Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  Mordon was trying to comprehend what she was telling them. No person could see heat from a body. Even his imagination was having difficulty accepting such concepts. He decided to listen without interruption, and try to understand these new possibilities. The bastard, Poltarc, must have changed even her eyes. He found he was clenching his teeth at just these few words from Raeah. If it was in his power, he would gouge out the man’s eyes in vengeful spite.

  “Cratty . . . just the sound of his name fills me with hatred. He was always playing with me while out of sight from our master. He feared touching me, but it did not stop his plying verbal abuse. I am glad my knives took his life first of the many. Just before my blades bit into his neck, the look of total surprise and shock of his emanate death must have pleased my master greatly. Poltarc knew and laughed at the by-play between us. He deemed it a pleasurable experience: an inelegant game among many coarse games taking place within his army. Since Cratty came here, it is doubtful he left without Poltarc knowing. Poltarc may have been amused at Cratty’s thoughts, and his attempt at having me alone.”

  Mordon and Simper could hear her groan, followed by a heavy sigh. To Mordon, it seemed as if they were witnessing just the beginning of a story neither wished to hear. They both owed much to the father of this woman sitting across the table from them. The tightly held feelings Mordon juggled in his mind made him satisfied by Cratty’s death, now knowing their relationship. He was only sorry it had not been his own sword ending the man’s life. “This man you knew as Cratty and we knew as Drake is dead. Tell us this story you feel the need of telling. We will listen if you need the time.”

  Simper must have felt nearly as invested as Mordon. Simper had watched both these people grow from tykes to young woman and man. He did not know if he felt actual love for them both, but they were as near a family to him as he would ever have. Wicliff had been like a brother. When Wicliff had smuggled the waif into the castle to feed and clothe him, Simper could understand the need to have kin. The growing boy had two fathers in the regulars, and a lot of others needing that touch of family as much as he did. It had been this girl’s father who had allowed the boy to stay in the barracks. As time passed, the waif they named Mordon had become as much a part of the castle personnel as any of them.

  Simper had watched the girl grow up wanting nothing. He did not begrudge her the station of her birth, but knew the boy deserved the same, impossible as it was to accomplish. Because he and Wicliff were sergeants, they were allowed the freedom of the castle; the lower castle. Simper had often stood the young Raeah upon her feet. Her impudent brother was constantly reminding her it was he, and not her, that would reign after their father was gone. She is now the only one left. Hearing her now, as did Mordon, brought a vast desire to help the little girl he remembered. When Raeah began relating her story, Simper knew it was not going to be easy listening.

  “I beg of you let me rid this account from my memory before you ask questions. If I try to explain all that has been done to me, and what I have committed for my master’s pleasure, we will be here until we die. It will be most difficult for me to admit my crimes in front of you, without being harangued before I finish. With one sweep of your sword, Mordon, you could end my agony of its revealing. I pray you do not take my life, but I would not hinder your doing so.”

  Mordon trembled at the thought of his sword touching Raeah. He would impale himself before harming her. “Tell us what you feel you must, Raeah, you are safe with us.”

  She hated this telling, but believed just her speaking the words would help heal her heart and mind. “When the horde broke down the gates in the outer wall, my maid was crying in my arms. The clash of arms and the sound of struggling men frightened her so. I could not comfort her, knowing we were about to die, if we were lucky. My father and mother left my chamber to confront the shouting men climbing the stairs to our chamber level . . . they did not hesitate the briefest moment. My mother carried away the sword I should have had in my hand, had I been so fortunate to die that day. I never saw them alive again.”

  “The door my father had locked was smashed open. Such a mix of uncouth raging men erupted into my chamber, it was all I could do to keep from fainting. I could not believe my eyes when my vision separated my betrothed from the others. He was standing in the front of the mob. The 20 or more men looked glassy eyed, and full of the desire to kill. They stood there as if held in check by some force. They were covered in gore from all the killing they had already done. Every one of them looked as if they wanted nothing more than me and my maid’s body beneath theirs.”

  “Yet they did not move, or come any closer to us, they just stood and stared. My maid, Celentra, was in hysterics. Trying to calm her was what kept me responsive. It was the most bizarre of encounters. We just stood there staring at each other for what seemed hours; certainly, only minutes had transpired.”

  “Then a brightly armored man strode into my chamber. The battle enraged men parted as the prow of a ship might the waters of the sea. This man was no taller, or less in stature, than any of the others in the room. His blue cape and shining armor was as clean, as if he had just put them on his body. He had long shoulder-length blonde hair. His piercing green eyes, flecked with gold and red, searched us two women and then moved to stare at my betrothed. Prince Sadon pointed straight at me.”

  “‘The golden haired one is the one you seek,’ he stated.”

  “Their leader, for that was what he must be, spoke quietly to Sadon.”

  “‘The dark haired one is for the men. Separate them, and leave the princess here.’

