“After they all had their way with me, Prince Sadon cleaned me with the hem of my gown, and stood me on my feet. I was nearly without feeling in my mind and body. He held me without words until I could stumble to the door. What met my eyes were men gone crazy in trying to destroy the interior of the castle. They were burning furniture and doors, and throwing smaller pieces through the beautiful stained glass. The sights and sounds of its destruction nearly made my weak legs collapse. The flames and black smoke nearly filled the entire upper portion of the hall.
“Sadon led me down the steps, past the bodies of my mother and brother, along with the many who had tried to protect them. Outside, my father had been torn apart by two draft horses. The two big animals were still standing, breathing hot breaths of moisture laden air from their exertions. My father’s remains littered the bodies of the guards and castle servants. I was completely numb with anger, helplessness, and fear . . . and without hope. There were men from every island kingdom looting and butchering those of the castle. Their faces, along with the faces of the dead, I will never forget for as long as I live.”
“Prince Sadon led me out of the bailey and through the decimated city. Wherever I looked, there was death and looting. He nearly had to carry me to the city wall . . . what was left of it. The looks on the faces of the men we passed left me without doubt what was in store for one such as me in this predicament? We went further out from Widley, into the trampled fields and the throng of encamped men. The smells of the living encampment were worse than the smells of the castle bailey. Cleanliness and courtesy, order and placement, and pride and virtue had somehow been erased from those men who stood and milled in disorderly array. I was led to a filthy tent of torn canvas, and left for the men who filled by to leer and offer disgusting remarks to me.”
“There were six other women in that tent. One woman was completely nude, and shaking with fit. The others had had most of their clothing ripped from them; trying to wrap their bodies with what rags remained to them. We stayed in that tent unmolested until the entire army seemed to hear an inner voice. Amass, they moved north away from Widley.”
“A soldier would pick up a woman, throw her over his shoulder and depart. All the women disappeared in like manner, until Prince Sadon came and pulled me to my feet.”
“‘You will walk and maintain your health . . . or you will die, it is up to you.’
“I went with him. I did not wish to die . . . yet.”
Mordon ground his teeth in bitter anger. Sadon was another he wished at the tip of his sword. The only thing he was learning from this story was hatred.
“I was given clean water and cheese with coarse bread. I did not go hungry. When the horde reached the roadhouse, the surprised people along with the building were destroyed and left burning behind us.”
“When the men reached the river, they threw the women in the cold water and told them to wash. I had a chance to count the number of women they had taken. I lost count at over a hundred. Some bathed, some just lay in the cold water, and some stood in the stream looking back at all the lascivious faces with blank expressions. Men filled buckets of the cold water, and threw the contents on the women until they were shivering uncontrollably. Sadon, at least, walked me pass the mass of men and motioned for me to bathe. This I did without complaint. The smells of my used body were nauseating even to me.”
“We walked until I could no longer walk. Sadon carried me over his shoulders until feeling came back into my legs and feet. By the time, I could once again walk, the forward portion of the army had killed all the inhabitants, and taken everything of use to them in Wycot. Why they left the buildings untouched escapes me. I knew this mill was going to play a part in my life even then as I walked pass its sturdy structure of timbers and planking.”
“We were on the road for weeks. Sometimes Sadon would use me, or let others do the same. I cosseted my numb mind, finding a safe place for me to dwell during those times. I forced myself to imagine the castle’s garden the way it was before, and there I’d rest my mind until shaken back to reality by Sadon.”
“When we finally reached Glouster in Haverid, Sadon took me to a large warehouse by the sea, instead of the castle on the hill. I could not understand why, at that point, Poltarc would choose to live in a warehouse instead of the castle. I found out later of his choice of dwelling. Sadon led me into a room, cordoned off the warehouse floor by shorter walls, filled with women’s clothing.”
“‘Find something suitable to replace your rags.’
“This I did quickly. He then led me to another low walled room containing a bath and towels; soap was even available. He never left. Sadon watched me with the same malicious expression as all the others. When I finished my bath, I pulled on my new clothes and was led out into a rather large walled off section of the warehouse. The walls around this area were of such height, I could have reached on tiptoe and grasped their top. This room turned out to be fitted with the finest furnishings I’ve ever seen. There were soft cushioned sofas, and chairs carved with great talent. Cut crystal lamps hung from the high ceiling, or sat on carved end tables of ivory. Silk and velvet curtains adorn the towering windows. Solid gold chandeliers hung above an ivory inlaid table of some exotic burnished wood. Magnificently tooled wool and silk rugs of every size covered the wooden floor of Poltarc’s private section of the warehouse. There was great wealth on display wherever I looked. Great wealth, but no continuity. The room was a miss match of nearly everything on display. Whoever had placed those items had no eye for color or form.
“Poltarc entered from a doorway in the far wall. He swept across the distance, bubbling with energy and kind smiles. When he spoke to me, I was nearly flabbergasted by his sweet demeanor.”
“‘I am so glad you could come today. I’ve had the men furnish this room for you. It is to be yours, if you wish, while you stay with us. I have requested wild turkey for dinner. There should be steamed vegetables with a light dessert. I hope I am not over stepping my bounds by offering you my arm.’
