The White Robe by Clare Smith Page A

their wealth. I want half of it as a first payment by the time the next moon is full and, as from now, all their warehouses and their contents belong to the crown. When you have finished with the city you will move into the towns and do the same with the merchants. Whilst you are doing that you will send your men into the villages to deal with the peasantry. You may dispose of anyone who objects unless they have any worth as slaves.
     
    Quim, tall and thin with sharp, pointed features and a scraggly beard on the end of his chin, bowed. He too had slave marks on his wrists. The third man, even more massively built than Bant with a patch over one eye under which an angry scar ran from hairline to ear looked eagerly at his king.
     
    “Dorba, you’re my enforcer. You and your thugs go with Quim and make sure my decree is put in force. By the time you leave the city I want half the male population to have been conscripted into the army and any dissenters sent to the mines.”
     
    Dorba grinned and slapped Quim on the back almost knocking him over.
     
    “Well, what are you waiting for? You have your orders now get going! I want this kingdom changed and ready to go to war by the end of next winter.” The three men saluted and left.
     
    “What task do you have for me My Lord?” asked Sadrin who had stood by without saying a word.
     
    Vorgret stood and walked back to the mirror where he readjusted the crown which had slipped slightly. Behind him, reflected in the mirror, he could see Sadrin studying him closely. He looked too young to have so much power: young and innocent. The magician was young and naïve but he would change all that. The slave girl he had given him, a gift from Borman, would be able to teach him what he should know and when she’d finished with him there would be others who would develop his skills.
     
    “Your job is simple, Sadrin, you protect me. You protect me from the army, the nobility and most of all, you protect me from those three thugs. When I need to teach them a lesson you will provide a display of power that will convince them that I am unassailable and when I no longer need their particular talents you will kill them.”
     
    “And in return?”
     
    “Don’t be greedy, magician. Being alive and serving me should be sufficient reward. However, when I’m king of all the Western kingdoms, I will do as I promised and make you High Master of Federa’s Enclave, then you can take your revenge on all those who mocked you and ignored your talent.”
     
    *
     
    “Put more wood on that damned fire!” snapped Borman, pulling his thick cloak around him and staring morosely into the flames. Rastor stepped forward from where he’d been waiting at the far side of the ornamental stone hearth and jammed another cut log into the already crowded grate. For a moment sparks shot upwards and flames licked around the edges of the smouldering logs then everything settled back to how it had been before; glowing embers and grey smoke. Rastor refilled his king’s goblet with cold red wine and returned to his place by the hearth.
     
    “I hate this place,” grumbled Borman. He took a swig of the red wine, pulled a sour face and thumped the goblet back onto the table. Red wine sloshed over the side and pooled around the goblet’s base.
     
    “It’s cold and miserable and full of peasants and fishermen. I should have let the northern raiders have the land and be done with it, but instead I ride north with my army and play the hero. And what have I to show for it? Half the army with holes in them or worse, the other half down with the flux and me stuck here freezing my balls off.”
     
    Rastor tried hard to keep the smile off his face but it was difficult. He had served Borman as his Guardcaptain for fifteen summers and knew all his moods. This one would pass quickly if he could find his master the right sort of distraction.
     
    “The men will recover, My Lord and the lords of the north were extremely