Mordraud, Book One (77 page)

The streets of the
fief were in order, yet empty. Most of the houses had been sealed up – a sign that who’d lived there had died or had been sent away due to the plague. He had never seen Eld so weak, wounded and oppressed by pain. The passers-by’s faces were dark, and bruised from hunger and anger. The few stray dogs were fearfully scrawny, and almost as bony as the rag-clad children who sat out on the doorsteps and stared at them bleakly as they went past. Mordraud wondered how Larois was, but preferred not to investigate further. She was likely dead, and he didn’t want to see her tavern shut up and mauled.

It seemed as if the
population had lost their nerve, ground down by too lengthy a series of harassments. The Alliance’s backbone was at breaking point.

“
Or perhaps I was wrong... I wasn’t expecting to see him outside his love-nest...” blurted Berg with his usual straightforward tone, raising a hand to greet Adraman, who was approaching them briskly. He was alone, free of armour but with his sword secured around his waist. Mordraud wasn’t accustomed to seeing him in civilian clothing. Although the signs of time had all left their mark, he was still an attractive and vigorous man, except for a slightly awkward gait from the leg he’d broken in battle. Mordraud had never seen him so radiant.

“
Lads, I was hoping to bump into you... I trust your journey went well,” Adraman exclaimed. He beamed at everything and everyone. In one fell blow, he’d knocked off twenty years of hardships. “Mordraud, I was looking for you...”

“
First a proper greeting, Adraman!” he replied, stretching out his arms. The two friends hugged each other tightly, without speaking. They hadn’t seen each other since before he’d set out with Gwern. It seemed like a century had gone by.

“
Congratulations... on what you did for all of us.”

Mordraud
promised himself he’d explain the truth to him, but preferred to put it off to a better moment. That wasn’t the right occasion, he told himself. Adraman should be allowed to think only of his family.

“
I’m the one who has to congratulate you! I heard about the baby... You must be very pleased, I imagine.”

Adraman slapped him gently on the shoulder, confirming with a grin as broad as the sky.
Mordraud returned the smile, attempting to appear just as happy, even if he wasn’t. All he was hoping was that Adraman didn’t suggest one thing.

“
Come home with me... I want you to meet him!”

That
Adraman didn’t ask him to see his son.

“
We have to go to the castle now, the assembly will be starting shortly... Perhaps later, what do you say?!”

“
Eldain has asked me to attend, so he’ll wait for me before beginning. We’ve got all the time we want. Come on!”

Mordraud
dithered, and Berg didn’t come to his aid. “Go on, Mordraud! So you can tell us if he’s as lovely as his mummy or as ugly as his daddy!”

“
You wouldn’t dare...” thundered Adraman, threatening him in jest with his open hand.

“
Okay... let’s go.”

Mordraud
surrendered. It was the worst thing that could happen to him, yet he was dying to see Deanna and the child. Two different moods that had already gutted him by the time they reached the house.

“
They’re upstairs. Deanna’s resting, so we have to be quiet...” Adraman slipped off his boots and sword, and Mordraud copied him. They went up in silence, opened the door to the room, and entered. Adrina was sitting on the side of the bed, crochet hook in hand. When she saw the master, she got up without uttering a word and went out to leave them alone, not without shooting a piercing glance at Mordraud. The look of someone who’d guessed.

But
in that instant, only she counted.

Deanna
was asleep, stretched out on a mound of white pillows. A light sheet covered her up to her chest, which rose and fell slowly, following her breathing. She was pale, strained and dishevelled, but she was fine. And she was beautiful, as always. Resting on her, snuggling up between her arms and the sheet, Mordraud saw his son.

He w
as ready to resist any angst, all the pain in the world, envy, rage.

But
not joy.

“
She’s lost a lot of blood. The midwife said it can happen with a first child,” whispered Adraman as he approached the bed. He stroked her hair with a gentleness Mordraud thought impossible. His mind was in turmoil. That image of peace was the loveliest thing he’d seen in his whole life.

Adraman
untangled the newborn from his mother’s arm, kissed him on the forehead and went back to Mordraud.

And
held the child out to him.

