Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  “Boyo, you can’t let her live like this. Those things in her body will keep her alive, but who would want to live in a crushed body? Letting her live would be the cruelest thing you could do to her.” Simper laid his sword next to Mordon and walked away. What he had told Mordon was the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to watch. His gut was twisted with frustration. He walked to Poltarc’s head, grabbed the hilt, and wrenched the bladed from right to left in pure hatred of what Poltarc had done. Simper pulled Mordon’s sword free, and then forcefully kicked the head with his booted foot.

  Mordon felt cold inside. His entire world suddenly dropped from beneath him. Raeah had used him, yet what he felt for her could not be torn from his heart and mind. When he considered Raeah’s eyes, they were beseeching him to help her die. He kissed her lips and leaned back on his heels. Mordon gently touched Raeah’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Leaning forward so his lips were next to her ear, “I love you, Raeah.”

  When he moved, it was a blur. In the turmoil within his mind he didn’t even notice Cutter leaping to its feet and menacingly growl at him. Her head rolled to the side a few inches, and then came to rest. Her eyes faced away from him. He knew, at that moment, if he could see her face his heart would burst. Mordon stumbled to his feet and went to the room she had described as hers. He came back out with a silk rug from the floor. As gently as his shaking hands would allow, he lifted Raeah’s body and her head onto the silken surface of the rug, and rolled them up inside. He heard many booted feet on the floor behind him, and stood to turn and face what came. He was ready to die. Cutter growled at his side.

  Men staggered through the door Poltarc had entered. They were shaking their heads and stumbling. Some men fell to the floor and retched. Two or three of the dozen men walked with a more stable gait toward him. None of them carried swords or weapons of any kind. One man stopped and looked up at him, his eyes filled with confusion. Mordon asked, “Who are you, and from what kingdom do you come?”

  “I know my name is Sadon, and I came from Sothpern.”

  As soon as he heard the name, Mordon wanted to smash this man into the planking of the floor. But it was obvious the man was just discovering he wasn’t in Sothpern. “If you are Prince Sadon, you are the son of a king.” Mordon ground his teeth before continuing, “Do you know what you and all the others of Poltarc’s army did to the people of this island?” The man’s eyes dropped in admission of his knowledge.

  “We were beasts . . . but we had no control of what we did. Poltarc led us around with his thoughts, and enjoyed watching us do his bidding. We could not stop what we did. We could not even kill ourselves. We were puppets to his twisted mind and twisted thoughts. When you killed Poltarc, whatever controlled us ended? I . . . none of us can undo what we have done.”

  Mordon breathed deeply, and exhaled slowly, “This is what you are going to do, Sadon . . . for Raeah.” When Mordon mentioned her name, the man flinched visibly. “First, you and however men it takes are going to pull what is left of Poltarc from this warehouse to the center of Glouster, and burn his body. I don’t care if you must cut him into smaller pieces. Build a pyre from whatever you can find. Nothing of his body can remain. How you do it, I don’t care. Nothing is to remain. Grind the bones that escape the flames and dump them about the Sound. Second, you are going to collect your men and scour from this island every Pict, searching in every valley in their territory. You are going to vow to do as I have asked for a period of one year in the name of Raeah, and all those you have slaughtered. The Picts may have been controlled by Poltarc but I’ll wager they were more willing than any of the rest of you. They do not deserve to share this island with decent people.”

  “We know nothing of mountains and fighting among the peaks.”

  Mordon drew him close, and lifted him from the floor with one arm, “Haverid has border guards who survived. Ask King Aron for enough of them to guide you to the lairs of the Picts.” Mordon lowered Sadon to his feet. “Do not expect all of his men to accompany you. He has a job of rebuilding Haverid and this city. It’s going to take a lot of work just to rid this city of the stink of Poltarc.”

