Mordraud, Book One (40 page)

“
I’ve got it, Mordraud. Calm down now...” he said, stroking the lad’s short hair. Then he slapped his face with all his might. Mordraud opened his eyes wide and stopped stock still.

“
What’s happening?! Who are these people? Ow...”

A
draman sat down at his side and placed his sword on his chest. “Sometimes, a person can fall unconscious during battle and not realise it’s over... He wakes up somewhere else and doesn’t understand... I’ve seen many in your state, my boy.”

“
The fighting... is it over? And did we win?!”

“
Yes, we won. Unbelievable, wouldn’t you say?”

The
soldiers and doctors went away, rubbing their arms that were sore from the effort. Mordraud unsheathed the blade, just to check it really was his, and vented a sigh of relief. “It’s not my scabbard,” he observed sorrily.

“
I know, you lost yours. Your helmet was scrunched down to a ball of tin. I had to prise it off your head with forceps – I thought I was going to end up with your brains in my hands! But it saved your life, and I really don’t know how... When I found you, you were on the floor, curled up around your sword, mixed with a bed of corpses. A horrific sight. You must have been trampled by a horse, too.”

“
But I... I don’t remember retrieving my sword. I threw it, and then... then...” Mordraud suddenly jumped off his bed, but he regretted the move at once. He was injured in dozens of different places, wounds of varying degrees of severity. Cuts, bruises, burns. Even a bite on his calf.

A human bite
.

“
I killed him, didn’t I?! Is the Lance dead?”

“
Who are you talking about?! I didn’t see any Lance near you.”

“
I’m sure I got him, but perhaps it wasn’t enough...” he huffed in regret. For some odd and bizarre reason, he was almost glad he hadn’t managed to slay that Lance. It had been a great duel – just like the ones he’d dreamt of as a boy. Him, alone amidst the foe, pitching his life against the best. The champion.

“
What a fool I am...” he mumbled, slumping back down onto the board.

“
Why?”

“
Never mind. So... how did the battle end? Tell me about it!”

Adraman
made himself comfortable and narrated how things had gone. When his battalion reached the Rampart, the battle had already broken up into a seething and inextricable mass. Luckily for them, the remaining Lances were all grouped on the opposite side, and were busy retreating and abandoning the field. The others had already deserted, leaving only weary foot-soldiers and confused horsemen. The Night of Fire had played in the rebels’ favour. Each step they took forward, they felt elated, while their enemy’s hopes of winning quickly and easily faded, steadily and relentlessly. The Empire had made the wrong calculations, on absolutely everything. Adraman finished off the job with the best of flair.

“
I plunged into their back lines and we wiped everything away. Then we assaulted the bulk of their forces, sowing mayhem with my lads’ charge. But what’s incredible... is that you weren’t desperate for our help. You coped on your own, and for love of the Gods... what an amazing result from you all!” Adraman beamed and snapped his fingers in delight. “The Empire made various blunders but its men still hugely outnumbered us... Ice and Berg did an excellent job.”

Mordraud
had to bite his lip so as not to interrupt him. He would have liked to tell him he’d been the one to rouse everyone, but he felt certain the commanders had already bagged all the credit.

“
...And you were great too! They told me all about it. You called Ice, you got up there in the front and you led your companions...” Mordraud nodded with his eyes half-closed, lulled by the praise. Another of his boyhood dreams. Glory on the battlefield. Glory his father had never achieved. He’d never even come close to it.

“
... and you led them into a
massacre!
”

Mordraud
didn’t pick up on the change of tone straight away.

“
Yes, it was a full-blown massacre! You should have seen us: we sliced them in two, like a hot knife through butter... something...”

“
SOMETHING IDIOTIC!” yelled Adraman, and only then did Mordraud realise they had two very different ideas of what heroic meant.

“
You deserted your fellow soldiers, and forced a group of my best men to embark on a suicide mission! You might all have been slaughtered – you were very lucky Cambria’s lily-livered troops were petrified by the Night of Fire! Without of course counting that they made one strategic mistake after another. Don’t you understand?!”

“
But we won... Even you said you weren’t expecting to... and Berg...”

“
Berg followed you, and I’ve already reprimanded him for that. But you, young man...” Adraman gripped him by the shoulders and looked at him with a blend of compassion, anger and fear. “You must never make such a dumb move again. Follow your orders, stay in your place, and do what you’re told to do. Nothing more than that, at least not until you’ve got some brains in that numb skull of yours so you can lead other people. But until that day comes... none of your own initiatives. Is that clear?!”

“
But...”

“
IS THAT CLEAR, SOLDIER?”

“
Yes... it’s clear...” Mordraud groaned reluctantly. “But why do you care so much about what I might do? I’m a soldier like all the others... And many died in the battle while following orders...”

“
I brought you here,” mumbled Adraman. “There hadn’t been fighting at the Rampart for many months. It was the safest and quietest front in the region... I thought it was the best thing to do. For everyone.”

“
And who’s everyone?!”

“
All of us. And that’s that. Rest now. You’ll be going home for a while in a few days’ time. Eldain wants to hear how things went.”

‘
Will I meet Eldain?!’ he wondered in anticipation. Mordraud was already bristling with excitement. His chance to ask a helping hand for his brother. And what a hand!

“
What will I have to tell him? How should I behave?”

“
Tell him we won, describe how it went, and inform him we also have supplies for the camps. The Empire’s back lines were wealthy and well-stocked. Ah, I was forgetting...”

