The memory of watching the destruction of Widley came suddenly into Mordon’s mind. From the wall walk and roof of the castle, not just he, but all the soldiers in the castle, had watched in disbelief. King Widley had stood among his men with tears in his eyes; watching the destruction of what he held dear. Their city crumbled inward like a slow-motion gust of wind crosses a field of ripe grain. There must have been hundreds of catapults flinging stones like hail into the city. Mordon shook his head, trying to erase the sight from his thoughts. Simper whispered close to his ear.
“You alright, boy?”
“I was just picturing the catapult stones raining on our city, Simp.”
Mordon waved at Drake, and the old man crept away in the darkness toward the house across the intersection. Both men on the wall stood and tried to spot a way down on the inside. Mordon had anticipated pulling the beam up and over, but it was too short without the pile of rubble at its base to do them any good on the inside. The outer wall was too high for them to try dropping down. Any attempt at doing so would probably twist an ankle, or worse. The courtyard below wasn’t very wide at the point where they stood, but considerably wider than they could jump to a window. At the northern corner of the outer wall Mordon could just make out the roof of some shed, built into the stone below where they stood. It was unlikely there would be anyone within this house to see their movements. There were too few survivors in Nolton’s crew to effectively ring a position with guards. With only five men, Nolton would be lucky to successfully watch his immediate area. Nolton may simply keep one man on watch and rely on the impregnability of the massive outer walls of his house.
When Mordon and Simper reached the area above the shed, both men eased their bodies over the inside the wall. Mordon’s feet were still three feet above the ridge of the shed. “Simper . . . wait until I’m down . . . it’s too far for you to just drop.” As soon as his booted feet found purchase, Mordon held his hands under Simper’s boots and gently lowered the older man. With Simper safe on the solid roof, Mordon walked to the lower edge and looked down. Getting to the courtyard between outer wall and the house was going to be simple. Barrels were stacked against the outside shed wall.
The door they stepped up to at the back of the house was not bolted. Inside it was black as the coal used to heat the blacksmith’s fire. They stumbled around objects they had no idea what they were, but kept moving through the house to the front. Enough light came through the broken windows in the front wall they could easily see the archway of the stairwell Darcy had described to Mordon.
Both men crept into the darkness of the stone tower and down several steps. Mordon stopped and drew out two of his candles from his sack. It took only a moment to strike a spark and catch the tinder into a flame suitable for lighting the candles. Mordon lit one and handed it to Simper. The wick of his was soon burning as well.
The candles’ illumination lit only enough space they could see very little above them or below. It was as if they were in a dim bubble of light. Mordon picked up the sack and led the way down. The air was cool and dry at the bottom of the spiral stone steps. At least they did not have to search the cellar for the tunnel, it would be most logically connected to the wall of stone directly across from the house in which they sought entry. They moved along the wall looking for a doorway. They came to a large cabinet and continued pass. There was furniture further along the wall, all stacked in disarray, but no sign of a door. Mordon did not think Nolton would have gone to the trouble of concealing this end of the tunnel, it had to be plainly visible but wasn’t.
Mordon scratched his head, “Darcy said it was near the tower. We should have seen the damn door.” The candle light gave ample light to see Simper’s face screwed up in thought.”
“The cabinet boyo . . . it has to be behind the cabinet.”
Mordon found the cabinet was solidly affixed to the stone. Even with his strength, the cabinet would not budge. Mordon felt a little foolish when Simper offered the common-sense solution.
“Open the cabinet doors, boyo.”
Mordon ground his strong white teeth in frustration at his own stupidity. The doors swung open without a creak to show the entrance to the tunnel. It was the same width as the alley to the grate in the tower. Mordon would have to lean forward or his head would hit the solid stone lintels making up the tunnel’s ceiling. The air smelled dank and moldy, but not fetid, so it wasn’t a tunnel used by vermin. Mordon glanced at Simper. The old soldier motioned with his left hand at the dark opening. Mordon was not about to let Simper go first.
