This moment they shared brought them more closely together than any previous time. They seemed as one, laying there in the sunshine. Mordon wished they would never leave this place. Simper felt more like a father to them both than ever before: if it was in his power he would keep them both safe from Poltarc. Raeah forgot Glouster and Poltarc for the moment, and reveled in their solidarity. Cutter came to them and began licking their faces.
Mordon finally sat up and petted the dog’s head, reluctant to change a thing. “How much further can we travel today if we leave soon?”
Raeah sensed the unwillingness to leave coming from Mordon. “We do not have to leave Mordon. I had intended traveling to the next empty hostel, but we can stay here for the night if you wish.”
Mordon got up and walked to where his horse stood grazing the emerald grass. Circling the animal, he pulled off his pants and began wringing water from the cloth, using his horse as a shield. The horse took several steps forward, interested in a tuft of grass.
Simper happened to look his way and pointed, causing Raeah to look. They both broke out in new laughter. Mordon looked down and shook his head in disgust. Wet or not, he pulled the damp pants back over his legs and hips. “I think I’ve had enough of this place.” He listened to their laughter for another few seconds, and then retrieved his sword from its sheath. The boots he had discarded earlier went back on his feet. Walking to the two laughing figures, he towered above them, “You may use Simper’s blade if you rather, or, use the knives you so like. Let’s earn another shower, my lady.”
Raeah sat up and then stood, staring at the towering figure of Mordon. He was more than a head taller than she. “If practice is what you want, Sir Mordon, then prepare for a lesson in humility.”
“Paugh woman, you may be good, but I’ve watched you move.” He walked further from the still prostrate figure of Simper and turned to face Raeah. He motioned with his free hand for her to join him.
Raeah smiled a noncommittal smile, and walked to Simper’s sword. She pulled it from the sheath, and felt its weight and the balance of it in her hand. Swords had not been her choice when with Poltarc, but Wicliff had taught her a great deal of its use. She excelled in the sword, or so claimed Wicliff. Not even her father knew the castle’s swords master had instructed her, or if he had, he never said anything to her or Wicliff.
Raeah walked to within a few feet of Mordon, and saluted him with the sword. The look of surprise on Mordon’s face was precious. She circled to her right, and without warning tried to skewer Mordon in the side with the tip of her sword. The man just managed to deflect her sword with his. She continued to circle, and then leaped in feigning a strike to his neck, only to dip the tip of her sword toward his midsection. His blade caught and moved her blade to the side. Reversing her circling motion, she tried to get pass Mordon’s blade twice more without success. “Are you just going to stand there like a toad on a rock, or are you going to engage me?”
“Toad on a rock, huh, you are fast princess, and know the sword better than I thought you might. Who taught you the use of it?”
“Wicliff.”
“Wicliff . . . when did he have time to teach you?”
“When I came to a size, nearly every day in the castle garden he taught me. Though in the beginning he doubted he was doing right by my father. It bothered him until he realized I was in earnest, and had the strength of arm and wrist to use a sword as it should be used. Without doubt, he taught me everything he taught you.”
Somehow Mordon was not surprised. It was like Wicliff to help someone with an aptitude for any weapon to help further their skill. “I do not wish to harm you, Raeah.”
“Harm me?” She laughed in his face, and spit on the grass at his feet. “I thought you were a swordsman. You haven’t shown me anything other than lucky deflections. If this is all you intended to do in our practice, this isn’t worth my time or my energy.” She turned her back on him and took a step away.
“Wait. You are right. I have not shown you any respect. Come . . . try me once more, and I promise to give myself to the fight and the sword.” He watched her step forward once more and salute him. He did the same with his sword.
They circled one another, and then Mordon leaped straight forward with sword tip aimed at the center of her chest. She wasn’t there when the sword passed where she had stood. Her sword tip bit his left shoulder without warning. The wound was tiny, but the blood ran down his heavy bicep, dripping from his elbow. Mordon stepped back and stared at her. No one had ever been able to wound him so easily.
