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IN THE MOUNTAIN FOREST, wrapped in her blankets, Adriselle slept near Mordrak in a small tent provided by the merchants he was hired to protect under the guise of a common mercenary. She had quickly adapted to sleeping in the wilds, which surprised Mordrak a little. He knew she needed her creature comforts better than she did. A fine example was having a proper bed in the squalid room she had rented rather than make do with a pallet.
He was acting as a public mercenary, hiding his identity, and was now feeling glad to have brought her on this caravan journey in his bid to find Ifhrd. The merchants had hired enough men to satisfy themselves with sufficient guards, and so accompanied by just Adriselle and Tulan, Mordrak had dismissed his retinue.
A shout went up. It sounded to Mordrak like Oldel, who had taken his place as guard for that watch. Men called out, breaking up the quiet of night. The tent flap lifted, and Mordrak had already whipped about to grab his sword. “Yes?” he demanded angrily.
Tulan looked through the aperture and suddenly appeared horror-stricken, before he could speak, someone dragged him away, and a stranger’s face peered through the opening.
Adriselle awoke with a start and pulled the blankets protectively over herself, though she wore undergarments. Mordrak leapt out of his sacking and was poised, ready to strike against an attack. He hoped the wizard would be behind this—Mordrak counted on it, as he and Muldon had plotted.
Another face peered through the gap. “Sword down and get dressed. You b’in taken,” he barked, before Mordrak could approach any closer. “Mind yersel’, Curlos,” he said to the first. Both had their eyes on Adriselle. “Jorlon’ll have yer balls if much is on yer mind.”
Two swords were pointed at him and given there were more men outside, Mordrak knew the fight was lost, and he cursed them.
“Hey! Make yer tongue lighter for the lady’s sake, man,” the gnarl-toothed, stocky man warned.
How could they have been taken by surprise so easily? Oldel surely had betrayed them.
“Get dressed, I said,” the brigand repeated roughly, “or yer’ll be ridin’ starken. Nice view, eh?” He grinned at Adriselle.
Mordrak cursed them again. It hurt him to see her suffer the ogling of their crude eyes; and cruel ones at that. Would they be able to contain themselves? The idea of the painful scene of her rape flashed before his eyes. He was pained to the heart to see her anguished thoughts. They would die first, but he regretted bringing her. “I’ll have your eyes just for looking.” Mordrak was vehement.
The man named Curlos said, “We could ...” Except he was hinting to his mate. “Just quick like. Jorlon’d understand.”
“Aye.” The first licked his lips. “But he’d be trouble.” He nodded towards Mordrak, who was cursing with his breeches around his knees.
“I am trouble, and you’ll be finding out soon enough.”
“Who are you?” The squat Curlos sneered.
Both Mordrak and Adriselle knew it would be best not to say too much. Mordrak kept his address simple. “I’m Mordred,” he lied, “and this is my wife, Urselli. Have you killed everyone else yet?” He sneered. Short as the confused noise had been, he feared for Tulan and hoped he had simply been dragged away.
“Some’s dead.” His voice was flat and offhand. “Needn’t have been, mind. C’mon, quick to it!”
Mordrak wondered how many of these bandits there were. “Who’s Jorlon?” he asked. Ifhrd was the name he wanted to hear ... “What do you want to know of him?” Curlos sneered again. He rubbed his groin, looking again at Adriselle.
She pulled up her boots, keeping a wary eye on him. Mordrak was poised to kick out at Curlos, but a sword from the other bandit quickly touched his chest to warn him away. The swordsman was good; he had judged their distance well that Mordrak had not been stabbed outright. He felt heavy with the weight of Adriselle’s danger.
Mordrak found himself and his sister tugged outside, but not without Curlos’ hand deliberately brushing firmly against her breast. Two men were quickly digging a grave for three dead bodies; a hail of arrows had seen to the courage of the camp guards. Now an older boy was retrieving as many of the arrows as he could. As Mordrak turned around, he sensed a hint of recognition in the lad's face, as if he was one of the seven youths. A trickle of laughter sounded in the distance of his mind.
