Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (10 page)

“I’m Tarraquin. I’m the High Lord’s daughter.” She
hesitated for a moment and looked earnestly at Jonderill. “You won’t tell
anyone about what happened will you? My father would be shamed that such a
thing could happen to a guest in his own house, even if what Tarris said about
you is true.”

Jonderill shook his head and for a time the only
sounds which disturbed the silence was the rustling of squeakers in the straw
and the crunching of apples. When Tarraquin had finished her apple she turned
her attention back to Jonderill. “Is it true what Tarris said about you, are
you really the magician’s bum boy?”

“No,” denied Jonderill vehemently. “He doesn’t do
those sort of things.”

“Are you his son then?”

Jonderill thought about the question carefully, it was
a difficult one for him to answer. He searched for a word which would describe
their relationship but couldn’t think of one which would encompass all his
feelings for the magician. “No, I’m his kingsward and he’s my master, that’s
all.”

“Good, then you won’t mind it when I kill him.” Jonderill
looked aghast at her earnest face. “The magician murdered my brother, you see and
when I’m old enough I’m going to avenge his death.”

“You can’t do that,” cried Jonderill. “You’re a girl!”

“So what, I can use a knife as well as any boy and I
am better than any boy on the estate with a bow.”

“But girls don’t do that sort of thing,” protested
Jonderill.

“This one does.”

Jonderill leaned his head back against the sack of
grain and tried to sort out his whirling emotions. He didn’t know many girls
but the ones he did know all played with dolls and wouldn’t know one end of a
knife from another. As for drawing a bow they wouldn’t even know where to
start. Yet if this girl was going to kill the magician it would have to be from
a distance and from the shadows. The thought of an arrow speeding through the
darkness and piercing his friend in the back made him shudder and feel sick.

A deep frown furrowed his forehead. “I don’t think it
could have been Maladran’s hand which killed your brother, it must have been
some other magician. He’s always been kind to me and took me away from here and
has never raised a hand against me or anyone else that I have seen.”

“Of course he didn’t kill my brother with his own
hands silly,” snapped Tarraquin irritably. “He didn’t have to; he used a spell
or an enchantment, which is even worse because there’s no escape.”

Jonderill looked at her in sympathy, expecting her to
look contrite but instead she looked determined as if she were trying to
persuade him to her point of view.

“Tarris told me he had been burnt from the inside out.
He said when they found the body it was just a shell, blackened in places where
the flames had burnt through. I suppose it served him right because he was
trying to poison our father but I’m going to avenge him all the same. Tarris
said Maladran did it so that makes him a murderer.”

“Maladran wouldn’t do something like that,” defended
Jonderill hotly. “I think it’s a nasty lie Tarris has made up to hurt you.”

“No it’s not, it’s true because my father said so. My
brother was a bully and I didn’t like him much but nobody else is going to
avenge his death so I made a promise to my brother’s shade that I would slay
his murderer, so there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I can tell Maladran what you are going to do, that
will stop you.”

Tarraquin looked horrified. “You wouldn’t do that
would you? He would be very angry and he’d do horrible things to me. Please don’t
tell him, I don’t want to die like my brother did.”

Jonderill felt trapped. “He’s my friend, I can’t let
you hurt him can I?”

“But I’m your friend as well,” pleaded Tarraquin, “You
wouldn’t want to see me hurt would you?”

“I don’t want any of my friends to get hurt,” said
Jonderill seriously. “Which means you can’t be my new friend because you are
going to hurt my old friend and I can’t let you do that.” He felt confused.

Tarraquin rested her head against the grain sack
whilst she considered the impasse. “I know! What if I promise not to avenge my
brother’s death until Maladran is no longer your friend?”

Jonderill smiled at the perfect solution. “Done.”

He spat in his hand and held it out to seal the
promise, as he had seen the kingsguard do when they were playing stones and
Tarraquin gripped it tightly, quickly leaning over to give him a kiss before he
could escape. Jonderill blushed and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand
and Tarraquin giggled.

“Now what do you two think you’re up to?” demanded a
stern voice behind them, making them both jump guiltily to their feet. A plump
woman in a plain grey dress and white apron stood in the doorway with her hands
planted firmly on her ample hips.

“This is no way for a lady to behave, kissing and canoodling
with one who is no better than a slave boy. Just look at you, Lady Tarraquin,
straw in your hair and mud on your tunic and you, boy, hiding in here up to no
good when your master’s calling for you. Now hurry to the stable yard before
the pair of you feel the weight of your master’s belt.”

