Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (24 page)

He turned away in disappointment and studied the new
city which had taken its place; a city of tents and shacks of every shape and
size, colour and construction. He had just left one, a two-roomed affair made
of unadorned animal hide which smelt as if the rotting animal had only just
parted with its skin. Compared to others around it the tent had been a
veritable palace. Inside it was furnished with three poorly stuffed mattresses,
a wooden bench and a table which rocked unsteadily when Rastor had dropped
their saddle bags onto it.

The tents around him looked too small to hold even a
single mattress and chair and the shacks were no better. They resembled small
boxes propped up against each other and looking as if they were all about to
collapse. People wandered between the tents, pushing against each other with
scowls and muttered curses and kicking out at mangy dogs which scavenged for
food. Smoking fires burnt outside some of the tents and on one there was what
appeared to be the remains of a faded, green wooden door.

Their arrival had been greeted by silence from the
people who lived in the city of tents and shacks as they watched the riders
pass with looks of what could have been anger or envy or even fear. Whatever it
was Rastor had ridden close to the king to give him as much protection as he
could and Lord Rothers had cringed away from anyone who might touch him. The
only noise had been the whistles of appreciation as the stallions were led away
by a group of men in leather armour. They even had to wait outside the tent
allocated to them until a man and his two wives were evicted.

Now Borman stood waiting whilst Prince Kremin
approached ready to escort them to the temple of Talis. There had been no wash
water in their tent and their request that some be fetched was met with cynical
laughter. Rothers had helped him to brush the red sand off his skin and out of
his hair, but sand grains still stuck to him and scratched him whenever he
moved. He’d dressed in the fine dark robes with the royal crest embroidered in
gold thread and a stiff collar studded with pearls which he wore on formal
occasions.

In Northshield the heavy wool protected him from the
cold, but here the collar chaffed and sweat ran down his body. He almost envied
Rothers who stood behind him fussing with the hang of his own cotton robe, a
light blue affair with yellow embroidery and tassels. Beside him Rastor wore a
clean but crumpled shirt under his everyday leathers, fingering the empty space
at his belt where his sword should have hung.

“Why in hellden’s name would anyone want to live in
this squalor and leave a perfectly good city to go to ruin?” muttered Rastor to
himself.

“It’s because they are savages,” whispered Rothers.
“Just look at the way they are dressed, even Prince Kremin looks like a
barbarian.”

“Quiet!” hissed Borman angrily. “Unless you want your
tongues cut out.” He bowed briefly to the Prince and gave an ingratiating
smile. “Prince Kremin, we would like to thank you for your kind hospitality and
the chance to change and refresh ourselves before meeting with your father.”

Prince Kremin returned the bow, gave Rothers a contemptuous
look and ignoring Rastor completely as if he wasn’t worthy of his attention.
“My illustrious father is awaiting you in the temple of the mighty Talis, may
his name be praised.”

He led the way across the camp without saying another
word and they followed, avoiding the piles of rubbish which littered the narrow
and winding walkways between the tents. Four heavily armed guards fell in behind
them and Rastor sized them up ready to defend the king if he had to. He wasn’t
certain if the guards were there to ensure their good behaviour or to protect
them from the hostile crowds which milled about. As the tents began to thin out
a different encampment came into view on the far side of a heavily guarded
clearing. Rastor couldn’t help but be impressed and whistled under his breath
at the size of the encampment which was laid out in military style.

Six well ordered rows of square tents with pointed
roofs ran down one side of the open area with their door flaps tied back and
benches drawn up outside. A long picket line of sleek horses, including their
own mounts and the ten stallions ran along the other side. Men in light robes
hurried around them grooming coats and tending to the horses’s needs. All
around the camp small groups of men in leather armour practiced with the new
weapons they had brought as a gift for the Rale and in one corner a single fire
burnt with the carcass of some animal cooking on a spit above it. The smell of
roasting meat reminded Rastor of how hungry he was.

At the far end of the square, in the shade of giant
fan trees, was a magnificent construction of elaborately decorated hides held
up by gold capped poles and topped with banners painted with entwined sand
crawlers, the symbol of Talis. They fluttered weakly in the humid air so that the
sand crawlers seemed to writhe around each other. The pavilion was huge, making
the line of warriors in ceremonial armour who guarded the entrance look like
toys.

As they approached the entrance two girls with oiled
skin and gold bangles opened the door flaps and beckoned the prince and his
guests inside. They dropped the door covers behind them shutting out the heavy
air and early evening insects. Inside the air was cool and the pavilion was brightly
lit by lanterns hanging from decorative beams. The girls fetched bowls of scented
water and soft towels for the guests and then returned to the side of their
master with smiles and giggles.

Tallison the Magnificent patted one of the girls affectionately
on her bare behind before stepping forward to greet his guests. “Welcome to the
Temple of Talis, the one true god, may his name be praised.”

Borman bowed briefly to the man in front of him whilst
Rastor and Lord Rothers both bowed deeply and stepped back as they had been
instructed. Trying to keep himself from staring at the naked girls, Rastor carefully
surveyed the interior of the pavilion which appeared to be separated into
different areas by fine, hanging drapes. The area they were in was scattered
with small tables and piles of cushions and seemed safe enough. He looked for
possible threats to his king but there were no guards present and the only
weapon he could see was the curved sword carried by the Prince. There might not
have been any immediate threat but he felt as naked as the girls without his
sword at his side.

Beside him a red and sweating Lord Rothers stared
fixedly at the floor and shook slightly. He didn’t know what he was doing here
or why Borman had brought him along but he really wished he was safely back
home in his own salon. When Prince Kremin touched him lightly on the arm to
indicate that they should retire to one of the tables at the edge of the room
he jumped and gave a squeak of surprise, receiving a glare of contempt from the
Guardcaptain in return. He took a deep breath and following meekly behind Rastor,
who couldn’t resist the temptation to give the two girls a last, fascinated
glance.