Mordrak could see no laughter on anyone's face here, only the brigands’ fitful curses for a desire to move homeward. Bedding their women was now their only interest. As for the youth, he was certain that he had never seen him before in his life.
Some distance away, Tulan was held prisoner by some of the bandits who had been posing as caravan guards. Mordrak felt relieved as he saw him. He tried to devise a plan. If Ifhrd was not behind this attack, should he make plain he was Adriselle's brother? Given that thought, the wraiths of his mind cursed him and accused him of gross idiocy.
Never listens, does he?
He did!
He did so.
He was beginning to hate himself as much as he did these phantoms. ‘Gods, have it that I only have a chance to prove myself,’ he prayed. He broke the spell as he looked around at the few corpses, saying bitterly, “How have we been so lucky? Why so many deaths?” he muttered beneath his breath, but was glad as he saw most of the camp attendants were alive.
A man approached. Mordrak recognised him as the leading guard of the caravan, a tall man, the traitor named Oldel. By way of introduction, Curlos said to Mordrak, “This one don’t miss nothing, so watch it.”
Doesn’t like to be told, does he?
No, he doesn’t, does he?
Mordrak pursed his lips and hoped the man knew nothing of his natural relationship to Adriselle. Oldel had allowed them to join the caravan, apparently believing the story of their wedlock and need to travel south. It seemed some of the scheme had worked since they had come this far. They planned to wait until the late hours before sneaking from the caravan to seek Ifhrd’s elusive castle within the forest. It was said that few ever found the fortress, so getting captured seemed to be the best option. This would be the easy, if not only, means to find the place. Getting away again would be the problem.
But to the here and now, at worst he could hope to be held to ransom—and with Garlon fortunately well out of the way, and Muldon in charge, they should not be betrayed over a demand.
He looked grimly at Oldel, and Oldel appraised Mordrak with a sneer. Pointing a finger and looking past the fire, he said, “That’s Tulan over there, I think. Never said much worth sayin’.” Then, as if he knew her innermost secrets, he winked at Adriselle. She braced her shoulders in response. Ignoring her manner, he continued by naming the captive merchant and each of his few loyal guards. “Any here worth a ransom?”
“If you let the merchants go, I’ll pay double.” Mordrak stood forward and bit his tongue with nervousness.
“That is very kind. Very kind indeed. What is it worth to you?”
Mordrak bit the inside of his cheeks, raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
“Interesting. Interesting indeed. You may come with us and ... your plaything.” There was a brief silence. “Well, we’ll be gettin’ along now,” said the tall Oldel.
“Temptin’, isn’t she?” said Curlos, twisting his upper lip.
“Shut up!” Oldel snapped back.
Mordrak looked at Curlos’s neck and considered how pleasant it would be to wring it, slowly, suffocating and squeezing all his life through it, his breath like a desert gust. He felt his fingers involuntarily flex.
“Shan’t tie ‘em up, they’ll not get away,” said Oldel.
Alarmed by his certainty, Mordrak cast an eye about the woods as shaggy horses were brought to them: it would be a long ride down the road if they took flight. And shire horses as these were slow and cumbersome. With all the ruts and holes, any horse was bound to fall foul; they’d not get very far. He hoped for the life of him that the wizard was behind this.
“Mount up,” Oldel ordered everyone. “We’ve not got all night.”
***
THE CARAVAN HAD SET off with their horses. Although Adriselle tried to take note of the paths they took, the forest looked much the same all the way in the shadows. There really was very little light, and the moon could not be seen through the canopy. The vegetation was thicker than the forests they hunted in back home.
Finally, beyond a line of trees and across a chasm, there stood a fortress upon a crag set in the midst of the vast hollow. If they were to ask Mordrak or Adriselle to take them back to the place of the ambush, neither would be able to, so confusing had the journey been. A permanent, roughly hewn causeway linked the fortress to the mountain pass. Crossing over the chasm, they passed beneath a huge bastion and the large, heavy, metal-bound wooden gates squealed closed behind them. All around the courtyard were low buildings, and in each corner of the keep was a tower. A fifth reached up in the centre of the rearmost wall that overlooked the gorge, its three spires cast in darkness but for one window glowing with a subdued light. It was much grander in its own way than Castle Woodford.
