The White Robe (60 page)

From behind him Tarraquin gave an excited shout and barged past, bowling him out of the way and throwing her arms around the man pressed to the wall. Jonderill followed behind, pumping the man’s hand up and down and slapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. He turned back to Tissian and gave him a big grin. “Tissian, this is our friend Jarrul, back from the dead!”

Tarraquin pulled back from her friend with tears of happiness in her eyes. “Jarrul, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. We were told you were dead and sly hunters had taken your remains.”

Jarrul was still shaking from his close encounter with Tissian’s sword, but was obviously pleased to see them. “I very nearly was.”

“What happened?” asked Jonderill, stepping back and giving Jarrul more room to breathe.

“I’m not really sure. After we escaped from the city and reached the forest we thought we were free, but this white robe came after us. It didn’t matter what we did, we couldn’t shake him off our tail, and eventually the men with him had us surrounded. I don’t remember much after that. The magician pointed his fingers at me and there was an explosion of some sort, and when I came to, I was in the bottom of a ditch covered with leaves and everyone else had gone. I came here hoping that Istan would find his way here.”

Jonderill shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jarrul, Istan is dead, the Guildmaster too.”

“I’m sorry too; they were both good men, even the Guildmaster in his way. But what are you doing here, My Lady? The last time I saw you, you were being held prisoner by that beast.”

Tarraquin took his hand and led him to a chair. “It’s a long story so just sit and I’ll tell you everything that has happened to me.”

Jarrul sat down in the chair looking confused, but Tissian interrupted them before Tarraquin could start on her tale. “Master, I’m not sure how safe we are in this place. If Callabris could track Jarrul so easily, it will not be difficult for him to find us here. I think I should tend to the horses and Birrit should prepare some food, and afterwards, we can decide where we can hide so that Callabris won’t be able to find us.”

“Birrit’s here with you?” interrupted Jarrul eagerly.

Tarraquin smiled at him. “Yes, and she is going to be very happy to see that you are alive too.”

Jonderill nodded in agreement and sent Tissian and Jarrul to fetch her. The protector retuned with their saddle bags and supplies, and then left again to tend to the horses, but it was some time before Jarrul and Birrit came back holding hands. Jarrul let go of her hand, giving her an affectionate smile, so she could get on with her work, whilst Tarraquin sat down next to him and filled him in on what had happened. By the time Tissian returned, Birrit had produced a meal of fresh flatbread, seared wild grunter and boiled greens. The clearing and the forest around them was filled with the mouth watering smell of food which would carry a long way, but everyone was too hungry to care, knowing that this could be their last hot meal for some time.

Jonderill was the first to finish, pushing his empty plate to one side. He waited until the others had done the same. “We had planned to stay here for a few days and then back track and come out of the forest as close to Maladran’s tower as we can get. Now, I think it would be best if we left as soon as we can, tonight if possible.”

Jarrul sat upright, a look of fear on his face. “You’re going to Maladran’s tower?”

“Yes, we’ll be safe there.”

Jarrul shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jonderill. I know you think you’ll be safe there, but after what happened last time, I can’t set foot in that place again. You must go without me; I’ll stay here and hide in the trees if anyone comes.”

“We go together or not at all,” said Tarraquin firmly, glaring at Jonderill who glared back and muttered something about wimps under his breath.

It was Tissian’s turn to shake his head; this wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “Are there any other alternatives to going to Maladran’s tower, because it will definitely not be safe for any one of us to stay here?”

The others were quiet for a moment and then Tarraquin looked up from the silver box she was holding in her hand. “There is a fortress in Tarbis which would be safe. When I left there, Captain Tangier said that his master would always welcome me back if I decided to return. I’m sure that welcome would be extended to us all if I asked.”

“I don’t think I could stay there either,” said Jarrul, “At least not in the long term, the beast terrifies me.”

“The long term shouldn’t be a problem,” interrupted Jonderill. “I have some friends in Alewinder who would be pleased to have your company, and Birrit’s too if she cares to go with you. They would welcome me and Tissian too, but that may cause more problems than it would solve. What do you think Tarraquin; would your friend give us sanctuary until we can arrange a more permanent place to stay”

“I think he would do that, but we must get there soon.” She looked down at the two tiny leaves nestling against the amber lining of the box; one was bright silver but the other was tinged with bronze.

*

Sharman sat on his horse feeling every one of his sixty summers and wondering how it had come to this. Beneath him his old horse plodded along giving the occasional disgruntled grunt and feeling as old as he did. They had been together a long time, young man and colt, soldier and war horse. It had been his intention that they would have retired together, him to his chair outside a cottage with two rooms, and the horse in the paddock with a lean-to against bad weather. He’d had it all planned. There was a small cottage on the outskirts of a nearby village that he had his eyes on, with just enough land to grow some root crops and greens and keep a few cluckers. There had never been time to have children, but his sister’s girl and her brood lived nearby, so there would be plenty of family at hand to care for him when he became too old to dig and cook his own food.