“
No... I can’t... I don’t know what I’m supposed to do...” he stammered in shock. The last time had been with Gwern, when he was just born. Too much time had passed since then. Too many different lives.

“
It’s like walking. You learn straight away,” Adraman replied, smiling. Mordraud took a step back, but in vain. He had his son in his arms. A lovely chubby healthy little boy.

Eyes
as deep as the sea.

“
In our lands, we say a child’s true name is the first name pronounced by its mother after giving birth,” uttered Adraman. “It’s a custom that hasn’t been used for a good while, except among humble folk, who don’t have to respect certain rules regarding relatives. But I want to honour this tradition.”

“
What’s his name?” Mordraud whispered with barely a voice. He was a gorgeous baby. With hands as small as chestnuts. He opened and closed his mouth, yawning, disturbed by that intrusion into his peaceful nap.

“
Deanna screamed a single name, right when he was being born.”

A shiver ran up his spine, invaded his skull and pu
lped his brain. The baby grew huge and heavy, like the shame he was feeling at that moment.

“
Mordraud. That’s what I’ve decided to call him.”

No longer
able to hold out, he burst out crying. Tear after tear, as he went on smiling for joy.

His son was called
Mordraud.

“I haven’t seen Ice yet. Is he late?”

Adraman
looked about. The hall was bristling with soldiers, and each one represented a unit in the Alliance’s army. Eldain’s call had been answered by nearly all. Only the commanders’ deputies had remained along the defence lines. An extremely hazardous risk, however necessary it might be.

“
I haven’t seen Ice for ten days,” Berg replied. “He went to coordinate the men of the eastern allies he acts on behalf of, and when we set out, he hadn’t returned yet.”

“
I fear you won’t be seeing him again...” Adraman exclaimed. “He can’t have taken well to what he’d have viewed as an insult from Mordraud and I during the meeting at the front... when we forbid him to carry through the withdrawal of the troops he represents.”

“
You think he’s gone back east?”

“
Yes, that’s what I heard.”

Eldain sat on a tall-backed
wooden chair. An emaciated throne, like the man it belonged to. When they’d all settled to their places, he stood and greeted those present with a movement of the hand.

“
The Rinn family has ordered its troops to leave the front.”

The room was shaken by an unrestrained buzz.
Eldain had opened by going directly to the point. Adraman looked at Berg in dismay, but the man knew nothing of this, and likewise all the others. Dramatic news. Many covered their faces, pale and drained of all hope.

“
I spoke with Rinnion personally, a few weeks ago. We met at the crossroads on the main route leading to the South, in neutral territory. I will repeat to you his exact words:
Cambria and the war can go bugger themselves. I don’t want my people to die like yours are dying.
” Eldain gestured and spoke running his tongue over his teeth, imitating the old man and now former ally.
“
We’ve still got a chance of preventing the plague from reaching us. Keep my troops that are already sick – the rest are coming home. I have no intention of waiting even one day more
.”

“
Has he gone barmy?! If he does that, he’s condemning us all! Without them, the other allies in the east will desert the front too!” an irate Berg yelled. The other captains joined in with his shouting, cursing Rinnion and his cronies. Relations were not exactly idyllic between the Eld and Rinn families. Old grievances surfaced together, all at once.

“
River swine! We should attack them and make them pay! Traitors!” bawled the commander responsible for the southern front, the one closest to Hannrinn. The captains for the north, the front nearest Cambrinn, were also of the same opinion. Eldain answered nobody, inexplicably leaving the ruckus to swell to an avalanche. Adraman got to his feet, yelling at the top of his voice to restore order.

“
We’ve got to come up with a solution, so cut it out all of you! We can’t attack the Rinn family – that would be absolute folly! The other allies would go straight for our throats! It’d be the end for us!”

“
So what do you suggest we do, Adraman?! And you, Eldain? What was your reply to Rinnion?” asked an indignant chorus of captains.

“
I told him to go and get screwed. And that scores would be settled when the time came,” he answered. Adraman’s patience snapped. He was approaching the throne at an alarming pace.

“
What’s got into you, Eldain?! Have you summoned us to unleash our rage against Hannrinn? You’re all too aware we’re goners without them!”

