The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (36 page)

The king turned away and retired back to his sleeping room leaving Guardcaptain Malingar to make the arrangements. Malingar and Sharman looked grimly at each other, they had what they wanted, but neither smiled.

*

“What do you mean you can’t find her? She’s a woman alone in a strange city full of armed soldiers looking for her. She has no friends, no coin and nowhere to hide.”

Vorgret threw the remains of the clucker leg he’d been eating onto the plate, splashing the greasy sauce from his previous course over the table. He picked up his goblet and swallowed the contents, then gave a loud belch which made his stomach feel a little better. The food in Alewinder was too rich and it soured his stomach, but not nearly as much as the man standing in front of him. This was the second time that Commander Bladent had let him down. First there had been his brother’s incestuous wife who had disappeared without a trace, and now it was the whore who should have been safely locked away for his own personal use. Well, if Bladent couldn’t find her, then Sadrin would, and he could deal with Bladent at the same time as an extra reward.

He waited until Sadrin had poured him another goblet of wine, stood and glared down at the commander he had only promoted a moon cycle ago when the last one had failed him and had to be replaced. “You are incompetent and a fool and there is only one reward for those who fail to carry out my orders.”

Vorgret glanced at Sadrin and clicked his fingers before walking away from the table to peer out of the window at the dark courtyard below. Sadrin gave the man a small, resigned smile and raised his hands, pointing his fingers at him. The commander, who looked as horrified as any man he had ever seen, gave a squeak of alarm, spun around and ran for the door. Sadrin sighed; someone must have told him about what happened when he raised his hands and pointed them at you. Bladent was reaching for the handle when he released his power which hit the man in the back, and in an instant, he was gone, leaving a single mark on the wooden floor and a waft of overcooked meat in the air. Sadrin dropped his hands to his sides and breathed deeply. He’d never been with a woman, but he was certain that it could never be as satisfying as the moment when he released his power.

The king turned back, retook his seat and pulled a plate of sweet pastries towards him. The fruit filling was too tart for his taste, but he liked the cream on top so he licked it off and held the remainder of the pastry out for Sadrin to take. Sadrin knew better than to refuse his master’s gift so he took the pastry and nibbled delicately at one edge.

Vorgret laughed. “No wonder you’re so damned thin, magician, you should learn to eat more.” He took another pastry and licked the cream off that one too. “I want her back, Sadrin. I want her back and chained to my bed so that I can teach the whore that she belongs to me. I don’t care who you have to incinerate to do it, but I want her here and the ones who are hiding her punished. Do you understand?”

Sadrin hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, master, only you said that when you were king of Vinmore, you would release me so that I could go to the Enclave and take my rightful place there.”

The king was a big man but when he was angered he could move very fast. He shot from his chair and back-handed the magician so hard that it knocked him over backwards. Vorgret took a pace forward and glared down at him. “Don’t you ever question my orders again! I am your master and you will do as I say unless you want to be chained to a pick and wall at the bottom of a silver mine again. Remember, Sadrin, I’m the one who allows you to use your gift, and without me you would be nothing. Now get your things together and go and find Tarraquin. When you return I might think about allowing you to visit the Enclave in a moon cycle or two.”

He stepped back, letting the shaking magician regain his feet, and watched as Sadrin wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. It was obvious he’d been too lenient with the boy, otherwise he wouldn’t have dared question him. Perhaps he should have punished him for not finding Daun, but he’d been too busy at the time. It would be sensible to watch him though; the magician couldn’t use his power against him personally, but that didn’t mean that the boy couldn’t harm him in other ways. He nodded curtly at Sadrin’s humble bow and waited for him to leave before sending for Dorba. He would know how to watch the magician without being seen, and what to do if it looked like the boy was going to betray him.