Tarraquin gave Jonderill a brilliant smile full of
mischief, grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him towards the door and out into
the bright sunshine. Neither waited to see if the scolding maid was following
but ran, laughing with their new found friendship, to where she had ordered
them.

As they sped round the corner of the white stable end
they careered into Gartnor, the Kingsguard Captain, a tall man with broad
shoulders and a permanent sneer raised by a scar which ran across his broken
nose through his lip and into his beard. Jonderill didn’t like the man who
smelled of sweat and stale beer. Gartnor held them firmly by their shoulders in
his gauntleted hands and marched them towards the waiting lords. Their
appearance had an immediate impact on the solemn proceedings taking place in
the courtyard and a tense silence fell whilst every eye turned towards them.

Maladran was the first to break the silence with an
amused smile as he turned to the High Lord. “It seems the children have already
settled on their acquaintance without the need of our introduction.”

The High Lord’s eyes darkened at the thought of such
an association but kept any other sign of his contempt well hidden. He
indicated for his daughter to join him whilst Jonderill went to stand at the
magician’s side.

“Now we are all gathered can we get on with things. It’s
bad enough that the king should rob me of the pride of my stables and a leading
stableman without robbing me of my time and my daughter’s innocence.”

Maladran raised an eyebrow at the High Lord’s
inappropriate speech. “Not sentiments you would wish me to convey to His Majesty
I assume?”

High Lord Coledran went pale, reminded of the exalted
position of the person who stood in front of him and the fate that had befallen
his son and heir. “Not at all,” he blustered. “I was just put out by this
wayward child who seems to have no sense of propriety and will associate with
anyone.”

He looked at Jonderill and scowled but he daren’t say
more in case he offended his powerful guest. The awkward silence was broken by
the arrival of the Stablemaster and Tarris leading a colt of such beauty that
even those who had little appreciation of horseflesh had to admit to their
admiration. The colt was a steely grey, which shone silver in the sunlight, and
had a heavy black mane and thick tail reaching below its hocks.

From its sire’s side the colt had inherited the deep
chest and powerful quarters of the kingdom’s war horses whilst the fine legs
and intelligent head came from its fleet-footed racing dam. Tarraquin skipped
forward from her father’s grip and threw her arms around the colt, giving it an
affectionate hug. The colt allowed her embrace without flinching but rolled its
eyes and stamped its feet when the High Lord approached.

“Tarraquin, my dear, you must say goodbye to your
friend. Lord Maladran has come to steal the colt from us. The king has decided
that it should be sent as a gift to the Princess Daun of Vinmore.”

Tarraquin looked at the magician in anger but there
was something in his dark eyes which forbade her furious words. Instead she
turned to Jonderill and gave him a look which clearly said, “There, I told you
so”. She called on all the restraint and control which she possessed and
stepped back from the animal she had come to love more than any other creature,
including her father. Tarraquin had seen the colt being born into the world,
had helped to feed it in its early weeks of life and had the honour of being
the first to ride on its back.

“You can’t take him without him being named and the
king’s not here to do it,” she said as a last desperate attempt to forestall
the colt’s departure.

“The king has designated that pleasure to me,” said
Maladran kindly, “but as the colt is obviously very special to you, you shall
have the naming of him and then I shall bless him with a special gift.”

Once again Tarraquin looked searchingly at the
magician but despite the honour he had just given her she still couldn’t see
what Jonderill found there to like. She caught Tarris’s eye as he stood in his
new king’s livery, smugly holding the valuable animal and with a wicked grin
she turned to Jonderill and gave him a warm smile.

“The colt means a lot to me and I will miss him every
day but as a special gift to my new friend I would like Jonderill to give him a
name.”

“That’s not possible,” said her father sternly. “This
is a noble horse of the royal bloodline and as such must be named by someone
from a noble house otherwise the line will be sullied. This boy is less than nothing,
just the get of some felon, a worthless kingsward and beneath your attention.”

Jonderill looked down uncomfortably and shuffled his
feet whilst Maladran’s eyes took on a dangerous glint at the insult.

“I don’t care, Jonderill is my friend and that’s
enough for me,” pouted Tarraquin but nobody looked convinced at her outburst. “Anyway,
it doesn’t matter who he is now, one day we will be married and then he will be
of a noble house, so this is just a bit in advance, that’s all.”

The sincerity of her announcement stunned everyone,
especially Jonderill who stood wide eyed and with his mouth open in shock. One
look at him and Maladran burst out laughing, a reaction which no one there except
Jonderill had ever seen before from the sombre magician.

