by Clare Smith
His uncle was unrecognisable, just a piece of meat really stretched between two posts. He had been beaten to soften him up and then castrated and his fingers and toes cut off. There were burn marks where his nipples had once been, and another iron, one like a pair of sheers, was heating in the brazier. Newn was sickened by the sight and the smell but stood close enough to the body so that he could hear anything which his uncle said. He gave one of the questioners a nod and the burly man picked up a glowing iron and held it against the inside of the prisoner’s thigh. Farrion opened his eyes wide and gasped, his throat too raw to scream any more.
“Nephew,” he whispered, “Why have you done this to me?”
“For what you did to my father and mother and for what you did to me.”
Farrion shook his head and sagged further into the straps that held him. “Your father’s death was not my doing, I loved my brother.”
“And my imprisonment?”
“It wasn’t at my command. I knew about it and could have set you free, but the beast would not have been safe here.”
He sagged again and lost consciousness. Newn nodded at the guard who used the hot iron from the brazier on Farrion’s other thigh bringing him back to the world with a jerk and an agonised groan.
“If not you, who did it then?”
Farrion closed his eyes and whispered, “Borman.”
Newn gave the questioner another nod and he stepped forward to use his iron again but Gadrin stopped him, a look of disapproval on his face. “Your Majesty, I don’t think your uncle will tell us anymore.”
“Do you think he was telling us the truth?”
Gadrin shrugged. “It would be very hard for a man in his position not to tell the truth.”
Newn nodded in agreement. He stood considering his uncle’s words for a moment, and then drew his knife and plunged it into the prisoner’s chest. The body shuddered once and was then still. He left the questioner to deal with the body feeling sickened by what had been done to his uncle, which was unusual; he had never felt that way before. Perhaps it was the effects of the enchantment or Tarraquin’s gentle influence on him, but whatever it was, it had given him a different perspective about life, much more like his father’s. It was something he would have to consider carefully, not only about the way it would affect how he would make decisions in the future, but how he could harness this new way of seeing things to benefit the kingdom. He was still deep in thought when he reached his rooms, Gadrin trailing after him like a shadow.
Tarraquin was waiting for him, dressed in a simple cream dress with yellow flowers, which had been one of his mother’s favourites. She stood when they came in and crossed hesitantly to him, when he stopped at the dresser to pour himself and Gadrin, a goblet of well watered wine. He would have preferred a shot of red berry spirit, once his favourite drink, but his ability to drink anything stronger than watered wine was another of those things which had changed too. Gadrin took a sip of the insipid wine, pulled a displeased face but thought it was best to say nothing.
Tarraquin waited for him to put his goblet down and then took his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to ask the question, she could see from his eyes that he was upset, but whilst he had been away, she had decided that she would tell him about herself and Borman and this was as good a time as any.
“Was it really awful?”
The prince nodded. “It was about as bad a way for a man to die as any.”
“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m sure it was necessary.” Newn gave her a disappointed look so she changed tack. “Did your uncle say anything?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. He whispered the name of Borman but why would he want to imprison me and why would Callabris do such a thing for him? He was my friend, he loved my father.”
She pulled him gently in the direction of a lounger and waited for him to sit before she sat next to him. She looked at Gadrin and scowled at him hoping that he would take the hint and go, but he ignored her. The wily old bushtail must have guessed that she knew something which she wasn’t saying.
“I think Borman did it because he wanted the throne of Tarbis and needed to discredit you and get you out of the way before he could act.”
Newn looked puzzled. “Why would he want the throne of Tarbis, he has his own kingdom in Northshield?”
“For the same reason he took my throne, the throne of Leersland.”
He looked at her even more puzzled, so she told him the whole story, from the death of her own father until the moment she had released him from the enchantment. That is, she told him everything, apart from the two most important points which she needed to phrase very carefully.
“I still don’t know why he would do such things. Callabris always taught me that it was the goddess who ordered the rule of the six kingdoms and the High Master, in her name, would not allow a man to rule more than one kingdom at a time.” Newn shook his head in confusion.
“Borman pays the High Master to look away,” said Tarraquin quietly.
Gadrin stepped forward from where he had been leaning against the wall by the door, a stern, accusing look on his face. “How do you know this? I don’t think you have been honest with us, it sounds suspiciously like you’ve been in collusion with Borman, and now you’ve changed sides hoping for something better.”
She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Commander Gadrin, I haven’t been honest with you, or the prince, but not in the way you suppose. Do you remember, Your Highness, you asked me where I’d obtained the bruises on my body and I said that I fell from my horse.” She laughed and shook her head. “I haven’t fallen from a horse since my third summer. I told you that, when I left you, I returned to Tarmin, but what I didn’t tell you was that I was Borman’s prisoner, and that he not only took my throne against my will but my body as well.”
