Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  “Who are you? You aid Poltarc’s whore.”

  Mordon leaped forward, smashing the fist of his left hand into the man’s face, felling him like an ox. Mordon pushed the downed man over the cliff with his foot. Without taking his eyes off the remaining soldier, he could see Raeah had downed all but two. He stepped back until he was beyond the boulder, and waited for the next man. When the fellow came in a rush, Mordon simply slid the man’s sword aside with his own blade and heaved him over the cliff.

  Not waiting another instant, Mordon bound up into the trees above the trail and disappeared among the rough trunks of the conifer forest.

  Meanwhile, Simper was trying to catch his breath. Tess was staring at him with a grim expression. He knew she deserved to know what they knew. “I’ll tell you the quick version. Any questions will only delay your learning the truth. Everything we told you and the others is true. We just neglected a few facts. When I tell you the rest, you will understand why Mordon stayed behind.”

  “I already know why he stayed behind Captain Simper . . . he loves the princess. Tell me why we had to leave.”

  It wasn’t completely love that held Mordon to the princess, more likely guilt. But he didn’t want to try explaining everything to this woman. Simper took a deep breath and sighed, “The princess is not the woman you may have known. We, Mordon and I, are alive today because she recognized him as the boy she had grown up with in the castle.”

  Mordon was some distance above the trail when he heard a man scream down below. She must be done with them, or nearly so. If she knew it was him helping her, she would not follow, or so he sorely hoped. If he knew her at all, she would be going back to the horses and leading them to Wycot. It would put her in Wycot long before them if she did what he was expecting.

  Those men stood no chance at all. Raeah moved too quickly for a regular soldier to have any hope of defeating her. Even with his skill with a sword, he would have a difficult time fending off her attack. As he climbed upward, his thoughts made him consider Poltarc.

  If Poltarc taught her how to fight with such skill . . . if he was as swift as Raeah . . . then Mordon would have to be in top form to last even a few seconds with the man. As Mordon sought the top of the hill, he vowed to practice his skills whenever he could. Simper was as good as most soldiers with a sword, but could no longer make Mordon stretch his skill. He would just have to fight an imaginary opponent.

  When he came to the crest, Mordon found Tess leaning toward Simper in concentration. Whatever Simp was saying to her had caused her birthmark to deepen in color. When the woman looked up and saw Mordon, she had a frown on her face. Mordon stepped up to where they were seated and slumped down to sit next to Simper, “Why so serious, Tess?”

  “You should have told us all the truth. The princess may be changed, but she is still our only hope to regain what we’ve lost. Just when did you intend telling us about Raeah?”

  Mordon chewed his lip for a second, “Now that you know what we know, I would rather you not but it can be you who tells the others. What good would it have done telling them the only member of the royal family had been twisted and changed into something unrecognizable to them? We have chosen not to explain our true quest.” When Tess responded, it was as if she wasn’t listening to his words.

  Tess’s anger was unabated, “She must not be so changed you were repelled by her. She must still look like the princess in the daylight. If what was done to her makes her change into something hideous at night, there must still be something you like about the wraith.”

  Mordon bowed his head, “I cannot explain to you why I feel the way I do. There is something about her that makes me wish to protect her. I . . . I can’t see myself without her now she is in my life.”

  Tess did not want all these feelings pushing her to say things unintended. Her words hurt her as much as she wished to hurt Mordon, “My birthmark makes me more distasteful to you than some wraith shrieking in the night. You . . . you are crazy, and not worth my time.” Tess couldn’t bear sitting in front of this man. She had wanted his child, but could not have the man. Lizbeth hadn’t told her it would be like this. She loved this man . . . was having his child . . . she knew he would leave, and knew he loved another. Mordon seemed completely sane, but to love something not human . . . . “I will go back, but I will not tell the others. If sometime in the future you will help raise your son, I will be happy. Perhaps he could come to you,” tears came to her eyes, “. . . perhaps the one you are with will receive him as a gift from me to you.” She jumped to her feet, and started running back along the ridgeline toward her village.

  Mordon quickly rose and started to follow, when Simper’s words abruptly halted his steps.

  “Stop . . . boyo don’t further tear her heart out by saying something you can’t accomplish.”

  Mordon listened to his friend’s words, but watched Tess until she was lost from sight. Only then could he bring himself to turn toward Simper, “What we did back there was as much wrong as right. I hope good will follow her for the rest of her life.”

  Simper nodded, “I hope good follows us all, boyo.”

  They started down the slope of the ridge, heading northwest. They could see out for miles across the wide savannah to the far mountains, and the homeland of the Pict. The ridge they walked was open with few trees. Walking was now easy, as only a few stones and fewer brambles covered the ridge.

  It was many minutes before Simper spoke with feeling, “If we live through this, the first place I am going is back to the valley and Lizbeth. She asked me to come back, and damn if I won’t.”

