Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  There was silence once more. Mordon knew she was gone. Even with Drake and Simper in the tower, it now felt immensely hollow. Her voice reminded him of the richness of a life that had long since passed. Simper’s voice came from under the stairs.

  “She’s a real lady that one, for a killer. Her voice scratched around inside my head, but I can’t place it for the life of me. Let me take over listening for a while, you are going to need your sleep too.”

  Mordon could hear rustling from the area where Simper had made his nest. He sacrificed his routine, and quietly got ready for bed. He might not need his bed to stay fresh for much longer, anyhow. Lying upon the clean linen of the bed, he could hear Simper moving to the table, but the man lit no candle. The stairs could wait until he got a little sleep. Mordon contemplated whether or not Simper was familiar with the rubble to the west. It was unlikely Simper or any of his men would have spent much time in the direction of Scatley’s encampment. He drifted off, pondering where they could collect the necessary timbers they would need in the coming days.

  CHAPTER 10

  The material of the stairs lay upon the cistern shelf. For all the work Mordon had done in their building, the added strength of two men had seen their disassembly accomplished in short order. They were down to one lonely exit. Mordon sat upon his chair in silence. The barest outline of Simper resided across from him on his barrel. Neither of them spoke as they considered what had been asked of them by the woman. Drake had gone back to his bedding, complaining of a sore back; too much weight and lifting for an old man.

  They filled their bellies after the stairs had come down, now all that was left to do was wait in silence for the woman to give voice in the darkness.

  Mordon liked having Simper across the table from him. It had felt like old times, working side by side with the man. They seemed to know what the other man needed without asking.

  Drake grumbled and complained while the stairs had melted away from the tower wall. Twice the man had dropped small timbers onto the shelf. It sounded as though a house had crumbled and fallen inside the tower. After each timber hit the stone shelf, Mordon and Simper waited in silence, expecting shouting men at the grate or at the door above in no time . . . none came. Drake had shrugged off his offenses with uncharacteristic tension, more so than was usual for the surly fellow.

  It was after midnight when her voice came to them from the tower roof. Mordon and Simper looked up to where the voice had come.

  “The guards are gone.”

  Mordon knew she meant they were dead.

  “They rotate every three hours. I cannot help you if you are discovered before the dawn.”

  Mordon and Simper stood instantly from where they were seated; both mentally prepared for the task. Mordon could hear Drake scrambling up from his bedding. “We are ready.” She continued speaking, almost as if she had not heard Mordon’s voice.

  “Do as I have requested, and return to the tower as quickly as possible. I can offer no protection if my master sees you in the sunlight.”

  Mordon knew she had left. He felt his body quickening, responding to her call, and feeling the necessity of being back within the tower before daylight. Without a word, they moved to the alley entrance and descended. Mordon could feel Simper at his back as he climbed the ascending ladder. Drake’s shuffling footfalls could be heard as Mordon removed the bar from the grate. It took only a minute for all three men to reach the shelf outside the tower. Mordon reached out and drew Drake to him, “I will assist your climb to the wall walk.”

  The starlight was enough for Mordon to see the smaller man nod. Mordon laced his fingers together, and leaned down next to the outer wall. He watched Drake step into his hands, nodding again. With a small exertion on his part, Mordon heaved the man to the top of the outer wall. “Might as well help you too, Simper,” he added in a soft voice. With the same motions, Mordon heaved the heavier man up to stand next to Drake. Mordon joined them within seconds.

  They stood next to the battlement for only a moment. Their hesitation was only long enough to ascertain the night was quiet as the inside of a tomb. The owls must be out hunting away from the castle. It was doubtful they would remain when Scatley had moved into the castle. The night hawk gave its eerie call off in the distance to the south. Even the bats seemed to have vacated the night sky over the wide bailey and castle. The creatures were probably sensing the toxicity of Scatley and his men. Mordon led them past the sprawling body of one mercenary on their way to the small tower. Beyond the tower lay another body; just a dark shape against the lighter stone of the wall walk.

  It was the first time in years Mordon had to consider the high windows of the castle. He peered around the archway at the bottom of the tower, searching the courtyard and steps for additional watchers. There were none he could detect. The tree across the courtyard made the shadows even denser than under the light of the stars. It was black under the sprawling limbs and leaves. Someone could easily be standing there in the darkness, and he would never know. It was unlikely the woman would leave such a hiding place unsearched. They would have to depend on her thoroughness, and desire to keep them safe, as they continued on.

  Mordon motioned them forward next to the outer wall. They filed along its towering stone surface until reaching the fallen outer doors. With a quick search for anyone standing in the shadows of the deep archway, Mordon advanced until he could see out into the plaza beyond the outer wall; barren of any life he could see.

  Mordon had already decided where they could obtain the needed materials for jamming the castle doors. The idea had come to him in his sleep. They only needed to go as far as the first block past the standing buildings. Mordon stepped out from the tall archway onto the plaza. He could hear Simper and Drake’s soft footfalls behind him. Crossing the plaza, he entered the shadows between the buildings fronting Taylow Avenue. It wasn’t until leaving the disserted standing buildings behind him did he stop and whisper, “These rafters are sound enough to wedge shut the doors of the castle.”

