Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (8 page)

“
You are welcome to our court, Maladran of the black,
envoy of our much honoured neighbour King Sarrat.”

“I thank you, Your Majesty, although I can see that the
presence of King Sarrat’s magician is not so welcome by those who also serve
the goddess Federa.”

He gave the two aged magicians a withering look and
was pleased to see them cringe and Animus guiltily remove his hand. He stepped
towards the child and took her tiny hand between his forefinger and thumb. Of
all the magician’s skills a long term enchantment was the most exhausting to
seal and he knew he would feel the effects for days after, but it couldn’t be
helped, it had to be done. He emptied his mind and focused the power which
always hovered at the edge of his consciousness. As he wove the enchantment his
voice became distant and hollow but each word could be heard clearly by those
gathered around the baby.

“Such beauty in this world is rare

and many, her charms would blight

but she will be safe in my care

and unspoilt whilst in my sight.

“To Daun the gift of temper real

cruel touch and lashing scorn

acid spite for all to feel,

a
beautiful rose with cutting thorn.

He pushed the power from his mind, bending his head
and kissing the tiny hand to seal the enchantment beyond redemption.
Immediately the child screamed in temper, her tiny fists clutching at the air
and her feet kicking wildly in a fit of tantrum. Maladran stepped back with a
satisfied smile. Along with the reputation of her beauty and the size of her
inheritance would go the perversity of her nature. If that didn’t keep the
suitors at bay nothing would.

“Maladran,” snapped Sarrat angrily. “Do you dare
ignore me?”

The magician jumped at the raised voice. “I’m sorry My
Lord, my mind was elsewhere.” Their two natures would complement each other
nicely, he thought with blatant disrespect. “The child grows more beautiful by
the day, a rare gem of outstanding value but one with a cutting edge which no
man would wish to hold to his heart or press to his lips.”

“And have you worked out a way to release her from
your enchantment when the time is right or do you still owe me your eyes?”

Maladran sighed. “Have no fear, My Lord, she will be
released when you are ready to take her.” That was one part of the enchantment
which hadn’t been quite right. In his haste to cast the spell he had bound her
acerbic nature to his sight and could not release one without losing the other.

“Don’t worry about me, I have no fear,” laughed Sarrat
viciously. “It’s your eyes which will be forfeit, not mine.”

“Just so,” replied Maladran with icy coldness and
obvious irritation. He stood to withdraw, giving the briefest of bows before
pacing to the door.

“Magician! You forget yourself, I have not given you
leave to go yet, I have other matters to discuss with you.” Maladran turned
back, reading the extent of Sarrat’s anger and deciding it was unwise to
provoke him further. “I’ve decided it would be a good idea to make my future
wife a gift, something simple but of beauty and value. I thought such a gesture
would cement our good relations with her father and remove any mistrust he
might have of me after your endowment to his daughter.”

The magician bowed in acquiescence and waited in
silence for his master to continue. “I hear High Lord Coledran has a racing
mare of exceptional quality and it has given birth to a foal of outstanding
beauty and unusual colour. It has the silver coat of its sire and his fighting
temperament but the dark main and tail of its dam and her speed. I think this
would be a fitting gift for the princess, especially if the animal was blessed
by you in some special way. I thought I might also send one of the High Lord’s
stablemen in attendance to look after it and see to its training. Perhaps the
Stablemaster’s head stable boy would be a good choice, I hear the boy is sharp
witted and ambitious. Did you come across him during your recent visit to the
High Lord’s estate?”

Maladran recalled the vicious look in the boy’s eye
and the malice of his words.
 
“That would
be Tarris. Yes, I came across him. He has a certain intelligence but he is also
sly and vindictive by nature.”

“Good, then he should serve my purpose well; a sharp
mind and a quick eye will keep a good watch on my interests.”

“Then you no longer have trust in my counsel,” asked
Maladran, unaccountably hurt by Sarrat’s suggestion.

“Trust? Of course I trust you but a spy in the enemy’s
camp will give me an advantage.” He looked suspiciously at the magician. “This
journey has changed you Maladran. There is a new softness within you which wasn’t
there before, some depth of feeling where there used to be a stone heart. You’re
not developing a conscience are you? A soul searcher with feelings for others
is of no use to me.”

