The White Robe (45 page)

Tarraquin finished brushing her hair and tied it back with a yellow ribbon that she had found in one of the draws hidden inside the wardrobe. It was a perfect match for the dress she wore, one which had once belonged to the beast’s mother, who must have been a woman of considerable wealth if her numerous gowns were anything to go by. Who she and the beast were was another question she had asked the captain, and another one he had declined to answer.

She was certain that all the answers she sought could be found along the corridor where the beast lived, but that was forbidden to her. Curiosity to find out what it was the beast hid from her stopped her at the entrance to the corridor every time she passed, but as yet, she hadn’t found the courage to explore the forbidden passageway. She would though, and some day very soon.

The sun was shining through newly cleaned windows as she went down the stairs to the dining room, but instead of the usual servant, the captain stood waiting with a big smile on his face. “Good morning, My Lady. My master has asked if you would care to join him in the paddock for breakfast.”

He laughed at her surprise, held out his arm, and together they walked out of the hunting lodge, down the steps and across to the small gate which led into the grassy area she had seen from the dining room window. It was a small area which hadn’t been used by horses for some time as the lush grass was emerald green, dotted with yellow and white flowers. The sun shone on the grass making the colours more vivid, and if she didn’t look up at the stone monsters that crouched on top of the wall, she could have believed that she was in one of the wide open horse pastures of her home.

The beast stood just beyond the gate at the edge of several colourful blankets which had been spread over the springy turf. Piles of cushions held the blankets in place and platters of food and flagons of cordial filled the centre. The beast smiled, being careful to keep his fangs hidden, and held out his hand, the fingers still long and bent but the claws filed to fingernail length.

“Picnic,” he said in a low gruff voice with barely a hint of a growl.

“Thank you.”  She took his hand and he helped her down onto the cushions before folding himself onto another pile of cushions close to her. The captain bowed to them both and left them to it.

There were no servants in attendance, so she poured him some cordial in the special wooden goblet which one of his guardsmen had carved for him, allowing his curved fingers to grip it tightly. Tarraquin raised her goblet in salute.

“Was this your own idea?”

“Yes, special day.”

“Is that why you are wearing new clothes?”

“You like?”

Considering that only a short time ago he had been covered in dirty, matted fur and wore only a torn cloak, the transformation had been amazing. The fur was still there but it was clean, short and neatly trimmed and instead of the ragged cloak, he wore a silk shirt with long sleeves that laced at the cuff, and loose trousers like they wore in Sandstrone, but with a gold military stripe down each leg. His short cloak lay on one side, half covering his bare feet; getting boots to fit was still a problem. She smiled at him, concentrating on his deep brown eyes and ignoring the two stubs on his lower jaw where the protruding tusks had been filed away.

“You look very dashing. What’s the special occasion?”

The beast looked up and pointed at the wall. “Guards gone.”

She looked up and noticed for the first time that the stone monsters were nowhere in sight. “Where? Why?”

He grinned in pure delight forgetting to hide his fangs. “Silver leaf not fall, enchantment breaks.” He took her hands in his, his eyes alight with excitement. “You trust me, soon we both be free.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

The Maze

The building had burnt to the ground and all that remained was a large square of blackened stone and a few charred timbers. A rough lean-to shelter had been built, propped up against one of the crumbling stone walls to keep the horses out of the rain, but the only other dwellings were a row of weather-beaten tents. The four border guards stood around a small spluttering fire looking miserable in the afternoon downpour. Jonderill smiled to himself in satisfaction. The last time he had ridden this way the guards had lived in comfort in the stone store house and he had been robbed and held a prisoner in the adjoining log store waiting to be hung as a horse thief. Perhaps there was some justice in the world after all.

Of course he had been a different person then, a lone rider with no experience of the road or the ways of corrupt border guards. He had been an easy target and the border guards had taken advantage of his naivety. Now he was different, now he was a magician, all be it not a very good one, but powerful enough not to be taken captive and robbed by four wet and dispirited guards. The other difference was that he was not alone; with another white robe and two protectors at his side nobody would dare challenge his right to pass over the bridge and into Northshield. As he passed by their guard post he looked to see if he recognised any of them, but they were different from the guards that had beaten him and threatened to hang him from the bridge.

