The White Robe (The Sword and the Spell)

by Clare Smith

  There would have been problems of course, not the least of which was that the mercenary band belonged to his master, and might object to what he had done, but that could be overcome. He had thought long and hard about staying in Tarmin and taking the throne for himself, but in the end, it was his loyalty to both Tarraquin and Borman that made him journey to Northshield, leaving the council temporarily in charge of Leersland.

  In the distance the walls of Wallmore came into view, and it occurred to him that, without him even realising it, his decision had been made. Despite Borman’s betrayal he still owed his allegiance to the king, but his regrets for what would happen to Tarraquin were still there. As he presented himself to the palace guard and was escorted to the king’s receiving room, he pushed his regrets to a far corner of his mind. When he bowed in front of his king he was as loyal and committed to Borman as he had been on that first day, when he had become a king’s guard.

  “Malingar, your return so soon after your last visit is unexpected. I hope that the news you bring justifies your absence from Tarmin?”

  “I believe so, Your Majesty.” Despite his earlier doubts he couldn’t help grinning. “Queen Tarraquin has left Leersland and is unlikely to return.”

  “Excellent!” Borman jumped to his feet in excitement, his broad smile reflecting the one Malingar wore. “How did you manage that?”

  “One of her advisors went to Tarbis and was taken prisoner. He’s being held in a castle guarded by some sort of stone beasts. I couldn’t spare the men to rescue him so she decided to go off on her own and do it herself. From the description of the place I doubt that she’ll be returning again.”

  Borman burst out laughing and clapped Malingar enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Well done! Well done! You and Callabris make a great team.”

  “My Lord?”

  “A little side play of mine. I sent Callabris to negotiate with the Regent of Tarbis and whilst I had hoped that their discussions would be beneficial, I hadn’t anticipated that it would result in the capture of the Queen of Leersland!” He moved to the dresser and poured two goblets of wine, handing one to Malingar and ignoring the momentary unhappy look on the captain’s face. “Now tell me, who rules Leersland in the queen’s stead and how strong is the opposition?”

  “The queen left control of the kingdom in my hands along with the council of the great and the good but they are no opposition whatsoever and will crumble at the first sign of trouble. There is another, Lord Istan, who is clever and influential, and could rally some opposition, but he is away in Essenland. Apart from that there is only Great Lord Andron who could pose a threat. He has a sizable force of his own and is gathering the remnants of Sarrat’s army from the south with a view to taking the throne by force.

  “And the thousand men I lent to Leersland?”

  “They are still encamped on the border waiting to be deployed.”

  “Then I think you should return to Leersland and deploy them as agreed, but do it in the name of the Queen so none of the council or this Lord Istan gets upset. It will take me at least two moon cycles to bring my army from the north, re-equip them and prepare them for invasion. I will send word when I cross the border into Leersland so you can be ready to receive me.”

  “It will be done as you have commanded, My Lord.”

  “Oh, and if by some miracle Tarraquin escapes her fate, keep her safely out of the way. The thought of entertaining someone so feisty that they would challenge monsters to rescue a friend pleases me. Such pleasure, however short lived, would be a welcome diversion after the efforts of conquering a kingdom.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Malingar put his barely touched goblet of wine down heavily on the table. “With your leave, My Lord, I have much to do.”

  Borman waved his dismissal and waited for Malingar to leave before crossing the room and staring out at the maze his father had built at the rear of the palace. From here he could see the path to the centre where the remains of his father’s magician lay, but never once had he successfully walked the maze and reached the prize at the centre. He sighed to himself in disappointment. He should be overjoyed that the pathway to Leersland’s throne was now wide open, and all he had to do was follow the path and take the prize, yet he had doubts.

  At least he had one doubt; Malingar. He had always liked the young captain, even as an underage boy soldier there had been something special about him, but the man had changed. The hound-like loyalty which he had liked so much had gone from him, and instead, there was a wariness which he didn’t care for at all.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Malingar could no longer be trusted, and he would have to be watched very carefully. That meant he would have to take the hostages with him when he moved, and he did so hate having whining children hanging around. Still, if he had to have them killed, the girl would provide some entertainment before she died. Rastor would be pleased too; he had never liked Malingar and had always said that the captain would turn traitor.

  He followed the pathway through the maze with his eyes until he reached the mausoleum at its centre, and then smiled to himself. Malingar’s loyalty might be wavering, but he already had people watching him and would know the instant that he changed sides, although he wasn’t going to wait for that to happen. He had other plans in place and, as long as Rastor had done as he had been told, then he, King Borman, would be King of Leersland before the moon was once again full.

  *

  High Lord Razarin dropped the small scroll onto the top of his desk without bothering to replace it in its cylinder and glared at the guard in front of him. He was one of the Enclave’s armsmen, not one of the elite guards who guarded the temple, but all the same, he reported to him, and he should have obeyed his orders before those of anyone else.