*

Sadrin touched the side of his face and winced. He could already feel the bruise blooming there and the metallic taste of blood was filling his mouth where a tooth had cut into his tongue when Vorgret had hit him. That wasn’t what hurt though. It was the memories that the blow had unleashed, the ones that he had tried to bury. It was like being a boy all over again. His father used to hit him like that or with his leather belt and once, when he’d tried to cook the family sow from the inside out, he’d used a stick. His father had damn well nearly beaten him to death, until his grandfather intervened, and then he beaten him instead.

It did no good though, he was just different and there was nothing that was going to change that. He wiped the dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth and looked down as Dorba strode passed on his way to the king’s apartments. If he could be like Dorba then nobody would touch him ever again, but he couldn’t, he didn’t know how. Any fight he had once, had been knocked out of him by his father or the masters at the Enclave or the guards at the mine, and now by Vorgret, who he had once thought was his friend.

Sadrin laughed bitterly to himself; being different meant you didn’t have any friends. He’d never had any except Nyte, who had a way of laughing at him without making him feel a fool, and the kingsward miner. He didn’t really count as a friend though, as he was chained to the wall next to him at the bottom of the mine and had no choice in the matter. It would have been good to have a friend, someone like Jonderill, so they could talk about magic and perhaps create new spells together.

He would have liked that. Jonderill didn’t seem interested in girls, so there would be just the two of them together, but there was his protector of course. The thought of the protector tagging along ruined his mood, but as he was at his destination and needed to concentrate on what he had been sent to do, he put that irritation to one side. He lifted the door latch and walked into the room where Tarraquin had been held prisoner.

As sleeping rooms went it was adequate. It had a bed, a chair and a clothes chest. There was a small bronze mirror on the wall, a faded, hand-woven rug on the floor and a hearth filled with cold ashes. He’d been in the room once before when Vorgret had ordered him to seal the shutters on the window. The shutters were still closed so he concluded that the lady hadn’t escaped that way. As he’d expected the guards had messed the room up, but despite their interference and the time which had passed, he was certain there would be some trace left of her presence.

The bed was the most likely place, so he walked to its side and picked up the remains of a torn sheet from the floor. He could sense her, but only very faintly as if she had touched the sheet but had not lain on it, so he placed his hand on the exposed mattress. That was much better but still not good enough. He kicked at the feathers on the floor where the guards had ripped the pillow apart looking for her and noticed a bundle of linen hidden underneath.

It was the pillowcase, and as he held it to his nose, the image of the lady exploded into his mind. She was very nice, if you liked that sort of thing, and he could understand why Vorgret wanted her, but there was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on, something odd, almost as if someone had been in the bed with her. He wondered if it was a guard or perhaps the person who had come to rescue her. It wasn’t his concern anyway, he had enough to trace her and that was all that mattered. He walked away from the bed and as he did so, his robe rubbed against the clothes chest stopping him dead. Someone had sat on the chest and he thought he knew who it was. If the second of the pair had been in here too, then he would be certain about how she had managed to escape from a locked room. He moved slowly around the room trying to sense another presence but found nothing, so perhaps he had been mistaken.

 He was about to leave when he noticed the water jug on the floor which was strange. Vorgret had given strict orders that the woman was not to be given anything to drink, so what was the jug doing there? He bent down to pick the jug up and immediately his suspicions were confirmed; Plantagenet and Animus had both been there. Now he knew how the lady had escaped and where she was probably hiding. If he could find her and bring her back then surely Vorgret would forgive him for his questioning and allow him to go to the Enclave sooner than he’d said.

Sadrin hurried from the room not bothering to follow the trace which was faint and intermittent. He knew where he was going and it was just a case of getting there, grabbing the girl and disposing of the two old magicians. A squad of guards going out on patrol passed him in the palace courtyard and for a moment he stopped to consider if he should take them along, but decided against it. If he couldn’t deal with a frightened girl and two doddering old men then he wasn’t much of a magician. Besides, if he took guards along they would want some of the praise for the capture and he wanted Vorgret to be grateful to him and him alone.

