The White Robe

by Clare Smith

  She gave a sigh of relief at how ordinary and peaceful the city looked. The city gates were open, the usual traffic was passing through as it did every day, and on the walls, she could just make out the usual number of guards patrolling and keeping watch. Her fears that she would find Andron’s army camped outside of the city disappeared, and she even managed to give Malingar a brief smile. It wasn’t until they were much closer and she could make out the detail that she realised things were not quite as normal as she had first thought. Her alarm returned as she noticed that the banner flying above the gates was not her own, and the guards on the walls wore the same strange livery as her escort.

  The row of shoulder high posts lining the road which led to the city gates were new as well, and she frowned trying to make them out and guess their purpose. When she was a hundred or so paces away she realised that what she had taken to be some sort of decorative top to each post was in fact the remains of a severed head. Tarraquin gave a small cry of horror and turned away as she recognised the first; Lord Istan with his ears and tongue missing and his eyes gouged out.

  She took a deep breath and turned back to see who the others were, unable to hold back her tears. The heads of Guildmaster Jobes and Master Zott were impaled on the next two posts, their features intact, except for their eyes, which had been pecked out by scavengers. Behind them were the heads of the other members of the council and two others who she didn’t recognise. She looked to see if Jarrul was amongst them but of all the council his was the only head that was missing. Determined to do them honour she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and sat up straighter in her saddle. If she was the next person to join the grisly parade then she would go there as a queen and not a weeping woman.

  As she rode through the streets with her guards closely surrounding her, she noticed more changes. Armed soldiers in the strange livery were everywhere, stopping people and searching them or holding them back whilst she passed. The people looked fearful and worn and none of them would look in her direction as if they were afraid of some violent retribution from the soldiers. The shops and market stalls, which were usually open at this time of day, were closed and boarded up, and the voices of traders calling out their wares and customers haggling over prices were missing. Only the inns remained open, full of off duty soldiers with pots of ale in their hands, watching her as she passed by. It was as if the city had been waiting for her to return and explain why she had deserted them and left them to this fate.

  She was almost relieved to ride through the gates of the fortress and hear them slam behind her cutting off the accusing silence. Several guards hurried forward to take her horse’s bridle and to help her down, quickly surrounding her, but before they marched her off she had time to catch a glimpse of her betrayer’s face; for a man who had just captured a queen, Malingar looked decidedly unhappy.

  The guards marched her into the fortress and along the corridors towards the rear of the austere stone building. When they stopped, one of them opened a door and she walked through into a small uncarpeted room which was not her own, but not a cell either. The door was closed behind her and she waited as a key rattled in the lock and the locking bar dropped into place. So far she had been brave, her only tears having been for those men whose heads had decorated the poles outside of the city gates, but in the sudden solitude of her room, her resolve disappeared and she broke down into sobs of fright and anger.

  From the other side of the room another door opened and she looked up in surprise just as Birrit, her cheeks wet with tears, ran forward and threw her arms around her. “Your Majesty, I’m so pleased to see you! I thought you’d been taken prisoner and killed and that I would never see you again.”

  She took Tarraquin’s cold and shaking hands and almost dragged her across the room and through the door to a smaller room, shutting the door behind them and pushing a heavy dresser in front of it to bar the way. “You’ll be safe in here, Your Majesty. The men come into the other room whenever they please and do as they wish, but nobody has made it into here yet.” Birrit took Tarraquin’s cloak, bustled her into a chair by the fire and then poured her some wine from a chipped clay jug. “Here, drink this. It’s not what you’ve been used to but it’s drinkable and it’ll help to bring the colour back to your cheeks and stop you shaking so much.”

  Tarraquin gratefully took the wine and drank it down ignoring the slightly bitter taste. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Birrit, what has happened here? Who has taken the city?”

  “You’ve seen the heads?” Tarraquin nodded. “Lord Istan tried to escape but that magician followed him and he was captured and then they did that terrible thing to him. They made all of us in the fortress watch as they tortured him and as they hacked off the heads of the others. They said it was a lesson in obedience, and that, or worse would happen to anyone who disobeyed them or tried to escape. Since then, we’ve all lived in fear of our lives.”

  “What about Master Jarrul, did he return here?”

  Birrit nodded and tears filled her eyes. “He was captured too but escaped along with Lord Istan and the Guildmaster. It is said that the magician murdered him when he tried to get away from them so they left his body where he’d been killed to feed the sly hunters. Two guards lost their heads in his place.”

  Tarraquin wiped her eyes and resolved that they were the last tears she was going to shed; compared to Birrit and others like her, she had escaped lightly so far. She put a comforting arm around her maid. “Oh Birrit, that’s awful, I know you too were fond of Jarrul.” She waited for Birrit to stop crying before going on. “Who are these people and what are they doing here?”

