The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (34 page)

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It was difficult to decide what to take and what to leave behind so they piled everything they wanted to take onto their beds and then argued the case with each other over the usefulness of what the other had chosen, discarding the rejected items into a heap on the floor. Finally, just before they came to blows, they settled upon Plantagenet’s journal and Animus’s record of his experiments, a small bag of gold coins and a larger bag of food. They changed their slippers for their winter boots and chose their heavy winter cloaks even though the cool season was still some time away.

The biggest problem was the spell. The last time Animus had used it he had put the entire city to sleep, himself and Plantagenet included, and they would have still been asleep if Jonderill hadn’t rescued them. This time they needed something much more subtle but Animus wasn’t very good at producing delicate spells. Plantagenet on the other hand had never tried the spell before and was uncertain how much power he would have to use in order for it to be effective and not catastrophic. In the end they decided that Animus should cast the spell and Plantagenet would be ready to dampen the spell down if it got out of hand.

If they hadn’t been so worried about all the things which could go wrong with their plan they would have been sad at leaving their home, but as it was they stepped out into the darkness, closed the door behind them and didn’t look back. They hurried along the pathway that ran around the inside of the palace wall and almost made it to the kitchen entrance before they were stopped by two guards coming the other way. If they had been the queen’s royal guards or the palace guards, they would have known something was amiss as the two old magicians never ventured out at night. However, these two were strangers and the mention of Sadrin’s name was enough to make the guards step back and let them carry on with their nocturnal journey.

Having never been out after dark for longer than either could remember they weren’t sure who would be in the kitchen at that time of night. When they slipped through the door and into the kitchen’s warmth there were only two people still about. The hearth boy, who tended the fires at night and had the ovens hot for the first baking of the morning, was asleep under the table. The other person was the Housecharge. He sat in the chair close to the hearth looking miserable but looked up in surprise when the two magicians entered. They had never been friends and the Housecharge had always resented them from the day they had taken Jonderill from his kitchens to be their apprentice but at least they weren’t the enemy. He stood and tried to glower at them for invading his domain but his heart wasn’t in it so he sat back down and waited for the magicians to hurry over.

“It’s not often we see you in the palace at night,” began the Housecharge.

“No, we usually have no reason to be here but tonight we have come to see someone.”

The Housecharge raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You have, have you? Now who might that be?”

Animus stepped from behind Plantagenet to stand belligerently in front of the Housecharge. Their builds were similar except that the Housecharge towered over the small magician. “We’ve come to see the Lady Tarraquin.”

The Housecharge looked even more surprised and did his best not to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Everyone knew that the two doddering magicians were ancient and inept and hadn’t left the tower and the palace precincts for an age. “And how do you intend to do that? She’s kept under lock and key and her room is guarded.”

Plantagenet didn’t like to be questioned. He pulled himself up to his full height and looked down his long nose at the man who seemed to be going out of his way to obstruct them. “How we are going to achieve that is magicians’ business and nothing to do with you. Now you can be helpful and tell us where the lady is being held or you can sit back in your chair and leave us in peace.”

The Housecharge squared his shoulders and put on his sternness face which usually had the palace staff scurrying out of his way. Animus gave a small squeak of alarm and stepped back. Even Plantagenet looked worried until the Housecharge gave a deep sigh and seemed to deflate a little.

“I don’t know why I am doing this. The palace is full of uncouth soldiers dragging dirt into my nice clean rooms and taking anything which isn’t nailed down, and their king is worse, groping the maids and treating the fine food we prepare as if it is swill for the grunters. It’s those I should be angry at, not you. The lady you seek is on the second floor of the royal apartments, third door down. You can’t miss it; there are always two of Vorgret’s barbarians standing outside. We’ve tried to get in to give the lady food and drink but no one is allowed passed, not even to empty the night pail. There are guards at the bottom of the stairs and at every corridor junction as well. It’s almost impossible to get to the second floor corridor without being seen and stopped.”