Adriselle felt ethereal with anxiety. She could barely believe Mordrak had been so reckless and allowed them to be captured so easily. His plan was working, if they were going to meet Ifhrd, but he did not predict to her just how vulnerable they would be as prisoners. She resigned herself to this stuff of a fireside tale, exciting only to those who heard of terrors such as these in the safety of their homes.
A figure stopped walking through the courtyard and turned to them as they came beneath the portcullis. The figure’s robes were voluminous and strode towards Oldel. He was slender, though only as tall as Adriselle. Mordrak placed him of an age no more than seventeen.
“I thought they were due at dawn?” the young man said.
Oldel shrugged. “Indeed, but they were in a hurry to press on, Master Jorlon. It’s typical for ‘vans to suddenly change plan, eh?”
The youth nodded. “True. Who have you brought us and why?”
Adriselle sensed Mordrak's frustration. She had thought he must feel in control. And these villains surely knew their business. Hopefully Ifhrd the wizard was here in this fortress or was Mordrak misinformed and these people were mere bandits? But then, how would they be dwelling in a fortress so elusive as this? And Jorlon had something about him not quite ... normal.
“Four prizes; plunder, one man and the wife, a proper lady I might say, and her man, judging by their airs. We let the other merchants go with their lives. Speak rather well do this man, and his offer of ransom..” Oldel pointed at them. “We let the others go too, as I say, the guards and merchants.” He turned to the prisoners and shouted, “Come ‘ere!”
Mordrak helped Adriselle dismount from her nag, and she walked to Jorlon by her brother’s side. Tulan followed.
The robed figure smiled as they approached him. His charming and surprisingly youthful appearance was disarming. “Welcome to our humble home.” He bowed in mock courtesy. Adriselle heard her brother growl with annoyance. Jorlon continued, “At the risk of being crude, what sort of ransom had you in mind? Are you nobility as my friend here suggests? I see your face, sir. When I bowed, you expected better.”
Mordrak looked at Jorlon with a slight smile and replied conspiratorially. “Ransom? I have a basilisk feather ...”
Jorlon raised his eyebrows. “Bring them this way, Oldel, and then you can go to bed.”
“What about the ‘van—it’s on its way, Jorlon?”
“It’s up to you, Oldel,” replied Jorlon, walking away. “Wait up for it if you’d rather.”
Oldel escorted them, following after the apprentice, who eventually brought them to a room within a low building. Adriselle wondered what was to become of the caravan and their horses. The paths they had followed here would have been too narrow for the carts.
Bidding them to seat themselves, Oldel gave the introductions.
He was then courteously dismissed.
“Well!” said Jorlon once they were alone.
“What makes you single us out?” asked Mordrak.
“What? You’re nobility, aren’t you?” Jorlon exclaimed. “Worth a small fortune, no doubt! I think your accents give you away. I speak reasonably well, but you are high society.” He snorted and laughed. “Now you say you have a basilisk feather. Why would you tell me that?”
There was a short silence.
Jorlon smiled his disarming smile again, but said nothing at first. Then, deciding upon his course, he said, “What would you have me do with you? With this woman here? You're surely not the king's men?”
“We are. Do you know Ifhrd?” Mordrak pressed him, as if he were in full control of their circumstances, although Adriselle sensed a tightness to his voice that she recognised as a slow, brewing anger.
“Perhaps. But what would that be to you? You’re hardly a visitor, are you?” Jorlon scowled as if he were growing impatient. He sniffed. “What is your rank, Mordred?”
“I am a knight,” he said.
“And your maiden name?” Jorlon immediately prompted Adriselle.
She was taken by surprise; although now she knew she ought to have been prepared, she stuttered momentarily and the name they had agreed was lost to her memory.
Jorlon smiled, only now his face did not hold its previous charm, and he moved his finger in the air before pointing at them. “You’re both relatives, perchance?”
“No, no.” Adriselle shook her head.
“This is my squire, Tulan,” offered Mordrak quickly. But Jorlon was considering Adriselle through thoughtful eyes.
“You are afraid, aren’t you?”
