The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (8 page)

“But Tallison does. Why does he fear magic so much?”

“It’s not fear, our people are never afraid. It is a hatred of your kind which drives him to do these things to you. My father told me that before I was born, Tallison was heir to the throne of Sandstrone, but he was an evil man even then, and the Goddess ordained that he should not be king. She sent two of her servants to put his younger brother on the throne, but in her mercy she let him live. The Goddess was foolish and Tallison repaid her mercy by murdering his brother and his magician and destroying everything they built together. Now Tallison rules the land and Talis men’s hearts and everything which was good has been swept away.”

“Your father sounds like a wise man, perhaps he should be Rale of Sandstrone.”

“My father is dead, destroyed by Tallison along with the city he helped to build.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“You needn’t be, he wouldn’t have wanted to live to see what Tallison has done or what his son has become.”

It was true; his father would weep if he knew that his son had lost his belief in everything. But perhaps it was not so, perhaps he really did believe in magic. Why else would he be standing here spilling his heart out to a condemned man and calling him magician. Could it have been magic he had felt and not just pity for the man?

“Do not give in magician, your magic has not gone, it’s still inside of you and will return.”

“If only, Tozaman, if only.”

“It will,” Tozaman said with more conviction than he felt. “Now rest if you can and I will keep you safe until Tallison returns for you when the sun sets.”

He turned away to watch the slowly dispersing crowd and Jonderill closed his eyes. It was impossible to sleep but at least now, with the robe protecting his head from the sun, he could rest and that surprised him. Somehow, without consciously thinking about it, he had managed to wrap up the pain of his missing hands and his other wounds and had confined them to a corner of his mind. He thought about what Tozaman had said, about having magic inside of him waiting to be released and wondered if his new found ability to put things in closed off parts of his mind was a part of that magic.

It was unlikely; he’d never had much magic in the first place and in all the time he’d spent with Callabris he had never once mentioned how you could use magic to control your mind. Magic was physical; it had to be manipulated with a movement or a gesture. That’s why hands were so useful. He put that though firmly out of his mind before the loss of his hands and his helplessness overwhelmed him.

“Magician.” Jonderill startled awake. He hadn’t been sleeping, it was impossible to sleep in his position, but he felt more rested than he had been for days.

“Magician. They are coming for you. I cannot prevent what they will do to you now but if there are other ways I can help, I will.”

Jonderill stood up straighter feeling the fear within him rise again and the pain seep out from behind the barriers he had built. “Thank you Tozaman, you have already helped more than you know.”

Four of Tallison’s personal guards came to a halt in front of him, their leader, a huge man with a plaited beard, glared at Jonderill’s freed arms and hooded head but made no move to touch him. Jonderill could sense his fear. “You, Brotherlord, why have you aided this man? Tallison gave orders that he was to be bound and exposed to the people.”

Tozaman bowed briefly. “His magnificence also commanded that the magician should still be alive when he was returned to his presence, I have just carried out our lord’s commands as I saw fit.”

The leader of the bodyguards gave a disdainful snort and then an evil smile. “In that case you can remove his hood and lead him back to Tallison. I’m sure he will want to reward you for your diligence.”

Tozaman stepped forward and hesitated before he touched the robe. It hadn’t harmed him the last time he had touched it, but then he had asked permission; that wouldn’t be possible in front of the four guards. He reached out and tentively pulled the hood back from Jonderill’s head feeling nothing more than the rough fibres catching on his sword-calloused hand. The glaring sunlight and the heat hit Jonderill like a blow making him gasp and the little bit of strength he had gained from his rest drained away. Tozaman released the chain from the post and tried his best to walk slowly back to Tallison’s pavilion, but the surrounding guards set a brisk pace. The best he could do was to keep the chain slack so that Jonderill didn’t choke each time he stumbled and fell.

