The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (65 page)

Jarrul shook his head. He may have been in the same country as the king, but he’d never been near him, or those who collected his taxes and enforced his laws. He’d always left that to Tarraquin.

“Then perhaps you have come across Sadrin?”

That made him look up. “Yes, I have met Sadrin once and that was enough.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The man may be a magician, but he doesn’t know right from wrong, or if he does, he doesn’t care. I saw him annihilate a squad of soldiers by raising his hands and setting them on fire, until there was nothing left of them but a shadow on the grass. If it hadn’t been for Jonderill I’m sure he would have disposed of us all by the same way.”

Now it was Dozo’s turn to look surprised. “You know Lord Jonderill?”

Lord Jonderill? He wasn’t a lord when he’d known him but he nodded anyway. “He was a friend and saved my life once.”

“This Sadrin,” put in the big man with huge hands and a bushy beard who sat next to Dozo. “Is he ambitious? Does he want to rule the six kingdoms?”

It was a ridiculous idea. Who would want to rule the six kingdoms? “No. He is vengeful and as morally corrupt as his master, and unpredictable, but not ambitious. He is a powerful black robe though and if the madness takes him, then there is no knowing what he would be capable of.”

“He wears the crimson now, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. Anyone who kills a king and the High Master in less than a moon cycle must be unstable.” Dozo was silent for a while. “What do you know of King Borman?”

“Not a great deal except he is greedy, ambitious and as cunning as a sly hunter.”

Dozo nodded. “From the little I have seen of him that is my assessment too.”

Jarrul thought about Dozo’s assessment of Borman and decided to add more detail. “He was the reason we left Vinmore. We were warned that he was going to attack Vorgret and take the throne in Alewinder. The friends I was staying with were not eager to meet him, so we sought sanctuary in the Enclave. Then we heard that Vorgret was going there, and as he was nearly as bad as Borman, we tried to leave there too, although a lot of good that did us. If we’d known it was not Vorgret who was coming, we would have stayed where we were, but it obviously wasn’t him.”

“No, it was Sadrin.”

Jarrul nodded. “He now holds my friends captive. Is there anything you can do to help them?”

It was Dozo’s turn to shake his head. “No, we have other things to do, and in any case, I don’t have the men to break into the Enclave and effect a rescue, not to mention stand up to a pyrocaster. I think the best we can do is go to Vorglave as planned. There are people there who will stand with us against anyone who thinks they would make themselves king of all the six kingdoms.”

*

The rider drove his exhausted horse into the trees and prayed to the Goddess that the large group of horsemen, which galloped by at the foot of the hill, had not seen him silhouetted against the skyline.  He had been following the ridge pathway for several days and hadn’t seen a soul, so the sudden appearance of two hundred or more mounted and heavily armed riders had taken him completely by surprise. Of course he should have heard them approach, or seen their dust cloud, but the isolation of his surroundings and the weariness of his long ride from Northcoast had overwhelmed his senses. It shouldn’t have happened, this wasn’t the first group of riders he’d hidden from, but those were just common folk, whilst these looked like trained fighters and were moving faster than the groups of armed peasants he’d encountered before.

He led his horse deeper into the trees of the small coppice and unsaddled the horse, deciding to stay the night and rest before continuing his journey to Alewinder. He had run out of oats for the horse the previous day, but there was some thin grass amongst the trees which should keep the animal going. His own supplies were running low too, and would only last another day or two, but with any luck, he would be out of the barren wilds of Essenland by then and should be able to use the coin his lord had given him to purchase a fresh horse and more supplies. It was a long way to Alewinder, especially as the Deeling Pass was blocked with snow, but he would make it. He had promised Lord Sallins that he would deliver his message to King Borman.

When the sun rose he was on his way again and making better time despite the slow pace of his horse. North Essenland had few roads, only stony and rutted pathways which the wagons from the silver mines used. He had ridden on those where there were sheltering trees in case he had to hide, and had then moved onto the ridgeway path where, if he was alert enough, he could see riders coming. Now he was on a proper roadway with a hard-packed surface and drainage ditches on either side and the going was much faster.

