The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (66 page)

The one thing which was clear was that they couldn’t just stay where they were. They had planned to move on to Vorglave where feeding everyone wouldn’t have been so difficult, but there were insufficient supplies to feed them for long if they stayed in the Silver Hills. As well as the problem of feeding them, they all knew that once Borman was established on Essenland’s throne and was absolute ruler of the six kingdoms, he would come for them.

They could have split up, with each group going their separate way, but what was the point of that? They were freedom fighters and Borman was the enemy who threatened to destroy everything they loved and believed in. Their reason for being was to protect the six kingdoms from the king’s ambitions, and they weren’t going to do that with the men they had  from a dozen different deserted mine workings.

“We need more men,” said Barrin quietly, breaking the silence which had gone on for too long.

Dozo looked across from the other side of the fire and reluctantly nodded. He had come to that conclusion too. “But where do we get them from?”

“Northshield.” The man with the beard grunted in derision and Dozo shook his head. “No, I’m serious. Haven’t you ever heard the old saying, ‘when the hound is away the gnawers will play’? Borman has been away from his kingdom for a long time and it’s possible that his people have become restless. If we can tap into that dissatisfaction then we might find some support, and if nothing else, we know that Callabris is there. He has little love for Borman and may be willing to help.”

“What about the Enclave?” suggested Jarrul. “From the short time I was there I could see that there were those who were unhappy with the rule of the High Master. I doubt that has changed if Sadrin now wears the crimson.”

Dozo shook his head, still not convinced, but Stanner took his hand and spoke quietly to him. “Is it not worth a try? If they can find other people to join us, we will have more options, and if they don’t, then we are no worse off than we are now.”

“You may be right.” He thought about it for a little longer, weighing up the advantages and the dangers. “Very well, but it will have to be done discreetly so we don’t make the situation worse. I don’t think I can leave here with things as they are so it’s up to you two to come up with a plan.”

Jarrul swallowed hard remembering his last unhappy experience as an envoy. “It would be dangerous for me to return to the Enclave, they have tried to kill me once already. However I do have one or two contacts left in Wallmore from the days of Queen Tarraquin’s rebellion who may be willing to help.”

Barrin shrugged. “I’ve been to neither place so the Enclave will suit me fine.” He stood and Tuckin and Lias followed his lead. “I need to get back to my men and make arrangements for them to move camp in the morning.” He held out his hand and Dozo took it. “If I am not back within a seven day, my men are yours to command.”

*

About the only thing on the messenger which was dry was the small canister he carried, sealed with buzzer wax and engraved with the crest of Northcoast. If it hadn’t been for that canister the soldiers would have probably skewered him as he crawled out of the ditch, but instead they took him to their camp where he now knelt on the grass outside the king’s pavilion. So far, all Borman had done was read the message and walk up and down, but by the look on his face that wasn’t going to last much longer.

He stopped abruptly at the side of the kneeling messenger. “Where is your treacherous lord now?”

The messenger swallowed hard. His master had told him that the king would be pleased to see him. “When I left he was in Northcoast fighting the invaders from the sea, Your Majesty.”

“And who sits on my throne and governs Northshield in my place?”

That was a difficult question to answer but he did his best. “No one, Your Majesty. Northshield has a council.”

Borman kicked him hard in the side making him grunt with pain. “Don’t be smart with me, boy. Who sits on the throne?”

“Your cousin, Lord Rothers, is head of the council so I suppose it must be him, Your Majesty.”

“Who else?”

He was starting to get desperate. “I don’t know, just some others. My master didn’t tell me who.” Borman snarled in anger and kicked the messenger again. “There’s the people Lord Sallins appointed when he left to defend Northcoast and a warrior, some sort of protector who’s organised the defences and a magician.”

“Callabris!” screamed Borman, turning away from the kneeling messenger. “I will have his balls for this treachery. Malingar, get the men ready, there is a change of plan. We will ride for the Silver Hills Bridge at first light so we can come from the north and surprise the bastards. Nobody takes what is rightfully mine.” He turned back to the kneeling man. “Are you loyal to your lord?”

Of course he was, Lord Sallins was his father even if he hadn’t recognised him as his own flesh and blood. “Yes, Your Majesty. Always.”