  Mordon didn’t give Sadon time to speak, “When the year is up, or when the last Pict has met his maker, you can return to Sothpern and rebuild. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people who escaped and are just waiting to rebuild. When they see you, they will be glad of your return. Never let them know you were a part of Poltarc’s army, or any of your men. Get yourself cleaned up, as well as your men. Look like you did when Raeah wanted to marry you.” The man flinched again, but held his eyes on Mordon’s. “Make your dead father be proud of you. Make Sothpern what is was.” Sadon asked him a question.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am what Raeah made of me, Sir Mordon of Widley. She died in the struggle to free herself, and you men, from Poltarc. She wanted me to rebuild Widley and Duratia, and that is what I am going to do. From now on, we will meet as kings. Let us not greet the other with bitter memories and guilt of what has taken place, but greet each other as new kings come to power. Let us fight together in making this island better and safer for the people who will live here.” Mordon ran out of words to say, almost.

  Raeah loved this man at one time. Mordon could see the steel coming back into his backbone and spirit. “Do as I have asked, Sadon, and then stop in Widley on your way back to Sothpern.”

  Sadon looked this big man in the eye, and started to believe they could climb out of the pit Poltarc had dug for them. He nodded and turned to his men. With arms spread, he directed the soldiers back out the door and onto the dock.

  Mordon watched them go, and believed Sadon would do as he asked. When he turned, Simper was kneeling next to the rug. He had his hand where Raeah’s shoulder rested within the fabric. Mordon patted him on the shoulder, and stooped to lift her body in his arms.

  Mordon spoke with broken heart, “Raeah should have a proper burial place. Somewhere she could rest in peace.” The only place he could think of was up at the castle. In his state of grief his mind could not contemplate taking her all the way back to Widley; the pain would be too much. It took nearly an hour before they could pass through the city and climb the hill where the castle stood. With Simper at his side, and Raeah in his arms, he walked with heavy heart through the castle doorway. Upon entering this grand structure, he knew immediately this was a fitting place to honor her. It only took them a few minutes to locate the chamber where past king or kings had been buried.

  The high stone walls and arched ceiling over the tomb seemed a fitting place to leave Raeah. This chamber reminded him of the arched limbs in the mossy glade of white-barked trees.

  The stone placed over the entry had taken four men to place, but Mordon wrenched it from its seat alone. He left the thick stone standing on end, looking like a marker in a cemetery for the wealthy. They found torches and lit them before descending into the tomb. Steps led down into a good-sized chamber filled with statues of past kings placed in alcoves along the three walls. Cutter whined at the top of the stairs but would not enter the tomb. In the center, a crypt of stone rested on a raised pedestal. With Simper’s help, Mordon lifted the lid to the floor. Inside rested the bones of a man, a scepter and sword crossed its chest. The material of the robe wrapped loosely about his bones looked as new.

  Mordon and Simper carefully moved the bones from the crypt to the base of one of the statues. Mordon meant no dishonor to the dead king but what Raeah had helped them accomplish was undeniably heroic. There was no one left in the castle who might protest their actions. Mordon steeled his muscles and nerves, and unrolled Raeah from the blanket. They lifted her body gently into the crypt, and then Mordon placed her head a few inches from her body. They wrapped the red robe of the king around her body and replaced the rod and sword. Simper thought she would like that gesture. Mordon didn’t argue she looked right with them across her armored chest. They re
sealed the crypt; tears flowing from both men’s eyes. Mordon rolled the rug back into a cylinder and leaned it between two of the statues.

  The huge stone Mordon had lifted from the crypt entrance seemed to have tripled in weight. He had to ask Simper for help. Between the two of them, and two pikes they found discarded in one of the rooms of the castle, they managed to lower and position the thick slab of stone. It rested once more in its proper location. The scars the pikes had caused on the stone were mirrored by the scars they felt upon their hearts. They stood there a moment with bowed head, each silently leaving their prayers with the dead princess.

  Mordon put his left hand on Simp’s shoulder, “She’ll be taken care of here. I . . . I want to thank you for believing in me, Simp. We couldn’t have slain Poltarc without you.”

