The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (59 page)

Malingar looked only slightly less confused than his king. “I think you heard it right, My Lord, and it would explain why we have seen nothing of Vorgret or Essenland’s army since we crossed the border.”

Borman nodded thoughtfully and then changed his mind and shook his head. “No, it must be some sort of trap. I’ve never heard of a black robe called Sadrin or any magician who can just burn people up, especially a king, one of Federa’s chosen.”

“I’ve seen one, Your Majesty,” interrupted Sharman quietly. “I don’t know if it was this Sadrin but I once saw a black robe turn a whole squad of guards to ashes just by raising his hands. It was the scariest thing I have ever seen.”

The King finished his wine feeling the softness of the mature red quench the fire of the grain spirit and bringing life back to his tongue. Then he gave a broad grin and slapped his hand hard down on the table making his empty goblet fall over and roll around in a circle.

“By the Goddess! This black robe has done me a favour, he’s taken out the opposition!” He laughed in excitement. “Malingar, tell our baker friend that I have a message to take back to Alewinder. You tell him that if the gates of the city are not open to me by midday tomorrow and the people are not out on the streets to welcome their rightful king, appointed by the Goddess, I will sack their city and will execute every fifth man, woman and child who lives there.”

Malingar tried not sound as horrified as he felt. “My Lord, do you not think we should tone the reply down somewhat so that the people of Alewinder look upon us as friends and not enemies?”

Borman shook his head so Sharman had a go. “Your Majesty, might it not be prudent to send someone with the baker to check out the situation first and perhaps try to persuade the people that they need a king?”

The King swiped his hand across the table in anger sending the goblet flying into the side canvas of the tent. “What in bloody hellden do you think this is? Some sort of council meeting? Do you think to question me, your king? I have given an order and you will obey it!” He glared at the two men as they bowed and hastily made their way out leaving him to mutter under his breath about the idiocy of having peasants deciding what was best for themselves.

*

Barrin sat down heavily and looked at what remained of the council. The arms merchant had left the moment Borman’s reply had come and the counting house master had sneaked away in the night taking his family and his fortune with him. They were no great loss, the council could have still functioned without them, but Borman’s ultimatum, the people’s safety in exchange for the city and the crown of Vinmore, had split the council down the middle. They had argued all night about how they should proceed and in the end, most of the council had walked out, his father amongst them. So now it was no longer a council of the people but a council of war and all its remaining members had once been Swordmaster Dilor’s cadets. He wondered what the Swordmaster would have thought about that.

Redruth shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced yet again at the candle in its holder. It was the fifth candle they had lit since the sun had risen and it would be the last. Already it was half burnt away and their time had almost run out.

“If Swordmaster Dilor had been here he would have led his men through Alewinder’s gates and would have fought the enemy to the last man before he would let them into his city. Can we do any less?”

There were uncertain shakes of the head but only Lias spoke. “My uncle was a brave man and I honour his memory, but if he hadn’t ridden out and attacked Vorgret and his army, we probably wouldn’t be in this position.”

That wasn’t quite as Barrin remembered it but he didn’t want to make Lias look like a fool in front of the others. “He was still a brave man who loved his country enough to die for it. Should we shame the memory of the man who trained us and do nothing?” There were more shakes of the head and Barrin had to suppress a sigh of irritation that nobody said anything in support of him.

“I think the decision is simple,” said Lias nervously. “If we go out there and attack Borman’s army we all die and Borman takes his revenge on the people. If we stay here and let him in we all live.”

“Cowardly little squirt, aint yer,” put in Tuckin nastily.

“That’s enough!” snapped Barrin. “Lias is allowed to have his opinion the same as we all are, and he’s right, if we fight against Borman’s army there will be ten of them for each one of us and we will all die.”

“And what about Borman?” asked Redruth. “If we let him into the city, will he be any better than Vorgret was?”

“Of course not. He’s a greedy man who has no fear of the Goddess and like all kings, he will take what he wants and will kill those who stand in his way or show any sign that they might oppose him.”

