The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (52 page)

“If you answer my questions the pain will stop and you will die quickly. If you waste my time my questioner will take you to pieces bit by bit, finishing with your manhood. Now, who paid you to poison Lord Malingar?”

The man groaned. “The two envoys.”

Borman sighed in irritation, he already knew that. “What about Rastor?”

“I don’t know, Lord, I only saw him once. I didn’t know what was going on or that they planned to kill you. They said that all I had to do was just poison the Guardcaptain’s wine and take his knife.”

“You lie, scum.” Borman waited whilst his questioner placed his pincers around the man’s index finger and snipped it off. When the man stopped screaming he tried again. “Now, tell me the truth. Who paid you?”

“It was Rastor’s plan,” the man sobbed desperately. “He told us what to do but it was Vorgret who paid for your death.”

Borman looked across at Malingar and Sharman. “And the Lady Tarraquin?”

The prisoner hesitated for a moment and the questioner deftly snipped another finger from the man’s hand. This time he passed out and had to be revived with a bucket of cold water. Borman repeated the question and the man panted out a response. “Don’t know her. They never mentioned her name.”

Borman nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Questioner, finish him slowly. A silver gellstart to you if you can keep him alive for the final cut.” He turned to Malingar and Sharman. “You will wait here and see if the questioner earns his reward.”

With a look of satisfaction he walked away ignoring the man’s sobbing pleas for mercy and then his screams as the questioner returned to his work. It was a most satisfying conclusion to an unpleasant incident. Word would quickly get out to the populous about what happened to those who raised their hand against him, and Sharman and Malingar had been warned about crossing him. Best of all was that he now had a morally defensible reason to ride into Alewinder and kill Vorgret. He would have to wait until his back had healed enough for him to ride, but within a seven day he would leave for Vinmore and remove the last obstacle in the way of him becoming the one and only king of the six kingdoms.

*

Life in the small woodland cottage had been bliss; it was just as Jarrul had always dreamed of living his life. Up until the time Tarraquin had tried to kill Maladran, he’d always been a huntsman and had lived on the edge of the forest and worked within its peaceful expanses. Even when Tarraquin became a rebel leader he’d still lived in the forest, escaping from the noisy camp with its loud and demanding people into its shadowy quiet whenever he had wanted to.

There he’d been appreciated for his woodland skills and his ability to provide the stew pot with fresh meat each day when nobody else could find game. No one minded that he wasn’t a great conversationalist or that sometimes he could take a candle length or two to understand a joke that everyone else had laughed at instantly. His life had been simple and he’d looked forward to each new day.

Then it had suddenly all changed. Tarraquin made her bid to be queen of Leersland and he had been torn out of the life he knew to become a conspirator, a courtier and then a royal envoy. He’d hated it all; the formality of life in the palace, the need to make decisions on things he knew nothing about, and talking to people he didn’t know or like. When he escaped it all and returned to the solitude of the deserted rebel camp, it had been a relief, and when Birrit had turned up, he thought that his life was complete. Then Tarraquin had arrived and they were on the run again.

Jarrul sighed and put down the knife he’d been using to smooth some rough edges from the bowl that he’d carved the previous evening. When Tarraquin had left them in Tarbis’s woodlands to ride to the beast’s rescue, he and Birrit should have kept on riding as far away from her as they could get. Perhaps they should have gone to Shipside and across the great southern ocean where there were endless forests and a huntsman could live in peace, but they didn’t.

Instead they rode to Vinmore and eventually settled in the magician’s woodland cottage. It had been wonderful, just the two of them living as man and wife. Him hunting for food, chopping wood and seeing to the heavy work and Birrit cooking and cleaning and making their home comfortable. The nights had been the best though, making love and sleeping in each other’s arms. Then Tarraquin had arrived.

Why was it always Tarraquin who shattered his peaceful life, throwing everything up into the air so that it came down in a jumble of unrecognisable pieces? It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, on the contrary he loved her like a daughter and always had, but wherever she went she spread chaos. Almost six moon cycles ago, she and the two old magicians had ridden into the clearing around the woodland cottage in the back of an innkeeper’s cart, and his life hadn’t been the same since. The main problem was that the cottage had not been built to house so many people, especially people who seemed to argue all the time, and supplying them with food was becoming a nightmare.

