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MORDRAK SAT IN THE doorway of his colourful tent which displayed his heraldic colours of green, white and red. Knights he knew would stop and share their condolences for his late father. They would say, “Your father always swore to die with his arse on the saddle, and die that way he did.” Some would add, “Your eyes are bloodshot, and you are white as a ghost—you need some sleep!"
Finally, his squire returned with parts to repair Mordrak’s armour. “Yes, Tulan?” he asked with a rasp to his voice.
“Sir Mordrak? Are you all right?” the squire enquired tentatively. With a nod from Mordrak, he continued, “General Ralphs wants to see you.”
“Oh? Any idea why?” The burning storehouse came to mind. “Do you suppose I was confused for a looter when I took Fellis near a warehouse?”
“If that were so, Sir, surely soldiers would have come to find you? I have been asked to say to you that General Ralphs wants to see you. He has also sent word that he commiserates with you on the death of your father. These days have been terrible for everyone. No one is unscathed.”
“When does the general want to see me?”
“Soon as you like, Sir.”
He nodded. “I suppose it’s not a formal affair if I can suit myself.” He stood. “Well, there’s no time like the present. Perhaps ‘soon as you like’ means anytime now.” His mood sank to the depths once again, and with a heavy heart he sounded a lament. “Oh, Tulan! Some knights live to kill. I am not one for murder! Nay, I have no qualms lifting a sword against an enemy—but that is not killing!”
Tulan looked uneasy. “It is not murder?” he ventured.
“Oh! My opponents were just children! We are trained from the cradle to ride a horse and wield a sword, lance or any manner of weapon, as indeed you are. Yet we are not prepared for the consequences.”
Tulan did not reply. He knew Mordrak’s misery. The knight had spoken of it extensively throughout the night, as they had spoken when Mordrak believed the whole city was to be put to the sword. Rather Tulan spread out his hands. “Those youths killed themselves—and, even each other. If you hadn’t seen to them, ol’ Fellis would have got their gall.”
“Yes, yes, if only you were right.” Mordrak leaned forward and breathed in deeply. Tulan wondered if he was to be sick. Mordrak looked up from beneath a weary brow. “Are you coming?”
“I think he wants to see you alone. You’ve got some straps need replacing, I must do them. Else it will be your undoing and it’ll be more than miracles you’d need to have the chance to overcome your sorrow.”
“Eh?”
Tulan breathed in patiently. “You’ll be yourself soon enough, if you give yourself chance enough. Right enough?” He quoted a common nursery rhyme.
Mordrak closed his eyes. The seven faces of the boys swam about his head. “Stop it!” his voice was raised to the wraiths. Mordrak paused outside his tent, and looked at Tulan. The squire was a little disconcerted.
“It is such a relief that the siege is over now, and everyone can relax, at least in theory.” He rubbed his eyes and clean-shaven face and thought that the world should look a lot different today than it had yesterday. But it did not. A fresh breeze blew, but it did not clear the cobwebs of melancholy.
And now he had a barony, and he smiled to himself that his father would not have been a happy dotard with his two sons impatient for his death so they might inherit the estate—especially his brother Garlon who might well have stooped to hasten his inheritance. Father had died as he had wished, as some pointed out. He had died honourably, if not heroically. This said, as the eldest son, Mordrak was set to have it all. ‘Would Garlon hasten to do the same with me?’ Mordrak pondered. Father never commented on Garlon, it occurred to him, and Father had never advised him on how to handle the barony. Amongst these things, it would be up to himself to safeguard his sister, Adriselle. It was a responsibility he was happy to be burdened with. He would find her a loving and excellent suitor.
Over as the siege may be, the knights remained at their camps outside the city. Mordrak strode with purpose across the wet grass and mud. The filth had splashed up and dirtied the bottoms of the tents which otherwise gave colour to the grey city ahead. As he entered Nan-Enn and made his way through the streets, some familiar knights greeted him; others ignored him. No one was particularly cheery. It was as if the gloomy grey surroundings infected the people. The strange misery that he had sensed hanging over Nan-Enn overshadowed the joy of their conquest.
