Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (7 page)

Sarrat gave a cackle of laughter and clapped his hands
together in pleasure. “You never cease to amaze me, Maladran. I send you on a
diplomatic mission to see why the High Lord has absented himself from my
scrutiny and you return with the old man put firmly in his place, his ambitious
son dealt with and Coledran’s house sufficiently weakened that they no longer
pose a threat. All that without a single sword being drawn. You are truly a
great magician.”

“I live to serve,” bowed Maladran mockingly.

The
king
narrowed his eyes as he considered the magician’s tone but decided to ignore
the veiled insult. “What about the girl, did she have anything to do with the
High Lord’s illness?” Maladran shook his head. “Has she remembered who she is
yet?”

Maladran shook his head again. He’d been in the throne
room the night Sarrat had killed King Malute and he’d placed the memory block
on Malute’s only child, a four year old daughter. It was a night he tried to
forget; his treachery and the blood of his friend and mentor still disturbed
his dreams. Yarrin had been old and slow but if he’d wanted to he could have
let Yarrin die with dignity instead of crippling his body and then destroying
his mind. He would never forget the look in the old man’s eyes as he took the
torc from Yarrin’s neck and ripped the focus of his power from his mind.

It had taken the most powerful magician only minutes
to die but those minutes were full of a raving madness which must have made Yarrin’s
last moments stretch to eternity. Maladran’s horror at what he had done at
Sarrat’s command was such that he’d had to find a way to appease his guilt and
so he had persuaded Sarrat to spare the life of Malute’s daughter. It still
amazed him that Sarrat had agreed, placing her in the care of his trusted
friend and co-conspirator, Coledran, the newly appointed High Lord of
Leersland.

“And was the boy really poisoning his father?” Sarrat
asked, interrupting Maladran’s morbid thoughts.

“That is what your soul searcher will tell your court,
that he confessed.”

“That wasn’t what I asked but never mind, you have
done well and I am pleased. “Now tell me, what did you think of this morning’s
little charade?” He leaned forward eagerly, referring to the accusations of the
three Great Lords against their lower status fellow. “Is the man plotting
against me or is there something more sinister going on in which the others are
involved?”

“I regret I only heard the end of the argument so I am
unable to make a sound and reasoned judgment.”

Sarrat snapped out a cynical laugh. “I sat through a
morning of their arguments and I still can’t make a sound and reasoned judgment.
They obviously lie, all four of them, but somewhere in their claims of wrong
doings, plots and counterplots there must be a grain of truth.”

“Certainly, My Lord, every lie once grew from a grain
of truth; the problem is, as always, finding it under a mountain of chaff.”

“Perhaps your torturing could be used to dig the truth
out of Tulreth?” suggested Sarrat with a wry grin.

Maladran returned the smile, well used to this little
game. “As My Lord knows I am a man of peace and gentle persuasion. If you wish
to use force to find answers then you must find one who is not sworn to the
service of the goddess Federa.”

“Come Maladran, everybody knows of your skill as a
seeker of the truth.”

“You are mistaken, My Lord, however if you command my
services I will use my soul searching ability but I think it would be unnecessary
in this case. The three lords have chosen to accuse one whose land lies
adjacent to their own and is therefore desirable. Whilst the High Lord is
absent from court and unable to keep them in check, they have made their move
against the unfortunate man. Such a matter will not occur again when the High
Lord Coledran returns to his duties.”

“So in the meantime what do you suggest I do with
Tulreth? I can hardly leave him kissing the floor in the Great Hall.”

“It would be seen as an act of nobility and clemency
to return the lord to his estates unharmed.”

“Rubbish! It would be seen as an act of weakness.”

“Perhaps but then again some might see it as the move
of a strong king in an unassailable position. At some other time, when you need
a favour from Tulreth, your mercy could reap a valuable harvest.”

Sarrat laughed viciously. “You have a devious mind
Maladran and I shall think about your proposal.”

