The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (77 page)

He parried a blow with his right hand sword and thrust with his left but the soldier in the centre thrust upwards beneath his swords and scored a line across his lower abdomen. His armour prevented the blade from reaching a vital organ, but more of his blood flowed from the wound. Reluctantly he let his sword go, still embedded in the ribs of the dead soldier who had killed Tordray, who had died fighting on one knee whilst trying to hold his intestines in place. Instead he pulled his long knife from its sheath and took a step back.

It was the moment Borman had been waiting for. He saw the man beside the protector fall and the protector take a step back and then the whole line wavered. Borman stood in his stirrups and shouted at the top of his voice waving his men forward. For a moment nothing happened, and then the flag men who had followed him from the opposite hillside realised what he wanted and raised the attack flag, pointing it in the direction of the collapsing line of defenders.

A huge cheer went up and the hundreds of men who had not yet been engaged drew their weapons and surged forward. Borman let them have a head start, making sure it was just enough so they would reach the enemy line a pace or so before him in case there was any fight left in the peasants, and then leading the rest of his men forward. It would be a glorious victory, and every man wanted to be part of it. They all surged forward, just leaving the two flag men to guard Tarraquin.

Moving around the side of the hill without attracting Borman’s attention or being spotted by his own side had been more difficult than Malingar had anticipated. It had taken them time to work their way around the ridge and then through a dark wood thick with undergrowth which he hadn’t noticed before. They had stopped there to change into Northshield uniforms, but must have been turned around because when they emerged from the wood, they were on the Enclave side of the battlefield and not on the far side where the valley opened out allowing them to escape.

There was nothing for it but to make their way along the valley floor, picking their way amongst the dead and trying to look as if they were meant to be there. It would have only taken Borman or one of his troop captains to have turned and studied them and the game would have been up, but their attention was firmly fixed on the battle line and their imminent victory. The sudden change in the sound of the fighting made them pause for a moment and when Borman shouted the order to advance, they watched as the rest of his army surged forward in what had to be the last charge of the battle. Malingar went to spur his horse on but as the last soldier ran forward he could see Tarraquin left behind guarded by just two men.

Sharman had been right, he would do something reckless given a chance to rescue the lady and this was such an opportunity which wouldn’t come again, so he took it without hesitation. He had offered the men with him a chance to escape so he had no right to order them to follow him, but as he galloped up the hillside he could hear the sound of swords being drawn as they charged after him.

The two flag men turned as they approached and waved them on with their flags but by the time they realised who Malingar was, it was too late to run and they were cut down before they had time to draw their swords. Malingar left his men to it, it was their choice if they wished to fight or go. What he didn’t want was for Tarraquin to think they had come to kill her at Borman’s orders and make a run for it, but she must have recognised him as she hadn’t moved from where she was. He walked his horse towards her, made almost breathless by her beauty, and bowed.

“My Lady, may I release you?” Tarraquin nodded, held out her hands and Malingar cut the ropes which bound them. “If you are able to ride we must leave now, the battle is almost over and when it’s done Borman will come looking for you.”

For a moment he thought she was too frightened or too shocked to say anything, but then she pushed her horse forward a pace so they sat knee to knee. He could see her chest rise and fall with her rapid breathing and smell the soapwort in her hair. “I cannot do that, My Lord. If Borman lives then my child will die, so I have no option but to kill the bastard.”

He went to reply but Tarraquin leaned forward, kissed him full on the mouth and took the knife from his unresisting hand. Before he had a chance to do anything but kiss her back, she was gone, galloping hard up the hillside on her fresh horse towards Borman and the battle line. Malingar cursed, this was suicide but he had to admire her for her courage. He dug his spurs into his horse’s sides and galloped after her.

Allowyn had betrayed his protector’s creed; he had taken two steps back although the last had been more of a stagger than a step when his thigh had been laid open to the bone and his leg had almost collapsed beneath him. He was still fighting though, his sword gripped uselessly in one hand, which he was too weak from blood loss to lift, and his long knife in the other striking out and keeping the enemy from his master. Dozo stood next to him protecting his upper body, but there was little else left of the defensive line. Most of the men were down and only the women and children were still fighting.