Birrit had insisted that the Lady Tarraquin should have their sleeping chamber and, as her maid, she would sleep in the small adjoining box room. That had left the two old magicians sharing the other sleeping chamber and him sleeping on the floor by the hearth. He’d crept into Birrit’s room on one or two occasions but the bed was far too narrow for them to sleep together. Out of desperation he’d repaired the shelter in the yard, built a bed and a bench from bark wood trees and Birrit had joined him there for a short while.

Now, with Tarraquin’s child due within a moon cycle, she slept back in the box room in case her mistress needed her which left him sleeping in the converted stable all alone. He didn’t think things were going to get any better either when the baby was born. Tarraquin had never shown any maternal instincts; even as a child she hadn’t played with dolls as other girls had. He suspected that Birrit would end up caring for the baby whilst Tarraquin plotted and planned how she could disrupt their lives all over again.

Then there was the problem of feeding the thing. Perhaps when Barrin visited next he could ask about getting a milker, although he had no idea what you did with them. On top of all that the child would need cleaning all the time and would squawk continuously shattering what little peace there was to be found in the clearing. He gave another deep sigh, put his head in his hands and wished that he had a flagon of Vinmore red to help him forget his worries.

Jarrul was still there when Barrin rode into the clearing. At the sound of an approaching horse he grabbed for his bolt bow and had a bolt cradled and drawn before the rider had ridden half a dozen paces clear of the forest’s cover. In the half light of dusk he wasn’t sure who the rider was but when Barrin flipped back his hood he could see that it was their friend. Sighing in relief he lowered the bow and released the tension on the drawstring.

It had been nearly three moon cycles since he’d last seen Barrin and in that time he had changed. The old, ragged clothes that he had worn as a disguise had gone and he now wore huntsman’s leathers with a sword at his side and some sort of insignia on his shoulder. His hair had grown and was tied back with a leather thong and when he dismounted he walked forward with a confidence that Jarrul hadn’t seen before in the young man. Life may have been uncomfortable for him, but it looked like Barrin was enjoying himself.

Barrin held out his hand and clasped Jarrul’s proffered one firmly. He thought Jarrul looked tired and worn and less cheerful than he had before. Unfortunately the news he brought wouldn’t make him look any better either. Barrin looked up and smiled as Tarraquin came down the steps towards him with the two old magicians close behind. Despite living in a lonely cottage without the comforts of the city and the size of her pregnancy, she still looked beautiful. It was no wonder that kings fought over her. He bowed deeply as Tarraquin halted in front of him. She took both his hands in hers and kissed him affectionately on both cheeks.

“Barrin, my friend, you look well. Come inside and have some tea and tell me what is happening in the six kingdoms.”

Barrin offered her his arm, greeted Plantagenet and Animus warmly and led the small procession up the steps and into the cottage. Jarrul watched them go feeling a pang of jealousy as Barrin kissed Birrit on the cheek and received a smile in return. When they were all inside and Barrin had closed the door, he led the horse to the side of the shelter, fetched it water from the stream and rubbed it down. It was unlikely that Barrin would stay for long, but it was a long ride from Alewinder and the horse deserved some care. Besides that Barrin would be full of himself telling them of all the heroic and exciting things he’d done and he really didn’t want to listen to that and have to watch Birrit smiling sweetly at him.

He took as long as he could attending to the horse and then strolled over to the cottage. When he walked through the door he was surprised to find them all sitting in a strained silence except for Birrit who stood by the bubbling stew pot and gave him a reproving look. Jarrul muttered an apology, ignored the spare place at the table and went and sat on the stool by the fire.

Birrit gave him an impatient sigh, slopped stew in a bowl and thrust it into his hands without saying a word. It was forest runner stew, thick, dark and rich and the smell of the succulent meat and fresh garden herbs made the knot in his stomach unclench. By the time he’d finished his bowlful, he felt warm and slightly stupid at his peevish thoughts and childish behaviour. He hoped nobody had noticed.

