The White Robe (54 page)

Captain Tangier’s room wasn’t at all what she was expecting; he always seemed so neat and tidy and yet his room was a jumble of discarded clothing, odds and ends of leather and scattered boots, weapons and papers. It occurred to her that what he needed was a wife, but as the only women who had been imprisoned here were herself, the two old cooks and a couple of elderly servants, she supposed that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

She cleared the jumble off a couple of chairs and waited anxiously for him to return. When he did, Captain Malingar followed behind him looking travel weary and strained. He gave Tarraquin the smile he kept just for her and bowed deeply. “My lady, it’s good to see you looking so well. From Master Jarrul’s reports, I expected to find you being held prisoner in a cage and in a poor condition. Clearly your captor holds you in higher regard than he did Master Jarrul.”

Tarraquin held out her hand for the captain to kiss. “Captain Malingar it’s a pleasure to see you again and to learn that Jarrul made it back to Tarmin safely.”

“Whilst I’m glad to see you, My Lady, I regret that I’m the bearer of bad news. It’s about Master Jarrul that I’ve come and have begged to be allowed to see you. Your friend had a most difficult journey from this place to Tarmin, in the worse of weather conditions. By the time he reached the city he was weak and seriously ill, and hasn’t left his bed since. He’s been calling for you, but the healers fear for his life and say that if you don’t go to him soon, then you’ll not see your friend again in this world. If he dies, the sacrifice you have made for him will be for nought.”

Tarraquin sat heavily on the emptied chair and looked stunned. “There are other matters as well, My Lady. In your absence, Great Lord Andron has demanded his right to claim the throne and if the council don’t allow him his rights then he’ll bring an army to Tarmin and will take the throne by force. It would seem that the laws of the six kingdoms would support his claim. It’s written that if a monarch leaves their kingdom and there is no prospect of their returning, then the next in line of succession may claim the throne.”

Tarraquin looked desperate. “I cannot leave; I gave my word to the beast that I would remain here if he would release Master Jarrul.”

“You must, My Lady. If you don’t, everything you’ve worked for will be undone; Jarrul will die alone, Andron will rule as Sarrat did, and your people will suffer.”

“Captain Malingar,” interrupted Tangier, stepping in between them. “I cannot stand by and let you cause this lady any more distress or to speak words of encouragement which would make the Lady Tarraquin betray the oath she has given to my master. I must ask you to leave this place now.” He put his hand on his sword hilt and stepped forward making his position clear.

“I’m sorry, My Lady. It seems that I must go now, but I will wait until dawn tomorrow before I return to Tarmin, so that you may consider the news that I’ve brought and decide to do what’s right.”

Malingar bowed once more and Tangier escorted him out of his rooms leaving Tarraquin with her confused thoughts. Jarrul was her best friend and she owed him her life. They had been through so much together and she couldn’t bear the thought of him dying alone without her being able to see him one last time, to say goodbye. Then there was the throne of Leersland which had once been her father’s. He had been a just king and much loved by his people. How could she dishonour his memory and hand the throne to Andron, a man in the same mould as Sarrat who thought of nothing but himself. How could she balance that against her own honour and the oath she had given to the beast? By the time Tangier returned, she had reached her decision.

“I’m sorry, My Lady. Had I known that your visitor was going to cause you such distress, I wouldn’t have carried his request to speak to you or my master.”

“No, you were right to do what you did. Now I must ask you to do one more thing for me which you’ll find most difficult. I need to talk with your master, today, before the sun sets. Would you ask him to meet with me please?”

Tangier frowned, guessing what it was she wanted to ask the beast. “Please don’t ask this of my master. He hasn’t always been as good and as honourable as he should have been but since you’ve been here he has tried so hard to change. If you go, I fear for his life.”

Tarraquin sadly shook her head. “I must. I wish to return to my room now where I’ll wait to learn if your master will talk with me.”

