The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (20 page)

It was a new experience for Sharman; he had never ridden over a man before, or at least not on purpose. His old horse didn’t need to trample anyone, not with the way the bad tempered bag of bones used to bite and kick. He hadn’t been sure if this horse would actually run a man down but the animal hadn’t hesitated and seemed no worse for the experience. Sharman walked the horse back to the body just to make sure he was dead but there was no doubt about that; one of his horse’s hooves must have caught the man’s head as it passed over him.

By the time he’d walked his horse very slowly back to his master Malingar was sitting on the ground holding the girl tightly. Sharman couldn’t see much of her as she was wrapped in his Lord’s cloak but he could tell by the way the cloak was shaking that she was crying, which wasn’t surprising. He dismounted carefully, groaning at the ache in his back, and wandered across to the half-naked corpse, resisting the temptation to do something unpleasant to it. If the man had been alive he would have done it without hesitation; it wouldn’t have been the first time he had made sure that a man never did that sort of thing again, but the man’s staring eyes made it pointless. He looked around as if he was admiring the view and then walked back to where Malingar still held the shaking girl.

“My Lord, Lady, we had better move away from here. If Rastor has left these two as a rear guard he’s likely to be coming back to collect them and I don’t think we should be here to greet him.”

Malinger looked up and nodded. It had been pure luck that they had found the guards’ horses tied to a bush and hidden from view in a dip a short way from the vine covered hillside. Following the path of destruction had been easy and they had been well passed the shattered vines when they heard the scream from behind them and turned back. He just wished he could have reached her sooner.

He turned his attention back to the woman he held, wrapped in his cloak. “My Lady, we need to move before Rastor returns. Can you stand and mount a horse?”

Tarraquin murmured something he couldn’t quite hear through the folds of the cloak but he felt her nod so he stood and helped her to her feet. Her eyes were wide and red from crying and her skin was as white as new snow, but she still looked as beautiful as ever. His sudden need to protect her took him by surprise. He took her arm, helped her mount his horse and then climbed up behind her.

“Can you hide the bodies?”

Sharman shrugged. “I can but there’s too much blood around for them not to be discovered. It would look better if it appeared they had been attacked by soldiers fleeing the battle.”

“Can you do that?”

He looked distastefully at the half naked man and thought about what he would have to do. “Given enough time I could make it convincing but I need some more tracks leading away from here to the edge of the wood and beyond if you can manage it.”

Malingar nodded. “We’ll camp in the centre of the wood whilst the lady recovers. Come and find us when you are through and, Sharman, be careful.”

Sharman smiled. “Yes, My Lord.”

For a short while he watched Malingar ride away, stopping every so often to dismount and plant footprints in the grass and then trample them with the horse’s hooves. Then he set to work. This wasn’t going to be a very good deception and a trained tracker would spot the ruse instantly but he prayed to the Goddess that all the trackers had been left behind in Tarmin. He had only just finished arranging the bodies and was sitting in the grass by his horse eating travel bread when Rastor and a large group of horse soldiers rode into sight.

Up until then the evening had been pleasant with the sun setting in pink and gold streamers and swift flyers swooping and darting overhead chasing sunset buzzers. He hoped they would catch and eat lots of the nasty biting things. It was a pity Rastor had to turn up and spoil it all. Sharman stood and put the rest of his travel bread back in his saddle bag and took a final swig of grain spirit from his water skin. He waved at Rastor as if he was trying to attract his attention although the Guardcaptain was already riding towards him.

Rastor pulled his horse to a halt, stared down at the two bodies and then glared at Malingar’s servant. “What’s going on here?”

Sharman bowed as deeply as his aching back would allow. “Guardcaptain Rastor, I’m pleased that you have come. My master has left me here to report to you. We found these two just as you see them and with tracks leading to the edge of those woods and beyond. My master thinks they must have been attacked by escaping Tarbisian soldiers and has gone to follow them.”

Rastor waved two of his men forward and ordered them to search the area whilst he continued to stare at the bodies with a deep frown of suspicion on his face. There was something not quite right with the scene but he couldn’t think what it was.