  “Prince Sadon motioned for men to come forward. Two, then three sweaty, filthy men stepped forward and wrenched Celentra from my arms. Her hysterical screams carried on into the hall, and continued into another bedchamber. I should have killed her with the dagger my father made me carry when I had the chance. I regret that to this day. As soon as Celentra was gone, my hand sought the slender bladed dagger within the folds of my gown at my back.”

  “The blonde man stepped forward until he was standing at my front, only a step away. He stood there with a smirk on his face, inspecting me from head to toe. When his eyes were at my feet, I drew the dagger and thrust it into his chest with all the strength my fear and disgust provided me. The man staggered, and then stood erect with a smile on his lips. I could not believe he was still alive, let alone standing. The hilt and small crossbar was the only visible part of the dagger. The blade had to be in his heart. I was completely numb with disbelief.”

  “The blonde man waved Prince Sadon forward, and made a simple request.”

  “‘Pull it out straight . . . if you will, Sadon.’

  “Sadon tried to pull the blade from the man’s chest, but it clung as if welded to the metal of his armor. Sadon waved a man with bulging muscles forward. Three additional men held the blonde man from behind, while Sadon, with the other man’s strength, pulled the blade from his chest. There was no blood on the knife. The metal of his armor sealed itself; leaving no trace of what I had done. All the while this was taking place, the blonde man radiated a beatific smile in my direction.”

  “The bed was to my back. I fell, seated on its foot in surprise and incomprehension of what had just happened. He stepped in close and looked down at me.”

  “‘You cannot harm me, Princess, but I can do much harm toward you. I will forget your lack of manners at receiving a guest in your bed chamber with such hostility. This bed looks as if it was designed for much more pleasurable contact between a man and a woman.’ “He paused long enough to turn his head and look at his men.” ‘I will not sully myself with you, Princess . . . but the others in this room will not hesitate to use your feminine charms.’

  “I did not know then he was incapable of taking me in any manner. But the others . . . .”

  Mordon listened as she broke down in a wave of sadness. The sobs seemed they would never end. He t
ipped the barrel over in his rush to comfort her by holding her in his arms. He barely made the end of the table when she smashed her hands on the table’s surface. She nearly screamed her words.

  “Do not touch me!”

  Mordon stood stock still in the dimness within the tower. His heart cried out to give her surcease of the pain she was reliving. Her voice held tinges of insanity. Nearly the same as when they first met. Mordon turned and stumbled back in the direction he had come.

  Simper had managed to grab the barrel when it had hit his, “I have your barrel, Mordon.”

  Mordon, in a daze, felt Simper’s shoulder and followed his arm down to the barrel. The cape he used as a cushion was gone. After a few sweeping motions at floor level, his hand soon retrieved it as well. It was with a vast amount of frustration he sat once more on his wooden seat. This story left a distasteful metallic flavor in his mouth. Was it necessary they listen to this story of hers? Who was going to benefit from its reliving? If she deemed it so important they hear, maybe having others listen would give her some release. But her release was filling them with torment. Mordon wasn’t sure how Simper was taking all this, and this was just the beginning. “I will not touch you unless you allow me to do so, Princess.”

  “You must know what I have suffered. You two are my future. I will die before I let Poltarc use me in his insidious games of death and suffering again.”

  Simper’s gut twisted listening to the sufferings of this girl. He was older, and had seen the tragedies in life. He had seen it all too often, even in a small city like Widley. There were always men who mistreated women. Being a soldier trying to protect the citizens of Widley, he had thrown more than one man in the dungeons of the castle. He would just as soon have throttled them as taken them into custody, but the men had to be tried and punished by the law. Simper thought of an idea, “Our journey to find Poltarc will surely take quite some time, can you not tell us of this tragedy upon the way? Perhaps the telling will ease your soul, but the hearing will tear our hearts from us. Would it not be best heard in parts? Give us time to come to grips with what you say. I know I have already set this man at the tip of my sword.”

  Raeah held herself in check. She wished to have it over, but knew Captain Simper spoke wisely. Her story had to be told. They both needed to know what was ahead of them if they chose to help her, rather than kill her. She knew Mordon fought mightily with his emotions. Using him as she intended caused more anguish to swirl within her. Captain Simper was a simple man, and would likely do anything she wished. She was their princess, but she would not lead them to slaughter without choice. There were still only negligible smatterings of hope in her heart they could achieve the impossible, and release her from Poltarc’s control. She would do anything to accomplish that end. Not knowing how much the maps had helped Mordon, “Do either of you know the way to Glouster in Haverid?”

  Mordon knew exactly where Glouster was located. He could see the map clearly in his mind. Glouster was a city located on the south side of a large bay called Norcanton Sound. The sound or bay was about halfway up the coast of Haverid. “I know where it is, and can take us there by the shortest route.” His new-found confidence wavered, “I know how to get there, but I admittedly do not know the distance.”

  She had to smile in the dim light at his child-like eagerness and simplicity. “If we journey by road, seeking food when the supplies we pack from here run out, may take us two and a half months by foot. If we are lucky enough to find horses for the three of us, it would take less than a month to traverse the distance.”

  Simper could not help but ask, “Princess Raeah, how do you intend covering that distance blindfolded? It would be difficult enough even with your sight, but blindfolded?”

