The White Robe

by Clare Smith

  Under normal circumstances taking out four guards would not be a problem for him, but with women present and the need not to attract attention paramount, this was not going to be easy. He looked to Jonderill for help, but he seemed to be half asleep again. In desperation he gave him a quick kick on the back of his foot and hoped it would go unnoticed.

  Jonderill jumped slightly but was quick enough to take in the tense situation before he yelped. Instead, he took a pace forward. “Ah, good, we’ve arrived before the King and his guests. Now open the door and let us go through so we can prepare the lady for the King’s arrival.”

  The door guards looked at each other suspiciously and then back at Jonderill. “We have orders to let nobody pass into the throne room.”

  “Of course you do, but those were this morning’s orders before the King’s unexpected guests arrived. Your new orders are to let us in so that King Borman’s lady can be suitably arrayed to greet him.” The guards still looked doubtful, so Jonderill gave an impatient and vastly exaggerated sigh. “Very well then, we’ll prepare the lady here in the corridor and you can explain to the King why his property is on display to anyone who passes.” He turned to the maid. “Remove her clothing.”

  Birrit went to protest, but Tarraquin interrupted her. “It’s all right Birrit; the King has commanded it so I must obey.”

  She started to remove her tunic and Jonderill gave her a surreptitious wink before turning back to the guards. “You can watch if you want but I don’t think that will improve the King’s mood very much.”

  The eldest guard stepped forward, a look of worry on his face. “That’s enough, madam. You may wait for the King in the throne room.” He looked back at the other three and shrugged. “Well she isn’t going anywhere with us guardin’ the door, is she?”

  They grumbled amongst themselves for a moment, but opened the door and let them pass. Inside the throne room it was dark and full of shadows. Blinds had been pulled over the high windows above the rows of columns blocking out the sunlight, and only a few of the lamps had been lit at the far end of the long chamber. They hurried forward, their hasty footsteps echoing around the empty room until they reached the line where the nobles of Leersland would usually stand when they attended their king. At the sound of steel being drawn they abruptly stopped and peered into the darkness. In front of them, at the foot of the throne, lay a wooden casket draped with Northshield’s banner, and from the shadows, two men dressed in black and armed with drawn swords stepped forward.

  Tarraquin gave a small cry of alarm as she recognised Malingar, pale in the flickering candlelight with Tordray behind him. Tissian dropped his hands to his sword hilts but Tarraquin held up her hand to stop him before he could draw his steel. She stepped forward hesitantly.

  “Captain Malingar, Tordray. What are you doing in here?”

  “I could ask you the same question, madam, and its Lord Malingar now, knighted by the bastard himself in payment for the lives of those I loved.”

  Tarraquin looked at him in puzzlement unsure about the unaccustomed catch in his voice. “Does that include me too?”

  Malingar looked down at the wooden casket. “Yes, you and him and my sister.”

  She still didn’t understand, but Jonderill did. He stepped forward and looked down at the small coffin too, his heart dropping at the sight. “Is that your brother?” Malingar nodded unable to speak. “I’m so sorry; he was a fine boy with so much potential who talked about you all the time.”

  Malingar took a ragged breath and swallowed hard. “He talked about you too and how he wanted to be like you, just before he died.”

  “How did it happen?”

  Malingar’s anger exploded. “He was trying to protect my sister from being raped by Rastor. It’s all the bastards know, how to rape and kill and take what’s not theirs, but I will have my revenge, bit by bit, little by little, I will bring them both down.” He sheathed his sword and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “I’m taking him home to bury him, and taking the others with me away from their avaricious and uncaring hands. Believe me, My Lady, if I could undo my betrayal of you and return things to as they were I would, but the past cannot be undone, however much I would wish it so.”

  “The past cannot,” said Tarraquin quietly. “But perhaps you can do something about the present and the future.”

  Malingar looked up in confusion and then with sudden understanding. “I assume you have come here to use the passageway?”

  Tarraquin nodded. “Will you stop me?”

  “No. If it hurts Borman to lose you, then you’re more than free to go.”

  He waved towards the tapestry behind the throne expecting them to hurry on their way but it was Tissian who stepped forward, his hands held away from his swords. “Lord Malingar, there are four of Rastor’s hand-picked men outside the door of this room who will shortly become very suspicious that the King has not come here to meet his lady, as we told them he would. It would be to the lady’s benefit if they weren’t able to follow us straight away, or call the alarm, and whilst it would only be a small revenge, Rastor would lose face if it could be made to look like his men allowed the lady to escape.”

  Malingar nodded, almost managing a smile. “Will you assist?”

  “I’d be delighted to help. Master, would you take the ladies and go? I will catch up with you outside the city wall where there are horses and supplies waiting for us.”

