Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  Mordon should have been angry with Simper’s words, but knew the older soldier had it right. Wherever this led, he would go with his eyes wide open. She knew he would not allow himself to be led without reason. Mordon had learned enough he knew he would try to extricate themselves and the island even if Raeah left them on their own. “You’re right, Simp. We watch each other’s backs just like we were in a battle with the Picts. I can’t stop the feelings I have for her, but that doesn’t mean I am going to allow her to push me in front of Poltarc before we have a plan, and a good one, with a chance to succeed.”

  Simper grunted, and then added, “Amen to that, Mordon.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The men awoke to the sound of Cutter’s growling. Raeah’s voice came up to them from the floor below.

  “Someone come down and keep me from falling in the river. I can’t see a thing in this damn blindfold.”

  Simper laughed, rolling to his knees and then his feet. “I’ll go to her, boyo, how about you toss everything down the steps.”

  Mordon stood and stretched, “Sure, Simp, I’ll bring down the gear.”

  Cutter followed Simper down the steps and growled when he saw the blindfolded figure of Raeah. Simper looked down at the dog and commented, “Easy Cutter, don’t you recognize Princess Raeah?”

  Raeah knelt and held out her hand to where she thought Cutter stood. If her friend of old rejected her, it would break her heart. Had Poltarc’s ministrations changed her so much Cutter would not recognize her? She gently called Cutter’s name until she could hear the dog’s padded paws coming toward her. The dog stopped and nosed her hand, then licked her palm. She reached out with both arms, and the dog came to her to lick her face; Raeah was in heaven. She had forgotten how much this dog meant to her.

  Mordon carried the two packs as he descended the heavy plank stairs. He was not looking forward to this moment. He needed to tell Raeah about the women, or it would drive him crazy, sitting heavily on his conscious. “Good morning. Last night I told you I had a story of my own. After its telling, you may find you wish to free yourself of the cloth masking your eyes.” Mordon watched the woman stiffen and then relax.

  “Tell me, so we can be on our way.”

  “Where the valley opens to the savannah, we came upon two women, both huntresses of a village of women. They asked us to go back with them and speak to one of their leaders. This we did, and shared what we knew of news outside their valley. We told them nothing of the changes you have undergone. We were being guided away from their village by one of the huntresses when we discovered you and Poltarc’s soldiers on the trail. We had to do some explaining before she would leave you to fight by yourself, so she alone knows of your abilities.” Mordon inhaled deeply and sighed, “We spent one night in the village . . . . Their leader persuaded us to help repopulate Duratia. I . . . I was at a loss at what was right.” Mordon finished with a flurry of words, “I lay with several women, Raeah. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do. I do not know to beg for your forgiveness, or let you take my life without a fight.”

  Raeah found she was angry and jealous beyond bounds. She thought what had already happened to her had turned her numb to life, but Mordon’s words inflamed her jealousy. Her stiffened body seethed with anger, and then she thought of the women in the valley. Whoever the leader, she was a pragmatic and logical individual. Raeah realized she had given not an instant’s thought to healing Duratia. “You should have bedded them all, Mordon. What better seed to heal the numbers lost than yours and the captain’s?”

  Mordon momentarily lost his sense of balance, and sat on a planked step. He thought he had sensed a tremendous anger within Raeah, but obviously, he had been wrong. “I did not expect such understanding.”

  Jealousy still surged through Raeah’s mind but knew without doubt the woman who had suggested this gambit was wiser than she, “The woman who made this suggestion, what is her name?”

  Simper beamed as Mordon spoke her name, “Lizbeth Trost.”

  All she intended doing with these two men flashed through her mind before she responded, “We shall go to this valley and talk with the woman, on our way back to Widley.” Her legs nearly failed her thinking of what she planned. She thought she knew Poltarc, but maybe he held back something that would lead to their downfall. Raeah had lost nearly all hope of there being a God. No God would allow someone like Poltarc to twist so many, and leave so much death behind without a reckoning. Raeah was counting on God’s retribution to aid their struggles. She would continue her story. Everything they could glean from it might be the leverage they needed to succeed.

