The White Robe (The Sword and the Spell)

by Clare Smith

  The other problem was that Vorgret would know that he had drawn on his fire and would want to know why. He didn’t know how his master always knew, but he did, and he always wanted to know the reason, which would then be picked to death like carrion birds picking over a corpse. It had been one of the ways Vorgret had helped him to control his gift, and he should have been grateful, but the questioning always made him feel as if Vorgret was inside of him, as if he had been raped.

  It was an unpleasant thought and didn’t help his mood one bit. He had already been invited to take dinner with the king, and whilst he would have liked to decline on the grounds that the man had the manners of a grunter, it wasn’t a good idea to refuse. Vorgret’s invitations were actually commands which you didn’t ignore, or at least not if you wished to retain all your bodily parts. That made him smile. He wondered if the king would actually be able to harm him or would he be able to incinerate the king the same as he could anyone else. It was something he decided he didn’t want to test, or at least not yet. With that thought in mind he ran his fingers through his dark hair one more time and set off for the king’s chambers.

  When he arrived Vorgret had already started eating, which wasn’t unusual; he rarely waited for anyone. What was unusual though, was that there was a third place laid for dinner. He wondered who the unfortunate person was who would be joining them. It was obviously someone important enough not to offend but not important enough for the King to wait on their arrival. Vorgret looked up as he bowed and took his place and the king pushed his half finished soup with bits of bread floating in it across to him to finish. Just for once in his life he would like to eat his own food and not the left over’s from his master’s plate. He picked up the spoon and started on the soup trying to avoid the soggy bread which the king had probably already partly chewed.

  “Sadrin. Welcome back. I see you’re hungry as usual.” Sadrin dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement and continued eating, waiting for his master to continue. “I’m told that you have returned alone. Did you enjoy the girl that much?”

  Sadrin finished as much of the soup as he could stomach and pushed the bowl to one side. “My Lord, it’s good to be back. I feel as if I’ve been away from your side for far too long.” He took a small, round loaf and thrust his finger hard into its insides before tearing it apart, a gesture he knew Vorgret would appreciate and would help to cover up his misleading words. “She was most enjoyable and now I’ve tried one I’ve an appetite for others.” He took another loaf and repeated the crude gesture.

  The king laughed. “I knew you would once you had your cock inside her.” Vorgret pulled a large platter with a roasted joint on it closer and carved himself a thick slice, blood oozing from its centre. “I see you have also returned without the magician I sent you to fetch.” The King wasn’t smiling now.

  “I tracked him for a long time and caught up with him on the borders of Tarbis by one of the bridges over the Blue River. He resisted capture and used his magic to defend himself. I had to use my fire and there was nothing left to bring back to you.”

  Vorgret looked at him curiously; the boy never said much but this was even less than usual. He went to ask for more details when the door opened, and a nervous looking Pellum stepped into the room. Sadrin thanked the goddess for the timely distraction and stood to greet Vorgret’s other dinner guest.

  His King didn’t look too pleased at the interruption but covered it with a smile. “Ah, brother, come in, I thought you’d decided to decline my offer of dinner so I started without you.” He gestured towards the empty seat and pushed the meat in his direction. “Sadrin, this is my brother, Pellum who is married to my half sister. They haven’t produced any idiot children yet although I’m told he’s working hard on it. Pellum, this is Sadrin, my black magician. Now what is it you want from me?”

  Vorgret stabbed another piece of meat and chewed it noisily whilst Pellum recovered from his brother’s opening attack. Sadrin studied them both. They were as unlike as brothers could be; one squat, ugly and crude, the other tall, good looking and full of charm. Perhaps Daun’s mother hadn’t been the only king’s wife who had strayed into another’s bed and had then produced a bastard. He knew full well of Vorgret’s opinion of his younger brother and his incestuous wife and wondered if they held Vorgret in equal contempt. By the look on Pellum’s face they probably did, but they needed to be careful; Vorgret may be contemptible but he was clever with it.

  “My dear brother, as I have explained before on numerous occasions, the rumour about Daun’s mother and our father is untrue. It’s just something fabricated by those who would drive a wedge between two kingdoms who are allies and have each other’s best interests at heart. I’m sure when our first child is born, that rumour will finally be laid at rest.” He cut four thin slices from the joint avoiding its bloody centre. “You’re right about one thing though, I have come to discuss something which if not quickly dealt with, could seriously affect both of our kingdoms.”

  He waited for Vorgret to respond but his brother just spat out a piece of gristle and stabbed another piece of meat. “It’s King Borman,” he continued, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. “He’s put an army on Vinmore’s eastern border.”

  Vorgret stopped chewing and looked vaguely interested. “Go on.”

  “And the new King of Tarbis has an even bigger army sitting on our southern border waiting to attack Borman’s army and use Vinmore as their battlefield.”