  He watched as Jonderill led Tarraquin and Birrit to the tapestry behind the throne, each of them stepping forwards and then sideways to disappear behind it, before he turned back to Malingar.

  “Shall we?”

  This time Malingar did manage a smile. “It’s a pity that all Rastor will get is the sharp end of Borman’s tongue, and I’ll have already left and won’t be here to see it. Still, the heads of his four guards will be a pleasing addition to those lining the roadway to Tarmin’s city gates.”

  They drew their swords and made their way to the throne room doors.

  *

  “You stupid, incompetent idiot!” screamed Borman. “Are you incapable of doing anything right? I entrust the security of the fortress to you and your men and what do you do? You let helpless prisoners escape without a trace.” He slammed his goblet down onto the table making the contents slosh over the top and puddle on the table like drops of blood. “What did your guards tell you before they died?”

  “They said nothing, My Lord. All they could remember was that they were attacked when they entered the throne room and when they came to they were bound and gagged.”

  “They were attacked by two defenceless women, a drugged boy and a half baked protector barely out of swaddling and they don’t remember anything?” He whipped his hand across the table in rage sending the goblet flying and spraying its contents across Rastor’s uniform. “And why have they not been found? How far can they go on foot without someone seeing them? One of them is a white robe for the goddess’s sake; he stands out like a bloody beacon. Surely someone must have seen him leaving the city?”

  Rastor shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. “No one has seen them, Your Majesty. We’ve even questioned the gate guards.”

  “Well question them again, with hot irons this time to jog their memory, and then their heads can join the others outside the gate, they have obviously failed to guard. I should have your head on a pike too for your failure, and would have, if Malingar hadn’t left to bury the brother you murdered. Now get out of my sight and don’t return until you have good news for me.”

  Rastor bowed and almost ran from the room, grateful to still have his head on his shoulders. Borman poured himself another goblet of wine and stared into its depths before drinking it all down in one go. He refilled the goblet and took the seat on the raised dais in his receiving room.

  “Callabris, stop skulking in the corner and come here.”

  The white robe stepped from the corner of the room where he had watched Borman’s display of temper with d
isapproval. Allowyn followed two paces behind dressed in full armour.

  “You told me that you had the boy under control. Could it be that he has more power than you thought and that he pushed your enchantment aside to slip your leash, or did you lie to me?”

  Callabris thought for a long moment, needing to be careful of what he said. Even magicians were not immune from a king’s anger. “It would not be possible for him to do so without me knowing, but if he’s been moved away from my influence by another, then the enchantment would fade and I would be none the wiser.”

  Borman stared hard at Allowyn. “So, if it wasn’t Jonderill who came up with the escape plan it must have been his protector who led him astray.”

  Allowyn stepped forward to his master’s side, bristling at the slur against a protector’s honour. Callabris held out an arm to stop him but it was too late. “No, Your Majesty, that is not possible. We are trained to follow and to serve, not to tell our masters what should be done.”

  This time Borman threw the goblet and its contents at the wall beside Allowyn’s head, the contents splashing his face, shirt and leathers. The protector didn’t flinch.

  “Bloody protectors. They’re so full of themselves with their honour and their precious duty whilst hiding behind their master’s robes. Callabris, you will not bring him into my presence again, do you understand?”

  He strode across to the fire, kicking a small table out of the way, and stood scowling with his back to the flames. “You, Callabris, will find Jonderill and the woman and bring them back to me. They cannot have gone too far so it shouldn’t be a long or difficult task. Use your magic as necessary to locate them and immobilise them if need be. I don’t want either of them harmed, and if you could explain to Jonderill, in lasting terms this time, that he has a duty of service to his king, it would save all of us a great deal of trouble.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal and watched them leave, warming himself by the fire before pulling the bell cord at its side. Within moments his two personal guards had entered escorting the Guardcaptain of the late Lord Andron.

  “Captain Sharman, I’m told that you are a respected leader of men, and I’ve seen your ability to take the initiative, so I have a task for you which if completed successfully will result in you being promoted back to the position you once held under Great Lord Andron. You are to take three squads of men and a pack of fang hounds and track down the escaped prisoners. I want it done tonight, in secret and without Callabris or his pet hound knowing you have left. You will bring the white robe back alive, although I don’t mind if he is a bit battered, and you may do what you wish with the rest. Do you think you can do this thing for me?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Sharman bowed and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Sharman, your squad leaders have been ordered to kill you if you even look like you’ll betray me, so don’t return here without Jonderill in tow, unless you want your head on a pike adorning my city walls.”

