Why was she always feeling as if she needed their help? Perhaps Mordon was correct. Maybe the only thing she required to kill Poltarc was her own self-confidence. Somehow that logic did not settle as comfortably in her stomach as having Mordon and Simper with her. She was not certain if she could return to the warehouse and Poltarc without the two men. The prospect of facing her terror alone might send her into such deep seclusion no one would ever find her. She would have to hide in the cave Mordon mentioned, for fear of harming anyone. No . . . if Poltarc lived, she would be his puppet. The creature would have to be slain . . . or she would have to die.
They had dredged her from a cesspit of Poltarc’s making. Without Mordon, she would slide back into the mire of lunacy and never free herself. If they left, after her telling of Poltarc, she would plead for one of them to take pity of her plight and beseech the one to end her life.
Mordon came up to the fire, fully dressed. He did not allow himself to be embarrassed for what had happened in the water, it was natural for a man to want a woman in that way. His feelings for Raeah, confused or not, made it even more desirable. “The salmon was good tonight, Simp.”
Simper was comfortable next to the mound of glowing embers. He was trying to stay awake. Maybe what Raeah told them tonight would be bent toward Mordon’s ears and not his; if it were so, he would try not to snore. “You’ve got to have the proper oil for fish. Butter would have been better. A touch of rosemary and some pepper would have made it superb.”
Raeah laughed quietly, “A chef . . . we have a chef among us, and I did not realize. I will appeal to your epicurean talents on our return to the castle, Simp. But first I must finish my story.” She did not wait for words from either, and instead stumbled into the telling, hoping they would not leave their fools quest.
“At one time, I returned to the castle from stalking the streets of Glouster to find Poltarc missing from my large private area. I called his name, but he did not come. With nothing to do, I fetched a bottle of red from the stack in the far corner of the warehouse and proceeded to uncork and pour a goblet of wine. I sat in my chair and watched the seagulls flying above the Sound and docks. The silence was pleasant, a moment for me to sit alone and have what seemed like privacy was heaven. Poltarc or one or more of his men servants were always about.
“I sat and contemplated where all the man’s efforts in me would lead. He was making me into a nearly indestructible and talented assassin. He never used me as he had allowed his men to use me, and this confused my understanding of him. I did not want his attention in such a way, but it made me wonder just the same. He had no predilection for other men; even the handsome ones in his line of servants. He was never a wanton man when it came to the use of what he had at his disposal.
“He enjoyed a glass of wine, or a well roasted game hen as much as me. I can find no fault in the part of his mind that was kind to me. But the other side of him was obsessed with mayhem. I know from experience that enough deaths, if presented to him in a certain way, would arouse him to climax.” She noticed Simper shifting uncomfortably against his bed of flotsam and sand.
“We are all adults. What I have already spoken to you should have bothered you more than what is only natural, and in nature’s way of things.”
Simper blushed. How was he to explain that hearing such from a girl he cherished like a daughter was embarrassing? He shook his head, trying to shake the girl’s bluntness from his thoughts. “Just keep telling your story. I ask you let me work out my own feelings. Disregard my reactions, please.”
She shrugged and glanced at Mordon. The man had his eyes focused on her face. “I thought it might be entertaining if I threw myself at Poltarc to see his reaction, and if he killed me, so what? I would at least find out if he held a proclivity for women.
“The thought of dying in the process only fueled my resolve. I stood from the chair, and walked directly to his private side room and entered without permission. What I saw left me in panic. An unearthly deformed giant looked my way. He noticed me and stood as I ran back into the other room. Within only a minute, the man I knew as Poltarc came in and motioned me to the chairs. I fear my face must have been overly pale, because he seemed genuinely concerned. He led me to the chair and helped me to sit. The fear I held in my chest and mind must have been apparent upon my face. He patted my hand, and sat opposite me in his chair.
“‘What is it you humans say at moments like this? The cat’s out of the bag, or some such thing? Had you no inkling of my reason for living in this high-ceilinged edifice? Were you not curious as to why my table and chair were so sound of structure? Did you not surmise from gleaning my words to you that I may not belong on this world? As you shift from beauty to beauty in your forms, had you not wondered from whence the idea came?’
“He sat opposite me, quietly studying my face. It took several minutes for me to respond to him in a coherent manner. “I . . . What are you, Sir? Where did you come from?”
“He told me about his race, named the Trajevica, travelling among the stars in huge ships. He spoke of their fleeing another race of beings, bent on their destruction. Poltarc had pleaded to be left upon one of the worlds they had passed so he could be captured. He believed his being left among their enemies, seeding the habitable worlds behind them, would allow him to do two things. First, he truly wished to help his race of creatures in their plight. Second, he knew madness was coming upon him, and did not desire the madness to be turned loose upon his own race. Their leaders refused his offer: to them, his life was more important than the killing of those who sought their deaths.”
“The madness creeping into his mind took hold, and the creature he once was ended. He lusted after blood. It no longer mattered if those around him were of his kind. He would pick someone randomly, and then befriend the creature until he could maneuver them into his trap. In the bowels of their ship, he would secret them and play his insidious games until his victim could no longer sustain life.”