After being out in the blazing sun the pavilion was dark and cool. It took Jonderill a few moments to adjust his eyes to the dimness and then he wished he hadn’t bothered. The cage was still there waiting for him, the door open and the metal bars ready to press down on him and hold him immobile. The miasma of filth and rot hung in the air and the scratch-scratch of claws, hidden from view, whispered in the silence. Horror and fear assailed him, and if he’d had anything in his stomach, he would have vomited. As it was he stood frozen, whilst his earlier determination never to return to the cage reasserted itself.

“Ah, Callistares, you have returned and did you enjoy your day of freedom?” Tallison gave a cackling laugh and looked Jonderill up and down, a deep frown creasing his face at what he saw. “I had expected you to be a little more grateful to be returning to the safety and comfort of your cage.” He turned a questioning eye on Tozaman who still held Jonderill’s chain.

“The Brotherlord protected him,” explained the leader of the guards stepping forward and bowing deeply. A look of triumph crossed his face as the antagonism between Tallison’s bodyguards and the brotherlords surfaced.

Tozaman too bowed deeply and handed Tallison the chain. “I did as you commanded, Your Magnificence, and ensured that the magician was still alive when he was returned to you.”

Tallison looked from one to another and then shrugged. “It makes little difference, it will just take him a little longer to die, that’s all. Now Callistares, your home awaits you.”

He stepped aside and indicated to the empty cage, a smile of malice on his face. Jonderill remained where he was trying to look braver than he felt and wishing that his legs would stop shaking. Tallison hissed in annoyance and yanked hard on the chain making Jonderill stumble forward slightly.

“Into the cage, Callistares, or my guards will make you get in.”

Jonderill stood as straight as he could looking directly in front of him whilst he fought down the fear of what was going to happen next. The first blow of the club caught him between the shoulder blades, knocking the breath from him and the second blow caught him in the ribs making him grunt with the sudden pain as a rib cracked. The third landed on his stomach making him retch and drop to his knees where a boot in his side made him curl into a ball to protect his burnt stumps. Two more kicks came before Tallison gave the command to stop the beating.

Jonderill lay on his side gasping for breath and praying to the Goddess to end his life but the Goddess once again ignored his prayers. Above him he could hear Tallison snarling and could feel his anger like waves at being defied. If he defied him a little more then perhaps he would lose control and kill him. He rolled to his knees and tried to stand but his legs were too weak to push him up onto his feet. A firm hand took him by the arm and Tozaman helped him to stand, steadying him until he had his balance.

As he had hoped, Tallison was beside himself with anger but instead of giving the guards the order to kill him he took a step forward until he was so close that Jonderill could see the madness in his eyes. Tallison glared at him and then gave a bark of laughter. “You are clever, Callistares, but not clever enough for me. I’m not going to end your life now as you want; on the contrary, I am going to make it last a long, long time. Guards! Cage him!”

The guards, reassured by the way the brotherlord had helped the prisoner to his feet, hurried forward to take hold of Jonderill and then screamed and leaped backwards as jagged sparks shot from Jonderill’s robe blistering their hands.

Tallison shrieked with frustration and pointed at Tozaman. “You, Brotherlord, will put the magician back into his cage!” Tozaman hesitated caught between his wish to protect the magician and his need to preserve his own life which would be forfeit if he didn’t obey his lord. Tallison sensed the hesitation and turned back to the guards who were clutching burnt fingers. “Kill the brotherlord!”

The guards hesitated; the brotherlords were powerful and commanded a thousand men each; to kill one would cause considerable unrest and resentment. They looked to their lord in case he had a change of heart but Tallison just repeated the command. The guard leader gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and all four drew their long, curved swords.

“Stop.” said Jonderill quietly. “Enough people have died for me.”

He walked forward and stared down at the cage, every fibre of his body screaming at him to run, even if that meant his death. Instead he wrapped his arms protectively in front of him, crouched down and moved backwards into the cage. He closed his eyes and prayed for the end to come quickly as the door snapped shut behind him.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Kings, Captains and Commanders

“Have you ever done anything like this before?”