The captain bowed briefly and once again offered her his arm to escort her back to the lodge. He watched her climbing the stairs and wished he was better with words. She knew he was watching her, silently begging her to change her mind, but she didn’t turn. Instead she continued to her room and sat by the small window and watched the sun move slowly across the sky. When the sun at last dropped behind the high walls there was a brief tap at her door. Tarraquin stood hoping that it would be the beast, but instead, Captain Tangier let himself in carrying a long cloak lined with fur and a small silver box.

“Lady, I have told my master that you wish to see him. He declined your request so I told him what Captain Malingar had to say to you. My master releases you from your oath and gives you leave to return to your own lands. He asks you to take this cape, which was his mother’s, as it will keep you warm and safe on your journey. Also this gift for when times are dark, so that you’ll remember him and know that even in the darkest of times, there are those who would bring you the light of hope.”

Tangier handed her the small silver box and draped the cloak around her shoulders. “There’s a horse saddled and provisioned waiting at the gates. I regret that I cannot offer you an escort, but the fires of the captain’s camp are clear to see so you should be safe over that short distance.”

He gave her his arm and walked her to her horse where he helped her to mount. “I’m truly sorry that you are leaving, My Lady. If things do not work out as you would hope and you wish to return to this place, please remember that those imprisoned here, will always welcome you back.”

The gates opened of their own accord and Tarraquin rode slowly through and disappeared into the darkness. Above the courtyard, in the room which she had just vacated, the beast stood at the window and looked down at the closing gates. For a short while, there had been hope, but now, there was nothing, only to wait until the last silver leaf fell. In despair he curled up on the floor and wept.

~   ~   ~   ~  

Return of the Queen

Tarraquin was desperately tired, but at least now she recognised where they were. It lifted her spirits and gave her some hope that they might be in time to reach Jarrul before death took him. When she had left the hunting lodge and arrived at Malingar’s camp, she had been pleased to find that Killian was amongst them, having never given up hope that she would return. She found it strangely comforting having a familiar face amongst so many men that she didn’t know.

When she insisted that they packed the camp up and left that very night, the Captain and his troops had not been eager to move but, with Killian’s support, they had eventually obeyed her commands, and since then she had been urging them to more and more haste. Despite that, the journey had been painfully slow and there had been many delays for the most trivial of things. Horses had gone lame, men had the flux and Malingar developed a dislike of rising early in the morning and travelling after sunset. The latest delay had been caused by the Captain insisting that scouts were sent out to check that the final approach to Tarmin was clear in case Andron’s army were camped outside the city.

She sat in the shade of an everleaf tapping her fingers impatiently on her knee and glaring at Malingar. They had already argued once about the need for caution or hast,e and she was rehearsing her arguments when the scout trotted into the clearing and announced that everything was ready. It seemed an odd thing to say to her, but as the troop suddenly seemed eager to leave, she let the matter drop. As soon as they were all mounted, they set off at a faster pace than at any time during their journey, and within half a candle length, they had cleared the forest edge and begun climbing the final rise before dropping down into Tarmin.

They had barely ridden half way up the rise before a large group of riders crested the top, making Tarraquin turn to Malingar to see if he was alarmed by their sudden appearance, but he seemed relaxed enough. He sat on his horse with a satisfied smile, almost as if he had been expecting them. As the riders came closer she recognised Squad Leader Tordray and several others from Malingar’s mercenary group, but frowned as she realised they were not dressed in mercenary black or even in her own colours, but in a uniform she didn’t recognise.

She instantly knew there was something wrong and turned to Malingar in alarm but he only smiled and moved his horse closer to hers. “There’s nothing to be concerned about, My Lady. It’s just an escort to ensure your safe arrival into Tarmin. Just do as they say and there won’t be a problem.”

Tordray rode out in front of his troop to greet her and bowed briefly from his saddle. “It’s good to see you, My Lady, welcome back to Tarmin. It would give me great pleasure if you would be kind enough to ride at my side until we enter the fortress.”