“Good, then he will understand the meaning of my message.” He drew his sword and with one movement removed the man’s head, kicking it across to where Malingar stood. “Send that back with a warning. When I’ve finished with the rebels in Wallmore, I will be coming for him.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Sadrin’s Gift

It was strange the sort of thoughts that went through a man’s head when he revisited a place under such different circumstances. He knew he should be concentrating on the mission to come whilst silently grieving for the loss of his dear Birrit, but all he could think about was a skinny old woman and her daughter Livry. It was as if everything which had taken place between leaving them at the gates of Wallmore and his return to the same spot had never happened. Perhaps if he believed it hard enough then it would be true, and he could ride back to the river crossing and make different decisions which would leave Birrit alive and Tarraquin free.

Jarrul shook the thought from his mind. There was no good to come from thinking such things so he pushed the thought away and instead, the image of Livry slipped into its place. It wasn’t a sexual thought, although the image was of her with her skirt pulled up around her waist, legs open wide and her heavy breasts spilling from her blouse. What he was feeling was much more like guilt. If he hadn’t done her mother a favour and hadn’t taken Livry’s maidenhood there by the roadside in exchange for a broken down cart, would Birrit still be alive today? It was stupid to think that cause and effect could be so tenuously linked, but that is what guilt did to you.

He walked his horse forward a few paces until he arrived at the gate, and without thinking, asked the guard if he knew a whore by the name of Livry. It was only when the guard laughed and gave him directions that he realised what he’d done. What was he thinking about! He was here to find men willing to fight a war not of their cause, not to repeat a vaguely unpleasant experience.

Despite that he followed the guard’s directions to a seedy part of the city and ended up outside what must have been one of the most tumbledown buildings in the entire kingdom. He would have missed the building entirely if Livry hadn’t been sitting outside, still wearing the same dress that her mother had pulled up over her hips so that he could show her how things were done. She took one look at him, gave a big grin and yelled for her ma.

The old woman hadn’t changed either, still scrawny and ragged with the same rotten-toothed smile. She looked him up and down as if he were a prize stallion and scowled with her hands on her hips. “So yer’ve come back fer another go at my Livry ‘ave yer? She does that ter men. Once fucked they got ter come back and fuck ‘er again. But yer’ll ‘ave ter pay this time, Livry’s got clients now.”

Just to emphasise the point the girl pulled her blouse apart exposing her breasts. The sight of the mounds of white flesh and large mud-coloured nipples was enough to shake him out of the stupor which seemed to have taken over his senses. He gave an involuntary tug on the reins to back his horse away and tore his eyes away from the girl’s body. “No, I haven’t come for Livry, I’ve come for some men.”

The woman gave a harsh laugh. “I aint got no men, but I’ve got a boy who’ll bend over fer two coppers and fuck you back for three.”

He pulled his horse back another step. What in hellden was he doing here? “No, I mean I’ve come here looking for fighting men.”

Livry raised an eyebrow, but made no attempt to cover herself. “Gabbin’s a fighting man, ‘e’s down at the Cock and Bucket, ‘e might do fer yer.”

The woman hissed something nasty at her daughter and slapped her with a loud crack across her cheek, almost knocking her off the stool she sat on. “Don’t yer take no notice of ‘er, Gabbin’s a vicious bastard but ‘e’s taken a likin’ to my Livry an’ I don’t want the likes of yer getting’ ‘im all riled up an’ bein’ taken away ter dig shit pits fer a cycle. Now bugger off!”

He didn’t need a second invitation but backed his horse out of the narrow side street, relieved to get away from the stink, not to mention the sight of Livry’s exposed breasts. At least he had a name now, and this Gabbin sounded like just the sort of man he was looking for. He asked for directions twice, and then rode passed the ramshackle inn just to make sure he had the right place, but he couldn’t really miss it.

The door was hanging off its hinges, most of the windows were boarded up and the sign outside looked like an uncooked sausage dangling over a pot of some sort. It took him several heartbeats before he realised what it was meant to be, and then he blushed despite himself. Not wanting to leave his horse unattended in case it wasn’t there when he came back, he rode on until he found a safe place to stable it, then walked back to the inn with the small sack of silver hidden inside his shirt.

