The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (57 page)

The fate of his father wasn’t the only thing on his mind. His carefully brokered deal between the money man and the merchant was definitely off, leaving him with the problem of getting them both out of Alewinder and to a safe place, where they wouldn’t be questioned about his identity. On top of that, he was having problems with the defeatists. They were the ones who thought it was better to co-operate with the invader and live in relative safety rather than fight for their freedom and independence.

Whilst he disagreed with them he could understand their point of view; life was better than death, and there was always the hope that Vorgret would tire of Vinmore and would return home taking his army with him. The likelihood of that happening was slim, but it was a hope that a growing number of people clung to. What they hadn’t taken into account was what would happen when Borman and his army turned up, and the streets of Alewinder became a battlefield.

If he’d been making the decisions he would have had the army out there in the field already, choosing where they wanted to fight and not giving Borman the advantage. As it was, Vorgret had stayed inside the palace, and the only preparations he’d made to check Borman’s advance was to post extra guards on Alewinder’s walls. Perhaps he was relying on the magician to burn them all up, but Barrin didn’t think that was going to work. For all his power Sadrin was just one man against thousands.

It was clear that Vorgret was an idiot. Alewinder was indefensible, and if he waited until the last moment to do something, then they would end up fighting from street to street. It wasn’t that he cared that much about Essenland’s soldiers being slaughtered, they deserved it for being here, but if there was a street battle, then lots of innocent people were going to die and his city would suffer. Only the day before, he’d tried to explain that to a group of merchants who had managed to hang on to most of their wealth, but they were unconvinced. Under the circumstances, getting the arms merchant and the counting house master together had been quite an achievement, which was not likely to be repeated.

Barrin stretched his legs and yawned, not certain what he was going to do next, but knowing that if he didn’t do something, his less committed followers were going to fade away to nothing. It had once seemed so straight forward; oust Vorgret and in the absence of any heirs from the royal house, set up government by the people. There had been a lot of enthusiasm for the idea amongst his friends, and then along had come the defeatists who wanted Steppen to return from retirement. They even thought that Vorgret was better than no king at all or, the Goddess forbid, that they should support Borman to take the throne of Vinmore.

He didn’t know much about Borman apart from what Tarraquin had told him, and that hadn’t filled him with enthusiasm. That the man was ruthless and cared nothing for the laws of the Goddess was obvious, he’d already conquered two kingdoms and the rumour was that he’d a hand in the war between Sandstrone and Leersland. Never before had a king ruled more than one of the six kingdoms, although one or two had tried, which only went to prove the point that Borman was dangerous. He had said as much to the defeatists, but they had chosen not to listen.

There was a light tap at the door and the wife of the baker, who had allowed them to use the rooms above the bake house, entered carrying a heavy tray which she placed noisily on the table. For a long moment she scowled in disapproval at the three men, glanced at the sleeping merchant and then marched out of the room muttering something under her breath which sounded a bit like ‘bloody fools’. Barrin wasn’t sure if it was aimed at them or her husband, who had let them have the room against her better judgement. The arrival of a jug of herb tea and a loaf of red berry and spice bread lifted their spirits. Tuckin poured three mugs of tea and broke the warm bread into four chunks whilst Redruth went to the window, pulled back the blanket which covered it, and gave a low whistle.

“There’s a lot of activity out there for this time of day. I wonder what is going on?”

“Any sign of guards or people watching the place?”

“Not that I can see, just lots of people hurrying about.” He dropped the corner of the blanket back in place and returned to the table, clutching a pot of herb tea to warm his hands. “Once it gets dark, I’ll slip out and find out what all the excitement is about.”

Barrin took a sip of his own tea, glad for the warmth in the dreary room. When there was sudden shouting from the bake house below their room and the sounds of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, the mugs were instantly discarded and all three of them drew their swords. A large muscular man in a crumpled shirt and jerkin pushed the door open and stepped inside with the baker close behind and his wife glaring at them all from the landing. At the sight of the three naked swords the newcomer stopped dead.

“If I’d been a troop of guards you’d all be under arrest by now or dead.”

Barrin’s face broke into a wide grin as he sheathed his sword and stepped forward to greet the older man. “Father! Am I ever glad to see you, but what are you doing here, I thought that you had been arrested?”

The innkeeper eyed up the pots of tea and chunks of bread and gratefully took one when Redruth pushed his forward towards him. “I went to the inn, but you weren’t there, so I guessed you would still be here hiding in the city when you should have been long gone.” He took a large gulp of tea. “Never did have any sense, the lot of you.”

Barrin shook his head in bemusement. “How did you get here? Last time we heard you were in the cells beneath the palace.”

“They let me out.” The innkeeper took another gulp of tea. It was the first drink he’d had since he’d been taken to the cells that morning. “They let us all out, every single prisoner. It didn’t matter what we were accused of, they just opened the doors, undid the manacles and walked away or perhaps ran away would have been a better description.” He gave his astonished son a big smile anticipating the reaction his next news would bring. “Vorgret’s dead, that demon Sadrin has already left Alewinder, and Essenland’s troops are packing up everything they can carry and are moving out. In two days or three at the most, they will be clear of Vinmore’s soil and back in their own land where they belong.”

Barrin was shocked speechless. Of all the different scenarios they had planned for, the death of Vorgret and the withdrawal of the invader, this was not one of them. “Who had the good sense to kill him?”

“Damn if I know or care, but I guess it must have been the magician as I heard that there’s no bones to bury.”

For a moment Barrin said nothing and then a smile spread across his face. “We need to do something and quickly too.” He looked at the blank faces of the others who stood staring at him in confusion, holding their swords at rest and flanked by the arms merchant who was now fully awake. “Don’t you see, this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for? With Vorgret gone there is no one on the throne and no government. If we act quickly and decisively, we can step into that gap and have a council set up before anyone else has a chance to think about it. By nightfall we could be the ruling power in Vinmore.”