“I was so astonished, it took me a moment to react to his chivalry. I smiled and nodded, and took his arm. Poltarc led me to one of two winged chairs next to a window, overlooking the dock and Norcanton Sound beyond. Sadon brought two crystal goblets and wine on a highly-polished silver tray. Sadon pulled the cork, and poured a small portion for Poltarc. Once tested and accepted, he filled half the goblets with the wine; not spilling a drop.”
“The whole crazy procedure left me feeling as if I were visiting King Cedric across the Strait. Yet this man had my entire family murdered, and allowed his men to treat me less than a whore on Donderly. If I disdained this man’s offerings, he might have me pulled apart by horses or raped to death by his willing men.”
“I had no pride, or any sense of self assurance, left in me after the journey to Glouster. If this man wanted me as his private woman, then I was willing to respond to him just to stay alive. If I could somehow manage to barricade the hatred I felt for this man, I might find a way to fight back.”
“Dinner was superb . . . the best tasting fare I could ever remember.”
“All during our repast, Poltarc was cordial to a degree far past what was expected. And then one of the soldier servants spilled a single crumb from a portion of our desert. Poltarc turned from accomplished host into the vilest beast. He pounded the table with his fists, rattling the bone china, and spewed spittle from his snarling mouth. He threw his crystal goblet at the man; splitting his forehead with the razor shards. Poltarc went completely berserk. He drew his silver handled dagger and, while the man was dazed from the cut he received, Poltarc leaped upon the man, gutting him with a single wrench of his arm. But Poltarc did not stop there. While the man lived, Poltarc pulled out some organ and cut it free from the man; licking it before throwing it onto the priceless rug.”
“I did not scream, or cry, or hide my eyes. I had already seen as much in Widley and on the road to Gl
ouster.”
“When Poltarc lifted his crazed eyes to mine, his demeanor, as if by magic, changed back to the man who walked me to the chair and to table.”
“‘I must apologize for this oaf. A lack of manors is not tolerated at my table . . . not with such guests present. If you will adjourn to the chair without my arm, I will find some way in which to repay your generosity.’
“I politely complied, removing myself from table. I chose wisely to sit as he had insinuated. I found out later his orders needed be followed to the letter. While I sat, I watched men come into the room and remove the body and its parts, as if they had done this many times. Not a one indicated anything out of the ordinary. The rug was rolled and removed, and all was scrubbed until clean; leaving no indication of anything of such atrocity ever happening. We amicably talked the evening away. We talked of crops and people, fish and fowl, the difficulties of leading a well-structured army, and politely the weather.”
“It lasted for two days with pleasant conversation, until I neglected a subtle phrasing of a request. I awoke from the floor bloody and bruised. It had happened so quickly, I could not remember being struck. My clothes had been ripped from my body so he could see more clearly where to strike and kick me. It took nearly a month for me to recover. Never in all that time did he enter the opulent room where I lived. Food, wine, fresh clothing, and baths all were administered to me freely. No one touched me.”
“Thankfully, there had been no broken bones. He had left my face untouched. When the bruising subsided, and finally disappeared, Sadon came and led me out to join a line of women chained to a log. A week later, I was returned to the bath and pile of clothes. Poltarc awaited me at table. This time, it took only a few hours before I found myself, once again, chained to the log, not even given the chance to heal. I was there for two days and returned to Poltarc. He asked me the silliest thing.”
“‘If it were possible, would you be willing to kill for me? I mean . . . I know it would be an imposition for you to abide such an invitation, but would you do so upon my request?’
“What was I to say to such an entreaty? I had lost all hope. I had even considered taking my life. I had seen and had so many vile things happen to me, why not do as he asked? If I could kill, perhaps I could find a way to end his putrid life. I told him I would.”
“Hour followed hour of his telling me the process and training he had planned. It involved me being injected with little invisible machines that would give me strength. These tiny machines would eventually grow armor, such as he wore. Poltarc admitted he did not know for certain if his invisible machines would accept a foreign body. ‘One step at a time,’ he beamed at me.”
“The man was completely insane. To talk of invisible machines as if they were real. But I was willing to endure anything that would keep me from the log and his men. I would have done anything, Mordon, anything to live with the chance of revenge of my family, the kingdom, and for all those Poltarc either killed or twisted into base creatures of humanity.”
Both Simper and Mordon found tears flooding their cheeks. Mordon could not remember ever weeping. How was he to respond to this woman? He was filled with a profound sadness. Her momentary silence screamed for his response . . . any response. His voice could not hide his feelings for her, or the distaste of his hearing her tale. “God’s Raeah . . . if I could reach out and pull the hearts from all those who harmed you, I would. Your tale wrenches my heart in twain. End this, or I will rest not this night or any night.”
“Just a little longer . . . just a little longer. My tale must end at a point or I, we, will not have time to finish the story.”
Mordon wished he was in the arms of Tess within her hidden valley. How could he tell Raeah of the cruelty he had willingly committed against her? He would not blame her if she ended his life in a fit of anger. But he said nothing, afraid of the pain his telling would inflict. He realized she had started once more, and he had not heard her first few words.
