The Grey Robe

by Clare Smith

  The Rale led Borman to a low table, just a hand span high, which stood in the centre of the pavilion surrounded by thick cushions in a variety of colours. Four lamps made of gold and studded with rubies and sapphires hung over the table suspended on silver chains, as thick as a finger, which were attached to the roof supports. On the table a statue of two sand crawlers, one gold and one silver entwined around each other glistened in the lamp light. Tallison dropped to his knees and bowed low to the table, his forehead touching the edge and began to chant some incomprehensible words under his breath. Borman remained standing suspecting that this was some religious ritual which would require him to show respect and tried not to look bored as he took the opportunity to look around him.

  If the tented city had looked dirty and disorganised and the people half starved, it was not reflected in the abode of their leader, which, even if it wasn’t to his taste, was the height of opulence. He thought that the drapes, made of a light, shimmering material would look good at the palace windows but the cushions with their rich embroidery which were scattered across the floor were a stupid idea designed to trip him up every time he walked to the door. On the other hand the dark carpet, so thick it felt like the lush grass of early summer would go well in his sleeping room and he could imagine himself lying on it with a naked woman tending to his needs. Perhaps that was why the Rale had all these young girls with oiled skin and boys in brief loincloths around him.

  He turned his attention away from the distraction of their lithe bodies and studied the low tables which were scattered around the room. Like the cushions they too seemed to serve no practical purpose except to display the gem-studded goblets or sculptures in gold or silver of couples in erotic positions which stood on them. With annoyance Borman realised that there was more wealth in this one room than in his entire palace and here he was bringing gifts to this desert nomad. He turned away trying to conceal his jealousy and stopped abruptly as his eyes settled on a cage in one corner, suspended from the ceiling, the remains of a desiccated body inside, complete except for its hands. He wondered if that was where the foul smell was coming from.

  “Coberin, blasphemer and heretic. Talis’s holy warriors, may his name be praised, took him. I made Coberin’s death last many days.”

  Tallison took Borman by the elbow and guided him to another table where food had been laid out and eased him onto a pile of cushions. He sat opposite him with the two girls at his side, absently stroking the back of the nearest one. Borman looked at the food and then back at the cage with its rotting corpse and felt slightly sick.

  “Come, eat.” Tallison pushed a bowl of something round floating in a red sauce in Borman’s direction.

  Borman helped himself, dipping flatbread into the red sauce and then wincing as it burnt his mouth whilst he studied the man on the far side of the table. Tallison was small both in height and build with long thin hands and thin fingers ending in sharply pointed nails. His head was completely bald apart from two locks of black hair which grew from the crown of his head and were twisted together with gold wrappings which looked like the scales of a sand crawler. The bleached scull of a sand crawler, complete with fangs, was fixed to the end of the locks so that they rattled when he moved. Around the two locks his scalp was tattooed with black sand crawlers which moved as his jaws chewed the tough flatbread.

  Tallison’s face looked pale against the black hair and black tattoos and his lips were thin and colourless but his dark eyes were piercing, making Borman squirm inside. He remembered Tallison’s brother, King Duro, when he had visited Northshield. The King had been a large man with a big appetite and a bigger girth who had laughed a lot. He was travelling the six kingdoms with his white magician and his protector making trade agreements for his wealthy desert kingdom. Borman had been just a boy when Duro had visited his father but he had liked the fat king and his quiet magician. He looked back at the cage and was glad that he hadn’t brought Callabris with him.

  “What is it you want with me unbeliever?” said Tallison breaking through his thoughts. “Could it be that you’ve seen the light of salvation and have come to worship Talis, the one true god, may his name be praised, or is it that you need something which only I can provide. Is that why you have come here bringing gifts?”

  “I regret that Talis is yet to show me the way to salvation, Your Holiness. Instead I’ve come as a friend to warn you of a danger which threatens us both and to offer you my help in removing this threat to your holy land. The gifts I’ve brought are a sign of my good intentions towards you and your people.”

  “And what is this threat that makes you fear so much for my people?”

  “We have an enemy who sits on our borders and trains an army bigger than any other in the six kingdoms. One day soon he will decide that Leersland is no longer big enough for him and he will turn greedy eyes in our direction. He might come north for my timber but it is much more likely that he will come south for your gold and gemstones.

  “You have a greedy man, a heretic and a blasphemer who sits on your border and flaunts his black magician in your face making a mockery of Talis and all you believe in. Neither of us are strong enough to remove Sarrat and the evil magic which corrupts our lands alone but working together we could curtail his ambitions. Once Sarrat and his black robe are destroyed you could spread the word of Talis, the one true god, may his name be praised, into new lands and bring many new people to worship him.”

  Tallison gave a snort of derision loud enough to attract the attention of the others seated nearby. “And are you a true believer, King Borman, that you would care about the glory of Talis, may his name last forever. I think not. You are no better than my brother was, wanting to raise stone walls around him, giving away our wealth for his own pleasures and keeping a pet magician but Talis destroyed him for his blasphemy.”

  “The way I heard it, it was you who cut him down,” put in Rastor. Borman glared at him for his interruption.