‘Is there a spell over Nan-Enn?’ Mordrak wondered again. He cast his mind back to his childhood, to a time when he was walking with Father in the gardens. His father was quietly telling him their old King, Banorad’s father, was dead; died of a shrivelled brain when he dared to ridicule the counsel of a wizard. “Some wizards,” he whispered, “gained respect by using their power in politics. Yet the practice ostracised them, not only from the world, but from their own caste too. These days they keep apart from the world.” Nevertheless, with this and many other accounts, as King Tell conquered he sent out an edict to declare wizards banished. Yet no one dared to seek out the clandestine communities of wizards, much less dare tell them to move on. Was it a clue that they had used at least one ogre to defend themselves? It had been a mightily unusual siege.
Mordrak decided to hold his own counsel for the time being. Better to affirm such a thing, if and when rumour spread, rather than be the source of them. Yet he wondered if other people could sense the strangeness. And if they could, what could they do about it? One wise man said, “Now wizards have been successfully marginalised with the edict, we can no more see from where their works come.”
Mordrak picked his way towards the north of the city to meet the general in a house near the royal residence. On his way, he noticed some people had taken to opening stores and workshops that were not still smoking with the fires. Other groups were clearing the damage from buildings, even clearing the ruins. Whether or not this was the camp followers requisitioning the city, he did not know; locals or camp followers or both, it was hopefully a sign that Nan-Enn was beginning a new life. The few city folk left were markedly sullen, and it was unlikely any of them would seek to court with King Tell. They would be holding their own sort of code, for the short term at least. It was possible that, proud as the heart of Nan-Enn was, the people who remained might resort to murder; were the victors safe from assassination?
Directed to a fortified manor house from where the general administered, Mordrak saw the clerk seated behind a plain desk in the spacious hallway. He was asked to wait in a room off to the side which had an ornately decorated ceiling and walls. Mordrak joined half a dozen other knights waiting to be summoned by the general, seated upon comfortable leather chairs. They never spoke to one another, which Mordrak found a little strange, though there were nods of acknowledgement as their number were joined or left.
“What is this all about?” asked Mordrak.
They shrugged.
“We’re here to find out ... apparently,” said one, who added a smile.
Finally, after a long wait, he was called in, where to Mordrak’s relief the General, Sir Ralphs, was relaxed and barely officious. He had barely seen the man and had never met him to speak to before.
The short man stood to make his greeting from behind a large desk, and Mordrak gladly reached over it to shake with strong hands. He looked naturally thoughtful; a bald man with a rim of white hair lining his head like a halo.
“Your family is quite remarkable. You fought an ogre pretty well single-handedly and without Fellis, you took on odds of three to one. You have an aptitude for common sense, for exploiting areas that need an extra touch, shall we say? You work well with a naturally given initiative. Your father died, I’m sorry to say, but I’m pleased to relate that he was protecting King Tell. He was a brave man.” The General tapped a quill against his lips as he seated himself. “Do sit.”
Mordrak nodded thoughtfully, the figures didn’t quite add to his way of thinking and he pursed his lips as he took his place. That his family was loyal was well known; indeed, it had been his father who had finally influenced their own King Banorad to acquiesce peaceably and honourably to Tell rather than fight a lost war—and strike good deals into the bargain.
“May I ask why you have summoned me, sir?”
Lowering his quill, Ralphs said, “You are under the eye of Prince Tabor. He recommended Fellis to your father, that he should fight with you.” He paused. “I assume you have heard of the exploits of the Brotherhood of Vidar and Vali?”
“Yes, knights dressed in white chainmail. They’re hot-blooded champions. Is Fellis one of them?” As he said this, Mordrak was aware Ralphs was looking intently at his face. “But they don’t fight in an army.”
The General then smiled and said, “Their legends were established before their formation—they are myth, young sir. As yet, no one has actually been a member of this order. What do you say to that?”
“But many a tale tells of their deeds, and many a witness has testified to their legend.”
“Oh? Know anyone for sure yourself, then?” Ralphs stroked his short beard with a knowing look in his eyes.
“But—"
“Some overzealous youngsters certainly look foolish, those who have told ‘firsthand tales’ to those in the know.” Ralphs tapped his nose. “Aye the legends are myths. But we are looking for people prepared to live up to that myth and create living legends. We want champions worthy to personally serve the High King.” He stopped to give pause for breath.
