The White Robe (58 page)

The guards laughed at the thought of why the king wanted the lady disrobed. One of them banged on the door with his fist and opened it without waiting for a reply. Tarraquin and Birrit were sitting either side of the fire, Birrit looking ready for anything and Tarraquin wringing her hands and looking petrified.

“Lady, the King wants you and your maid.”

Tarraquin stood gasping a little and clutching her side and Birrit hurried to her to give her some support. When the guards were looking away, she shot an anxious glance at Tissian. Jonderill hadn’t seen Tarraquin since their meeting in the little courtyard, but she looked much paler than he remembered and a dark bruise marred one cheek. She moved forward, walking slowly and a little unsteadily with Birrit following behind collecting their cloaks and a small bag of belongings.

“Yer won’t be needin’ those; you an’ ‘er are only going to the throne room not on a bloody outin’.”

Birrit pulled herself up to her full height, the top of her head barely level with the guard’s shoulder and took a belligerent step forward. “Get out of my way, oaf! My Lady does not go walking the corridors uncovered with soldiers like you ogling at her. Her voice softened a little, “And she may well be in need of her things, to help her recover, after visiting with the King.”

The guard laughed and waved them onward, leaning across to his mate and making a number of lewd remarks about her ability to walk back after the king had finished with her. The women ignored them but, for a moment, Jonderill stiffened in anger and Tissian had to put a restraining hand on his arm. Jonderill looked at him and relaxed, the slightly vacant, confused look returning to his face. Together they wound their way along the fortress’s many corridors, with Tissian on edge in case they should be challenged by someone who knew where the king really was, but they reached the throne room without any trouble.

Two more of Rastor’s men stood guard outside the door barring their entrance. Tissian cursed under his breath and tensely fingered the hilt of his sword. This was something they hadn’t planned for. Their guards stepped forward to speak with those by the door whilst Tissian’s panic increased. Any moment one of them was going to ask why the throne room was not guarded by Borman’s personal guard, and when they found out that he wasn’t in there, all hellden would break loose.

Under normal circumstances taking out four guards would not be a problem for him, but with women present and the need not to attract attention paramount, this was not going to be easy. He looked to Jonderill for help, but he seemed to be half asleep again. In desperation he gave him a quick kick on the back of his foot and hoped it would go unnoticed.

Jonderill jumped slightly but was quick enough to take in the tense situation before he yelped. Instead, he took a pace forward.  “Ah, good, we’ve arrived before the King and his guests. Now open the door and let us go through so we can prepare the lady for the King’s arrival.”

The door guards looked at each other suspiciously and then back at Jonderill. “We have orders to let nobody pass into the throne room.”

“Of course you do, but those were this morning’s orders before the King’s unexpected guests arrived. Your new orders are to let us in so that King Borman’s lady can be suitably arrayed to greet him.” The guards still looked doubtful, so Jonderill gave an impatient and vastly exaggerated sigh. “Very well then, we’ll prepare the lady here in the corridor and you can explain to the King why his property is on display to anyone who passes.” He turned to the maid. “Remove her clothing.”

Birrit went to protest, but Tarraquin interrupted her. “It’s all right Birrit; the King has commanded it so I must obey.”

She started to remove her tunic and Jonderill gave her a surreptitious wink before turning back to the guards. “You can watch if you want but I don’t think that will improve the King’s mood very much.”

The eldest guard stepped forward, a look of worry on his face. “That’s enough, madam. You may wait for the King in the throne room.” He looked back at the other three and shrugged. “Well she isn’t going anywhere with us guardin’ the door, is she?”

They grumbled amongst themselves for a moment, but opened the door and let them pass. Inside the throne room it was dark and full of shadows. Blinds had been pulled over the high windows above the rows of columns blocking out the sunlight, and only a few of the lamps had been lit at the far end of the long chamber. They hurried forward, their hasty footsteps echoing around the empty room until they reached the line where the nobles of Leersland would usually stand when they attended their king. At the sound of steel being drawn they abruptly stopped and peered into the darkness. In front of them, at the foot of the throne, lay a wooden casket draped with Northshield’s banner, and from the shadows, two men dressed in black and armed with drawn swords stepped forward.

Tarraquin gave a small cry of alarm as she recognised Malingar, pale in the flickering candlelight with Tordray behind him. Tissian dropped his hands to his sword hilts but Tarraquin held up her hand to stop him before he could draw his steel. She stepped forward hesitantly.

“Captain Malingar, Tordray. What are you doing in here?”

“I could ask you the same question, madam, and its Lord Malingar now, knighted by the bastard himself in payment for the lives of those I loved.”

Tarraquin looked at him in puzzlement unsure about the unaccustomed catch in his voice. “Does that include me too?”

Malingar looked down at the wooden casket. “Yes, you and him and my sister.”

She still didn’t understand, but Jonderill did. He stepped forward and looked down at the small coffin too, his heart dropping at the sight. “Is that your brother?” Malingar nodded unable to speak. “I’m so sorry; he was a fine boy with so much potential who talked about you all the time.”

