The White Robe (9 page)

Rastor tried hard to keep the smile off his face but it was difficult. He had served Borman as his Guardcaptain for fifteen summers and knew all his moods. This one would pass quickly if he could find his master the right sort of distraction.

“The men will recover, My Lord and the lords of the north were extremely grateful for your intervention. Without you coming to their aid they would have lost their homes and their lands. As it is, only the coastal lords lost anything and most of that can be rebuilt using the wealth we took from the north men’s boats. And then there are the slaves we have taken. They have been particularly useful in raising the men’s spirits.”

Borman looked up and Rastor gave him a wolfish grin. “You have tried one?”

“Several, My Lord. They fight like demons but we have them chained so their claws can’t reach you but they do grunt and squirm as you plough them. Perhaps my lord would like to take his pleasure with one or two?” Borman shook his head and took a gulp of wine, grimacing at the acid taste. “There are a few boys worth having as well if you would prefer, My Lord. They’re not virgins any more but some are still tight enough to make the experience worthwhile.”

“No, Rastor, I’m not in the mood tonight for such pleasures. No, what I need is news. Is there no word from Callabris?”

“No, My Lord. We escorted him as far as the border of Tarbis and then left him there. His protector has returned to the Enclave and as far as I know he’s still there.”

Borman scowled and stared thoughtfully into the fire. “I shouldn’t have separated them. Callabris is too vulnerable to be without his protector and if anything should happen to Callabris I will be at a disadvantage. What I need is another magician; a black would be good but failing that another white who knows how to look after himself and has more ambition than Callabris and has less scruples.

“I wonder if there’s any more news of that boy we watched in Vinmore? Callabris was very taken with him and thought he had potential. That was some years back so he must have improved by now. Perhaps I should take a trip to the Enclave whilst I’m in the north and talk to the High Master and even sample some of the delights that the acolytes offer to important visitors.”

“Travelling through Essenland uninvited may be more difficult now that Vorgret is king,” suggested Rastor. “I hear that he has posted more men on his borders and that anyone who travels through his kingdom without his permission is taken for ransom or to work in his silver mines.”

“Don’t be so stupid. He’s hardly going to attack the king of Northshield on the way to worship at the goddess’s temple is he? Yes, that would get me out of this dreary hole and if the boy is there I could purchase him. With a magician like that at my command I could move into any of the six kingdoms any time I pleased. Even Sandstrone would fall before me. Talking of Sandstrone, has there been any news of my cousin?”

“None as yet, My Lord. The girl has been sent to Vorgret to serve his needs and I have returned Prince Iselin’s remains after my men had finished playing with him. It wasn’t a pretty sight so I expect Tallison will take his revenge out on Rothers and will return him in pieces at some time in the future. It’s a pity about Rothers though; he made a good body servant and he was the nearest thing you have to a successor.”

Rastor took a deep breath. This wasn’t the best time to talk about the succession but as he had raised the subject and had not been instantly dismissed he decided to continue. “Your Majesty, some of the lords have been talking amongst themselves and they are really concerned about the succession and what will happen to Northshield if you have no son to follow you.” He waited for the usual explosion of anger when the succession was mentioned but only received an irritated grunt. “Some of the lords say that you should name a successor and take them into your confidence just in case.”

“I bet they do,” snapped Borman. “What do you think would happen if I raised one of them up to be my heir?”

Rastor thought about it for a moment. “I suppose the others would be a bit put out.”

“You’re damned well right they would be put out. They would gang up in little factions and before I knew it, I would have a civil war on my hands with me in the centre of it. They’re like a pack of hounds; give them nothing and they lick your hands in supplication, give them a bone and all hellden breaks out.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did think.”

“Well, what about taking a wife? Lord Drest’s daughter’s a pretty thing and Lord Tooley’s eldest is quite charming.”

“One’s hardly out of nappies and the other’s as fat as a grunter,” muttered Borman disdainfully.

Rastor continued despite his master’s acerbic comments. “Then there’s Lord Sullin’s youngest; she’s not married and I hear that she is quite something in bed.”

“They are all ugly, fat or sluts and none of them are worthy to be my queen.” He sighed in frustration. “The problem is that not one of the six kings has bothered to sire a female heir with the exception of Steppen and the Princess Daun but she’s married to that idiot boy, Pellum.”

“She’s a queen now that Steppen has abdicated.” Borman glowered at him but Rastor continued regardless. “Perhaps when you’ve taken Vinmore and got rid of Pellum you could marry her. I bet with her tits and long legs to push apart she’d be a great fuck.”

“Enough!” screamed Borman. “Get out!”

He threw his half full goblet of wine at the wall where Rastor had stood moments before. The silver goblet bounced from the wall splashing the contents across the cream stone like droplets of blood. The door closed loudly behind him and he looked for something else to throw, but as there was nothing to hand he kicked the smouldering logs with the sole of his boot heel sending sparks flying upwards.