Yes, he’d had it all planned, and then that damned fool Andron had lost his senses, and decided he wanted to become King of Leersland. Andron had always been an idiot, full of airs and graces and wanting more than he already had. Sharman had spent half his life protecting the man from himself, and that had been possible whilst it had only involved land disputes with neighbours. Twenty armed men in a border clash was one thing, but gathering an army to take a throne was something entirely different. Still, in the end he got what he deserved; his body dumped in a ditch and his head on a pike.

That, of course, didn’t help his Guardcaptain much. Instead of looking forward to his retirement, he was back in the saddle, atop a mean tempered bag of bones which had seen better days, neither of them wanting to be there. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had swapped Andron for someone better, but Borman was a cunning and vicious bastard, and his men, the ones from Northshield, were little better. He glanced back at the three squad leaders and the seventy odd men in ranks of five following behind.

So they had orders to kill him had they? Well, better men than those three had tried and failed. but of course, they hadn’t had three squads of men behind them to finish the job. He wondered, if it came to a fight, the men who had been loyal to Andron, and had been dispersed amongst the ranks of Northshield men and Leerslanders, would turn against him. It was hard to tell. The stupid ones amongst them still blamed him for the culling of their comrades, but those with more sense knew he had saved many of their lives. He just hoped there were more intelligent ones than idiots amongst this group.

He could, of course, complete his mission with brilliance and return with the white robe in chains. The reward of becoming Borman’s new Guardcaptain, with a vengeful Rastor looking over his shoulder, didn’t fill him with joy but it was better than being dead. He wondered how difficult it was going to be to capture the white robe. Like anyone who had accompanied their lord to court, he knew a bit about magicians, and had once seen Maladran remove a man’s hand with the flick of his fingers, but he had been a black magician, and this was only a white. What’s more he had seen the boy around the fortress, and in all truth, he didn’t look as if he was all there.

The woman wouldn’t be a problem, but there was the protector to consider. He had heard that they could kill a squad of men without breaking out into a sweat, but he didn’t believe in such rumours, and in any case, he had three squads so that should warm the protector up a bit. Nevertheless, he needed to be cautious and pick his ground, which was why he had skirted around the edge of the forest and had not charged through the centre of the dense woodlands, as his squad leaders had advised. He hated fighting in close quarters where branches restricted your sword swing and the undergrowth hampered your footwork. Apart from that, there were too many loose and twisty things in a forest for a magician to use against you, assuming he was any good at magic.”

It had also been a much more leisurely journey once they had checked to make sure that the magician hadn’t escaped to Maladran’s tower. At his age, steady riding with plenty of stops was essential. He chuckled to himself; stopping every candle length, to relieve himself, had annoyed the hellden out of the three squad leaders. Of course, it had been a gamble that his quarry would want to leave Leersland as fast as possible, but in their shoes, it’s what he would have done. Thinking about it, it was probably what he would do anyway after all this gallivanting about was over.

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion up ahead where the pack of fang hounds had broken into tongue and were straining at the thick leather leashes which held them back. He hated the bastards; dirty, smelly things with drooling mouths and lolling tongues like newly skinned meat. His arm still bore the scar from his one and only encounter with one as a boy, which is why he had ordered these to be muzzled, much to their handler’s disgust. If it had been up to him, he would have had their mouths bound shut and their nostrils plugged with wax, but that might have been going a bit too far. Perhaps, if the magician proved difficult, he would use them then, but they were for a last resort only.

One of the handlers ran over to him and stopped in front of his horse. He jumped back quickly enough when the grumpy beast snapped at his head missing his nose by a finger length. Sharman smiled to himself; perhaps he should muzzle the old nag, it could bite just as well as any fang hound.

“Captain!” shouted the man eagerly, “We’ve found their last camp with the embers still warm, and the hounds have their scent at last. They can only be a day in front of us at the most. Shall I release the hounds and bring them to bay?”

“Of course not, I want them alive not chewed into bloody unrecognisable pieces. Tighten their muzzles so they don’t announce our arrival and take them to the rear. They’re only to be used if it looks like our quarry is going to escape us.”

The man looked disappointed that his beasts were not going to be first at the kill, but he did as he was commanded. Sharman looked back at his troops and wished that he could reorganise his three squads so he could have all his own men together in one troop, but he couldn’t, so he just had to get on with it. He had spent half his adult life reacting to changing situations and had survived pretty well so far. The only difference was that in the past, he had always wanted to win and return in triumph, whilst this time, he wasn’t sure what winning would actually look like. However, that wasn’t a decision he had to make yet; the first task was to find and capture the magician. After that, he would take his opportunities as they came. He raised his hand and the troop cantered forward.

*

Nyte sat on top of the flat rock, her unfocused eyes fixed on a distant point, looking for all the world as if she were in a trance. She wasn’t of course, she had found what she had been searching for some time ago, but when you are a slave, moments of peace and quiet are few and far between, and should be prolonged and savoured. Resisting the temptation to look sideways at her master sitting on a nearby boulder, looking like a huge black carrion eater, she thought about what she would like to do with him. If she had a knife, she would slit his throat before he knew what had happened, but she hadn’t, and in any case, the time wasn’t right yet; she still had a use for him, but her time would come, and then she would rejoice in his death.