The White Robe (The Sword and the Spell)

by Clare Smith

  “Ah, my boy, the crown looks good on you but never forget it’s only a bit of metal. What’s really important is the way your people see you and the love that your people have for you. If you can keep a kingdom peaceful and prosperous as Steppen and I have done since before you were born then you will truly be a great king.” Porteous hesitated for a moment when his son didn’t respond; it was such a pity that Vorgret was his eldest child; Pellum would have made a much better king. “I know it will be difficult for you to understand everything that you are supposed to do as king but don’t worry, I will always be here to advise you.”

  Vorgret swiped the crown from his head and threw it onto the table with a clatter before turning on his father. He took a threatening step forward. “You are a stupid, old fool. Do you think that doing nothing except fucking the wife of your best friend is the way to secure a kingdom? Don’t think for one moment that I don’t know that Daun’s my half sister and that you made sure that your son married her so that the two kingdoms would be joined by blood.

  “Well, listen to me, I’m not like Pellum; there’s no way I am going to fuck my own sister to secure my throne. If it wasn’t for me there would be no bloody throne. You used the kingdom’s wealth to make your life easy and the people happy but without me and my mines and the slaves I own, you, my prick of a brother and the happy peasants would be nothing. Now that you’ve gone I’m going to have everything. I’m going to be a real king and people are going to do what I say. I’m going to take the power of Federa’s servants and make it work for me. I’m going to take the Western kingdoms including that of my bastard sister and make them my own and I am going to do all of this without you or your advice or even your presence.”

  Porteous stared at him in utter shock and disbelief.

  “Guards. Take this bag of ancient bones and blubber and dump it outside of Essenland’s borders with a grey plodder, a bag of scraps and six silver gellstart. If he tries to return across the borders of my kingdom I will pay an equal bounty for his head.”

  Porteous made to protest but four guards in his son’s new, black livery had already surrounded him and were bundling him out of the audience chamber before he could recover from the shock. Vorgret picked up the crown from the table and placed it back on his head before once again contemplating his reflection in the mirror. Yes, he thought, they all believed he was some sort of idiot to be confined in the north and away from court, but he had his own court with his own guards and his own followers.

  Whilst his father and his pathetic brother had been bowing and scraping to Vinmore and the rest of the Western kingdoms, he had been creating the wealth which would make the other kingdoms grovel at his feet. He despised them for their weakness as much as they mocked him for being the heir that his father didn’t want, but he would show them. Sarrat had turned Leersland into a powerful kingdom and he had everything that Sarrat had and more besides. He looked again into the mirror and smiled in satisfaction as a dark figure reflected back from behind him.

  “Ah, Sadrin, the black suits you as I said it would.”

  The young magician stepped forward, his robes almost black except for the fleeting grey shadows which swirled around him like a maiden with her first ball gown. “Your Majesty,” he said, tasting the words on his tongue to see how they fit. “Your Majesty, the kingdom is yours and I am your loyal servant.”

  “Yes, I know you are and together we will be great, far greater than even Sarrat and Maladran are. However, before we can show the rest of the six kingdoms just how great we can be, we need to turn this kingdom’s greedy nobility and lazy peasants into productive workers and obedient soldiers, willing to die for their king when asked. For that we will need a change in attitude and coin, lots of coin. To get that coin we need men with special skills and in the same way as I have chosen you and have nurtured your skills, I have been developing others to rise to the challenges before us. Are my guests waiting outside?”

  “Yes, My Lord, and I assume by the way they are snarling at each other they are strangers and have not met before.

  “Yes, that is so, so this should be interesting. Show them in.”

  Sadrin walked to the plain door of the audience chamber and opened it. He beckoned the three men in whilst Vorgret took an ornately carved ebon seat with deep red cushions on a raised dais where he could look down on people but still see his reflection in the mirror. The three men lined up in front of him with Sadrin slightly behind them and all four gave brief bows.

  “Kneel before your king,” commanded Sadrin, seeing a scowl cross Vorgret’s face at their lack of respect. Two responded immediately but the third hesitated until a blow from behind knocked him to the floor.

  “Thank you, Sadrin, it was so good of you to remind my guests of their manners. Now gentlemen you may rise.” The three men stood and the one who had been knocked to the ground by the magician’s spell looked over his shoulder and glowered at him before returning his attention to the king.

  “As my black magician has announced, I am now King of Essenland and it is time that the three of you repaid the investment I have made, in making your life more comfortable than you deserve and developing your individual talents. If you work hard you will all be very rich men with enough land, slaves and whores to keep you happy for the rest of your lives. On the other hand if you disappoint me or even dare to think that you would like to sit in this chair with a crown on your head, Sadrin will burn you alive from the inside out. Do I make myself clear?”

  The three men nodded.