He smiled at her, “I stand properly chastised. If you will forgive my prior rudeness, I will attempt to properly represent Wicliff’s schooling.” She smiled at him and nodded.
Without further conversation, they touched swords, beginning their swordplay at a much slower speed. Each attacked and retreated, attacked and retreated, until a large circle had been trampled in the grass. They both began to sweat, and finally they were smiling with the give and take of their dance. The speed increased to a rapid pace. Their blades sent flashes of sunlight flitting among the limbs and needles of the trees. Mordon finally stepped back, breathing strongly with a broad smile on his face.
“You are like fighting Wicliff. I could never gain an advantage with the man. Your skills are a match for mine, but are mine a match for Poltarc?”
Raeah frowned, she had enjoyed their swordplay, probably even more than had Mordon. The mention of Poltarc brought her back down from their day of pleasure. “No . . . from here forward I will teach you what he has taught me. We have few days, I’ll show you the tricks he has shown me while practicing. What I will tell you now is his vulnerable parts. Do not waste your time or your effort trying to draw blood from under his armor. Just as mine, the machines will close any wound and stop the bleeding almost immediately. Such tactics will not affect him. He is vulnerable only on his hands, neck, and head. His armor does not cover those parts. He will bleed more freely from those areas. If you ask how I know . . . I’ve wounded him more than once on his face and neck. The machines take longer to close those wounds.” She paused, realizing with surprise Poltarc had never flown into a rage upon being wounded by her. He had always seemed proud of her for being able to bring his blood to the surface of his body. Could it be he lusted after blood not caring whose it was, even his own? The man was truly mad.
“Raeah . . . Raeah, where did you go?”
She brought herself back to the glade, and explained her thoughts to Mordon. The man agreed with her, thinking Poltarc mad. The sheaths received the swords, and the two walked hand in hand to the falls. As before, Mordon could stand the chill waters for only seconds, while Raeah luxuriated in the mist.
Mordon dug into his pack and came away with clean clothing. He dressed and then spread the damp pants he had worn in the sunshine. Glancing at the sun, he gauged they had been in the glade for at least three hours. Another hour and the sun would slide behind the mountain’s crest to the west.
The swordplay had warmed his body in a way the stream could not dispel. It had felt fantastic to exercise to the degree he had with Raeah. She had reminded him of skills that had lain dormant for far too lengthy a time. Next time they engaged, he would ask for her to fight with Poltarc’s style. He too was a quick learner when it came to weapons. Learning the man’s style before they met would be a distinct advantage. An advantage he would without doubt need.
Mordon sat on a log from a tree that had fallen years ago, probably from a storm. He smiled and waved at Raeah, finally leaving the falls. Simper had dressed and was digging in his pack. The horses had scattered about the glade, happily cropping grass. The scene left Mordon wanting a real life even more than before, if they could only survive and return to Widley.
Thoughts upon thoughts piled as he sat soaking in the glade and its occupants. Would Raeah continue to hold onto this side of her sanity? Would he be riding back
to Widley with these two people? Would they all eventually be chained to the man they were anticipating killing? What would happen to Tess and the other women, or Charon and Robert, if they were unsuccessful? There had to be hundreds just like Simper and him hiding on the island. What would happen to them?
Mordon drew a big hand across his face, and bowed his head to stare at the grass between his feet. A large beetle crawled from beneath the log, and fought its way across the blades of grass. Mordon watched with interest as the insect tenaciously battled its way through the tangle at its front. Heading in the direction it was heading, it would take days to cross the glade. With its miniature armor, it didn’t have to fear many predators. Why didn’t it just fly instead of fighting the stalks of grass? “Damn . . . Raeah,” he shouted, “Raeah!” he leaped up and ran to a very surprised woman.
“What is it, Mordon?”