  “They’re King Borman’s men and some are from the army of Great Lord Andron who was also killed. They tricked their way into the city using that magic worker and now Borman has declared himself king of Leersland. He says that the two kingdoms are going to be joined as one and that it’ll be called Borland, after him.”

  Tarraquin shook her head in dismay; so much had happened in such a short time that she was almost afraid to ask any more questions. She looked around the small sleeping chamber trying to find something familiar, something to hang on to whilst she tried to come to terms with what had happened, but there was nothing she recognised. In fact there was something missing. She took a deep breath to ask her last question.

  “Where’s Sheevar?”

  Birrit looked down at her hands letting her tears fall onto them. “The Guardcaptain, the one who tortured Lord Istan, he took a fancy to Sheevar. He came one night before we thought to barricade ourselves in here. He said he wanted her, but Sheevar had got used to being free and she forgot a whore’s first lesson. I got away with some bruises, but Sheevar tried to fight him off and he killed her. There used to be a carpet in the other room, but it was covered in blood so I rolled her body in it and some friends from the whore house took her away and buried her.

  Tarraquin sat back in her chair, too stunned and miserable to talk any more. So many people had suffered for her stupidity. She had been a fool leaving her throne in the hands of that smooth-tongued sand crawler. What’s more she had been an even bigger fool not to realise that a mercenary captain with five hundred men suddenly turning up out of the blue to support her could not just be a coincidence or a stroke of luck. Jarrul had tried to warn her but she had ignored him, so taken up was she with her own plans and ambitions. Somehow she would get out of this mess and get her throne back, but without Jarrul by her side, it was going to be very difficult.

  *

  Borman watched Tarraquin arrive from one of the fortress’s windows and was pleased with his decision to retrieve her from the beast’s clutches. From the way she had ridden into the courtyard it was obvious that she was a confident horsewoman and had clearly not been cowed by the sight of her friends’ heads adorning the pikes on the road to Tarmin’s gates. When she had dismounted and was being escorted inside to what she must have thought would be a prison cell, she had held her head high a
nd looked resolute. At least he thought she had; it was a bit difficult to make out the detail from where he stood above the fortress entrance.

  He was pleased that she wasn’t wailing or fainting as most of the women he knew would be doing under the same circumstances. If she had he wouldn’t have bothered any further with her, but would have ordered her head to join the others outside the gates. As it was he rubbed his hands together in anticipation; he liked his women feisty, and as long as she said nothing if he took his pleasures elsewhere when the fancy took him, she might make a passably good wife.

  When he was tired of looking out of the window and contemplating her arrival, he returned to his own rooms to rest, whilst his servants made arrangements to entertain his guest. Later, when he woke, two comfortable chairs had been placed across from each other by the fire and a light evening meal had been laid out on the tables beside the chairs and covered with a cloth. He had chosen a sweet and fruity Vinmore blush wine to go with it, although it wasn’t really to his taste, but ladies seemed to like it. Under normal circumstances he would have met with a defeated adversary at their place of execution or, perhaps, if they were particularly penitent, in their death cell, but somehow iron bars, soiled straw and the smell of death didn’t seem appropriate when proposing marriage.

  He had also thought of meeting in the throne room or the receiving room, but since the last time she would have been in them they were hers, he thought it a bit crass. Instead he had chosen his own private rooms, comfortable, but hardly intimate, with Callabris and his protector standing by the door looking stern and intimidating and Rastor giving Allowyn dirty looks, three places to the left. It could have been worse though; he could have invited Jonderill and his protector along as well which would have made a really happy little party.

  However, as he had only invited them here to introduce them to the girl, they wouldn’t be staying for too long and then he would be alone with her with plenty of time to become intimate, which was another good reason to meet in his own rooms. He sat in one of the soft chairs, waved his hand and Rastor refilled his wine goblet, placing the silver pitcher back on the dresser before taking up his previous position.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he sat up in anticipation of meeting his guest, but when the door opened it was only Malingar, and he sat back with a disappointed sigh. Malingar, with a strange look on his face, crossed the room ignoring the presence of the white robe and his protector and bowed briefly to his king. Borman nodded back in casual acknowledgement of his presence, not quite certain what the captain was doing there. Then he jumped in surprise as Malingar took two quick paces to the left and grabbed Rastor by his throat. Fighting in his presence was unheard of but within moments Malingar had blooded Rastor’s face with his gloved hand, both had drawn knives and were rolling on the floor doing their best to stick each other somewhere where it would be fatal.

  Borman screamed and almost immediately the room was filled with guards pulling the two snarling antagonists apart. The biggest of his personal guards, built like a tree, held Malingar by a thick arm around his throat and a blade at his ribs whilst the other guard, only a finger width shorter but equally as broad, restrained Rastor in an arm lock, fit to break his shoulder and with a knife at his throat. The two glared and hissed at each other as if their king didn’t exist. By the door Allowyn, who had made no effort to intervene, looked on with a slight smile on his face and a hand on his sword in case the fight moved in the direction of his master.