Mordraud
came up behind him and pulled him back, right back to his place. He seemed to be the only one vaguely keeping his head. Actually, it was mere appearance. Inside him roared a river in full spate, invulnerable even to such dramatic news. He’d seen his son. He’d held him in his arms. Nothing else mattered, not the war, nor that grimy Rinn family.

He had better things to think about. He didn
’t want Deanna and the child to spend the rest of their lives in war. He didn’t even want to picture his son on a battleground.

“
Calm down now, Adraman. You have to set an example.”

“
Bah, what bloody example?!” he swore. “Without the Rinns, this war’s OVER!”

“
I know why you’re worried... for Deanna, and... Mordraud...” It wasn’t easy getting used to his son’s name. “But we have to stay focused. We got through the Long Winter – we can get over this!”

Adraman
assented bleakly. “You’re right, I’m worrying too much... Just now, when the situation seemed better... Curse it all...”

“
We have to act so that the enemy doesn’t find out – not immediately at least – about Rinnion’s withdrawal,” Eldain shouted, to call back everybody’s attention. “At least not until next spring. I’ve managed to secure as many provisions as possible from the fiefdoms on the east coast: dried and salted fish in exchange for protection. I’ve ordered the units stationed in Cambrinn and Hannrinn to fall back towards the interior, to keep our forces compact and to prevent the sick from infecting our allies. Our
true
allies.”

“
That’ll leave the front undefended! And if the Rinn family were to side with Cambria?” demanded Berg.

“
They won’t. Rinnion and his brother are all too aware Loralon would have them hanged at the first opportunity, not however before laying his hands on their bridge over the Hann. Let’s say their decision means... they’ve decided to stand their own fight against the Empire. But I’m not sure they’ve fully understood this yet.”

Eldain s
miled with evident mockery. Adraman had never seen him so revengeful. He seemed like an old man embittered by age, and terribly similar to Rinnion when Adraman himself had begged him not to break up the Alliance. He really could not imagine what strategy his leader was weaving. He turned towards Mordraud, who instead was staring at Eldain, nodding imperceptibly.

“
You’re telling us we’ll be the ones to launch an assault, isn’t that right?” Mordraud suddenly spoke up, disorienting the entire hall. Adraman, Berg and all the others swiftly wheeled round to him. Eldain’s response was another smile.

“
Perhaps not right now. Yet I have to admit I’ve been considering it,” returned the old nobleman.

“
THAT’S MADNESS!” Adraman shouted, together with many others. But not all of them. A small group – a few captains – clustered in confab, tallying with Mordraud’s words.

“
Attack Cambria?! And with what men? The Empire’s pool of soldiers is vast compared to ours! We haven’t the faintest hope of coming even close to the capital!”

“
I’ve heard a sizeable group of plague-carriers have banded together and set off for Hann Creek, which is opposite Hannrinn on the other side of the river, in enemy territory. Or am I wrong?” Mordraud asked.

Adraman
knew nothing of it, but Berg did.

“
You’re not wrong. As was agreed, we didn’t prevent them from going. Those people have the right to choose how they prefer to die...”

“
You ordered it, Eldain... didn’t you?” Mordraud went on.

Eldain
nodded and added: “Not only there. I’ve sent others, beyond the ring of Cambrinn’s mountains, again in enemy territory.”

Adraman
reasoned quickly, to keep up with the thread of the debate. Eldain wanted to infect the areas near the Rinn lands. It couldn’t just be an act of revenge – a vile and revolting one at that. There had to be a practical reason.

“
You want to spur the Rinns into wagering an assault on Cambria to snatch their disputed territories!” he shouted, dumbfounded. “Seeing them enfeebled by the pestilence, Rinnion and his brother could get funny ideas of conquest into their heads... He’d touched on something of the kind with me too, when I met with him in Hannrinn.”

“
Exactly. For now, I could make do if those rank river rats were to dare to taunt Cambria. If they did, the Empire would have another bear to tame, before turning its attentions to us and the Rampart.”

“
It’s not a bad idea,” Berg admitted, weighing up Eldain’s words.

“
Are you joking?! That means double-crossing the Rinns!”

