Morticai's Luck

by Darlene Bolesny

  “Almgren’s fourth son.”

  “What have I done to him?” Morticai complained.

  “I certainly wouldn’t know,” Heather replied. “I know it has nothing to do with me—he’s never looked at me, and I’d have nothing to do with him if he did.”

  “Hmm. That is strange. I wonder if he confused me with someone else?”

  “I wouldn’t think that very likely,” she said. “But, there is more. Once I found he issued the order, I thought to take a look through his chambers.”

  “Heather! That was a terrible risk!”

  “Hush now,” she said. “If you can take risks, so can I!”

  Morticai whispered, “Yes, and look where that’s gotten me.”

  She stroked his hair. “But you have always taken such risks. I take them very rarely. As Nelerek would say, my odds are better. And besides, Edris, like all of the princes, has gone with his father and the army.”

  “So what did you find?”

  “Well, actually, it was more what I didn’t find.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I knew that he would pack all of his clothes, which, isn’t that silly? Just what he needs is his finest clothes to go to war in! But, what was truly odd was that all of his ivory was gone.”

  “Ivory?”

  “He collects carved ivory. You know, little animals and such. Every bit of it was gone. He has always been frantically concerned that it might be broken—any time it has been displayed, like at his birthday parties, he has hovered and fretted over it. Not something I would think he’d wish to take on an overland trip with an army, don’t you agree?”

  “How strange.”

  “Exactly my thoughts. Unfortunately, I have not been able to determine why he would have taken it.”

  “Are you certain it was he that took it? It’s possible that some thief has just been waiting for an opportunity like this, you know.”

  “I thought of that. But there’s a little bit more. There wasn’t a thing in his desk—except …” she paused dramatically.

  “Except what, Heather? Don’t tease me!”

  “Well, I found an odd map. It was in the very bottom, as though it had fallen from the back of drawer, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Morticai replied. “Did it show armies?” he asked, his excitement growing.

  “No, it looks like one of the Cities, but it’s unnamed, so I am not certain which City it is supposed to represent. But I have a friend who is a mapmaker. I’ll take it to him—I’m sure he’ll know which one it is.”

  Morticai tried to pull himself up straighter, but a searing pain shot up his right arm. He gasped, and then doubled over as his right shoulder, and then his right side, spasmed.

  “Dyluth!” Heather cried, pulling him closer.

  “I-I’ll be all right,” Morticai moaned.

  * * *

  It was just past noon. At last, Coryden could see the tops of Mid-Keep’s towers on the horizon. The Northmarch captain held his hand up, signaling his men to stop. The squad pulled to a halt behind him, the jingling, squeaking sounds of tack and the beat of hooves giving way, in part, to the panting of the horses.

  He had stopped them beside the small stream that wound lazily across the plain, providing water for the nearby villages as well as Mid-Keep. The weary band dismounted, and immediately began tending the tired horses. Coryden didn’t like running the horses so hard—they’d play out quickly if he kept pushing them.

  But their destination lay only a few miles away, and they had made the good time he had hoped they would. They had cut a half-day off of the usual two and a half it took to get to Mid-Keep from Watchaven. He signaled for Evadrel.

  “Shall I scout ahead?” Evadrel asked, anticipating his captain’s wishes.

  “It would probably be a good idea. We both know there’s not enough room inside the Keep’s walls for the entire Northmarch—I suspect most are camped outside.”

  “True,” Evadrel replied slowly.

  “What’s wrong?” Coryden asked.

  “I worry that there is no smoke.”

  Coryden blinked and scanned the horizon. He hadn’t thought about it before, but Evadrel was correct. The smoke from the cook fires should be clearly visible, especially this close to noon.

  “Hmm. You’re right. Go ahead, but be careful.”

  “Yes, sir.” Evadrel didn’t speak aloud what was clear from his expression—that he was always careful. He unslung his bow from the back of his pack and strung it. Then, notching an arrow, he trotted off in the direction of Mid-Keep.

  I wonder if he could run without a bow in his hands? Coryden thought distantly as he watched his valued scout trot out of sight.

  * * *

  The horses had finally cooled off and drunk their fill by the time Evadrel returned. As the corryn scout approached, Coryden rose from underneath the tree he had claimed for his post and walked to meet him. Even at a distance, he could read ‘trouble’ in the way Evadrel walked.

  “What is it, Evadrel?” Coryden asked, as soon as the scout drew close enough to hear and respond without shouting.

  Evadrel remained silent until he reached his captain.

  “Very bad news, sir,” he replied, slightly out of breath. “They are gone.”

  “What!”

  “The Keep is deserted, Captain … but there is more.”

  * * *

  An hour later the squad stood before Mid-Keep’s gate—or rather, what had once been Mid-Keep’s gate. Coryden was stunned, even after hearing Evadrel’s warning. The Keep was a burned-out husk. The gates had been torn down; its ancient bronze hinges purposely destroyed, heated in fires and doused with cold water until they had warped. Coryden shook his head.

