at once. Maybe he would have insight about their leaving this broken city. They could leave the wraith and everyone else behind.
The thought of leaving her behind brought a plethora of mixed feelings. The maps had opened so many different opportunities. Now that he knew the names of so many different places, they drew him like a trout to a midge. But to leave the woman knowing his presence seemed to stabilize her mind . . . it would be cruel beyond words. He had presented himself as forthright and honest. Leaving her without asking her to go would surely be a mistake. She needed, at the very least, to be included in whatever decisions Mordon made. So what if they could never be together as man and woman? The desire to protect her in any way he could offer may be madness, but he could do her no harm. No more harm at least. How he would like to squeeze the breath from the madman treating her as if she were an easily discarded puppet.
Mordon shook his mind free of thoughts of the woman. Finding his old comrade became essential to his plans. Making his way toward Donderly offered Mordon more assured conviction in each step. Each of those steps seemed to grant him release from his confusion. Mordon soon found the body belonging to the screams of two nights ago. The man was dressed in farmer’s clothes; rough trousers, a shirt of thick material, and a tattered vest. The toe of his left shoe was worn, allowing his sockless toes to show. He was not a big man, nor was he diminutive. No matter what or who the man had been he was dead now; free of the tragedies encompassing his life. Mordon looked beyond the body in the direction of Donderly. It had been over a year since wandering in its direction. Leaving the body behind him, Mordon walked a path he had been walking for nearly thirty years.
As he walked in the moonlight next to the base of the outer wall, Mordon looked at his forearms and hands. The tanned color they had developed from spending so much time out in the sunlight blended more thoroughly with the night tones than did the cape. The dark leathern breastplate seemed to absorb the light of the moon. The stones of the castle outer wall shone more brightly than did he. Mordon assumed the tan of his face hid his features as well. But if he spent all his time out at night, the tan would rapidly dissipate.
There were no cloaks in his pile of clothing that were black. If his time outside the tower was to be strictly at night now, he would have to blacken in some way what he had, or find material to make a cloak. It would be a miracle if any material survived the siege and rape of Widley. Mordon continued moving around the circumference of the outer wall, considering searching the mercantile shops once more.
Pecon Street led due south from the wide promenade at the foot of the castles’ wall. When he reached Pecon on his right, Mordon disappeared into the shadows of one of the abandon produce shops.
Mordon made his way through the high piles of rubble. There were still sections of walls that had been parallel with the crashing stone of the catapults. They stuck out like scared ribs in the moonlight. The year away from this area left him uncertain as to the exact location he had met Simper’s men. Mordon could not remember if it was to the west or east of Pecon Street. What difference did it make anyway? If Simper was still alive or any of his men, they would find him . . . in time.
Mordon turned west into the devastation that was Donderly. His stealthy
movements kept him from the light of the moon whenever possible. Slipping from shadow to shadow among the rubble a voice surprised him from above. He stood stock still and listened.
“You dumb piece of ox offal. There ain’t no way you are gon’a pry that stuff away from that door. It’d take a team of orses an they be none no more.”
Another voice added to the first with the sound of impatience coating each word, “Listen here Drake me lad, this is the last door in the south of Widley we haven’t opened. If I had only one lad from the old garrison, this door wouldn’t stop us.”
The first voice answered in doubt, “The ol garrison you’s says… if I have to lis’n to your crow’n about the ol garrison one more time, I’m ah gon’a move over to Nolton’s crew. Least there I won’t hav’ta listen ta you mumble more praise about something don’t exist no more.”
Mordon felt a swell of pride surging through his body. The second voice came from the man he had learned to respect and acknowledged as his superior in all worldly things, beyond Wicliff. “Just which lad from the garrison would you be needing Simper?” Dead silence stalked the broken building to Mordon’s right. He could just make out the voice of the first man.
“Geesus Simper, it be the ghost try’n to kill us all.”
Just as quietly Simper growled, “Shut up Drake. I’m trying to place the voice.”
Mordon did not move from the shadow in which he had stopped, but spoke in a natural tone, “Simper, you can’t expect me to believe you don’t recognize my voice from the old days?” It was silent within the upper broken level of the building, and then an answer came in Simper’s doubtful voice.
“That lad is dead.”
Mordon grunted in amusement and then added, “If I am dead, Simper, then you do not have much to worry about, now do you?” A head appeared just above the line where flooring should have met wall. The wall was rubble, but the sturdy planking and its support beams still stood.
“I can’t see anything in the street, so you must be the ghost of a boy I once’t knew, or you are that other thing floating around kil’n good people for fun. Well, it won’t be so easy for you here. Me lad here and me can take care of ourselves, understand?”
Mordon stepped out into the full light of the fading moonlight, holding his hands out at shoulder level. “I’m afraid it is me, Simper. Come down and find me a mug of ale, so we can remember the garrison like two old soldiers.” The man above stepped to the edge of the planking and placed his fists on his waist.
“Where have you been, Mordon? You talk to my men a year ago, and then you disappear into the stonework.” Anger laced his next words, “Why didn’t you come and help fight that son-of-a-bitch, Scatley, when we needed you?”
Mordon raised his hands in front of his body palms facing the angry man in placation. “You old badger . . . you do not need any help from me. I think Scatley learned in a hurry not to poke around your burrow.” The man standing above him laughed, and waved him to join them on the second floor planking. Simper did not even wait to see him climb the rubble. When he stepped onto the planking, it felt solid enough beneath his booted feet. At the rear of the exposed platform, two men were standing in front of several large beams that had once been part of the roof.
“Over here, Mordon. Meet Drake, my new lad from out in the country.”
