The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell), page 47
Gold had flooded into the Enclave in such quantities that he’d even stored some of it in the Goddess’s sanctuary. After all, she wasn’t using the space, and it was the only place in the Enclave where no one but he could go. Of course there had been complaints and objections from the people who worked in the Enclave, there always was. The smiths had complained the loudest saying that their half-trained journeymen and apprentices could only produce inferior quality goods and this would sully their reputation across the six kingdoms in times to come.
The master weavers had picked up on the same point, objecting to using the rough spun, hardly washed wool on their fine looms. One master from the House of Learning had even had the audacity to remind him of his duty to regulate the distribution of the Enclave’s products, in order to maintain the peace and prosperity of the six kingdoms as the Goddess had ordained. He had made sure that the interfering old fool disappeared before his words could spread to others.
It was simple enough to deal with those who complained. When they started whining, he just told them that it was the Goddess’s will that the warring kings were provided with whatever they demanded, and the fools believed him. He was careful not to mention the price he was asking for the Enclave’s products though, or the boxes of gold coins which were being held in Shipside in his name. Soon, very soon, he would have enough gold stashed away to leave this place. He just needed his final reward from Vorgret and he would be gone.
Alerted by the sound of the secret door sliding open behind him, he snapped his personal ledger closed and slid it into the top drawer of his desk. Tressing knew of course about the additional gold, and when the time came, he would take his share, but it didn’t do to tell him how much in case he became greedy and wanted more. He looked up as the grey robe closed the door behind him.
“Well?”
“Everything is as it should be, High Master. The people work diligently to please the Goddess, and if the Enclave is not exactly at peace, it is productive and its people are too busy to ask awkward questions. However, I regret to report that there has been no sign of any delegation from King Vorgret’s court.”
“Hellden be damned! What is taking him so long? It has been half a moon cycle since I sent the messenger and still there is no word from Vorgret. I could have walked to Vorglave and back in that time.”
“There is unrest in Essenland, High Master. It could be that your rider was waylaid and your message never reached the king, or perhaps the king’s messenger has been delayed by nests of rebels on his journey here.”
“Or it could be that he is not interested in the girl. Ah, Tressing, have I been a fool. Should I have told Borman that I have his betrothed and his heir instead of just Vorgret? If only I knew for certain who the father was, I could play them off against each other, but the brat looks like neither of them, or even both!”
“I am told that all newly born babies look like that. Perhaps if you could have waited until its features appeared your course of action would have been clearer.”
“I couldn’t wait. The kingdoms are at war and there isn’t much time left. The six kingdoms are falling apart and we must take every advantage of it to make sure we are still alive and in a strong position when the dust settles.”
“And what if Borman wins? He won’t be too pleased when he finds out that you have given his onetime betrothed and his heir to the enemy.”
It was a good question, but it didn’t really matter to him, he would be far away from the six kingdoms by then. He went to give a vague answer but was interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of one of the temple guards.
“Your Eminence, we have word of a troop of horsemen approaching the Enclave from the south.”
“A troop? Whose colours do they wear?”
“They are from Essenland, My Lord, and they carry the royal banner.”
A wave of relief washed over him and all the doubts he’d had about his course of action disappeared. He hadn’t expected the king to come himself, but if it were the royal banner, it meant that Vorgret had come in person, and as a consequence there would be no protracted negotiations. He could just hand the woman and her brat over to the king, collect the reward and go. It was difficult to keep the look of pleasure off his face and the excitement out of his voice.
“Well, Tressing, it appears we have a royal visitor. Make the necessary preparations to greet the king and I will receive him in here as soon as he arrives.”
Razarin wasn’t the only one who had been alerted to the approach of the royal visitor. As soon as Tressing gave the orders for preparations to be made, the rumour that the king of Essenland and his army had been sighted on the ridge above the Enclave swept through the city. In moments, panic broke out. If there was an army on its way, they would need feeding, and that would mean there would be less for all those who lived in the Enclave.
Consequently what had started as a quiet day for the market traders, suddenly turned into mayhem as people bought every item of food they could lay their hands on. At first it was just a sudden rush with the usual bartering and exchange of coin, but when the market stalls started to rapidly empty of their produce, those at the back of the queue pushed forward and grabbed what they could. Even those who had already purchased supplies and were leaving the market, turned back and joined in the free for all.
Birrit clutched her basket tightly and squeezed herself between a couple of stalls to prevent herself from being trampled by the pushing and shoving crowd. It wasn’t the best place to be, but it all happened so fast that there hadn’t been time to find somewhere safer. Somehow it reminded her of her childhood in the kingsward compound, when food would be thrown to the starving orphans and you had to fight for the scraps. Life as a child whore had been hard, but that had been worse.