His rough map, drawn on a piece of hide by a retired mercenary with one leg, showed that the roadway would split somewhere up ahead with one fork going to Vorglave and the other to Parim. He didn’t want either but Parim would take him close to Vinmore’s border. His lord had told him that the roadways in Vinmore were easy to ride, hard, flat and wide, so that with any luck it would only take him three or four days to skirt the Northern Forest and reach his destination. Once he was there, he could hand over his message, have a hot bath and enjoy the comforts of Alewinder’s inns.

He was half a candle length’s ride away from where he thought the roadway would split when he saw the dust cloud. It was enough to make him stop and stare in awe. He had never seen anything like it, not even when he was a boy and the king had brought men from Wallmore to repel the invaders from across the Great North Sea, the last time they had attacked in numbers. Then there had been five hundred men mounted on fine horses, but now there must have been many more. He knew they couldn’t be Essenland’s. Their king was dead, or so the rumour went, and the only other king who could lead so many men had to be his lord’s master, King Borman.

The rider shouted with joy and dug his heels into his horse’s sides, forgetting that the animal was half dead with exhaustion and hadn’t eaten anything but thin woodland grass for days. It did its best to respond and broke into a heavy gallop, grunting loudly at every footfall but within a quarter length its breath was coming in harsh gasps and bloody foam flecked its nostrils.

When it collapsed it probably saved its master’s life, throwing him to the ground just as two bolt bows snapped out cutting the air where moments before the rider had been sitting. As the miserable animal went to its knees he was thrown forward over its head into a roll and went slithering down the bank and into the water-filled ditch at the roadway’s edge. By the time he pulled himself out, the soldiers stood ready with their swords drawn and he pissed himself with fear as they advanced towards him.

*

Barrin was still fuming at the unfairness of it all. It had been bad enough that he’d been prevented from fighting for Vinmore’s freedom at Alewinder’s gates, but to be forced to flee from their camp in the Northern Forest by his own father was a humiliation beyond bearing. He had born it though for there was no option. Dying on the battlefield fighting for your people was one thing, but watching the ancient forest of your homeland burn around you for no reason apart from your obstinate pride was another matter entirely. Of course he had argued that it couldn’t be done, that Alewinder didn’t have sufficient funeral oil or grain spirit to make the fire hot enough to ignite the forest.

If his father had argued back or had ordered him to leave he would have stayed and died defending his homeland. Instead his father had left the decision to him. He had hugged him tightly, said whatever he did he would be proud of him, and had then walked away. Being responsible for his people’s irreplaceable heritage, for the very heart of their kingdom, is different than being responsible for the lives of men who, in the natural way of things, pass quickly from this life. So he’d ordered the withdrawal and had led his men out of the northern edge of the forest between Parim and the foothills of the Deeling Mountains.

He had wanted to make it a noisy withdrawal so Borman would know that he’d left, but hadn’t gone for good, but his father had advised subtly. That way they could slip away and wouldn’t be pursued. His father had even assured him that he had ways to allay Borman’s fears of being attacked from the rear as he declared himself King of Essenland. That announcement had almost made him change his mind about going. How could anyone who believed in the Goddess and her tenets of peace and prosperity allow one king to rule the land? It went against everything she stood for.

It was pointless staying though. His small band of men could never stand up to Borman. This battle was not one which could be fought and won by a single kingdom on its own, but was something which all six kingdoms had to be part of. Thus his hasty journey northwards where he’d heard that like minded people were gathering to make a stand against those who would destroy the Goddess’s laws. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to join them.

For the first part of the journey the wide, hard-packed roadway had allowed good progress, but once they had passed the fork for Vorglave, the roadway became little more than a pathway. They had strung out in a long line to give their horses the best of the ground, but their pace had been slowed to little more than a canter. Their pace slowed again as the Silver Hills came into view in the distance and the pathway they followed turned into a rutted cart track.

