The White Robe (67 page)

Gadrin made a deep, angry growl at the way they had been tricked, which Tarraquin ignored. “And he told me of how he arranged the death of your father, killed in a landslide so there would be no trace of who was behind it. He boasted that with your father gone, his son little better than an animal, and the Regent a gullible fool, the throne was there for the taking, in fact, the people would welcome him into the city with open arms and would place the crown on his head with joy.”

There was a stunned silence. It was beyond anything which Gadrin had ever experienced or Newn could have ever imagined. He was the first to move, revenge, anger and determination driving him. He stood and looked at Gadrin waiting for his comments but the look on his face was enough.

“How many troops can we raise in a moon cycle, Commander?”

“Ten thousand. More if we conscript apprentices and farmers’ boys.”

“Good, then conscript them. We go to war to avenge my father’s death, to regain Tarraquin’s throne and to wipe Borman and all who support his games from the lands of the six kingdoms.”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Counter Moves

Since taking the throne of Leersland nothing had gone right. Firstly, there had been the trouble with the escaped prisoners, and then the young white robe getting all upset about the executions. Then there had been his wife to be running off with the same magician and disappearing to goodness knows where. If that wasn’t bad enough, his own magician, when he had been ordered to track them down, had taken it into his head to break his vows of service and had presumably returned to the Enclave. That had left him, the King of Northshield and Leersland, without his support and vulnerable to anyone who could afford to hire a magic worker. To top the lot, Rastor had messed with Malingar’s family, resulting in him losing the services of one of his best captains. He would rather have had Malingar at his side now instead of that fool Rastor, who he had reluctantly let back into his presence, but Malingar had gone so, Rastor would have to do.

Borman finished his goblet of wine and placed it heavily back on the table, resisting the temptation to throw it at someone. Rastor hurried forward and refilled it from the flagon on the dresser, just like a hound trying to please his master. He wished Rastor was a hound and then he could kick some sense into him. Instead he took another drink of wine. The man kneeling on the floor in front of him could probably do with a drink too but he would have to wait.

“Tell me again from the beginning, and slowly this time.”

The man, one of Northshield’s best trackers, looked up and swallowed hard. He had never been in the presence of his king before, but had been warned by others about his temper and the consequences of failing him.

“I followed the trail of Captain Sharman’s search party as you ordered, Your Majesty. Despite it being some time ago, the trail was easy to follow as they had made no attempt to cover their tracks. They had been seen searching the road to the magician’s tower and then they returned, so I started tracking them from the forest’s edge. Sharman and his troop skirted around the edge of the forest and must have picked up the trail of the escaped prisoners to the south and west as I found the remains of two campsites close to each other.”

The tracker paused to catch his breath and order his thoughts. “I found signs of a battle at the first Crosslands Gap Bridge, mainly scattered bones and rusty weapons. At the second Crosslands Bridge I found the remains of some hounds but no sign that there had been a battle. I searched around and found the tracks of six horses heading west, which included at least two of the mounts belonging to the escaped prisoners that I had been following. There were also tracks from around twenty horsemen turning back towards the forest. There were no tracks to indicate where the rest of the horsemen had gone.”

The kneeling man hesitated. He hadn’t told the king about the burn marks he had found in his first report and wondered if he included it now whether Borman would spot the omission and take it out on him.

“Get on with it man, I haven’t got all day!” Borman swallowed down half of his wine and slammed the goblet onto the table.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The only other thing I found there was a strip of burnt grass that felt greasy to touch, like someone had cooked something over it. As you commanded I followed the prisoners, but at the next camp they split up and went in four different directions. One set was fresher than the rest, as if two of the group had stayed at the camp for another night, or perhaps two, so I followed those tracks. The tracks led to the village of Crosslands. I made enquiries at the inn and found that the white robe and his protector had stayed there whilst the protector was tended to by a healer. The innkeeper said that the protector had been wounded in some sort of battle. They had moved on before I arrived and due to the heavy rain I was unable to pick up their trail.”

“Did you find out the white robe’s name?” interrupted Rastor.

“Yes, sir, it was Jonderill, the one I had been sent to track.”

“Who in Hellden do you think it was going to be, Rastor, you fool?” snapped Borman angrily. “There are only two white robes in the six kingdoms and we know that Callabris is travelling north. Go on, tracker.”

With the trail being washed out, I decided to go south into Tarbis, hoping that I could find some information about the group of four who had set off together, and that’s when I saw the army. They were camped in farmland just south of the Vinmore border and it looked like they were still gathering.”

“How large was this army?”

Four, perhaps five thousand and at least a quarter of them mounted. I stayed in the area for two days, during which more men arrived along with large wagon trains of supplies, more horses and siege weapons. The camp was well laid out and there were constant patrols, so I couldn’t get too close, but I did have the luck to run into a scout camp on the second night and shared my spare skin of wine with them. It seems that their king doesn’t like them to drink too much.”

“King?” Borman stood and took a step forward to almost stand over the cringing man. “What king?

“King Newn, Your Majesty, or at least King Newn Designate as he hasn’t been crowned yet, but he will be now the Regent’s dead.”

“Bloody Hellden!” screamed Borman, finally losing control and throwing his half full goblet of wine at the wall. “Why didn’t you say this before, you stupid idiot.” He stalked back to the dresser and banged his fist down hard making the empty goblets rattle together. “Go on.”

“There’s nothing more to tell, Your Majesty. I thought you would want to know what I saw so I rode back here as fast as I could.”