  She blanked the men out as they walked past her to saddle the horses. The mill felt wholesome, unlike the warehouse in which she was now based. Poltarc had turned the building into a miniature hell. The surrounding city felt just as tainted. Yet here in Wycot, even the deserted buildings felt clean.

  Raeah dared not tempt fate and voice her desires to anyone. She was not superstitious per say, only not wanting to push fate past her understanding. Poltarc had taken away one life, and had whimsically given her another. What she was now was an extraordinary killer of men. If she could separate from Poltarc completely, she would be a powerful force not many could stop.

  Only since deciding to take a stand and not kill Mordon and Simper had she been able to conceive of a life not slaved to Poltarc. Up until recognizing Mordon, she had been a willing thrall to the creature that was Poltarc. To even contemplate saving them had kept her from becoming as morally degenerate as was the man who had given her this new life. She would now do anything to sever his control of her. If they could take that away from him, it would mean he was vulnerable, though she had yet to find weakness in the man’s armor.

  How could she even consider calling Poltarc vulnerable? She knew exactly what he was, and it wasn’t human. If they could bring down this creature it would be a miracle. Raeah admitted to herself she was scared witless of Poltarc. He had caused her so much pain. Poltarc had reveled within every moment of hell she had gone through with intensity. His mind drew other’s suffering unto himself, and deemed the experience pleasurable. The more killing and the more fear she could extract, the bloodier her killing became pleased him immeasurably. Poltarc deemed his experiment with her had been more than worth his trouble, repaying him over and over with her exploits.

  Someone was calling her name. She willed herself back to the aromas of the healthy mill.

  “Raeah . . . someone comes along the road toward Glouster.”

  A single soldier was coming quickly upon his mount. Raeah could hear the thud of heavy hooves come close and then stop. Whoever it may be was contemplating the reason for her blindfold, why two men were accompanying her, and why they remained alive. When the soldier’s voice came, she recognized it immediately as a captain in Poltarc’s personal guard.

  “What are you doing here, whore?”

  Mordon’s ire roused above its limit, “Come down from your horse and cross swords with me.”

  Raeah reached out in the direction of Mordon’s voice and slapped him hard. “Shut up, slave.”

  Mordon was staggered at her strength and the sting of the blow. But he knew she had a reason for acting as she did, and kept still. The rider’s laugh nearly made him lose his determination. Raeah must have a reason for this ploy. Raeah continued speaking as if her treatment of him was the norm.

  “I take these deserters back to Poltarc.”

  “Deserters? Why not kill them and let Poltarc witness their deaths through your eye? Why go to the trouble of taking them all the way back?”

  Raeah’s hoped her crooked smile portrayed her desire to do just as the soldier had suggested. “He wants these two in his warehouse to play with. It is not up to me to question his desires: the last man to do so screamed for three nights, don’t you remember?”

  “I remember, whore. But . . . why have y
ou blindfolded yourself?”

  Raeah feigned impatience, “A new method of fighting, Captain. Poltarc taught me to be aware of all things around me . . . care to test my new skills?”

  Mordon and the two others of his group heard only silence. He could see the man wished to engage Raeah, but was afraid to try, even with her being without sight. The rider sat uncomfortably for a moment and then spoke.

  “I was sent to find the squad in search of survivors. They are long overdue.”

  Mordon could see it galled the man to ask Raeah.

  “Have you seen the squad, whore?”

  “Call me that one more time, Tadric, and I will slit your throat.”

  Mordon watched the man bristle; no differently than Cutter. When Tadric responded, it was with a mosaic of fear, hatred, and disgust at his own answer.

  “You belong to the king . . . far be it for me to question the lady who warms his bed.”

  “To answer your question, Captain Tadric, we saw them two days ago heading south toward Widley. Perhaps their leader meant to reinforce Scatley.”