Tissian rode up beside him and leant over with a look of mischief on his face. “Do you want me to kill them for you?”

Jonderill laughed. “No, these aren’t the ones, and anyway, death would probably be a happy release from having to live in a leaky tent and stand guard over a bridge all day long.”

They clattered over the bridge and Tissian dropped back to ride with Allowyn, allowing Callabris to ride up next to Jonderill. He looked different with the hood of his robe pulled well over his head to keep him dry, more sinister and less benign.

“Are you pleased to be going home?” asked Jonderill, more to break the monotony of the journey than any real interest.

“I shall be pleased to get out of this rain and off this wretched horse, and I shall be happy not to have to sleep on the ground or in some flea infested inn, but Northshield is not my home.”

“I thought King Borman was your master?”

“Regretfully he is.”

Jonderill looked surprised at the response. Callabris sighed and pushed back his hood so he could talk more easily to the young magician who still had so much to learn about being a white robe.

“A magician has to have a king or queen to support them, provide for their needs and protect them from rivals, whether they are other magicians or other monarchs. In return the magician serves the king and calls him master. Don’t be mistaken, Jonderill, this is not a master servant relationship or the sort of relationship that you have with your protector. This is a joining of convenience by which both the king and the magician benefits. Sometimes, if you are lucky, the relationship will develop into mutual respect and even friendship, such as the relationship I had with King Hormand of Tarbis before he was murdered. Other times it is based on balancing power; such is my relationship with Borman. He needs my power and I need his patronage, but that does not make Northshield my home or me pleased to be returning there.”

“I see, or at least I think I do. So if Northshield isn’t your home, where is?”

Callabris thought about the question for a moment. “Where is your home Jonderill? Is it where you were born or where you have lived most of your life or where your loved ones are?”

Jonderill considered the question for a long time, their horses walking steadily along the well ridden road with the sounds of Allowyn instructing Tissian like an echo behind him. At last he shrugged.

“I don’t think I have a home.”

“That’s the way it is with our kind.”

“What about King Borman, what kind of man is he?”

“King Borman is like all kings, he expects to get his own way all the time. Some kings get their own way through the love and loyalty of their people, others through the divine right of kingship. Borman is different. He gets what he wants through a mixture of charm, guile and ruthlessness. He is easy to serve but a hard man to cross.”

They continued in silence and Jonderill thought about what Callabris had said whilst the rain turned to a misty drizzle as the evening sun set. It was Dozo, clattering up beside him in a long waxed cape and pulling a heavily laden pack horse, who interrupted his sombre thoughts.

“My Lords, Master Allowyn says there is a way house up ahead and suggests that we rest for the night and complete our journey in the morning.

“What do you think, Jonderill?” asked Callabris.

Jonderill wiped the rain from his face and gave them all a quick look over. “I think it would be better if we were to arrive at the king’s court the image of powerful magicians rather than looking like a pack of half drowned peasants, don’t you?”

Callabris laughed. “You learn quickly young man. Dozo, you and Tissian go on ahead and get things ready. We will be with you before dark.”

*

The last time he had entered the gates of Wallmore the city guard had taken his coin and had thrown him out. Now the guards held back the wagon drivers, farmers and traders, who were trying to enter the city, and bowed as he passed. They weren’t the only ones who bowed. As they rode along the city streets towards the palace, everyone bowed, some even went to their knees. It was like he was a king and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the attention, although he suspected that most people were bowing to Callabris rather than to him. They were a very impressive group with the two magicians in their pristine white robes, and the two protectors in full armour and weapon array. Dozo had done an excellent job of cleaning them all up after the wet and muddy journey over the Deeling Pass and through the borderlands of Northshield.

On his last visit Jonderill had only seen the area just inside the main gate before he was roughly ejected, but now that he was at the centre of the city, he was impressed by what he saw. Wallmore had a high city wall, similar to that which surrounded Tarmin, but inside the wall the city was much more like Alewinder, with broad, well proportioned streets and fine houses. He knew that somewhere on the edges of the city there would be the usual slums where the poor lived, every city had those, but in the centre of the city there were no poor to be seen and no beggars either. Whilst it made the city look prosperous, he knew what King Borman did with the poor.