  “My brother blasphemed, so Talis, the one true god, may his name be praised, guided my hand and destroyed the heretic and his magician. Talis, may he rule forever, still guides my hand so that I may destroy all those who corrupt the kingdoms by their use of magic, such as you do, King Borman.”

  Rastor moved his hand to where his sword should have been and began to rise at another of Tallison’s implied threats but Borman waved him down. “It’s true, I do keep a magician but only to counter the threat of Maladran’s evil. If Sarrat and Maladran were dead then together we could rid the six kingdoms of all magic.”

  “You would give your magician to me?”

  Borman glanced at the cage. “The day Sarrat and Maladran die Callabris and his protector will be delivered into your hands for you to deal with as you wish.”

  Tallison gave an evil grin showing brown pointed teeth. “And what about the lands and wealth of Leersland?”

  “We’ll share Leersland between us. You will have the rich pasture land south of Tarmin with the finest horse herds in the six kingdoms and unrestricted access to the Blue River. I will have Tarmin and the farms and mountains of the north and Talis will have the worship of all the people.”

  “That would please the one true god, may his word live forever. However such a move would mean that his blessed warriors would have to walk on the same ground that has been defiled by the footsteps of those that use the evil of magic to their own ends. Talis, may his name be praised, will not permit this.”

  “I understand your concern for the eternal souls of your brave warriors and would not wish for them to be corrupted by magic’s evil. Therefore I will supply you with enough horses so that your warrior’s feet do not have to touch the ground where magic has been practiced. I will also supply you with enough swords to overcome the power of any amount of spells. Just ask Prince Kremin. He will avow to the quality of the ten war horses and the iron weapons I have brought as gifts to arm your men and they are only a sample to show you my true intentions.

  Prince Kremin
stood and joined his father. “The stallions are very fine and the weapons are strong and true, but they are insufficient to protect all our warriors from the evil of Sarrat’s ungodly land.”

  “They are just the first of many gifts. When I return to Northshield I will send all the horses and weapons you will ever need to make Leersland your own.”

  “That may be difficult,” interrupted Kremin. “I understand that the King of Tarbis is reluctant for such things to pass across his lands in case they are turned against him and his people.”

  Borman gave a small smile of triumph. “You have not heard then? King Hormand has met with an unfortunate accident and whilst Prince Newn is certainly a difficult young man his regent is more reasonable. What’s more he is a relative of mine. I don’t think it will be difficult to find a way to get him to co-operate.”

  “If you were to give the horses and weapons we brought to your warriors straight away they could start crossing into Leersland and raid the horse herds,” interjected Rastor who had joined his king. “You could have large numbers of your warriors mounted and across the border before Sarrat knew what was happening.”

  “And there’s more than just horses to be taken from Leersland,” continued Borman. “It’s a rich kingdom that keeps unwanted children as slaves. Such children would make fine gifts for your warriors’ wives.”

  “Or even for the beds of your warriors,” said Rastor with a knowing look at the Prince.

  Kremin leaned forward eagerly, “I think Talis, may his name be praised, would be pleased if some of our young warriors were bloodied in battle and that the blasphemers were taught to fear his name.”

  Tallison looked at his son and gave a sly grin. “Very well, we’ll take your horses and weapons and we’ll cross the border into Leersland, but don’t forget, when Sarrat and Maladran are dead Callabris is mine.”

  “I will deliver him to you personally, but until that time I think it would be a good idea if Prince Isallin remained in my care to seal our agreement; it will be a good opportunity for the boy to learn about the other kingdoms.”

  Tallison shrugged, “He’s just a younger son and of little value but as a sign of my trust I will give you this one too.” He clicked his fingers and a girl, somewhat older than the others who waited on Tallison, came forward. She had long, dark hair which fell across her face and a thin body covered in welts and bruises. Borman frowned, not sure why he was being offered such a gift. “This one is barren and wastes my seed but she has interesting bloodlines and one or two special gifts which should provide you with some amusement. I have no further use for her so you may do as you wish with the girl until you become bored with her. When you have done with her you may send her back to me so I can pass her onto my guards for their amusement. Now, if our agreement is to be sealed by you holding something of mine then it is only fair that I should hold something of value which belongs to you.”

  “That’s understandable.” agreed Borman and waved Rothers towards him. “This is Lord Rothers; he’s my closest relative and heir to the throne of Northshield. He will stay here as your hostage, it’ll be a good opportunity for him to learn the word of Talis, may his name be praised.”

  Rothers gasped and turned pleading eyes on his king who had already turned away and was walking towards the door flap followed closely by a grinning Rastor. He turned back and briefly bowed to Tallison. “We will be on our way in the morning to make arrangements for the first shipment.”

  “You have a long journey ahead of you; perhaps you would like something to help you sleep?” Tallison pushed another of the young girls forward. “She’s not a virgin but she’s still inexperienced enough to give satisfaction, or perhaps you would prefer a boy?”

  Borman looked at the girl and shook his head, “Thank you for your offer, Your Holiness, but tonight I will sleep alone.” He bowed briefly and pushed his way out of the tent taking a large gulp of fresh air the moment the door flaps closed behind him. “We leave before the sun is up.”

