The White Robe (20 page)

“I wouldn’t have thought so, Your Majesty, but as the Captain and his mercenaries fought alongside the king they will know that the man isn’t Sarrat.”

Jarrul stepped forward to peer over the battlements. “That means if Malingar engages this army and loses a large part of his force, Sarrat could come along behind them and finish us all off.”

“You’re right,” said Tarraquin thoughtfully. “We need to do something about this and fast otherwise Captain Malingar is going to place us in a very difficult situation without knowing it.”

Great Lord Andron pulled his horse to a halt and stared in disbelief at the sight in front of him. He’d expected the Lord Keeper of the Keys with an honour guard to greet him and wouldn’t have been too surprised if the city guard had been turned out to welcome him as well, but this was neither. In actual fact he wasn’t sure what it was. It looked like a rabble at a horse fair except that the mounted men were in orderly lines and appeared to be heavily armed.

“I don’t like the look of this,” said Guardcaptain Sharman, riding up beside him. “I’ve had a quick count and I reckon we’re evenly matched in numbers.”

“Who in hellden’s name are they? Sarrat’s man said the remains of the army were in the south awaiting orders to return. Surely it can’t be them?”

“I don’t think so, My Lord, they don’t look like regular troops for all their straight lines. They could be mercenaries.”

“Scum!” Andron spat over his side leaving a grey streak down Sharman’s boot. “Bloody mercenaries, they’re all gamblers, beggars and thieves. Sound the charge; we’ll wipe them out.”

“I don’t think we should do that.” Guardcaptain Sharman took a swig of wine from his water skin. “If we take that lot on it will be a blood bath.”

“Are you a coward, Sharman?” demanded Andron angrily, his face going red.

“No, My Lord, I’m just nearing retirement. Anyway, it looks like we might not have to fight, they want to parley.”

The Great Lord turned his attention back to the small army which blocked the gates to the city and watched as the centre column parted and a small group of riders moved through the ranks to the front where the commander waited. From where he sat on his horse, one of the riders appeared to be a woman in fancy dress, but as that was unlikely he turned his attention to the rider at her side and the long pennant he held. A gust of wind caught it, unfurling its length and displaying the royal crest of the long dead King Malute. Andron cursed and gripped at his sword in anger.

Having pushed her way through the mercenaries Tarraquin’s patience was being sorely tried by Malingar’s intransigence. She took a deep, calming breath and changed tactics. “Captain Malingar, have you forgotten that I am your queen and you have given me an oath of loyalty and obedience? I have given you an order and you will obey it.”

Malingar went to argue again, looked at Tarraquin’s determined face and gave in. His orders had been to try and keep her from harm but if she insisted on doing something stupid then there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. He turned to Tordray and gave a quick command and then turned back to the queen who, he’d thought, he’d left safely in the throne room with her two advisors and her maids to wait on her. Whilst he’d been gathering his men and preparing for the inevitable battle she had been causing chaos.

How in hellden she had managed to completely change the situation in such a short time was beyond him. It had taken him less than a candle length to complete his preparations and have his men in formation outside of the city gates. However, in that time she had left the safety of the fortress, found a horse, white flag and royal standard and now sat in front of him looking every bit the queen and in command of the situation.

She was impressive too, sitting on her horse without a saddle looking as if she had been born there, which was more than could be said for either Jarrul or Istan who she had persuaded to go along with her dangerous plan. They looked like they would slide off the broad backs of their requisitioned coach horses at any moment, whilst she looked magnificent with her long dress flowing down the sides of her horse and her cloak draped gracefully over its quarters.

From the moment she had ridden up to him with her two lackeys in tow, he’d tried to persuade her against her plan, but she wouldn’t be moved. He cursed under his breath at her interference. It was typical of a woman to want to resolve a situation like this peacefully when what was needed was bloodshed. The man next to her unfurled the white flag he’d been given and Jarrul handed her the crown which she placed on her head, pushing it down as hard as it would go to stop it falling off. Tarraquin gave Malingar a brief smile which he didn’t return and together they trotted into the space between the two armies with their small party behind them.

Andron waited until he was certain how many people the enemy commander was bringing with him and then set off with two more guards for good luck. As he drew closer he could see the crown on the head of the woman and cursed under his breath at her audacity, but he would wipe that smile of her face once he showed her what Lozin carried in his pannier. He pulled his horse to a stop and Lozin and his Guardcaptain rode up beside him whilst his four guards fanned out behind.

Tarraquin rode a few paces forward of the rest to meet him. “Great Lord Andron, welcome to Tarmin. It’s always a pleasure to see you although it might have been better if you’d left your friends behind.”

“Madam, you have me at a temporary disadvantage. Who in hellden are you and what are you doing with that bloody thing on your head?”

Malingar rode up beside her and went to pull his sword at the insult but Tarraquin gently restrained him. “That’s no way to address your queen,” he said instead.

“Queen! What fucking queen?”