“It looks like your future has already been decided
for you, boy, so you had better do as your future bride commands and name this
noble stallion.”

Maladran pushed the boy forward, ignoring the High
Lord’s blustering protests and Tarris’s evil looks. Jonderill gently stroked
the velvet nose of the grey colt feeling encouraged by the presence of
Tarraquin and surprisingly less nervous than he usually did around horses. The
magician stepped up behind him and placed one hand on his shoulder whilst he
fixed his eyes in front to empty his mind for the enchantment he needed to set.
Jonderill felt a tingling in his flesh beneath the magician’s hand and instinctively
knew that Maladran had focused his power and was ready to proceed.

Jonderill held onto the colt’s head and in a small
voice said, “I give you the name of Sansun, fighter of dragons.”

Nobody spoke or moved but in the silence Maladran’s
voice echoed through Jonderill’s mind. “To you Sansun I give the gift of
understanding, from this day forward you will understand the words spoken by
your master and any other you choose to hear”.

The magician removed his hands and both Jonderill and
Sansun staggered slightly as if they had suddenly been woken from a deep sleep.

“Is it done?” asked the High Lord anxiously, looking
at the colt to see if it appeared to be any different. “What have you done to
it, what will it be able to do?”

“Sansun has received his gift and what that gift is,
is none of your business. Now, Sansun is eager to be on his way, as are we all.”

The High Lord scowled angrily but there was nothing he
could do about it, least of all argue with Maladran. He clapped his hands
together and the stable yard exploded into activity. Grooms scurried back and
forth carrying saddles, baggage packs and feed bags whilst the troop of
kingsguard formed up ready to escort King Sarrat’s gift and its groom across
the borders to the kingdom of Vinmore.

In all the confusion and activity nobody noticed
Tarris come up behind Jonderill and bend forward to whisper in his ear. “Don’t
forget what I told yer, Middin, yer aint escaped me yet. Now I’m a kingsman I’ve
got power see an’ the time will come when you’ll be mine an’ then I’ll make yer
pay.”

~
   
~
   
~
   
~
   
~

Magician’s Apprentice

Queen’s Darling

    
“No, No,
No! I will not wear that stupid thing. It’s dull and ugly and I hate the
colour.”

Daun snatched the pink silk dress from the maid’s
hand, threw the finely embroidered garment on the floor and stamped viciously
on the delicate flower buds which had been picked that morning to adorn the new
dress. The maid looked aghast, the dress had cost more than she was paid in a
year and the little harridan had chosen the colour herself. She pursed her lips
in a determined line; the battle was on.

“Come, mistress, it’s a beautiful dress and you will
look charming in it.”

“I don’t want to look charming,” retorted Daun,
stamping her foot in temper and crushing another delicate flower bud.

“With a nasty temper like yours, you would have
difficulty looking charming in anything but the queen says you’re to wear it
and that’s good enough for me.”

The maid reached down and deftly pushed the six year
old out of the way but Daun had seen that move before and stepped back sharply
before her feet could be whipped from beneath her and fall on her bottom.
Instead she grabbed hold of a nearby vase of flowers and threw the stale water
and decorative contents at the maid who was still holding the unwanted dress.

“You ungrateful little vixen,” the outraged maid
screeched, dropping the soaking, exotic silk and then looking horrified as the
child smashed the vase into the fabric, scoring the fine threads. “Just wait until
I tell the queen what you’ve done.”

“You tell her then, see if I care. Here, take this
thing with you, she can wear it if she wants.”

The maid caught the torn and spoilt garment and left
the room, locking the door behind her to prevent the girl running off and
hiding as she had the last time she had thrown a tantrum. Let the queen deal
with her thought the maid, she was her spoilt brat after all.

Daun stamped her foot in temper. It was less of a
temper than it had been a few minutes before but still enough for her to look
around the room for something to take it out on. Her eyes fell on the enormous
crystal bowl which stood on its own special stand in the corner of the room by
the long garden window. The delicate glass rippled with clear water and small
turquoise fish flittered from side to side. It had been a present from King
Porteous and had already given her hours of pleasure. She studied a silver
bellied fish somewhat larger than the others and with a quick hand flipped it
onto her open palm.

The little fish flapped its tail and then wriggled
tickling delightfully against her skin. She watched the gills open and close
with increasing urgency and the small mouth work as if it gasped for breath.
Daun counted to twenty, noting the fish’s slowing movements and then popped the
unfortunate creature back in the bowl. When she had done the same thing that
morning the fish had swum frantically back to its fellows after being out of the
water for fifteen seconds. Now it twitched once, dropped head downwards and
then floated to the surface on its belly. Daun looked disappointed; there was
no fun in killing the fish outright. She pulled the limp creature from the bowl
and threw it to the kitt which had learnt its mistress’s ways long ago and now
kept just out of her reach.