Plantagenet raised his eyebrows. “Almost impossible?”

The Housecharge smiled and took out a small key from the top pocket of his embroidered jerkin. “There are the servants’ stairs which open out onto the corridor as you know but half way up the stairs there’s another door, and behind that there are stairs that lead into the King’s dressing room.” He held up the key. “King Steppen wasn’t always as faithful as people supposed.” Plantagenet took the key. “You needn’t worry about waking Vorgret up as you go through his apartments. After three flagons of Vinmore’s best red he sleeps like a mountain growler in winter and snores like a grunter. If you can get passed the last two guards you can use that master key to get into the lady’s room.”

Plantagenet nodded. “Thank you, Housecharge, your help has made our task so much easier. I will give you your key back when we return with the Lady Tarraquin.”

The two magicians hurried away in the direction of the servants’ stairs. They had used the stone stairs hundreds of times before but like everyone else who came that way they had assumed that the inconspicuous door half way up was just a broom cupboard. Plantagenet unlocked the door and stepped inside the narrow space being careful not to knock over the half dozen brooms which were stacked inside. On the wall opposite the door, there was a small slot just big enough for three fingers to fit and when he pulled the wall slid back to reveal another flight of stairs thick with dust. He slipped through and Animus followed him into the cupboard making a loud clatter as he knocked the brooms over. Animus smiled an apology.

When they reached the top of the stairs there was another door and Plantagenet had to use the key again to open it so they could step out into a wardrobe full of clothes. They were clearly not Vorgret’s, as the magicians had to force their way through acres of fabric which crackled and crunched with every movement. By the time they had escaped the confines of the wardrobe they both looked dishevelled and Animus had gained a long train of bright yellow silk wrapped around his head and throat. Neither of them had been into the King’s private rooms before, but it was obvious where the sleeping room was by the snoring and grunting, so they went in the opposite direction until they found the door which led out onto the second floor corridor.

This was going to be the tricky bit. If the guards called the alarm before the spell hit them or if the spell failed to work, they were going to be in real trouble. Plantagenet opened the door just wide enough so he could peer down the corridor to where the two guards stood talking to each other. He could see why the Housecharge had referred to them as barbarians. When he leaned back in, Animus was ready, holding his wand tightly as if it was about to escape him and muttering under his breath. Plantagenet took out his own wand, ready to use it if the spell went wrong, and nodded at his friend.

Animus took a deep breath and began in a quiet voice.

“Come dark of night and silence deep

 to take you both in its fold

there tonight in peaceful sleep

woken only by dawns brightest gold”

As he said the last words he stepped through the door and flicked his wand in the direction of the two guards. The sudden appearance of the rotund magician startled the two huge men and they both turned to stare at him before the taller of the two drew his sword and started to march quickly down the corridor towards him with the other guard only a few steps behind.

“Damn!” muttered Animus. “Not strong enough.”

Plantagenet stepped into the corridor, saw the guards marching towards them with their swords drawn and gave a quick flick of his wand over Animus’s shoulder. The first guard slowed, gave a huge yawn and then propped himself up against the wall letting his sword drop onto the carpeted floor. The second guard looked confused and was about to shout for help when his cry turned into a yawn and he joined the first guard against the wall with his eyes closed. Within moments they were both snoring gently. Plantagenet gave a sigh of relief and Animus put his wand away, shaking so much that it took two attempts to get it safely tucked into his belt.

Together the two magicians hurried to where the sleeping guards leaned against the wall. They sheathed their swords for them and cast a simple memory spell so that when the soldiers awoke, they wouldn’t recall that two strange men had been in the corridor or even that they had been asleep. When they reached the door they wanted, Plantagenet placed the master key in the lock, turned it quietly and pushed the door open.

