Mordon had built up a healthy sweat, even in the cool early morning air. The two below him were standing nearly at the edge of the floor with backs to the street. They were so eager to get in the doorway Mordon was clearing that they were completely neglecting to watch for others. With more anger than he intended, he hissed, “Blast the two of you, what kind of look outs are you? Someone keep watch . . . damn your hides.” Both men jumped to opposite corners and looked out into the lightening sky of morning at the streets below. Mordon was so angry he grasped the heavy ridge beam and heaved its entire weight from the doorway. In surprise, he let it settle its weight against the wall on which he stood, and the rafter of the remaining roof behind him. Squatting, he dropped from the wall and grasped its edge. His feet swung around and collided with the door that had been covered. It burst into the dark room beyond and slammed into a rock wall. The collision caused the door to be torn from its hinges, and banged on the planking of the floor of the now exposed room. What was a little more noise after throwing the rafter timbers in a pile two stories down anyhow?
Without even looking at the interior, Mordon swung around and walked to the edge of the planking, and jumped down onto the rubble below. Without looking back, he left them with, “You boys have fun . . . I have need of a good cleaning and some sleep.” He could hear Drake at his back while he descended the rubble.
“I guess if’n all the lads were that strong and big in your old garrison, one would be enough.”
CHAPTER 7
The sky was the barest blue of early morning. Mordon could see the tinge of pink at the horizon would turn to orange and red soon. He had just left Simper and Drake without much warning, but he knew it was important for everyone’s safety that he distance himself as soon as possible. The outer wall of the castle loomed up ahead; still in shadow from the remnants of the night. Not even pausing at the intersection of Pecon and the wide boarder surrounding the wall, Mordon stalked across to the more comforting shadow.
What had happened this night had been none of his planning. In a small way, he was glad to have helped his old friend. If the woman would listen to him, he would try to add the two men into her safekeeping. These thoughts and others entered and left his mind as he attempted to reach the safety of the castle bailey. It was curious that no one had come in the whole time he had spent clearing the debris from the doorway.
Perhaps the encounter with the wraith had caused Scatley to keep his remaining forces to their encampment. Mordon knew if he were Scatley, everything about their camp would tighten up like a horse’s nose in fly time. The outpost guards would be drawn in tighter and doubled. The size of the encampment would shrink so nothing could get close without entering a beehive of resistance. Everything of importance would be housed in the center of the encampment under constant guard.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. The hand belonged to a female. He was almost shaking, not knowing to draw one of his weapons or get ready to meet his maker. It was her voice that met his hearing.
“I need your help.”
Mordon’s stomach felt squeezed, if he turned and saw her, he would die and that he did not want.
“Please . . . I cannot see with this blindfold over my eyes.”
In a rush, Mordon swiveled to see the woman in her black cape. The shadows kept her form-fitting armor from shining. She did indeed have a blindfold across her eyes. Mordon stuttered, “I . . . you . . . I thought . . . .”
“Stop your stammering, and help guide me to my chamber.”
Where had she come from? Right now, it did not matter how she had materialized at his back. What he could see of her was pleasing to the eye. The cloak and armor hid much, but what he could see above the blindfold and below was beautiful. A wisp of light straw-colored hair framed the left side of her partially hidden face. The lower portion of her nose hinted at its feminine outline. Her cheeks were smooth, and the chin reminded him of something about the past: there was a small scar on the right side of the chin about a quarter of an inch long. She was tall for a woman. The top of her head came to his shoulder.
But why would she approach him in the near daylight of early morning? Maybe she had decided to trust him, as he had shown trust in her. “Guide you? You seldom need guidance, my lady.”
“This morning I decided to talk to you about something important. It is still dark enough my master will not notice the slight delay. With the blindfold, he will assume it is still dark here. But you must get me into my chamber before too much time passes.”
Mordon gently grasped her right arm. The feel of the armor was a surprise, the armor almost felt as if it were part of her skin. The muscles beneath his touch were strong, and beginning to tremor, as were his. “It is clear walking to the gates. They are only a few feet in front of you.” With a gentle tug, they began walking in the lightening shadows near the wall. Mordon fought a terrible battle within him, refraining from sweeping her into his arms. She smelled of hay and wild flowers. How long . . . .
“Can we walk a little faster?”
Mordon clamped a metal band around his swirling feelings and desires, “Of course, my lady.” She followed his increasing pace without further rejoinders. They entered the thick archway of the gate where Mordon saw his cape. He stopped, “My cloak, I need retrieve it so no one will look more closely at the castle in curiosity.” Mordon release her arm and stepped to gather in the cloak. Returning to her side, they stepped forward into the bailey and crossed its flagged surface, “The steps start in two strides, my lady.” It was almost as if she could see, but one quick glance showed it would be impossible for her to see anything; the blindfold was folded several times.
They quickly crossed beyond the high ceiling of the entry foyer and on up the steps to the higher level of the family retreat. In all the time she could have spoken to him, she was quiet. Mordon wondered why, if she had something of import to convey, she remained silent. They entered the tower’s open archway where Mordon exchanged her arm with her hand; it was so soft and warm. As he carefully led her up the stone steps, he wondered how the hand he held could be the hand of a killer. The doorway to the black chamber stood open and they entered, hand in hand.