He fended off another blow making the soldier retreat rapidly, and then wiped the blood from his forehead and eyes as a space opened up in front of him. Those around him were still engaged, fighting for their lives, but he was clearly being left for the King. He laughed grimly to himself, he should have known that the bastard would want the glory of killing a protector and his magician, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Praying for the Goddess’s forgiveness he drove the tip of his sword into the ground and used the blade as a crutch to support him on his one good leg. The long knife would reduce his reach but it would just have to do.

Borman cursed and suddenly wished that he’d remained mounted with his guards around him. A moment before the protector had looked half dead and now he looked as dangerous as any man, despite the blood that ran from beneath his ancient armour. But he was no fool with a sword. He had once had the finest teachers in the six kingdoms, and he wouldn’t be denied his prize; the protector’s armour and the magician’s robe would be unsurpassable trophies to decorate his new throne room.

Carefully he moved closer, judging the protector’s reach and felt a wave of relief when he realised his was far longer. This was going to be easy after all. His first attack was to Allowyn’s right side, which he parried easily. The next two were to the same side but wider, stretching the protector’s defence a little more with each attempted strike. When he changed his stroke to the other side Allowyn was off balance and Borman’s sword sliced through the wrist of his sword arm.

Allowyn stumbled slightly as his support disappeared and he felt the burning fire at his wrist along with the sudden pumping of fresh blood. He ignored it, he was dead already and all that remained was to take Borman with him. The King was impressed by Allowyn’s courage, but that wouldn’t save him. He raised his sword preparing for the final thrust and then froze. Over the protector’s shoulder, there was movement as hundreds of robed figures on magnificent horses swarmed over the crest of the hill, their curved swords catching the sunlight and their savage battle cries filling the air. They weren’t alone either. Behind them rode at least a thousand more soldiers bearing the banners of Northshield, Vinmore and Leersland and leading them was his cowardly cousin.

It was an unstoppable flood intent on his destruction and there was only one thing he could do. He turned, dropped his sword and ran but he wasn’t fast enough. With the last of his strength Allowyn rested his severed wrist on the hilt of his sword and used it to propel himself forward far enough to plunge a hand span of the long knife’s steel in the King’s back. Borman cried out and stumbled forward into Tarraquin’s arms. He looked up in surprise as she drove the knife she had taken from Malingar up through his ribs and into his heart ending his life.

*

He was back in the cage again and had been for days. The bars pressed down on his shoulders, pushing them downwards and crushing his spine. His legs were bent beneath him pushing his hips upwards and compressing his back into a screaming agony. The heat had leached the moisture from his bones, his thirst turning them to powder. Now he thought about it he could remember the exact moment when his spine had crumbled, an instant of pure joy when his tortured body had lost all feeling. It was for an instant only and then the pain had returned but he remembered it well, it was like he felt now, as if his body didn’t exist, only his mind and his senses.

Despite the numbness he knew he was still alive. He could hear the low hum of voices talking to one side of him, he could smell a fire burning nearby and the fresh scent of soapwort, and through his closed eyelids he could see the light change as someone passed in front of its source. As he lay there, he tried to remember what had happened after he had opened the box and released Federa’s spell, but there was nothing there. It was as if everything had come to an end.

 He opened his eyes slowly trying to focus on his surroundings, but it was difficult. The room was large, very large, and all he could make out was a high, sculpted ceiling held up by pillars and windows at the top letting in the light. It all looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen it before. He turned his head slightly looking for other clues and someone close by shouted his name. For a moment there was silence in the room and then an explosion of voices as people came into view. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position but his body refused to obey his commands.