Maladran shook his head and smiled wanly. “No. My Lord,
it’s just that I am tired. The journey was long and tedious. I have been away
from the peace of my own tower for too long and the unpleasant manner of the
death of High Lord Coledran’s son tired me. I shall be more like myself after I
have rested.”

“Then you had better go and rest in solitude and take
as long as you need, your presence here is not required. I will inform you when
you may leave your tower again.” He waved the magician angrily away but stopped
him again as he reached the door. “I’ve been told you have taken a new
apprentice. After the last one I thought we had agreed you would train no more
to be sacrificed to fulfil your vows to me?”

Maladran shrugged but did not turn around. “This one
is different; he’s not of this kingdom but the spawn of a foreign soldier. He’s
merely a kingsward and without the slightest hint of power.”

“Then what will you do with the boy?” laughed Sarrat. “Surely
you haven’t developed unsavoury appetites for small boys amongst your other
failings?”

Maladran refrained from responding to the taunt. His
last apprentice was just coming into his power when Sarrat had decided that he
was a threat and had ordered his death. After witnessing what the kingsguard
had done to him Maladran had very little appetite for anything, particularly
the pleasures of the flesh. For weeks after the body had been returned he had
been too sickened to use his skill, much to his master’s annoyance and had been
more than willing to agree to train no more apprentices.

However the boy he had taken from the High Lord was
different than the others had been, it was in his eyes and his manner and the
experience they had shared together. There was an attraction which had nothing
to do with perverted pleasures or arcane skills and everything to do with the
return of long forgotten feelings and the resurgence of his humanity which was
diminished every time he did Sarrat’s dirty work.

“I don’t know what I shall do with the boy but one
thing is for certain, he will never become my apprentice.”

~
   
~
   
~
   
~
   
~

    
Twilight
settled gently between the rolling hills, darkening the winding river and
obscuring the dark road which followed a straighter path parallel to the
waterways meandering course. On the higher ground between the dark road and the
tall weiswald trees, still touched by the setting sun, three crackling camp
fires ensured twilight and darkness would be kept at bay. There were other
things to be kept at bay as well, like the packs of sly hunters which were
notorious scavengers along the kingdom’s southern highways. However, the three
elemental fires burning brightly in their circles of stone and the escort of
kingsguard were more than adequate to prevent any possible attack.

Maladran had purposely chosen to travel this route to
the High Lord’s estate as opposed to the wide commercial road which carried
goods from the southern border to the king’s court in the north. It had been
the road he and the boy had travelled two summers earlier and it was important
that he should use a place already touched by arcane power for the testing
which lay ahead. The timing had been perfect; the boy’s tenth summer solstice
and the king’s command for him to leave his tower and once again travel to the
domain of High Lord Coledran. The escort of kingsguard, particularly the
presence of Captain Gartnor was an inconvenience but he would deal with them
before the testing began. It was better that a troop of soldiers should sleep
for a while rather than the boy show some inkling of power in front of Sarrat’s
men.

Garrin, his faithful and unquestioning servant, would
have to sleep too, his affection for the boy and his fear of what the arcane
might do to him would interfere with the testing. Maladran had to know if what
he had felt in the boy, in that place two summers previous, had been a
manifestation of Federa’s gift or just the boy’s raw emotion. He laughed as the
boy leapt from behind a tree onto Garrin’s back with a wild scream and the
servant dropped to the floor in mock surrender. The years seemed to drop away
from the man when he played with Jonderill. Now, scrabbling across the grass on
all fours and bucking like a wild horse with the boy clinging to his back, he
looked almost like the young man who had come long ago to the magician’s tower
to be his servant.

His servant may have looked younger but his strength
was still that of a man well passed his middle years and playing mustang to a
boisterous ten year old could not be sustained for long. In a last act of
self-preservation he grabbed hold of the boy’s tangle of shirt and pulled him
over his shoulder so that he landed face down, his arms pinioned before him and
his head hidden in folds of linen.

The picture of the boy’s exposed back and helpless
position stabbed at the magician’s memory but apart from the two cuts which had
drawn blood, the scars had gone and a healthy layer of flesh covered the boy’s
ribs. He screamed and begged for mercy as Garrin tickled his sides but the
servant wasn’t relinquishing revenge that easily. He flipped the boy over so he
could pull off his shirt and then made a grab for a naked foot and tickled that
instead. The boy laughed and shrieked and squirmed and pleaded with him to stop
until they both fell into a laughing, exhausted heap.