  Simper took a deep breath, and exhaled in a heavy sigh, “I don’t like leaving her, Mordon, but we’ve got to get back to the valley.”

  Both men turned and walked through the empty rooms and hallways of the castle. When they started down the hill, a man was seated upon a wide boulder. His head was in his hands as he softly wept. When the man heard their footfalls, he stood and wiped his eyes with his arm. He was as big as Mordon, with a full beard and the armor of Mothport. Mordon asked, “What brings you here to leave tears on this stone?” The man’s mouth worked from side to side before responding.

  “This stone is where I came to my senses and I realized I had done great harm to innocent people. Poltarc must be dead, for he no longer controls my body and my mind. Who are you?”

  “I am Sir Mordon, and this is Captain Simper, of Widley.”

  “Widley . . . my God, we leveled that place. I didn’t think anyone survived.”

  Simper couldn’t help but ask, “Why did Poltarc destroy Widley, and leave everyplace else standing?”

  “King Widley sent a message that was a slap to Poltarc’s face. It made him so angry, he had us build dozens of catapults and destroy everything within reach. We just kept moving in and destroying until Poltarc finally lost his patience and stormed the castle.”

  Mordon liked the way this man looked directly in another man’s eyes. The man knew what he had done, and was filled with remorse. “Who are you?”

  “I . . . I used to be the nephew of the duke of Mothport, Duke Bloden, but now I am the worst kind of man. Anyone in our kingdom, especially the duke, would have had me hung if not drawn and quartered by his men. Being what I am now, I wouldn’t fight back. I . . . I deserve the worst.”

  “You haven’t given us your name.” The man lowered his eyes, and looked back with a spark of belligerence.

  “My name is Saultry Penhurst.”

  Mordon bowed to the man, “You are now King Penhurst. If you are the nephew to a duke, you have the right to the throne. Go back to Mothport, and be a better king than what you had. Make people want to live there. There are many in hiding, waiting and hoping for you, or someone like you, to come back and lead them in the right direction. The kingship awaits you, if you want it.”

  “Who gave you the power to free my guilt, and make me a king?”

  “Someone who I tried not to love, Princess Raeah. She lifted me from the dust to a man she wished to be her king. I will not let her death stop what she asked of me.”

  “Raeah is dead? I didn’t think anyone could kill her.”

  Mordon let his chin touch his chest, and then he concentrated upon Saultry’s eyes, “I killed Raeah. Poltarc crushed her to near death, so she asked me to end her life. If I could bring myself to take the life of the one I loved, think how much I might do for you if you asked my help. We could work together rebuilding our kingdoms. We could be friends.”

  Sultry looked intently at Mordon’s calm face, “Maybe we could be just that.”

  Mordon drew Simper out of hearing of the big man who still stood by the stone, rubbing his beard. “Listen, Simp . . . Raeah asked me to do something, and I need to do it alone.” Mordon could see the hesitancy rising in Simper’s eyes. “Here me out, please Simp. I’ve got to do what Raeah asked of me. Don’t ask questions, please Simp. I’ve got to go away for a while, and then I’ll come back to Widley. I like Saultry, and I think you do as well. I’m going to ask if you can travel back toward Mothport with him and his men. Leave them when you wish anywhere on the roadway, understand?”

  Simper didn’t want to leave Mordon. But it made sense to travel with someone they felt they could trust. He could sneak away before they entered the gorge, and make his way to the valley. “I’ll say hello to Tess.”

  “I knew I could count on you. But remember, I will be in Widley, so come when you’re ready to be my Captain of the Guard, and my advisor. I need you with me, Simp.”

  “You put it that way . . . I’ll be there. How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t rightly know, maybe a month.”

  “A month from now I’ll be walking into Widley, and you had better be there.”

  “I will Simp . . . I will.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Mordon haunted the warehouse, living in the space Poltarc had created for Raeah. He had first thought being here would break his heart, but he had been able to bring back all the good memories of her and learned to smile again. No matter how long he lived, she would always hold a precious place in his heart and mind.