  “Captain Bant.” The man on the left in the black uniform came to attention and saluted. Even without a sword at his side he looked dangerous; massively built with the scars on his arms and hands gained from a life as a mercenary. The calluses around his wrists identified him as a onetime slave.

  “You will take command of my army. Take your men and dispose of the high command starting with Commander Stanis who was a favourite of my father. Make sure their heads are on pikes outside each barracks before the guards parade in the morning. When the first man complains I want the men in that unit decimated, messily, and then work the rest until they drop. If there is any dissent after that, execute the dissenter and his family. Once you have their loyalty you are to train them to be real soldiers in your image, not the dressed up fops my father allowed.”

  Bant gave a sadistic grin and saluted again.

  “Quim, you are my tax collector. You will go to every dwelling in the city, starting with the nobility, and assess their wealth. I want half of it as a first payment by the time the next moon is full and, as from now, all their warehouses and their contents belong to the crown. When you have finished with the city you will move into the towns and do the same with the merchants. Whilst you are doing that you will send your men into the villages to deal with the peasantry. You may dispose of anyone who objects unless they have any worth as slaves.

  Quim, tall and thin with sharp, pointed features and a scraggly beard on the end of his chin, bowed. He too had slave marks on his wrists. The third man, even more massively built than Bant with a patch over one eye under which an angry scar ran from hairline to ear looked eagerly at his king.

  “Dorba, you’re my enforcer. You and your thugs go with Quim and make sure my decree is put in force. By the time you leave the city I want half the male population to have been conscripted into the army and any dissenters sent to the mines.”

  Dorba grinned and slapped Quim on the back almost knocking him over.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? You have your orders now get going! I want this kingdom changed and ready to go to war by the end of next winter.” The three men saluted and left.

  “What task do you have for me My Lord?” asked Sadrin who had stood by without saying a word.

  Vorgret stood and walked back to the mirror where he readjusted the crown which had slipped slightly. Behind him, reflected in the mirror, he could see Sadrin studying him closely. He looked too young to have so much power: yo
ung and innocent. The magician was young and naïve but he would change all that. The slave girl he had given him, a gift from Borman, would be able to teach him what he should know and when she’d finished with him there would be others who would develop his skills.

  “Your job is simple, Sadrin, you protect me. You protect me from the army, the nobility and most of all, you protect me from those three thugs. When I need to teach them a lesson you will provide a display of power that will convince them that I am unassailable and when I no longer need their particular talents you will kill them.”

  “And in return?”

  “Don’t be greedy, magician. Being alive and serving me should be sufficient reward. However, when I’m king of all the Western kingdoms, I will do as I promised and make you High Master of Federa’s Enclave, then you can take your revenge on all those who mocked you and ignored your talent.”

  *

  “Put more wood on that damned fire!” snapped Borman, pulling his thick cloak around him and staring morosely into the flames. Rastor stepped forward from where he’d been waiting at the far side of the ornamental stone hearth and jammed another cut log into the already crowded grate. For a moment sparks shot upwards and flames licked around the edges of the smouldering logs then everything settled back to how it had been before; glowing embers and grey smoke. Rastor refilled his king’s goblet with cold red wine and returned to his place by the hearth.

  “I hate this place,” grumbled Borman. He took a swig of the red wine, pulled a sour face and thumped the goblet back onto the table. Red wine sloshed over the side and pooled around the goblet’s base.

  “It’s cold and miserable and full of peasants and fishermen. I should have let the northern raiders have the land and be done with it, but instead I ride north with my army and play the hero. And what have I to show for it? Half the army with holes in them or worse, the other half down with the flux and me stuck here freezing my balls off.”

  Rastor tried hard to keep the smile off his face but it was difficult. He had served Borman as his Guardcaptain for fifteen summers and knew all his moods. This one would pass quickly if he could find his master the right sort of distraction.

  “The men will recover, My Lord and the lords of the north were extremely grateful for your intervention. Without you coming to their aid they would have lost their homes and their lands. As it is, only the coastal lords lost anything and most of that can be rebuilt using the wealth we took from the north men’s boats. And then there are the slaves we have taken. They have been particularly useful in raising the men’s spirits.”

  Borman looked up and Rastor gave him a wolfish grin. “You have tried one?”

  “Several, My Lord. They fight like demons but we have them chained so their claws can’t reach you but they do grunt and squirm as you plough them. Perhaps my lord would like to take his pleasure with one or two?” Borman shook his head and took a gulp of wine, grimacing at the acid taste. “There are a few boys worth having as well if you would prefer, My Lord. They’re not virgins any more but some are still tight enough to make the experience worthwhile.”

  “No, Rastor, I’m not in the mood tonight for such pleasures. No, what I need is news. Is there no word from Callabris?”