“Where is the man’s head?”

Sharman wrung his hands in agitation. “I don’t know, Lord, they were like that when I found them.” He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps they took it as a trophy?”

Rastor glared at him. For some reason Borman rated Sharman as a good leader of men but, there again, Borman had thought Janus was good too. As far as he was concerned the man was a doddering old, bald-headed, fool living off a reputation gained so long ago that nobody remembered what he had done to gain it. The two horse soldiers returned and Rastor turned his attention back to them.

“It looks like they were surprised by two or three men, probably soldiers by the look of the wounds and with at least one of them mounted. The tracks head towards those woods and beyond and it looks as if one man is following but it is hard to tell as the tracks are really messed up.”

“Did you find the head?”

“No, Sir. All we found was lots of blood.”

“And the woman?”

“No sign of her either, Sir.”

“Damn and blast them all to hellden! Borman is not going to be pleased about this.” He looked at the sky and eased his aching backside in the saddle. It had been a long day and there were other things he would rather be doing than running around the countryside chasing Borman’s whore. “You!” he pointed at the cringing Sharman. “Bury the dead and then go and find your master, that’s if he isn’t lying in the grass somewhere like these two with his throat cut out.”

Sharman stepped hesitantly forward next to Rastor’s knee and for a moment he thought that he was going to beg. “Lord, please send men to help my master. There may be more escaped soldiers out there waiting for him.”

Rastor gave a bark of laughter. “Good, I hope they find him and cut him into little pieces.” He kicked Sharman in the shoulder knocking him to the ground and then gave the command to move out.

Sharman watched them go, rubbing his shoulder and trying not to smile. That was another bruise added to the many he had collected over the last few days, but he’d had an idea whilst he was sitting in the grass and if it worked out, then Rastor would be laughing on the other side of his face.

It was almost dark when Sharman found their camp hidden away in a small hollow where the soil had been washed away around the roots of a ring of old trees. In the old days when there had been more magic in the land, people would have kept away from such places, but it didn’t bother him. Then again he’d never been a great believer in fairies and the like. It didn’t seem to bother Malingar either who sat to one side carving a piece of wood whilst the girl lay curled up under his cloak asleep. The camp was unlit, which was a pity. He could have done with a hot meal inside of him, but instead he unhooked his water skin and sat next to his master taking deep gulps of the fiery spirit and passing it to Malingar. Malingar coughed slightly as it caught the back of his throat and passed the skin back.

“How did it go?”

“They came and they went and I got a kick in the shoulder for my trouble.” He rubbed his shoulder gingerly. “How is the girl?”

Malingar picked up his knife again and continued with his carving. “She’ll be all right, the Lady Tarraquin is tough. She cried a bit when I told her about Prince Newn but I think she had already guessed that he hadn’t survived the battle.”

“What happens to her now?” asked Sharman, taking a long pull at the rapidly emptying skin. “You know you should return her to Borman.”

“No you don’t.” said a small but firm voice from beneath Malingar’s cloak.

Tarraquin pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled the cloak tightly around herself. Despite her bleary eyes she had some colour back in her face and looked considerably better than she had earlier. She held her hand out for the water skin and managed to swallow a small swig of grain spirit without coughing.

Sharman took the skin back and gave her a smile. He liked the girl’s courage, she would make someone a good wife and it was a pity that he wasn’t thirty summers younger. “You would be safe with King Borman, My Lady. He would make sure what happened to you today wouldn’t happen again.”

“No, he would just do it himself.” snapped Tarraquin bitterly and then regretted her harsh words. “I’m sorry. I do thank you for saving me today but I cannot go back to Borman. What I need to do is return to Tarbis. They have no king now and will need someone to protect them against Borman.”

Sharman and Malingar looked at each other. “I think it is too late for you to return to Tarbis. Borman has already declared himself king and he now has the men to take the throne and keep it. You cannot go to Leersland either, there will be guards looking out for you there.”