  Mordon tensed, knowing Tabitha and Tess were probably bound for Widley in search of the spices and salt. If this man found them in Widley . . . . He berated himself for not telling Raeah. She would have never mentioned Widley if he had been more forthcoming. If Tadric surprised them somewhere in the city, they might have an arduous time killing the man. He could only hope the women had hesitated in their village, discussing how many they should take with them and the best time to leave. If they did leave for Widley and saw Tadric before he saw them, he would not want to be in Tadric’s boots. He smiled, and then laughed out loud, causing the mounted soldier to stare at him. Mordon offered, “If the lady pleases,” when there was no response from Raeah, “I’ll warrant Scatley is still sitting on his behind, drinking and eating while his men scour the city.” Tadric commented quickly enough.

  “You know the lazy bastard, alright. Did you get tired of sweating in the ruins while Scatley sat in the shade drinking his mead?”

  Mordon responded, “The man isn’t smart enough to lay siege to a simple house, let alone a city.” Mordon watched Tadric take in a deep breath and speak to Raeah.

  “This man shouldn’t be taken back as a deserter. He should be promoted, and given Scatley’s job. Come with me, and we will do just that, soldier. What is your name, man?”

  Raeah was growing impatient, “He’s mine to do as I wish, Tadric. Be gone about your business.”

  Tadric ignored the woman, “What say you, man? Why be taken back to be slaughtered when you can do some good in Widley.”

  Raeah stepped forward, hoping she did not trip, “I said he is mine, Tadric. If you want him so badly, you may take him over my dead body.”

  “Why are your slaves still carrying weapons, my lady?”

  Raeah didn’t miss a beat. “They test my skills while with blindfold, fool. Now be gone from Wycot on your fool’s errand, Tadric. I will not be delayed by the likes of you a moment longer.”

  Both Simper and Mordon could clearly see he hated this woman, but his hatred was laced with fear. Without another word, Tadric cruelly spurred his mount, making the animal squeal with surprise and pain. The two men watch the mounted soldier disappear around the bend in the street.

  Simper shook his head, “Why didn’t you just let us kill the man?”

  Raeah answered evenly, “Think, Captain Simper, if he arrives in Glouster before us, he will have given reason for the three of us to show up together. If we arrive before him, we can tell the same story and his arrival will only reinforce what we’ve told. We have days of travel, and equal amounts of nights for me to complete my story. By the time, we get to Glouster and Poltarc, we will have devised a plan.” Raeah wished she could take this damnable wrap from about her head. Going blindfolded was not a good idea. Mordon spoke as if he read her thoughts.

  “Tadric said eye, Raeah. Did he mean you have one affected eye, and one that is whole?”

  Raeah sighed, “Yes . . . my left eye has been changed by either the magical machines or by Poltarc while I was unaware. I blindfolded myself fully in Widley so you would not ask me what had happened to my eye. I spent a great deal of time under his ministrations. I have not been able to look in a mirror since I left the castle. I . . . I’m afraid of what I will see. Poltarc’s men hate me, and avoid looking at me in the daylight. At night, they shun me, and this I can understand. When they look at me in the daylight, they see the woman they are used to abusing, but fear what Poltarc has done to me.” In a voice, so soft Simper needed to step forward to hear, “They know I kill for Poltarc. They fear they will be the next to die under my knives.” Raeah straightened and spoke with surety, “I will speak of all this at night. The light of the sun gives me back the body of the princess.” She hesitated and then added, “If you will make me an eye patch I will wear it, but it must not allow me to see through the smallest of cracks.”

  Simper quickly spoke, “I have made eye patches for wounded men, Raeah. The one I’ll make for you will block any light. By tonight it will be ready for you.”

  Mordon watched Simper open his pack, rummaging around in its contents. He felt of his cheek, and rubbed the spot where her hand had struck. “You have the strength of a man Raeah . . . perhaps more so than a single man.”

  “I apologize to you, Mordon, without sight I did the first thing that might be believable to Tadric. The men no longer use me because of my strength, and my knives. They are like wolves; they take down the weak and respect strength.” Raeah tried to push thoughts of the men in Poltarc’s army out of her head. “I love the fresh wholesome feel of Wycot, but cannot we be on our way? We can talk as we travel.”