If there was one thing he hated it was Rastor’s crudeness and lack of insight, but he was right of course; Daun was the only real option and it would make his conquest of Vinmore just that bit more palatable to that country’s inhabitants if he married her and she gave him a son. A hesitant knock came at the door and he scowled as Rastor poked his head around the edge of the door.

“My Lord,” said Rastor quickly before Borman had a chance to shout or throw something else at him. “My Lord, there is a messenger just arrived for you from Captain Malingar.”

“At last. Show him in.”

Rastor opened the door wide and ushered a man in mismatched clothing forward. He followed him into the room and closed the door behind whilst the messenger went down on one knee and bowed his head waiting for permission to speak. Borman vaguely recalled the man as one of his veterans and one of those who had been chosen to serve with Malingar to make sure he remained loyal and wasn’t tempted to branch out on his own. He felt irritated that the man was here instead of watching Malingar for signs of treachery but clearly the man had ridden hard for many days; his clothes were splattered with mud and his face was grey and lined with exhaustion.

Borman nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Well?”

“Your Majesty, Captain Malingar sends his compliments and begs to report that King Sarrat has repelled Tallison’s nomads from Leersland at considerable cost to his army but with minimal loss to those you sent to assist him. Captain Malingar reports that he has returned to Tarmin and, as you ordered, has made contact with the rebels and awaits King Sarrat’s return.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty, the captain doesn’t share his plans with his men but we have been told to treat King Sarrat’s returning army as our brothers in arms.”

“Good. Rastor, what do you think? You know Malingar better than me.”

“I would say he’s doing just what you commanded him to do by keeping Sarrat sweet and staying in his good books until you’re ready to move. If he can hand the rebels over to Sarrat when he returns that will get Malingar close to the king. It’s a pity that the rebel leader will have to be handed over though, I met her when I was delivering your gold to support her cause and she is something quite special. She’s meant to be King Malute’s daughter you know.”

Borman raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at the messenger. “I believe so, Your Majesty, although I haven’t seen her myself.”

“It’s a pity Sarrat won’t appreciate her,” put in Rastor with a wolfish grin.

“It can’t be helped.” Borman poured himself another goblet of wine and stared thoughtfully into its depths. “When you’re rested you are to return to the captain and tell him to continue ingratiating himself with Sarrat until I tell him otherwise. And tell him to keep the girl from harm if he can.”

The messenger stood and bowed and then left the room as Rastor opened the door for him. He closed the door again and turned back to the king with a smile on his face.

“Take that stupid smirk off your face, this is business not pleasure. Now get those who are fit to travel ready to move. We leave in the morning for Wallmore and the rest can follow when they are able.”

“Yes, My Lord, and perhaps some entertainment?”

Borman scowled at the suggestion but then thought about it. No, I will leave the prisoners to you but do ask Lord Sullen’s daughter if she would care to join me for a nightcap.

*

Tarraquin looked at the smudged plan drawn on the back of an old shirt in charcoal and frowned. “I can’t make head or tail of this,” she grumbled. “It looks like a tangle of dirt crawlers have squirmed across it with dirty feet and have left muddy prints behind. It could be anywhere.”

Across the table propped up in a padded chair Jarrul studied the upside down plan trying to make out which lines represented the outside walls of the fortress and which were the corridors and rooms. He’d been a huntsman all his life and could follow the faintest of animal tracks through any kind of forest, but reading a plan, particularly such a rough one as the one on the table, was beyond him.

The other problem was that his heart wasn’t in it. The last time they had tried to get into Sarrat’s fortress it had ended in disaster. Half of the rebel force had been killed in the streets when Lord Tulreth had betrayed them and they had been the lucky ones. He and twelve companions had been captured and taken to Maladran’s tower where they had been turned into stone monsters and he had been tortured. If it hadn’t been for Jonderill rescuing him he would have died there.

He looked down at his bandaged hands and wrists and moved uncomfortably in his chair. The healer said he would recover despite being half a hand span taller than before he had became Maladran’s reluctant guest. It was unlikely that he would ever have the strength to draw a bow again, or the ability to creep quietly through the forest. Sometimes he wondered if putting Tarraquin on the throne of Leersland would be worth all the pain and death that had gone before. He would do almost anything for the woman he secretly adored but the thought of trying to get into the fortress again terrified him.

“What we need is someone who has worked inside the fortress and knows the passages and the way to the throne room. If they worked with my man Tordray, who is good with maps and plans, they could come up with something which would make more sense than this thing.”

Jarrul looked up at the man who had spoken as he leaned over Tarraquin’s shoulder and pointed at the plan on the table. He was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and at that moment his body was pressed against Tarraquin’s side and his lips were far too close to her ear for his liking. It wasn’t that he disliked Malingar, he just didn’t trust him. Until recently he’d been fighting the nomads on the border with Sandstrone alongside Sarrat and here he was plotting with the rebels to overthrow the very same king. It didn’t make sense. Why would a mercenary with nearly five hundred men to arm and feed change sides and align themselves with a coinless rebel?