The White Robe (59 page)

He strode across to the fire, kicking a small table out of the way, and stood scowling with his back to the flames. “You, Callabris, will find Jonderill and the woman and bring them back to me. They cannot have gone too far so it shouldn’t be a long or difficult task. Use your magic as necessary to locate them and immobilise them if need be. I don’t want either of them harmed, and if you could explain to Jonderill, in lasting terms this time, that he has a duty of service to his king, it would save all of us a great deal of trouble.”

He waved his hand in dismissal and watched them leave, warming himself by the fire before pulling the bell cord at its side. Within moments his two personal guards had entered escorting the Guardcaptain of the late Lord Andron.

“Captain Sharman, I’m told that you are a respected leader of men, and I’ve seen your ability to take the initiative, so I have a task for you which if completed successfully will result in you being promoted back to the position you once held under Great Lord Andron. You are to take three squads of men and a pack of fang hounds and track down the escaped prisoners. I want it done tonight, in secret and without Callabris or his pet hound knowing you have left. You will bring the white robe back alive, although I don’t mind if he is a bit battered, and you may do what you wish with the rest. Do you think you can do this thing for me?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Sharman bowed and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Sharman, your squad leaders have been ordered to kill you if you even look like you’ll betray me, so don’t return here without Jonderill in tow, unless you want your head on a pike adorning my city walls.”

*

Allowyn followed his master back to their rooms and hurriedly excused himself with a mumbled apology about his shirt which Callabris didn’t quite catch. Callabris watched him go with an uneasy feeling, and then wandered off to his own room, sitting in a soft chair and rubbing his aching head with his fingertips. As soon as he had heard about the escape he knew that Jonderill had to be a part of it, and that there would be trouble. He had tried his best to keep Jonderill out of things and away from Borman, but it seemed that the harder he tried to keep the peace and keep people safe, the worse things became. Now he would have to go and find the young white robe and bring him back, before the king lost his patience and Jonderill lost his head.

Then there was the issue with Allowyn and Tissian; both as prickly as a desert bush. They were never going to allow their masters to be alone with the King without themselves being present. If he was going to prevent bloodshed, he needed to persuade Borman that a white robe was of little use without his shadow behind him. He gave a deep sigh and looked up as his own shadow entered the room, shocked to see that he was naked from the waist up. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a cane with barbs on it, and in the other hand, his long side knife. He closed his eyes for a moment in dismay; he thought he knew what this was all about, but prayed to the goddess that he was wrong.

Allowyn sunk to his knees in front of him and placed the knife and cane on either side before bowing his head to touch the floor. He lifted his head but not enough to look into his master’s concerned face. “Master, I have broken my vows of duty and obedience to you and have placed you in danger. I have come to you as prescribed for your judgement and punishment.”

Callabris closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Borman was right, protectors were full of vows and honour and self righteousness. He knew the form of this ritual although, thank the goddess, he had never had reason to use it. He wished he didn’t have to use it now, but he was as much bound by the protector’s code of honour as the man kneeling on the floor before him. “What have you done, protector?”

“Master, I have gone against your wishes and have spoken to my brother protector of the enchantment you laid upon his master, Jonderill of the white, for which I must be beaten.” He held out the barbed cane which Callabris reluctantly took from him. “Master, I have placed you in danger by helping Jonderill, Tarraquin and the others to escape. I gave them our horses so that, if they were caught, the King would know it was you and I that helped them to leave this place. For this my life is forfeit.” He held the knife to his breast gripping the hilt with both hands.”

Callabris shook his head forgetting all about the words of the ritual. “Put the knife down, Allowyn.” he said gently, “and tell me why you did these things.”

Allowyn lowered the knife to the ground, his hand as steady as if he had been using it to skin a hopper for their dinner.

“I did them because what you have done in the name of service to your king, against Jonderill and Tarraquin and the others, was wrong and one day you would realise this and would be consumed with guilt. I had to do something to protect you from that day and from the demands Borman makes of you. This was the only thing I could think of which would prevent you doing things which you would regret forever. It was the only thing I could do to take you away from him.” He picked up the knife again and pressed it to his breast hard enough to produce a small trickle of blood.