  Mordon stepped closer and gently touched her arm, “I’ll saddle the horses as quickly as possible. We can stop at your pleasure for something to eat. Ask at any time, and I will tell you what I am seeing.”

  Raeah had felt as if she was incapable of feeling anything before this day, but since this morning, she had felt jealousy and the first twinge of love for anything (even if it were for a dumb animal) since the castle had been sacked. She felt for Mordon’s chest, and found he was standing close to her side, “Do not give up on me, Sir Mordon. You and Simper, and even Cutter, are widening a crack in my soul. I had never thought I would feel anything normal again in my life. Please don’t kill me out of anger at what I still must tell the two of you.” Her lies and half-truths, as well as her false innuendos, left a foul taste in her mouth. But if these two could help her, she would prostrate herself to the devil if she thought it would further her plan.

  Mordon gripped her arm, “It is Poltarc and the likes of that man we just met who I wish to kill Princess, not you.”

  Raeah covered his hand with hers, and gently pushed his hand from her arm, “Maybe, Sir Mordon, you will stay your anger long enough to let me live . . . time will tell.”

  Simper stood after repacking his field pack and held out his hand, “I found just the ticket, a piece of stag hide I’ve been pack’n for months. You’ll have a proper eye patch, princess.”

  The men saddled the horses, and placed their packs on one of the spare horses. They haltered the last horse and tied its lead rope to the pack horse. Mordon helped Raeah into her saddle and mounted his own horse, a big bay gelding with a deep chest and strong looking legs. They headed northwest following the roadway leading out of Wycot with the sun on their backs. Cutter circled them and then ran ahead to see around the bend in the roadway.

  They followed the road in silence for a mile or two, with Mordon riding close to Raeah in case she needed his help. Mordon started to describe what he was seeing before she had asked him to do so. Mordon tried to bring the smallest detail in their surroundings to Raeah’s attention; she seemed pleased. Her head turned left and right as if she were able to see what Mordon described.

  Simper looped the reigns o
f his horse over its withers, and studied the piece of thick brown leather. Soft and supple, the thick piece of leather gave easily to his fingers. He studied the texture of both sides, and designed the outline he would cut when they stopped. His eye patch would have to be functional, but he also wanted it to demand attention. An idea came to him and he smiled, thinking Mordon might appreciate the humor.

  They journeyed further and further into the mountainous terrain of eastern Haverid. The sun climbed to its zenith, and they stopped beneath a maple next to the roadway and a clear brook. A trout jumped for a midge, making Mordon dig in one of the side pockets of his pack. Within minutes, he dropped his hook into the stream and was delighted when a large trout took his hook into its mouth. The short willow bough bent from the strain. Mordon landed the trout and retied another bit of red cloth on the hook. Three trout latter, Mordon gutted and brought them back to their camp. “I’d build a sturdy house right over there across the stream and live here happy for the rest of my days.” Raeah laughed at him.

  Simper only smiled, “Boyo, you caught ‘em, you cook ‘em. I’m going to keep working on this patch for the princess.”

  Mordon did not mind, all soldiers had caught and cooked a trout or two while on maneuvers. He dug into Simper’s pack and came out with a pan. A little strip of the pork fat would grease the pan over the fire. Building fires was something a soldier knew well, and the one Mordon started quickly grew into a fine cooking fire. Within minutes, Cutter was sitting on his haunches, tongue hanging out, staring at the cooking trout. Mordon crossed the roadway and peeled three pieces of bark from a white barked tree and brought them back to the fire. With a stick, he pushed one of the trout onto a piece of bark and took it to Raeah, “Take care, it’s hot.” He handed Simper the next, and then helped himself to the largest. The last he tipped onto a flat stone for Cutter. Raeah was the first to respond.

  “It’s delicious, the best trout I’ve ever had. My father would fish whenever he could, while traveling between Sothpern and Duratia. He said he loved the challenge, but I think he just loved to eat trout.”