Mordraud, Book One (29 page)

“
There... like that... more...”

He opened his eyes so that he wouldn
’t lose anything of the miracle. Deanna traced her nails down his back, taking them to grip his hips. She was making all the decisions. Impossible, thought Adraman. He’d died and hadn’t even noticed.

“
Oh, yes... yes...”

His back arched almost to breaking point. So intensely that it nearly hurt – a blinding yet wonderful pain. And like in the best of dreams, he kissed her before slipping down to her side.

“It was... Was it...?”

Deanna didn
’t answer. Her eyes were still closed. She was shaking slightly. Adraman stroked her hair with his fingertips.

“
Thank you, darling.”

She smiled at him i
n silence. Her gaze seemed lost somewhere beyond the room.

“
Good night.”

Deanna cuddled up to him, clinging to his arm. Adraman dropped off to sleep not long afterwards. His bed had never felt so comfortable, the air so good, the sounds so muted. Everything was perfect beyond
any dream.

Instead, Deanna didn
’t fall asleep straight away. She brushed her neck and chest with her hand, still enveloped in the fantasy that had overcome her. The cries, the blood, the fear.

And Mordraud who towered over her, panting like a wild beast, sullied by his prey
’s blood. An adult Mordraud – taller and more muscular. But with the same green eyes of that night.

“
Why don’t you stop staring at me?!”

Gwern
couldn’t work well like he usually did. The tavern was half-empty, as was normal for that time of year. The fighting at the front was at its height – the last thrust before the cold season set in. First the rains, followed by fog, then snow were blessings for the rebels committed to the war against Cambria.
The Empire dares not attack when nature imposes her respite
was an old saying often heard on the lips of the oldest war veterans. But the cold was still too far away for rejoicing. Every day in Eld was lived as if it were a gift, a hope that coaxed everyone to go on, and on, year after year. Battle after battle.

He
’d never seen that man, but he’d certainly already had enough of him. Since he’d come in, he’d done little else than follow him with his eyes, even beyond the kitchen door, when Gwern opened it to fetch the orders. Barely no customers were speaking – they were busy just drinking that watery beer typical to those dwelling in poverty. The war wounded, the mutilated, the abandoned elderly. The mood was not the most favourable, and it wasn’t helping him in his gruelling work of tolerance
The mysterious man called him over
yet again and ordered another beer. Gwern could feel his eyes running down his back, and realised he’d reached the peak of his patience. When he returned with the full tankard, he banged it on the table and harangued him somewhat rudely.

“
I’m not staring at you, child,” the nuisance man answered haughtily.

“
Ah, really?! So you deny it?”

Larois
approached him from behind and lifted him off the floor.

“
So that’s where you’ve got to! Come on, give your grandma a hand, and stop bothering the customers!”

Grandma
?!

“
But he was staring at me, and I couldn’t take any more of it...”

“
I apologise for him, sir...” Larois bowed her head regretfully, addressing the stranger. “However hard I try, I can’t teach my grandson any manners... Ha! It’s difficult keeping these sprogs under wraps!”

Grandson
?!

“
It doesn’t matter.”

“
This one’s on the house,” replied Larois, heading back to the kitchen with Gwern in her arms. “And you quit giving your granny trouble!”

“
But Larois, what are you saying? You’re not my...”

Gwern
found himself catapulted beyond the door well before he could finish his sentence.

“
What’s got in to you?!” he blurted out, touching his head with a hand, on the spot where he’d bashed it against a glasses cabinet.

“
Learn to think before you open your mouth!” she hissed as she peeped through the crack in the door.

“
But what have I done wrong?! I only asked that guy...”

“
What did he pay you with?”

“
WHAT?!”

“
I asked you, what money did he use to pay for his beers?!” Larois stretched out her hand and rummaged in the pouch hanging at his trouser belt. A handful of coins tinkled to the floor – the few coppers from the meagre evening.

“
There they are.”

Larois
took five coins in her hand, flipping them carefully between her fingers.

“
What’s so odd about them?”