They entered the tunnel and found the floor to be dry, giving them sure footing. Both men were used to tunnels, so the confining space left no feeling of trepidation as they moved forward. Every step they took brought the younger soldier closer to absolving the inner guilt and turmoil he had carried since he was a child. Mordon tried to calculate the distance they were travelling by the length of his steps. Neither of them spoke, not knowing who was at the other end of the tunnel. It came as a surprise to Mordon when he came to the inside of another wooden cabinet, almost identical to the one they had opened behind them. The two doors gave way as easily as the others had opened.
Mordon half expected to find the tunnel plugged with debris, or the door on this end barred. It was a relief to stand erect once stepping into the cellar of Nolton’s stronghold.
Mordon felt Simper pulling at the short material of his jerkin coming from beneath his breastplate. When he turned, Simper was pointing toward the floor off to their right. The light was dim, but they could plainly see two bodies.
Mordon walked across the flat stones of the cellar floor for a closer look. He nudged the leg of the nearest man with his booted foot. They hadn’t been dead for long. Both men were of decent size. Their swords were still held in their hands. They had died quickly.
“Who . . . ,” it was the first time he felt anger surging through his mind toward the woman, it had to be her. Mordon completely forgot Simper was standing next to him. Maybe she wasn’t to blame. Scatley could have retaliated against the loss of his men, thinking it had been Nolton’s militia who had entered his space in the west. Hell . . . it could even be someone else entering the social structure of Widley.
Whoever had done this was taking away his opportunity to kill Nolton. If his men were dead, then it was a good bet he was as well. Mordon felt awash in denial of this happening in any other way than by his own hand. He had thought about twisting and maiming the man for so many years . . . . Mordon could see the wooden steps ascending to the floor above, just feet from where he stood. In a release of frustration, it took only two bounds to reach the foot of the stairs. In four more leaps, he crashed through the door at the top of the stairs. There were a few candles lit along the hall . . . which direction? The inadvertent killing of Darcy came back to haunt him.
Mordon did not hear Simper’s footfalls coming up the stairs in his attempt to catch up. Mordon turned left in the direction he guessed the front of the building must be. The hall ended in a large chamber that had to have been a gathering hall. The high ceiling and narrow windows showing starlight described the area in a second’s glance. A long wooden table with a large fireplace built into the wall was to his left. There was a wide arched entry to the room in which he stood off to his right.
Mordon found yet another body sprawled on the stone floor of the wide entry. The outside doors were open to the evening air. Stairs led upward behind the man. Mordon ran up the polished wooden steps, taking three at a time. At the top of the landing, a wide hallway led back through the upper floor with a statue of a full-sized woman at the end. He had found exactly what he was looking for. Candles lit the hallway from holders on both sides. Two more bodies, one on each side of the hall about mid-way down, were soaking up the pools of blood surrounding their torsos. That made five dead men since they entered the house, so according to Darcy, only Nolton would be left. He wanted more than
anything to find him here, alive.
Mordon growled his frustration and anguish as he ran to the last doorway on his left. It stood ajar. Mordon pushed the door fully open with the palm of his right hand. He expected to see Nolton bathing in his own pool of blood.
The man, or whatever he was, held the comforter of the bed up under his chin, cringing in fear. When Nolton saw Mordon, his demeanor changed completely. Nolton smiled and held out his right hand, imploring Mordon to join him. It made Mordon want to vomit.
“You have come back to me. You need not have killed all my men just to have me to yourself. Why have you waited all this time to find me?”
