Mordraud, Book One (4 page)

Eglade
had studied with the female elders, assisting them as handmaid. She could read and count well, and make complex calculations on scales Varno couldn’t even vaguely grasp. He could barely read, and his writing skills were even poorer. She’d learnt his language, she’d saved him from certain death, she knew how to make marvellous healing potions, and she could feel the coming of a storm a day before it struck. The most Varno could do was channel his might into handling a sword.

Eglade
told him lots of other less appealing details. The Aelians could be iron-resolute in their rules, to the point of calculated and intentional cruelty without hesitation. Their minds were far more rational than they seemed, contrasting with their houses snuggled beneath the trees and their vegetable patches overrun with colour. They possessed a true passion for cataloguing, and for the inherent elegance of laws. They lived in an eternal state of creeping dissatisfaction that never left them in peace.

The more she spoke, the less
Varno felt in harmony with the framework of her mind. An ocean of differences stood between them.

Yet all the seas of t
he world couldn’t quench the sense of wonder they felt when together. They were two eras, two realities, two mentalities meeting, as had happened perhaps very few times before.

It wasn
’t long before the wonder evolved into affection.

All the stories
Varno managed to narrate were, for Eglade, a window onto a secret that had always been concealed, debarred to her and to her fellow creatures. For his part, he found the purest and most crystalline perfection in the Aelian – a quality no other woman could ever possess. A beauty, grace and sensitivity unfathomable, to him. A sophistication of thought that left him speechless. It was not merely a question of appealing features, of sensuality. He’d seen many beautiful and attractive women in his lifetime. Eglade had something more, and something less. Her body’s colours went beyond the vivid, beyond the saturated. She conveyed the impression of a woman above the concept itself of woman. He could stay listening to her, gazing at her, for hours. Asking himself why the Aelians, and Khartians like himself, existed. Understanding utterly nothing of it.

The only pr
oblem was he couldn’t leave the house. Not for an instant.

“
If one of the guards were to see you, you’d be killed instantly, without a moment’s hesitation. And they’d kill me too, for helping you.”

Varno
knew Eglade was not exaggerating. She lived alone, outside the village, against the will of her parents and her people. Her choice made no sense to them. What enabled the Aelians to tolerate that undermining condition of exile – the consequence of reasons they themselves found hard to recall – was precisely their firm bond with the merciless sense of law. Instead, Eglade had never been able to stand that process of slow corrosion, of imperceptible death, that her people dragged behind them. As soon as she gained the power to choose, she opted to live alone, in the forest. Rather than see her relatives and friends accept in silence that small world they’d created around themselves with their own hands.

Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time. Somebody would come to her home, sooner or l
ater. Her mother, one of the elders she’d assisted as handmaid, or a guard. Perhaps even Aris, who indeed nearly stumbled on Varno the night she and he met for the first time. She wanted no tragedy to take place. She could understand her people’s spirit of hatred, but she couldn’t fully identify with it. Part of her was simply curious – a feeling the other Aelians seemed to have forgotten in the shadows of the Endless Night.

“
I have to leave here... I’m healed now, and the longer I stay, the more danger you’re in.”

It was a clear cool eveni
ng. They were drinking some herbal tea next to the small window in the one room, concealed behind pulled curtains. As always, they’d chatted until late, but with heavier hearts than usual. Both knew their time had run out. That morning, they’d come close to being discovered when an Aelian had dropped in on Eglade to say hello before going off hunting. She’d made the first excuse that came into her head to not invite him in, and it was only by chance he didn’t insist. Varno had spied on it all. The Aelian who waited at the door was taller than him, with grey hair and almost white eyes. An enormous bow was slung over his shoulders. So huge it seemed an imitation. He also had a sword with him, and Varno felt, without understanding why, that he wouldn’t have the slightest chance of surviving in a struggle against the visitor.

The Aelians
were able to instil such a strong sense of his own helplessness that he lost any trace of confidence in himself.

“
Where will you go?” Eglade asked, sadly.

“
I’ll head home, south of Cambria. Then... I don’t know.”

“
I...”

“
Don’t even consider it!”

“
But...”

“
It’s final,” Varno repeated, struggling to say nothing else. She wanted to go with him. But he knew it was a ridiculous idea. Where would they live? What would his people think? What would the Aelians do?

He couldn
’t put their lives at risk.

Even though
just the thought of leaving was more painful than any spear thrust into his shoulder, or any arrow embedded in his thigh.

He was going to set off that night. He
’d made his decision.

Without her
.

***

Aris was heading for the forest border at a fast pace, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Still at that accursed night with the Khartiars, when one of them got away right under his nose – the first time in his life.

The idea drove him mad.

‘He vanished into thin air near Eglade’s house. The rain helped him... He was a lucky wretch,’ he mused.

Several m
onths had gone by since then, but he hadn’t forgotten a detail of the lengthy blood-hunt, the tracking, the storm. A memorable day yet his secret smear. The elders had praised him in front of all the other guards. They’d even presented him with an ancient dagger. As a sign of respect and high esteem. It had once belonged to Cambirir, exterminator of the Khartiars and son of the great Cambirian. If they’d known of his blunder, they would certainly have divested him of it. And Cambiryon, the last of the grandsons, would have humiliated him in front of everyone, shouting that he hadn’t shown himself worthy of his grandfather’s blood. A legend among the Aelians.