Gadrin and Newn both looked horrified so she went quickly on. “You’ll understand that it’s not possible for a woman with no friends to resist a man who holds her life in his hands. Borman talked whilst he…” She swallowed back a tear and tried again. “Borman boasted about the plans that he’d made and the things that he’d done. He told me of how he tricked Callabris into putting that enchantment on you; he persuaded him to do it in order to protect your people from the misrule of a spoilt child who needed time to grow up.”
Newn stirred angrily and went to stand but Tarraquin held him down. “He told me how he’d duped your uncle into believing that he would help him to keep the throne by discrediting you and your line, so that when the enchantment killed you, Fallion could become the legitimate ruler of Tarbis.”
Gadrin made a deep, angry growl at the way they had been tricked, which Tarraquin ignored. “And he told me of how he arranged the death of your father, killed in a landslide so there would be no trace of who was behind it. He boasted that with your father gone, his son little better than an animal, and the Regent a gullible fool, the throne was there for the taking, in fact, the people would welcome him into the city with open arms and would place the crown on his head with joy.”
There was a stunned silence. It was beyond anything which Gadrin had ever experienced or Newn could have ever imagined. He was the first to move, revenge, anger and determination driving him. He stood and looked at Gadrin waiting for his comments but the look on his face was enough.
“How many troops can we raise in a moon cycle, Commander?”
“Ten thousand. More if we conscript apprentices and farmers’ boys.”
“Good, then conscript them. We go to war to avenge my father’s death, to regain Tarraquin’s throne and to wipe Borman and all who support his games from the lands of the six kingdoms.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Counter Moves
Since taking the throne of Leersland nothing had gone right. Firstly, there had been the trouble with the escaped prisoners, and then the young white robe getting all upset about the executio
ns. Then there had been his wife to be running off with the same magician and disappearing to goodness knows where. If that wasn’t bad enough, his own magician, when he had been ordered to track them down, had taken it into his head to break his vows of service and had presumably returned to the Enclave. That had left him, the King of Northshield and Leersland, without his support and vulnerable to anyone who could afford to hire a magic worker. To top the lot, Rastor had messed with Malingar’s family, resulting in him losing the services of one of his best captains. He would rather have had Malingar at his side now instead of that fool Rastor, who he had reluctantly let back into his presence, but Malingar had gone so, Rastor would have to do.
Borman finished his goblet of wine and placed it heavily back on the table, resisting the temptation to throw it at someone. Rastor hurried forward and refilled it from the flagon on the dresser, just like a hound trying to please his master. He wished Rastor was a hound and then he could kick some sense into him. Instead he took another drink of wine. The man kneeling on the floor in front of him could probably do with a drink too but he would have to wait.
“Tell me again from the beginning, and slowly this time.”
The man, one of Northshield’s best trackers, looked up and swallowed hard. He had never been in the presence of his king before, but had been warned by others about his temper and the consequences of failing him.
“I followed the trail of Captain Sharman’s search party as you ordered, Your Majesty. Despite it being some time ago, the trail was easy to follow as they had made no attempt to cover their tracks. They had been seen searching the road to the magician’s tower and then they returned, so I started tracking them from the forest’s edge. Sharman and his troop skirted around the edge of the forest and must have picked up the trail of the escaped prisoners to the south and west as I found the remains of two campsites close to each other.”
The tracker paused to catch his breath and order his thoughts. “I found signs of a battle at the first Crosslands Gap Bridge, mainly scattered bones and rusty weapons. At the second Crosslands Bridge I found the remains of some hounds but no sign that there had been a battle. I searched around and found the tracks of six horses heading west, which included at least two of the mounts belonging to the escaped prisoners that I had been following. There were also tracks from around twenty horsemen turning back towards the forest. There were no tracks to indicate where the rest of the horsemen had gone.”
The kneeling man hesitated. He hadn’t told the king about the burn marks he had found in his first report and wondered if he included it now whether Borman would spot the omission and take it out on him.
“Get on with it man, I haven’t got all day!” Borman swallowed down half of his wine and slammed the goblet onto the table.
“Yes, Your Majesty. The only other thing I found there was a strip of burnt grass that felt greasy to touch, like someone had cooked something over it. As you commanded I followed the prisoners, but at the next camp they split up and went in four different directions. One set was fresher than the rest, as if two of the group had stayed at the camp for another night, or perhaps two, so I followed those tracks. The tracks led to the village of Crosslands. I made enquiries at the inn and found that the white robe and his protector had stayed there whilst the protector was tended to by a healer. The innkeeper said that the protector had been wounded in some sort of battle. They had moved on before I arrived and due to the heavy rain I was unable to pick up their trail.”
