The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (45 page)

“I’m sorry, Jonderill. Perhaps you could try again?”

Jonderill shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement in the darkness. “No, I’ve used the last of the compounds that Maladran had left. It’s a spell that cannot be repeated again.”

They sat in silence for a while until the last torch spluttered fitfully and plunged them into complete darkness. “Can you get us out of here?” asked Rothers, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Jonderill stirred next to him. He wasn’t sure if his friend had been asleep or just lost in his misery.

“I think so. My magic feels different but I think it’s still there.”

Rothers waited whilst Jonderill unwound himself from his hunched position and stood. Slowly, as if it was a great effort, he produced a small ball of elemental fire. It was wavering and the wrong colour and gave off barely enough light for them to see the next step in front of them. Jonderill gave an ironic and mirthless chuckle. “It reminds me of the first elemental fire I ever produced.” He didn’t add that his magic felt about as strong as it had then.

Unsteadily he led the way out of the cell and up the stairs to the landing and Rothers prayed that the door would open. It did but only slowly. The lanterns on the other side had gone out as well leaving the spiral staircase in darkness and Jonderill was unable to produce another ball of light. It didn’t matter though; the stairs took up the entire space and were easy enough to navigate. They would know when they had reached the top as the door into the tower would bar their way.

When they reached it Jonderill hesitated and then sighed wearily in defeat as the door refused to open at his silent command. “The key is in my pocket.”

Rothers realised he’d been holding his breath and let it out in relief. Spending his last days sitting on some cold spiral stairs in pitch blackness had not been a pleasant prospect. He took the key from Jonderill’s robe, turned it in the lock and pushed the door open. The brilliant sunlight which shone through a window that he was certain hadn’t been there before, illuminated the open space like a beacon, making them squeeze their eyes shut. They moved out of the passageway and into the softer light of the living room before they dared to open their eyes again.

It had been late afternoon when they had descended the stairs and now it was early morning. A whole night had gone, although it had seemed no longer than a candle length. The change which had happened in that time stunned them both, so that Rothers could only stand and stare, and Jonderill could barely control the racing of his heart. His robe had changed as he’d hoped it would but instead of returning to the pristine white it had once been the robe was as black as night, the darkness drawing in the light so that it cast no shadow.

With the realisation of what had happened Jonderill could feel his power stir. It coursed through his being, no longer feeling like warmth and colour but something different, something hard and sharp that he couldn’t name. Best of all it was free, no longer caged or restrained. He knew then that his magic was as it always should have been, that of a black magician.

*

He may not have been whole but for the first time in his life he felt complete, as if a piece of him had been missing and at last it had fallen into place. It was a strange feeling having his old memories in a new person. He would have liked to have talked to Maladran about it, but of course that was impossible. Perhaps one day he could talk to Callabris, although he doubted if the white robe would understand. In some ways it had been Callabris’s fault that he’d worn the wrong robe, it was, after all, Callabris who had given him the grey robe and taught him how to use his power in the way of a white. He couldn’t blame him for it though, white magicians ran in the family.

After leaving the caverns below the tower he’d sat in his room for days and explored the nature of his new magic. He now understood how it flowed through his body, how to call on it with just a thought and how to manipulate it with his will. In all that time, Rothers had attended to him and cared for his needs and had never once complained, but it couldn’t go on. The man deserved better, he deserved a life of his own.

He’d been contemplating an idea. It wasn’t a new thought, but something which had occurred to him when he had been unhappy in Borman’s service and had grown in appeal during his time in Sandstrone as Tallison’s reluctant guest. He hadn’t been sure how Rothers would take to the idea of ousting his cousin as king of Northshield and replacing his absolute rule with government by the people, but Rothers had jumped at the idea. It would seem that revenge was a great motivator, and if it fitted in with his own plans, then it was all the better.

He opened the journal in front of him and reread the words on the page which had previously been hidden from him. If only he’d been able to read the words before he’d summoned the demon magic, the outcome might have been different, but there was no point dwelling on what might have been. His chance had come and gone, and now it was time to move on. It’s what Rothers had been telling him for days. For a time he’d almost been persuaded to leave the tower without trying to discover what had happened, which words he’d said incorrectly and which elements he’d used in the wrong proportion. Of course it was a pointless exercise but he had to stay, he had to know.

The answer lay in the journal, as he knew it would, but it wasn’t the answer he was expecting. He’d done nothing wrong, the words had been correct and the proportion and sequence of elements precise. Unfortunately a part of the summoning had been missing, hidden in the blank pages which could only be read by one who wore the black. He should have felt cheated but instead he felt a certain relief.

If he’d taken the torc with him and the spell had been completed it would have been the demon that would have emerged from the underground cavern instead of a slightly altered magician. Now he’d read the journal completely, he understood what a dangerous book it was and why Maladran had gone to such lengths to make the tower impenetrable so as to hide what he had discovered from others.

There had been other entries in the journal too which had nothing to do with demon magic. Most were spells or incantations like the one Maladran had used to make Sansun understand the spoken word, or the one to turn gentle honeyvine into deadly redthorn. There was even a spell to create a scrying globe, but it required complex finger movements to manipulate the magic which couldn’t be done by thought alone.

He’d thought he might use Rothers and work the magic through him, but that would have been a poor reward for all the man had done for him. In any case it wasn’t Maladran’s spells that he was interested in but the oblique reference to the two spells which had been created by the Goddess and then hidden. Maladran had been interested in them as a basis of power but as far as he could make out he’d never been able to find their source.

Like Maladran he’d almost missed them. They could hardly be called spells as there were no words or constructs, but they were there all right, hidden in the words that had slipped from his mind as soon as they were read. Only now that he wore the black had they stayed long enough to leave a trace. He was almost certain that the spells were to do with changing the nature of magic although the details were obscure. However, he believed that when the spells were released they would make whole that which was broken.

 It was all he needed to know. If he could go to where the spells had been hidden then surely he could find a way to set them free. The first was embedded in the Pillars of the Allkinds, wherever they were. He had searched every book and scroll in the tower, and had found no reference to the place but the second was simple; it was held by Callistares. Callistares was dead of course, buried in his tomb in the centre of the maze that he and Borman had walked together. On that occasion he had failed to find a way through, but he’d been young then, just coming into his powers. Now he was a black robe and knew magic for what it was. The maze held no fear for him now.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Hidden Spell

The palace without Borman was a very different place than it had been. It was as if those who lived and worked in the magnificent, rambling building had been holding their breath and creeping around being careful not to disturb things, and now they had given a big sigh and were clomping around caring about nothing. The palace guards were still there of course, but they no longer stood to attention outside doorways or corridor intersections.

As always, an army of maids and cleaners descended on the rooms each day, but now they chatted with each other, or gossiped whilst they worked, or even flirted with the young guards practicing in the yards below. Even the food had changed to the simple fare of ordinary people which could be eaten with your fingers, and made you feel warm and comfortable afterwards.

Inevitably there were some downsides. If a room didn’t get dusted or a bed didn’t get made, then it was no great matter. Should leaves be blown into the grand entrance hall and not be swept away, then there was no one of importance to notice. They had all followed Borman in his conquest of Leersland and Tarbis. Even the guards had become lax, preferring to sit in the guardroom playing stones with their comrades rather than patrolling empty corridors on their own.

Wallmore had taken its cue from the palace and the walled city, which had once been tight as a drum skin, but was now open for anyone to come and go as they pleased. They still collected the taxes, Borman would expect an accounting on his return, and the city guard still kept order, but both were done with a lighter touch than they had been before. It wasn’t just Wallmore either. It was as if the whole of Northshield was enjoying a holiday, enjoying the peace whilst the King, his lords and his military had gone off elsewhere and left them in peace.

Of course Borman had made provision for the rule of his kingdom whilst he was away on his conquests. Lord Sallins of the Northern Reaches had been given the task of governing the kingdom, with regular reports to be sent to his king and all major decisions to be deferred until the king returned. Sallins had been diligent enough at the beginning, but his heart wasn’t in it and he missed the wild landscape of his home.

When the raids on Northcoast’s villages restarted, he happily scurried back to the coast leaving behind a hastily convened council who were too frightened of making a wrong decision, to make any decisions at all. The reports they sent to Borman on the opposite side of the six kingdoms were bland and reassuring, and told him that Northshield prospered. If that wasn’t quite true it was of little consequence; there were many mountains, rivers and forests between Wallmore and Dartis.

Callabris loved the congenial and relaxed atmosphere, and if it hadn’t been for the looming presence of the maze, he would have been as content to stay in Borman’s palace as anywhere else in the six kingdoms. Allowyn, on the other hand, was as tense and as nervous as a forest runner with the scent of fang hounds in the air. He’d grown accustomed to there being guards at the doors to intercept unwanted intruders, and the empty echoing corridors kept him permanently on alert until his nerves were strung as tightly as a bow string.

The protector had talked to his master about his concerns, trying to persuade him to move to an inn where it would be easier to guard him, but Callabris had dismissed the idea. As far as he was concerned, Borman was not there, so no one would have any reason to sneak into the palace with murder on their mind. Allowyn wasn’t so sure. The stirrings of revolt in Essenland had disturbed him. It was contrary to the Goddess’s order that the people should rise up against their king, and that their king should treat them so ill that they would even think about rising in rebellion. Things were a lot worse in Essenland than they were in Northshield of course but, even so, if it could happen there it could happen here. Rebellion was contagious.

Callabris had told him he was worrying needlessly, but his master hadn’t been into the markets and inns of the city. There he’d heard murmurings of unrest and dissatisfaction. It wasn’t a case that the peasants were being brutalised like the people in Essenland were, but rather they were being ignored. Borman had never been a man of the people. He was a king and too far above them for that, but at least he’d been there. Now he was in some foreign land and had taken Northshield's sons, fathers and husbands with him. Northshield seemed peaceful and content, but Allowyn knew it was ripe for change.

When Allowyn marched into the king’s receiving room, Callabris stood in his usual place by the large window looking down on the maze. He turned as his protector entered looking tired and worried. Allowyn checked his pace and did his best to remove the irritation from his face and voice. He’d had a frustrating morning trying to persuade the captain of the palace guards to reinstate the patrols around the palace grounds. Unfortunately the man Rastor had left in charge of the palace was nearly as complacent as his own master, and he didn’t have the authority to command the few guards who remained. Allowyn bowed to his master and placed the bolt bow that he now always carried with him onto the table where he could quickly reach it if he had to.

The action wasn’t lost on Callabris. “You still think I’m in danger of being murdered in my sleep?” He meant it as a jest but Allowyn didn’t take it that way.

“I do what must be done to keep you safe, Lord.”

Callabris turned back to the window and stared down at the maze. The pattern of twists and turns looked so simple from where he stood and the tomb of his father so close that he could almost reach out and touch it.  “How long have we been here, Allowyn?”

“As of last night we have seen five new moons.”

Callabris nodded. “Have you not wondered why we hurried here at such speed and then have done nothing for so long?”

Of course he had wondered but it was not a protector’s place to ask his master why he delayed in carrying out the Goddess’s wishes. “No, Lord. I knew you would move when you were ready.”