It was the moment Tarraquin had been waiting for. She might be weakened through lack of food and drink but there was no way she was going to let that brute come in and rape her without putting up a fight. The only things she had been able to find in the room which could be used as a weapon were the wash bowl and the water jug. The first she had broken into pieces and had spent three days chipping away at the broken pottery until she had three sharp pieces which resembled knives. They wouldn’t pierce armour and they would break easily but aimed at the veins at the neck or groin they would be good enough to kill. One of the pieces was tucked into the belt she had made from her bed sheet and the other two were under her pillow. The jug remained whole and she now clutched it tightly in her hand as she stood behind the door.

If it had been Plantagenet who had walked through the door first she would probably have killed him but fortunately it was Animus and her swing, aimed at where she thought Vorgret’s head would be, missed him by a hair’s breadth. Animus gave a terrified yelp and rolled to the floor whilst Plantagenet caught the jug before it could pass through the open door and out into the corridor. He stepped smartly into the room and closed the door behind him whilst Animus crawled across the floor and sat shakily on the empty clothes trunk at the end of the bed.

Tarraquin looked horrified at what she had nearly done and surprised at the same time. “Plantagenet! Animus! I am so sorry, I thought you were someone else. What are you doing here?”

Plantagenet smiled weakly. “We’ve come to rescue you.”

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Retribution

 
“What do you mean you can’t find her? She’s a woman alone in a countryside swarming with armed soldiers looking for her. She has no friends, no provisions and no horse.”

Borman banged his goblet down on the table hard enough to make the table wobble. He would have kicked the thing if he thought it wouldn’t collapse and make him look ridiculous. Instead he glared at his Guardcaptain resisting the temptation to kick him instead. Rastor had always been an incompetent fool but since he’d arrived at the battle just in time to turn defeat into victory there was something else about him. It was arrogance. It was as if he thought he was better than his king. He could see it now, the upturned mouth as if he was hiding a laugh, and the tilt of the head as if he was sneering down at him. Well he would wipe that look off the bastard’s face.

He put his hands on the edge of the table and gave it a hefty shove as he stood sending the remains of his meal flying in Rastor’s direction and the table tumbling to one side where the leg broke off with a loud crack. Rastor leapt back to avoid being splashed with red wine and the look on his face changed from one of tiredness to irritation. He’d been out looking for the bitch for five days and all he had to show for it was half a dozen captured Tarbisian soldiers and new calluses on his backside. If he ever caught up with her he would fuck the whore himself and see what his jumped-up wart of a king would say to that!

Malingar stood to one side and watched the changing expressions on Rastor’s face. He suddenly understood why Borman kept the man at his side. Despite his own bitter personal feelings towards the Guardcaptain he had to admit that the man was good at his job. There were the occasional things which didn’t go right, like not being able to find the Lady Tarraquin, but they were not usually due to Rastor’s incompetence. Most of the time he commanded the army, arranged the kingdom’s security and ensured the king’s safety without Borman ever being aware that he had done so. In other circumstances he might have even admired the man.

It was a pity that Rastor was so rough and crude though, but of course that was another of the reasons Borman kept him around, he was the perfect counterpart to his refinement. Next to Rastor he looked the perfect gentleman, even if he wasn’t. That was only one of the many reasons Borman tolerated the Guardcaptain. At first Malingar had thought it was just because the king could bully Rastor and belittle him in front of others, knowing he would always come back like a loyal hound, but it wasn’t that at all, or at least, not completely. It was because everything Rastor thought or felt showed on his face, and if the man ever became disloyal or plotted treason, Borman would be the first to know.

The look on Rastor’s face at that moment was not one that he usually let slip in front of his king, but he was coming to the end of his tolerance. He had served Borman for half his life. He’d done his dirty work for him, kept him safe from more than one assassin’s blade, and saved him and his army from defeat and probably death, and what did he get for it? A small estate in the northern wastes when the king became tired of him. He should have been made a lord like Malingar and have been given the Great Lord’s estate so that he could retire to Leersland and do what he had always wanted to do; raise war horses. Instead he was out, riding day and night, looking for the king’s whore and getting the sharp end of the king’s tongue.