  Mordon’s pace steadily led them downward across the last half mile of higher ground. The ridge was rapidly melting into the vast grassland of the savannah. He glanced at the height of the sun descending in the west. Maybe there was an hour’s sunlight left to them. The idea of encamping somewhere out on the open savannah wasn’t to his liking. There would be no place to hide, other than lying down in the grass. One lone maple stood at the border of the hill and the open grassland. Taking steps to intersect the maple, “Let’s make camp at the base of the tree, Simp. I think we can cross the portion of grassland between us and Wycot before nightfall tomorrow.”

  They reached the tree, and settled in to wait the coming night on the soft debris beneath the spreading limbs. They were seated less than a minute when they spotted a rider and horses being led in the distance. The rider led four other horses in a ground eating trot, coming from the east. The last rays of sunlight glinted from bright armor, it could only be Raeah. She would not be wearing her blindfold. Mordon wanted to wave, drawing her attention, but knew he could not. The enigma riding across their front drew him as iron to lodestone.

  Tess was right . . . he was a dupe to care deeply for something other than human. He did not even know if they could ever develop anything beyond what they had. He had difficulty summoning any sane reason for feeling the way he did about Raeah. Fate would determine if their relationship went further than used and user. If she lived . . . if any of them lived . . . she would be queen of the very kingdom their feet trod.

  Mordon could not see himself as a soldier-king. Prince Sadon’s father had made the transition, maybe he could as well. He might eventually learn to mix with nobility, but his heart and upbringing would always take him back to the barracks and practice field. It was the only life he knew . . . the only life he really respected. He felt he knew Raeah well enough she would never expect, or even want, him to turn into some dandy in tights.

  Mordon’s thoughts shifted to what amount of funds would be needed to rebuild Duratia. Raeah would require a great deal of money to bring new people in from across the channel. The thought of rebuilding Widley staggered him. What about the kingdom? What about the entire island?

  Night came, the two men and the dog slept fitfully, not knowing what was about them in the dark. Mordon and Simper exchanged guard duti
es as often as one of them awoke. The first light of dawn found them tying their packs and slipping them upon their backs, tired but eager to cross the expanse of grass before them. By the time, they stepped out onto the grassland in the morning light, Mordon was again completely lost in thought.

  Given the time, how would he possibly accomplish the task of reseeding Duratia? There would have to be an influx of people from across the channel. They would have to be tradesmen, people who could breathe new life into the fallow land and cities. Everyone who came could start new lives. It would take a concentrated effort by many people to rebuild the kingdom.

  If they could persuade the women they had met to leave what they built and come to Widley, how could only two soldiers protect them from the numbers of men who would be roving the countryside? The simple strength of their two sword arms would not suffice to hold the women.

  Mordon did not know if any of King Widley’s other soldiers survived the onslaught. What if there were Duratian soldiers among Poltarc’s army? Mordon could not remember seeing any of their uniforms during the battle, other than those he had seen killed.

  Mordon compelled himself to halt briefly, and turned facing Simper. Cutter walked head on into his legs, not expecting the pause in stride. Mordon reached down and petted the animal’s shoulder. “Simper . . . if we survive, we are going to have bigger problems then just one man.”

  Explaining what Mordon had been contemplating as they walked through the knee-high grass of the savannah, the two men lost themselves within the multitude of problems confronting a successful coup. They talked the miles away, never satisfactorily coming to grips with any task they set forth. With their limited knowledge, they could only suggest solutions requiring unlimited amounts of money. They would need contacts with people with which they were unfamiliar. Some form of largesse would have to grease the palms of many before anything could be accomplished. Greasing palms would require the treasure Poltarc must have accumulated in the pillage of the island kingdoms, but for two men and Raeah, wresting even a portion of any treasure from the men around Poltarc seemed less than plausible. They laughed at themselves of the paradox of the situation. They hadn’t rid the island of Poltarc, and yet they were already dividing the man’s spoils.

  By the time night was once again settling around their shoulders, they were within a mile or two of Wycot. Mordon considered halting long enough for Simper to rest. Maybe it would be better to find a place on the side of one of the hills they were walking by. “What do you think, Simp, should we press on in search of the mill or wait until daylight?”

  Simper looked about them in the fading light, “The march actually helped me, instead of sapping my strength. I think we should keep going.”

  Mordon looked toward Wycot. The village was just around the low hill on their right. Surely Raeah would be away from the mill; expecting them to arrive. If she knew they were there, she could talk to them from the other side of one of the mill’s walls. Mordon did not believe she would remain in wraith form around the horses. Raeah must have them hobbled or at least haltered to firm posts. “Then let’s keep going. I don’t believe Raeah will come to us unless she hears the two of us making camp in the mill.”

  When they finally approached the outskirts of Wycot, they were astonished to find all the buildings still standing. As they walked down the quiet street toward where they thought the mill must be, the silence of the deserted village cloaked them both with an eerie feeling. Everything looked as if it should be filled with life, but was empty . . . or so it seemed. The village must truly be empty of life, or Raeah would have made it so in her passing. If anyone was here, they would be hidden in some secure location waiting for them to leave.