  “Incredible,” Dualas muttered beside him. “It must have been a terribly difficult decision to make.”

  A piece of parchment was nailed up on the wall beside the gate. Coryden walked his horse up to the gateway to read the notice for himself.

  Notice is hereby given, it stated, that the mandate and the warrant of the Northmarch is to serve Dynolva and Watchaven, both kingdoms, impartially. We are sworn to protect their borders and highways, and their citizens as they travel. We cannot condone the killing of the citizens of either kingdom—nor will we allow our officers or our fortresses to be misused for such a purpose. Thus, have I ordered that Mid-Keep be removed so that it may be of use to neither side in this senseless war. The Northmarch shall not desert either kingdom, but we shall not be forced into partisan action. We shall march to the north and camp on the border until this madness has passed. To this, we give our official seal. It was signed and sealed by the Northmarch’s High Commander, Lord Seabrook.

  “How long ago did this happen?” Coryden shouted to Evadrel.

  “At least three days ago,” he replied.

  “Three days,” Coryden muttered.

  “They’ll have reached the border by now,” Dualas said, having ridden up beside him.

  “We’ll have to keep going,” Coryden said. “We have no idea how far that Droken army is from them.”

  Berret rode up, returning from the small town that stood just north of Mid-Keep. “Evadrel is correct, Captain,” he said. “Quite a few of the townspeople have left, but those still in the area say they burned it four days ago.”

  Coryden shook his head. “They must have decided to do it before giving the order for everyone to gather.”

  “Well,” Dualas observed, “I suppose Lord Seabrook had a fair idea that it would come to war, just as we did.”

  “What I want to know,” Berret said, “is where in Benek’s name is this damned Droken army coming from.”

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” Coryden said. “Morticai didn’t know. He said that there was a mark on the map which seemed to plot the army’s origin, bu
t it was set in lands that none have ever been to—at least, none that we’re aware of.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rylan uttered a silent prayer of thanks as Mother Edana unwrapped the bandages from about Morticai’s head. He doubted that the corryn would have survived had it not been for her ministrations. While few of the healers scattered across the world could rival her abilities, sadly, there were never enough of them. Even in his home kingdom of Abbadyr, known for its healing herbs, such powerful healers were rare.

  Mother Edana motioned for him to come to her side. “Brother Glaedwin,” she said, “please come and hold this bandage for me.”

  She had carefully rolled the bandage as she removed it, and though a few folds of it still wound about Morticai’s head, she held up the roll up for Rylan. He held it as she began to gently work the remainder of the bandage loose.

  Rylan watched curiously. He could tell that some sort of cream lay on the wounds under the bandages.

  “Mother Edana?” Morticai said.

  “Yes, child?”

  “When will the itching stop? It’s about to drive me mad.”

  “I am sorry you are finding it so troublesome, but I do not think the itching will stop until your eyes are completely healed.”

  “Well, I guess that’s what I’m asking—how long will it take?”

  “That is a question I cannot answer, little one. Each Levani works in his or her own time—who can say how long Glawres shall take? If I were to guess, I would say that it should not take as long with Glawres as with some of the Levani. Impatience is as true of Glawres as it is of you, my child. You share many traits with your patron. I think it is why he favors you so.”

  Morticai sighed, but did not complain further.

  Mother Edana carefully peeled off the last layer of the bandage and then said to Rylan, “Please, Brother, check that cabinet by the door for a bottle of spring water. I have brought another bottle, but do not wish to open it yet.”

  Rylan checked the cabinet and found a bottle of liquid. “Water from the spring of Levani Gwendiva,” he read from the label.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Doesn’t Gwendiva’s spring lie in the mountains west of Dynolva?” he asked, handing it to her.

  “Aye, and it is a good thing that I had put back a dozen bottles. Although the Dynolvans have not yet hindered our people’s travel, I would not want to run out.”

  She gently rinsed away the cream and surprised Rylan by using the water freely. A prime ingredient for many healing tonics, the water was expensive, even to the Faith.

  Rylan mentally prepared himself for what would lie beneath the cream—he had seen grievous wounds before. When she finished, Rylan swallowed and forced himself to look down.

  He gasped. Where Morticai’s eyes had been there appeared to be some sort of a filmy layer … of skin?

  “Looks pretty bad, uh?” Morticai said.

  “Ah, uh, no,” Rylan said, blinking. “Not really.” Rylan looked at Mother Edana. She smiled and nodded slowly. “You are the only person besides myself who has seen the extent of his healing, Brother,” she informed him.

  Rylan said nothing further, waiting until she had reapplied the cream and wrapped Morticai’s head with clean bandages. His intention had been to speak with her and learn how Morticai was healing—but what he had seen …

  At last, she finished. Rylan helped her gather up the old bandages and her medical supplies. Nelerek, waiting anxiously outside, entered the room as soon as they left it.

  “Mother,” Rylan began.

  “Not here, child,” she said. “Come with me.”

  She led him to the common ward supply room, where she deposited the bandages into a waste bin and stowed away the unused supplies. From there, she led him into a small prayer room. They both knelt and offered up a silent prayer before she turned to him.