  “Do we take the girl with us?”

  “I suppose we must; she might be worth something once she’s cleaned up and if not you can have her.”

  Rastor grinned at his king, “Did you see Rothers face when you handed him over? I thought he was going to piss himself. I didn’t know he was your heir though.”

  “Don’t be so blasted stupid, do you really think I would have that fop as my heir?”

  “Oh, does that mean you aren’t really going to give Callabris up to that fanatic?”

  “What do you think?” laughed Borman.

  Rastor grinned, “If the old bastard had said ‘may his name be praised’ one more time I swear I would have gutted him with his own dinner knife.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bribes and Coercion

  Pellum rolled over and stretched lazily feeling warm and contented and pleased with life. The air in the peaceful stable was deliciously warm and the remains of last season’s hay reasonably fragrant despite its age. Beneath the hayloft the horses stood dozing whilst their tales flicked away the odd fly, making gentle swishing sounds. Sunlight poured in through a high window and a myriad of multi-coloured dust motes glinted as they floated in and out of the sun's rays.

  He eased himself up onto one elbow and looked down the length of his body. It was strong and muscular and perfectly tanned in those places which were exposed to the sun every day. In contrast the rest was pale and unblemished, free from the scars which most men of twenty summers gained whilst practising at arms. For all that it was a hard body, honed by hunting and riding and other strenuous but pleasurable activities which the younger brother to the future King of Essenland could indulge in. It was the sort of body no girl could resist and so far, none had, except for the one and for some strange reason he couldn’t get that girl out of his mind.

  Slender fingers touched the back of his neck and traced a delicate line down his spine, making him shudder with anticipation. The girl giggled and moved closer, her breasts pushing against his back and the soft fluff of her protective hair rubbing against the base of his spine. Her tongue tickled his shoulder as she nibbled her way upwards towards his ear, which she bit with just enough force to make him gasp and lay back again. Now her lips began to caress his body, following where her hands had already explored and her hard nipples had stroked. He gave another shudder of anticipation as his manhood rose in response to her touch and rolled over to pin her ample body beneath him.

  Serving girls were always willing to lay back for him so why wasn't it the same with the High Lord of Leersland's daughter? Fully aroused by the thought of the pleasures Tarraquin could give him he closed his eyes, spread her legs and drove into the serving girl, deaf to her cry of surprise at his sudden urgency. Outside in the practice yard sword crashed against sword to the rhythm of a drum and Pellum thrust forward to the same rhythm, heedless that his other weapon was required to be used elsewhere.

  "Prince Pellum, Prince Pellum! If yer up there, me lord, please come down, Commander Stanis’s goin’ crazy and says 'e'll cut yer yard off if 'e catches yer usin' it where it sould’na be in 'is practice time."

  Pellum thrust forward quicker and quicker, his body streaked with sweat and his breath coming in short rasping gasps. He thrust forward again, held it for a half-hearted ejaculation and then rolled over to lie panting on the horse blanket with his eyes closed. It was never the same the second time, especially when he had his mind on other things.

  "Is that you, Burk?" he shouted to the young soldier without opening his eyes or making any effort to move.

  "Yes, Me Lord."

  "Then tell the poxed Commander to go and stick his sword up his arse, I've better things to do than swing lumps of metal around like some common slob just to please him."

  "Yes, Me Lord, but......"

  "Pellum!" screamed Stanis, pushing Burk to one side, "Get your royal arse down here before I make the count to three and if it aint dressed properly I'll have you
r balls."

  Pellum leapt from the horse blanket, ignoring the crying serving girl in his hurry to pull on his leggings and boots. By the time Commander Stanis had counted to three Pellum was sliding down the loft ladder, his sword belt buckled at his side but his shirt and tunic still draped over his arm. He came to a halt in front of the Commander and stood almost to attention but not quite. When it came to a reckoning he was, after all, the king's son whilst the Commander was just a soldier who was good with a sword. Pellum gave the older man an insolent grin, knowing that Stanis was powerless to take any action against him except giving him a verbal lashing and that was painless.

  Commander Stanis was red with anger as he eyed the arrogant prince up and down. "If you were a real soldier I would have you on double guard duty for a month for missing sword practice. Instead I have to put up with your lazy, lecherous ways, just because your father is the king. You mark my words Pellum, one of these days you’re going to come up against someone, or something, that doesn't care who your father is and then you’re going to wish you’d learnt to use a sword like a man instead of laying every slut in the castle. Now get yourself cleaned up and dressed, your father has summoned you."

  Pellum gave a brief bow and sauntered from the stable, his arrogant smile still etched across his face.

  "One of these days," muttered Stanis to himself in frustration. "One of these days you're going to meet your match and I hope I’m there to see it."

  Pellum made his way across the practice yard whistling the tune to the latest ditty the court minstrel had composed and used the servant's stairs to reach his chambers, wanting to avoid any other messengers, or worse still his father. He’d learnt as a small boy that his father would forgive him anything and indulge him ruinously if he dressed and acted the part of the dashing young prince. Consequently Pellum took the time to bathe and dress carefully before stopping to admire himself in the mirror and then making his way down to the council chamber.