It wasn’t surprising that Essenland’s travel ways were so poor and overgrown; since leaving the fork in the roadway the only life they had seen was a single rider high on the ridgeway, silhouetted against the sky. There had been dwellings of course, but they were all deserted, and the two villages they had come across consisted of burnt out buildings and the scattered remains of some of the people who had once lived there. Whoever had taken the decision to depopulate the countryside had done a good job of it.

The first indication he had that there were people living in this godforsaken land were spirals of smoke rising slowly in the early evening air against the backdrop of the shadowy Silver Hills. By the colour of the smoke he guessed it must have come from newly started camp fires, and by their number he concluded that the camp was a large one. Rather than riding in with all his men behind him, which would look threatening, he decided he would go himself, taking just Tuckin and Lias with him. He would have preferred to have had Redruth at his side with his strong sword arm instead of Lias, but he needed to leave someone in command and Lias was too unreliable.

Whoever had command of the camp knew what he was about as sentries spotted them a long way out. Most of them were concealed behind boulders, or were high up above the eye line, but once they had assessed that he and his two companions posed no threat, they made themselves known. That didn’t stop them watching him pass by with their bolt bows loaded and aimed at his back. Barrin guessed that the camp had already been informed of their approach and he wasn’t disappointed.

As they rode into a clearing where a large, well ordered camp had been set up, two men and a woman stood waiting. The woman, armed with a loaded bolt bow, was in the middle of her lifespan but still slim and good looking, whilst the man on the outside of the three was huge with a bushy, black beard and a drawn sword, which looked like a tooth pick in his hand. It was the one in the middle though that drew Barrin’s attention, and he smiled in real pleasure at meeting him again.

Barrin eased himself from his horse, keeping his hands well away from his weapons in case the woman took offence, and walked forward with his hand extended in friendship. It did occur to him that Dozo might not remember him, they had only met once and that was some time ago, but Dozo took a step forward and held out his hand too. They grasped wrists, hugged and stepped back studying the changes which time had wrought. Dozo looked much the same, as men do when they reach a certain age, but Squad Leader Barrin looked older than Dozo remembered, older and with a grimness which hadn’t been there the last time they had met.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” said Barrin, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Dozo shrugged. “Essenland is my home. It is you who is unexpected. What are you doing here far from Alewinder and with a small army at your back?”

“That, my friend, is a long story which would be better told around a warm fire with a pot of something tasty in my hand.”

“Then you and your friends had better join us. We have stew cooking and there’s fresh herb tea just made.”

Barrin smiled in acceptance but hesitated for a moment. “Are Jonderill and Callabris with you?”

“No, although I wish they were. I haven’t seen Jonderill since Borman took Leersland and he left in a hurry. As for Callabris, he and his protector left me some time back to go to Wallmore on the Goddess’s work. However, I do have someone who you might know; a friend of Jonderill’s who has recently come from Alewinder via the Enclave by the name of Jarrul.”

“Jarrul! What in hellden’s name is he doing here?”

“That too is a long story, although I regret not a happy one. Come, let’s eat and exchange woes.” They both laughed and Dozo led the way into the camp and settled the three of them amongst the camp’s leaders by the blazing fire.

The stew Stanner served was hot and savoury, made better by the dried meat that Barrin supplied, and the herb tea had been supplemented by a small skin of grain spirit which was just sufficient to give those at the fire a pot each. Under different circumstances the reunion of old friends and the exchange of news would have been a happy occasion, but the news was grim, and the circumstances of missing friends cast a shadow over them all.

Barrin’s news that Borman was already taking his army to Vorglave shattered any hopes that Dozo had of reaching the city first and setting up its defences, whilst the actions of the High Master meant that their presence anywhere near the Enclave was unlikely to be welcomed. On top of all that, there were the numbers. Borman had twelve hundred men which would be bolstered by conscripts from Parim and Vorglave, whilst they had seven hundred at the most, of which at least a half were poorly armed and hardly trained. The odds were not in their favour.