It seemed to Maladran that there had been nothing but
laughter since the boy had come into his life; something that he had nearly
forgotten existed. As well as affection he had learnt to share the boy’s
excitement and joy of living and being free. There had been the excitement of
last solstice day when he had given the boy his first pony and Garrin’s wife
had baked him a cake and smothered it in mixed fruit compote. He had shared the
boy’s wonder at the sly hunter’s cubs they had found and had laughed at their
antics as they tumbled over each other in mock battle.

Together they had watched tree-leapers chase each
other up and down weiswald trees and had caught silver fish in the lake. On
cold winters nights they had shared the wonders of the great book of myths in
front of a roaring fire whilst the wind howled around his high tower. His
ambition to possess the forbidden power beyond the arcane had been replaced by
the joy of hearing the boy laugh. In consequence the dark side of his nature,
which had once threatened to consume him, had been confined to where it
belonged, in the deepest recesses of his mind.

Yet for all their affection he did not play with the
boy as Garrin did nor spoil him like Garrin’s childless wife. Their
relationship was more thoughtful, based on the trust they had for each other
after what they had shared that night two summers ago in that same place.
Maladran’s thoughts returned to the night when, for the first time since his
initiation, his power had been overwhelmed and his will submerged beneath another’s.
When the darkness had cleared from his mind the boy had been enfolded in his
arms and was clinging to him whilst sobs racked his small, cold body. He was no
longer screaming the man’s name but, by the way he shook, it was obvious that
the vision of the man’s execution was imprinted firmly in his mind.

Maladran felt sick at the memory and a terrible guilt
touched him. Something in the boy’s mind had wanted to protect him against the
horror of what he’d been forced to watch but he, in all his arrogance, had
forced the boy to see behind the curtain. If the boy’s mind had been
permanently damaged it would have been his fault and all because he wanted to
know the boy’s name so he could have mastery over him.

He’d released his arms from around the boy, intending
to push him away but the boy clung on in desperation, assailing him with
feelings of horror, confusion and a terrible sense of loss. Maladran had given
in to the boy’s need of him, feeling too weak to fight against it, almost as if
he had been beaten. After a while the child’s sobs quietened and his shaking
ceased altogether although he still clung to Maladran as if his life depended
on the magician’s presence.

“Do you remember your nightmares now boy?” He had
asked with a voice made harsh by his own emotions.

The boy nodded as if he dare not speak in case it gave
reality to the terrible dream he’d just relived.

“Who was the man in silver and white and the woman
that held you?” The boy didn’t reply. “Come boy, you must talk about them
otherwise they will forever haunt your life like wraiths.”

“I think she cared for me and he was with her before
the riders came.”

“Who were the riders?” The boy shook his head and
Maladran took it that he didn’t know. “Why did the riders take the man’s hands
and kill everyone else?”

“I don’t know,” said the boy, pulling away from the
magician and wiping the tears on the back of his hand. “I can’t remember
anything about him.”

“What of the other man, the soldier?”

The boy shook his head whilst tears ran down his
cheeks again. Waves of guilt and despair emanated from him, threatening to
swamp Maladran and for his own preservation he held the boy protectively to him
to give him some comfort.

“I killed him,” said the boy suddenly pulling away. “He
was trying to protect me against them and they did that terrible thing to him
because I was there and it should have been me.”

The boy’s sobs began began again, verging on the
hysterical and his emotional outpouring becoming more painful to the magician’s
newly awakened senses. He had to gain control over the boy or become lost in
his rampant emotions.

“What did your parents name you boy?”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

“What of the man, what did he call you?” The boy shook
his head again but said nothing. “Then I shall have the naming of you. It shall
be Jonderill after the man who bravely gave his life for you. May you live long
to honour his memory.”

The boy whispered his given name and slowly the
overpowering emotions subsided and Jonderill fell asleep in the magician’s
arms.

For the rest of that night he’d sat with the boy in
his arms in the same camp site as now, by the same fire, and had felt something
within the boy which he had not felt since. Before the boy awoke he had reached
a decision and as a kindness he replaced the boy’s memory block so that he would
never again have to see the final moments of his namesake’s life. Now he had to
know if Jonderill had used an inner power on him that night or if it had just
been the strength of the boy’s emotions that had caused him to be drawn into
the boy’s mind. It was appropriate that he should choose this place for the
testing and with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension he called the boy
to him.