“So we’re fucked either way?”

“That’s about the truth of it.”

Redruth pushed his chair back and stood. “Well in that case I vote that we go out in a blaze of glory. I don’t fancy being hunted through the streets like some filthy gnawer and then end up being hung from the city gate, or used for target practice or whatever else it is that Borman does with those that he doesn’t like. What about the rest of you?”

They all pushed their chairs back and stood, even Lias although he was the last. It was the decision Barrin had wanted, but now that he had it, he could feel the dread knotting his stomach into a tight ball.

*

The innkeeper didn’t think it could be called a proper council meeting, not with them all standing around the city gates instead of sitting around a table, but there were enough of the people at the heart of Alewinder present to make their decision binding. All the innkeepers in the city had responded to his call, as he knew they would, and most of the warehouse owners. The rest of the makeshift council were made up of vintners and traders with just the counting houses not being represented, their masters having decided to move their businesses to Parim for the time being.

On the edge of the group, a large crowd had gathered to hear what was going to be decided, now that Borman had declined their offer of just riding away from Vinmore because the people no longer needed his help. The news that he’d offered to spare Alewinder and their lives if they welcomed him into the city as their king had spread rapidly, and those people who could leave their work had come to the city gate to express their views and see what would happen next. Already a large crowd of onlookers had gathered and were anxiously watching the proceedings.

Barrin’s father had been one step ahead of them and had taken it upon himself to summon the traders and employers of Alewinder to the city gate to decide what must be done before the first bystanders had even arrived. The fact that what was left of the official council of Vinmore probably still met in the palace concerned him. He would have preferred to have his son at his side and supporting him, but he hadn’t liked the way the discussion had been going. In any case a decision which affected so many lives was too big to be taken by a few good citizens and a bunch of sword-wielding boys. It was a decision that all the people who mattered should share in.

As it turned out the decision had been an easy one; nobody wanted to see Alewinder destroyed and its people killed, and if that meant having a foreign king on the throne then most people were willing to pay the price. There had, of course, been some descent, but that had come mainly from those who had suffered most when Vorgret had been allowed to enter Alewinder almost unopposed. They had been allowed to say their piece and were then outvoted. Now that they had agreed what should be done, a message had been sent to Borman inviting him to be the next king of Vinmore.

The innkeeper stepped back from the tight knot at the centre of the crowd. He’d done his part in bringing the important people of Alewinder together, and now it was up to others to prepare the city for the king’s entrance, only he hoped they wouldn’t take too long about it, he suspected Borman was an impatient man. Beside him the innkeeper from the King’s Armsman leaned over to say something and nearly pushed him over as the crowd surged in their direction.

Barrin’s father cursed under his breath and tried to push the people back to give himself some more space but there was a commotion at the edge of the crowd which was threatening to push them all through Alewinder’s wide open gates. Using the steps of the gatehouse to give himself some extra height the innkeeper peered over the top of the crowd and cursed out loud. It was his damn fool son with what he called an army behind him. What in the Goddess’s name did he think he was doing?

He wasn’t the only one who had seen the mounted men. Those at the edge of the crowd were pushing back forming a solid barrier to hold the horsemen where they were, whilst those closest to the gate were pushing forward with looks of fear and anger on their faces. The innkeeper guessed that the invitation to enter the city had already had an effect, and Borman was on his way, in which case the sudden appearance of armed defenders at the gate would really piss him off. He could only imagine what the king’s reaction would be to such treachery. For a moment he was tempted to let the angry crowd deal with his son, but as they were getting louder and more agitated with every heartbeat, he decided he’d better do something to stop this foolishness before someone was hurt.

With considerable effort and some help from his fellow innkeepers he pushed through the crowd until he stood in front of his son with his horse’s bridle in his large hands. At least the boy had the sense not to draw his sword on his own people. “What are you doing here, Barrin?”