His words of reproach hit Callabris like a physical blow and, if he hadn’t been seated, he would have staggered from its force. In all the years they had been together, Allowyn had never questioned his actions or censored him for what he had done, until now. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts whilst Allowyn’s blood continued to trickle from above his heart.

“Yes, what you did was wrong, Allowyn,” he said at last. “But it seems to me that what you did was more to do with your devotion to me than anything to do with failed duty, and a protector’s honour does not demand death for devotion to your master.”

“No, master.” Allowyn put the knife back on the floor, his hand a little less steady this time. “But I have been disobedient and the punishment is prescribed for that too.”

“Yes it is.” Callabris picked up the cane. It was a wicked thing with knots and barbs to rip the skin as well as to cut the flesh. Holding the weapon should have made him sick, but it didn’t, so he knew that Allowyn must have prepared it himself. Carefully he touched the tip lightly on the protector’s shoulder and traced a faded scar that ran diagonally across his back to his waist. “Where did you get that?”

Allowyn was surprised by the question. “It was when you and Coberin were attacked by bandits in the Carven Hills, master.”

He traced three diagonal scars which ran from shoulder to shoulder. “And those?”

“When a wildcat attacked you and brought you from your horse in Tarbis’s highlands.”

He touched a long discoloured burn mark down one side of Allowyn’s back. “And that?”

“When I pulled you out of a burning way house in Essenland, master.”

“Do you know how many scars you’ve gained over the years saving my life?

“No, master.”

Callabris shook his head. “No, nor do I, but I’m certainly not going to add to them by using this thing on you.” He stood and threw the offending stick into the corner of the room and then offered Allowyn his hand. “Come, my friend. If it’s punishment you want, you can gather all our things together so we can exchange this place of opulence and comfort for the hard ground and cold winds of an open camp. We’re leaving this place in the morning, Allowyn, but not to search for Jonderill. When we leave here we’ll go north and then on to the Enclave where we can both ask for the goddess’s forgiveness for what we’ve done, and for those things we might have done if devotion hadn’t intervened.”

~   ~   ~   ~

Old Friends and New

The horses were waiting just as Allowyn had promised they would be, saddled and with their few possessions tied behind. Sansun showed his pleasure at being reunited with his master by butting him gently in the chest and searching his pockets for treats. Beside the other large horses stood a small, grey mare which Birrit eyed with trepidation; city girls, especially whores, never rode. This was going to be a new experience for her, and despite her mistress’s assurances that riding was easy, it was an experience she wasn’t looking forward to. Next to the mare stood a sturdy pack horse laden with enough provisions and camp gear to keep them going until they reached their destination, and beyond that if necessary.

It would have been so much better if they could have slipped away in darkness, but that was the time when Borman usually sent for Tarraquin. They would have been quickly missed and then easily recovered before they had gone very far. As it was, they walked their horses around the outside of the city wall keeping as close to its shadow as possible and constantly looking behind them.

When they came in sight of one of the many tracks which led from the nearby villages to Tarmin, they mounted at the last moment and hoped that they would blend in with the other traffic coming in and going away from the city. Allowyn had suggested this particular track as it was always busy with small groups of merchants, and they wouldn’t stand out with their laden pack horse and well worn travelling cloaks. The only real problem had been Jonderill’s robe, which in his confused state he had been reluctant to remove, but eventually Tissian had persuaded him to exchange it for shirt and breeches until they reached the forest edge.

That had been this morning, and now, in the evening gloom, Tarraquin led the way. She picked a pathway between the closely spaced trees, and led them around hidden dells and dense thickets where the entwined brambles made it impossible for the horses to pass with riders on their backs. Tissian hoped that she knew where she was going, because he certainly didn’t. Without moon or stars to navigate by he was as lost as he could be.

If it had been up to him he would have stuck to the main paths and ridden hard and fast. However, he supposed Tarraquin was right; with Birrit never having sat on a horse before, and Jonderill so weary that he could barely sit up straight, galloping for long distances was not a viable option. He looked over his shoulder for a hundredth time and wondered if their absence had been discovered yet, and if so, who and how many were following them, and would Callabris and Allowyn be amongst them.