When he reached the magicians’ tower he didn’t bother knocking but walked straight in, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of cold water being poured over him as the wards around the door collapsed. The main room was just as he remembered it on his last visit; comfortable but shabby, worn and cluttered. He could sense the presence of the two magicians on everything he touched, and there were other traces as well, including the faint, lingering trace of the woman who had been there before, but all the recent visitors had been male. Sadrin frowned in irritation. This was not what he expected at all. If the magicians had rescued her then she should be here and so should they. Plantagenet and Animus were far too decrepit to go far.

Sadrin glanced at the stairs and came to the conclusion that they must be hiding the girl in the tower, probably near the top. He set off up the stairs ignoring the doors which opened off each floor until he reached the top of the stairs and a dead end. At least it looked like a dead end, but there was a feeling that the wall in front of him wasn’t solid, that you only had to walk a few more steps and something would be there. He studied the wall for a moment and then waved his hands in front of him muttering a simple revelation spell under his breath.

Immediately the solid wall disappeared revealing a low arch and another set of stairs. It was just as he thought, but when he climbed the stairs and entered the windowless room at the top it was a disappointment. The only contents were heaps of papers tied up in bundles and some broken furniture. It looked like a store room for the unwanted and broken, or perhaps a collection of inflammables just waiting for someone to set light to it. He went to turn away and then stopped as something tugged at his mind. As he stepped further into the room, he could smell the strong odour of spirits, not the drinkable type but the spirit they use to make funeral pyres burn.

It seemed such a strange place to keep it that he almost missed the other scent in the room; that of a woman. He didn’t think it was Tarraquin, it didn’t match her trace or anything he knew about her, but he knew that smell well enough. The royal apartments in the palace reeked of it. There could be no doubt about it; Queen Daun had been hiding in the room, probably at the same time he had been searching for her downstairs. He cursed under his breath for having been made a fool, and cursed again in case Vorgret found out that he’d been duped.

Angrily he turned and made his way downstairs, stopping at the top floor to open the door and peer inside. There was nothing of interest within, just a small sleeping room, not much bigger than a cell and not much better furnished either. At the next floor down he kicked the door open and stared at the mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere as if someone had been searching for something or were preparing to leave in a hurry. The two beds at either end of the room were the only things which remained in good order and had clearly not been used for a while.

Sadrin could feel anger rising within him and stamped down the next flight of stairs taking them two at a time. When he reached the door on the first floor he blasted it off its hinges and glared into the room. This had clearly been the magicians’ work room, but it would be impossible to tell what Plantagenet and Animus had been working on as everything had been destroyed. At least he knew now where all the paper had come from. He marched down the final flight of stairs and back into the living room, noticing that the magicians’ journal had gone along with their cloaks and boots.

The conclusion was simple; the magician’s had left, rescuing Tarraquin on their way, and had no intention of returning. Sadrin slumped down into one of the soft chairs and put his head in his hands. Why wasn’t anything simple? All he wanted to do was to find the woman, please Vorgret and be allowed to go to the Enclave to do what he had always dreamed of, what Vorgret had promised him. Instead he would have to tell the king that the two old magicians, who he had said were harmless, had flown the coup, taking his woman away with them.

Sadrin gingerly touched the bruise on his face and wondered what Vorgret would say when he found out what had happened. It didn’t take much imagination to come up with his reaction, and it would be even worse if he found out that the Queen had been in the tower at the same time as his magician and he hadn’t discovered her. Sadrin swallowed hard. He had two options; he could either run and hide and hope that Vorgret never caught up with him, or he could destroy all the evidence and hope that the Lady Tarraquin had the sense to change her name and lie low.

Neither option was very good, but the thought of trying to evade one of Vorgret’s henchmen, like that vicious Dorba, left him cold. On the other hand, spinning a tale about battling the two magicians single-handedly and in the end having to kill them and the woman who they were protecting sounded much better. He could be a hero and safe at the same time, or at least safe until the lady came to light some time later. Hopefully by then he would be High Master of the Enclave and would have worked out a way to protect himself from Vorgret.