39
MORDAKLEEPS IN YOUR DREAMS
Bardon lay on wrinkled, sweat-soaked sheets in a cool room with the sound of gentle waves lapping at the pier. The hostel where Lady Allerion had deposited him sat half on land and half on the wooden wharf. He couldn’t recall when he came, how he came, or how much time had passed since he came.
His mother-in-law entered his quarters with two people behind her, a chambermaid and a leecent.
The young woman carrying sheets scooted behind Lady Lyll, keeping out of Bardon’s sight. “Is he going to die, m’lady?”
“No, he’s passed the dangerous days, but he’ll be uncomfortable for a good while longer.”
The leecent spoke up. “That’s why I’ve been assigned to him as personal batman.”
The maid giggled. “Sounds like you belong in a cave or an old barn.”
“It means personal servant to one of high rank.”
“La-de-dah. Sounds like a chambermaid position to me.”
Lady Lyll tsked at them. “You two hush and get busy. We’ve a lot to do, and if he wakes, we don’t want to tire him by bustling around the room.”
“I’m awake,” Bardon croaked.
“Oh, good. You’ll be worn out when we’re through, but you’ll feel fresher and more alive.”
The gleam of her teeth in a wide smile told Bardon that he was not going to like her plans. “Time to clean up, drink some broth, and get a little exercise.”
Bardon groaned and turned to the wall.
“I know you’re weak. Leecent Voet will lift you out of the bed, and he and Mistress Traysian will help you walk to the chair.”
With a monumental effort, Bardon turned over and sat up on the side of the bed. No batman was going to pick him up like a baby. He couldn’t get his legs to cooperate and had to accept help to his feet and then to the chair.
“Fine,” said Lady Lyll, signaling Traysian to fetch the tray. “You must eat and drink.”
Leecent Voet dragged a table close, and Traysian put the tray down in front of Bardon. His dinner consisted of hot chicken broth and cold cider. He tried to protest that there was not even a crust of bread, but he was too weak to make the effort of a jest. He moved his hand to pick up the spoon and nearly fell over. Leecent Voet rescued him.
“Aren’t you…,” began Bardon.
“What, sir?”
“Afraid of…”
“Of catching the stakes? No sir. I had ’em as a baby.” He tucked a napkin under Bardon’s chin and lifted the spoon to feed him.
“I can…”
The batman deftly tipped the broth into Bardon’s mouth while he protested. He leaned forward and whispered, “Come on, Sir Bardon, eat this up. I’ve seen the brew Lady Allerion wants you to drink after, and believe me, this is much more tasty. If you take enough of this, we can say you’re full-up for the time being.”
Bardon submitted to the humiliation of being fed. While Leecent Voet poked the spoon in his mouth and held the glass to his lips, his mother-in-law and Traysian changed the sheets. Bardon concentrated on cooperating with Voet. In his head, he knew the nourishment would be beneficial, but his body wanted to burrow into the covers and be left alone. Under Lady Lyll’s direction, the chambermaid opened the windows to air out the room and brought in something spicy-sweet smelling that stewed in a ceramic bowl over a short candle.
“Potpourri,” Traysian told Voet when he asked.
Bardon knew he should be grateful for the food and the care, but the activity in the room annoyed him. Halfway through the broth and cider, he could no longer hold his head up. His chin rested on his chest, and his neck muscles refused to lift such a heavy burden as his big head.
Lady Allerion came and placed a hand on the nape of his neck. “No fever at present. We’ll just leave you men to do the rest.”
She and Traysian bustled out and closed the door behind them.
“Rest?” Bardon croaked.
“A bath, sir.”
“No.” He tried to shake his head but couldn’t.
“You see, sir, it’s this ‘chain of command,’ sir.” The batman crouched beside the chair so he could look Sir Bardon in the eye. “Now strictly speaking, Lady Allerion is not in the position to command me or to override one of your commands to me.”
Bardon felt a moment of relief. No bath.
“But I took my orders from Sir Dar, and his orders were that I was to do what Lady Allerion told me to do.”
Traysian came back in with a large earthenware bowl of water. She put it down on the table, then pulled a bar of soap and a washrag out of her apron pocket. She turned without a word and left.
Leecent Voet slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “Right, then. Let’s get this over with, sir, and I’d appreciate it, if you ever find me under your command again, that you either forgive me for this indignity, or forget my face altogether. My name, too.”
Bardon alternately stewed over the process of getting sponge bathed or slipping into an uneasy sleep, sitting up in the hard chair. The warm water relaxed him, and Leecent Voet sang under his breath in a very decent tenor as he worked.