  Walking from around a bend in the street, they could see the dark shape of five horses tethered to a heavy rope strung between the mill and a conifer. Mordon began making cooing sounds so the horses would know someone was behind them. Both he and Simper cautiously advanced until all the horses were watching them approach. The men walked up to them and stroked their necks and withers. Raeah had taken the saddles from their backs and stacked them on a boulder under the tree. The men moved slowly to each horse, affectionately talking to and touching the big animals. The horses nickered softly, and seemed to appreciate the attention.

  Mordon, with Cutter close to his leg, moved to enter the mill when a distant shriek northwest of Wycot cut the silence. The big soldier patted the shivering dog. The horses nickered and shied from the uncanny noise, even though it had come from a distance. Simper stroked and petted the animals until they began to quiet. Mordon knelt, speaking to the dog and Simper by the horses, “I think she is telling us she is here. Come inside, Simp, and let’s make what camp we can. Maybe a spot on the other side of the mill, someplace with a window might be best for Raeah. She’ll not want to spook the horses any more than she has.” Mordon moved inside the deserted mill. There was just enough moonlight filtering into the interior he could make out what was inside; dusty floors, spilled bits of grain, windblown debris, and not much of anything else. The lids to bins were open and some had been ripped from their hinges. Long wide belts hung from wooden pegs on the wall. Cutter growled low, and then stepped forward to nose a skeleton sprawled on the floor against the far wall. The mill still smelled of grain. A stack of empty woven sacks had been kicked over, and left in disarray, after the pilferers had taken what they wanted.

  Steps led up to a second level. Mordon took them two at a time until his head came above the flooring. A mouse scuttled across the floor, making Cutter push past Mordon and follow for a moment. Mordon inspected the high, solid roof above his head. Everything on the second level was dry and undamaged. The place looked as if the miller would arrive in the morning and continue grinding his grain. Mordon was sure Poltarc’s army had stripped the mill of anything worth eating or carrying away, but it didn’t matter, they had food to eat.

  Mordon stepped to a window, and looked down at the stream running pass the large and motionless wooden wheel that drove the gears and belting of the mill. A trout jumped for an unseen insect, falling back into the black water with a splash. He longed to drop his line into the pool with a baited hook. He looked up at the sky, and then back to the pool. Moonlight caressed the spreading circular ripples with bands of light. The night was peacefully quiet.

  Simper climbed the wooden steps and pulled the pack from his back. “Why couldn’t the bastards have left Widley like this? Filling up a town with people is one thing, but having to build a city before people come back is another.”

  They settled into a corner of the mill, feeling grateful for the solid building around them. Mordon and Simper had gotten used to sharing what food they consumed with the dog. After their meal, they leaned back on their packs awaiting Raeah. Even with Raeah about, they set their weapons close at hand. Only a few minutes passed when Cutter stood, growling ominously. Cutter lowered his head and tensely stepped toward the outside wall. Mordon called soothingly to the dog until Cutter settled in next to his leg. When Raeah’s voice came from the other side of the wall, the dog stood and bristled, but did not leave Mordon.

  “It was foolish of you to commit yourself the way you did.”

  For some reason, her statement brought a smile to his lips. “It seemed the only gentlemanly thing to do. You have not seen our new friend, Raeah. We believe its name is Cutter, one of your father’s old wolfhounds.”

  “Cutter! You’ve found Cutter?”

  The sound of joy and longing in her voice made the two men wish she could come into the mill.

  “I have thought much of father’s hounds. They were as much a part of my life as any member of the family. Cutter would always side with me against my brother. It made Septon furious, but he could do nothing to harm one of Father’s wolfhounds. Had he, Father would have sent him across the channel to school. Those wolfhounds were one of his greatest pleasures.”

  “Well, Cutt
er is part of our family now.” Mordon spoke so softly he was surprised to get a response from Raeah.

  “One day, Sir Mordon, we will have those things once again.” Her statement sounded without merit, even to herself.

  Mordon wondered if she caught the irony or sarcasm spoken in those simple words. Her hints of normal lives seemed to stretch further away from them as each day passed. “Your story Raeah, as much as we do not wish to hear it, I know you need to tell us. Begin when you are ready.” She answered with a teasing lilt in her voice.

  “If I do not tell you the story, you will not gain the advantage you always desire.”

  How had she known to say just those words? The woman was uncanny in her perception of his mind. “I find I must apologize to you, my lady. I will extract what information I can from your reliving your past. I must confess, I am weak when it comes to your discomfort.”

  “I . . . I would expect nothing less from the man I loved.” Perhaps she should be less vocal with her professed love. She needed him, but if she suffocated him with words of love, he would eventually see her ruse. Killing Mordon and Simper would rip away any chance she had of escaping.

  God . . . how would she perceive him after telling her of Tess and the others? “After your story, I have one of my own. I sincerely hope you can remain so gracious.” It was as if she was already reliving her past, for she gave no indication he had spoken.