Simper came to stand by the excited man. “What’s wrong, Mordon?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Simp. Raeah, what if you could prove Poltarc’s premises to you were a hoax? What if he is acting in his own parody? Anything and everything he has told you may be false. Truly his changing you is a fact, but how much of what he has told you, is true?” Mordon watched as Raeah’s jaw slowly dropped. He was clearly seeing her mull the questions in her mind. Simper had his face screwed up in a frown, trying to decipher his wording.
“We’ve all concluded the man is completely mad, totally and completely out of his mind . . . yet intelligent. The world his mind lives in is unlike anything we could imagine. He has neither compulsion, nor even a reason to be honest with savages. You have told us he is erratic, and abides no deviance from what he expects.
“My thoughts are this . . . he constructs the scenario he desires in his head, and brings them to life. Only sometimes we humans are incapable of following his script or what he creates in his mind.”
Mordon paused for a second, “I know I find myself criticizing my lack of foresight rather too often. I would never survive around the man. It astounds me Sadon has lasted so long. You, Raeah, became his favorite canvas. He found an intelligent savage he could compel to follow the lines of his play.”
“His madness is his weakness. You must not leave out anything in your story, Raeah. Simper and I must be attentive enough to the telling to glean the facts that will destroy him.” Mordon stopped, surprised to find he was breathing as if he had run for some distance.
Raeah stared at Mordon’s face, now wondering about a lot of things she hadn’t considered before. Maybe Mordon was right, but to what avail? Poltarc was still a creature with astounding abilities he wielded with competence. “I will do my best to more accurately describe what I saw, as well as felt, while in his presence. You already have surprised me with your acumen at what I’ve told you.”
Simper was feeling almost left out of the conversation. They had spit out words beyond his understanding, though he felt he had grasped the meaning of their conversation. “What made you think of all this?”
Mordon smiled at Simper, “A beetle, Simp. But it doesn’t matter. Raeah, what I ask of you is to walk into the forest some little distance, and try compelling your body to change. If you can do so on your own….”
Raeah bowed her head in thought, “But, what will it prove? I will still be what he has made of me.”
Mordon took one of her hands in both of his, “It will prove he cannot control you as you expect. What if, by his telling you alone that the sunlight and the darkness caused your change was not true? If you had control of the change, his other statements may be false. Please, Raeah, do this for me. But if you try only half-heartedly, it may not work.”
Raeah gently pulled her hand from his, and then ran into the forest. She was unable to fathom what good could come from this attempt. Mordon seemed to have good reason to find out, so she would try to do his bidding. She ran until she came to the base of a cliff, some distance from the glade. Forgetting the men and the forest where she stood, she concentrated solely on changing. Nothing happened. She tried countless times, but could not find success in her efforts.
She slumped down to sit upon a root and kicked the forest floor, sending a shower of needles from beneath her armored foot. Raeah almost came to tears. Whimsically, she thought of herself drifting up through the limbs of the trees, and if by magic, her body flowed into the form of the wraith and drifted upward. It was the most peaceful and beautiful experience she had ever known. She shrieked once to let the men know it was done.
She rose above the treetops, and moved away from the glade. The patch still clung to her death head and face: Poltarc could not see what had happened. It gave her a feeling of freedom so strong, she forgot all about Mordon and Simper.
The mountains called to her, and she soared to their crests. She followed an eagle until the bird discovered her presence: it shrieked and dove in its attempts at loosing the creature following. Raeah let the bird go on its way, and followed a ridgeline leading further and further from the men. She suddenly brought her motion to a stop, and considered what she was doing. This changed nothing.
Instead of flying to the glade and having Mordon see her like this, she dropped into the trees and landed. Without much effort, she willed herself to change back into her human-like self. The walk back found her contemplative and indecisive. What Mordon had guessed by watching a silly beetle was only still registering in her mind. It did show Poltarc was convoluted to the extreme. But what good would it do them?
When she walked out from among the trunks of the trees, the look on each man’s face was a mixture of satisfaction and consternation. They had apparently expected the wraith to appear. “So, you were right. But how does it help the situation?”