He toyed with his empty goblet and gave his magician a
long appraisal. Sometimes the magician’s behaviour troubled him. He could be as
hard and as ruthless as any man but when it came to inflicting pain or taking a
life without just cause he displayed a streak of mercy which bordered on
cowardice. Compassion was a weakness which didn’t fit well with his need to
have a strong ally at his side and would have to be curbed in the magician if
he were to be of continued use.

Thoughtfully he stood and crossed the wooden panelled
room to pour himself another goblet of wine. It was early in the day for a
second goblet but it helped him find solutions to irritating problems which
threatened to interfere with the smooth running of his kingdom. He opened the
shutters of the largest window and allowed the sunlight of a glorious noontide
to flood inside the room, making the priceless silk rugs glow in the natural
light.

The brilliant rays fell across the black hair and dark
robe of the magician, removing his shadowy security and making him aware of the
timbre of Sarrat’s thoughts. Being in the king’s disfavour no longer caused him
the concern it once had but one had to be careful when dealing with someone who
was both powerful and paranoid.

Standing at the casement, Sarrat took in a view of
breathtaking beauty. Green fields, lush with spring rain lay in a patchwork of
colour, interspersed with the rich brown of newly ploughed fields left fallow
until the turn of the year. The land spread like an exotic quilt into the
distance where the faintest ribbon of blue separated Leersland from Vinmore. It
was his favourite view of the kingdom, lacking the harshness of the distant
glow of red deserts or the greyness of the granite mountains which could be
seen from the southern and northern sides of his fortress.

Each green field in his sight would hold fine horses
or fat cattle or yield crops enough to feed the population of Leersland twice
over but for all its beauty and wealth it contained one flaw, the land across
the Blue River was not part of it. The rich land of Vinmore was not his and he
was a greedy man. He closed the shutters and turned back to the magician.

“And how fares my neighbour across the Blue River? I
dare say you have used the full moon to scry on my wife to be.”

Maladran cringed slightly at the thought of the match
between his bullish master and the small, golden haired child. By the time she
was old enough to wed he would be a middle aged man. Their union would be an
obscenity which he would have opposed except that the political alliance he had
suggested to his master would prevent a war and untold bloodshed and
destruction.

“The kingdom prospers under the rule of King Steppen
as it always has. The vines will be heavy with grapes and the trees laden with
fruit again this summer and the people continue to be happy and content, as
they have been since the naming of the princess.”

“Ah yes, the Princess Daun. Is she still growing into
the most beautiful flower which has ever bloomed and are her thorns becoming sharp
and fierce?”

Maladran had a passion for flowers and found the
reference to the perversion of such natural beauty distasteful. For a moment he
must have let his feelings show on his face as Sarrat gave a mocking laugh.

“Don’t go soft on me, magician, remember that taking
the child as my wife was all your idea and your doing. I’m still happy to move
across the Blue River with my army and take Vinmore by force.”

It was true, it had all been his plan, like all the
other plans he had devised which had put Sarrat on the throne of Leersland and
now held him there. In truth he had devised the strategy to take Vinmore
peacefully but only in order to prevent a beautiful kingdom from being pillaged
and its population being raped and murdered rather than to satisfy Sarrat’s
avarice. Not that he would tell him that. He hadn’t done it out of any sympathy
for Vinmore’s monarchs either, although their goodness and patience couldn’t be
denied. He wondered what it would be like to serve a good king and live without
the constant fear of Sarrat’s violent temper.

Steppen and Althea had waited eleven summers for the
birth of their first child and in all that time Steppen had remained faithful
to his wife and never once sought to provide the kingdom with an heir outside
of his wife’s bed. Whether she too had confined her love making to her own bed was
a matter of conjecture and there were whispered rumours of a dalliance with her
husband’s neighbour and ally. When she finally gave birth to an heir, her
husband and the entire kingdom had rejoiced.

