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HIS FATHER DULY ENTOMBED, Mordrak sat at his dark mahogany desk within Castle Woodford. The room's plush family portraits upon the walls hung uneasily against the cold stone interior that was typical of this fortress. Before him, on his tidy desk, there were scrolls and maps detailing his new fiefdom that King Tell had imparted, which expanded on his barony. The number of landed and un-landed nobles, from knights to barons, listed on reams of vellum, were many. It would be surely impossible to get to know them all. Some lands were inherited from knights killed in King Tell’s wars, new landlords who Mordrak would have to acquaint himself with, whilst others were from the days of Mordrak’s father. He sighed and leafed through random pages.
“Muldon! Why not hold a three-day banquet to get to know these vassals?” It occurred to him with sudden inspiration. “I can afford it. Inviting each baron and landed knight would also hasten information regarding Ifhrd if I can be discreet about it. Please summon a scribe and arrange an event none will forget. If it be a success, I will hold a tourney, and again the following summer.”
“Besides,” Muldon pointed out, “right now your vassals need to swear their fealty to you.”
That was not something Mordrak had overlooked. He said a little too fiercely, “I want eyes and ears everywhere.”
Muldon considered him from beneath a thoughtful frown, and as he scratched an ear, he nodded. “I think you’ll find Ifhrd dwells in the southern mountains.”
“What makes you think that?” Mordrak asked.
“Just stories. Fireside tales.”
Did Muldon deliberately sound mysterious? Or had he only the vaguest of notions concerning Ifhrd? Mordrak pondered. Muldon liked to disguise his ignorance. “Of course,” Mordrak suggested, “he might wander about rather than stay in one place?”
Muldon’s voice was dry. “How can a mage learn of ought from the stones on the road?”
“Hmm. Just what do you know about wizards? Can’t they learn from toadstools and ancient oaks?”
“Yes, well, they can ... now that you mention it. But I think there is an Ifhrd I know about this and that.”
***
THE TIME FOR THE BANQUET had come. Mordrak led the hunt on the first day, on which they brought down a boar. The second day was a fearsome stag that Mordrak had the pleasure of killing. He was inexperienced since his father had not let him hunt until he was older. But he enjoyed the adventure and decided to make it a regular pastime. Adriselle wore her tallest yellow and white pointed headdress. From it draped the longest swathe of light-green linen she could find, which she folded over her arm. Her ladies-in-waiting ensured their pointed headdresses were slightly shorter than that of their mistress, whilst others wore gabled hats. The knights all wore outrageous, multi-coloured clothes, and the jester wore a most gaudy coxcomb of purple and green from which hung four golden coloured bells.
Tables filled the hall, and the company were to feast on the venison that they had hunted and fruit. The night previous they’d had boar, and had they not found deer this day, then mutton had been arranged as standby.
The occasion was festive; and many nobles had brought along casks of wine from their own regions, for they were keen to impress one another with their vintage, more especially to show off their good wine in hopes of securing orders for any of the forthcoming jousting events. As it was, Mordrak’s cellars were fast depleting.
The local villages had been ordered to take this occasion for a holiday, and the peasants held splendid street parties for themselves. Once the wars to the north were over and Tell was finally enthroned as High King, the people knew even this event of Mordrak’s would be nothing like the festivities to occasion his coronation day. Generally speaking, it was widely believed that the occasion was imminent, and for this reason too, landlords had already begun organising new vineyards.
From the start of the proceedings, Mordrak lost no time in quizzing his guests for rumours of Ifhrd. Muldon had come to him introducing a certain Baron Lerion with promising hints concerning banditry running amok in the local mountain pass. Making the most of his good reputation, Mordrak promised the Baron, who told a sorry tale relating to Ifhrd’s misdemeanours, that he would personally make the robber mage pay recompense. It seemed that Ifhrd had a band of outlaws at his call and terrorised a certain remote highway that merchants frequented to quicken journeys westward. Many barely escaped with their lives, and always, when raided, escaped without their goods.
“Between that enchanted part of the mountain of Ifhrd’s and the infernal mountain of goblins there at Helgor, the merchants must really pluck up their courage,” Lerion said of his locale. “But the problems really began when the wizards were outlawed. No one can find their wretched castle.”
“I’ll do everything I can to sort out this terrible matter,” promised Mordrak. “I hope you enjoy the banquet in the meantime.”