A large woman with thick arms and beefy hands tugged at her basket, and when she wouldn’t release it, the woman raised her fist threateningly. Birrit let the basket go. That was something else she had learnt in the kingsward compound; it was better to give up what was yours than to be beaten half to death by someone bigger, and still lose what it was you had. She watched the woman fight her way through the crowd with her shopping and then drop the basket and run in the opposite direction.
Across the square a troop of armsmen marched forward with their pikes lowered into a bristling and deadly line. The crowd screamed and ran in all directions and within moments all that remained of the melee were empty stalls, broken crates and a scattering of fruit squashed into the cobblestones. As order was restored, the market traders crept out from beneath their stalls where they had taken shelter and surveyed the ruins of their produce.
Birrit squeezed out from between the two stalls where she had taken refuge and started to walk away, but an angry shout from behind her made her stop and look back. The two traders who owned the stalls had seen her and were walking quickly towards her, their faces red with anger. She knew she should run but her legs just wouldn’t move. The traders stopped in front of her and one began shouting abuse at her, so close that she could smell his rancid breath. She tried to step back but the other trader grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and started tugging at the purse attached to her belt.
When the man who was shouting at her raised his hand and hit her, there was nothing she could do to protect herself. Birrit cried out and staggered back from the blow but couldn’t fall to the ground as the other man still held her tightly. The man raised his hand again but the blow never fell as the butt of a pike shaft caught him in the ribs and sent him sprawling.
“What’s going on here?” demanded the armsman holding his blade with the sharp point towards the two traders.
“The whore stole my fruit.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I was just trying to hide from the mob.” Birrit wiped the tears from her eyes onto the back of her hand. She could feel the bruise forming where the stall holder had hit her.
The armsman looked at Birrit and then back at the two men. “You two get back to your stalls and don’t leave them again unless you want the point of my pike up your arse.” He watched them walk sullenly away from him before he turned back to Birrit and gave her a smile. “I think I had better walk you back to your home, the streets are not safe for a lady by herself. Where do you live?”
Birrit took the proffered arm. He was a good looking young man, tall with sand-coloured hair and blue eyes, although it was a pity about the broken nose. If it hadn’t been for Jarrul she could quite fancy him. “Thank you. I have rooms at the House of Learning.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You are a student then?” Birrit nodded her head hoping that he wouldn’t detect the lie. “Perhaps I might call on you when I am off duty and show you some of the sights of the city?”
Birrit nodded again and desperately tried to think of something to say which would deflect his attention from her. “Can you tell me why all those people acted like they did and stole the traders’ wares? The people of the Enclave have always seemed so calm and well ordered to me.”
“There’s a rumour that an army approaches the city, but it isn’t true, it’s just King Vorgret and a troop of guards. Birrit’s heart missed a beat and she stumbled slightly with the shock. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, just a little shaken by what has happened that’s all.”
They had stopped outside one of the side doors to the House of Learning and the armsman leaned across her resting his arm on the door frame to prevent her entering. “How about giving me a kiss then as a reward for my gallantry?”
The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him but she urgently needed to get inside and deliver the news. She held up her cheek and closed her eyes and was almost knocked backwards when the armsman covered her mouth with his in a long passionate kiss. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience but not something she needed at that moment; she needed to escape. The armsman stepped back with an expectant grin on his face and she ducked under his arm and hurried through the door without looking back, although she could hear his laughter echoing behind her. She took the stairs two at a time, the only thought on her mind, the need for them to escape from the Enclave before Vorgret and his troop arrived and made escape impossible.
*
On the ridge to the south of the city, Sadrin sat on his horse and looked down at the Enclave in the peaceful valley below. Behind him his troop of guards talked quietly amongst themselves, and passed around travel bread and cold sausage. If any of them wondered why the young magician was just sitting on his horse staring into the distance, none of them were brave enough to ask. They all knew his reputation and what he could do. Below him the crystal-studded walls glittered in the afternoon sun and the dome of the Goddess’s temple glowed as if someone had polished it.
The last time he’d sat here, he’d been just a boy, and the Enclave was the first thing he had seen in five days. Once they were at their destination, the troop leader had pulled the sack off his head so he could see where they had brought him. The gag was left in place though, its wooden mouth piece splattered with blood where it had cut into the corners of his mouth and his tongue, so swollen from its chaffing and his thirst that he could barely swallow. His hands had been bound with wire, first each individual finger bound to the next and then his hands wrapped in wire and bound to each other behind him. He still had the scars where the wire had cut into him, although they were hard to see beneath the calluses and scrapes from his time as a prisoner in Essenland’s mines.
His eyes turned to the tall building that could just be seen over the city’s walls. The corner he had set fire to had been repaired, but the new roof tiles hadn’t weathered as much as the others. He remembered the time he’d spent beneath that roof, bowing and scraping to the masters who knew even less about controlling his gift than he did. For almost a summer and a winter, he’d tried so hard to please them and to master the gift the Goddess had given him, but nothing he did made any difference to his control or how they treated him.