  “Tell me once more why you didn’t return straight here with this news instead of riding half way across Essenland and back again?”

  The armsman swallowed nervously. “We were under the command of Protector Allowyn, My Lord. He ordered us to take the body of Gellidan to King Vorgret. It was Gellidan’s request before the battle.”

  “Who is your commander, armsman?”

  “You are, My Lord but….” The armsman’s voice faded away and he stared straight ahead at a point just above Razarin’s shoulder.

  The High Master sighed. There was little point taking his anger out on a simple armsman, although he would make sure that this one lost his position as squad leader and spent the rest of his days cleaning out stables. “Did you witness the battle?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “What trickery took place that Gellidan, the next protector, should be defeated by a mere boy?”

  “There was none, High Master, or at least none that any of us saw. Master Gellidan fought well and had disarmed Master Tissian. He should have won, but he held back the death stroke whilst he spoke to him, and in that moment, the protector picked up the broken sword from the ground and killed him.”

  “And where is the boy now?”

  “He has gone with Protector Allowyn and Lord Jonderill.”

  “The High Master raised his eyes in surprise. “Lord Jonderill? The Grey Robe?”

  “Yes, My Lord, Protector Allowyn’s friend.”

  “Did you see this Jonderill use magic at any time?”

  “No, My Lord, although there was a rumour that he had used magic to protect himself from an attack by Gellidan, but none of us saw it.”

  “I see. I am displeased that you have followed the orders of a man with no authority and have forgotten that it is I who commands your loyalty. You’re dismissed to your barracks until I decide what should be done with you.”

  The armsman bowed and marched from the room leaving the High Master staring down at the plain scroll, probably written by some junior scribe, and not the black bordered foretelling written in blood that it should have been. He touched the scroll and shivered at the portent which lay in front of him.

  “I am sorry for Gellidan’s dea
th; I know you were fond of him.”

  Razarin looked up as Tressing walked from his position behind the High Master and took one of the upright chairs in front of the desk. “You mistake me, Master Tressing. I have no feelings for the boy beyond him being a potential protector, and possibly the last one that will ever train at the Enclave.”

  Tressing looked up in alarm. “My Lord, that cannot be so, you are just upset by Gellidan’s death. There are many fine young men in training here and any one of them could be the next protector, with the right encouragement.”

  “You may be right but the goddess has spoken to me.” He opened a draw in his desk and took out a small roll of soft, white leather which he passed to Tressing. “As you know it is not permitted to copy down the words of the goddess, but these were of such import that I decided they must be recorded. I used the skin of an unborn foal in the hopes that it would lessen the sacrilege.”

  Tressing read the brief message and looked up with a deep frown lining his face. “I don’t understand. Callistares has been dead for almost half a century. How could this dead man be the killer of kings and the murderer of magic of which the goddess speaks?”

  “I don’t know, but she speaks of our corruption and his coming, not of his past.”

  “But if he brings the end of all magic then the goddess herself would cease to exist and that cannot be. Perhaps, My Lord, the goddess has not given you a prophesy at all but a warning. Perhaps she has told you these things so you can prevent them from happening.”

  Razarin looked up with new hope in his eyes. “Yes, Tressing. Yes, I think you are right. It is unthinkable that the goddess would allow the six kingdoms to fail or magic to leave this land. She has given us a warning and we must search out this corruption she foretells wherever it happens.”

  “I still don’t understand how a dead man, even someone as powerful as Callistares was, could be this king killer and despoiler of magic.”

  “No, Tressing, nor do I, but the meaning of the goddess’s words is often difficult to fathom and the true meaning is nearly always hidden behind the obvious.”

  “In which case Callistares could be someone else? Perhaps he is one of the kings or another magician?”

  “That’s possible, and if Maladran were still alive I would have been confident to name him as our enemy, but there are so few of us now who can call on the goddess’s gift that I cannot think any would do such a thing, or even be capable of what the goddess has foretold.”

  “Then it must be a renegade like that Sadrin, if he still lives, or perhaps even Jonderill.”

  The High Master shook his head. “No. Sadrin is certainly dead by now and you saw for yourself that Jonderill doesn’t have that sort of power.”

  “Then what should we do?”

  “We do nothing but wait to see if Federa speaks of this again, and watch out for corruption or other signs of the prophesy being fulfilled. Vorgret should be warned of this too, so that he can take what action he thinks fit to protect himself, Essenland and the Enclave.”

  “What of the other kings, should we not warn them too?”