On the last night, the guests were glutted with wine and venison. There was little dancing; most guests held their places at the tables. And although the majority of the company was cheerful and relatively little fighting had broken out, drunk and sick as many were, Mordrak was seething. Adriselle had been flirting with a baron for whom Mordrak had little liking. The man was a rake, always flirting with women both married and unmarried, and servants too. Who knew how many children he had, let alone his legitimate brood of twelve. He wondered if he could blame her, given that she had not yet been told of his plans for her. But now he noticed her eyes kept drifting to Tulan.
Besides, he was at his wits’ end with problems of his own. He had spoken with many of the visiting ladies. He could have chosen any one of them for himself, and he knew he ought to if he didn’t want his manhood and reputation challenged—only the gods knew how the rumours of he and Prince Tabor had been quenched—but none of these ladies pulled at his heartstrings. It was so frustrating. He had a wizard to find, and there was no telling how long that might take.
“Muldon?” He had earlier sought advice from his chamberlain. “I am wondering about presenting Adriselle to wed Tabor. But try and discover the character of the man.”
“I would have to think on that,” said Muldon. “There are endless possibilities at the present.”
He glanced across the table at Muldon and his wife, who was speaking with someone else. It seemed the long wed couple had little to say to each other, and it angered him that she was not proud of her husband. He watched the chamberlain’s ears move as he ate and remembered when he was young how the sight of it enthralled him. Once then, Muldon caught him staring as he chewed. He deliberately wiggled his ears and Mordrak nearly choked for laughing. This was the same Muldon; now with less hair, his ears were easier to see, when he did not cover his balding head with a capote.
Mordrak looked at the minstrels who had played throughout the evening. Their tunes were varied and pleasant, mostly blending into the background so you might not sense they were there, but would be missed if they were not.
Then with a spinning head, Mordrak counted the dancing boys and girls who were somewhat older than those he had slain. The wraiths laughed with seven mature girls who danced before a few of the guests. It was as if the wraiths were chuckling conspirators over a close-held secret. And he could imagine the wraiths sighing, “Don’t forget us, we are here too. We are here, you know.”
Two of the dancing girls stepped across the floor to Mordrak's table and shimmied provocatively. The knights cheered and banged their tankards on the tables to show their approval. To a certain degree, Mordrak was flattered by the attention, but was more offended by their behaviour. As this continued, with intense anger, Mordrak whispered a rapid succession of orders in the ear of a senior servant. Before long, the girls who reminded him of the wraiths’ sisters were dragged away.
Whipped, the boys were stung to dance harder and livelier, almost naked; bare-footed, a carpet of hot cinders was thrown upon their dancing floor, causing them to leap and cavort in agony to a heightened crescendo of music. Many of the guests called out for more. To Mordrak’s interest, it seemed the drunken company wanted to see blood. Apparently, they were enjoying the scene. If these youths were prisoners of war that he had captured, he wondered what the crowd would want with them. Mordrak tried to will the wraiths to cry out in pain, to suffer along with these boys. Instead, they screamed inside his head, calling on him to make things worse for his victims. The episode became more depraved, yet it sickened only a few of the ladies, and they were simply assumed to have gorged themselves too much.
Caught up in the wraiths’ bloodlust, in his heart, Mordrak wanted the youths dismembered. However, he knew that would be too much. He covered his raging head with his arms. “What must I pay to be rid of them?” His spirit grieved. Guilt burned against his fearful hatred towards all memory of the haunting revenants. His eyes darted around the people in the hall, hating the leering, laughing and scorning faces; hating every noble who enjoyed seeing the agony of these youths.
‘Here am I, a White Brother. And here am I, torturing my own people for sport.’
“You must stop this,” Adriselle said, her throat barely able to breathe the words.
“It’s what happens at drunken banquets, Adriselle!” he seethed in his sister’s ear. She knew well what banquets could become, for although her father had never gone quite so far as this, usually there would be some ordinary folk humiliated for the sport of noble guests.
The wraiths grated upon Mordrak and scourged his soul as he lay a number of the dancing girls that night, one after the other. He wanted all of them,. Surely he could be rid of the wraiths. The girls’ faces became epigrams of how he imagined the youths’ sisters to be, and as Mordrak sweated and remained unfulfilled, he wondered if now the phantoms would double in number.