Up ahead, Tarraquin pulled her horse to a halt and slipped from the saddle as lightly as if she had been riding for a candle length instead of most of the day. Tissian rode up alongside her, taking in their surroundings. They had arrived at a tiny clearing surrounded by a ring of weiswald trees, their thick limbs spreading out to touch each other as if they were holding hands and forming a roof of branches and leaves overhead. It was unusual to find the ancient trees in a forest full of white bark and everleaf, but it was a place which was clearly known to travellers. A quantity of chopped wood was piled up by a fire pit surrounded by stones, and several small pots and a cauldron were stacked neatly beside a spring which bubbled up between two moss covered stones, and then disappeared again into a crack in the ground.

Tissian dismounted and took the lead rein of Birrit’s horse, tying it to a branch and helping her to dismount on unsteady legs. Ignoring the tears of discomfort in her eyes, he helped her to a space by the spring and left her there in Tarraquin’s care. He turned back and hurried over to Jonderill who had at least managed to dismount by himself, but stood at Sansun’s head looking confused.

“Where in hellden am I, Tissian? I feel as though I have been asleep for a seven day. What in the goddess’s name is going on?”

Tissian smiled to himself in relief. “You’ve not been well master, but I think you’re going to be alright now. We decided that it was time to leave Tarmin, so Tarraquin and her maid took the opportunity to come with us.”

“Tarraquin?” He looked blank for a moment and then opened his eyes wide in surprise as the memory of what had happened came flooding back. “Good goddess, I think I’m losing my mind!”

He hurried over to Tarraquin and gave her a hug as if he hadn’t seen her for a very long time. Tissian smiled at the surprised look on her face and left them to it, whilst he went to unsaddle the horses and see to their comfort. By the time he had finished, Tarraquin had a small, smokeless fire going, and a single pot of stew, made from dried meat, wild onions and forest mushrooms, was bubbling over the fire.

Jonderill, who had changed back into his robe, was sitting next to Birrit talking to her quietly, obviously trying to give her some comfort and encouragement. She looked pale and tired, but then again, they all did. He sat on the ground on the other side of the fire and gratefully took the small pot of stew and the wooden spoon which Tarraquin passed to him. It wasn’t much, but at least it was hot, and the travel bread helped it to go further. As soon as they had finished, Tarraquin smothered the fire, making sure that there was no smoke which could be seen or smelled from a distance. The last thing they wanted to do was give their location away to anyone who was following them.

They were tired and dispirited and the darkness seemed to make things worse, so Jonderill lit the small travel lamp, giving them just enough light to see each other by, and handed around a flask of grain spirit, allowing each of them just enough of the fiery liquid to warm them through.

“Do you think they’re following us yet?” asked Birrit in a small, frightened voice, breaking the tense silence.

“They could be, but it’s much more likely that they’ve gone to check Maladran’s tower hoping to catch us on the way. They might have guessed that’s where I would make for.” Jonderill gave Birrit an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry so much, we have a good head start and Tarraquin knows these woods better than anyone I know.”

“Except Jarrul,” put in Tarraquin quietly.

“Yes, except Jarrul.” He glared at her and tried again to lift their spirits. “With luck we’ll make it to the rebels’ old hide out before tomorrow nightfall, where we can rest for a few days, and then we can double back through the forest until we reach the tower where we will be safe.”

“What are we going to do when we get to the tower? asked Birrit, “I mean they’re still going to be watching it aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I’m certain that I can get us in there without them stopping us, and once we’re inside, even Callabris won’t be able to get in. Then we just wait until they give up and go away.”

Tarraquin looked dubious. “Borman doesn’t strike me as a man who would give up and go away easily.”

Jonderill shrugged and tried not to sound irritable. “No plan is perfect, but if you have a better idea then I’m happy to listen.”

“No, I don’t have a plan,” she said miserably.

“Then let’s just get some sleep shall we? It will be dawn in a candle length or two and we’ll need to be on our way as soon as it’s light enough to see where we’re going.” He blew out the lamp and rolled over dragging his blanket over his head.