Without waiting for her to respond he pulled his horse around close to hers giving her a pleasant smile. Malingar too pulled his horse close up to hers on the other side and the troop of horsemen closed around them. The concern she had felt when the troop had first appeared over the rise increased as the closeness of so many armed men made her feel more like a prisoner than a returning queen. She looked back to see if she could catch the attention of Killian so that he might ride close beside her, but his empty horse was being led by one of Tordray’s men. With increasing alarm she went to ask Tordray where Killian had gone, but the troop picked up speed and as it crested the hill she could see Tarmin spread out before her.

She gave a sigh of relief at how ordinary and peaceful the city looked. The city gates were open, the usual traffic was passing through as it did every day, and on the walls, she could just make out the usual number of guards patrolling and keeping watch. Her fears that she would find Andron’s army camped outside of the city disappeared, and she even managed to give Malingar a brief smile. It wasn’t until they were much closer and she could make out the detail that she realised things were not quite as normal as she had first thought. Her alarm returned as she noticed that the banner flying above the gates was not her own, and the guards on the walls wore the same strange livery as her escort.

The row of shoulder high posts lining the road which led to the city gates were new as well, and she frowned trying to make them out and guess their purpose. When she was a hundred or so paces away she realised that what she had taken to be some sort of decorative top to each post was in fact the remains of a severed head. Tarraquin gave a small cry of horror and turned away as she recognised the first; Lord Istan with his ears and tongue missing and his eyes gouged out.

She took a deep breath and turned back to see who the others were, unable to hold back her tears. The heads of Guildmaster Jobes and Master Zott were impaled on the next two posts, their features intact, except for their eyes, which had been pecked out by scavengers. Behind them were the heads of the other members of the council and two others who she didn’t recognise. She looked to see if Jarrul was amongst them but of all the council his was the only head that was missing. Determined to do them honour she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and sat up straighter in her saddle. If she was the next person to join the grisly parade then she would go there as a queen and not a weeping woman.

As she rode through the streets with her guards closely surrounding her, she noticed more changes. Armed soldiers in the strange livery were everywhere, stopping people and searching them or holding them back whilst she passed. The people looked fearful and worn and none of them would look in her direction as if they were afraid of some violent retribution from the soldiers. The shops and market stalls, which were usually open at this time of day, were closed and boarded up, and the voices of traders calling out their wares and customers haggling over prices were missing. Only the inns remained open, full of off duty soldiers with pots of ale in their hands, watching her as she passed by. It was as if the city had been waiting for her to return and explain why she had deserted them and left them to this fate.

She was almost relieved to ride through the gates of the fortress and hear them slam behind her cutting off the accusing silence. Several guards hurried forward to take her horse’s bridle and to help her down, quickly surrounding her, but before they marched her off she had time to catch a glimpse of her betrayer’s face; for a man who had just captured a queen, Malingar looked decidedly unhappy.

The guards marched her into the fortress and along the corridors towards the rear of the austere stone building. When they stopped, one of them opened a door and she walked through into a small uncarpeted room which was not her own, but not a cell either. The door was closed behind her and she waited as a key rattled in the lock and the locking bar dropped into place. So far she had been brave, her only tears having been for those men whose heads had decorated the poles outside of the city gates, but in the sudden solitude of her room, her resolve disappeared and she broke down into sobs of fright and anger.

From the other side of the room another door opened and she looked up in surprise just as Birrit, her cheeks wet with tears, ran forward and threw her arms around her. “Your Majesty, I’m so pleased to see you! I thought you’d been taken prisoner and killed and that I would never see you again.”

She took Tarraquin’s cold and shaking hands and almost dragged her across the room and through the door to a smaller room, shutting the door behind them and pushing a heavy dresser in front of it to bar the way. “You’ll be safe in here, Your Majesty. The men come into the other room whenever they please and do as they wish, but nobody has made it into here yet.” Birrit took Tarraquin’s cloak, bustled her into a chair by the fire and then poured her some wine from a chipped clay jug. “Here, drink this. It’s not what you’ve been used to but it’s drinkable and it’ll help to bring the colour back to your cheeks and stop you shaking so much.”

Tarraquin gratefully took the wine and drank it down ignoring the slightly bitter taste. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Birrit, what has happened here? Who has taken the city?”