Mordon felt sick to the very core of his soul. Striding forward through waves of nausea and hatred, he drew his sword, but could come no closer than half way across the distance to the bed. Here was the man who had abused him, still smiling his crooked grin; reaching out to him. All these years he had wanted to kill this man in the most unpleasant way he could contrive in his mind. But now he was able to accomplish his desires, Mordon was unable to bring those desires to fruition. He tried mightily to force his muscles to respond to the hatred in his heart without success. Mordon turned, stricken with the knowledge of his failure. He nearly staggered from the room and out the doorway. He had to lean against the wall just to keep upright. What was wrong with him? The bastard was there, why could he not just kill him? The hand on his left arm calmed him enough to consider the eyes of Simper. “I . . . can’t do it Simp. The sight of him turns my guts. I . . . .”
“Don’t worry boyo . . . I don’t have the same connection as you. Wicliff is going to be swinging the sword as well as me.”
Mordon took a deep breath and steadied his tangled emotions. “No . . . I’ve got to do this Simp.” Mordon moved back into the chamber trying to keep his eyes from what was in the bed. He moved with building resolve to slay this putrid soul with his sword. He could not recount the number of times he had envisioned tearing this man apart, piece by piece. This time he made it nearly to the foot of the bed. Nolton smiled at him and spoke, making him nearly puke.
“I knew you would see it my way. Now you are a man you can please yourself as much as you used to please me.”
Mordon froze. He couldn’t think . . . couldn’t even feel. He wanted to see this man lying in a pool of blood but could not make his great strength do his bidding. He turned and staggered back out the door. Simper walked by him without comment into Nolton’s chamber.
Mordon was unable to even turn so he could watch the finish of the cause of so many nightmares. He listened . . . that was all the strength he could summon. Simper’s voice reeked of much of the same anger Mordon felt, “I’m gon’a kill you, Nolton, for all the dirtiness in your heart and what you done to the boy.”
“You are no better than me, Sergeant Simper. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself. You and that stupid Wicliff constantly delivered him to me.”
“That’s a lie you bastard, and you know it. We tried to keep him away from those filthy hands of yours.”
“Then you should have been smart enough to figure out how to keep him in sight. But no . . . the two of you were just too busy playing soldier.”
Mordon heard Simper growl, and step closer to the bed. There was a twang and a thud; like an arrow hitting someone.
Simper yelled, “Wicliff and me are both swinging this sword you bastard.” The pain the small bolt caused was forgotten. Simper reached out with his left hand and grabbed Nolton’s nightshirt at the collar, pulling the man bodily from the bed. Nolton tried to rise from the stone of the floor but Simper booted him against the wall. “You don’t deserve a quick death Nolton.” Simper could feel the long dead Wicliff clutching the sword’s grip through his hand. The blade rose and fell a dozen times, each inflicting deep cuts to Nolton’s shoulders and arms. The thick fear Simper could see in the man’s eyes must have been clutching at Nolton’s throat because he never made a sound. Enough blood flowed down the man’s body to start forming a pool of blood around Nolton’s knees. By the time Simper and Wicliff finished inflicting enough wounds to placate their guilt at not protecting the boy, “You haven’t gotten nearly what you deserve Nolton but this next swing is going to send you straight to hell.” Simper raised his sword above his right shoulder and sliced with all his strength into Nolton’s neck.
There was a start of a scream that ended abruptly. Mordon waited against the wall in the hallway. Simper stepped out with a small crossbow bolt piercing his left bicep. Mordon must have looked an emotional mess, because Simper lifted the same arm with the bolt up and patted his shoulder.
“Don’t fret none more, boyo. Nolton is gone, and he missed the important parts. Pull this damn thing out, would you?”
The sickness and fear he had experienced only moments before left his mind and body in a current of consternation for his friend. He felt a wave of guilt from having this man become wounded because of him. Simper’s eyes were reading the message his eyes must be plainly showing.
“It’s just a baby bolt Mordon. We’ve seen ah lot worse than this little thing sticking from our hides. Why, I remember the time Corporal Shuster and you had to pull half ah dozen arrows from my back. You and the corporal laughed at my discomfort for a month after that. This little bolt ain’t much different than cutting a finger while whittling a stick.”