Barrin put his spoon down and mopped up the last of his stew with the fresh baked bread. Meat was scarce in the city and the rich stew reminded him of better days. He sat back and looked at their expectant faces. What he had to say was poor payment for such a fine meal. “I regret to be the bearer of bad news but the fight for Vinmore’s freedom is about to take a turn for the worse and you are no longer safe here.”

Jarrul groaned and rolled his eyes upwards. He knew it, he just knew it!

Tarraquin glared at him and then turned her attention back to Barrin. “You had better tell us what’s happened.”

“Three days ago Borman returned the remains of one of Vorgret’s envoys to him, his head to be precise, and yesterday the mutilated head of the second was returned, minus his eyes, nose and ears but with a declaration of war jammed between its teeth. Borman is massing his army on Vinmore’s borders and Vorgret is reinforcing the defences of Alewinder to counter the threat. Within a seven day there are going to be thousands of soldiers swarming all over Vinmore and this forest will become a strategic stronghold coveted by both sides. There is no way you will not be discovered so you must leave here before the enemy comes.”

“I don’t understand,” stuttered Plantagenet. “Why would Borman declare war on another king, it is against the tenants of the Goddess?”

Barrin resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. He could only suppose that by the time you had lived as long as Plantagenet had, many things would become inexplicable. “It’s because Vorgret sent the two envoys to kill Borman, so, under the circumstances, his reaction is understandable.”

“How do you know all these things?” snapped Jarrul. He stood and crossed from the fire to stand behind Birrit’s chair. How do we know that you aren’t just making this up to get rid of us?”

Barrin snarled at the veiled accusation and went to stand but Tarraquin put a restraining hand on his arm. “Jarrul, you are being rude to our guest. Now sit down and let Barrin explain.”

Barrin didn’t want to tell them any of the details in case they were captured by Vorgret and were forced to tell him what they knew about the freedom fighters, but he didn’t want them to stay here and be taken by Borman either. He had plans for this dense woodland and he needed them to be safely away from here. “We have spies close to Vorgret. We were using them to find out his weaknesses so we could exploit them and free Vinmore from his rule.”

Tarraquin raised an eyebrow in question. “We?”

“The freedom movement. We have many followers now, and given another summer we would have been ready to strike at Vorgret, but now our plans have changed. In the chaos which will ensue from Borman’s invasion and then Vorgret’s counterattack we intend to take Alewinder for our own and then defend it from all-comers until a people’s council can be set up.”

“And your role in this?”

“I lead the men, the Vinmorian freedom fighters, but that is irrelevant, this place is no longer safe. You need to leave Vinmore until we have the kingdom in our control and the invaders, both of them, have been evicted.”

Tarraquin looked questioningly at Plantagenet hoping that he would disagree with Barrin but he just shook his head. “Animus and I can hold a ward against a dozen men stumbling upon us by accident, but any more than that will find us in no time. I am sorry, my dear, but if soldiers come here we’ll be discovered, and in a war I don’t think either side will have the time or patience to care for our well being. If you wish to see the child you carry live, then we have to do as master Barrin says and leave.”

“But where are we going to go?” demanded Jarrul. “The baby is due in less than two moon cycles and the magicians can barely walk. We can’t keep running away, this is our home.”

“No it’s not,” put in Tarraquin. “It’s just a place which has been safe and now it no longer is. Plantagenet, what do you suggest?”

The old magician was silent for a moment. He knew of somewhere where they would be safe but it had been many summers since he had been there and the thought of returning did not fill him with pleasure. He looked at Animus and knew his friend felt the same. The Goddess had granted them years beyond their usefulness and to return to her temple now, before she had called them, was a sad rejection of her kind gift.

“We can go to the Enclave. It’s safe from the interference of kings and the Goddess will protect the new life there.”

Barrin nodded. It was the answer he had been looking for.

“That’s impossible,” snapped Jarrul. “The Enclave is the other side of Essenland over hostile country with few roads and, in case you had forgotten, Tarraquin is heavily pregnant and is likely to drop her child at any time. What you are suggesting is paramount to murder and I will have nothing to do with it.”