  Vorgret gave a loud bark of laughter, pushed his plate away and grabbed the pitcher of ale. He filled Pellum’s and his own goblet and banged the pitcher back down on the table. “And why in hellden’s name would those two want to fight each other, they’re not even neighbours?”

  “It’s something to do with an enchantment, or a woman, but the reason is unimportant. They’re going to bring fifteen thousand men onto Vinmore soil and destroy each other and us into the bargain. You’ve got to stop them.”

  “Why should I do that? A little less of Borman sounds a good idea to me.”

  Pellum looked desperate. “If they use Vinmore as a battleground they’ll destroy our vines, our orchards and our hops. There will be no more wine for half a century until everything grows again.”

  Vorgret thought about it and then shrugged. “We’ll have to import it from elsewhere; I hear they produce a decent vintage in the lands across the Great Southern Ocean.”

  Pellum looked deflated and almost about to cry.

  “My Lord?” interrupted Sadrin quietly. “I think there may be another reason for assisting your brother.” Vorgret looked at him questioningly and Pellum looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “The Prince Consort mentioned that there was a lady involved, who I believe I have had the honour to meet. Tell me, Your Highness, how is it that King Borman of Northshield has so many troops in Leersland?”

  “Borman is now King of Leersland as well as Northshield. He took the throne from Queen Tarraquin by force”

  For the first time since Sadrin had known him, his king looked truly shocked. “From what I understand from the lady he took her by force too.” He turned to his master, whose face had drained of colour, enjoying his discomfort. “Wasn’t Queen Tarraquin going to be your wife, My Lord?”

  Vorgret exploded into uncontrollable rage. He leapt from his chair, knocking it over backwards and sent half the contents of the table flying across the room with a vicious backwards sweep of his arm. “The bastard! The fucking bastard’s taken my wife! Nobody, not even a king takes something which belongs to me.” He glared and pointed at Pellum making the prince scuttle backwards off his chair. “You, come with me. If it’s an army you want I’ll give you a bloody army. I’ll give you every man in Essenland who can hold a sword, all twenty thousand of them.” He strode across the room, grabbed Pellum by the padded shoulder of his silk tunic and dragged him out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

  Sadrin sat for a moment and taking advantage of his master’s
absence he leaned across the table to retrieve a flaggon of Vinmore red which had survived Vorgret’s anger. He poured himself half a goblet and sipped the blood red liquid with a satisfied smile on his face. Well, that was one way to divert Vorgret from questioning him about his failure to capture the white robe. He wondered where Jonderill was now.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER TEWNTY SIX

  Callistares

  Tallison watched them burn, ignoring their screams and the stink of seared flesh. It wasn’t the usual way people were executed in Sandstrone; when you live in the desert where the only trees are those which shade an oasis, wood is too valuable to burn, but this was an exception. He needed to make an example of these people and by the look on the faces of those forced to watch, the death throes of the six naked women being consumed by the flames, it was having the desired effect. There were others to be executed as well, but they would die by other means, equally as unpleasant but less expensive.

  He still had difficulty believing that his people would rise up against him. Hadn’t he given them everything? If it wasn’t for him, they would still be living godless lives in the darkness of the stone city his brother had built. He had freed them from its evil influence, and had returned them to the light to live their lives in the open under the sun and stars, as all free people should live. More than that though he had given them back their god. Living within stone walls, walking stone streets and living the soft lives that the northerners lived had turned his people away from Talis, but now, back in the desert where they belonged, Talis was all around them, touching their everyday lives with his guiding hand.

  Now they could worship as they were meant to, and if that caused some hardship then it was only because they had become soft under his brother’s rule. His people were desert people, not city people, they were meant to be hard. It wasn’t just Talis that he had given them either. Hadn’t he given them horses and weapons and restored the pride of their warriors in their war with the unbelievers in Leersland? Hadn’t he protected them from the sin of fornication and the temptations of the flesh by separating the men away from the women? And what about the children, hadn’t he taken them into his own home and taught them the ways of Talis, their god?

  No, his people were ungrateful wretches. He had given them all this, and yet they wanted more. It was the women who were to blame of course, the god himself had warned him against their corruption and how their wickedness could weaken the resolve of the strongest man. He did his best to teach the girl children who came to his tent the ways of Talis, but as soon as they left his pavilion and returned to their families, they forgot the lessons he had taught them.

  Tallison looked up as a piercing scream ripped through the air. He couldn’t see which one it was for the smoke and flames, but he knew all right. It was the one who had led the mob that had almost reached his pavilion. It was a shame, she had been such a sweet affectionate child, one of the first he had taken into his pavilion, and he had taught her everything, but in the end, she had tried to kill him. She would never have succeeded of course, not with his guards being family or dependant on him for their position and comfort, that sort of loyalty was not easily overcome. They had protected him from those who had turned away from Talis and he had rewarded them well with the use of those that now burnt for their sins or awaited execution.

