Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mordon felt the presence of Drake and Simper on each side of him. How long had these men been here? If Scatley had his men searching everything in and around the castle, they might be trying to open the upper door in a matter of hours or minutes. Mordon’s mind raced with possibilities. The upper door was solidly locked with the oaken bar, but if they wanted in, they could hack through the thick timbers of the door. Mordon’s worst fear was taking place.

  Why did he not feel a sense of panic? Mordon searched his feelings and could not understand why he still felt calm. Maybe it was because he believed the woman would never allow anyone to pass the opening to her chamber, let alone allow them access to the roof. The trouble she had gone through to clean the castle wasn’t just because she may have been a servant’s daughter . . . .

  It came to Mordon as an epiphany. Making the castle more inviting to Scatley might be exactly what she wanted. Her cleaning the castle had no connection to her past. Her attempts at weeding the castle garden may simply be because she wants them to think someone is using the space. Whatever her reasons, the castle was a trap. Mordon had absolutely no comprehension of the woman’s motives, but conceded it was an excellent stratagem: especially since she was already well entrenched within the castle walls. Scatley was blindly walking into a gristmill. He and his men were going to be ground between the stones. Only the stones in this case were two curved knives.

  I had to give Scatley credit . . . moving into the castle after the attack would have been the more comfortable choice, but instead he picked elsewhere. For Scatley, the castle represented clean luxury compared to his encampment on the outskirts of Widley. It was only a guess, but maybe Scatley knew the chaos they had left two years ago in the castle, and had waited for nature to clean up the mess. The man was obviously lazy enough not to make the effort of cleaning the castle himself, or even telling his men to do the work. He may have attributed the cleanliness of the castle’s interior solely to time and vermin.

  If Scatley had moved in, two years in the past, it would have made Mordon’s movements to and from the cistern tower even more challenging, but he could have managed. It would have left him with only one exit, the grate. There being in the castle would have made the game more stimulating. Mordon chuckled. The chortle brought a quiet rejoinder from Drake.

  “What’s to laugh about? We’re caged.”

  Mordon listened to a short laugh from Simper almost mirroring his.

  “Lad, the only place I can figure the wraith has made her home is the tower room above the family quarters. It took me a time to walk the interior of the castle in memory, but that chamber is the only place I would choose . . . for her.”

  Mordon knew the old fox would try to figure out where in the castle, besides this cistern tower, the woman might be. The statement she had made in the garden would lead anyone knowing about the castle to believe she resided somewhere within its walls. Mordon realized Simper was probably surprised he had led them to the grate instead of up to the inspection door. He had probably figured Mordon had placed or built a ladder down inside, once he knew the tower was their destination. Like Mordon, Simper respected the fighting ability of the woman. Cringing behind a door while enemies approached would be unlike her. Simper spoke almost in a whisper.

  “If they make it even half way up the tower, I’ll be surprised.”

  Mordon swung his head to the left as Drake spoke just as quietly.

  “What in hell you two talking about . . . tower, half way? You think the woman or wraith would take on a whole bunch of soldiers by her own self?”

  Mordon smiled in the limited light coming up from the alley, “I think she wants them to repair the front doors, and any door leading to the outside from the castle. She will have them barred from the outside as soon as they do. I’m guessing the woman is the direct cause of their seeking fortified shelter. We’ll never know how long she has been harassing their camp. The cost in attrition of his men may be too high for him to reconcile not moving to the castle. I think Scatley will soon realize there is someone he can’t subdue by numbers. He undoubtedly believes the castle will be safer.” Mordon listened to a confession from Simper.

  “The lad here and me are the only ones left of our group.”

  Mordon realized he had guessed correctly. The others with Simper had succumbed to either Scatley’s men or the woman and were all dead.

  Simper scratched his head in thought. “I don’t know if it was the wraith, or Nolton’s men, or Scatley, but one by one and small groups, they went out and did not return. They may have left the city on their own, or been killed in the streets. We’ve never found their bodies. Nolton’s running out of food and taking ours kind ah put us in a hard place. We were both scared to leave the tunnels. Meeting you unexpectedly nearly made me soil my pants. But being here with you, in what you have built here, is like being in the castle . . . back in the hay day.”

  Hearing these words, Mordon felt humbled, then confused, and a finally little disgusted, “Then what were you two doing trying to gain access to Crater’s door? You knew the noise would draw the wraith or Scatley. Why would you take such a chance?”

  It surprised Mordon it was Drake who answered in an even voice.

  “We was go’n stir crazy in the tunnel. Nobody had tried to get at us for at least a week or two. The food was run’n low, an Simper had been tell’n me about the Crater room for months. I figured encouraging him to find ah way in would help us settle down. We know’d it was dangerous, but being excited about somethin made us both feel better.”

  Mordon stood, motioning them back into the darkness of the tower. When he reached the table, he said, “Stay here . . . I’ll get some barrels for you to sit on.” Walking on pass the bed, Mordon soon found two suitable sized barrels and carried them back, one under each arm. The dim glow from the alley allowed the two men waiting to see what Mordon had retrieved. Each man took a barrel and set it down opposite Mordon’s chair at the table. “I think we can talk without whispering this far from the alley.” Mordon watched Drake walk to the diminished pile of clothing. When the man returned, he held two small cloaks. He handed one to Simper, and then folded his, placing it on the top of the barrel. Simper repeated the older man’s actions and sat down, elbows on the table.