Mordon remembered the incident a little different, there had been only one arrow they had pulled from Simper, and it was a lot lower than his back. Mordon smiled grimly, and let the old soldier’s memories be what they were. He felt as strong as ever now. Simper gritted his teeth when Mordon pulled the bolt from his arm, but said nothing. Sweat broke out on the man’s forehead. Simper smiled up at Mordon.
“Let’s find the lad, and then our food, and get out of this place.”
“What about your arm? The bolt must have missed anything important otherwise it would be squirting blood, but shouldn’t we still do something for it?”
“Let it bleed an clean itself out a bit. There’s got to be something half-way clean around here to bind it with later.”
Mordon looked at the man he had admired for so many years and just nodded. They walked back down the hallway and descended the stairs without comment. The main entry doors were wide enough they could remain side by side as they crossed the large entry stoop. They continued down another set of steps to the courtyard between the house and outer wall. They could see Drake standing in the starlight, looking as if someone had pulled up a scarecrow and planted the post in the middle of the street. When they stepped up to him and stopped he coughed.
“Took you two birds’ long nough. When I got out front, the gate was wide open an I could see that fellow ly’n inside on the floor. I thought you had already beat me to the front.”
The two soldiers watched as the scrawny man showed embarrassment the assignment they had given him had not been fulfilled.
“I ain’t so fast anymore . . . took me longer git’ten here than I thought. The damn cross street was plumb full of day’bree from the house across the way . . . took me a spell to climb over.”
Mordon knew he did not want to reenter the house behind him. Any food they could find was tainted as far as he was concerned. He would have to resupply these two, or bring them in with him to the tower. Either way, they would know where he was, it did not seem to matter anymore anyway. “Forget the food in the house. I have enough to carry us through the fall and into the winter. Three men should be able to find more food in this place.” Mordon would have to explain how he had gotten so much food. There were barrels he had not even opened to find out what was in them.
Mordon was surprised to realize he no longer wanted the cistern tower to be his secret. Standing here with Simper and Drake made him realize his ghostly existence had only been a game he enjoyed playing against Scatley. He should have made the effort to contact and invite Simper to his tower long a
go. The woman would just have to understand they were now a threesome. She might find there were other men she could actually trust beside him. He surely had a lot of explaining to do before they all got back to the tower. He also needed to get to the woman’s chamber by himself and explain what had happened, and the necessity of their being with him. Hopefully she would have returned to her place of concealment by now.
Mordon believed the woman would do as he had asked, and protect the two of them as she did him. It would strain whatever relationship they had, but it was already strained and complicated. When he came back from his thoughts, Mordon watched Drake pull some strips of cloth from his small waist pouch and begin to bind Simper’s wound. Yes indeed, Drake was a good man to have around, no matter his age and constant grumbling. There were no logical alternatives, or so it seemed to Mordon. Just do what felt right, and let the stones fall where they will, so to speak. Drake had finished his mending, and both now stood inspecting him, wondering why they were all just standing there, “Alright . . . I should tell you something, but let’s talk on our way back to the castle. Maybe by the time we get back you’ll agree staying with me is you best alternative.”
As they walked beneath the stars, Mordon described the events from the past few days as best he could. He had to stop and clarify a few things brought up by the two men, but he felt they knew about as much as he when they approached the opening he had exited only a few hours before.
Mordon knew the woman would recognize his voice, but perhaps not the voices of the other two. There was a chance she would remember Simper’s voice, if she had been a castle child as Mordon had pondered. If she was in the garden, she might stay hidden until they passed by the garden wall. If Mordon could make her hear their friendly conversation, she would know he was with friends. At least Simper and Drake were beginning to understand the delicate balance of his life in the tower.
They had been incredulous of the fact the wraith killing the others was a woman, and that she was willing to spare Mordon. But, by the time he had finished explaining, they were willing to enter the tower with him.
Mordon of Widley Page 12