The palace stood on a slight rise surrounded at the front by a tall metal fence with guard posts every twenty paces or so. It wasn’t a bit like Tarmin’s austere fortress or Alewinder’s elegant sprawl of towers and spires, but more like a very large elegant house, similar to those which stood close by, only much bigger. Callabris had told him that the appearance of the palace was deceptive; as were many things in Northshield, and that the palace stretched a long way back, making it the largest royal dwelling in the six kingdoms. He had also told Jonderill about the maze which had been built at the rear of the palace and covered an area of land almost as big as the palace itself. He couldn’t wait to see it.

As they approached the palace up a road of black and white chequered cobbles, a squad of guards marched from one of the palace’s side doors, so that when they arrived at the open gates they had a guard of honour to direct them to the main entrance. Callabris looked annoyed; he had hoped that they would have had the chance to settle in before they were summoned to the king’s presence, but it would seem that King Borman was impatient to see them. They dismounted and the squad leader escorted them up the steps into the palace, leaving Dozo outside to see to the horses and their possessions.

The inside of the palace was just what Jonderill was expecting; long corridors, grand stairs, rows of doors and then more corridors, stairs and doors. Tapestries of hunting scenes and huge paintings of battles adorned the walls, and every so often, there was an alcove with the carved head and shoulders of a man perched on a stone pedestal. After he had passed the fourth one, Jonderill realised all the carvings were of the same man, probably Borman, but with slightly different expressions on their faces. What did take Jonderill by surprise was the activity inside the palace, which reminded him of a wood crawler’s nest which had been poked with a stick.

He guessed they must have walked the entire length of the palace before their escort came to a halt outside a door decorated with a royal crest embossed in gold and guarded by two of the biggest men Jonderill had ever seen. Callabris gave them a brief nod of acknowledgement and one of them knocked on the door, opened it and stepped back to let them through. Jonderill stood by Callabris’s side, but half a pace behind, and was grateful they had rehearsed this the previous evening whilst drying out in the way house. As the king stepped forward he and Callabris bowed, whilst behind them, the two protectors stood at the alert; protectors never bowed except to their masters.

“Callabris, it’s good to have you back, I have missed your presence and wise council.” He looked genuinely pleased to see the white robe, but quickly moved his attention to Jonderill. “And who have we here?”

“My Lord, this is Jonderill of whom I have spoken in the past. He is newly come into his powers and has been travelling with me. He seeks your protection until such time as a royal master claims him.”

Borman gave Jonderill an astute appraisal. “Jonderill, you are welcome to Northshield and my house and I will be pleased to accommodate you and your protector for as long as you wish to stay.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“For now you must excuse us, I have many things to discuss with my magician. My personal guard will escort you to Callabris’s apartments until suitable accommodation can be arranged for you close to his.”

Jonderill bowed and reluctantly left, disappointed not to be included in the king’s discussions with Callabris. Borman paced the room until the door had been closed behind them and then suddenly turned to his white robe

“Well, Callabris, is he who you had hoped him to be?”

“I don’t know, My Lord. He has no memories of his father, except that he was called Jonderill. I do not believe it could have been my brother’s protector as it is most unusual for a protector to take a wife and unheard of for them to have children.”

“Not unlike a magician then. What of his powers?”

“They are still developing. I believe he has the potential to be very powerful indeed, but as yet, his magic is erratic and unpredictable.”

“Explosive?”

“On occasions but his powers are not as destructive as Coberin’s powers were.”

Borman sighed in frustration. “I need to know and I’m disappointed in you Callabris that you have not found out for certain who he is yet. If he is dangerous he will have to be constrained. I expect you to find out quickly, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Borman smiled and patted his magician on the shoulder. “Come, my friend, take some wine with me and tell me about Tarbis.” He poured two goblets of wine and handed one to Callabris, indicating that he should take a seat.

“I have done as you requested, My Lord, and have removed Prince Newn from society and the seat of power.”

“He’s not dead is he?”

“No, you know that I’m unable to use my magic to kill, but he’s under an enchantment that has turned him into a beast, and unless someone can break the enchantment, which, I regret is most unlikely, then Prince Newn will never become king.”