The man Mordon saw was far from a lad. Even in the dusky shadow, Mordon could plainly see the white of the man’s hair and beard. He was as scrawny an older man as Mordon had ever seen. The eyes held Mordon’s without fear or any self-doubt. Mordon had the feeling this old man was as tough as horseshoes. Mordon reached out to shake the man’s hand, the grip he felt was surprisingly strong. His was another story Mordon wished to hear, but there would be time for that later. Simper pointed to the beams keeping them from the doorway beyond.
“This here door leads to the front of the building. This used to be ol man Crater’s living quarters.”
Mordon was momentarily puzzled trying to place the name. “Crater, I remember now . . . but his house was in the north. I have not been north for two years, but I still remember which place belonged to the banker. Why would you be interested in a little room he kept on Donderly?” Simper smiled at him before answering.
“Makes you wonder what a banker would keep on a street like Donderly, don’t it?”
Simper looked just the same as he had always had, with a head full of shoulder length, graying hair, a broad open face that registered exactly how he felt, a nose slightly askew from a fight Mordon had watched as a boy, and a scar that cut across his left eyebrow outward across his cheek. Mordon had been the one to sew up the wound after the second encounter with the Picts in the north. This man had been a second father to him, along with Wicliff. Between the two of them, he had been fairly well protected as he grew into the size of a man. It felt good to stand next to him again. Why the two of them had not joined together after the slaughter Mordon still couldn’t explain. Mordon proposed, “What’s inside that door are probably the bones of the whore he kept here away from his family.” Simper just kept smiling the same smile Mordon had seen for almost thirty years.
“Maybe, an maybe not boyo, it would be like him to secret away anything he didn’t want anyone to know about.”
Mordon listened to Drake’s comment. “How are you know’n this room was his anyhow? No banker is gon’a put his arm aron the shoulders of the likes of you, Simper.”
The surly comment did not erase Simper’s smile. Simper must like this old man for him to disregard the contempt in the man’s words. Anyone in the garrison would have been flat on their backs speaking to Simper in that tone of voice. Mordon watched Simper look from Drake’s face back to his.
“You know a soldier sees a lot of stuff through the years of service. Hell boyo, you and me have spent a lot of our free time here on Donderly. I saw Crater come and go from this building many ah time. The downstairs was ah hostel where folks could sleep the night for little coin, it was too shoddy a place for the likes of Crater. But upstairs the rooms were more suited to him and a few others. The room we are stand’n in connected to the missing stairs.” Simper pointed to the west and the broken part of the building that had succumbed to the catapult stones, “Out there used to be more rooms, just like the one behind that door and these beams.”
Mordon watched Simper shrug and move his hands palms upward and out to indicate they should understand the interest he felt about the bared room. Mordon swung his eyes to search the fallen beams above his head. To him it was just a jumbled mess looking like a child’s pick-up sticks. They would have to climb up there and remove each piece one at a time before being able to move the ridge beam crossing the door. In doing so, they would inevitably create a lot of noise. Mordon already was beginning to feel uncomfortable about being here for so long, let alone moving what was required before entry could be accomplished. He wanted to just sit down with Simper and talk, but it did not look as if it would happen tonight. Mordon tried to distract him from this plan he found himself getting sucked into, “If there is something in Widley besides Scatley killing people, why are you out here in the first place? I would be down in my cellar sucking on a cool mug of mead or ale.”
Mordon could see the questioning looks of both men. He could almost read their thoughts. Questions about where he had been hiding, and why he looked so healthy, crossed their minds like signs on a storefront. He guessed they wondered why he was not afraid of the killer. The thought that he would not know what was happening in the city would be ludicrous. Maybe coming here was not such a grand idea. Whatever their thoughts, he did not want to field their pointed questions. Mordon gritted his teeth, all the while striding to the remaining interior wall. He gripped the top of what remained of the wall, and pulled himself up to stand where he could select the first rafter to be moved.
Without waiting to consult the two below, he began pulling loose the heavy hand-
hewn rafters and heaving them down into the open area of the collapsed building. He wasn’t about to explain, even to Simper, what had been happening to him. The rafters crashed one after the other in a pile two stories down from where Mordon worked with fervor on the remaining debris. The roof over the room Simper wanted into was intact. After he threw all the rafters from the west side down Mordon simply walked up and over to the other side of the roof. There were fewer things he needed to move from this side of the room. In another five minutes, he had the main ridge beam completely cleared.
This was madness, the noise he was making would no doubt travel all over Widley. The wraith could not help but hear and possibly investigate. Mordon did not want her to kill these two men whether he was around or not. She owed him nothing, but she might be willing to stay away from this area if he pleaded with her to do so? Was that something she could control, or would her master make other plans for her?
What of Scatley and his men? They could be heading in this direction and almost here in the time it’s taken to move these rafters. Although the men the wraith killed may have set Scatley on his heels for the night. But trying to predict what Scatley would do was impossible. There was just no way for Mordon to know how many had perished under the wraith’s knives tonight; at least three, maybe more. Scatley must be listening to this noise in a real quandary of conflicting desires. He was without doubt frightened of his leader, but at the same time the man was oblivious to his death sentence. This conqueror was a real piece of work, leaving men to finish what he started, and wanting their deaths as much as the survivors.
Maybe Simper was close enough to one of his bolt-holes not to fear the mercenaries. But that meant he would have to hide with these two until Scatley’s men left. What if he was not able to leave this area alone? What of the woman? If Mordon wasn’t where she expected him to be his coming here may have put all three of their lives in jeopardy. The thought of her nearly caused him to stop in his effort to help Simper, but he bulled his way forward through the remaining timbers.
Mordon of Widley Page 9