by Clare Smith
His brother nodded in agreement. "And the time is right. If he’s free to attack Vinmore then surely we’ll be his next target. If we can take Tarmin and his fortress now whilst he and his army are away in the south, we can place you on the throne of Leersland. Tulreth said you rightfully belong there and all the lords who were loyal to your father will flock to your side. Even those who weren’t loyal will be glad to support you if it means getting rid of Sarrat.”
Tarraquin put her fingers to her lips and looked thoughtful, almost convinced that it was the right thing to do. She looked to her two remaining counsellors for their support.
Jarrul shook his head. "I think the man lies."
"Me instincts tells me Jarrul’s right," interrupted Perguine. "The opp’tunity is jus’ too good, it’s jus’ too convien’ant"
Tarraquin turned away, dismissing the comment with some annoyance which she didn’t want the others to see. The chance to snatch the throne which was her birthright from the man she hated was not one she would easily pass up, especially on the basis of a thief’s instincts and Jarrul’s personal dislike of the information bringer.
"The decision is made then. We’ll take Tarmin and Sarrat's stronghold with Lord Tulreth's help as soon as Sarrat and his army cross the border and let's pray that for once, Sarrat does what he says he is going to do and does take all his army with him."
There was enthusiastic agreement and immediately two groups split up and started making plans. Jarrul watched for a few minutes not wanting to join in but unsure what to do to persuade Tarraquin that this was a bad idea. Perguine raised his eyebrows in question and together they crossed to where Tarraquin had retaken her seat. They squatted by her side and leaned close to her so that only she could hear their words of warning.
"The Lord Tulreth aint an ‘onest man," began the thief hesitantly. Tarraquin gave him a quizzical look making him hold his tongue.
"I don't like this either,” confirmed Jarrul, “There's something not right about the whole thing, it feels like a forest where you can't hear the sky callers sing."
She smiled and touched his hand affectionately. "Don't worry, Jarrul, it’ll be all right, just trust me."
Jarrul looked up into her dark eyes and gave in, as he always did. "I do trust you, I trust you with my life, it's just Tulreth I don't trust."
*
The sound of the empty goblet rolling on the floor echoed around the room and the spilt red wine pooled around it like blood. In the silence which followed the only sound which could be heard was King Borman’s heavy breathing. Even the guards who stood around the throne room stood so rigidly to attention, their eyes fixed straight in front ignoring their king’s display of anger that the normal scrape of their mail was missing. Nobody moved to pick up the thrown goblet and the spilt red wine.
On the floor in front of the king the messenger knelt, his sodden cloak lying limply across his shoulders and his muddy boots leaving dark marks on the white marble floor. Blood dripped from a bandaged wrist as the man shook with fatigue.
“Tell me again, Sallins.”
“They came out of the sea mist, Sire and had landed before the people knew they were there. One village was wiped out before the alarm was raised and the rest died defending their homes before the guard could be called. Two estates and three villages burnt to the ground, the men slaughtered, women raped and children stolen.”
“Bloody hellden, I should cut your guts out for your failure. You’re supposed to be the shield from these northern barbarians but instead you’ve let these North Sea raiders rape my land and all you can do is whimper like a whipped sly hunter.”
The messenger lifted his head, tears running from one eye and a bloody bandage covering the other. “Do as you wish, there’s nothing more you can do to me, My Liege, worse than has already been done, even if you were to hang me from your castle walls and let a raptor’s talons tear my flesh until I’m dead. My home is ashes, my wife and heir are dead and my children have gone. My men and I fought them from headland to headland until there were only enough of them left to drag me away from the battle. And where were you, My Lord, when you were needed? Where were you and your men when the people of the north coast needed your support and the strength of your soldiers?”
“You dare question me, your king?”
“I have nothing left but questions, My Lord King. Even now as I bring you this news the other coastal lords are fighting to hold the invaders back but neither of them are equipped to be any more successful than I was. You take our taxes and our young men for your plots and leave us with part time soldiers, just fishermen with swords and a few candle lengths practice. Where are the guards you promised to send us a year ago?” Lord Sallins dropped his eyes to the ground, his shoulders heaving with the emotion of his outburst.
“My army guards the southern border from threat of invasion from Leersland and they patrol the Blue River to stop people crossing from Vinmore. They cannot be in three places at once.”
The coastal lord shook his head and looked up again. “No, my liege. There’s no threat from Vinmore and your army sits on Leersland’s borders doing nothing. We are your people too, Your Majesty, and you have a duty to protect us.”
Borman glared down at the exhausted lord, his anger simmering. “Nobody reminds a king of their duty and gets away with it, especially not a minor lord from the salt coast. Rastor, find Lord Sallins somewhere secure to stay whilst I decide what to do with him, then join me in the map room. The rest of you are dismissed.”
The King turned angrily on his heel and marched through the private door which connected his apartments with the throne room followed by his constant escort of four armed guards. Once the door was closed behind him Rastor pulled the kneeling lord to his feet and pushed him roughly towards the closed double doors of the throne room. A phalanx of six guards closed in around him in case he should try to escape and escorted him out of the room.