  Simper helped Mordon clear stones and debris from the fallen section of roof. Four rafters had torn themselves completely free from the fallen roof section. With little difficulty, they separated the rafters from the tangled mess below. Mordon looked around for Drake, and found him seated on a pile of stone across Taylow. Mordon gained Simper’s attention, and pointed at Drake. It was Simper who voiced a soft comment.

  “What the hell?”

  Mordon walked over to the seated man and quietly asked, “Do you intend to help?” The response was a surprise to Mordon. Something had changed in Drake’s voice as well, he sounded different.

  “It isn’t right to cage good men for slaughter by the likes of that woman. She’s not a flesh and blood woman, anyway. The devil himself must have sent her here. If we help her kill those men, it would be like turning our backs on anything good or decent left in this world. Satan would be slapping our backs in thanks for assisting her.”

  Mordon was completely baffled. Those men inside the castle were the evil in Widley. How could this man not see they were the enemy? Mordon and Simper’s whole lives had been practically erased by men such as those in the castle. Even if Drake had come from the countryside, his life had to have changed for the worse because of the same force that had destroyed this city. Mordon’s face must be registering the shock he was feeling, because Drake commented.

  “If you help that woman, or creature, or whatever she is to kill those men, you’re going straight to hell.”

  Anger flared in Mordon, to such an extent he reached out, grabbed the man’s shirt with one hand, and twisted the material, choking the man in the process. With one arm, Mordon drew Drake up to within inches of his angry face, “Those bastards in there wiped out a whole city. They raped women, slaughtered children, and ended the lives of thousands of decent people.” Drake was struggling in Mordon’s one hand, just to get a breath. “If you c
onsider those men in the castle to be better than Simper and me . . . or the woman . . . you’ll be on your own old man.” Drake began slapping at Mordon’s hand with both of his, trying to release the pressure on his throat. Mordon shook the dangling man with quick thrusts of his right arm. “If I set you back on your feet, you are going to help us carry whatever I tell you to carry. Do you understand?” The starlight gave enough illumination for Mordon to see Drake’s eyes were wide with fear. Mordon gripped the man’s collar with added pressure. “Nod if you wish to live.” The features of Drake’s face were beginning to go slack when he gave a slight nod. Mordon dropped the man on the ground.

  The two soldiers stood above Drake until the fallen man stopped gasping. Even in the starlight, Mordon guessed Simper could see the hatred he was seeing on Drake’s face. They stood there in the night, waiting for a reply. Finally Drake’s breath returned, and he stood facing them.

  “If I were younger . . . .”

  Mordon still retained most of his anger at the man. He started to reach for Drake’s collar once more, but the smaller man shrank back. “You are no younger or older than any man, woman, or child who died in this place. Age had nothing to do with the killing those men took part in two years ago. They have been trying to kill the rest of us ever since. If I can help the woman rid Widley of any of them, I’ll still be smiling going to my grave. You do not want to help . . . fine . . . but you better start running away from Simper and me, and never show your face where I can see it again.” Mordon watched the man straighten before answering. There was just enough light from the stars, and the sliver of a moon, for Mordon to discern a cunning look on Drake’s face. Maybe the man thought it was too dark to see his features.

  “I’ll help, but we’ll be the next ones to die after the wraith finishes them.”

  Arguing with this man did them no good. They had already wasted precious minutes in this quarrel. What was Drake trying to do? Was he actually trying to sabotage the woman’s plans? He was going to get his way if they stood here doing nothing. Mordon did not give Drake time to shrink back again. He reached out, grabbed the man’s shoulder, and drew him to the pile where the rafters lay waiting. Pointing to the smallest of the four rafters, “Carry that one, Drake.” Mordon watched the man try to lift the short beam without success. “Can you lift one end?” Drake seemed able to lift one side without trouble. “Good . . . Simp can you carry one on your shoulder, and the other end of Drake’s rafter?” Mordon saw the man nod. “Great, I’ll take the last two.”

  Without being asked, Simper helped Mordon balance the second rafter on his shoulders. The tall soldier watched in silence as Simper adjusted his own load.

  They made an odd assemblage of outlines and shadows as they crept silently back toward the castle bailey. If anyone was seeing them, it would take several minutes to figure out what was moving through the night.

  Mordon did not pause at the archway of the outer wall gates, but carried the rafters across the courtyard and straight up the castle steps. He waited for the two men climbing the steps behind him. It was strange knowing there were so many men sleeping in the castle, just on the other side of the two massive doors. Simper lowered the rafter he was carrying with Drake on the wide stoop. Mordon watched as Simper laid the other next to the first. As soon as Simper was free of his burden, he stepped to Mordon and helped with the two he was carrying. Simper pointed to the right door. Geesus, he had forgotten the smaller door opened inward. They would have to find something big enough to cover the entire doorway.