Jonderill came eagerly. Garrin played rough and tumble,
taught him to swim and ride and do the other things a boy should know how to do
and the servant’s motherly wife cared for him but it was to the magician he had
given his heart, mind and soul. In the two summers since the magician had taken
him into his isolated tower atop a steep hillside he had tried to be what the
magician wanted him to be.

At first he thought that would be an unpaid servant,
the bound slave which was his position in life but the magician had sought
other things from him. Now, although he had only seen ten summers, he was an
adequate philosopher, a skilled debater when required and an affectionate boy
with the insatiable curiosity of the young. Happily he pulled on his shirt and
straightened his unruly hair before answering his master’s summons.

Maladran smiled at his approach and patted the ground
beside him. Jonderill sat cross-legged and looked up at his friend. He looked
like an eager puppy and made the magician smile even more.

“Do you remember this place, Jonderill?”

The boy nodded, “Yes, sir, it’s the place where you
gave me my name.”

“
Do you remember what else happened here that night?”

A shadow crossed the boy’s face and for an instant a
flicker of fear showed in his pale green eyes. “I saw into my past, to the man
you named me after.”

“And do you still remember nothing about what you saw?”
The boy shook his head. “That’s good. Do you remember how you saw what
happened?”

Jonderill looked concerned. The nightmares had gone and
he had no wish for them to return again, yet if the magician asked him to, he
would.

Maladran guessed his concern. “I don’t mean what you
saw but how you saw it.”

“It was like a small light in the darkness which grew
bigger and bigger until I could see what was happening.” He looked at Maladran,
unsure if this is what he wanted. The magician smiled in encouragement.

“And what happened when the light tried to go out?”

Jonderill hesitated before he answered. It was
something he had thought about often but had never understood. “I don’t know.
Something inside of me wouldn’t let it go until I had seen everything.” He
swallowed hard but could not suppress the shudder which shook his body.

Maladran could feel the boy’s apprehension growing but
pressed on relentlessly. “Have you ever felt like that since?” Jonderill shook
his head. “Would you like to? Would you like to control things and change the
way people are? Would you like to be a magician?”

Jonderill looked at him in excitement, his eyes full
of anticipation. “Yes, if you would like me to.”

“You must be what you want to be, not what I want,” he
admonished, “but most of all you must have the ability to do what you want. It’s
the same with magic; there must be a natural ability otherwise any amount of
teaching will be wasted. Shall we see if you have that ability, my boy?”

Jonderill nodded, slightly apprehensively and then
watched in awe as the master magician turned his attentions to the kingsguard sitting
around one of the fires playing dice. Quietly he put them to sleep, one by one.
Garrin was the last to roll over on his side, stretch lazily and drift into a
contented evening slumber.

“Now, Jonderill, do as I say and let’s see what you
can do. Close your eyes and concentrate on darkness or nothingness so deep it
has no beginning or end and no boundaries to hold it there. It is a darkness
which is thick and heavy and would crush you if you let it, only your mind
holds it in check, ready for the pure light of power to come and fill its
emptiness. Think of nothing but the darkness.

Jonderill closed his eyes tightly and thought of
blackness but his darkness was full of bright twinkling lights and brilliant
flashes which jumped and moved every time his eyes blinked behind their tightly
shut lids. An ant crawled up his leg and he wondered where it was heading for.
Perhaps when Maladran had finished he could go and see if he could find its
nest or the queen. The magician’s voice droned in the background reminding him
of bees outside the tower in their hives. He hoped Garrin had packed some honeycomb
and his stomach rumbled in agreement. His blackness seemed to be getting
lighter and now little circles of light crossed his vision.

“Into the darkness in your mind comes a small flame,
so tiny that at first it is just a pin prick but it grows until it hovers at
the centre of your darkness, waiting to obey your command.”

Jonderill tried to envisage the light but there were
so many other flashing lights in the darkness one more would have made little
difference. His eyes were beginning to hurt from being squeezed together too
tightly and the ant had moved up passed his knee and was making its way beneath
his tunic.