Barrin looked down in surprise. He hadn’t expected to see his father here, he didn’t like crowds that much. “We are going to defend Vinmore from King Borman and his army, it’s the council’s decision.”

The innkeeper shook his head and swept his arm around the gathered crowd. “Like hellden it is. This is the council of the people boy, not your pretend soldiers. They have decided that they want Borman to be their king.” There was a loud shout behind him at the gateway and then the people started cheering. “Just listen to that, Barrin. That’s for Borman who is approaching the city. Now, unless you want to be the cause of a bloodbath in which many innocent people will lose their lives, you need to turn your horse around and lead the hot heads behind you out of Alewinder. Go by the north gate and pray to the Goddess that Borman hasn’t sent soldiers there already to stop you.”

“You will regret this, father. Borman is not a man to be trusted.” With difficulty he turned his horse around and ushered his men back towards the north of the city.

The inn keeper watched him go, already missing him. “Aye, I expect you are right, my son, but that’s the problem with having a council, they don’t always make the decisions you want or even the right ones for that matter.”

~    ~    ~    ~    ~

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The Crimson Robe

The baby wailed as only one can who has spent eight moon cycles in the warmth and darkness of its mother’s womb, and is then thrust out into the cold and light and noise of its new surroundings. Its little hands clenched and unclenche,d and its legs kicked in protest whilst its tiny mouth opened wide to fill new lungs and bellow its anger at being so abused. It was a girl, a tiny girl with rumpled skin which seemed too big for her, and spikes of black hair which stuck out in odd clumps. Apart from that she was perfect in every detail and showed no ill effects of her rough delivery into her new life a moon cycle too soon.

Birrit cut the cord that joined mother and child and wrapped the squalling bundle in a soft cloth before taking it in her arms and sheltering the tightly closed eyes from the light of day. The sudden warmth and comfort soothed the child and her cries quickly died away to a whimper. It was as much as Birrit could do just to stand there and hold the child, as every fibre of her body urged her to turn and run away taking the baby with her so she could make it her own. She and Jarrul wanted children so much, but the ladybane she had taken as a whore to prevent her from becoming pregnant meant that she would never carry Jarrul’s child. It was so unfair that Tarraquin had been blessed without deserving such a gift.

She looked at the new mother as she lay back against the pillow, her hair damp and tangled and sweat covering her pale skin. Her eyes were closed and she was still breathing hard. The Goddess forbid but it would be so easy to put the spare pillow over her face and say she had died in childbirth. Nobody would know, mothers often died whilst giving birth, and apart from the two old magicians, there would be no one to care.

No, that wasn’t true. Jarrul would care, and so would she, but a child of their own would soon push the sadness aside. She took a step forward just as Tarraquin opened her eyes and smiled, and the thoughts, which a moment before had fogged her mind, disappeared like mist in the sun. Birrit leaned over and gently laid the baby at her mother’s side.

In the adjoining room Plantagenet and Animus clambered to their feet as quickly as their ancient bones would allow at the baby’s first cry. Neither of them had been married, although Plantagenet had once been betrothed. That was so long ago that he could no longer remember the girl’s face, only that she had changed her mind at the last moment and had married a dashing guardsman instead.

 As far as they were concerned, children were those noisy things that ran around the market square and caused mayhem, and babies were just smaller versions which women talked about constantly but kept out of their way. Despite that they had either sat in the room wringing their hands, or paced up and down as nervously as two expectant fathers. Jarrul didn’t join in the pacing but sat quietly with his own thoughts.

The first cries of new life had the two magicians shaking each other’s hands in congratulations and grinning like loons, and the smiles were still there when Birrit opened the door and invited them inside. She stopped for a moment and smiled at Jarrul, who sat by himself on a stool in the corner of the room, and wondered if he too had been troubled by feelings of envy. Probably not, he was a good man, much better than she was. He returned her smile and she turned back to the sleeping room closing the door behind her. There would be time to talk about their feelings when they were alone.