The innkeeper frowned and shifted his feet uncomfortably. He was a traditionalist and a believer in the laws of the Goddess, like most of Alewinder’s citizens, and whilst he’d gone along with his son’s ideas, this smacked too much of a grab for power by a few hot heads. “Just hold on a moment! You said there would be elections and the people could choose who would sit on this council of yours. I don’t hear any of that in your plans. It seems to me that this council is going to be just you and your mates, and I’m not having anything to do with that!”

“There isn’t time for elections. The opportunity is here and now and we would be fools to let it pass us by.”

“Not good enough. You won’t get me or anyone else to follow a bunch of guardsmen who know nothing except how to wave a sword in the air. Vinmore’s made up of traders and merchants, vintners and growers and money men. They are the ones who should be on this council of yours.”

Barrin could have screamed in frustration but he knew it would do no good. Once his father had something in his mind there was no moving him. “Of course it should and it will be, only not straight off.” His father folded his meaty arms and shook his head so Barrin tried again. “All right, you want traders and merchants so that’s you and our friend here, he’s a merchant, and the master of the counting house who we have stashed away safely can be the money man. As for the vintner, how about your friend the master of the warehouse? I don’t know any growers, but there’s always the Housecharge from the palace, everyone knows and respects him. How does that sound until we can hold elections?”

The innkeeper frowned but slowly nodded his approval. “It will do as a start, but mind that you keep your word. I’ll not have any son of mine playing at being king.”

Barrin rolled his eyes and ignored the grins on the faces of his friends. “I’ll keep my word, believe me, but can we move now please. There are lots of things to be done and not much time in which to do it.”

*

The idea of having a ruling council was a good one but getting it to work was another matter entirely. It wasn’t so much that the council members argued and disagreed, which they did all the time, but they seemed totally incapable of making a decision. Rothers sat at the head of the table and watched them argue over whether they should conscript every able-bodied man into the defence of Northshield, or if they should ask for volunteers and only have those who were truly committed.

They had been arguing for over two candle lengths and were still no closer to an agreement. What was worse, this was still the first item on a very long agenda. If it carried on like this and Lord Sallins had told Borman about the people’s government, which he was sure Sallins would have done, then they would still be sitting here when Borman knocked on the door asking for his throne back.

The thought of how his cousin would react to this sort of government sitting on his throne made him cringe inside. If he’d been Borman, he would have slammed his goblet down on the table to gain silence, and would have then told the council what they were going to do. There would always be the possibility that someone would argue back, but as they would be hauled away to some dark place never to be seen again, that wouldn’t be a problem. He hadn’t resorted to goblet slamming yet, but if this went on much longer he would be sorely tempted to try it.

Rothers waited until the volume of voices had doubled before he pushed his chair back with a loud scraping noise, hoping that his action might attract the attention of the council long enough for him to speak and bring some order to the discussion. Unfortunately if anyone did take note of his action they ignored it as the volume of discussion didn’t diminish one squeak. He hesitated for a moment and then turned away and left them to it.

He’d already come to the conclusion that he was no good at being the head of the council. In fact, if it hadn’t been himself who suggested having a council, he doubted if anyone would have even thought of asking him to be a council member, despite being the closest thing to royalty that Northshield had. When he’d lived in the palace he’d been little better than Borman’s lackey, and was better known for his preference for young boys and outlandish clothes than any ability to put a winning argument together. He suspected that the council members still saw him as that pathetic fop.

Feeling more despondent than he had since they’d arrived in Wallmore, he did what he always did when he needed advice and a supporting hand; he went to find Jonderill. It shouldn’t have been difficult, the magician spent most of his time in the palace’s libraries searching for something, although he’d no idea what. For once he wasn’t there, neither was he in any of the rooms they shared. That just left his sleeping room and, whilst he still helped his friend with those personal things he couldn’t do for himself, he was reluctant to enter his private chambers without Jonderill’s permission. Instead he asked the palace servants where the magician was, and they eventually directed him to the courtyard where the maze had once stood.

The courtyard was still surrounded by a high wall of white stone blocks making the spiral stairway from the receiving room the only way in. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the key was still hanging on its hook, but the door was slightly ajar. He knew there was no magic in the place any more, but the courtyard looked odd. It gave him the creeps and made gooseflesh rise along his arms. For a moment he thought about going back, but decided that was a coward’s way out.

As he stepped through the door, Jonderill turned away from what he had been watching and scowled at him in irritation, but by now he was so used to people giving him disapproving looks that it had no effect, so he took a seat on the stone bench next to the magician. It took him a moment to realise what he was watching and then he understood why his presence had not been welcomed. By then it was too late to leave, so he stayed and watched the amazing performance.

He vaguely remembered Allowyn from when he’d lived in the palace, not that he’d much to do with him or his white robe. Like everyone else he’d heard about a protector’s phenomenal skill and speed but he’d never seen anything like this. The movement of the protector’s blades through the air were a blur, and the change from sword to long knife and back again was so smooth, that there wasn’t the slightest interruption to the intricate steps as Allowyn moved across the courtyard dispatching nonexistent enemies.

When he threw the first of his knives into the wooden posts at the edge of the courtyard Rothers jumped in surprise, astounded at the swiftness of the movement which barely interrupted the flow of sword work. He watched as seven of the eight knives found their mark and barely restrained himself from clapping when Allowyn flowed into his final movement and finished with a full extension of both swords, the tips of the blades perfectly still. Rothers went to say something but Jonderill held up his arm for silence until the protector had sheathed his swords and retrieved the fallen knife from the ground.