  “You have questions?” she asked.

  Rylan took a deep breath. “Yes, Mother. I …” he paused and looked thoughtfully through the small stained glass window . “I worked for some time in the ward of Daric’s Sanctorium in Abbadyr. While there, I saw many severe wounds. Indeed, I saw wounds such as those Morticai now suffers from, for, as you know, the Droken are fond of taking the eyes of those who might identify them. But, never have I seen such a … a film form over the eyes of a blinding victim.”

  “And do you know what it means, Brother?”

  Rylan sighed. “I suppose that is my question. Do you know what it means?”

  Mother Edana smiled at Rylan. “Glawres has already shown favor for this beloved child of his,” she replied. “Morticai has already survived the wound from Ducledha—something which no man or corryn has ever before survived. Did you know that I had dreams before you rescued Morticai?”

  “No, I did not. I knew that Patriarch Phelim—”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “Patriarch Phelim brought you Menahen’s relic. That was also a sign of favoritism from Glawres.”

  “But I did not know that you had also dreamed regarding this.”

  She nodded again. “In my dream I made a very large pot of the ointment which you saw me use on Morticai’s eyes. It is a special healing ointment that we use here, but it is expensive and difficult to make, and so we usually prepare it only in very small amounts. We use it sparingly. In my dream, I made the large pot because I knew that I would need it for someone who was terribly injured. Of course, when I awoke, I did not know who that someone would be. Even so, I prepared the ointment.”

  “So,” Rylan ventured, “Glawres has given two people dreams concerning Morticai’s injuries.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I believe that underneath that layer of skin, Morticai’s eyes are growing back.”

  “A miracle,” Rylan uttered. “For Morticai, a miracle.”

  “Indeed. But why are you so shocked?”

  “Dear Mother,” Rylan explained, “although I know that the almighty Levani still perform miracles, I have never actually seen one.”

  “Did you not hear about the girl from Mitharvor who lost her legs, only to regrow them?”

  “Yes, but —“

  “But why would Glawres choose to perform a miracle on someone such as Morticai?” she finished for him.

  Rylan looked down and frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps that was what I was thinking.” He shook his head, “But if that is so, I am ashamed. The Levani do not look at worldly station, or even faithfulness, when they choose whom they shall bless.”

  Mother Edana nodded. “Indeed. They may even choose the unfaithful as proof of their mercy. But there is much faithfulness in Morticai that lies deep in his soul. Too deep for many to see, I suspect—but it seems clear that Glawres sees it.”

  “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “I have told the Grand Patriarch, Patriarch Phelim, and Morticai.”

  Rylan blinked. “You’ve told Morticai? What does he think?”

  Mother Edana laughed. “He said very little when I told him. I am certain that he thinks me quite mad.”

  * * *

  King Almgren sat atop his huge bay horse and surveyed the remains of the once magnificent Mid-Keep. He sadly shook his head.

  “I was afraid they would do something like this,” he remarked to the large man who sat ahorse beside him.

  “Aye, sire, you were correct,” said the knight. “I must admit that I hoped they would choose to defend it rather than … this.”

  “I wish it had been so. I might have parleyed with them. I cannot doubt the loyalty of Lord Seabrook, but he is an independent man, and it is clear that his loyalty lies more with the Northmarch than with either Watchaven or Dynolva.”

  “Perhaps that is well,” the knight said. “Though Seabrook did not remain to parley with you, he has not remained to parley with the Dynolvans, either.”

&nb
sp; “True.”

  The king’s oldest son, Bertel, rode up to them.

  “Father, since we cannot defend this keep, shall I order the troops to continue the march?” he asked. “It is only now noon. We could make several more miles, and perhaps find a better location to pitch camp.”

  “Nay,” Almgren replied, “I would not move the troops farther. I know this territory much better than you, my son. This plain continues for another full day’s march before it rises into the hills. By the time we reached those hills, we would find them filled with Dynolvans. It will be better for us to wait here and let our men rest. I would much prefer to battle the Dynolvans on the plains, where I can see them, rather than in their own hills, where I cannot.”

  “Aye, father,” Bertel replied.

  “Should we send an emissary to the Northmarch to attempt parley?” the knight asked.

  “I suppose so … though after seeing this,” the king gestured to the burned out fortress, “I doubt they will change their position.”

  * * *

  “What is taking him so long?” Coryden complained.

  “Perhaps it is extra caution,” Dualas replied. “Had they caught Evadrel, we would have known by now.”

  Coryden paced to the large patch of brush at the northern edge of the small clearing and peered over it. Nothing but the scrub of the plain lay before him, and nothing moved within it. He sighed and spun around. His tired men sat quietly, waiting for him to decide their next move. Knowing their captain, they had conveniently left him a path on which to pace through the middle of the crowded clearing.

  A finch chirped in the distance. Coryden stopped pacing and looked questioningly at Berret.

  Berret smiled. “Yes, that’s Ordson’s signal,” he confirmed. “Evadrel is returning.”