  Razarin shrugged. “We are not the keepers of the six kingdoms, they must look to themselves. No, I shall suggest to Vorgret that he disposes of Sadrin, if he has not already done so, and arranges for Jonderill to be slain. That will protect the magic from their corruption. He will also need to keep a close watch on his fellow rulers for signs of avarice. As long as the six kingdoms exist and the Enclave stands, the goddess’s words will remain unfulfilled and we will be safe.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rescue and Reprieve

  Now that she was so close to her goal, Tarraquin wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not. Bringing an army seemed so much more sensible now that she had seen the fortress, and the five of them seemed so woefully inadequate for the task ahead. When she had stormed out of the receiving room in Tarmin, she had been full of righteous indignation and determination, but now, all she felt was concern and trepidation.

  Perhaps her councillors had been right when they said a man would be better on the throne than a woman. A king wouldn’t have left his crown in the keeping of another to rush off and save a friend, or if he did, he would have taken his army with him. A man wouldn’t have let his emotions and the smooth tongue of a foreign mercenary captain persuade him to set off alone on such a hopeless quest. There was no doubt about it, she had been a fool.

  Actually, she was twice a fool, for she should have turned back at the end of the first day’s ride when she realised just how difficult this was going to be, but there was her pride, and her emotions were still running high. It had surprised her at how soft she had become being a queen and living in the palace. As a rebel leader she had been used to living in woodland encampments, and whilst most of them had permanent shelters and basic furnishings, there had been days when the camp was no more than an open fire, her shelter the tree’s canopy, and her bed the hard ground.

  The same could be said for the time she had spent on horseback. She was the adopted daughter of the High Lord of Leersland, keeper of the country’s magnificent horse herds. As a child she had spent more time on horseback than on her own two feet, but that too had been before she’d become a queen. After the first day of hard riding, Shendar had to lift her out of the saddle and carry her to the fire, and it was several days before she was able to do that simple task for herself. That was another problem. Being a queen she had become used to Birrit and Sheevar waiting on her, and although she hadn’t wanted their assistance, she had come to rely on them to arrange her clothes and care for her appearance. She looked down at her dusty riding dress stained with mud, and wished they were here with her now.

  It had been a truly uncomfortable journey and not just because of the hard riding or lack of amenities. Her two personal guards were surly and silent, and whilst they never showed her any disrespect, they made it plain that guarding a woman, even a queen, was not something they wanted to be doing. They were, after all, Malingar’s mercenaries, and the more time she spent under their disdainful eyes, the more she wondered about Malingar’s motives in choosing them. Her other companions had tried harder to please her, but Shendar was like a man waiting for the headman’s axe to fall, and Killian, who had joined them two days earlier, was scared of his own shadow. She supposed he had every right to be scared, having spent most of the last moon cycle in the shadow of the high walls of the fortress, and under the eye of its stone monsters and metal raptors.

  Her first view of the place had been so frightening that her horse had tried to bolt, and if she hadn’t been such a skilled rider it would have been half way back to Leersland before she could have stopped it. Shendar had described to them the place where Jarrul was being held, and in particular, the fearsome stone monsters which lined the top of the high walls, and the savage raptors which perched either side of the huge metal gates. She had been prepared for the sight, although her imagination had underestimated the size of the creatures. What she hadn’t been prepared for was one of the raptors launching itself into the air and skimming the open ground between the edge of the woodlands, where they hid, and the fortress wall. It flew over the far side of the woods and returned with a large wild forest grunter in its talons, which it dropped somewhere behind the wall before taking up its position again.

  In the two days they had been in Killian’s woodland camp, she had returned to the high walls three times, and whilst neither of the raptors had swooped down again, the stone monsters on top of the walls had shifted position. Apart from that, the place seemed deserted and nothing moved, not even the sky flyers overhead. However, as they couldn’t see over the walls, and the view from the forest edge through the bars of the gate was very restricted, it didn’t mean that there was no one inside.

  Before deciding what should be done she had sent Shendar to the nearest village to find out what they knew of the strange place, but the information had been of little use. They knew
that the fortress had once been a hunting lodge and that it had belonged to King Hormand, but it was now the dwelling of some sort of beast. Tarraquin had dismissed the information as superstitious nonsense. Nobody ventured close enough to see inside any more, which wasn’t too surprising.

  She had asked each of her small force how they thought they should get into the place, but that hadn’t been helpful either. Malingar’s men had just shrugged. Killian suggested that they went back to Leersland, and Shendar said that he would do whatever she commanded him to do. So she had decided what should be done, and now waited at the edge of the woods for the intense darkness that happens just before dawn to hide them. She studied the sky and then peered across the cleared land to the fortress wall, which was almost lost in the gloom. There was no moon and it was about as dark as it was going to get.

  Shendar shifted uneasily beside her, his breathing quick and shallow. A long rope was looped over his shoulder and arm. “My lady, I don’t like this.”

  She turned in the darkness to his whispered voice. “Are you a coward, Shendar?”