  “No, My Lord. We escorted him as far as the border of Tarbis and then left him there. His protector has returned to the Enclave and as far as I know he’s still there.”

  Borman scowled and stared thoughtfully into the fire. “I shouldn’t have separated them. Callabris is too vulnerable to be without his protector and if anything should happen to Callabris I will be at a disadvantage. What I need is another magician; a black would be good but failing that another white who knows how to look after himself and has more ambition than Callabris and has less scruples.

  “I wonder if there’s any more news of that boy we watched in Vinmore? Callabris was very taken with him and thought he had potential. That was some years back so he must have improved by now. Perhaps I should take a trip to the Enclave whilst I’m in the north and talk to the High Master and even sample some of the delights that the acolytes offer to important visitors.”

  “Travelling through Essenland uninvited may be more difficult now that Vorgret is king,” suggested Rastor. “I hear that he has posted more men on his borders and that anyone who travels through his kingdom without his permission is taken for ransom or to work in his silver mines.”

  “Don’t be so stupid. He’s hardly going to attack the king of Northshield on the way to worship at the goddess’s temple is he? Yes, that would get me out of this dreary hole and if the boy is there I could purchase him. With a magician like that at my command I could move into any of the six kingdoms any time I pleased. Even Sandstrone would fall before me. Talking of Sandstrone, has there been any news of my cousin?”

  “None as yet, My Lord. The girl has been sent to Vorgret to serve his needs and I have returned Prince Iselin’s remains after my men had finished playing with him. It wasn’t a pretty sight so I expect Tallison will take his revenge out on Rothers and will return him in pieces at some time in the future. It’s a pity about Rothers though; he made a good body servant and he was the nearest thing you have to a successor.”

  Rastor took a deep breath. This wasn’t the best time to talk about the succession but as he had raised the subject and had not been instantly dismissed he decided to continue. “Your Majesty, some of the lords have been talking amongst themselves and they are really concerned about the succession and what will happen to Northshield if you have no son to follow you.” He waited for the usual explosion of anger when the succession was mentioned but only received an irritated grunt. “Some of the lords say that you should name a successor and take them into your confidence just in case.”

  “I bet they do,” snapped Borman. “What do you think would happen if I raised one of them up to be my heir?”

  Rastor thought about it for a moment. “I suppose the others would be a bit put out.”

  “You’re damned well right they would be put out. They would gang up in little factions and before I knew it, I would have a civil war on my hands with me in the centre of it. They’re like a pack of hounds; give them nothing and they lick your hands in supplication, give them a bone and all hellden breaks out.”

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you did think.”

  “Well, what about taking a wife? Lord Drest’s daughter’s a pretty thing and Lord Tooley’s eldest is quite charming.”

  “One’s hardly out of nappies and the other’s as fat as a grunter,” muttered Borman disdainfully.

  Rastor continued despite his master’s acerbic comments. “Then there’s Lord Sullin’s youngest; she’s not married and I hear that she is quite something in bed.”

  “They are all ugly, fat or sluts and none of them are worthy to be my queen.” He sighed in frustration. “The problem is that not one of the six kings has bothered to sire a female heir with the exception of Steppen and the Princess Daun but she’s married to that idiot boy, Pellum.”

  “She’s a queen now that Steppen has abdicated.” Borman glowered at him but Rastor continued regardless. “Perhaps when you’ve taken Vinmore and got rid of Pellum you could marry her. I bet with her tits and long legs to push apart she’d be a great fuck.”

  “Enough!” screamed Borman. “Get out!”

  He threw his half full goblet of wine at the wall where Rastor had stood moments before. The silver goblet bounced from the wall splashing the contents across the cream stone like droplets of blood. The door closed loudly behind him and he looked for something else to throw, but as there was nothing to hand he kicked the smouldering logs with the sole of his boot heel sending sparks flying upwards.

  If there was one thing he hated it was Rastor’s crudeness and lack of insight, but he was right of course; Daun was the only real option and it would make his conquest of Vinmore just that bit more palatable to that country’s inhabitants if he marrie
d her and she gave him a son. A hesitant knock came at the door and he scowled as Rastor poked his head around the edge of the door.

  “My Lord,” said Rastor quickly before Borman had a chance to shout or throw something else at him. “My Lord, there is a messenger just arrived for you from Captain Malingar.”

  “At last. Show him in.”

  Rastor opened the door wide and ushered a man in mismatched clothing forward. He followed him into the room and closed the door behind whilst the messenger went down on one knee and bowed his head waiting for permission to speak. Borman vaguely recalled the man as one of his veterans and one of those who had been chosen to serve with Malingar to make sure he remained loyal and wasn’t tempted to branch out on his own. He felt irritated that the man was here instead of watching Malingar for signs of treachery but clearly the man had ridden hard for many days; his clothes were splattered with mud and his face was grey and lined with exhaustion.