“It took years before his people found out it was he making their comrades disappear. The ship was so large, and their numbers so many, the less essential members of the crew and passengers were not missed. Someone happened to stumble into his chamber of horrors while he pulled the organs from the living creature strapped to his table of death. The shocked creature could run faster than Poltarc.”
“After his people exposed his deprivations, they wondered just how many Poltarc had killed. They searched the ships records, and were aghast when the numbers of his crimes climbed above a few hundred.”
“There was no cell in which they could detain Poltarc. Their species of intellectual beings could not envision there would ever be a need for such contrivances. In fear, they locked him within his quarters by welding shut his door. They cut an access slot in his door so he could be sustained. Their terror of what Poltarc had become wasn’t enough to make them desire his death. The Trajevica held life sacred, nearly worshiping all its forms.”
“The longer he remained on the vessel, the more his people feared he would free himself. Their fear grew until Poltarc’s presence could no longer be tolerated. They left him on this world with a supply of food, and nothing much else.”
“A man, at one time his close friend, took pity upon what Poltarc had become. This individual secreted elements and equipment that would allow Poltarc to bend this world into what he wished it to be. His army and I are examples of his twisted utopia.
“His madness and lust for blood will eventually be swept from the island, onto the entire continent. There will be no one left here for him to kill.”
Simper sat bolt upright when he heard Raeah talk of creatures from the stars—so much for those extra moments of sleep he’d thought he’d get during her story. He had never given such possibilities a moment’s thought, not in his whole life. Raeah expected them to fight such creatures? Listening to her, a seed of real fear began to settle in his gut. “Raeah
. . . what does this thing you saw look like?”
Mordon wanted to ask the same question, but was willing to wait until Raeah finished. Having listened closely to the previous segments of her tale, he had already come to accept the possibility Poltarc had come from beyond their world. It had been a point of contention in his thoughts all the while they journeyed toward Glouster. Ever since he was a child living in the streets, he had been taught the people on this world were God’s only children. He breathed a mental sigh, and awaited Raeah’s response.
Raeah bowed her head in apprehension. All the things she had told them were true. These two men had remained steadfast up until this night. She could see the disbelief and fear in Simper’s eyes. Mordon appeared more resigned to her disclosures, but still she knew not what his decision would be. She would beg, in the end, if begging was required. Raeah knew without Mordon, her chances for freedom were slender, if nonexistent.
Raeah was afraid to even move. “The creature that is Poltarc stands more than twice Mordon’s height.” Raeah watched Simper’s eyes grow wide, “Its greenish-blue skin is almost translucent. The muscles beneath stand out in bold relief. His body is not heavy with muscle, but he must be tremendously strong. Any muscles capable of supporting such weight must be as iron. His feet are three-toed, and blunt claws protrude from each toe and heel. Poltarc’s arms and large hands extend to just below his waist. What struck me with fear was his face. Cruel and sharp were its features.”
“I know not what Poltarc was thinking, during the moment of our unintended meeting, for our faces can be ugly with disfiguring emotions. But, looking upon his face, I could understand why his kind feared him. Large blood-shot eyes seemed to seethe with maniacal hatred. Sharp cheek bones made an already wide face look contorted and disproportional. The broad chin could have been chiseled from stone. Patches of bristle-like quills made up his eyebrows. His over-sized head sat upon a slender neck of corded muscle.”
“When he noticed, me standing in shocked incredulity, he stood and took one menacing step toward me. His sneer reminded me of his men, only with Poltarc, a vast cruelty emanated from not just his warped face, but his whole body. He . . . he looked as if he would pounce upon me and rend my body with sharp teeth as well as limb.”
“When he came out to me, as nearly human as I, my fear and loathing of what he was, bothered him not. The fact he quietly asked his questions, instead of beating me, still leaves me with surprise.”
Raeah watched the faces of these two men. The steady glow of embers wasn’t enough light to ascertain their thoughts. They faced her with cross ankles, inclining their heads toward her as if they were expecting more of her story, but there was no more; she had told them everything.
In the near darkness, Mordon smiled at Raeah, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“You’ve asked me what I have learned after each segment of your story. Last night, I can understand why you were unable to ask, but tonight you did not . . . why?”
She felt disorientated by his question. What could he have learned that would help their quest? If anything, Mordon should be shouting at her with anger filling his voice. He should be beside himself, incredulous with frustration she had waited for so long before telling them they would be fighting a monster, instead of a man. “I don’t understand, Mordon. I thought the two of you would leave me as soon as I told you the truth of Poltarc.”
Mordon glanced at Simper before responding, he could feel his friend’s doubts. Mordon knew Simper very well—if he knew they needed him, he would not falter. “No one better in a fight than Simp, and with the three of us together, who or what could stand in our way? My only concern is the length of time it took you to tell us the truth.” Mordon could just make out the beginnings of tears at the corners of Raeah’s eyes. He understood more fully now, why she would withhold this information from them. This woman before him was desperate for their help. Yes, she was using them, yes she had been less than forthright, but she should have perceived their loyalty was not hollow. Not as hollow as her professed love for them both. This woman was something less than human now herself. Mordon realized her perfidy really meant nothing. No matter what this woman had done to others, she was leading them to a creature that needed to be killed. Mordon intended to exact retribution for all the evil Poltarc had caused. There was still something this woman had not considered, “What you have told us tonight makes me hope for a better outcome.”