  “What do you think we should do, Mordon?”

  Mordon looked at Drake expecting some reproachful comment. When it did not come, he offered, “I don’t think we have to do anything. We have food, water, and a comfortable place to sleep. Most importantly, we have the best weapon we could find waiting, just like we are, for Scatley to get comfortable in the castle.” Mordon rubbed his chin in contemplation. “The man trying to open the grate had an accent like one of the Mothport soldiers I talked to in the Drunken Squirrel.” Simper pointed a finger at Mordon.

  “I caught that too, the damn army we were fighting was made up of men from every point of the compass.”

  The maps Mordon studied had already expanded his awareness to lands far beyond their little island. Simper’s statement was totally inaccurate, but understandable. Simper was probably as uneducated as he and Wicliff had been. Drake commented before Mordon made a reply.

  “Paugh . . . there is a whole world out there you don’t know nothin about.”

  Mordon spoke sternly, already disapproving of the man’s approach to Simper, “Remember Drake, in this tower, or on the street, we are going to respect each other.” Mordon watched the man squirm on the barrel, and then accept the shift in his attitude.

  “My pa was a sailor. Our place was in the hills above Greensboro.”

  Mordon knew exactly where Greensboro was, and felt he could ride there without difficulty, “You must mean the Nordlund Hills north of Greensboro. The Sealy River runs between the town and the hill country.” Simper was looking with surprise at him, and Drake was set back with memories running through his head.


  “How do you know about that country, Mordon? We’ve never been but north of Widley our whole lives.”

  Mordon placed his finger on the map at his front, “I found these maps in the library,” both men leaned forward, “I have been studying them, thinking we need to know which direction we are heading if and when we leave Widley.” Drake leaned further forward until his nose was almost on the paper, but did not comment. Simper gritted his teeth and then spoke.

  “They won’t do me much good Mordon . . . can’t read a stitch.”

  “Wicliff made sure I had enough schooling so I could read.” Mordon saw the unease on Simper’s face. “Don’t worry Simper, we are going to have a little time to study these maps. I can go over them with you, so you will have some familiarity with the names and directions from Widley.” Mordon leaned back in his chair, “I think Scatley will have the doors to the castle back up by the end of the day tomorrow. We have tonight and tomorrow before things will start happening around here.” Mordon could see doubt on Simper’s face. “I’m not asking you to memorize these maps Simper, just be with me when I go over them.” Simper seemed to acquiesce to at least that much.

  That was what the men did. Mordon lit four candles and set them on the table. He enjoyed perusing the map of their island with both men. The names came naturally to his tongue. If either Drake or Simper knew the proper pronunciation, or at least thought they did, they corrected Mordon. They spent hours going over the maps. Both men seemed to become as excited as Mordon to learn about the kingdoms surrounding Duratia.

  All their time was not spent with the maps. They opened some of the smaller barrels to find dried fruit and a barrel of salted beef. Mordon opened one of the small barrels of mead. Each man taking a turn with the one pewter mug Mordon had left. Simper and Mordon listened to Drake as he talked of his home while taking sips of the mead. Drake sighed, stood from the barrel, and then wandered to the shelves holding the books Mordon had found in several different buildings.

  “You must have the only books left in the city. Pa had a couple of books about sailing . . . weren’t never much interested in go’n to the sea. He’d be gone for weeks, and sometimes months, while Ma and me took care of the cottage an garden. I learned to use the sling kil’n squirrels, rabbits, and pheasants for the table all the while I was grow’n up.”

  Mordon unconsciously rubbed the sore spot on his chest, but still smiled, remembering his encounter with Drake’s sling. Drake’s next comment was as if he had read Mordon’s thoughts.

  “Must be get’n old . . . miss’n my mark as far as I did with you.”

  Mordon and Simper went back to the maps while Drake chose a book from the shelves and began to read. The man took a candle, moved to his nest of clothing, and got lost in its pages.

  Both men at the table raised their heads when voices could be heard from the courtyard. It was seldom either could understand what was said, but they listened mostly without comment. No one from outside ventured to the shelf and the grate all night. By early morning, it had been quiet for several hours. Mordon sent the other two to bed and kept the first watch. They could not afford not having a guard with Scatley so close at hand.

  Mordon blew out the candles, wondering about the woman and what she was planning. He could picture her somewhere back in the darkness of her chamber, smiling at the activity taking place below her. If what he had surmised was accurate, then she would be coming out sometime tonight to inspect Scatley’s progress.

  Simper must be familiar with the chamber in which she was hidden, maybe not its interior detail, but at least its location. There must have been some reason for Simper to have brought it up. Mordon berated himself for not inquiring more thoroughly about the chamber. What was it about her hiding place that made Simper find it as the most logical place of concealment for her? Maybe it was not just a room off the tower, but encompassed the entire area under the castle’s roof. That would be an enormous space in which to hide, even if Scatley’s men took torches into the area he had stood, there were probably many places to hide. It was doubtful, as lazy as Scatley and his men were, they would go beyond the first few feet of the chamber. If they saw nothing of interest, they would probably turn around and report an empty attic space to Scatley.