She looked around for something else to take her
attention but at the rattle of the key in the lock she slipped back to her
favourite chair and nestled back into its huge warm softness. Putting on a sad
face she folded her hands demurely in front of her and produced a well
practised tear so it rolled gently down her cheek. Her golden hair, reflecting
the morning sun, framed her face in a brilliant halo giving her the appearance
of a delicate, innocent angel.

It was a pose which never failed to melt her mother’s
heart, no matter how heinous her reported crimes were. Queen Althea succumbed
again, forgetting her anger and coming to kneel at her small daughter’s side.
Like any doting mother she wiped away her daughter’s tears and gave her a
loving hug. The little girl smiled sweetly and returned an embrace of real affection,
even if her eyes were maliciously fixed on the angry maid and the ruined, pink
dress.

“I’m sorry, mamma,” she whispered, knowing it was
always best to get the first word in before questions could be asked. “I really
wanted to wear the pretty dress but the maid wouldn’t let me put it on, she
said I would look bad tempered and stupid in it. When I tried to put it on by
myself she threw it on the floor and trampled on the poor flowers and then she
spilt water on it and the dress was ruined.”

Overcome by the upset, the little girl threw her arms
around her mother’s neck and sobbed loudly, allowing her mother to hold her
until the sobs changed to small hiccoughs. From the corner of her eye she could
see the maid’s horrified look and stuck her tongue out in provocation. It was
more than the maligned maid could stand, as Daun knew it would be.

“That ain’t true, Your Majesty! The little minx
snatched the dress from my hands and destroyed it herself.”

Daun looked at her mother with wide blue eyes. “It was
a lovely dress, I chose it myself and I really wanted to wear it but she was
jealous of me.”

“You little liar!” exploded the maid, her frayed
temper finally beyond control. “What you need is a good smacking to teach you
some manners.”

The little girl’s lip quivered and tears came to her
eyes as she clung to her mother.

“That’s enough!” snapped the queen, turning her full
attention on the maid. “Nobody talks to my daughter in that manner. You are
dismissed. You may find a place in the kitchens or leave the palace today, I
care not which you choose to do so long as you never come near my daughter
again.

With an imperious wave she sent the maid from the room
and then bent to the serious charge of comforting her poor, maligned child.
Daun allowed her mother a few minutes of doting and then pulled herself free
from Althea’s embrace.

“Are there lots of people coming to my party today?
Will they bring me lots of presents?”

Althea smiled indulgently at her daughter. “Yes, my
dear, they will bring you lots and lots of lovely presents, everything you
could ever want.”

“Oh good. Then I had better dress and see what they
have brought for me.”

*

Queen Althea was not the only one having difficulties
with an uncooperative child. In the guest wing, lodged in the grandest suite,
King Porteous looked down at his youngest son with tenderness, affection and
amusement. Although the boy was only fourteen he already stood at shoulder
height to his rotund and jovial father. Another two summers of growth would see
their places reversed with Pellum looking down on his father’s balding head. As
it was the boy stood for inspection before his father, irritably pulling at the
stiff collar of his embroidered tunic and pulling ineffectually at his new hose,
threatening to cut off circulation to a very sensitive part of his developing
body.

“Stand still, boy!” boomed his father. “What’s the
matter with you, you’re squirming around like a squiggly in a squeaker trap.”

Pellum raised his eyes upwards in exasperation,
wishing fervently that his father would stop talking to him in nursery talk and
treat him like a man. If he let slip one mention of pollywoggles or gee gees
whilst others were around he would brain the old fool. “It’s this cursed collar
trying to strangle me and the damned hose so small and tight they’re crushing
my bollocks.”

“Pellum! Mind your language! What would your dear
departed mother say if she could be here today?”

“Probably get those stupid clothes off and wear
something sensible,” replied the prince, remembering the smile of his eminently
practical and down to earth mother. “Anyway, why do I have to get all dressed
up for a soppy girl’s birthday party?”

“I’ve told you before, Pellum. Daun is the daughter of
my closest friend and neighbour and when she grows up she will be heiress to
this lovely little kingdom and will need a husband to be her king. With your
elder brother being my heir you need to find yourself a comfortable place and
Vinmore is ideal. Here you would be the ruler of a very wealthy land and have
everything you want.”