Raeah couldn’t help frowning, “What do you mean?”
The fear abated slightly in Simper’s gut. Where was Mordon leading them? If Mordon saw something good from the girl’s story, he desperately needed to hear what it was.
Mordon continued, “There must be a reason Poltarc stays in human form. Maybe the real Poltarc is less capable a fighter in his natural body. Being big does not equate to being devastating. I learned that lesson from Simp and Wicliff years ago. Most big men are ponderous in their movements. Size can be intimidating, but not a disadvantage to someone with skill.”
Raeah almost yelled her rejoinder, “But I cannot tell you for a fact he is less . . . anything in his real body. He may be even deadlier. I . . . I don’t know what he is like.”
Mordon breathed a heavier intake of air, and quickly let it out, “Remember Charon and Robert telling us a giant lifted the Picts to the battlements? I would be willing to wager the giant kept out of the fighting: he was willing to let the Picts take the brunt, if not all, of the fighting unto them.”
“Poltarc may be strong, but must be less agile as his human form. It makes sense, if you consider how active and deadly he is when smaller. He probably likes the powers he has as a human.”
“If we can somehow make him change, we might gain the advantage. With the three of us to contend with, we will have the best chance of defeating him.”
Simper wanted more light so he could see his companion’s faces. He stoked the embers with what flotsam was handy. All this talk about fighting a giant, from who knew where, left his stomach churning. Mordon had cut any chance of his retreating to the valley. A coward he was not, but a bastion of strength against a foe he could simply not comprehend . . . . Damn, if Mordon was fool enough to continue helping Raeah, then he could not do any other than the same . . . double damn. “What if the oversized Poltarc is as quick and deadly as the smaller?”
Mordon considered Simper’s fearful eyes in the light from the brightening flames. What he saw caused him to falter. How could he ask Simp to blindly follow when he, even Raeah, didn’t know if his theory about the creature was accurate? Very softly, Mordon spoke to his old friend, “Simp . . . I think I’m right about Poltarc. Raeah is expecting us to leave her here to fight her own battles, but I can’t do that.” He turned his head and looked at the tearing eyes and face of the woman he thought he loved, “I can’t go back, Simp, but you can. Go find Lizbeth, and live out what days the two of you can find to live. Poltarc or his men may never find the valley.”
Simper threw another stick into the flame, causing embers to create a small cloud of sparks. “You know damn well they will. There isn’t a place on this island he or his men won’t eventually find. If he does as the girl says and moves to the mainland, there is nothing or no one to say for sure he won’t come back.” Simper sighed heavily, and looked to Raeah instead of Mordon, “Girl, I watched you grow up in the castle. Wicliff and I picked you up more times than I care to remember. I’d have made your blasted brother disappear if I could have. It wasn’t just me. All the decent men in the barracks loved you as the child they never had. I know I don’t make much of a man now days, but by damn, if you’ll have me, I’d kind’a like thinking of myself as someone you could come to . . . if you needed to talk to an older man.”
Raeah was quietly crying listening to these two men. When Simper asked her if he could be her surrogate father, she broke down and sobbed her gratitude. She slipped into
Simper’s arms and let him comfort her as he saw fit. She knew she did not deserve their kindness, let alone their love. It was almost too much for her frayed nerves. The fears of their leaving her on this riverbank in disgust had been expected, and then alleviated. Mordon had turned her revelation into something positive. Simper had disclosed his feelings covering years of her childhood. How could she ever repay them for their aid? Their willingness to protect her without concern for their lives left her breathless. She was a killer of innocent people, a creature of Poltarc’s making, and yet they stood by her side. If only she could devise a plan that would keep them safe.
The three of them had become more tightly bound together than either of them could imagine. But Mordon considered the enormity of their undertaking. It wasn’t just Poltarc they needed to worry about, what of Poltarc’s army; they numbered in the thousands. If the three of them were going to have any chance at all, they needed to have a better than good strategy, “We need to talk of plans that have a chance of working. Tell us as much as you can about Glouster, its streets, and the warehouse. Simper and I need to have a better understanding of everything in the city. Don’t leave anything out that may give us the slightest advantage. If you can get us into the warehouse undetected . . . . Let the girl go, Simp, so she can think about the answers we need to hear.”
They talked late that night and slept the morning away.
CHAPTER 9
A day and a half later, they knelt upon a low knoll just southeast of Glouster. Raeah pointed out the warehouse in the distance. There were several warehouses along the dock, but the one Poltarc had chosen was the largest among them. There was no easy way they could reach the building without moving through the city. Earlier in the day, they talked about finding a boat to come at Poltarc from the water, but their search for a boat along the river as they had worked their way to the knoll had been fruitless. Poltarc’s men had systematically destroyed every conveyance by water they had come across.
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