As they passed Callabris the white robe leant towards his protector and spoke softly into his ear so that Rastor couldn’t hear what they were saying. Allowyn nodded once and left his master’s side to slip out of one of the throne room’s many side doors ignored by the soldiers on guard who were used to his coming and going on his master’s business.
The magician waited until the throne room had emptied and crossed to where Lord Sallins had knelt. He touched the blood which had dripped from the man’s wrist and closed his eyes. The man’s pain and anguish filled his mind and images of the last desperate battle he had fought on the windblown headland, outnumbered by the savage raiders from the north five to one, filled his sight. He nodded once having seen as much as he needed and shook the blood from his fingers, smearing the remainder on the floor. Callabris stood and using the door to the king’s private apartments followed him to the map room where he knew he would be waiting for his report.
Callabris took his time climbing the two flights of stairs to the long corridor which led to the map room. Borman needed the extra time to calm down and he needed to decide on the best way to guide the King to a course of action which would help the people of the northern coast and not just satisfy the King’s temper. He wondered if his true calling was as a diplomat rather than a magician but concluded that as far as serving the King of Northshield was concerned the two were the same.
The long corridor was quiet and the doors of the other meeting rooms and the entrance to the scriptorium were closed. He passed a small guard room where two of the king’s escort sat playing stones at a plain wooden table whilst their brothers in arms kept guard outside the map room opposite. Callabris let himself in and took up position to one side of the window and watched Borman study a map of the six kingdoms spread out on the table in the centre of the room.
“Well?” questioned Borman without bothering to turn around to face his magician.
“The man is genuine.”
“That’s not the point, he had no right to talk to me like that.”
“No, My Lo
rd, he didn’t but he was distraught. The fighting was as bloody as any I have ever seen and he’s lost everything that mattered to him.” Callabris hesitated for a moment, “and the people of the north think that you’ve abandoned them. Such thoughts are dangerous if they take hold and spread.”
“Rebellion?”
“No, not yet but the seed is there. If you leave the people of the north to face this on their own then the seed may well flourish.”
“And Sallins?”
“As I said, distraught but wanting to believe that you’ll do your duty by your people and be the true shield of the north.”
Borman stared at the map thoughtfully and only looked up when a sharp knock at the door interrupted his contemplation. The guard opened the door and Rastor marched into the room with a satisfied look on his face and bowed to his king. The protector slipped in behind him and gave a brief nod to the magician before taking up his usual position. Borman returned to studying his map.
“Callabris and I were discussing the nature of rebellion and how easily it grows. How is Sarrat’s little problem coming along?”
Rastor grinned slyly, “With your support, Your Majesty, it’s doing very well. The constant picking of the rebels at Sarrat’s rule is like a scab which won’t heal and with Maladran confined to his tower for the last four summers Sarrat has lost the grip he had on the kingdom. With a little more encouragement I think the rebel leader will soon be ready to make her bid for the throne. At the same time Tallison runs rampant over his southern lands so all we need to do is increase our support to him and Leersland will be ripe for the taking.”
Callabris shook his head in disagreement but didn’t comment.
“Yes, Tallison. I’ve had more demands from him for horses and weapons so that he can move further into Leersland. It seems that part of my plan has been a little too successful and the sand crawler is burrowed in so well that when the time comes he may be difficult to dig out and put back into his place.”
Callabris moved forward to the map table, his protector one step behind. “I’ve heard that his son keeps no prisoners and any who are caught are sent back to his father to become blood sacrifices to his vile god. Whatever they touch they destroy, with the exception of the horse herds of course, and south Leersland is becoming a wasteland. It may not be wise to give the fanatic more support else there will be nothing left of worth in Leersland for you to take.”
Borman raised an eyebrow in surprise and laughed. “You’ve discovered my change in plan even before I was fully certain of it myself. Yes, whilst it would be simpler to move into Vinmore from a position of strength on Leersland’s throne a more subtle approach may be better especially as there could be more than one kingdom at stake. In any case the throne will be easy to take once Sarrat is disposed of and that young frip of a girl is seated there.
“However, I do take your point about Tallison becoming too big for his boots. It would be bothersome if the first thing I had to do as king of Leersland was to commit my army to sweeping the nomads back into their desert sands when I needed them elsewhere. I think it’s time for a change in tactics.”
He wandered across to the long window and looked out thoughtfully across the ornamental gardens that separated the palace from its surrounding wall. His father and his magician had built a maze and from his height he could see the puzzle of pathways which led to the prize in the centre. He’d walked the maze many times with a plan of its pathways in his hand but he’d never managed to reach the centre. The same wouldn’t happen to him as he walked the maze to the thrones of Vinmore and Leersland.
“Sarrat clearly is not strong enough to defeat the nomads by himself and at the same time continue to contain the rebellion so we’ll have to give him a helping hand. Two divisions disguised as mercenaries sent to the southern border should do it and if they were retained by Sarrat after his victory that would be very convenient. Rastor, see to it. Pick the most loyal men and put them under the command of that young Captain Malinger, I wouldn’t want them changing sides on me.”
