The White Robe

by Clare Smith

  Most remarkable of all had been the transformation of the two metal raptors into two tawny and black sky hunters. They now sat hooded and jessed to the perches on the back of the pack horses. She had never been hunting with flyers before, but Newn had assured her that the sky hunters were too valuable to be left behind, and they were used to riding out jessed to a saddle. They would also be useful for catching fresh meat on their journey back to Dartis, not to mention making an impressive sight when they arrived. Tarraquin hadn’t argued about what Newn had chosen to take with them, although there were other things in the lodge she would have chosen if it had been up to her. Newn had picked different things but they were his things after all. He hurried down the steps towards her with a grim look on his face and stopped next to where she waited.

  “Is it done?” she asked gently.

  “Yes, I have said my goodbyes.” He looked back at the lodge where wisps of smoke could be seen curling beneath the door and from the partly opened downstairs windows. “My mother loved it here, it was one of her favourite places and my father loved it too. Callabris will pay dearly for his treachery.”

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then mounted his horse, waiting for her to mount her own. The horses shifted nervously as the smell of smoke drifted across the courtyard and the dogs whined, eager to be away from the place. Newn took one last look back and then pushed his horse into a trot just as the first flames licked from the upper windows. He didn’t look back again.

  *

  Jarrul could see the orange glow in the distance and smell the smoke a long time before he reached the forest edge. In front of him Birrit stirred and opened her eyes, sitting up straighter in his arms. Shortly after Tarraquin had left them, one of the horses had become lame and he had set it free. After that Jarrul had walked their remaining horse slowly through the forest; there had been no point rushing the tired animal with its double load, he knew where Tarraquin was going. He wasn’t particularly surprised to find her horse tied up at the forest edge but the sight of the blazing building shocked him.

  For a while he stood watching the flames leaping upwards and wondered where his lady had gone and if the beast had gone with her or perished in the fire. Whatever Tarraquin had decided to do, she hadn’t bothered waiting for him to catch up, so he came to the conclusion that she didn’t need him anymore. With that sad thought in mind, he saddled the horse which she had left behind, and then he and Birrit set off for Alewinder and the two old magicians who Jonderill had said would provide them with shelter.

  *

  Commander Gadrin had been his father’s senior advisor and although kings don’t have friends, he was probably the closest to it that King Hormand had ever had. Prince Newn had happy memories of visiting Gadrin’s estate just outside of Dartis and playing with his two sons. At least they were happy memories to him, whether they remembered him with affection or as a spoilt brat was another matter. That was now beside the point. What did matter was that Gadrin was the commander of Tarbis’s army and next to his uncle was the most powerful man in the kingdom.

  On his way to Gadrin’s estate, he wondered why someone as loyal to his father as Gadrin had once been, had never questioned the disappearance of his son and heir. He supposed that it was because Gadrin had always put his country and the rule of law first, so if the regent was the legitimate ruler, that was where his loyalty would lie. Now that was all about to change, now that he was old enough to rule in his own right and Tarbis’s crown would be his.

  He pulled his horse to a stop before he reached the main gate to the estate house and checked his appearance one last time. If he were going to be king, he needed to look and act like one, which is why he had chosen to save what he had from the lodge and not the things he would have really liked to have saved. His decision meant that both he and Tarraquin could arrive in the richest of clothing, with an abundance of jewellery, looking the part of a prince and his lady. The horses, hounds and hawks added to the image, although it was a pity they didn’t have a squire to take charge of the pack horses. He had thought about stopping at a village and acquiring one, but secrecy was of the utmost importance.

  Satisfied that everything was in place, he rode towards the gates and was relieved when they were opened for him to enter without question. As he rode through with the hounds milling around him, he could see that one of the gate guards had already been sent to announce his arrival. He gave Tarraquin an encouraging smile and pulled his horse to a halt in front of the steps leading to the main doors. If he had misjudged the commander, this would probably be the last piece of arrogance that he would ever have the chance to perform. The doors of the estate house opened and he did his best to look haughty and disinterested, which was difficult when he was desperate to know if the Commander was at home, and if he would recognise him.

  The man at the top of the stairs stopped abruptly and stared down in disbelief. He had been told that the prince was seriously ill with some malady of the brain which required him to live in peace and seclusion. Of course he had questioned this, but the Regent, who had told him that he regularly visited the prince, had assured him that the boy was alive and, if he recovered, would return to claim his throne. The Regent had even brought back letters of reassurance from Prince Newn, sealed with his own crest. He had either been duped like a fool or the person in front of him was an imposter and he certainly didn’t appear to be one of those. He hurried down the steps keeping his eyes fixed on the young man with the haughty look which he remembered so well. There was no doubt about it; he had been duped.

  “Your Highness, welcome to my home, I’m so pleased to see that you’ve recovered from your long illness.”

  Newn went to snap a reply at the stupid old fool but stopped abruptly as a growl rumbled deeply in his throat. “Commander Gadrin, it’s good to see you again. May I present the Lady Tarraquin from Leersland who is soon to be my wife.”