“Did you find out the white robe’s name?” interrupted Rastor.
“Yes, sir, it was Jonderill, the one I had been sent to track.”
“Who in Hellden do you think it was going to be, Rastor, you fool?” snapped Borman angrily. “There are only two white robes in the six kingdoms and we know that Callabris is travelling north. Go on, tracker.”
With the trail being washed out, I decided to go south into Tarbis, hoping that I could find some information about the group of four who had set off together, and that’s when I saw the army. They were camped in farmland just south of the Vinmore border and it looked like they were still gathering.”
“How large was this army?”
Four, perhaps five thousand and at least a quarter of them mounted. I stayed in the area for two days, during which more men arrived along with large wagon trains of supplies, more horses and siege weapons. The camp was well laid out and there were constant patrols, so I couldn’t get too close, but I did have the luck to run into a scout camp on the second night and shared my spare skin of wine with them. It seems that their king doesn’t like them to drink too much.”
“King?” Borman stood and took a step forward to almost stand over the cringing man. “What king?
“King Newn, Your Majesty, or at least King Newn Designate as he hasn’t been crowned yet, but he will be now the Regent’s dead.”
“Bloody Hellden!” screamed Borman, finally losing control and throwing his half full goblet of wine at the wall. “Why didn’t you say this before, you stupid idiot.” He stalked back to the dresser and banged his fist down hard making the empty goblets rattle together. “Go on.”
“There’s nothing more to tell, Your Majesty. I thought you would want to know what I saw so I rode back here as fast as I could.”
“Did you find out where the army was going to be sent?” questioned Rastor.
“Don’t be such a bloody fool, Rastor. They’re coming here aren’t they, either straight here through the Crosslands Gap or into Vinmore and across the Blue River. Newn will want his revenge and perhaps Vinmore as well whilst he has an army there.” He thought for a moment and then banged his fist down hard again on the dresser making the tracker jump. “Hellden’s balls, he’s after the six kingdoms, the young sly hunter! He’s going to take Vinmore before me and then move east. Well, I won’t have it! I will take Vinmore and move south and intercept him before he can cross into Leersland.”
He turned back to Rastor, his anger gone to be replaced by a look which his Guardcaptain knew only too well. Rastor hesitated for a moment but knew he had to say something before he was given orders which would be impossible to carry out. “Newn has a head start on us, My Lord. Even if it was possible for us to set out straight away, there wouldn’t be time to take Vinmore and hold him in Tarbis.”
“Then we’ll set a trap and go around behind him.” Borman poured himself some more wine and turned to pace the room, almost falling over the tracker who was still kneeling on the floor. “You! Out! Before I have you flogged! Rastor, how many men can we have on Vinmore’s border by full moon?”
Rastor made a quick calculation whilst the tracker scuttled from the room. “Around five thousand, if we take a mixed force and some conscripts, two thousand if it’s just our own men from Northshield.”
“Take every man from Tarmin who can hold a weapon, I’ll not leave any behind who might be tempted to stab me in the back. Take them and put them on the border awaiting my command.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Rastor waited for further orders.
“Well, don’t just stand there, move!”
The Guardcaptain ran for the door and Borman watched him leave, tapping his foot impatiently. He poured himself more wine, took a long drink and put the goblet down, deciding that he’d had enough and needed a clear head. Another thing gone wrong; it had to be this cursed country. He hated being forced into action without having time to plan, but somehow the boy had escaped the enchantment and was now after his blood. Five thousand men were not going to be enough, he needed more and he needed them in place quickly if he was going to set a trap. The problem was, his men were scattered all over the north and his best commander was skulking on his estate on the wrong side of Leersland.
It was no good, he needed Malingar whether he was ready to return to duty or not. Due to Rastor’s stupidity, he had lost his hold over him and he couldn’t be absolutely certain of his loyalty any more. He could have bribed him with promises of land or wealth, but he h
ad already given Malingar as big a reward as he was prepared to grant any man. Or had he? He smiled to himself at the memory of an under aged-guard who had said he wanted to be the king’s Guardcaptain. Perhaps that ambition was still there, that and the need for revenge could be a powerful motivator.
Of course it would have to be done with subtly so as not to alert Rastor, but if Malingar could spot what he was offering, he was sure he would respond. Malingar with an army gathered in the north could cross the Deeling Pass, ride at speed through Vinmore and come in behind Newn and his army. He rubbed his hands in anticipation; if luck and timing was on his side he could, perhaps, be master of the six kingdoms before next summer solstice after all.
*