“
How I’d like to stab it in that Khartiar’s back!” he muttered in annoyance as he slipped through the forest’s tangled trees. There hadn’t been any other intruders since that night. Normality, he thought, in boredom.

‘
Those swine should fight near our borders more often...’

He was passing near the glade with the oak, where
Eglade lived alone. Accustomed as he was to keeping an eye on everything, he surveyed the candlelit window sealed by white lace curtains. A few freshly chopped logs were stacked in front of the woodshed.

Aris s
topped in his tracks, drawn by a new detail. A memory from that night of blood, one he hadn’t given much thought to, absorbed as he was in the frenzy of the hunt.

The woodchips scattered in the clearing before the house.

‘Just a handful, now... and only near the shack. While that night...’

Aris made an effort to remember as precisely as he could. It was raining when he reached the woodshed, and the
ground was covered in sawdust and slivers of wood. He’d heard them under his boots, and he’d seen them everywhere. Something that happened when the logs were prepared for the cold months, and a whole family was seeing to the task.

‘
But a young woman alone... in spring... straight before a storm...’

He had to appease that little doubt, before
pressing on to the border. He’d only think on it, relentlessly. He left the path and reached the woodshed, looking carefully about, on the ground and among the clumps of fresh grass. He opened the door and shifted a few logs, trying not to make a sound. Eglade could get frightened. And she had very good hearing, like all Aelians.

Aris
didn’t know exactly what he should be looking for, or what to do if he found it. He moved the lumps of wood about haphazardly, he checked the floor, he carefully moved the cut branches until he got down to the bottom rows. The oldest ones.

The ones that
, more or less, must have been cut that night of the storm.

He found them after searching hard, in silence. And he didn
’t only come across dry branches and sawdust.

‘
I should have suspected as much... All those times she openly criticised the elders’ opinions...’

Blood on the wood
. A few drops, and a faint faded and darkened streak.

It was enough to override any doubt
.

‘
Let’s see if she’s been so stupid as to keep a Khartiar in her house... And if he’s not there, I’ll make her tell me where he went.’

At any cost, he thought
.

***

Eglade jumped when she heard someone knocking on her door at that time of night. Varno turned pale and looked around at once in search of a hiding place. The only place was under the bed. A lame solution.

Particularly when there wasn
’t even time to use it.

“
Can I come in, Eglade? It’s me, Aris.”

Varno
didn’t understand a word of their tongue but when he saw Eglade’s face become ashen, he realised the situation was desperate. “What should I do?” he whispered to her.

He tried to pull himself up to get to the bed, but at that precise moment the door flew off its hinges with a horrifying bang.
Eglade yelled in terror.

Varno
also burst out with a piercing scream.

One of the archers
from that blasted night. Right in front of him, sneering in satisfaction.

“
You’ve really been a fool, Eglade.”

Hair of onyx. Eyes of the
most intense green. A perfect face distorted by an insane euphoria. Tapered slim hands on the hilt of a long curved sword. No armour, just a comfortable dark leather outfit.

“
Please Aris, don’t do it!” Eglade yelled in despair. “The Khartians are not like you think!”

“
Really?! So you say they’re not dangerous?!” snarled the Aelian in rage. “They’ve only ruined our lives! Have you forgotten what is said about the Endless Night, eh?!”

“
Nobody really knows what...” Eglade attempted, but Aris interrupted, seizing her arm roughly. His fingers left black shadows where they’d squeezed the flesh.

“
There’s no point in you trying to stick up for him – you’re already done for! He’ll pay for everything, also for polluting your ideas with his foul poison! GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

Eglade
took a step forward and blocked his path. Varno understood nothing of what had been said, but he couldn’t help noticing how similar Aelians were to humans, when it came down to it. The same anger, the same grudges, the same urges. Only it was all wrapped up in a vaguely perfected body and a superior mind.

Human sentiments, after all.

“You’ll also have your fair punishment, Eglade. Now let me pass!”

“
NO!”

Aris struck
Eglade with a slap to the face. She flew to the wall in a heap. The shelves shook, the earthenware recipients, pestle and plates toppled down with a thunderous crash. The floor was sprinkled with broken painted pottery.

Varno froze in fury, eyes wide. He reacted without thinking. He yelled in rage and hurled himself at the armed
Aelian, who was caught off-guard by his ardour. Varno succeeded in hitting him with two punches full in the face and a violent head-butt. Aris didn’t retaliate, stunned by the Khartian’s improvised reaction.

“
Never been in a real fight, you sodding arsehole?!” Varno bellowed, laughing wildly. They fell to the floor, clasping each other tightly. Eglade had passed out in a corner. A trickle of blood drooled from her mouth.

Aris
found the man’s hands at his throat, and roared with staggering savagery. Varno squeezed and hammered his head on the ground. Once, twice. The Aelian lost his sword but managed to land a punch in the face.

His might was utterly unbelievable.

Varno’s eyes were blinded and scorched by sparks. The blow had been so brutal that the pain didn’t come straight away. Like being hit on the forehead by a hammering ram.

‘
Strong... so strong...’

The fear kept him miraculously awake.
Sightless and as stunned as a dumb-bell, Varno squeezed even harder. He smashed the head down among the broken crockery again. More punches came.

Then, the liquid sound of a fruit bursting between his fingers.
Varno shuddered in distaste.