“Did you find out where the army was going to be sent?” questioned Rastor.

“Don’t be such a bloody fool, Rastor. They’re coming here aren’t they, either straight here through the Crosslands Gap or into Vinmore and across the Blue River. Newn will want his revenge and perhaps Vinmore as well whilst he has an army there.” He thought for a moment and then banged his fist down hard again on the dresser making the tracker jump. “Hellden’s balls, he’s after the six kingdoms, the young sly hunter! He’s going to take Vinmore before me and then move east. Well, I won’t have it! I will take Vinmore and move south and intercept him before he can cross into Leersland.”

He turned back to Rastor, his anger gone to be replaced by a look which his Guardcaptain knew only too well. Rastor hesitated for a moment but knew he had to say something before he was given orders which would be impossible to carry out. “Newn has a head start on us, My Lord. Even if it was possible for us to set out straight away, there wouldn’t be time to take Vinmore and hold him in Tarbis.”

“Then we’ll set a trap and go around behind him.” Borman poured himself some more wine and turned to pace the room, almost falling over the tracker who was still kneeling on the floor. “You! Out! Before I have you flogged! Rastor, how many men can we have on Vinmore’s border by full moon?”

Rastor made a quick calculation whilst the tracker scuttled from the room. “Around five thousand, if we take a mixed force and some conscripts, two thousand if it’s just our own men from Northshield.”

“Take every man from Tarmin who can hold a weapon, I’ll not leave any behind who might be tempted to stab me in the back. Take them and put them on the border awaiting my command.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Rastor waited for further orders.

“Well, don’t just stand there, move!”

The Guardcaptain ran for the door and Borman watched him leave, tapping his foot impatiently. He poured himself more wine, took a long drink and put the goblet down, deciding that he’d had enough and needed a clear head. Another thing gone wrong; it had to be this cursed country. He hated being forced into action without having time to plan, but somehow the boy had escaped the enchantment and was now after his blood. Five thousand men were not going to be enough, he needed more and he needed them in place quickly if he was going to set a trap. The problem was, his men were scattered all over the north and his best commander was skulking on his estate on the wrong side of Leersland.

It was no good, he needed Malingar whether he was ready to return to duty or not. Due to Rastor’s stupidity, he had lost his hold over him and he couldn’t be absolutely certain of his loyalty any more. He could have bribed him with promises of land or wealth, but he had already given Malingar as big a reward as he was prepared to grant any man. Or had he? He smiled to himself at the memory of an under aged-guard who had said he wanted to be the king’s Guardcaptain. Perhaps that ambition was still there, that and the need for revenge could be a powerful motivator.

Of course it would have to be done with subtly so as not to alert Rastor, but if Malingar could spot what he was offering, he was sure he would respond. Malingar with an army gathered in the north could cross the Deeling Pass, ride at speed through Vinmore and come in behind Newn and his army. He rubbed his hands in anticipation; if luck and timing was on his side he could, perhaps, be master of the six kingdoms before next summer solstice after all.

*

Sharman had been in two minds about what to do. Should he follow the Blue River and take his men north, or should he take his chances with the new lord of Andron’s estates and return home. Going north was probably the safest; as far away from Borman as he could get. He’d heard that the land on the north coast was wild and deserted so they could all become crofters or fishermen, although the cold and the wet didn’t appeal to him that much.

The alternative was to cross over into Essenland and become brigands. Essenland was well populated and had silver mines and even some gold and copper mines, so there would be plenty of pickings for disciplined brigands who could move fast and then disappear. Unfortunately, it also had a large militia that ruthlessly hunted down brigands, and liked to play with their prisoners before they executed them. He didn’t fancy that at all and apart from that, Essenland was a long way and he’d had enough of sitting on the bag of bones which was his grumpy old horse. So he’d led his squad of men back through the forest and into the farmland of Andron’s old estate.

He had talked to the men about it of course, he always did when big decisions needed to be made which would affect their lives; it was the way he did things. It didn’t mean that he always did what they wanted, but at least he listened. In this case, his men were in two minds, just like he was. None of them fancied being fishermen, although a few wouldn’t have minded being brigands despite the likelihood of a gruesome dearth. But most had family back on Andron’s estate and were willing to take the chance that the new lord, whoever he was, would turn a blind eye to their desertion, in exchange for the extra hands to work the land and the extra swords to defend his borders.

It had been a good decision. The introductions had been a bit difficult, not knowing who the new lord was and how strong his allegiance would be to Borman, but once he explained why he had given up chasing the prisoners and had let them go things became a lot easier. It also helped that they had a mutual enemy in Guardcaptain Rastor and had since shared an ale or two drinking to his downfall. It hadn’t worked out quite as he had expected though. Lord Malingar was new to being a lord and running a big estate, so whilst his men had been allowed to return to their families, he had ended up being promoted to steward of his master’s estate. It wasn’t fair, his horse got to retire but he didn’t.

Still, he didn’t mind too much; Malingar was an intelligent young man with a dry sense of humour and they had really taken to each other. It was a bit like father and son, only with more respect and less arguing. In the daytime he would see to the running of the estate whilst his lord practiced with his sword and drilled his armsmen. In the evening they would share an ale or a flagon of wine, and talk about whatever took their fancy, from crop rotation to grunter weaning to the best steel to use for sword making. They rarely talked about Borman, but what they would like to do to Rastor, along with a toast to his downfall, which was how they usually finished their evening.