Invitations to the naming celebrations had been sent
to every nobleman far and wide, which in Sarrat’s case was a mistake as it only
reminded him of the lands he could see from his window but couldn’t have. It
was fortunate, thought Maladran, that Sarrat was visiting the southern kingdom
of Sandstrone at the time assisting Tallison to kill his brother and take the
throne. If he and a good part of his army hadn’t been otherwise occupied he
might have invaded Vinmore there and then instead of listening to his good
advice.

Instead of accepting the invitation Maladran had been
sent to witness the pomp and ceremony of the child’s naming day and to gather
intelligence in preparation for Sarrat’s invasion of Vinmore. Travelling
through the vineyards and orchards of the peaceful kingdom he could, for the
first time, understand Sarrat’s desire to have the lands as his own. It was a
rich land which produced the finest wine, ale and cider in all of the six kingdoms
and the people were as happy and as mellow as the elixirs they produced. To see
the kingdom overrun by Sarrat’s bludgeoning army who cared nothing for beauty
would have been a sacrilege. They would have eaten the raw grapes and used the
orchards for firewood and then have drunk the country dry without a care for
preserving rare blends or maturing vintages. The thought of such desecration
was more than Maladran could stand and so he had come up with his plan to wed
the infant princess to his master.

It was a simple way to unite the two kingdoms, satisfy
Sarrat’s greed and retain Vinmore’s tranquillity but as he had stood in Vinmore’s
Great Hall and waited to present his master’s gift to the fair-haired babe his
doubts had begun to grow. There had been the usual gifts of gold and silver,
precious scents and fine silks from the noble houses which caused him no
concern. However, Steppen’s two doddering magicians, barely capable of putting
an enchantment together, had stepped forward to present their gifts and had proved
not to be as senile as he’d anticipated.

Plantagenet, tall and thin with a nose like a hooked
beak and fine grey hair which fell in waves down his back had given the child
the gift of unsurpassed beauty. He endowed her with golden hair and blue eyes
and a complexion of pure, unblemished cream. Maladran noted with a wry smile
the Queen’s look of relief at such a wondrous gift. Fair hair and blue eyes
were a rarity in both her husband’s and her own genealogy and already whispers
had started about the true parentage of the child. The king seemed to be more
interested in the gift of the fat, waddling Animus, with his layers of chins
and rosy red cheeks. He gave the gift of sunshine, rich harvests and bountiful
prosperity for all during the lifetime of the beautiful Princess Daun.

It had been instantly obvious to him that a girl
possessing both unsurpassed beauty and a tempting dowry which would make a man
rich for as long as he kept his wife safe would not easily be persuaded to wed
an uncouth, middle-aged soldier with a pock marked face going to seed. Sarrat
would not stand a chance once more handsome and charming suitors presented
themselves and present themselves they would, in droves, on the day she became
sixteen and became eligible to wed.

He had looked down at the gift he was carrying, a
priceless volume from Sarrat’s rarely used library and quietly took a step
backwards into the shadows. Carefully he placed the book in an unobtrusive
position on a small table behind him to be retrieved later. If his plan was to
succeed his gift would have to match those of Plantagenet and Animus and he had
little time to work out the details. The wording of these things had to be
exact or otherwise all sorts of flaws and foibles could develop.

By the time King Sarrat’s name was called he was
barely ready but he stepped forward from the shadows with an air of confidence which
he didn’t feel whilst his mind raced to complete the final details. The unannounced
presence of another magician in their court brought an exclamation from Plantagenet
and Animus and an instant silence from those gathered. It was quickly broken by
the surreptitious whispering of his name and reputation which was cut short by
a wave of King Steppen’s hand. He bowed low to the king and queen, lower than
he would have bowed to Sarrat and stepped forward with a benign smile. Plantagenet
leant down to whisper urgently in his master’s ear and Animus put his podgy
hand out as if to protect the child. Maladran sneered in contempt, as if their
interference could protect the babe against anything he could do.