Malingar took a ragged breath and swallowed hard. “He talked about you too and how he wanted to be like you, just before he died.”

“How did it happen?”

Malingar’s anger exploded. “He was trying to protect my sister from being raped by Rastor. It’s all the bastards know, how to rape and kill and take what’s not theirs, but I will have my revenge, bit by bit, little by little, I will bring them both down.” He sheathed his sword and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “I’m taking him home to bury him, and taking the others with me away from their avaricious and uncaring hands. Believe me, My Lady, if I could undo my betrayal of you and return things to as they were I would, but the past cannot be undone, however much I would wish it so.”

“The past cannot,” said Tarraquin quietly. “But perhaps you can do something about the present and the future.”

Malingar looked up in confusion and then with sudden understanding. “I assume you have come here to use the passageway?”

Tarraquin nodded. “Will you stop me?”

“No. If it hurts Borman to lose you, then you’re more than free to go.”

He waved towards the tapestry behind the throne expecting them to hurry on their way but it was Tissian who stepped forward, his hands held away from his swords. “Lord Malingar, there are four of Rastor’s hand-picked men outside the door of this room who will shortly become very suspicious that the King has not come here to meet his lady, as we told them he would. It would be to the lady’s benefit if they weren’t able to follow us straight away, or call the alarm, and whilst it would only be a small revenge, Rastor would lose face if it could be made to look like his men allowed the lady to escape.”

Malingar nodded, almost managing a smile. “Will you assist?”

“I’d be delighted to help. Master, would you take the ladies and go? I will catch up with you outside the city wall where there are horses and supplies waiting for us.”

He watched as Jonderill led Tarraquin and Birrit to the tapestry behind the throne, each of them stepping forwards and then sideways to disappear behind it, before he turned back to Malingar.

“Shall we?”

This time Malingar did manage a smile. “It’s a pity that all Rastor will get is the sharp end of Borman’s tongue, and I’ll have already left and won’t be here to see it. Still, the heads of his four guards will be a pleasing addition to those lining the roadway to Tarmin’s city gates.”

They drew their swords and made their way to the throne room doors.

*

“You stupid, incompetent idiot!” screamed Borman. “Are you incapable of doing anything right? I entrust the security of the fortress to you and your men and what do you do? You let helpless prisoners escape without a trace.” He slammed his goblet down onto the table making the contents slosh over the top and puddle on the table like drops of blood. “What did your guards tell you before they died?”

“They said nothing, My Lord. All they could remember was that they were attacked when they entered the throne room and when they came to they were bound and gagged.”

“They were attacked by two defenceless women, a drugged boy and a half baked protector barely out of swaddling and they don’t remember anything?” He whipped his hand across the table in rage sending the goblet flying and spraying its contents across Rastor’s uniform. “And why have they not been found? How far can they go on foot without someone seeing them? One of them is a white robe for the goddess’s sake; he stands out like a bloody beacon. Surely someone must have seen him leaving the city?”

Rastor shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. “No one has seen them, Your Majesty. We’ve even questioned the gate guards.”

“Well question them again, with hot irons this time to jog their memory, and then their heads can join the others outside the gate, they have obviously failed to guard. I should have your head on a pike too for your failure, and would have, if Malingar hadn’t left to bury the brother you murdered. Now get out of my sight and don’t return until you have good news for me.”

Rastor bowed and almost ran from the room, grateful to still have his head on his shoulders. Borman poured himself another goblet of wine and stared into its depths before drinking it all down in one go. He refilled the goblet and took the seat on the raised dais in his receiving room.

“Callabris, stop skulking in the corner and come here.”

The white robe stepped from the corner of the room where he had watched Borman’s display of temper with disapproval. Allowyn followed two paces behind dressed in full armour.

“You told me that you had the boy under control. Could it be that he has more power than you thought and that he pushed your enchantment aside to slip your leash, or did you lie to me?”

Callabris thought for a long moment, needing to be careful of what he said. Even magicians were not immune from a king’s anger. “It would not be possible for him to do so without me knowing, but if he’s been moved away from my influence by another, then the enchantment would fade and I would be none the wiser.”

Borman stared hard at Allowyn. “So, if it wasn’t Jonderill who came up with the escape plan it must have been his protector who led him astray.”

Allowyn stepped forward to his master’s side, bristling at the slur against a protector’s honour. Callabris held out an arm to stop him but it was too late. “No, Your Majesty, that is not possible. We are trained to follow and to serve, not to tell our masters what should be done.”

This time Borman threw the goblet and its contents at the wall beside Allowyn’s head, the contents splashing his face, shirt and leathers. The protector didn’t flinch.

“Bloody protectors. They’re so full of themselves with their honour and their precious duty whilst hiding behind their master’s robes. Callabris, you will not bring him into my presence again, do you understand?”