“Then I will go to Alewinder,” said Tarraquin indignantly. “I have friends there who will welcome and protect me.”

“Things have changed there as well. King Vorgret rules there now or so we have heard.”

Tarraquin looked surprised and then smiled. “Then I will go to Vorgret; we were to be married once and I am sure that if I asked him he will honour our agreement.”

Malingar looked concerned. “You need to be careful, My Lady. King Vorgret doesn’t have a good reputation.”

“And Borman does?” she snapped back. “No, I shall go to Vorgret and throw myself on his mercy, or something like that, only I need to leave now whilst I can travel through the darkness and get as far away from here as I can before daylight.”

She stood a little shakily and let the cloak fall. Underneath she wore Malingar’s spare shirt and breeches, far too big for her but held together with a narrow belt. Somehow she looked even more beautiful than she had before. Sharman couldn’t help smiling and wondered what was holding his master back.

Malingar picked up the cloak and handed it to her. “If you insist, My Lady, but take this to keep you warm and take Sharman’s horse to get you swiftly away from here.”

Sharman’s smile disappeared. He’d become really quite fond of that horse and its odd habit of hiding its head under his arm. Whilst he was certain that Malingar would give him another it wasn’t the same; he would have to start training a new horse to his ways all over again.

“That is kind of you, Lord Malingar, thank you and thank you, Captain Sharman.”

She reached up and kissed Malingar on the cheek but only smiled at Sharman. He watched her walk to his horse and then stopped her. “My Lady. If I could delay you one moment I have an idea which would cause some discomfort to Guardcaptain Rastor only it requires your cooperation and a small donation.”

“If it causes Rastor harm then I am happy to oblige. What is it you want from me?”

So he told her.

~    ~    ~    ~    ~

PART TWO

Escape

CHAPTER NINE

Ambush

Dozo stepped out of the shelter, looked up at the sky and wondered why he’d bothered. Of course it was raining, it had been raining for three days without respite and by the look of the grey, leaden sky it was likely to rain for another three. That was the problem with north Essenland, it was cold and it rained a lot. Living in the Enclave had been different. The deep valley seemed to miss the worst of the weather and the magic which seeped from the Goddess’s temple ensured that its inhabitants lived in comfort for most of the time. That is, it used to be like that. His recent brief sojourn in the city of the Goddess had been so wet and cold that the rain had turned to snow for the first time in living memory.

It hadn’t been real snow, like the white blanket which covered the Deeling Pass in winter, but big wet flakes which turned to a grey mush the moment it touched skin or stone. In fact the whole visit had been cold and miserable. The Enclave was his home and yet there had been no warm welcome there for him or his masters. It hadn’t helped that he had been arrested the moment that they arrived at the main gates on the order of the High Master for disobeying his commands.

As a result, he had spent an anxious day locked in a stone cell contemplating an uncertain future. The cell was one of those on the first level below the House of Learning, so at least it had some light which came in through a small grill at the top of the wall. Unfortunately it also let in the slushy snow. The cold cell had contained a stone bench, a single blanket and a mug of water chained to the wall so that it couldn’t be used as a weapon. It was hardly luxurious but a great deal better than the unlit cells on the second and third level.

When Allowyn came for him, he was more than ready to leave, although the choice the protector had given him had been a difficult one. He could have stayed where he was and waited on the pleasure of the High Master to see what his future would be, or he could leave the Enclave, knowing that he would never be able to return. Dozo loved his home city and had hoped that when his service as one of the Enclave’s armsmen was done, he could have entered the School of Learning to study the laws of healing and become a physic. That would not be possible if he left now, but what was that compared to the honour of serving Master Allowyn and his master, Lord Callabris?

Allowyn was giving him his orders to prepare for a long journey while they were still climbing the steps from the cells into the last of the daylight. After that he didn’t see Allowyn again until he had their horses and the two pack horses ready and waiting to leave at the Armsman’s Gate. It struck him then how pale Allowyn looked, and he had wondered how the protector had spent his time whilst he had been locked in his cell. Callabris looked as he always did and was eager to leave, so he thought no more about it.