Mordon still did not understand her silence. There seemed to be no regret on her part concerning her need to talk to him, “What is it you wish to tell me, my lady?” She was silent for only a moment.
“What we accomplished just now was a first. In the last two years, I have been unable to abide the touch of a man. It was important to me to find out if you were a man I could trust. You made no advances to me in all the time it took to arrive in this chamber.”
Mordon could hardly see her in the dim light coming through the higher slit in the tower’s outer wall. He still wished to crush her in his arms and ease the pressure he felt in his loins. But how could he destroy the trust she felt in him? The answer was simple, he knew he could not damage the relationship they shared. Having integrity, and being able to live with himself beyond this moment, was a struggle he would have to figure out if he tried to take advantage of her. It surprised him he still held her hand. He gently squeezed the hand he held and let his hand fall from hers. “You seem so real . . . ,” She laughed openly with a wonderful smile on her lips.
“Someday, soon I hope, I will be able to tell you who I am, and what happened to me since the destruction of Widley. If you can listen long enough without retching, or attempting to rape me, then my trust in you will be sealed.”
Mordon thought of Simper and Drake, “I have two friends, Simper and Drake, who live around Donderly. But then you probably do not know where Donderly is, do you?”
“Let’s pretend I do, Mordon of Widley.”
Mordon tried to see her face in the darkness for some hint of expression but could not, “Simper is, or was, from the garrison here in the castle. Drake is a wry old man who moved in with Simper from the country in an attempt
for companionship and survival. I ask, I beg, you leave them their lives. It is already difficult for them here.” The woman stepped in close and wrapped her arms around Mordon’s body, causing him further surprise. From below his chin, her voice filled his senses.
“I will try to do what you wish, but if they wander the ruins in daylight, I can do them no good.”
Mordon took her shoulders in his strong hands, and gently pushed her back. “My lady . . . this touching need stop . . . you sorely stretch my ability to control myself. I wish no more than to see you like this . . . no that is a lie. I want to take you to my bed and please both of us, but I will not unless we can find a way to do so with your permission.” Mordon’s chest heaved with the inner struggle he was experiencing, “It is I who must leave you now. Be safe out there in the ruins. If this master desires death, don’t let it be yours.” The woman bowed her head in thought but did not respond to his retreating footsteps.
The morning sky seemed filled with swallows when he stepped from the tower to cross the roof. The sun was bright enough to cause him to squint, even though he faced south. His mind retraced every step he and the woman had taken. The desire to protect her had flourished during the brief interlude of their walk and conversation. Maybe his desires of body were less significant than the need to feel normal. Two years without anyone to talk to, as he did this woman, had severed his humanity from him. She represented more than what he had lost among the women of Donderly. He was beginning to realize the good part of her was a return to everything he had lost. Laughing and conversing with a woman was something he had never thought would ever happen again.
Mordon’s muscular frame shuddered in mid stride to the low parapet of the higher roof. This woman . . . this wraith was somehow under complete control by a sadistic killer. If he was foolish or disregarded her attempts at keeping him alive, he would be the next victim of the ruined city. Mordon let his body hang from the wall separating the central structure from the east wing. He held himself there with his nose touching the stone of the wall in thought. Christ . . . he would not allow himself to fall in love with an entity beyond his ken. He had to chuckle at his blatant temerity.
The acceptance of his folly brought a healthy laugh from his chest as he dropped to the lower roof. He felt light of heart, and in better spirits than he had known for some time. He fairly flew across the planked causeway at the peak of the lower roof. Mordon now wondered what Simper and Drake had found in the newly exposed room on Donderly. Pulling the doorway open, Mordon stepped inside, needing to pause long enough for his eyes to adjust and to monitor the scene. There were four candles burning on the table.
Mordon felt the jab of two swords, or knife points, on either side of his waist. Two men he had never met stood in the shadowed light on either side of the doorway. Their smell made him wrinkle his nose. They did not skewer him, so someone apparently wanted to talk. The man on the left reached out to take his Wilson sword from the sheath, “Don’t even consider touching the sword.” The hand moved back, and then forward, once more. A gruff voice from the other man encouraged the first.
“Go on Darcy, this bird is caged.”
The man laughed a phlegm coated laugh. These intruders were trying to render him helpless. Mordon considered his chances, and moved just as Darcy touched the pommel of his sword. He hoped the eyes of the second man were on his partner, and that his reflexes were not a step ahead of Mordon’s.
Mordon slapped Darcy’s hand from the hilt of his sword, and swiveled to the left. The turn he made brought him to face back out the doorway into the bright light, causing the point of the second man’s sword to be carried away from Mordon’s torso, and Darcy to struggle to regain his balance. Mordon’s powerful right leg and booted foot lifted and lashed out at the unbalanced Darcy, sending him backward off the platform. Continuing his turn, Mordon used his left hand to pull his knife from its sheath at his right hip just in time to parry the incoming blade of the second man. Instead of drawing his sword, Mordon stepped forward and jammed the fingers of his right hand into the man’s throat; causing him to drop the short sword he held and clutch at his throat. The burly fellow fell to his knees trying to breathe. Mordon felt no sympathy for either of the two men. Mordon grabbed the kneeling man, and threw him bodily from the doorway onto the roof. He stepped outside and watched the fellow rolling down the roof, still trying to breathe. The roof parapet stopped him from falling over the edge. The man jerked twice and lay still.