Commander Gadrin looked up from the map which was spread out on the camp table in front of him and studied the prince, trying to discern if there was any doubt in the young man’s face. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t accept that Newn would indeed be his king and wasn’t still the little boy he had put on his first pony. He had served King Hormand for years and had always known that his spoilt son, who used to cry if his own sons didn’t let him win whatever game it was they were playing, would one day be king. The boy had changed into a man, and given time he would be as good a king as his father had been. He only hoped there would be time and their current enterprise wouldn’t end in tears.

“No, Your Majesty, but then again no one has. There hasn’t been a major conflict in the six kingdoms since before your father was a boy. Even the war between Leersland and Sandstrone was little more than a border skirmish.”

Newn thought about it for a moment, trying to find the right words so that his question didn’t sound as if he doubted his commander’s competence. “What about the civil wars, you must have been around then?”

Gadrin smiled and wondered how old the boy thought he was. “The civil wars were before I was born, but I do remember Sarrat and Tallison taking their thrones. You can’t really call them wars, there were no armies involved, just treachery and knives in the night.”

“I see.” Newn paused deciding there was no subtle way to ask his question. “If there haven’t been any wars in the six kingdoms how do you know all about this stuff?”

He pointed at the map with the dark blue line of the Blue River running down its centre and the white and black markers positioned either side. The map was an old one and had hung on the wall of the king’s study in the palace of Dartis for as long as either of them could remember. Despite its age it was accurate and detailed which was why it was on the table in the command tent. In contrast the markers were new. Carved from weiswald and ebon wood each marker represented a thousand men. There were six white markers nestled in the bend of the river, a day’s ride from Crosslands Bridge and four black markers facing them across the Blue River.

Gadrin picked up one of the white markers and placed it next to the bridge. “The same as any man learns their trade; I read about warfare and studied under others who were more experienced than I was.” He smiled at the memory of his student days. “Despite what you think I haven’t always been old and crusty. There was a time when my friend Dilor and I were young and reckless and took a boat from Shipside across the Great Southern Ocean. They know all about war and the conduct of battles in the lands to the south, which is fortunate for us as they are far too busy fighting each other to turn their eyes on the six kingdoms. Dilor and I spent three summers fighting for one king or another and came back swearing that we would never let war tear the six kingdoms apart as it had their lands.” He looked sadly at the map and moved the white marker back to the bend in the river. “It looks like we’ve failed, doesn’t it?

Newn frowned; he didn’t want to tear the six kingdoms apart either but what could he do? “We could withdraw back to Tarbis and just defend our borders.”

Gadrin shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that. Borman has gone too far and needs to be stopped, otherwise he will take Vinmore and then move onto us. We have the reason and the men to fight him; all we need now is the courage to take that first step across the river.”

It was Newn’s turn to pick up one of the white markers and move it to the other side of the river to join the black. He went to move another one but stopped as one of the troop captains entered the tent.

“Your Majesty, Commander, you need to see this, there is activity across the river.”

“Damn,” muttered Gadrin to himself as he followed his king out of the tent and into the morning sunshine; the sudden brightness taking him by surprise. The horses were already waiting along with a small escort of guards and the Lady Tarraquin. That was another thing he could do without; a woman in the camp, and not just any woman but the king-to-be’s betrothed.

He had done his best to persuade Newn that Tarraquin should stay in Dartis with his own wife where she would be safe, but the lady had insisted that she should be here and the king had agreed. It was another irritating problem that he didn’t need. A war camp didn’t have facilities for a woman, especially one who seemed to be sick for half the day. He had to allocate men to guard her and not just from the enemy, and if something went wrong and the battle went against them, then he wouldn’t have the men to protect her and she would be in real danger.

Tarraquin smiled as Newn approached and he smiled back, obviously pleased to see her, which was more than could be said for Gadrin who scowled at her in annoyance. She wondered if he was jealous of the attention the king gave her, and then decided that he was probably just missing his own wife who was safely tucked away in Dartis. When Newn and the commander set off she followed behind concentrating on keeping her queasy stomach in place. Riding didn’t help much but it was better than sitting in her tent feeling like death and dying of boredom. When they reached the crest of the rise which descended down to the Blue River she drew her horse next to Newn’s and stared down at the scene in front of them.