  “What in hellden’s name do you think you are doing?” screamed Borman. “I’ll have your bloody heads for this you stupid buggers! Now tell me what’s going on.”

  Malingar strained against the man with his arm around his throat, his teeth bared and his hands balled into fists. “This bastard has raped my sister and has murdered my little brother. If I get my hands on him I’ll rip his bloody balls off and stuff them down his fucking throat!”

  Rastor smiled and eased back into his restraining guard easing the pressure on his arm twisted behind his back. “You would have enjoyed her yourself, My Lord. She was a bit skinny but still a good fuck, a pity the boy interfered and I had to swat him out of the way”

  “You bloody well killed him you bastard!” screamed Malingar.

  “Rastor shrugged. “It was his own fault, he shouldn’t have pulled a knife on me.”

  Malingar screamed in rage again and almost broke away from his captor’s grasp. “If I ever get near you I’ll make sure you never stick your prick anywhere ever again!”

  “Enough!” shouted Borman. “What in hellden’s name do you think you were doing Rastor? Malingar is my man, not some sort of pressed peasant who needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “My apologies, Lord, but you said that anyone in my charge was mine to do with as I wished and as you placed them in my charge I took you at your word.”

  “Bugger, Rastor, but you’re a thick sod, I didn’t mean them.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry Malingar, we’ll bury your brother with full honours and if your sister has Rastor’s bastard I’ll give it a title and some lands. You, Rastor, will pay Malingar a thousand gellstart in compensation.”

  “A thousand gellstart! My lord, he wasn’t worth that, he was only ten summers old.”

  “Oh, very well, five hundred. Now enough, both of you, I have more important things to attend to and I don’t need you hissing and spitting at each other. Guards, release them but if either of them makes a move against the other kill them both.”

  The guards released their hold and stepped back leaving Malingar and Rastor glaring at each other. There was a knock on the door and the king smiled in anticipation and waved everyone into their places.

  “Now behave yourself and try to act as gentlemen. I’m going to introduce you to my future wife.”

  Despite all that had happened, Tarraquin was ready for the confrontation. Birrit had woken her just before the sun set with the news that she was to attend the king. The summons itself came as no surprise, only the fact that she had been given a candle length to prepare. She used the time well, washing off the grime of the road and changing into a plain green dress with galloping horses embroidered around the hem.

  She would have liked to have worn her crown, but as that was missing she hoped that her use of Leersland’s symbol would not be lost on the usurper. With Birrit’s help she let her hair fall in long auburn curls and applied just enough cosmetics to highlight her brown eyes and to hide her paleness. When her escort arrived she was ready, the dull ache of misery inside of her replaced with determination. If she was going to die then she would die fighting.

  A guard opened the door and she stepped through into a large sitting room which she knew well. She had expected to be lorded over, to be forced to kneel and beg for her life, but instead, everyone just stared at her without saying a word. It was as if she had unexpectedly interrupted them, and instead of looking threatening, her enemies looked distraught, smug or slightly amused. Her confidence increased slightly. The tall thin one with the amused smile walked forward and bowed briefly. She guessed who he was and held out her hand which he lightly kissed.

  “My Lady, it’s a pleasure to welcome you back to Tarmin, although I regret that the place has changed hands whilst you have been away.”

  “Thank you, My Lord. I hope you have settled comfortably into my home?”

  He gave a little laugh. “Not quite yet but I’m working on it. Now let me introduce you to my councillors and then they can disappear and we can talk of more important matters. This is Guardcaptain Rastor who orders my military affairs.”

  Rastor came to attention and she looked him up and down. She would take that smug look off his face. “So you are the bastard who rapes and murders defenceless women and tortures innocent people for your own gratification. You behave like an animal and dishonour your king.” She didn’t wait for an introduction but turned to where Malingar stood. “Yes, I know you. You have no honour either and are no
better than he is. You pledge your support and then betray those who trust in you. Your king must be proud of having such a dirt crawler at his side.”

  Borman smiled in amusement. “My my, you don’t mince words do you? Let me introduce you to Callabris. At least you will like him; he’s responsible for removing a beast from society and of course opening the gates of its prison to let you escape.”

  “You, white robe, are the most despicable of them all amongst this pack of curs. You use your magic to do evil, creating abominations and monsters and hunting innocent men down like they were animals to be slaughtered. Your corruption of magic stains the name of your goddess.”

  She turned back to the king and took another deep breath. “And as for you, Your Majesty, you think you are so high and mighty, and that by having powerful minions to do your bidding you are worthy to rule this kingdom. Do you really think that allowing the rape of defenceless women and the slaughter of innocent men is a noble undertaking and that the people will love and revere you for it? No, they will despise you, Borman, as do I. You have no idea of what it is to be a king, a leader of men and a protector of the weak.”