“Lord Andron,” interrupted Istan riding up next to Tarraquin. “May I present the daughter of King Malute and rightful heir to the throne of Leersland.”

Andron let out a bellow of laughter. “Malute’s been dead for over ten summers, boy; don’t you know your legal constitution? If there’s no successful claim of succession within ten summers then the one who holds the crown becomes the legitimate ruler. It’s the law in all the six kingdoms.”

“That’s true,” conceded Istan, “but if the claimant can prove the ruler murdered the king and then prevented the rightful heir from making a claim, then the ten summers rule doesn’t apply.”

“Unless the ruler is dead and cannot be taken to account for his crimes in which case his heir or the senior lord of the realm becomes the legitimate ruler,” concluded the Great Lord with a satisfied smirk.

“So?”

Andron leant from his saddle and reached into the pannier carried by the horse next to him and pulled out the decaying remains of Sarrat’s head. “Sarrat’s dead.”

They stared in horror at the blackening, slightly bloated lump hanging by its hair from Andron’s hand with its swollen tongue protruding from the side of its mouth and one eye hanging lose from its socket. Tarraquin turned aside and vomited as the wind wafted the stench of decay her way and Andron threw the lump onto the ground between them with a wet thud.

“You killed him?” asked Jarrul in a shocked voice.

“Of course I didn’t kill him, his magician did that, but Sarrat is dead right enough and without leaving any legitimate heirs, which leaves me the highest ranking noble in Leersland, so that makes me king.”

“I think not,” responded Istan. “Malute’s daughter was anointed on her first summer’s day. She outranks you so that makes her queen.”

“Besides which,” put in Jarrul, “She has received the oaths of loyalty from Leersland’s leaders, the public acclaim of her people and she wears the crown. I really do think that makes her queen.”

“Not in my eyes it doesn’t,” snapped Andron. “And I will fight anyone for what is rightly mine.”

“That would not be a good idea, Great Lord,” said Tarraquin quietly. “If you fight a great many men will die and even if you win the battle, the palace guard will not let you into the city. It would be far better if you were to return to your estates and reconsider your position and when you have seen the sense of what I have said, we can talk about a suitable role for you in the government of Leersland.”

The Great Lord dropped his hand angrily to his sword and went to draw the weapon but Sharman leaned across, pressed the hilt of his master’s sword back into its scabbard and whispered something urgent in his ear. Andron glared at him but removed his hand from his weapon. He turned back to Tarraquin and gave her a look of pure hatred.

“You win this round girl but you won’t always have that bunch of paid thugs at your back. There are plenty of fighting men in this kingdom including the remains of Sarrat’s army who will follow me and then there are those outside of Leersland who will want to see a strong king on the throne, not some slip of a girl. Enjoy your time playing at being queen. It won’t last long.”

He turned away and Tarraquin watched him go wondering if it wouldn’t have been better fighting him after all.

*

“How could you not know that Sarrat was dead?” demanded Tarraquin angrily.

“How could we know?” replied Jarrul tiredly. He sat on a hard backed chair in the corner of the chamber Tarraquin had taken as her working room, nursing a mug of herb tea which Birrit had made for him. “Even now we don’t know the details except that he died some time ago by Maladran’s hand and that Andron found the body.”

The queen shook her head in disbelief. “If only we had known we could have marched into Tarmin and taken the throne openly instead of going through all that cloak and dagger nonsense.”

Tarraquin sat back in the padded chair by the fire and fought off the temptation to close her eyes and go to sleep. She felt as if she had been awake for a moon cycle and yet only a day and a night had passed since she had slept on the throne room floor waiting to face her people. In that time she had been crowned, prevented a war, formed a council and overseen the execution of the Lord Keeper of the Keys.

Of all the things that she had done to take the crown, that was the one she regretted. The man had held out longer than expected under the ministrations of Malingar’s questioners before he divulged the whereabouts of the keys, crown and seal. Considering the state of his mutilated body, his quick execution had really been a mercy, but she still felt guilty. She looked at the crown sitting on the desk and decided she preferred the fake one; it wasn’t nearly such a burden.

“More importantly,” said Malingar breaking into her thoughts, “We could have captured the loyalty of the remnants of Sarrat’s army in the south. I fear that we may be too late and that Andron has already given them his own version of Sarrat’s death and his rightful claim to the throne.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Istan. He’d propped himself up by the window and despite the early hour, he was sipping at a goblet of wine. His only concession to the time of day was that the wine was a delicate white and not the red he usually drank. “I also think we should not dismiss his other threats. If he goes to the other kingdoms with stories of a murdered king, mercenary armies and a usurper on the throne of Leersland then he is bound to get some support.”

“But it wasn’t like that.”

“No, it wasn’t, Your Majesty, but that’s what he will say.”

“Then we must do something about it.” She thought for a moment resting her aching head in her hand.

“What we need are more soldiers to defend Tarmin and Leersland from attack,” said Malingar with conviction.