It was setting the building on fire which had sealed his fate, even though it was an accident. He had been beaten and denied food for a seven day for his lack of control, and that is when they discovered how to suppress his power. The Master of Penance was particularly diligent and took pleasure in abusing him when he was weak and helpless, but then he discovered there were ways to kill a man other than burning him to a cinder.
A cloud drifted across the sun, its shadow falling across the temple’s dome and turning the bronze to the colour of dried blood. Razarin had known what was going on but had turned a blind eye to the Master of Penance’s abuse, even when he found him tied across the master’s table with the master inside of him. Knowing what the master did, Razarin could have forgiven Sadrin for his desperate act of self preservation if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead he had sat behind his desk and watched as the temple guards beat him until he couldn’t move, and then bound his hands in wire once again.
It was Razarin who had condemned him to the horrors of Essenland’s deepest silver mines until death released him, and it was Razarin he had come to kill. Revenge wasn’t enough though. He wanted the masters to bow and scrape to him, he wanted the people to abase themselves at his feet, and he wanted to wear the crimson robe and be honoured by the rulers of the six kingdoms. Above all else, he wanted to hear the words of the Goddess and understand why she had burdened him with such a terrible gift. He pushed his horse forward down the steep roadway and the men behind him mounted in a hurry and scrambled to catch up.
*
They should have waited until dark to escape the city but they didn’t have time. If Vorgret had already been sighted, then he would arrive at the Enclave in less than two candle lengths, and if Razarin had betrayed them, as they were certain he had, then the temple guard could be despatched to take them prisoner at any time. Transport was their biggest problem. If they’d had enough coin to purchase horses, Jarrul and Birrit could have ridden, but Tarraquin was still recovering from childbirth, and the two magicians were too old to ride a horse. The wagon they had arrived in had been sold to pay for their keep, and in any case, loading a wagon with their few possessions outside the House of Learning would draw too much attention down upon them.
In the end it was Birrit who came up with a solution. The market traders who had come in from the countryside would be going home with empty wagons, and after the day’s riots with empty purses too. It should therefore be possible to find one who would rent them their horse and cart for the small amount of coin they had left, leaving Jarrul to ride their own horse which hadn’t yet been sold. Once they were well away from the Enclave they could leave the horse and cart for the trader to find and disappear somewhere on foot. It wasn’t a brilliant plan, but for now it would have to do.
Jarrul and Plantagenet left first, hurrying as fast as the old magician could manage to the largest of the nearby markets, the one where Birrit had been that morning. If the traders had already packed up and left, their plan wouldn’t work, so it might have been quicker if Jarrul had gone alone, but Plantagenet had insisted that he went too. If their coin was insufficient, a little compunction spell might prove very useful.
The others packed up their few belongings into small bundles which could be easily carried and they set off together, slipping out of the doorway of the House of Learning and into the shadows as carefully as they could. Across the road, from the opposite building, the acolyte, who had been set to watch them, saw them go. Keeping as close as he dared, he followed them for a short while, until he was certain that they intended leaving the city, before disappearing down a side street in the direction of the temple building..
It would have been quicker for them to go straight to the main city gate, but that would have taken them passed Federa’s temple, and in any case, that was where Vorgret would enter the Enclave. Instead they headed west through the craftsmen’s quarter with its neat houses and brightly painted doors. Usually at that time of day the narrow streets would be busy with men returning from their work, and children playing in the streets before the sun set, but everywhere was eerily quiet and deserted.
As they hurried by the craft workers’ houses they supposed the streets were deserted because the foundries and weaving sheds were working day and night. However, they sometimes saw women and children peering out at them from half closed shutters giving the place a tense atmosphere, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The walk took longer than they expected as they had to keep stopping whilst Animus caught his breath and Tarraquin rested her back. By the time they reached the armsman’s gate, Animus was breathing heavily and could barely take one step in front of another. He was red in the face and had to be propped up by Birrit on one side and Tarraquin on the other. Desperately tired, they stopped by a small well where they could see the gate and the roadway leading to it.
Birrit poured Animus some water whilst Tarraquin anxiously studied the wagons which rolled forwards and were checked by the two gate guards before they left the city. This was where they had agreed to meet, but despite the time it had taken them to walk to the well, there was no sign of Jarrul and Plantagenet in any of the passing wagons. Birrit wanted to go and search for them, but Tarraquin wouldn’t let her in case she missed them and they became separated. So they sat by the well and waited, their anxiety increasing with every wagon which passed.
The sun was setting behind the hills, turning the clouds red and gold and making the city walls sparkle pink, before Jarrul and Plantagenet arrived. Most of the wagons which were going to leave the city that day had already passed through the gate, and the two guards were preparing to shut the gates for the night when Plantagenet, driving an ancient two-wheeled cart, drew to a halt by the well. He looked dusty and tired and Jarrul, who sat on a sway backed nag which had seen better days, looked worse.