King Borman scowled at his Guardcaptain and then
returned his attention back to his host. “Your Holiness, please accept my
thanks for receiving me and for your hospitality, it’s been a long and tiring
journey from Northshield to your kingdom.”

“Not many people travel to the land of the one true
god, may his word live forever, especially heathens such as you. Please sit and
take refreshment and tell me what has brought an unbeliever to my temple.”

The Rale led Borman to a low table, just a hand span
high, which stood in the centre of the pavilion surrounded by thick cushions in
a variety of colours. Four lamps made of gold and studded with rubies and
sapphires hung over the table suspended on silver chains, as thick as a finger,
which were attached to the roof supports. On the table a statue of two sand
crawlers, one gold and one silver entwined around each other glistened in the
lamp light. Tallison dropped to his knees and bowed low to the table, his
forehead touching the edge and began to chant some incomprehensible words under
his breath. Borman remained standing suspecting that this was some religious
ritual which would require him to show respect and tried not to look bored as
he took the opportunity to look around him.

If the tented city had looked dirty and disorganised
and the people half starved, it was not reflected in the abode of their leader,
which, even if it wasn’t to his taste, was the height of opulence. He thought
that the drapes, made of a light, shimmering material would look good at the
palace windows but the cushions with their rich embroidery which were scattered
across the floor were a stupid idea designed to trip him up every time he
walked to the door. On the other hand the dark carpet, so thick it felt like
the lush grass of early summer would go well in his sleeping room and he could
imagine himself lying on it with a naked woman tending to his needs. Perhaps
that was why the Rale had all these young girls with oiled skin and boys in
brief loincloths around him.

He turned his attention away from the distraction of
their lithe bodies and studied the low tables which were scattered around the
room. Like the cushions they too seemed to serve no practical purpose except to
display the gem-studded goblets or sculptures in gold or silver of couples in
erotic positions which stood on them. With annoyance Borman realised that there
was more wealth in this one room than in his entire palace and here he was
bringing gifts to this desert nomad. He turned away trying to conceal his jealousy
and stopped abruptly as his eyes settled on a cage in one corner, suspended
from the ceiling, the remains of
 
a
desiccated body inside, complete except for its hands. He wondered if that was
where the foul smell was coming from.

“Coberin, blasphemer and heretic. Talis’s holy
warriors, may his name be praised, took him.
 
I made Coberin’s death last many days.”

Tallison took Borman by the elbow and guided him to
another table where food had been laid out and eased him onto a pile of
cushions. He sat opposite him with the two girls at his side, absently stroking
the back of the nearest one. Borman looked at the food and then back at the cage
with its rotting corpse and felt slightly sick.

“Come, eat.” Tallison pushed a bowl of something round
floating in a red sauce in Borman’s direction.

Borman helped himself, dipping flatbread into the red
sauce and then wincing as it burnt his mouth whilst he studied the man on the
far side of the table. Tallison was small both in height and build with long
thin hands and thin fingers ending in sharply pointed nails. His head was completely
bald apart from two locks of black hair which grew from the crown of his head
and were twisted together with gold wrappings which looked like the scales of a
sand crawler. The bleached scull of a sand crawler, complete with fangs, was
fixed to the end of the locks so that they rattled when he moved. Around the
two locks his scalp was tattooed with black sand crawlers which moved as his jaws
chewed the tough flatbread.

Tallison’s face looked pale against the black hair and
black tattoos and his lips were thin and colourless but his dark eyes were piercing,
making Borman squirm inside. He remembered Tallison’s brother, King Duro, when
he had visited Northshield. The King had been a large man with a big appetite
and a bigger girth who had laughed a lot. He was travelling the six kingdoms
with his white magician and his protector making trade agreements for his
wealthy desert kingdom. Borman had been just a boy when Duro had visited his
father but he had liked the fat king and his quiet magician. He looked back at
the cage and was glad that he hadn’t brought Callabris with him.

“What is it you want with me unbeliever?” said
Tallison breaking through his thoughts. “Could it be that you’ve seen the light
of salvation and have come to worship Talis, the one true god, may his name be
praised, or is it that you need something which only I can provide. Is that why
you have come here bringing gifts?”

“I regret that Talis is yet to show me the way to
salvation, Your Holiness. Instead I’ve come as a friend to warn you of a danger
which threatens us both and to offer you my help in removing this threat to
your holy land. The gifts I’ve brought are a sign of my good intentions towards
you and your people.”

“And what is this threat that makes you fear so much
for my people?”

“We have an enemy who sits on our borders and trains
an army bigger than any other in the six kingdoms. One day soon he will decide
that Leersland is no longer big enough for him and he will turn greedy eyes in
our direction. He might come north for my timber but it is much more likely
that he will come south for your gold and gemstones.

“You have a greedy man, a heretic and a blasphemer who
sits on your border and flaunts his black magician in your face making a
mockery of Talis and all you believe in. Neither of us are strong enough to
remove Sarrat and the evil magic which corrupts our lands alone but working
together we could curtail his ambitions. Once Sarrat and his black robe are
destroyed you could spread the word of Talis, the one true god, may his name be
praised, into new lands and bring many new people to worship him.”

Tallison gave a snort of derision loud enough to
attract the attention of the others seated nearby. “And are you a true believer,
King Borman, that you would care about the glory of Talis, may his name last
forever. I think not. You are no better than my brother was, wanting to raise
stone walls around him, giving away our wealth for his own pleasures and
keeping a pet magician but Talis destroyed him for his blasphemy.”