In his mind, he could see the seven youths surrounding Garlon, away on campaign, as he spoke with King Tell. The two would believe themselves to be alone; the invisible wraiths urged his brother to speak of all the debauchery Mordrak had put this company to, and they would whisper in Tell’s ear to aggravate him.
Mordrak was within his rights, but he held his fearful anger and insatiable frustration in check. He did not maliciously injure the young women; he had inflicted enough sorrow already. When he lay with the last, he whimpered and sobbed in her arms, crying out against the heckling and jibing spirits that possessed his mind. In a moment of peace, he passively agreed to her suggestion that he had feasted too much. She did not understand his torment, had no notion of it, and he felt pathetic for all of his woes and fears of evil that clamoured at his every fibre. She clearly did not understand how he fended off the guilt of his evening’s depravities, or indeed that he had used her for his own depraved lust.
***
“WHAT GOT INTO YOU LAST night?” Adriselle asked him the next morning, her voice gentle. "In some ways, I am unbelieving that I remember the occasion correctly. At the time it seemed so evil and ... and unlike you. But now—now with the rising of the sun, I feel mortified.”
Mordrak hoped her complexion was snow-white because of having drunk too much wine, rather than as an indication of her complete disgust and disdain.
“I am sorry,” he said with a heavy heart. “It is not that I did worse than Father, but I am not ashamed. I am disgusted with myself. You know why it happened like that?” He felt afraid; the true depth of his sister’s anger was surely deeper and graver than she was displaying. “Was it worse than Father? Yes, yes, I suppose it was worse than anyone at all.”
“Far worse.” She put a gentle hand on his desk. “I plead with you to find peace or stay out at war.” Reaching across his desk, she held his hand tentatively. “And I want to go with you even still, to find a wizard. Perhaps I shall keep you calm on the way, and together we may even get the wizard to help you as well as King Tell.” She took his hand and kissed it. “Oh, Mordrak. I don’t want to grow to hate you as surely some will be feeling after yesterday!”
Mordrak swallowed. “Yes. Perhaps you will keep me free. But he might be dangerous.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to come—even if he is dangerous?”
“I mean,” he paused. “Perhaps he will help me as well as help King Tell.”
“You both suffer under much the same spell, from what you have told me.”
“Yes. I feel better now for seeing you.” He sighed and then smiled as he said, “Next year I intend to hold a tournament. This banquet did not give time to invite Prince Tabor. I want you to meet him again. Perhaps you will find it in your heart to at least like him.” Mordrak studied her.
He could see she put on a brave smile. She said, “Muldon will come to you with the expenses soon.” Her sigh indicated she was not alone with misgivings of the night before. “He is not a happy man.”
“After last night?
Adriselle nodded.
She left him alone in his office, and shortly afterwards, although it was only mid-morning, Mordrak went to rest upon his bed in his bed chamber. With most of the guests departed, Castle Woodford was uncannily quiet. He wondered if there was a similar gloom hanging here as that which hung over Nan-Enn. Perhaps it seemed so because he was not well. ‘I am sick in body and mind, and also,’ he supposed, ‘sick in soul.’ He wondered after the goddess Hel. What would she be thinking? Would she be rejoicing? Or what would Odin be thinking, even? The god who loved bloodshed sat on high, seeking virtue and judging iniquity with just one eye. And Hel, she who loved sickness, seated so low. Was there any hope for the people? Forseti, the god of justice got hardly a hearing in any of the legends. It made no sense. What did it matter to a god?
‘The Judezzeks would hate me, if they even know of me,’ he thought; and with changing times ahead under King Tell, performances like last night’s would be best never repeated. It was certain Tell would not approve, whether his madness were lifted or not. What Mordrak had done would surely be seen to be an oppression against the innocent, low born as they may be. Tell was a King who would come to impose standards on all, once he was able to administrate from a peaceable vantage. Still, performances like those of the last night, Mordrak had no wish to repeat in any case.
With a sharp knock on the door, Muldon entered. He was robed in blue, with papers in one hand and in the other an ink-pot and quill.
“Hullo, Muldon,” Mordrak groaned from the bed. “Can these things not wait?”
“Some things perhaps, but not others.”
Mordrak groaned again. Knowing what to expect, he said, “So?”