Lying back down on the clean sheets felt like a soft bed after a hard campaign. And Leecent Voet got him tucked in before Lady Allerion came back with her medicinal tea.
Bardon kept his eyes closed when he heard her enter, and if he’d been able, he would have cheered for the batman when he said, “I wouldn’t wake him now, m’lady. He’s exhausted and needs to sleep. Leave that tea here, and we can reheat it later when he wakes.”
The door closed. The table scraped across the floor. “Sir, I’m putting this glass of water and this cup of tea right next to you. When I come back tomorrow, if you haven’t drunk it, I’m going to have to heat the tea up again. That is, unless you knock it over during the night. So be careful when you reach out.” Leecent Voet paused. “Sir, did you need anything else before I go?”
Bardon winced and opened his lips enough to get the word out. “No.”
“I’d stay, sir, but we’re short of men, and I’m pulling double duty.”
Bardon wanted to ask why they were suddenly short of men, what kind of duty Voet would be going to, and why they had billeted him in town instead of at the camp. Instead, he drifted off to sleep.
Bardon woke up chilled. He glanced at one of the windows, but someone had closed it. He turned his head to see the other window and caught sight of a dark shadow moving across the wall. He reached for his sword, but his hand closed only on rumpled sheets.
He looked again, but no shadow loomed against the wooden panels. He sighed, reached for the glass of water, and managed to drink it all, spilling less on his pillow than went into his mouth. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. His weighted eyelids hung open by a sliver.
The shadow passed above him. Bardon’s eyes popped open. What was that batman’s name? No matter. He was gone somewhere.
Bardon shifted to his side. The empty room mocked him. He let his head collapse against the bedding.
Fever. I have a fever again. I must be better, though. They got me up. They left me alone. I’m better. Where’s my sword? Where’s my dagger? What kind of people leave a man unattended and unarmed?
Slowly and deliberately, he examined the room, every shadow, every nook, every piece of furniture. The danger stirred only in his mind. His chambers held no threat. He closed his eyes.
A shout from below woke him. His eyes focused on red glowing orbs set deep in a black bulk.
“Here!” came the frantic voice from beneath the hostel. “Here’s another one!”
The tramping of many feet on wooden planks resounded through the walls, shaking the pillars and causing a cold sweat to break out on Bardon’s brow.
The creature hovering over his bed breathed deeply. It smelled of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. He and Kale had cleared The Bogs of these monsters.
The mordakleep sagged toward him. He couldn’t see the gray shades of the room. He couldn’t smell the potpourri Lady Lyll had left. His sheets were gone. The bed was gone. Darkness.
Wulder!
“I see the tail, but no monster!” One voice from the other world penetrated the gloom enveloping Bardon. “It must be inside. Cut it! Cut it!”
Bardon breathed in. Fresh, cool air penetrated his lungs. He tightened both hands into fists, holding the sheets, feeling the texture. He opened his eyes and saw the room lightened by the pale peach hues of sunrise. He pulled air in through his nose and sighed over the heavy smell of spices.
Rolling onto his side was again a painstaking adventure. He propped himself up on his elbow. Dizziness washed over him. Eventually, he reached for the tea and drank.
I must get well, Wulder. Amara needs me to fight Your foes. He took another sip and made a face. He put the cup down and leaned back into the bedding. Did you save my life last night? Was it a dream of Your saving my life? Either way, I know my life is spared for the purpose of being Your servant. Strengthen me. Use me.
He sighed, and his eyelids fluttered shut. He opened them again, fighting lethargy. The room brightened. The streams of pinkish sunshine turned golden.
“Thank You for the morning, Wulder.”
Bardon could see the words written in the Tomes. These words he had recited often while he studied at The Hall. The words were repeated at morning vespers.
“And it was morning, and the man said, ‘What will You have me to do with the day as it is given?’ And Wulder answered, ‘Serve Me in each minute, through each encounter, through all time, this day, and into eternity.’ And the man rejoiced, for he had work to do. ‘Nay to the idleness that devours the soul. Wulder has Himself declared the minutes of my day to be valuable in His sight.’”
Bardon smiled. He remembered Kale’s face when he recited that bit of the Tomes to her. She would put her hand on her hip and say, “That’s all fine, but I like a pat on the back in the evening just to know for sure I’ve done well.”
He longed to tell her she’d done well. He’d sleep, and maybe in his dreams, he’d be able to say the words, and she would hear them.