Mordrak’s heart raced. “So,” he asked tentatively, “why are you telling me this? Why are they a myth, and who are they?”
Sir Ralphs smiled. He did not give a direct answer. “All twenty-four of each of the two orders will fight together—if circumstances are ever desperate enough to need them to do so. Essentially, the plan is for them to quest individually, or if they must, in small surreptitious groups. King Tell wants you in the lesser order of Vali. Prince Tabor suggested you in the first place. It is not to your dishonour, being the least—”
“Indeed, this an honour I would not be able to refuse!” Mordrak’s heart pounded. “The men I have met here, waiting for this interview with you, they are all to be the Brotherhood?”
He could see this as a chance to forget the past horror, forget those children, and become a hero of renown. Mordrak could hardly concentrate upon what Ralphs was saying. Surely, his father would be so proud!
“I’ll tell you briefly the system of things. Each knight will be numbered—the first is the highest. You will be the twenty-fourth.” He coughed, “The lowest. Promotion follows not so much exploits but the death or retirement of superiors, yes?”
Mordrak nodded, comprehending, not caring that he was the least. He checked his ravening imagination and could almost hear laughter in the distance, a sort of scornful laughter, coming from somewhere. He felt strongly that it was aimed at himself.
“You will meet every five years, or every seven, or every three. The future dates will be set at each meeting, depending upon circumstances. The first is to be in Escavia City, this time next year. Details will follow. Since you agree to join, I shall tell you of your quest and your honours.” Ralphs swallowed. “But before you receive them officially, you must, of course, meet with King Tell and swear personal fealty to him rather than to the kingdom.”
“Well, yes, I agree to that!”
“Good. I can speak of your honours, and being in the order of Vali, you shall hold the title of Count. Furthermore, King Tell shall make it formal and bequeath to you lands fitting for your title.”
Mordrak involuntarily shuddered. It was the phantoms laughing at him. They had come to mock him, promising him Nan-Enn. ‘Please no, not here! Not Nan-Enn!’
“The place has been duly considered, and King Tell will speak of it.” Ralphs smiled, and then he looked serious once more. “Why, sir, you are in a sweat. Have you the fever?”
“No, no, sir. I did not sleep last night and neither the night before.”
“Well, get some sleep. We banquet with the King this evening.” Ralphs looked a little concerned but made no advance on the issue.
***
CONTRARY TO MORDRAK’S expectation, the banquet was a suppressed affair. Not that he had expected it to be a particularly jovial occasion, given the mood of the city. The hall was filled out with Tell’s men.
Toasts were made to the future prosperity of the city’s inhabitants. It was hoped that not only the strategic importance of Nan-Enn would be emphasised by King Tell, but that this place was more than that. Indeed it could see itself as an intrinsic and valuable asset to the empire, but the Monarch barely made any mention of such expectation.
Looking at King Tell, black hair rolling over his shoulders, and youthful-looking for a man not much over thirty, Mordrak noted the king looked drawn and pale, almost weak with an unnatural exhaustion. His shoulders were a little hunched. Mordrak felt that the man’s demeanour confirmed his own suspicions of sorcery. Tell spoke with him briefly before the dinner, and said he was looking forward to the formalities which would take place before the function. Had he brought a mask? No? Well, few had.
Disappointment. Mordrak found himself wondering if the general had forgotten to tell him something important.
At the banquet, Mordrak was reserved a place to the left of Prince Tabor, who largely ignored him throughout the meal. Mordrak felt a little uneasy at this. Had he somehow earned disfavour? Then finally, the Prince nudged him and asked, “Will you come and speak with me tonight, after the affair?”
“Well, yes, of course. May I ask what about?”
“At the moment, I can only tell you it is a matter of great import to me.” Tabor sounded excited. He almost begged, “Please come?”
“I would not refuse.” Mordrak felt thrilled, yet wondered why the Prince should beg to take him into his confidence. What confidence had he to share? Maybe Tabor wanted to speak of his part in attaining him the new position. Or had the prince heard of the good looks of his lovely sister? Mordrak wondered whether she would take to him. Or indeed, how they would take to each other. Naturally, a prince would make a most worthy suitor if his dreams might make so bold.