Adraman untied a pouch from his
belt and placed it on his chest. “We also have gold. In mint condition. And this... is your share.”

“
Wow!” blurted Mordraud with a muffled cry, when the coins glistened in his palm. “I’ve never seen so many in my life!”

“
Even if your conduct was similar to a wild beast’s, you deserve it.”

“
There’s one thing I still haven’t figured though...” began Mordraud, fiddling with a Cambrian Scudo. Emperor Loralon stood out on one side, with a serious and striking stare that made the looting even more appealing. “How did you learn the enemy was coming? You certainly can’t have simply sighted the troops.”

“
This I will tell Eldain in person. You just do what I’ve ordered you to... Understand?”

“
Understood!” Mordraud responded. The gold and the prospects of some leave – they’d put him in a wonderful mood. He wasn’t interested in the generals’ business at that moment. His mind was on other things.

He
’d see Deanna again. And just the thought posed the potential risk of reddening in front of Adraman. But luckily for him he managed to control himself. Only once his commander had left the tent did he allow his euphoria to wash over him, laughing at the top of his voice and playing with his new coins. He could feel pain everywhere, and a few of the wounds on his shoulders were really nasty. Black suppurating gashes, and he couldn’t even recall how he’d acquired them.

‘
A miracle we survived...’ he thought, dampening his exhilarated tones.

‘
And now, finally, I’m in the game. Dunwich, where are you? If you still work for Cambria... sooner or later I’ll find you...’

***

“So did you give your boy a good dressing down?”

Adraman
sat on the rush-seat chair and asked the waiter for a glass of wine. Ice had already served himself, and was sipping brandy from a large goblet. Crystal-clear and exceedingly heavy. Perfectly in keeping with his algid style.

“
I don’t think he actually grasps what it is he did wrong.”

“
I’m sure of that. You didn’t see him, Adraman. A born leader. You should have heard him, when he began the counting, yelling at every foe slain. They all copied him. Even rough old Berg...”

“
Yes, him...” broke in the cavalryman. “Only Berg could have followed him on a suicide mission like that, of coming down off the Rampart.”

“
Try and see it differently. If they hadn’t done so, we might not have won so easily,” Ice exclaimed with a sarcastic smile. “Just imagine what trouble you’d have had with the Allied representatives afterwards... They’d suggested strengthening our defences, and negotiating... And instead you set off south...”

“
Still on about that business?!” Adraman took the glass from the servant and downed it in one. Before the boy had the time to leave, the captain ordered another. “It all went well, didn’t it? I simply opted for the right middle road.”

“
Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything! What’s wrong, Adraman? You seem even gloomier than usual... and that take’s something!”

“
Nothing, I’m just tired.”

“
That young man, Mordraud... Are you sending him home?”

“
Why are you asking?!” Adraman retorted briskly. Ice gave an amused smirk and skirted it. “Never mind, it’s not important. Instead, how about you tell me who gave you the news the enemy was on the way? A lookout? A spy? Or someone else...”

“
No, I won’t budge, you sly one! I have to talk to Eldain about it first. Then you and the others will find out.”

“
Fine, fine...” Ice replied with a shrug. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“
We’ll leave it at that then...” Adraman rounded off. “By the way, where’s Berg got to?”

“
He’ll be down in the foot-soldiers’ tent getting sloshed... He’s been drinking from morning till night for three days now. Or perhaps he’s off sniffing out harlots – only he can stomach those wrecks.”

“
Bah... We have to discuss the war, and he’s off having as much fun as possible...”

“
Relax, Adraman!” Ice burst out, laughing. “We won a battle that was impossible to win! If Cambria had only been a bit more organised, now we would all be feed for the crows. Let the men enjoy themselves – they deserve it!”

“
So I’m the only one who’s not having any fun...” blurted Adraman, draining his last drop of wine.

“
As always, my old friend.” Ice chinked his goblet against Adraman’s empty glass.

“
As always.”

***

When Gwern opened the door, he came close on fainting. A hooded being fraught with rusty scratches had come for him in the heart of the night, to escort him to the kingdom of the departed. He’d dozed off shortly after sunset, since there was no work in the tavern that evening. Larois had gone to bed hours earlier, and he had a thick book to finish. Sernio had lent him a prized piece from his collection.
History of Cambria –
as chunky as a brick. Even though he found it fascinating, he’d fallen fast asleep on its open pages.

“
What’s wrong, brother? Won’t you say hello? Have you forgotten me?”

“
Mordraud!”

Gwern
ran into his arms, nearly knocking the pair of them to the floor.

“
Gently now, please! It hurts all over... Many of my wounds still haven’t healed.”

“
You’re alive! I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Gwern. “The first veterans came back a few days ago... They told us about the battle at the Rampart, and that there were heaps of corpses... I swear by the Gods, I was worried to death!”

“
I told you, didn’t I?!” Mordraud lifted the boy up, shaking him in the air. “I can’t die, little brother! Nobody can kill me!”

“
And all those cuts? Did you do those on your own?!”

“
Those...? Just scratches. Nothing serious.”

“
And your hair?! They cut your hair off! You look younger...”

“
It’ll grow,” retorted Mordraud. “It’ll all go back to how it was before.”

The two
brothers stared at each other in silence, both hushed by the same thought. Could things ever go back to how they were before?

Was there a
before
in their lives that they wanted to return to?