“But she’s only six summers old and a girl.”

“She may be six now but one day she will be sixteen
and ready to marry. If we don’t show an interest now and get our claim in
someone else will. The Duke of Tamm is here with his two sons, even if they are
babes in arms and the Duke of Remlon has three boys all of a suitable age, not
to mention Lord Purk and his flock. We are very lucky that Prince Newn has red
spot and cannot leave his bed. His is a better claim to the princess’s hand
than yours. He’s just two summers older and is heir to the throne of Tarbis.”
Porteous chuckled to himself. “I hear that he’s a spoilt, spiteful brat so it’s
probably a bit of luck for the princess that he’s ill. No, boy, if we’re going
to get you married off to Vinmore’s heiress we need to strike our claim now.”

“Do I have to?” groaned the boy. “What if I don’t like
her or don’t want to get married, I would much rather go out hunting or fishing.”

“I know, I know but being married doesn’t have to get
in the way of the finer things in life. In fact, if you get her as well trained
as your mother was, she’ll take up the burden of running your house giving you
lots of free time for more interesting pursuits. Now stop fidgeting and pick up
your present, it’s time the two of you were introduced to each other.”

Pellum disdainfully picked up the carefully wrapped
gift and stuck it under his arm. The present was a doll, hand carved and skilfully
fitted together by the craftsmen of Essenland and dressed to exquisite
perfection by the ladies of his father’s own court. It was an object of real
beauty but it was still a doll and not the sort of thing a prince who loved
hunting and swordcraft should be seen carrying. Reluctantly he followed his
father along the pale stone corridors of the turreted palace, listening
dutifully as his father pointed out the abundance of bright, hand sewn
tapestries, woven silk rugs and sculptures in silver and bronze, alabaster and
weiswald.

From the guest wing they crossed the sunlit courtyard,
its square paving a myriad of bright colours and intricate patterns. A fountain
splashed and played at its centre and the brilliant flags of the visiting
households and the king’s own colours fluttered in the breeze. Soldiers in
various bright liveries guarded the ramparts, the sunlight reflected dazzlingly
from polished spear points which had never seen use. From the corner towers
along the front wall, a line of orange and gold heralds appeared and with a
fanfare which echoed across the city, down into the valley and to the Blue
River far beyond, announced the princess was ready to receive her guests.

King Porteous increased his pace making his ample
flesh wobble beneath his rich robes and perspiration bead his brow. It would
not do to be presented last. It was a well known fact that females had poor
memories and wouldn’t be able to recall any of those presented beyond the first
two or three. He was determined his son would be one of those the child would
remember. With almost indecent haste he made his way to the Great Hall, barging
passed Lord Purk and his eight scrawny fledglings and barely acknowledging the
Duke of Tamm. At the door of the Great Hall more heralds sounded their horns
and the doors were thrown open. He’d done it, he’d arrived first.

Without waiting for the herald to announce his name,
Porteous pushed his son forward and continued guiding the boy until he stood in
front of the angelic looking child. Seated on a mound of cushions at the foot
of the dais which held the throne, Daun looked too beautiful to be real. Pellum
grimaced as Porteous gave him a final shove forward and turned to watch his
father retreat in the direction of his old friend King Steppen. With a shrug of
resignation he turned his attentions back to the girl and gave her a deep bow
with a fancy flourish which he had been practising all week. Daun laughed at
his efforts making Pellum blush with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to
deliver the speech his father had taught him but before he could utter a word
Daun interrupted.

“What have you brought for me?”

Pellum eyed her suspiciously and held out the bulky
package he had tucked under his arm whilst he executed another bow. Without a
word, Daun snatched the package from his hands and began tearing at the
beautifully presented gift, oblivious to the shining wrapping or the abundance
of satin bows and silk flowers. Pellum stepped back and watched the child at
work. His father was right, as girls went there was no denying she was a
beautiful child, with startling blue eyes and curly blond hair but she was only
a child and a girl and of little interest to him.

Daun held the exquisite doll by the neck and gave it a
cursory appraisal before carelessly dropping it at her side. She gave a swift
glance towards her father and mother before giving Pellum an angelically
innocent smile.

“Thank you for your gift, it is most acceptable and I
shall treasure it always.” She glanced at her parents, saw they were busily
talking to King Porteous and then pulled a face, sticking her tongue out at
Pellum. “I hate dolls,” she said in a low menacing voice, “and any boy who
would carry a doll under his arm, even for a a short time, must be a sissy.”