  Raeah laughed with a lightness in her heart she had not felt since she was truly a princess in her father’s castle, “Very carefully, one would imagine, Captain Simper.”

  Mordon could feel the embarrassment emanating from the man seated next to him. Life had been much simpler with just Scatley to deal with in Widley. Here they were, planning to leave what comfort they had and journey to a destination they had never been. While they journeyed through new lands, they would have to protect Raeah’s every step. Every step they took may cause her blindfold to slip, revealing them to her master. It made Mordon wonder, “How long would it take you to reach Glouster as the wraith?”

  Raeah leaned forward, “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “If you went ahead and brought back horses, we could meet on the road somewhere in between.”

  Simper raised an eyebrow, “Damn good idea. Though we would have to know where we were going to meet. Wouldn’t want to meet you without the blindfold, you know?”

  She had to laugh again. How long had it been since she had felt this free? “It will take me a week to fly there, but I may not have to go all the way to Glouster. If I find any of Poltarc’s soldiers on horses, I could meet you in Wycot on the border of Duratia and Haverid. There is a flour mill on the stream running at the edge of Wycot. We could meet there at night. Do not approach the mill unless it is dark, or I wore the blindfold.”

  There was just too much these men did not know or understand. Not telling them of Poltarc in the beginning could conceivably bring about her demise by their hands. It was all so complicated. She could never love Mordon; wanting the same things as he fought against but desired. In a way, she already loved Simper, or the man she remembered. Whether she ever told them the full story or not, they were already willing to help. But would their help be enough? She wanted to believe . . . no . . . she needed to believe they could be successful in her quest for freedom. And vengeance.

  If only she could find a way to fight back for all the pain and suffering Poltarc had caused. Poltarc had never fought in any of the battles with his men. No . . . the killing he had done was in the protected walls of his chambers. His men had brought unsuspecting men, women, and even children to his chambers, thinking they were going to be released. The only release they found was their deaths.

  The creature Poltarc was could not be defined in any rational mind. Raeah had tried resisting his influence over her, but she and all others were like children to his mad whims. Poltarc had treated her with equal shares of cruelty and kindness. For some unknown reason, Raeah had been picked to extend the reach of his twisted mind. It was incredible she had survived with even a mote of sanity.

  Raeah was not certain if her desperation was the cause of her enlisting these men, or if she could clearly see succor in their presence. Mordon and Simper may be the only living men on this island not under the influence of Poltarc.

  The thought of Poltarc extending his blighted influence to the larger kingdoms on the mainland brought tears to her eyes. Once he was there among the innocent, their lives would turn to sorrow. They would not have the smallest chance of defeating him. They would have no better likelihood of surviving there then they did on this island. The magical things he used had changed Raeah into the creature she now was. The same magic controlled his army, and kept them under his sway. How could she even hope two men and a woman, no longer a real human woman even, could thwart a creature such as Poltarc?

  Raeah sat in silence across from her only hope. She would slash out her own heart to keep these men untainted and alive. They were so unsuspecting, and terribly naïve, concerning what they were so willing to enter. But they represented the only chance she had. “I will leave at once. Take only what you are able to easily carry.” She arose from the table and quickly ascended the stairs. It was the time her change took place, or nearly so. “Turn your faces from me, and do not look until you feel I have left.” It happened like so many times before. Without another word to the two men below her, she opened the door and vanished from the open doorway. Tears of hope flooded her eyes and mind as she swept over the rubble of the decimated city she once loved. She remembered something important, and returned to the h
ole in the cistern’s roof.

  With his eyes on the surface of the table, Mordon could sense her changing into the wraith. A chill ran down his backbone. “We can be ready to leave Widley in a matter of minutes.” There was no answer from Raeah. Mordon knew the distance to Wycot. They had passed the village on their way to the northern border, at least very close to where the map said it was. On horseback, it had taken them two days in a forced march to reach the roadway leading to Wycot. It might take them nearly a week to reach walking, if they held their strength in reserve.

  She gave them warning, “Drink only from streams or rivers.”

  The presence of the wraith rose to the canvas covering the hole in the roof, and disappeared from the tower.

  Simper voiced, “No matter how hard I want to remember the little girl she once was, the woman she is now frightens the living daylights out of me.”

  Mordon grunted a short laugh and responded, “I know what you mean, Simp. But no matter what she is, I would do nearly anything for her.”

  “Yeah, maybe Cratty was right about stepping off a cliff.”

  Mordon stood and moved to the shelf with candle and tinder. He lit as many candles as he could. It was the most illuminated the tower had been while he resided here. “There are forager packs behind the barrels.” Mordon watched as Simper jumped to collect the packs. Here they were, both city men, planning to enter the countryside. What they took could either help, or be a hindrance. When Simper came back, Mordon watched as he laid them on the table. One pack was considerably larger than the other. “We are going to need clean water and food. Extra clothing will be only added weight. If we try to carry a canvas for shelter, it will cut short the amount of food and water we carry.”