  *

  Allowyn followed his master back to their rooms and hurriedly excused himself with a mumbled apology about his shirt which Callabris didn’t quite catch. Callabris watched him go with an uneasy feeling, and then wandered off to his own room, sitting in a soft chair and rubbing his aching head with his fingertips. As soon as he had heard about the escape he knew that Jonderill had to be a part of it, and that there would be trouble. He had tried his best to keep Jonderill out of things and away from Borman, but it seemed that the harder he tried to keep the peace and keep people safe, the worse things became. Now he would have to go and find the young white robe and bring him back, before the king lost his patience and Jonderill lost his head.

  Then there was the issue with Allowyn and Tissian; both as prickly as a desert bush. They were never going to allow their masters to be alone with the King without themselves being present. If he was going to prevent bloodshed, he needed to persuade Borman that a white robe was of little use without his shadow behind him. He gave a deep sigh and looked up as his own shadow entered the room, shocked to see that he was naked from the waist up. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a cane with barbs on it, and in the other hand, his long side knife. He closed his eyes for a moment in dismay; he thought he knew what this was all about, but prayed to the goddess that he was wrong.

  Allowyn sunk to his knees in front of him and placed the knife and cane on either side before bowing his head to touch the floor. He lifted his head but not enough to look into his master’s concerned face. “Master, I have broken my vows of duty and obedience to you and have placed you in danger. I have come to you as prescribed for your judgement and punishment.”

  Callabris closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Borman was right, protectors were full of vows and honour and self righteousness. He knew the form of this ritual although, thank the goddess, he had never had reason to use it. He wished he didn’t have to use it now, but he was as much bound by the protector’s code of honour as the man kneeling on the floor before him. “What have you done, protector?”

  “Master, I have gone against your wishes and have spoken to my brother protector of the enchantment you laid upon his master, Jonderill of the white, for which I must be beaten.” He held out the barbed cane which Callabris reluctantly took from him. “Master, I have placed you in danger by helping Jonderill, Tarraquin and the others to escape. I gave them our horses so that, if they were caught, the King would know it was you and I that helped them to leave this place. For this my life is forfeit.” He held the knife to his breast gripping the hilt with both hands.”

  Callabris shook his head forgetting all about the words of the ritual. “Put the knife down, Allowyn.” he said gently, “and tell me why you did these things.”

  Allowyn lowered the knife to the ground, his hand as steady as if he had been using it to skin a hopper for their dinner.

  “I did them because what you have done in the name of service to your king, against Jonderill and Tarraquin and the others, was wrong and one day you would realise this and would be consumed with guilt. I had to do something to protect you from that day and from the demands Borman makes of you. This was the only thing I could think of which would prevent you doing things which you would regret forever. It was the only thing I could do to take you away from him.” He picked up the knife again and pressed it to his breast hard enough to produce a small trickle of blood.

  His words of reproach hit Callabris like a physical blow and, if he hadn’t been seated, he would have staggered from its force. In all the years they had been together, Allowyn had never questioned his actions or censored him for what he had done, until now. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts whilst Allowyn’s blood continued to trickle from above his heart.

  “Yes, what you did was wrong, Allowyn,” he said at last. “But it seems to me that what you did was more to do with your devotion to me than anything to do with failed duty, and a protector’s honour does not demand death for devotion to your master.”

  “No, master.” Allowyn put the knife back on the floor, his hand a little less steady this time. “But I have been disobedient and the punishment is prescribed for that too.”

  “Yes it is.” Callabris picked up the cane. It was a wicked thing with knots and barbs to rip the skin as well as to cut the flesh. Holding the weapon should have made him sick, but it didn’t, so he knew that Allowyn must have prepared it himself. Carefully he touched the tip lightly on the protector’s shoulder and traced a faded scar that ran diagonally across his back to his waist. “Where did you get that?”

  Allowyn was surprised by the question. “It was when you and Coberin were attacked by bandits in the Carven Hills, master.”

  He traced three diagonal scars which ran from shoulder to shoulder. “And those?”

  “When a wildcat attacked you and brought you from your horse in Tarbis’s highlands.”

  He touched a long discoloured burn mark down one side of Allowyn’s back. “And that?”

&n
bsp; “When I pulled you out of a burning way house in Essenland, master.”

  “Do you know how many scars you’ve gained over the years saving my life?

  “No, master.”

  Callabris shook his head. “No, nor do I, but I’m certainly not going to add to them by using this thing on you.” He stood and threw the offending stick into the corner of the room and then offered Allowyn his hand. “Come, my friend. If it’s punishment you want, you can gather all our things together so we can exchange this place of opulence and comfort for the hard ground and cold winds of an open camp. We’re leaving this place in the morning, Allowyn, but not to search for Jonderill. When we leave here we’ll go north and then on to the Enclave where we can both ask for the goddess’s forgiveness for what we’ve done, and for those things we might have done if devotion hadn’t intervened.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO