The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (29 page)

Tallison laughed; clearly pleased with the effect his presence was having on his prisoner. He pushed the two girls forward slightly although they both seemed reluctant to leave his side. One wrinkled her nose and looked up to him and whispered something which made him laugh. “She says that you smell, Callistares, and she’s right, you stink of filth and rot and corruption, like all magicians do.”

He stepped forward to stand level with the two girls, well within Jonderill’s reach, if he had hands to reach him with. “How do you like my two new acolytes, Callistares? Beautiful, are they not? I’m kind to my people, magician. I take their children into my own home and teach them the ways of Talis and when they are old enough to carry a man’s seed to full term I return them to the people so that they may teach others.” He patted each of the girls on their rump making them giggle and then sent them scurrying away on an errand.

“They are too young yet to understand Talis’s ways, but now I’m no longer obliged to share my seed with Nyte, I will have time to teach them.”

“You’re sick, Tallison, you and your god together, and one day very soon you and your evil god will be destroyed, totally and utterly.”

Tallison’s eyes narrowed and the smile left his face to be replaced with something far more vicious. “You’re wrong, magician. It is you and your Goddess who will be destroyed and Talis will rule the hearts of all men.” His smile returned and he clicked his fingers. “And now I have a little gift for you, something to keep you company as your life fades to nothing.” The two girls hurried forwards carrying a small bundle which they handed to Tallison as if it was a sacred offering. He unwrapped it slowly and held it out in front of him.

Now Jonderill did cringe back although the bars of the cage should have made it impossible. Two sand crawlers, one gold and one silver, entwined around each other and seemed to writhe in his hands. The ruby eyes burnt red and glowered at him causing him more pain than any of Tallison’s tortures had so far. He gasped as his heart thudded in his chest and spears of pain forced their way through his mind like daggers.

“Your Goddess is a woman and she is weak, Callistares. Your pathetic attack on Talis was as nothing. It was as futile and as wasted as all her efforts have been over the years. You and your Goddess will never destroy us.” Tallison placed the symbol of his god on the table in the centre of the lanterns where the light reflected back ghostly images of sand crawlers twisting and turning around each other. “Enjoy your final hours, magician, knowing that it is Talis who waits to claim your soul and take it to eternal torment in hellden’s halls.”

Jonderill closed his eyes to block out the image and withdrew into himself, surprised to find that the flame in his mind burnt as strongly as ever, totally unaffected by Tallison’s futile attack. Now, at last, he was certain of what it was that the Goddess wanted him to do. He only prayed that she would give him the strength to do it.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Dreams and Reality

Jonderill slept, comforted by the hidden glow of his life flame and dreamed of the days when he would practice the sword with Barrin and Redruth and the other cadets. It was a good dream, better than the reality where the others always won their practice bouts and he always lost, usually ending up with bruised fingers and blisters on his hands. In his dream he walked back from sword practice with Barrin sharing a skin of watered wine and then stretched out on the grassy bank outside the city walls watching the travellers come and go and practicing his magic. That was better in his dream too.

All he’d ever been able to do was produce a small wavering ball of elemental fire but in his dream he had sent bright balls of different coloured flame spinning and tumbling from his hands in every direction. He even turned the flames on and off whilst Barrin sat next to him in the grass and clapped. It wasn’t the only thing he could do either. He levitated their packs into the air, emptied out their contents and spun everything around in a circle. That included their practice swords, Plantagenet’s old iron blade and even the fine sword Swordmaster Dilor had given him for saving his nephew’s life.

It was all so easy, he didn’t need a wand or complicated hand movements, he just needed to want to do it. In his dream the elemental fire and the packs faded to nothing and Barrin turned into Tissian whilst the swords began to fight each other in the graceful, complex moves that a protector uses in his devotions to the Goddess. Then the dream suddenly changed. The swords stopped fighting each other and turned on them, slicing through Tissian’s neck and removing his hands.

Jonderill awoke with a start, his legs dangling from his cage and his handless arms resting across his knees where he had slid down into a sitting position. The pavilion was quiet and dark although he thought he heard the whisper of someone’s breathing as they slept. Carefully he eased himself forward from the cage and dropped to the floor, his legs folding beneath him, leaving him in the crouched position he had become so used to. Slowly he stretched as he had done in his dream and felt life return to his arms and legs. It wasn’t the stabbing, burning sensation of blood returning to starved muscles but the tingling of healthy limbs newly awaken from a deep sleep. It made no sense to him but then again not a lot did at the moment.

When he felt strong enough he rolled onto his knees and stood, swaying slightly but managing to stand without the need of support. He took two hesitant steps forward and collided with the low table which made him stagger and put his hand out to stop himself from falling. The image of his missing hands flashed through his mind and he rolled sideways to prevent himself crashing down on his burnt stumps. Instead he fell in amongst the semi-circle of lanterns and yelped as the hot metal touched his skin. For a moment he lay there panting, unable to work out what was happening, why so much had changed in the time he had been asleep. He rolled over and his bare foot touched something hard and slick that made his skin crawl and his heart thud in his chest. A noise exploded in his head like a scream and whatever he had touched disappeared, propelled across the pavilion as easily as a sling propels a stone.

He wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming again although the sound of swishing cloth moving closer seemed real enough. Jonderill may not have been sure what was happening to him but he did know who this would be and was relieved to know that help was at hand.

“Lord?” whispered the voice urgently. “Lord, what have you done? How are you free again?” Rothers knelt by his side, pushed the lamps out of the way, cursing as one of them burnt his hand, and helped Jonderill to sit, propping him up against the table.

“Water?” croaked Jonderill hopefully. Rothers nodded in the darkness, disappeared and returned with a skin and a small bundle. He held the skin with its mixture of water and wine whilst Jonderill drank greedily and then fed him one of the small rolls of oats and wine berries held together with the sticky sap of the desert bush. It felt like the finest meal that Jonderill had ever eaten. Rothers waited as patiently as he could but as soon as Jonderill had finished chewing his question almost burst from him.

“Lord, what are you doing here? I haven’t been able to wake you for two days and I thought those evil things of Talis might have harmed you.”

Jonderill gave an ironic laugh; he didn’t think there was anything left that could hurt him more than he already had been. “I’ve been dreaming and it would seem that the cage can no longer hold me prisoner but at least this time I stepped out and didn’t fall out.” He thought for a moment. “Where’s the demon?”

“He has been inhaling Shrezbere smoke and will sleep deeply until sunrise and the children are too scared of the ghosts to venture from their beds.”

“Ghosts?”

“I entertain the children when Tallison isn’t here. They like ghost stories so I tell them ones which will keep them quiet and still at night so they don’t wake the demon and his unwholesome appetites. I can’t do much to protect them from him but I do what I can.”

“You do well, friend, and when they are older they will remember and bless you for it. Now help me to my feet. I’ve had such strange dreams of walking and doing other things that I’m no longer sure of what I can and cannot do.”

Rothers scrambled to his feet, rolled the lanterns out of the way and helped Jonderill to stand. Jonderill took some deep breaths, relishing the joy of being able to fill his lungs after days of being held immobile and hardly being able to breathe. The only problem with taking deep breaths was the smell which made him gag; the smell of the rancid pavilion, his own filth and spilt lamp oil. He wondered how Rothers could stand it.

“When did you put the lamps out?”

“I didn’t, Lord.” Rothers sucked at the burn on the back of his hand. “Tallison has had them burning continuously with that idol in the centre. I thought you’d put them out when you fell on them, they’re still hot enough to burn.”

Jonderill shook his head as they started walking, trying to remember what had happened, what had been dream and what had been reality, but it was all so confused. After four circuits of the pavilion he could manage to walk without Rother’s help but by the time he’d walked two more he was exhausted. He stopped to rest at the edge of the table on which the idol of Talis had once stood, disappointed that the exercise hadn’t made him feel stronger and that he was still too weak to even think about escape. As Rothers straightened the scattered lanterns he eyed the cage with distaste, dreading a return to the agony of his prison but knowing it had to be done. What he needed was something to give them both some hope until he could regain his strength.

“How often does the demon inhale Shrezbere smoke?”

“When he’s angry or when he has something to celebrate like tonight. Why?”

“I think I should leave my prison every night and exercise until I’m strong enough to walk away from this place taking you with me.”

“You can do that?”

The hope in Rother’s voice was overwhelming and Jonderill didn’t have the heart to say his idea might just be the result of a wishful dream. “Yes, but it won’t work if Tallison wakes and discovers what we’re doing.”

Rothers thought for a moment. “He keeps the Shrezbere locked away but red poppy seed would have the same effect. I have a little and perhaps Brotherlord Tozaman would help. We would have to replace the lamps and the idol, if you could stand it, and anything else that we have disturbed. If we’re going to cross the desert we would have to take food and lots of water with us but I think I can arrange that.” The look of excitement suddenly disappeared from his face. “But I have nothing to relight the lamps, and if I tried to steal some fire I would surely be seen.”

“I will deal with the lamps if you manage the rest.” The smile returned to Rother’s face and Jonderill felt guilty; in his dream making elemental fire had been easy, he just hoped it would work in reality. “Now help me back into the cage, dawn cannot be far off.”

Rothers nodded and helped him to walk to where the cage hung suspended from its rope. He went to untie the rope but Jonderill stopped him. If they were really going to escape from here he was going to have to use magic and it was better to know now if his dream could be made into reality rather than live with false hopes. He studied the thick rope which held the cage and the tangled knots which kept it in place. The rope was a twisted mass of plant stems and horse hair squeezed together. Where it was knotted the plant stems were bruised and the horsehair was covered in their sap. He could feel every bruise, every split in the stems and every drop of sap as if it was his own abused body and blood. It wanted to be free as much as he wanted to be free and to do that it had to twist and turn and stretch as he had done.

Jonderill thought of the pleasure of stretching his cramped limbs and being free. Immediately the cage jerked and suddenly dropped like a stone with the trailing rope behind it. It landed with a loud clatter which would have been much worse if it hadn’t been for the sodden rug, filth and dirt which had gathered beneath it. Jonderill staggered slightly and Rothers grabbed him by the arm to stop him falling, grinning like a loon.

“A bit more practice might be helpful,” laughed Rothers.

Jonderill laughed too for a moment and then looked at the open cage door and felt the dread rise within him. Rothers smile faded to nothing but he knew what had to be done. He gently pushed Jonderill into a crouch and helped him into the cage without saying a word. It took all Jonderill’s courage not to scream with the pain and beg Rothers to set him free again. He knew Rothers would do it if he asked, even if it meant the end of their escape plan.

Rother’s courage was tested to its limits as he hoisted the cage back into position ignoring Jonderill’s involuntary whimpers. He dared not look at the magician otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from setting him free. When he finished his task, he replaced the lamps in their semi-circle on the table and finally retrieved the idol from the far end of the pavilion, wrapped in the cloth that had held the food they had eaten. He placed it on the low table being careful not to touch the evil thing and then retired to his bed of rags taking the wine skin with him.

Despite the dark Jonderill knew the moment the idol was put back in place by the crawling sensation on his skin. If he hadn’t known the maggots had gone from his wounds he would have thought they were crawling up his arms and over his body beneath his robe. He hesitated to light the lanterns, fearing that he would once again be under attack from Talis’s presence, but he needed to do it so he concentrated and sought the power to create elemental fire.

Nothing happened. For a moment he thought that the presence of Talis’s idol had taken away the little magic he had found and then realised that it hadn’t. Need wasn’t enough to ignite his magic, he had to want to light the lanterns. He took the fear that was within him and closed it off into a small corner of his mind and then sought the power he’d felt in his dreams. It came in a rush making him gasp as his magic exploded within him and every light, lantern and candle in the pavilion instantly burst into flame.