“My brother is going west tomorrow with most of the army. I will probably go with him,” said Tabor, to the hearing of his neighbours. Then he asked more softly, “Does he look strained to you? Some have murmured their doubts that he will be up to it.”
“Once Tell is free of here, he will be himself again,” Mordrak told him quietly, and hoped for the same for himself.
There were dancers, youths of both sexes, who cavorted before the meal, chosen from the camp followers. He clapped most for the jokes of the jester and the jugglers, relieved that he was not presently haunted and could relax for a while. Otherwise, minstrels played to the meal, light of noise with amiable enough rhythms. He wished the music was not so easy but would be more daring in terms of rhythm and beat.
Finally, the chief advisor to the King stood, and everyone clapped. He raised his thin and wrinkled hands and said, “My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen! The time has come for the moment of recognition...”
There was quiet as twenty squires were knighted and duly pledged their fealty to King and country, with promises of valour and chivalry. Mordrak considered Tulan. The lad was fifteen and old enough to fight anytime now. But then, as he recalled the ogre, he would not presently have been able to accomplish what Fellis achieved by comparison. Of course, on a field of battle, it was something else entirely. Unpredictable. Maybe in a year, he would be ready for that.
Once the ceremonies were over, the lord stood again, and with a clap of his hands, cried out, “There is more! Today we have seven knights who will pledge their loyalty as new members of the Order of Vali.” There went up a hearty cheer at that, and the speaker continued over the noise. “As I am sure I need not explain, the Order of Vali is akin to the Order of Vidar, otherwise known as The Brotherhood.” Some stamped their feet, and others banged their goblets on the table. Even so, the speaker continued, “The Brotherhood of Paladins is of such renown their exploits need not be told here.”
There was applause at that with cries of, “Shame! Shame!” Mordrak chanced a glance at King Tell, who looked delighted.
“But we are short of our bard!” The sage laughed; to Mordrak, it was not very convincing. Much wine and ale had been consumed. Mordrak had barely drunk more than a couple of tankards. Inebriation had perhaps dulled their senses. “He has taken ill and returned home.”
There was a moment’s silence as the people digested the thought of illness within the city. Quickly, some more cheery folk cried, “Boo! Boo!” And Mordrak wondered how some must be primed to keep the mood uplifted.
“Please!” The sage lifted his hands again. “Let us have peace. We shall have a mood of repose and sobriety. Not many have witnessed the occasion of anointing a White Brother.”
With that promise, the hall stilled.
Tables were lifted away whilst Mordrak was ushered to a corner to await the King’s pleasure. Mordrak felt nervous as the oaths were being taken, and as the least, he reckoned on also being the last, which rang a chord as he considered the moments with Fellis at the citadel walls. Finally, the sage called for him. “Sir Mordrak, High King Tell awaits your audience.”
Mordrak was aware of an awesome silence as he walked across the room to face the High King. Halfway across the stone floor he was joined by General Sir Ralphs and his own King, King Banorad, who was late into middle age with greying hair to prove it. Together they stood before King Tell, who sat in an ordinary chair.
Sir Ralphs spoke. “Sire, good and noble High King Tell, I have been instructed to introduce to you your worthy vassal, Sir Mordrak. I have endorsed a proposal to enjoin Sir Mordrak a White Brother of the Order of Vali. His rank within The Brotherhood is secret and known only to those within the Order and the dignitaries associated with it. Behold, a bold knight, worthy of the station, much honoured here by King Banorad and His Highness, Prince Tabor..”
Mordrak bowed low and arose to see, with surprise, that King Tell bowed his own head in acknowledgement. He wondered if perhaps the King would drop off his chair with exhaustion. However, he did not, and he had bowed similarly to all the others. Instead, he said, “Greetings, Sir Mordrak. It will be a pleasure to anoint you a White Brother. As head of the Order, I welcome you to be one of the White Brothers.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Mordrak knelt before the King. He was a little disappointed that the King did not speak as fluently or colourfully as he was usually able.
The King had a silver bottle in his hand from which he uncorked a delicate chained stopper. Pouring oil, which smelled of strange spices, over Mordrak’s head, the King said, “I bequeath to you the title: Count of Erkonstil; and the southern lands west in the Duchy, once the Kingdom of Erkonstil. This land covers north to the bordering River Lindenbur, and all the lands to the west from the Great River over to the east to Girdril River. There you shall help harry the goblins and keep the lands safe from their interference.”