“When Tallison finds out you’ve betrayed him I wouldn’t give a bent gellstart for Lord Rother’s life.”
Borman shrugged. “He’s not a great loss but I would rather not lose my advantage over Tallison if I can help it. Perhaps I should send a message to Tallison so that he knows he’s been holding worthless coinage for the last four summers before he decides to send Rothers back to me in pieces. Rastor, find Prince Isallin and kill him, messily, and then send his body back to his father.”
“What about the girl?”
Borman thought for a moment with a frown on his face. “There’s something about the girl that has never really appealed to me, perhaps it’s knowing that she was Tallison’s whore. On the other hand she was a gift so I don’t feel inclined to send her back but I don’t want to keep her either.”
“I’d be happy to take her off your hands,” laughed Rastor. “I like mine savage.”
“No, she was a gift meant for a king and that puts her out of reach of your prick. I think I’ll send her to King Porteous’s eldest son as a token of my esteem, I hear that he has a way with women that would make Tallison’s hair curl, if he had any.”
“And what of Lord Sallins and the north?” asked Callabris.
“Ah yes, I think its time I became a saviour, don’t you? What did you do with him Rastor?”
“I have him held secure in a second level dungeon, Sire.”
Borman raised his arms in exasperation, “Idiot! The man’s a lord not some peasant, can’t you do anything right?”
Callabris intervened. “My Lord, I took the liberty of arranging some small comforts for your guest, food, some clean clothing, light and warmth and have sent your personal physician to attend to him. He will be at ease enough until you are ready to lead your army north.”
Rastor glared at the magician but Borman laughed. “Thank the gods I’ve someone with some nous around here. Rastor, go and get things prepared, I want the army heading north within seven days.”
The three men bowed to their king and started to leave but Borman called for his magician to stay, causing Rastor to give him a look which could have killed. Allowyn bristled at the implied threat until Callabris put a restraining hand on his shoulder and guided him to the door. When the door had shut behind them, Borman poured two goblets of wine and passed one to Callabris, indicating that he should sit.
“Rastor can be a fool but he is a loyal fool. You and that Protector of yours should be careful not to antagonise him too much; what he lacks in subtlety he makes up for with his sword skills.” Callabris just shrugged.
“Now, my friend, I have a task for you. As you already know Leersland is not my only goal as I have eyes on Vinmore as well. However, to take them both I need to prevent any interference from the other kingdoms. Essenland has the goddess’s Enclave and will keep itself to itself but I need to keep Tarbis weak and out of the game. With a legitimate heir on the throne with his own ambitions Tarbis could be a threat to me in the future so I want to keep things uncertain there until I am ready to make my next move. So you see, with my change in tactics and playing the hero in the north I need someone to take care of Prince Newn for me and that’s where you come in.”
“You know that I won’t kill him?”
“Who said anything about killing him? That would upset his people too much. I hear that he’s an arrogant pup who has all the makings of becoming a vicious dog once he takes the throne and disposes of the moderating influence of his uncle. No, I just want him out of the way for the time being so that he has time to grow up and become more reasonable with the option of his long term disposal if necessary. I’ve been receiving some encouraging correspondence from his uncle which would leave me to believe that our intervention would not be unwelcome. So we need to think of something which would aid the regency, remove the Prince from the populace and weaken the kingdom. Something that if things didn’t go as planned couldn’t be traced back to me.”
<
br /> Callabris thought for a moment. “It could be possible if Lord Farrion was to cooperate but it would require me to go there in disguise and it would take a little time to arrange.”
“Good, but don’t take your protector with you, he’s far too noticeable, and don’t take too long, I need you back here with me as soon as I finish in the north.”
“And in return?”
“In return I will ensure your brother’s death at the hands of the fanatic is well and truly avenged.”
Callabris smiled grimly and drank to seal the arrangement.
*
"It looks peaceful enough," commented Tarraquin from her place of concealment in the unlit side street. The night was dark with heavy clouds which threatened rain and the half moon was well hidden.
The rebels had entered Tarmin in twos and threes over the last few days dressed as herders or farm labourers and staying at inns or with sympathisers throughout the city. So far nobody had stopped to question them or wondered who they were but it was only a matter of time before one of them was discovered. On the first night when they were all in the city and it had dropped dark they had gathered in a side street close enough to the fortress to quickly reach its gates but far enough away for them not to be seen by the gate guards.
She peered through the darkness to where torchlight illuminated the grim fortress, Sarrat's seat of power and now the only bastion in Leersland that still stood. In her father's time there had been other castles across the land and on the borders owned by the Great Lords. When Sarrat had seized the throne he’d ordered them to be pulled down and had used their stone to enlarge and reinforce his own fortress in the heart of Tarmin.
By doing so he’d made it almost impregnable, whilst ensuring that the homes his courtiers were allowed to maintain were weak and vulnerable. The fortress was huge and sprawling, taking up parts of the city which had once been occupied by wealthy merchants. Its high crenulated walls encompassed a small city in its own right with its own workshops and trade halls, markets and barracks and with the king's keep at its centre, guarded by his well armed guards.