Jarrul rushed forward trying to hold him down and receiving a curse for his trouble and a snapped command to help him sit. He obeyed whilst the others stood in silence, unsure if they should help or not. A young woman he almost remembered, but couldn’t quite place, came to his other side and helped him up. The pain hit him then as it had once before, making him close his eyes for a moment whilst he took control of it. It was agony but there again he’d known worse. When he opened his eyes once more, his mind was clearer and he recognised where he was, although it made no sense. He also recognised the anxious people around his bed but some who should have been there were missing.

“Allowyn?”

It was Dozo who answered his question. “He has returned to the arms of the Goddess protecting his master’s life.”

Jonderill swallowed the hard lump in his throat. By the number who wore black his was not the only loss. “And Barrin?”

“He died on the battlefield in the final charge along with Redruth and Tuckin. Tordray died in the front line along with many others including Stanner.”

“I’m sorry Dozo, she was a brave woman.” It was a lame thing to say to a man who had just lost his wife and unborn child, but he had to say something. He looked around the others, recognising faces that had no right to be there. “Tozaman, my brother, welcome, and Rothers, my friend.” He leaned back against his pillows exhausted. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”

His plea seemed to break the tension and they all relaxed a little as Rothers stepped forward to his bedside. “Do you remember our dream, Jonderill, the one we had when times were at their worst and we dreamed of freedom for everyone? Well Borman is dead, and with him, the last of the kings and their tyranny. The six kingdoms are no more.”

He looked so pleased with himself that Jonderill didn’t have the heart to interrupt and ask about Borman’s end. That would have to wait for another day. “All these people who are gathered here in the Great Hall in Alewinder, are going to be the leaders of the new regional councils and will have a voice on the grand council. Instead of having six kingdoms we are going to have just one country which we have called Freedland. Even Tozaman and his brothers have agreed.”

Rothers cast an anxious glance at the brotherlord, but Tozaman smiled and nodded his agreement. “And, Jonderill, we all want you to be the head of the council, the Primos of the new Freedland, we have just been waiting for you to wake.”

He looked at those gathered around his bed, all smiling or nodding their heads in approval. It was a magnificent offer but it could never be. After what he’d done his destiny lay elsewhere. “Thank you, my friend, but I must decline. I don’t have the strength for the task and there are others better qualified including yourself and Dozo.”

Rothers looked disappointed but perhaps it was not unexpected. “I regret that I’m not up to the task either, and Dozo is returning to the Enclave with Ennett to learn the physic’s art.” He glanced at the other two in the group who had so far held back and had said nothing. “That just leaves Lord Malingar and his wife, the Lady Tarraquin. Would they be acceptable to you?”

Why he was being asked to make a decision was a mystery, but as they were all looking eagerly at him, he’d better do it, and then at least they would all go away and he could be alone with his thoughts. “I think they would do very well.” Jonderill closed his eyes and let the sound of excited voices wash over him whilst his mind drifted back to the day when he was just a boy and Tarraquin had said that one day she would be his wife. That could never be now.

He must have drifted off to sleep, for when he opened his eyes again everyone had gone except for Tarraquin who sat by his bedside holding a bundle in her arms. She smiled at him just as she had done when she was a girl. “I have something for you.” Tarraquin unwrapped the bundle slightly and laid it across his arms. It was a baby, warm and sleepy. “She was born out of wedlock, but Malingar declared her his when we were wed. Her name is Callista.”

Jonderill looked up in surprise, it was a magician’s name, or at least it would have been if there had been any magic left in the land. He looked back at the child who was awake now, her pale green eyes, the colour of sea ice, looking into his and her tiny fingers reaching up to the tears that ran down his cheeks. Tarraquin leant down and carefully took the child from him.

“Rest now, and whenever you want to hold Callista she is yours.”

He closed his eyes and thought about what he had done, how he had taken Callista’s future from her. Now he remembered opening the small box with its terrible spell and the torc falling from his neck. Carefully he reached up and touched his neck with the back of his wrist; the torc was gone and had left no trace. So the Goddess had had the last laugh after all, taking away his protection at the same moment that he took her magic from the land.