Mordrak sighed with relief. “Thank you, Sire,” he replied with genuine gratitude, for he was not to receive this place, even though it was close to the peaceful elves and their Great Forest. His county was an extension of his homeland. Few would envy him his homelands, but these lands were worthy of a White Brother. “Thank you, my Liege, you are most generous.” With that, he recited his oath of fealty together with the others as knight, count and White Brother, that lasted the best part of an hour. He was thankful that they were repeating the words rather than having to remember the oath by heart.
Then the time for the dancing came. It was noisy and raucous as much drink had been consumed at the banquet.
During the celebrations, the prince approached him. Revealing his face from behind his mask, he gave warm and heartfelt congratulations. He also urged Mordrak not to drink too much. “Although you have good reason to do so!” he said.
Mordrak was glad the prince did not linger in his company; envy and jealousy would surely have already raised ire in the hearts of some knights here. Mordrak felt sure he would now have jealous enemies waiting in the wings.
The party was irksome. His nerves were jarred. He wanted time to think of his new-found position in quietude. The fact that he sensed those phantoms hiding in the shadows of his mind stopped him from wanting to drink over much, and with the prince’s exhortation not to do so, he felt trapped, especially in the company of the few surviving Nan-Enn nobles who were carrying on as if nothing had become of their city. Their attitude was strange. It was as if King Tell had been invited to stay, as if none of their people had died—and certainly as if none had taken their own lives. It was almost as if there was a silent conspiracy behind the masks, which to Mordrak’s relief, not many possessed.
He was glad he had found sleep earlier that afternoon, for at least he was not too tired and could control his agitation. He found if one allowed oneself to accept the facade as the reality, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope that there could be a future here.
“How sad you have not acquired spare land within our own realm,” said one smiling lady who had taken to him. “I have heard much of these White Brothers. My sister told me she even met one who had slain a dragon!” She swept a hand over her long black hair that flowed down her back.
“Indeed?” Mordrak raised his eyebrows. He had heard that such hunts always required the aid of a wizard. Then, of course, there was always the deception Ralphs had told him of. This lady was completely misinformed.
“But alas! I might never see you again—with you so far east! But you are here now and might naturally need to come past here again.”
Mordrak shuddered at the thought. “I have been granted lands within my home kingdom. I am sure the King would not wish to steal from your good selves.”
He liked the look of this lady. He was of an age that he ought to have a wife sooner rather than later, and with the demise of his parents, he had to find one himself. His father had arranged a betrothal to one prominent young girl, but she died of a disease, and he had not been assigned another with the advent of these wars. Someone from Nan-Enn was not ideal, as he recalled his vow on the battlefield, but neither was being single ideal.
To one side of them, a group of people laughed. They almost sounded like children—how those children might have laughed.
“Ah! Of course. How little I know of grand politics.” She seemed to have taken a length of time to answer. Mordrak smiled, feeling a little disarmed. Judging by this, the Lady here was not very spirited. He would practice his grace upon her and perhaps learn a thing or two. She furthered her speech by saying: “Although we know enough to run our households, of course.”
“I’m sure you do,” replied Mordrak sincerely, “and by the looks of this city and this grand house here, quite admirably so.” At that, another knight joined them.
“Why, thank you. We are proud of our homes, castles and estates,” she said and smiled coyly at the new knight.
“This is Lady ...” Mordrak blushed, realising they hadn’t introduced themselves.
“Gavana,” she offered.
“We are about to dance,” Mordrak continued.
“Yes,” she said with delight.
Mordrak wondered how else he could be rid of the knight.
“Congratulations, sir,” the knight said to Mordrak. “I am sure you make your family and friends very proud.”
“Thank you,” Mordrak replied, and then General Ralphs drew him away before he could dance with Gavana. Mordrak felt exasperated, the knight was to win his way with her now.
“Mordrak.” He smiled. “I would like you to come to a briefing in the morning."
“Of course,” he replied courteously, aware that the request actually translated to you will!
Whilst the General was speaking on other matters, Mordrak saw Tulan serving drinks. He signalled Tulan over with a nod of his head.