“
Look...” she said, holding one out to him. “Here in the fief we use Eld coinage, and it’s extremely rare to come across currency from other cities. You might occasionally find a coin from one of our allies, perhaps a silver Hart from the east but...”

“
There’s a snake at the top here. What is it?”

“
It’s not a snake!” she contradicted. “It’s a river, the Hann River to be precise. This money comes from the Inland Sea Strait. Calhann coinage.”

“
And so?”

“
But didn’t you sleep much last night? You don’t seem as smart as usual. That man’s an outsider, a foreigner... and here in Eld nobody – and I mean
nobody
– comes from elsewhere!”

“
And so you think... he’s come here to spy on us?!”

Larois
cuffed him round back of the head, just hard enough to make him realise he should be more careful.

“
He’s spying on YOU! Maybe they’re looking for you. I wouldn’t know who though...”

“
They’re looking for us...?” Gwern repeated, incredulous. “Me and Mordraud... They’re looking for us...”

“
I’m afraid they might be. So from now on I’m your granny, okay? Have you figured it out now?”

“
I’ve figured it out. I’ll do as you say... Thanks, Larois.”

“
You’re welcome. Now get back to work, otherwise we’ll be making him unnecessarily suspicious. Come on, get a move on.”

Gwern
grabbed a cloth and went back into the hall. As he wiped a table vacated by a regular too inebriated to go on drinking, he did all he could not to lift his eyes towards the stranger, but he held out a mere couple of seconds.

The
man had already gone.

‘
Why does someone want to spy on us?! Who could be interested in that?’ he asked himself in curiosity. ‘Dunwich perhaps? But what sense would that make... He works in Cambria, and we’re still his brothers... No, it must be someone else.”

‘
On that topic, I wonder how Dunwich is. I hardly remember anything about him... So many years have gone by...’

***

“I demand an explanation! AT ONCE!”

The
guard hastened away, swiftly shutting the door behind him. The Emperor was angrier than usual.

It wasn
’t a pleasant sight.

“
What am I supposed to do now?!” he grumbled, gripped by despair. “I can’t go into his bedroom...”

When Loralon behaved in that manner
, making him see reason was impossible. He’d only had the terrible bad luck of being the guard on duty, that particular night. When he’d spotted him unroll the maps of the new contended territories, he’d held his breath. It would have been a fine night, if the front had moved eastwards.

The first glass goblet against t
he door had smashed any feasible hope.

Like many others who filled out the Imperial Army ranks just waiting for their wage packet, the guard no longer believed the tale that the rebels were a bunch of marauding diehards bent on opposing the advance of Imperial order. It was all rubbish. He
’d seen Eldain’s men on the field, and since then he hadn’t fought to attain the glory of the front lines but rather for the shame of the rear ranks. The Military Academy crème de la crème was rancid and muddled. The generals made decisions that were then changed and shaped by those above them, and so on up, until a muddle of rules, orders, elaborate strategies and absurd plans had been created. The Empire would win in the end – nobody doubted that – but at what price...? ‘It’s all a game of little flags on maps. This is mine, that isn’t yet...’ he thought, as he heard Loralon yelling in rage a dozen or so rooms down the corridor. ‘And now I have to find Commander Asaeld in the middle of the night... How am I going to do that?’

The Gods were merciful tha
t night, he thought, when he was the one he spotted – the supreme head of the Imperial Lances – as he walked along the very same passageway. Not for a moment did he ask himself what Asaeld was doing in Loralon’s palace at that late hour – it was not his business. The guard went to meet him, smiling imprudently. Perhaps he would make it to the next day still with a job. However awful that job might be.

“
Commander, sir... I was looking for you... Emperor Loralon urgently requests your presence in the council chamber...”

“
Yes, yes, I know. You can go now, your shift’s over.”

The guard could have
embraced him, but of course did nothing other than bow down to the ground. Asaeld didn’t even slow his pace. Once at the council-chamber door, he drew down a deep breath and knocked with excessive care. The guard was already away along the corridor that would take him out to his longed-for bunk at the barracks. He could only hear the Lance’s vaguely sly voice as it echoed in the silence of the palace, far behind him.

“
May I come in, Your Majesty?”