  Mordon held out his hand, signaling to the men he wanted them to wait in silence. He ran down the stone steps, across the bailey toward the stable. As soon as he stepped inside the low structure, he could hear rats or a ferret scurrying away from his soft footfalls. Mordon went to the first planked wall of the stalls, and shook its structure; solid as the day it was built. He went from stall to stall testing the strength of the partitions. The front post of the fourth barricade gave way enough, Mordon felt he could finish the work of the rot. The old carpenter would have boxed his ears as a lad if he had neglected to point out the deteriorating wood. The mortar was loose where the top and bottom planking extended into the stone of the stable wall. With just enough force, Mordon hoped he could retrieve what he needed.

  Time was slipping away from him. He glanced out the wide gates towards the area between the old barracks and the stable; it was getting lighter. They had only another 30-40 minutes to block the front and rear of the castle.

  With a heave, Mordon tore the rotting front support free of the stone floor. The two small beams sunk into the rear wall of the stable were more stubborn. Pushing back and forth with all his strength, he managed to break up the mortar holding them in place. The noise was surprisingly minimal. The old mortar finally gave up the last vestiges of its holding strength, and crumbled to the stable floor.

  Mordon leaned down and grunted with the effort of picking up the heavy wall. Stumbling the first two steps, Mordon finally balanced the planked structure enough he could carry it out the side double doors of the building. It was nearly 150 feet to the castle stoop. Mordon ground his teeth with the effort. He saw Simper come down the steps, hurrying over to help. “I must be getting old Simp . . . this thing is heavy.”

  “Christ boyo, you may be getting older, but you sure aren’t getting any weaker.”

  Between the two of them, they carried the heavy planked wall to the man door and set it against the larger door. There wasn’t any way those inside would have time to hack through the section of stall before the woman was amongst them. Simper held the solid planking against the door while Mordon wedged the first rafter in place. Mordon thanked the gods the rafter was the proper length to reach from the planking to the stone column of the balustrade. The second rafter soon followed the first, only anchored at the opposite column.

  Mordon stepped back to inspect their work. It would take considerable weight on the other side to get through this barricade. The section of stall covered the split between the two big doors. They did not have time to affix the base of the rafters against the short columns any more securely than they were. If they gave way before the woman was finished, well, there wasn’t much left they could do to really anchor them in place.

  Mordon looked around the stoop, noticed Drake’s absence, and whispered, “Where is Drake?” Simper leaned in close and spoke as softly as had Mordon.

  “He must have gotten his second wind, because he picked up the small rafter and carried it to the back of the castle.”

  The pit of Mordon’s stomach seemed to lurch, “I didn’t see him go by the stable doors.” How had Drake suddenly found the strength to carry off the whole beam when he could hardly lift the one end?

  “He left as soon as you entered the stables . . . said he could wedge the door shut alone.”

  They came to the same conclusion nearly at the same time. Without further word, they hurried down the steps, and began to jog the flagging past the bailey, into the narrow section beside the stables. By the time they reached the practice area, they could hear shouting from around the corner. When they arrived at the narrow alley near the rear of the castle, loud voices were coming from the high shattered window frames. Drake’s voice filtered out into the night.

  “Wake up! Wake up, it’s a trap! To arms . . . to arms if you desire to live.”

  Daylight was only minutes away as both men raced to the rear supply door. It was flung open out onto the small stoop. The pounding of booted feet came from the darkness just inside the open doorway and a voice. Mordon leaned against the castle wall, pushing Simper back against the stone next to him.

  “Cratty said there are two men on the way here, be ready to cut them down.”

  No one came out of the doorway, but Mordon could hear someone draw their sword. Who was this Cratty? From above, there were yells, and then screams. There was an unearthly shriek that sent a chill through
Mordon’s sturdy frame. He hated to think such a sound could come from the woman, but no man or wild animal could utter such sounds.

  What could they do? If they remained here and daylight found them in the open, their lives would end; just as the others were ending. They could leave the stoop, and try to reach the grate before the woman found them in the bailey. But if they did not aid her by securing this door, the men who escaped would search them out until there was no place to hide. They also couldn’t trust that Drake wouldn’t give away their place of refuge. The grate or the high door in the cistern tower would only slow them down for a short while.

  Continual streams of shrieks, intermixed with the screams and grunts of the dying men, filled the early morning air. The sound of the fighting was getting further and further from the high windows. One man leaped from the high frames in terror, only to impale himself with the shards of broken glass.

  Mordon came to a decision. He swung his head around and focused upon Simper’s eyes. The man was pressed against the stone wall right next to me. I raised my eyebrows, and smiled at Simper. What I saw made me proud to stand next to the old soldier. Simper smiled and shrugged, and gestured with a motion of his head for them to get on with it. That was all Mordon needed to know. It was getting lighter and lighter above the alley. I drew my sword, and nodded just before I yelled, “The wraith! The wraith it’s coming down the alley!” Mordon doubted it would do any good, but when he stepped to the doorway, the three men inside were standing with consternation and indecision on their faces.

  One man, on the left, jumped back into the man standing behind him. Mordon skewered the shocked man on the right in the neck. The second man fell to the trusty Wilson blade without a sound. The third man regained enough sense to turn, running back into the castle.