  The Commander gave a gracious bow noting the look of surprise on the lady’s face. “Madam, you are most welcome to my home.” He turned back to the prince, “Your Highness, are you passing through on your way to Dartis or may I offer you and your lady some refreshments?”

  “I think you can offer me more than that, Gadrin. That’s if you are still loyal to me and my line?”

  Gadrin scowled. There was something very different about the prince, politeness had never been one of his strengths, but perhaps this new approach was a side effect of the brain malady. “Your Highness, my loyalty to you and your line is unwavering.”

  “Good, then we need to speak in private.” He dismounted without waiting for a groom to take his horse’s bridle and helped Tarraquin down, pushing through the hounds which tried to follow him up the steps. When he reached Gadrin he stopped and laughed. “My apologies for the menagerie, they were necessary for appearances sake but now I give them to you as a gift.”

  Gadrin was even more astounded; the prince had never given anyone a gift in his life. He bowed and gave his men orders to see to the animals and then led the way into his large, comfortable house. There could be no doubt what Gadrin’s profession was; weapons, maps and the occasional battle banner adorned the walls and alcoves, along with assorted plants, flowers and exquisite lace work. Newn had told her that Gadrin’s wife was a formidable lady who didn’t allow the Commander to have all his own way. Tarraquin had never met her but she already liked her. When they reached the end of a long corridor, Gadrin stopped and opened the door, ushering them inside.

  To Tarraquin’s surprise she found herself in a small, cosy dining room laid out for breakfast, the smell of hot rashers and fresh bread made her mouth water and her stomach rumble noisily. A small, rather plump woman in a pale blue dress that matched her eyes stood and hurried over giving the prince a deep curtsy and then a huge hug as if he were her own son. When she pulled back she had tears in her eyes.

  “Ah, Newny, I’m so happy to see you and looking so well too. When your uncle told us you were ill, I wanted to come
and see you straight away, but he said that the excitement of having visitors would be too much for you and it might kill you.”

  Newn ignored her use of his pet name, which used to send him wild, and smiled at her, taking her hands into his. “It’s good to see you too, Jeswin, I’ve missed you.” He surprised himself by suddenly realising it was true. “This is the Lady Tarraquin who will soon be my wife.”

  Jeswin raised her eyes in surprise and gave Tarraquin a beaming smile. “You’re welcome, My Lady. Is it you we have to thank for teaching our prince some manners?”

  Tarraquin blushed, Gadrin blustered but the prince laughed and kissed Jeswin’s fingers. “I really have missed you.” He smiled again and then looked serious. “If you would look after Tarraquin for me, I have business to discuss with the Commander. And feed her well, Jeswin, she seems to have suddenly developed a huge appetite.

  *

  He ran as fast as he could, but the sly hunters were gaining on him and he could hear them baying, howling for his blood. He ran harder, his legs weak with fear, sweat pouring from his body and his breath coming in short, painful gasps. Up ahead was the edge of the cliff and he knew that if he could reach it, he would be saved. Despite his fear, he knew that he would reach the cliff in time because he always did, but he still looked behind him in panic. The six huge sly hunters with the glowing red eyes and the face of King Borman were gaining on him, but that didn’t matter; if he kept running he would reach safety before they caught him. He turned back to the cliff and his salvation but it was gone. Instead there was a high, solid wall topped with fearsome stone monsters making a horrendous din which sounded like a cacophony of ringing bells. He hit the wall just as the sly hunters pounced, biting into his neck and raking his back with their claws.

  Farrion screamed and woke, shaking with fear and tangled in his blankets. He waited for his pounding heart to slow and his breathing to return to normal, wishing that the ringing in his head would stop, but it didn’t, in fact, it became louder, as if it were all around him. Shaking his head to rid himself of his nightmare he sat up and opened his eyes, and swore as he realised that the noise of the bells was all around him. They were the city bells, the ones that rang out good news or bad news or warnings of invasion. The last time the bells had rung was to announce the death of a king; he wondered what they were ringing for now.

  He unwound the blanket from around his neck and used it to wipe the sweat off his body before dragging on a loose robe. For a moment he was tempted to look out of the window to find out what was going on, but decided it was undignified for the Regent of Tarbis to gawk like some shopkeeper’s wife. Instead he opened the door to his private rooms to call for his personal guard but, unusually, the guard who always stood outside his door wasn’t there. Perhaps he had gone to find out what the ruckus was about.

  Hesitantly he stepped back into his room wondering if he should try and find someone else who knew what was going on. He decided against it and returned to his sleeping chamber to get dressed, annoyed at his missing guard and the noise of the bells. Blast them all, he was damned if he was going to run around the palace looking like a headless clucker in a butcher’s yard just because someone had rung a few bells. He tried to relax and ignore the noise but when the doors of his room crashed open, he instinctively went for his sword and then thought better of it when a dozen armed guards entered without asking his permission.