  He had sat, waiting for a ship to pull up to the dock with a captain he felt he could trust. Several had come and gone; none of the men he had spoken to filled what he was looking for. He needed a man capable of getting things done without being watched. He needed someone like Saultry.

  King Aron had come down to the warehouse and had drunk ale with him practically every night. They liked one another, and had learned to respect each other. They had whiled hours away talking of Poltarc, Raeah, and all the fighting they had done. They spoke of building kingdoms, and how to feed the people who would come. They spoke of the need to protect what they built, and how to keep what they held. Mordon learned a great deal from the man and told him so. Aron told him Raeah would be honored by all those living in Haverid. Her resting place would be guarded day and night for if he remained Haverid’s king.

  On the fifth day, a vessel approached and tied up to the dock. Mordon was standing there waiting. A well-dressed man, clean of face and with a purposeful stride, came to the railing and looked down at him. “Are you the captain of this ship?”

  “That I be, oversized fellow. My name is Straf Groden, and this is my ship. What can I do for you?”

  It was an instant liking by both men. Mordon pulled a diamond from his pocket the size of a quail’s egg, and held it up to the man. “What will this stone buy me in the way of passage?” Mordon smiled inwardly as he watched the captain’s face.

  “Well now . . . that stone will buy me, my crew, everything in it, and the whole damn ship if you want it.”

  Mordon had to laugh, “How long will this stone purchase what you’ve mentioned?”

  Straf rubbed his chin in thought and then smiled at Mordon, “Hell, why lie . . . that stone is worth more than I made the past four seasons working the ports. There are just too many ships fighting for the same trade goods. The traffic lanes are filled with men and ships who would try to slit your throat at a chance to get what you’re holding.”

  Mordon tossed him the stone. Straf was so flabbergasted, he almost dropped the diamond into the water.

  “Looks like I’m now the one needing to watch my back.”

  “What do you say we watch each other’s back? I’ve got a lot of business for you and your vessel. If you think you need help, hire people you trust.”

  “What you got cooking in that head of yours, stranger? Nothing crooked I hope. Kings don’t like their goods being taken, or their women held for ransom. I will tell you up front, I can’t abide thievery.”

  “You’ll be doing nothing illegal, Straf.”
/>   “Then come aboard at your pleasure. The tide is coming in right now. We could leave any time this afternoon.”

  Mordon arranged to be taken across the strait to Portsmouth. The captain was willing to give Mordon his stateroom, but he declined the offer and settled on a small cabin very near the captain’s quarters. Once he was aboard, Captain Groden departed Glouster and set sail for Portsmouth.

  Mordon excused himself from the captain, and went to his small cabin. He pulled his pack to him on the bunk and unbuckled the strapping. From inside, he pulled a leather bag large enough to cover both his large hands. He pulled the drawstring loose and opened the bag. The sparkling diamonds and other colorful jewels he spilled into his left hand made him wonder just what he could purchase for Widley. Raeah had told him where her father had hidden away yet another fortune in the attic of the castle.

  Among her dying words, Raeah told Mordon where Poltarc had hidden the more valuable of his plunder. The leg of his heavy table had been hollow, and filled with bags just like this one. He had taken six, and had given King Aron the rest. There wasn’t much room in his pack for anything else but a few pieces of clothing. He intended using all the stones in this sack if that’s what it took to make Raeah’s request come to fruition. He tied the sack and pushed it down in his pack. The bags of jewels pushed tightly against one another. He pushed the pack to the head of the bunk and used it for his pillow. Raeah’s dreams were now his dreams.

  EPILOG

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  Mordon stood without shirt in the afternoon sun. His powerful bronze upper body was covered in sweat and dust. They had cleared another entire block of fallen stone and timbers. The men he worked with were sweeping up the dirt and small debris. Black rectangles denoted where stairs led downward into cellars scattered about the flat area of the exposed first floor of several buildings.