Mordon went to where she stood, and gently grasped her shoulders, “Don’t you see, the reverse is also true. You no longer need to be the wraith at night, and princess in the light. You can affect which you want to be.”
Raeah gasped, and covered her face with her hands. She started to cry silently, and leaned into Mordon’s chest. She was dizzy with the thoughts running through her head. Finally, she gently pushed back, looking up in Mordon’s concerned face. She boldly lied to Mordon, “Damn you Mordon . . . how can it be possible you fill me with so much love, I feel near bursting?” She forced her smile to be pleasant, and looked up once more, “You and Simper have started mending something I believed would always be broken. Maybe there is hope left in my life.” She dared not believe there might be a real life after this was all over. She was being fed miniscule glimmers of hope, but knew she would never be anything but dead inside and the creature Poltarc had made of her.
Mordon could not see it in her face, but knew in his heart her words were hollow. This game they played might eventually get them both killed. He couldn’t help but reach out and take her armored body in his arms; holding her as gently as his strength would allow. “Are all princesses as free with noblemen as you?”
Simper snickered and then turned away, embarrassed at his eavesdropping.
Raeah pushed free of Mordon with feigned severity, “Get your sword, Sir Mordon, you are about to be bested.”
Mordon stood and asked her, retreating back, “Will you fight in Poltarc’s style and show me the nuances of his tricks?” She thrust her arm in the air and waved as she walked to Simper’s sword. Mordon was eager to learn more of Poltarc’s art, but was fearful Raeah might use her advantage to shower him with wounds. She was not vengeful, but she was mischievous.
When she engaged him, it was at such slow speed he was thrown off balance. Then, Raeah moved with such alacrity he nearly tripped over his stumbling feet. Mordon came away with a cut to his right shoulder, perfectly matching his other wound. Raeah switched back to her ponderous motion, and then attacked in a blur. This time he was successful in fending the blade that nearly touched his cheek. The same see-saw cadence of motion continued, until he realized this must be Pol
tarc’s method of fighting. He relaxed and joined the flow of her movements.
Mordon began to feel comfortable with this different approach of swordplay when Raeah’s sword slid along his; its tip reaching for his forearm. There didn’t seem any way he could move quickly enough to guard against a bad cut. He watched the tip as it moved toward his arm. Everything around him slowed, until it seemed their bodies had been changed to statues. Yet in his mind, he realized this was happening all too quickly. The tip just pricked his arm and withdrew. She could have nearly severed his arm at the elbow. He jumped back, asking, “How did you do that?”
Raeah smiled at him, and in as slow a motion as she could manage, moved her arm and sword into the exact pattern of her stroke. She imagined his blade at her front in just the same position, and rotated her wrist, just then . . . her sword reversed its cutting edge, just then . . . the tip touched his arm once more in her mind, and then she withdrew and stood.
Mordon watched and requested, “Again, please.”
She did as before and stood, awaiting his comment.
Mordon felt he understood, “Hold your blade out at the same angle as was mine, please.” He watched her stand and extend her sword as had he, waiting for him to practice her motion. Mordon contacted her blade, trying to repeat the exact timing of her movement. His blade slid along hers, and then he reversed the cutting edge just as she had. The tip of his blade did just as hers, only it sliced into her arm. He was so shocked, he jerked the blade with a twist of his wrist. The blade exited her arm from the side. Mordon dropped his weapon onto the grass and fell to his knees at her front. “Gods Raeah, what have I done to you?”
Raeah stood still and held her arm out, nearly in Mordon’s face, “Just watch.” The blood flowing from the wound seemed to be sucked back into her body, and the armor closed and sealed itself within seconds.
Mordon watched with mouth agape. She had told them of this, but he had hardly believed it possible. In only seconds, her arm appeared as new. “I see why it will not avail me to slice his body armor. Did I cause you much pain?”
Mordon of Widley Page 28