“
Not necessarily, Adraman. I agree with you that attacking seems like madness, but Eldain’s plan is our only hope for gaining time.”

Adraman
gazed about, and saw nothing but approval and somewhat convinced faces. Eldain had an unfailing effect on his people. They trusted in him blindly.

“
Now we’ll discuss the details, but the framework to the plan is all here. Keeping Cambria at bay for a while, and causing it complications with our former allies. In addition...”

Eldain
got slowly to his feet. His legs could no longer support him firmly, Adraman noticed in concern. The elderly nobleman was exhausted, withered by the years spent at war against the Empire. But without him... Adraman didn’t even dare develop that inauspicious thought.

“
In addition, I wish to inform you all of an important decision. From now on, Adraman will be my official spokesman. His words will be mine. Does anyone have an objection?”

Adraman
was left gaping, his hands spread on his knees.
Spokesman
was a synonym for replacement. Eldain was making a covert abdication.

“
Bravo, Adraman... Excellent news!” Mordraud congratulated him.

Berg
too did the same. None of those present advanced the slightest doubt. Their trust in him stood equal to that in Eldain.

Besides, nobody would ever have dreamt of
coveting the responsibility that had just befallen him. A responsibility not even he wanted.

But
he was nevertheless one of Eldain’s men. Right to the end.

“
If nobody else candidates himself for the position, then I accept,” Adraman exclaimed, a lump in his throat.

***

“How many today?”

“
Eighty, sir.”

Dunwich
picked up the wooden block, took his knife and scored it. The results were increasingly disheartening. At that rate, he’d have lost over half his men before next spring.

“
Is the compound ready?”

“
Still a few more days, sir,” the soldier replied, visibly ill at ease. The work was proceeding at a disturbingly slow pace. Nobody wanted to be a party to it, for fear of reprisals. The idea of constructing a closed-off area isolated from the rest of the camp wasn’t well-received by the troops. Whoever got sent there could automatically already consider himself dead. Without a boundary wall, however, Dunwich had to allot too many guards to watch the perimeter. The plague-ridden had to be quarantined in the most effective way possible, with or without his men’s approval.

“
Warn the labourers that if they haven’t finished by tomorrow, then the first thing I’ll do is lock them inside it and throw away the key.”

“
Yes... sir.”

Eldain
had played dirty. Filthy dirty. Dunwich could understand it. After the Long Winter, it was clear all unspoken patterns, and above all rules, would be tossed to the wind. The rebels were using the only weapon available to them – something he couldn’t do. He’d tried suggesting it to the section captains, but nobody had mildly considered the idea. One thing was if the ailing came forward themselves for a suicide mission, as he was sure Eldain’s men had done. But Cambria’s soldiers weren’t rebels – not even in the slightest. They lacked determination, and everything that made Eld’s people so hard to yoke. In compensation, his men still showed unwavering faith in the Empire’s might, its men and its gold getting the upper hand. Even over the pestilence. After all, they had the power of harmonies on their side.

P
ity the chanters had already explained they hadn’t the vaguest idea of how to cure that illness.

The tent flaps shifted aside and another
soldier entered, puce-faced. “Commander, a messenger’s come for you!”

“
Show him in at once. And you can go. Repeat my instructions to the labourers. And don’t be gentle about it!”

It
wasn’t a normal messenger, the average man sent by Cambria. It was a Lance, and even one of rank. He knew him, had spoken with him many a time in the capital, and had often met him in Asaeld’s company. His name was Griserio. One of the Emperor’s trusty men and an excellent desk commander, as he liked to call the strategists stationed near the front. They greeted each other warmly, and Dunwich offered him a drink. There was little left, since he’d adopted the evening habit of endeavouring to deplete their liquid supplies, coaxed by the tension and the responsibilities he felt burdening him. Griserio sat in an armchair, thanked him for the liqueur, and stretched out his legs after the lengthy ride. Dunwich smiled. Years earlier, when he was still striving to climb the career ladder, he hadn’t been fond of that pseudo politician with a sly tongue. But the opportunity for a conversation of a certain depth hadn’t presented itself for some time, and the occasion cheered him.