Asaeld opened the door withou
t awaiting a reply. The council chamber was as vast as a theatre. Tapestries and paintings narrated the story of the Loren family, its most heroic battles, the legends of the first emperor of Cambria... The central table was large enough to comfortably seat fifty people. Loralon was at the far end of the room, busy rummaging among the maps stretched out in front of him. The immense room and table made him look like a little bird on a perch. Asaeld failed to conceal a small smirk.

“
You have a great deal to explain to me, Commander!” he barked, thumping the table with his fist. A map jumped free of the clasp holding in down, and rolled up around his arm. Uttering a thousand curses, the Emperor fumbled to get things back in order.

“
I’m here to serve you, Your Majesty.”

“
Then start by giving me a hand, straight away!”

Asaeld we
nt to his side and put the fastening back on the corner of the map, spreading the rest out with his hand. “I see you’ve already received the reports on the progress of the front...”

“
This is not a report, it’s a DISASTER!” Loralon screamed shrilly. “Another winter is on the way, and all we’ve conquered is THIS!” and with a trembling finger he pointed to a slim stretch of shoreline facing the Hann Marshland. An area of minor importance, and one the rebels practically deserted of their own free will.

“
Your Majesty, it’s been a hard year: the poor harvests, the troubles with the colonies in the West... But we shouldn’t forget the valuable work of undermining the enemy’s morale! Eld and its inhabitants are at the end of their resources. It’s purely a question of time... A few months, perhaps a year...”

“
Is that what you say, Asaeld?!” exclaimed Loralon, red in the face. “I see no success on these maps...”

“
You’re wrong. Please look here... and here: we’ve gone beyond the hill. And here... the river’s behind us, no longer in front of us... And we shouldn’t forget this area down here...”

Asaeld was shifting back and forth on the map so fast even he couldn
’t keep up with what he was pointing out. The Emperor nodded, mumbling suppositions and suggesting projects and ideas for future strategies. He understood practically nothing of what was said to him.

“
As you can see, all in all it’s been a fruitful year. Now we should try to strengthen our position, then we’ll see to taking control of a few strategic points that
you
, with your long-sighted vision, have just pointed out to me.”

Loralon
’s gaze told him everything he needed to know. Asaeld saluted after a few routine phrases, and went off smiling, as calm as he’d been when he arrived.

***

Spring’s first days came, spoilt occasionally by unexpected freezing showers and by a mist that lingered on the damp fields. Deanna sat as she always did, on the windowsill overlooking the rear of the house. A book lay in her lap but she could no longer remember its title. Mordraud was training, as he did each morning, manoeuvring his sword in the courtyard.

‘
He’s so different when I look at him from up here... He’s always shy and polite with me, but when he takes that sword in his hands he turns into another person,’ she thought, entranced by the rhythm of his arms. She could hardly recognise the boy she had taken into her service many winters ago.

Nearly two years had gone by since that notorious summer night. Every time her thoughts went back to those moments of agitation, the cries and the blood dripping on her ripped clothes, she felt a shiver run down her spine. The months and the seasons had flown by, dragged by the slow constancy of days that were relentlessly the same. Yet something had changed. Mordraud was no longer the same in her eyes.

Many things had improved thanks to that night. She behaved differently towards Adraman, with a kindness she’d never shown him. She was still far from loving him, but she’d realised she could at least respect him. If what she had seen for only a few instants was a macabre habit for her husband, then everything became clearer. There was sense in his wish for peace, boredom and tranquillity. There was also sense in his suffocating attentions, even in his inability to tell her what he felt or thought. What he witnessed at the front on a daily basis went beyond her powers of comprehension. “Who knows how many boys he’s seen die on a single night, one of the many...” she murmured, her head leaning against the glass. “How can he stand it?”

Occasionally
she also felt the desire to yield herself. It happened fairly rarely, but it was enough to make him happy. Even after all the changes she had succeeded in making in her life, she could still not find Adraman attractive. Years of blind stupid hatred had left their mark. But she’d found a way to accept him. A trick that at first had seemed meaner than any sordid fantasy.