“You’ve seen the heads?” Tarraquin nodded. “Lord Istan tried to escape but that magician followed him and he was captured and then they did that terrible thing to him. They made all of us in the fortress watch as they tortured him and as they hacked off the heads of the others. They said it was a lesson in obedience, and that, or worse would happen to anyone who disobeyed them or tried to escape. Since then, we’ve all lived in fear of our lives.”

“What about Master Jarrul, did he return here?”

Birrit nodded and tears filled her eyes. “He was captured too but escaped along with Lord Istan and the Guildmaster. It is said that the magician murdered him when he tried to get away from them so they left his body where he’d been killed to feed the sly hunters. Two guards lost their heads in his place.”

Tarraquin wiped her eyes and resolved that they were the last tears she was going to shed; compared to Birrit and others like her, she had escaped lightly so far. She put a comforting arm around her maid. “Oh Birrit, that’s awful, I know you too were fond of Jarrul.” She waited for Birrit to stop crying before going on. “Who are these people and what are they doing here?”

“They’re King Borman’s men and some are from the army of Great Lord Andron who was also killed. They tricked their way into the city using that magic worker and now Borman has declared himself king of Leersland. He says that the two kingdoms are going to be joined as one and that it’ll be called Borland, after him.”

Tarraquin shook her head in dismay; so much had happened in such a short time that she was almost afraid to ask any more questions. She looked around the small sleeping chamber trying to find something familiar, something to hang on to whilst she tried to come to terms with what had happened, but there was nothing she recognised. In fact there was something missing. She took a deep breath to ask her last question.

“Where’s Sheevar?”

Birrit looked down at her hands letting her tears fall onto them. “The Guardcaptain, the one who tortured Lord Istan, he took a fancy to Sheevar. He came one night before we thought to barricade ourselves in here. He said he wanted her, but Sheevar had got used to being free and she forgot a whore’s first lesson. I got away with some bruises, but Sheevar tried to fight him off and he killed her. There used to be a carpet in the other room, but it was covered in blood so I rolled her body in it and some friends from the whore house took her away and buried her.

Tarraquin sat back in her chair, too stunned and miserable to talk any more. So many people had suffered for her stupidity. She had been a fool leaving her throne in the hands of that smooth-tongued sand crawler. What’s more she had been an even bigger fool not to realise that a mercenary captain with five hundred men suddenly turning up out of the blue to support her could not just be a coincidence or a stroke of luck. Jarrul had tried to warn her but she had ignored him, so taken up was she with her own plans and ambitions. Somehow she would get out of this mess and get her throne back, but without Jarrul by her side, it was going to be very difficult.

*

Borman watched Tarraquin arrive from one of the fortress’s windows and was pleased with his decision to retrieve her from the beast’s clutches. From the way she had ridden into the courtyard it was obvious that she was a confident horsewoman and had clearly not been cowed by the sight of her friends’ heads adorning the pikes on the road to Tarmin’s gates. When she had dismounted and was being escorted inside to what she must have thought would be a prison cell, she had held her head high and looked resolute. At least he thought she had; it was a bit difficult to make out the detail from where he stood above the fortress entrance.

He was pleased that she wasn’t wailing or fainting as most of the women he knew would be doing under the same circumstances. If she had he wouldn’t have bothered any further with her, but would have ordered her head to join the others outside the gates. As it was he rubbed his hands together in anticipation; he liked his women feisty, and as long as she said nothing if he took his pleasures elsewhere when the fancy took him, she might make a passably good wife.

When he was tired of looking out of the window and contemplating her arrival, he returned to his own rooms to rest, whilst his servants made arrangements to entertain his guest. Later, when he woke, two comfortable chairs had been placed across from each other by the fire and a light evening meal had been laid out on the tables beside the chairs and covered with a cloth. He had chosen a sweet and fruity Vinmore blush wine to go with it, although it wasn’t really to his taste, but ladies seemed to like it. Under normal circumstances he would have met with a defeated adversary at their place of execution or, perhaps, if they were particularly penitent, in their death cell, but somehow iron bars, soiled straw and the smell of death didn’t seem appropriate when proposing marriage.