“. . . something called a syringe. Poltarc was gone for some time, and came back with a glass tube. A needle was on one end, and a small plunger on the other. He rubbed my arm with some of the cognac he was serving with dinner. He plunged the needle into my arm, and pushed the contents of the tube into my existence. After what I had suffered, what was a single prick of a needle? We had dinner and then he excused himself.”
“I felt nothing askew. I went to sleep on the divan, and awoke hours or minutes later filled with pain. The pain was of such intensity I could not hold the screams in my throat. Poltarc came rushing in, still in his armor and cape and held my head in his lap. He took a napkin from the side table, dipping it in a water goblet and moistened my face. All the time I screamed, he patiently dampened the cloth, brushing away the sweat on my brow. He stayed with me until the morning dawned and the pain left my eyes.”
“I must have finally fallen asleep, for I remember waking feeling stronger than I ever had. My body seemed made of iron, so vital and strong did I feel. The cuts and bruising from the injection I had received hours before had disappeared. I . . . I felt as if I could run forever and not fatigue.”
“Poltarc came in and smiled his good morning, ‘I see you not recumbent on the bedding. I take it my little nanites . . .’ I clearly remember his using that particular word, ‘. . . aided your recovery. But there is no better time to start your training. Come with me and we will begin.’
“He led me to a room filled with weapons. The practice floor was large enough for two to engage and not be crowded. He took my hand and made a request.”
“‘We wear no clothes in here. No one will enter for fear of death. Death is what I will teach you, my sweet human woman.’
“What did it matter to me if I wore clothes? They were on the floor in seconds. I expected the man to take me then and there, but he moved with grace to a stand with odd weapons scattered about its surface. He pointed at no particular weapon and asked, ‘Do any of these intrigues you?’
“I moved over to stand next to him, forgetting my nudity. Propped on the stand were a variety of odd shaped implements of death. They all looked sharp and deadly. There was a pair of knives looking much like miniature scythes. I pointed to them, and he responded almost with embarrassment.”
“‘Ah . . . you chose my favorite tool of death. These are called Buschov knives. They have been used by my people since before the migration.’
“I had no idea who, or of what, he was speaking, but I remained dutifully quiet.”
“‘A very interesting choice for one of your culture. It takes a great deal of effort and concentration to wield them efficiently and with finesse. If they are your choice, we must begin immediately.’
“Without fear, he picked up the two wicked looking knives, handed them to me, and turned his back. I . . . I think at that moment I could have taken his head from his neck. But I will never know. He began by showing me a strange dance. The movements were all so fluid and graceful, I doubted I could follow the motions. He was the consummate instructor; patient beyond normal bounds. Surprisingly, the movements seemed already ingrained in my muscles. It was as if the motions were drawn from a past I had forgotten. We danced together on the practice floor until I found I was alone, and he watching with a grim smile.”
“‘No rest for the wicked. I will prepare another injection of a different type of nanite. They should enhance your strength, but only time will tell. They are equally as likely to kill you. It would be such a shame to have wasted all my efforts, and my precious magical machines, and not gain any benefit.’
“He left me sweating, but feeling incredibly healthy. I waited patiently, and when he came back he seemed pleased I had not taken it upon myself to move from the spot.”
“He gave me another injection. I discovered the pain of the previous night was laughable in comparison with the pain of the coming night. But I lived. When I awoke, and sat up, I nearly thr
ew myself across the room. I had to learn to walk all over. The muscles of my body were no larger, but were filled with the most incredible strength. When Poltarc came into the room, he was pleased to see me standing and not lying dead upon the floor. The only other feeling he portrayed was glee in what was to come next.”
“We practiced with our weapons until I was drenched with sweat. Poltarc had left, and I had not noticed. He came back with another syringe and injected me once more.”
“‘This will seal the machines to your body. No one will be able to change what I have created in you. Tonight, will be your first test. I trust you will be worthy of my efforts.’
“That is all I will share with you tonight, Mordon and Captain Simper. What have you learned from the story, Mordon?”
Mordon laid his hand on Cutter’s back, and stroked the hair still bristling from the wraith’s presence. “His men fear him. He is an accomplished fighter. He has strength and speed. I believe Poltarc is from a place totally unfamiliar to me or Simper. He uses these magical machines to enthrall men. Women are as chattel to him. He likes the process of death more than the actual killing. He sounds like a man I would enjoy killing.” When her voice came from somewhere above them in the rafters, Cutter jerked beneath his hand and looked above. The moon was long set, and the night was as black as Tess’s cave.
“Very perceptive, Sir Mordon, I will leave the three of you for now, and arrive in blindfold in the morning. You will need your rest. Do not fear for anything, or anyone, coming upon you. I make a frightfully excellent protector.”
Mordon knew she left, even though he had heard nothing. Simper spoke before he could surface from his thoughts.
“Well, boyo . . . she has her hooks in you, and me, all the way. She is leading us to something we still don’t know a thing about. She’s a canny one, plying us with desire to help a lady in distress. I . . . I think she really does love you, Mordon, but she’s using that love to further her own agenda.”
Mordon of Widley Page 23