Mordrak felt weighty in the stomach, but took a drink all the same from Tulan.
“You are very distracted, Count,” Ralphs observed kindly.
“Perhaps.” Mordrak pondered. ‘Will the last of these people all take their lives the same way?’ He felt certain of it even though the people looked cheery enough. He could not help but sense things were not as they seemed, And was he really being haunted? It was maddening to think of it all.
“Mordrak?” Ralphs put a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
He was surprised the seven ghosts did not manifest a taunt against him. Perhaps they had tired—or perhaps the whole affair was now finished. “I am sorry, General. Overwhelmed is all I am.”
The hour was late and Mordrak had lost his chance of a dance with Lady Gavana. The young knight had seemed to have won her over. King Tell retired, and others began to follow. As Mordrak was turning over his thoughts of meeting with the prince, Tabor tapped him upon the shoulder.
“How have you found things?”
“Interesting,” Mordrak said flatly without wanting to discuss the matter.
“Indeed.”
“One day we fight, and the next, we are sharing drinks.”
“King Tell has always believed in drenching unwanted kindling, lest a forest is lost.” The prince smiled. “Come, I will speak with you in my private chamber. I am in the far tower—comfortable quarters overall but on the cool side. I hope I’m gone from here by winter.”
They made their way up spiral staircases that barely gave shoulder space. The prince opened his door and ushered Mordrak into a darkened room. “Set off a torch, eh?” instructed the prince.
As he lit the torches, the prince called for only a little light to keep the room quite shadowed. “It is nice to settle the eyes at this hour.”
Mordrak’s heart missed a beat. Things were not as he would have anticipated. Prince Tabor sat upon his canopied bed and began to untie his boots. “Come,” Tabor beckoned. “I wish to have quiet words with you. Will you pull off my boots?”
Mordrak slowly moved towards the prince and did not take long in forcing off the boots, although the Prince lightly cursed him when he twisted too hard. It was obvious, however, that Tabor was in a good mood. And he said, “Take off yours, we’ll be more comfortable then.”
Whilst he was doing so, Tabor poured each of them a little wine. Mordrak relaxed.
Tabor smiled. His face was close, and Mordrak could smell the prince’s breath, how the alcohol sweetened it.
“There is something I must tell you. I am very pleased that you are now a White Brother. I know I can trust you.” Before there could be any reasonable pause, the prince put his arm across Mordrak’s shoulder. “You see, there are some things that ... You are not betrothed.”
The face of his sister appeared in his mind’s eye. “No, but I would that I were. Are you?” Mordrak felt someone alarmed by the Prince’s familiarity.
“No,” he sighed. “There is not a woman as yet to appeal to me.”
Mordrak felt his breath stick in his throat. And it seemed that the prince sensed as much for he said, “You may find it might please you.” It was more of a plea than a request.
“But—”
“I’ll be very delicate,” the prince urged.
Mordrak stood, knowing he was casting shame upon his superior by denying him.
“I cannot help but take advantage of my royal position,” said the prince. “I am what I am. I could be a very good friend.”
‘But would that not make me a whore?’ Mordrak wondered. ‘And at that, helpless?’ Had the prince contrived events? “I have a sister... She is rather beautiful...”
“I have seen beautiful women. Do friends not have common interests?” The prince sipped from his goblet. Mordrak noticed an unsteady hand as the prince lifted the cup.
Mordrak held out his hands, aware of the arm that remained about his shoulder, unable to cause its withdrawal. “But this is—this is not to my interest,” he pleaded in turn.
There was stillness, a silence as if the castle slept. There would be no suspicion in the halls that the prince had this design.
“Then,” said the Prince, “undress and let me at least see you.”
Guilt and anguish clutched at Mordrak. He knew he could not humiliate this prince by refusing too much. Perhaps he could, in turn, get the man to marry his sister; the prince would surely consider such a close link worth the while. Did the prince like women at all?
So far from home, what had been a simple life on a hectic campaign had become filled with complications and horror. And now this!
How could he refuse? Surely it would not hurt in any way? His mind raced. He sensed his nudity would not satisfy the prince’s hunger; by undressing, things would not stop there.
A chanced glance at some shadows and he thought he saw the ghost of one of the older boy’s he had killed leer at him.