  The fact that they were Gadrin’s soldiers and not the palace guard was not lost on him. He cursed himself for a fool; something had clearly happened and he hadn’t had the brains to find out what was going on. Slowly he moved his hands away from his sword, having no intention of becoming a pin cushion until he found out why he was surrounded by soldiers, who wouldn’t usually be allowed inside the palace kitchens let alone his own private rooms. He thought about giving a command to the dour looking squad leader but never had the chance.

  “Lord Farrion, you are under arrest by order of the King.”

  So the bells were warning about an invasion were they? That greedy bastard must have decided to take the throne for himself. “Where is King Borman?”

  I don’t know, Lord Farrion, but King Newn Designate has commanded that you be taken to the cells below the palace where you are to answer for your treason and to wait on his majesty’s pleasure.”

  His shoulders slumped; he knew he should have had the boy killed instead of keeping him alive out of sentiment for his dead father. He took a deep breath, pulled himself up straight and tried to look like he was the Regent still, not that it mattered now. As the soldiers closed in around him, he was sure that, unlike him, the young king wouldn’t suffer with the curse of sentimentality.

  Newn sat back against the deep, soft pillows with his hands behind his head and felt extremely pleased with himself. Their love making had been exquisite, full of heat and passion and whilst Tarraquin was the only woman he had ever been with, he was certain that no other woman could make him feel like he did at that moment. He wondered if his father had felt the same about his mother and how often they had made love in this bed. As far as he knew, his father had no bastards but that, of course, didn’t mean that he had not fathered any. For all he knew, there could be dozens of half brothers in Tarbis just waiting to take the throne from him. He wondered what Tarraquin would say and do if he started spreading his seed around.

  Tarraquin lay next to him with her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips and no sign on her face of the confused thoughts that were going through her mind. So far she hadn’t told him she was a queen, well, an ex queen with no throne. It had been a deliberate decision on her part, she wanted him to love her for what she was and not for her title or even possibly her lands, but she would have to tell him and soon. Someone was bound to ask her questions about her past, and it wouldn’t take much to link that with her name and come up with her title. She was sure that there wouldn’t be a problem, but it would be better if she was the one to tell Newn who she was.

  The other problem was what she knew. Borman liked to boast about the things he had done when he was using her body, and his plans to annex Tarbis was one of those topics which could arouse him to hardness a second or even a third time. She knew what he had already done to secure the throne, and when she told Newn, he was going to be very angry. He would have to know of course, but timing was crucial. The last thing she needed was for him to go off and do something stupid.

  He knew that Tarraquin wasn’t really asleep and wondered why she hadn’t tried to arouse him again, it wouldn’t take much. The thought of a city full of bastard half brothers had soured his mood a little, but not enough for him to feel displeased about the way things had gone or dampen his anticipation for what was to come. With Gadrin’s help it had been remarkably easy to take back the throne from his uncle. He had played his part in the planning, and then had left it to Gadrin to put his men in the right places and to ensure that anyone with power or influence enough to oppose him, were isolated or contained.

  Despite his uncle’s peaceful reign, he hadn’t been popular, and there were very few who were prepared to stand up and support him, which had made his return to the city even more of a triumph. He had been genuinely pleased that the crowds had turned out to welcome him back with such enthusiasm, and he would repay their generosity by being as good a king as his father had been.

  Before he could do that though he had to deal with Farrion, a task he looked forward to with anticipation. What he wanted from his uncle was a confession, and then preferably a public execution, but that would depend on the skill of Gadrin’s questioners. If Farrion’s body was too mutilated he might get some sympathy from the crowd, and he didn’t want that to happen. The thought of his uncle’s humiliation made his manhood rise and he was just about to roll over onto Tarraquin again when there was a knock at the door and someone called his name. He sighed in disappointment, kissed one of her exposed breasts and rolled out of bed taking a loose robe with him as he left the sleeping chamber. />
  Newn returned a short time later with a look of excitement on his face. “That was Gadrin. He says that his questioners have broken my uncle and he is ready to confess. Do you want to come and see?”

  Tarraquin shook her head. “No, it was you he harmed, not me. You go and listen to what he has to say, but please be careful, don’t enjoy his pain too much, I don’t think it would be good for you.”

  He scowled at her for her warning but then nodded in understanding; she could have a point. There were still times when he could feel the remnants of the beast lurking inside of him waiting for a chance to break out and take over. He dressed and then followed Gadrin through the palace and down to the lower levels where nobody wanted to go. There was no real need for him to follow the Commander, he had been down here as a boy to watch the questioners at work, not that they had been used much in his father’s reign.

  On one occasion his father had brought him down here thinking that the sight of men being tortured would horrify his son and teach him to value life. He was wrong though; he had come to relish the experience, and used to sneak down there to watch without his father knowing. He had even participated once or twice when his father wasn’t there. He wondered what effect it would have on him now to press hot irons into another man’s flesh and hear him scream.