Muldon took the liberty of sitting upon Mordrak’s bed. He breathed out at length from the depths of his chest: “Are you pleased with your banquet?”
“I hope it was worth the money.”
“Some have left these walls quite distressed.”
“Only to be expected.”
“I, for one, would not wish to be chamberlain to a household of shame and iniquity.”
“You were always one for the Judezzeks, were you not? You spoke about them to me, but never to my father.”
“They are a good creed.” Muldon rubbed his nose. “I wish to share in their beliefs, even if they are despised.” Muldon seemed to flush.
“All well and good.” Mordrak felt nonchalant.
“If only.” There followed a brief silence.
“Am I in peril?”
Muldon looked kindly at him.
“Am I in peril mortally? Have I outweighed the balance of good for evil? Or am I in peril mentally?”
“You have changed. Has the campaign been that bad?”
“Indeed. Battle is a terrible thing.” Mordrak felt confused. All his life, he had been trained to kill, and yet all his life, he yearned for peace. “Men lay screaming and dying and bleeding. Every breath a prayer for it to be the last one. But the last breath doesn’t come for hours. All day, a man may lie bleeding in agony, knowing he is to die, clutching for life and yet yearning for the final release. Why do we do it?” Mordrak groaned. “But they never die. They spend the rest of eternity cursing and tormenting their enemies. I fought an ogre—not that they would count for a treaty, they are singularly dumb brutes. But in the heat of battle, I slew some youths whom I hoped were gnomes stoning me.”
“It was youngsters stoned you?”
Mordrak nodded. The movement of his head was almost imperceptible.
Muldon sighed and frowned. “So why did you torture your boys and young girls last night?”
“Why?” Mordrak shook his head. “Boys? They are not children. They are well into their youth. Show ‘em what life’s about.” Mordrak sought to defend himself, but phlegm rose in his throat. “I had to kill those youths or my shield man would never have survived. The townsfolk would not relent from the first to the last. Something, some power, overwhelmed them, so they were forced to die. Everyone died, so their blood would be painted on our arms to shame us.” He felt angry, and although Muldon was good to talk to, he wished he were saying this before the whole army. He sighed and thought on more immediate matters. He said, “If I am to be a despot, it will only be for a short while.”
“Sad that it should be for any time at all.” There was a pause. “What have you up your sleeve?”
“More like beneath my cod-piece.” Mordrak laughed, almost bitterly, and he turned to lay on his back, rubbing his face.
Muldon seemed quiet. At length, he said, “I see. And you believe that will add to your happy state?”
“Happiness. Happiness? Happiness, Muldon, is the oasis in life’s desert.”
Muldon lowered his head, and the two were silent for a few minutes. A cowl shadowed his face. “Even though your knights all swore fealty to you, I had them sign documents over this morning.” He rested his hand on the papers. “Mostly illiterate, that lot.” He did not sound surprised, merely resigned.
“Times will change.”
“I hope so, Mordrak. I hope so. Every so often things change—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse and sometimes just for the sake of it.”
“I am going away. I need to find that wizard, Ifhrd, and Adriselle is to come with me. She has an adventurous spirit, you know.”
Muldon quietly considered the count. “When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Muldon nodded. “I shall prepare things,” he said.
“I only want seven knights to accompany us, and each of them with a man-at-arms. None of them below the age of thirty.”
Muldon sighed. Relief? “Very well,” he said. “I’ll see to it.”
“Muldon?”
“Yes?”
“Always be my friend.” Mordrak sat up and stood, then gently reached out his hand.
Muldon took it. “I shall always try.”
“I hope that it might be that you never need try, but that you tread gently confident of the right ways for yourself. We talk of time and of the stars and the moon. You are a holy man, Muldon. Might it be that I too ever gain virtue. It is all-important.”
Muldon said, “You were once a fellow of virtue. You were kind and stood up for the bullied squires.” He paused. “You need a wife. A wife is said to be a man’s glory.” A momentary look of glumness crossed his face. “She would reinforce upon your soul that you can be loved.”
Mordrak reflected. “Who? Who indeed?” He had given it little thought, always assuming his father would handpick a soul-mate. Mordrak said nothing more. His heart felt pained, suddenly aware he would always need someone by him, to protect him from the poisonous tongues of the likes of Garlon.
Muldon paused a moment, then said, “Let’s make a plan for locating Ifhrd.” The accounts could wait.