“No,” she lied. Suddenly her tomboy days and dreams of chivalry seemed shameful. How naive she could be, she told herself. “I am an orphan.”
“And you, a Lady, know not your maiden name?” Jorlon said doubtfully. “I perceive you are his sister.” Jorlon pointed at Mordrak. Adriselle felt deflated and Jorlon seemed triumphant. “My, my,” he said.
“The Lady is my sister,” said Mordrak quickly.
Adriselle thought to expand on a story but Jorlon abruptly cut such an attempt to silence:
“Then why did you lie? But if you wish to sleep together, what is that to me?” He seemed to gloat over Adriselle’s blushing cheeks.
Tulan looked most uncomfortable, and Mordrak twisted with furious outrage in silence. Adriselle sensed it was clear Jorlon would believe whatever filth suited his nefarious opinions. “How long will you keep us here?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you an enemy of Ifhrd?” she asked.
Jorlon looked at Mordrak then back to Adriselle. “What is it about you and Ifhrd?” he demanded.
“I have been commissioned to find him,” answered Mordrak.
“Oh? For what purpose would you wish to find him? Who sent you?”
“He was recommended by another wizard.”
“That is a crime. A wizard’s crime, if indeed Ifhrd is a mage. Under the laws of the land such sort are criminals, and I believe wizards have laws of their own to protect themselves. I know they don’t give themselves away.”
Adriselle could tell there was a sense of anxiety in Jorlon’s manner.
“The wizard who mentioned Ifhrd is dead through witchcraft. Maybe the wizards got their revenge? No matter, the High King Tell requires a service from Ifhrd,” Mordrak said casually. Adriselle found her brother’s manner impressive now he was showing initiative.
Jorlon laughed. “A King wants Ifhrd to bury a renegade mage?”
Mordrak sighed. “You’re not so surprised. Perhaps you can give me further details?”
Adriselle held her breath.
“That won’t be necessary. However astute you may or may not be,” he added with a frown, “we certainly haven't planned for you, Sir Mordred and your entourage. What do you want from us?” Jorlon looked over Mordrak’s head. “I doubt you know the reasons behind needing a wizard’s service. No insult to you. Even if you know the King’s needs, you’d not know the source behind it, and neither would he, whatever you want Ifhrd to tell you.”
Mordrak shrugged. “I am aware of his need. But how do you know what King Tell wants, especially if you can’t get my name right?”
Jorlon frowned, “You’re not Sir Mordred?”
“No.”
“How go the wars?” Jorlon said slowly, he sounded interested, but added, “Those that he’s begun with an earnest desire for power.”
“We’ve nearly won.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“King Tell. The High King is all but victorious.”
“And that upstart wishes for the services of Ifhrd.” Jorlon stroked his chin. “So you planned on being here like this?”
“He is no upstart. But yes, and he will pay well for services rendered.”
“I shall let you go to bed.” Jorlon’s shoulders drooped with fatigue, but his eyes sparkled with excitement. “We’ll speak more in the morning; it is the hour of the witch.” There was a relieved silence. Then Jorlon said quietly, “There are many spells against you, you know?”
Adriselle wondered if Jorlon had used any spells to detect the wraiths that were haunting her brother. Perhaps he could simply sense them if they were not mere symptoms of a malign spell. She wished to know, but she held her peace, realising Mordrak seemed reluctant to question the remark. She could not decide whether Mordrak was suffering a haunting or a malady.
Jorlon turned away and rang a bell that clattered shrill and sharp. “Ethrail!” he shouted. “Come here!”
Presently, looking through the window, Adriselle saw a hunched figure hurry across the shadowed courtyard. Once he arrived at the door, his twisted, carbuncled and warty face leered at them all. He turned away to look at the caravan as it clattered into the fortress.
“Ethrail!” Jorlon looked displeased at having to demand his attention. “Take these people to their rooms and be sure...” he lowered his tone, “...not to kiss the lady a goodnight.” It was apparent Ethrail was largely deaf. Jorlon had raised his voice to speak and had lowered his tone when instructing the clause ‘not’.
“Thank you, master,” Ethrail dribbled happily and beheld her with a lusty eye.