  It was only right that he should reward his loyal guards, but perhaps he should reward his loyal people too, after all there had been no men involved in the uprising and at least half of the women had remained loyal. Yes, they should be rewarded. When the executions were over he would allow the men to return to their wives for a night and fill them with their seed and those who were unmarried could share the unattached females between them. He would open the granaries and stores as well so that the people could celebrate and praise Talis that his life had been spared.

  The people always loved him more when he was generous, but unfortunately they had short memories. What he needed was something more permanent, something which would distract his people from thoughts of rebellion and would show them how much he cared for them. He needed a symbol; he didn’t know what that symbol would be but he did know that if he prayed to his god, Talis would provide.

  He waited until the fires had done their work, and left the rest of the executions to his cousin to oversee, it was the sort of work he enjoyed. Now he had more important matters to consider. He had decided what should be done to appease his people, and he was eager to begin the search for the symbol which would be the physical manifestation of his power. If it was going to be effective, it had to be a symbol given to him by the mighty Talis, which could not to be questioned, and that wasn’t going to be easy to find.

  Deep in thought he hurried to his pavilion with his guard closely behind, trying to imagine what this symbol might be. As he entered the huge tent he glanced in the corner where Rothers sat on his pile of rags, a chain around his neck attached to one of the pavilion’s supports. He usually didn’t bother chaining the man, but the rebellion had unnerved him and, in any case, it would do no harm to remind the man of his place. It was a pity he wasn’t more impressive; Borman’s cousin should have made a perfect symbol to parade in front of his people. However the man was pathetic and his people would have taken no notice of him even if he had slit him open and strangled him with his own guts in front of them.

  Annoyed that the man was worthless to him, he walked to where he sat, pulled out his manhood and pissed on him. Feeling better, he returned to the main part of the pavilion and stared down at the low, dark table he used as his private altar. As his prayer for guidance to Talis was such an important one, he wondered if he should make a blood sacrifice, but that would mean going outside to the altar where his people worshiped, and he’d had enough of his people for one day. In any case, Talis had been given plenty of blood today so a little bit more wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.

  He lit the two bowls of oil on either side of the altar and breathed the aromatic smoke deeply into his lungs enjoying the tingling sensation which coursed through his body and the kaleidoscope of images which flooded his mind. Staggering slightly from the effect of the drug he knelt at the altar and began a slow, mumbling chant. It was meaningless nonsense, more sounds than words, but it helped him to focus and impressed anyone who saw him communing with his god.

  By the time his mumbling had increased to a shout, the effect of the smoke was wearing off and he was feeling sick and irritable. Usually a plan came to him when the effect of the drug was at its highest, but today there had been nothing, perhaps it was the effect of the stress he had been under. He cursed under his breath and leaned over the oil bowl, hoping to find some remnant of the smoke still spiralling upwards, when there was a scuffle at the entrance of the pavilion and two guards entered dragging a girl between them. They dropped the girl on the floor and one of them put his booted foot firmly on her back preventing her from rising. Tallison gave up on the oil, which just had a vaguely rancid smell left, and stared down at the girl. She was too old to be of interest to him.

  “Mighty Tallison, beloved of Talis, may his name be praised,” began the guard. “We found this one outside and acting suspiciously. She says she is known to you and has brought you a gift.”

  He raised his eyes in surprise. “What kind of gift?”

  “I don’t know, illustrious master, she says her gift is sent from Talis, may his name live forever, and it is for your eyes only.”

  She had a gift from his god? Could it be that Talis had answered his prayer already? “Let the girl up.”

  The guard removed his boot from the girl’s back and then nudged her sharply with his toe indicating that she should stand. Hastily she scrambled to her feet never taking her eyes off Tallison. He was certain that he knew her, but couldn’t place her until he remembered those pale green eyes, demon’s eyes. Yes, he knew her all right. She was his dead brother’s only surviving get, the one with the simple mind. He had named her N
yte, as she always came to his bed at night for his affection; that was until she became too old to be of interest to him and he had given her away to Borman. He really didn’t want her back.

  “What are you doing here, girl?”

  She fell to her knees and shuffled forward until she was close enough to kiss his feet and then sat back on her heels with her head bowed. “My Lord and master, I have returned to you, and if you will have me and love me as you did before, I will give you a gift of such value that you will never send me away again.”

  “What gift?”

  She glanced at the two guards standing behind her. “I cannot say where others may hear, the gift is for you alone.”

  For a moment he thought of sending her away, but was too intrigued not to listen to what she had to say. “You two, outside, but wait in case I call.” He waited just long enough for the guards to leave before taking her roughly by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “This had better be good or I will give you to them. Now what is this gift you have for me?”