  They would likely associate the roof access as a place for inspection and repair for just the roof. The castle was certainly dry, so they might not be interested in going further than the opening. From the chamber tower, his door would be out of sight behind the ridge of the main section of the castle.

  From the darkness near the top landing, the woman’s voice came softly to his hearing. How was she getting into the tower if all access points were blocked? Maybe the grate or the canvas was not the determent he thought them to be.

  “They sleep soundly, Mordon of Widley.”

  Mordon did not know if she was referring to Simper and Drake, or Scatley’s men. He had snuffed the candles so the tower was completely dark. Mordon spoke just as softly in return, “Thank you for accepting these two men.” When she answered, it was as if she was remembering her past.

  “There were once many good men within these walls . . . all dead now. Simper is a name I remember. He was a sergeant in the regular guard.”

  Mordon quickly responded, realizing there was a tie between this mystery woman and the man sleeping under the landing, “One and the same, lady of darkness.”

  “I remember him being a gentleman . . . a rough rogue of a gentleman, but a gentleman just the same. When I was a child, he picked me up on the street when I had fallen after my brother pushed me. He quite gently brushed off my coat, and told me I would be big enough one day to push my brother back. He was right.”

  Mordon smiled, and laughed quietly so as not to awaken the two men, “Sounds like the man I know. Does that mean you lived somewhere in the city?” Her soft laugh came as music to Mordon.

  “Someday, Mordon of Widley . . . but not tonight”

  An almost overwhelming sense of wanting to hold this woman to his chest, and comfort her, came to Mordon. The only response he could think of was a diverging question, “Why do you add Widley to my name? Is it because you know my understanding of this world is lacking? Do you know me so well to even know that of me?” Momentary silence left the tower feeling empty, but her voice came to him once more from beyond the cistern. Mordon lowered his head, and considered the inky blackness of the lower tower.

  “You are known to me. Seeing you, without my master noticing, in the rubble that first day . . . brought back many memories . . . good memories. I dared not look directly at you, but I recognized your size and outline at the corner of my eye.”

  Mordon waited in quiet contemplation during the moment’s silence. If this woman was someone other than those he had been with, she had to be someone on the periphery of his memory. He tried to think back of anyone he had met in passing, someone growing up in a mercantile family, or the daughter of a shop owner. Where had he gone repeatedly, enough times for someone to know about him, but not for him to know about her? He had to admit, most of his time was spent with the soldiers in taverns or pubs. But Mordon could not remember any young women there, other than the barmaids or whores. When she did speak, there was a sense of longing in her voice.

  “You have awakened much in me, Mordon of Widley. The precautions I take are for you, as much as they are for me. If either of us makes a mistake, it will cost your life and my sanity. Let me hazard the duties my master has placed upon me, and if I live, then we will have time to think of the future . . . if we can devise a future for two such as us.”

  It was silent for a considerable length of time before Mordon responded, “I would seek out this master of yours, and end his control of you, at your asking.” The silence continued, leaving Mordon to wonder if she had left the tower. He had not felt her presence now as he had in the past. Perhaps the two men living here held her presence back
from being known to others. She finally spoke from the landing above.

  “They repair the doors, thinking they will be safe. They walk the wall walk, as if their guards will protect them from the nightmares I deliver. Soon, you and these men who sleep so soundly with you, will help me rid Widley of my master’s men. Let the inept Scatley and his men do the work of repairing the shell of the castle. When the time is ripe, you will seal them inside after I take care of the guards on the outer walls. You must tear down the steps you have built within your tower. Let there be no escape in this direction if some make the roof, and seek freedom from the tower inspection door.”

  Mordon shivered inwardly, listening to the finality and purpose in her voice. She had planned their execution down to the last detail. Her words were becoming more emphatic, and wild, with her deliberation of what was to come.

  “You must seal me in with my master’s troops using whatever you can find within the wreckage of Widley’s buildings. It will be fitting to use the bones of the city to end the curse my master placed on us. My knives will drink the blood of the men who were the slayers of our families, and our lives.”

  Mordon could hear her falling into, and out of, the insanity of her life. Her coherent reasoning flickered like the flame of a candle. She sounded nearly the same as the first time they had talked. He spoke softly, so as not to awaken the men in their nests, but needed to bring her back to the voice and woman he was blindly beginning to love. “Lady of the dark, we will do as you have asked. The stairs will quietly be torn down; it will take us a day to complete this task. There are ample beams at hand outside, once you grant us our freedom. Let us know when we may leave the tower.” He quietly added, “It will take us only a few hours to do as you have requested.” She did not pause when Mordon finished speaking. Her voice was once again calm.

  “I will come to you in the late hours of the night. My master will want to see their deaths in the light of a new day.” She softly laughed, adding, “If they chose to leap from the high windows, let the glass help my work. The roof of the castle will be no escape for them.”