Adriselle shuddered and hated this mage his wile. She felt terror with the thought that perhaps captured damsels were given over to him for sport.
Jorlon offered rather than asked, “Will you two be wanting to share a room?” He looked mischievous, a conspirator, as if he were sharing a taboo secret of theirs that was safely kept with him.
“Yes,” Adriselle found herself croaking.
Smiling, Jorlon looked to Ethrail and nodded at him to host them to their chambers. “You’ll come with me,” he said sharply to Tulan.
Adriselle had to demand her every muscle to move, will at least one leg into operation. Mordrak’s hand upon her shoulder was a boost to her confidence. He must surely know what he was doing.
***
MORDRAK FELT UNCANNILY calm as they walked. His mind flew in a private world of altered perception. He was dimly aware of Ethrail’s advances upon his sister, and barely cared that Ethrail made an untoward leer at him also. As he realised nothing mattered, he felt himself faint; his failing mind questioned if he was about to meet with Death.
Ethrail caught him firmly beneath the arm-pits as he stumbled. Then his calm turned into a garish dream of the disfigured Ethrail bearing him. Mordrak felt with the sure grip of a giant the man’s thorny skin against his own, and Mordrak wondered that he did not vomit with revulsion. At this fears for Adriselle’s safety were she left alone with Ethrail arose. Little wonder she did not want to be left apart. But he felt so weak it was all he could do to put one foot before the other. He sensed witchcraft.
It was still dark when Mordrak awoke, so he knew he had not slept for long. He was in a bed and the sun was sure to start to rise anytime soon. Adriselle was teary eyed but not weeping beside him. All was otherwise still, as if there were only the two of them alone in this eldritch fortress.
“Are you all right?” he asked her. “What’s the matter, sister?” Feeling suddenly released from apathy he questioned her, “Are you afraid?” His ire rose a little. “Did Ethrail ...?”
“No. But this is horrible. I couldn’t do anything and he knows everything. What will Jorlon say?”
Mordrak rolled out of bed. He tried the door and found it locked. He went to the window and he could not only open it, but they were on the ground floor facing the courtyard.
What was going on? He looked up at the light glowing from the triple-spire tower and peered again at the window latch. It could lock against the window shutters. How much an oaf was Ethrail, if he was trusted to imprison them and yet did not do the job properly? However, with Jorlon’s wiles, should they risk an escape they may fall into a trap of some sort? Jorlon’s manner suggested that Ifhrd was indeed hereabouts. He had to see Ifhrd whatever happened, and he wondered if he could impress Jorlon sufficiently in the morning. However, Ifhrd would know of their arrival, of that he was certain, and he would surely either call for them or have them killed. To escape now and find Ifhrd would give him a slight edge; not quite prisoners, for they had wanted to come here, and not quite guests, as they were captives but important captives.
“I wonder what’s become of the others?” she whispered. “And Tulan?”
Mordrak turned to face the dim outline of Adriselle in the gloom. “Shall we go look for Ifhrd? There is a light in a tower window, I saw. ”
“I don’t want to sleep,” she said, sounding resolved to help.
He knew he had not misjudged her; she was simply not used to adventure of this ilk, and neither was he. He was a warrior knight, not a spy. No matter. She would quickly harden up—and have tales to tell Prince Tabor. He was beginning to feel proud of her already.
“We could ask him for a friendly reception. But we are roaming, and it is dangerous. Storytellers speak of spells being crafted at night. I doubt that light is Jorlon’s. The boy looked too exhausted. It leaves an option.” He hoped his tone would convey his smile of encouragement.
“I asked to come,” she said sternly. “I’ll help any way I can.”
Mordrak replied with every assurance to his voice. “You have been an inspiration.”
“I hope Tulan will be discreet after all this and speak nothing of the nasty suspicions which that accursed Jorlon fellow believes.”
Mordrak fumbled his way towards her and groped for her hand. “He is always discreet.”
“I feel so ashamed.”
“Come. Truth finds a way for all innocents.” His hand dropped as he felt her tense. He pursed his lips. He hoped she needed him as much now as ever; in this hour and in many more to come, for better or worse, she must still need him.