He woke to the pre-dawn whistling of sky flyers calling to each other, and the very faint, low hiccoughing sound of someone crying to themselves, and doing their best not to be heard by others. Birrit lay asleep nearby and Tissian had gone, presumably having spent the night on watch further back down their trail. That just left Tarraquin, so he looked around the early morning gloom trying to find her.

She wasn’t in the clearing, so he rolled from his blanket and followed the sounds of sobbing until he found her sitting with her back against an everleaf, on the other side of the spring and a little way into the woods. He felt guilty about being so sharp with her the previous night; this couldn’t be easy on her either, so he went and sat beside her. It was difficult to know what to say to a woman, who had gone through so much, to stop her crying, so he reached for her hands to give her some comfort and noticed the small silver box that she was holding.

“What have you got there?”

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and held the box out to him so he could see the two tiny silver leaves inside resting on the boxes green, velvet lining. “A friend gave it to me and said that if life ever became too difficult to bear, then I was to open this box and these would remind me of him, and give me hope of better things.” She carefully closed the box and held it closely to her. “Oh, Jonderill, I’ve lost them all, my friend, who I left when he needed me, Istan, Jarrul and even Malingar. You and Birrit are all that I have left.”

Jonderill put his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder and some time, just before the sun filtered through the trees, they comforted each other with their bodies, making gentle love underneath the trees.

If Tissian had seen them he gave no indication as he walked out from amongst the trees, waving at them and looking as fresh as if he had slept all night in a feather bed rather than keeping watch the entire time perched on a branch in a tree. “Lord. We need to leave soon. They’ll be on our trail by now.”

Jonderill helped Tarraquin to her feet and gave her a gentle smile whilst she put on the determined face that he knew so well. She gave Jonderill’s hand a firm squeeze and Tissian a smile. “You’re right, let’s go.”

*

They rode for half a day in the gloomy woodland and then had to stop, as Birrit was too sore and exhausted to go on, and the bruises on Tarraquin’s ribs, an unwanted gift from Borman, made it difficult for her to ride further. Not knowing how far behind their pursuers might be, they made a cold camp in a hidden hollow, and both Tissian and Jonderill kept watch whilst the women slept. When darkness came and the women felt a little better they set off again, Tarraquin leading the way with the lead rein from Birrit’s horse tied to her saddle. Tissian brought up the rear, often dropping back to check if they were being followed. With the unplanned delay and frequent stops, it was well beyond dawn before they cautiously approached the large forest clearing which Tarraquin and Jonderill knew well. It was from here Tarraquin had once led the rebel band.

It had been a long time since the camp had last been occupied, and the forest had begun to reclaim what it had once owned. Creeper had grown up the sides of the huts and thick grass grew in tufts on the sod roofs. There were even some spindly saplings which had grown to waist height in their rush to reach the sun before the forest canopy returned to block the sunlight from the clearing. For all that, the place didn’t feel deserted. There were fresh footprints in the dirt which the breeze hadn’t yet had a chance to blow away, and there was a smell in the air of old food and last night’s cold ashes.

They left Birrit with the horses, whilst Tissian made his way silently from one hut to another, heading for the place where the smell of last night’s fire was the strongest. Jonderill made his way around the other side of the clearing, keeping to the trees and desperately thinking of some sort of magic which would be of use if Tissian ran into something he couldn’t handle. He watched, as his protector scooted from the last hut to the one they suspected was occupied, and pressed himself up against the wall by the door. Jonderill gave him a sign that he was ready and behind him, Tarraquin waved Jonderill’s old iron blade in the air to show that she too was able to help if he needed it.

Taking a deep breath Tissian swung around, kicked the door open with as much force as he could manage so that it crashed against the wall on its leather hinges and dived forward into a roll to avoid anyone with a bolt bow. He came out of his roll and froze with his sword extended, its tip resting against the hollow of the throat of the startled man in front of him. The man didn’t look very dangerous, in fact he looked terrified, but Tissian wasn’t fooled. He held his position as the man tried to sink further into the solid wall behind him and waited for Jonderill and Tarraquin to back him up.