Forgetting the one outside, Mordon cautiously descended the steps to the first landing and looked for Darcy. His eyes searched against the tower wall and his well-earned supply of food. Mordon did not let his eyes stop looking until he had covered any available hiding places. The barrels and boxes had not been moved; there was no one behind them. He could not see under the far side of the cistern roof. He knelt and peered beneath the roof planking; no one there. That left the narrow ally and the grate. The man against the wall groaned and tried to move; bringing about a squeal of pain. Mordon could forget him as well.
Mordon finished taking the steps to the tower shelf. Moving to the alley well he stopped to listen . . . silence. The dim light from the grate illuminated the floor beneath the inside ladder. There were no shadows on the flagging of the ally. Mordon turned and descended the stone ladder, approaching the grate with caution. It was barred and secure. The two men obviously had found only the upper entrance to the tower. Retracing his steps, he climbed up into the tower where he found the injured man trying to crawl up the first two steps of the bottom set of stairs.
These men had entered his home with malice in their hearts. Maybe they would not have killed him, but it was more likely they would have as soon as his weapons were gone.
Kneeling on one knee a few feet from the sweating man, Mordon asked, “Where are you from?” The man looked up at him with loathing in his eyes.
“You must’a kilt Farly. If he would’a just kilt you when we had the chanc’t . . . he wanted to play wit you. Nolton’s gon’a be mad we didn’t bring you back.”
Nolton . . . that bastard knew where he lived. Nolton must have considered these two to be tough men to send just the two of them. “Where were you going to take me?”
“The big house on Canter Street.”
Mordon could see the remorse of the man’s mistake take hold behind his eyes. “Nolton should have realized it would take more than two of your kind to subdue me.” The man sneered up at him.
“Go poke yourself, bastard.”
Mordon smiled down at the man and decided he was enjoying seeing this person in pain. He would like to see Nolton in the same position. “You have a decision to make . . . what is your name again?”
“Darcy”
“Well Darcy, you can either tell me what I want to know about the house on Canter, or you can die just like your friend.”
“Go to hell.”
“I heard another man say nearly the same thing, and he is dead behind a rock. If you answer my questions, I will go through the trouble of getting you back to Nolton.” Mordon could see the desire to be back with his friends cross the man’s face. “That leg of yours needs to be splinted, and you will need a crutch for a while, but you will live.” Indecision flickered across Darcy’s face, and then a tear rolled down his cheek.
“What do I have to tell you for you to help me?”
Mordon did not let the smile he was feeling enter his face, “Oh nothing much . . . I would like answers like . . . where would I enter without Nolton knowing or suspecting? How many of your friends occupy the house? Where does Nolton sleep? Oh, and would you draw me a map of the interior of the house?” Mordon almost laughed. Darcy was completely aghast at the true meaning of the list. “Or you can join your friend on the roof. Your choice.” The man’s face screwed up in thought. His complacency was a surprise to Mordon.
“You’d be wanting to use the tunnel running from the hou
se next door to the cellar. Nolton and me inspected it once, and then he didn’t want anyone else but us to know about it. Nolton and me are pretty close.”
Mordon shivered inwardly.
“He tells me things nobody else knows.”
Mordon did not respond for a moment. He did not care about the workings of Nolton’s militia. “Go on, Darcy.”
“There’s five left after you kilt Farly . . . not including Nolton or me.”
It was impossible for Mordon not to notice the fondness in Darcy’s words toward Nolton. It gave him the creepy crawlies, but he listened with interest to the man on his steps. The man kept talking, as if just his words would bring relief to his discomfort and his betrayal of his friends.
“No one spends time in the cellar any more, the food is all gone. Farly and me chanced spotting you leav’n the gates of the castle bailey from across the way last night. We searched until the only place left to look was the roof. We found the tower stairs, and the roof led us to your tower door. We had our fill of salt pork and crackers.”
So Nolton didn’t know where he lived after all. These men had stumbled onto his whereabouts simply because of his lack of caution. Mordon was becoming impatient, “The house Darcy . . . what about the house and Nolton?”
“Yah, yah, I already forgot . . . I was remembering the supply of food you have in here.”
Mordon sighed, “You can eat all you want Darcy, but only after you tell me more about the house.”
“Sure, sure, mister?”
“Forget my name Darcy, and tell me about the house.” Mordon was ready to smash this bug and take his chances finding the tunnel. “Which house has the tunnel running to Nolton’s?”
“The one to the east. It had a big tower, just like this one, on the northwest corner. Just go in the front and you will find stairs to your left go’n up and down. It must’a been an escape route for the owners. I’m sure the servants and family used it the same as the stairs further in the building.”
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