The moment he walked through the door he knew he’d made a serious mistake. If the outside of the inn was ramshackle, the inside was just the opposite. Tables and chairs stood in good order on a carefully swept stone floor, a bar of polished wood stretched between two barrels, and curtains covered the spaces where the broken windows looked out onto the street. Bright lanterns hung from a wooden ceiling along with what appeared to be a stuffed chicken, its head decorated with red feathers inside a bucket. A dozen or so guards at one of the long tables were playing dice and the moment he entered they stopped their raucous laughter and stared at him in undisguised hostility.

When he’d told Dozo and Barrin that he still had contacts in Wallmore from the days when Tarraquin had been a rebel leader, it hadn’t quite been the truth but just a bit of foolish bravado, as he was sick of being left out of things. He hadn’t thought for a moment that they would actually send him to Wallmore, but here he was and so he had to try and find someone he once knew. It was unlikely that all his old friends had died when Borman took the throne, but as he had no idea where they were, Livry’s mention of a back street inn seemed a good place to start searching for them. Unfortunately this was one of those places he’d heard about that only guardsmen frequented, like some sort of club, and like a fool he’d walked into the middle of it without first taking note of who was coming and going.

It would have been a good moment to quickly back out the door and run, but the shock of seeing something so unexpected had frozen his feet to the floor, and by the time he’d recovered his wits, two other guards had come in behind him and blocked his escape. One of the guards at the table stood, a big brute with bulging muscles who seemed to be stuffed into a uniform one size too small. He slammed his pot of ale on the table so it sloshed over the sides, pushed back his chair and marched to where Jarrul stood, towering over him by a hand and a half.

“What do you want, mate?”

Jarrul looked up into a face which had seen a goodly number of fist fights and swallowed hard. “I’m looking for Gabbin.”

“You are, are yer? Well yer found ‘im an’ its Squad Leader Gabbin ter you. Now what yer doin’ ‘ere squirt? This is our private place fer me an’ me fightin’ men. We don’t let any civies in ter mess up our place.”

“I was looking for some men to come and fight for a friend of mine in Essenland and I …..” Jarrul’s voice faded away as the expression on the squad leader’s face changed from annoyance to anger.

“You some sort of fuckin’ spy or what?”  His hand shot out and grabbed the front of Jarrul’s shirt and lifted him from his feet. As he did so the small sack of silver slipped free and hit the floor with a metallic thud. Gabbin pushed Jarrul back into the arms of the two guards who blocked the door, picked up the sack and peered inside. “’E’s a bloody spy, that’s what ‘e is, come to bribe us guards who’s loyal to the people!” He took a threatening step towards Jarrul and pulled back a huge fist.

“Hey, Gabbin, yer better not do that. Yer know what the captain said about spies an’ all, an’ yer don’t want ter be upsettin’ ‘im an’ losin’ yer braids again an’ end up diggin’ ditches fer a cycle.”

“Yer shut yer face. I’ll deal with ‘im ‘owever I wants.” All the same the squad leader hesitated for a moment and glanced at the strip of braiding across his cuff. Reluctantly he lowered his arm and glared at Jarrul. “I ‘ate bloody spies but the Captain ‘ates them worse. ‘E ‘ates them so much that ‘e’ll chop off yer bits an’ give them to our magic worker fer ‘is ‘speriments.” He threw the sack of silver at one of the guards holding Jarrul. “Take ‘im an’ ‘is bribes to the Captain an’ if any of that there silver goes missin’ on the way, I’ll chop off yer bits an’ do me own ‘speriments with them.”

Gabbin was right about one thing, the Captain of the city guard did hate spies, but at least he had the patience to listen to Jarrul’s story, after which he gave orders for him and his sack of silver to be taken to the commander in his quarters in the palace. The last time Jarrul had been taken to see someone in charge in a palace, he’d ended up being drugged, imprisoned in a cage and terrorised by a ferocious beast. He hoped that this time things would turn out better. It wasn’t an auspicious start however; the Commander’s quarters were basic to say the least, just hard benches, stone floors and unadorned walls.