The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (37 page)

Sadrin stood and looked around the room. There was more than enough to start a good blaze. The chairs alone would create enough heat to set the wooden ceiling alight and with the shape of the tower and the contents of the secret room the whole place would go up like one of those fire mountains he had seen pictures of. Really, the only tricky thing was to escape before the fire got out of hand. He walked to the door and pressed his back firmly against the knotted wood. This was going to be the most spectacular fire that he had ever started. He held out his hands, pointed his fingers and released his power.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

To Kill a God

Jonderill lay on the pile of cushions with his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep. When you are so thirsty and hungry it’s difficult to sleep, but he tried his best, putting his desperate need to eat and drink into one of those compartments in his mind that he could close off and ignore. It was a useful technique and one that he practiced whenever he was awake. The problem was that sometimes, the compartments leaked and the needs, which he had been trying to ignore, returned, multiplied tenfold. For the last half candle length he had been thinking about water, lots of water, fresh and cold. Water to drink and water to bathe in, water to wash away the things that crawled in his hair, and water to wash the filth from his body. His thoughts were worse torture than being in his cage.

He turned his head and looked at the cage in the distance. It had been over a day and a half since he’d last been confined within its bars, and in that time he’d almost ploughed a furrow in the floor of the pavilion with his frequent circuits of its perimeter. For a while he’d become stronger as his muscles and joints remembered how to move, and he’d became more hopeful of never having to return to his prison. Now the lack of food had weakened him so much that he could barely make it around the pavilion once and had been forced to lie down to conserve his energy. He knew that when Tallison returned he would be punished, put back into his cage and then constantly guarded so that he would never be able to leave it again.

Jonderill turned his head and looked in the other direction where Rothers lay on the floor next to the pavilion’s closed door flaps, his eyes fixed on the one, tiny corner where he’d managed to push the flap to one side without the guards outside noticing. The view consisted of feet and dirt, but he was convinced that it would be enough to give them warning of Tallison’s return. That didn’t really matter now. He didn’t have the energy to get back into his cage anyway.

Rothers had never been given enough to eat, but he’d always managed to find something to augment his inadequate rations and there had always been water but now, with two days without water, his condition was desperate. It wasn’t helped by the beating he’d taken from the door guards when he’d tried to leave to replenish their water skins. He had used the last of their precious water cleaning the blood from his face, fully expecting the skins to be topped up when Tallison came back, but so far the Rale of Sandstrone had not returned to the pavilion.

Neither of them knew why Tallison had suddenly disappeared and the door guards were disinclined to tell their prisoners what was going on. They had heard Tallison being woken by the chief of his personal guard before the sun had risen two days ago, but after a half candle length of screaming, cursing and kicking Rothers out of the way, he’d left with most of his personal guards surrounding him. When he didn’t return, Rothers sent the two frightened girls back to their mothers whilst they settled down to wait.

At first their undisturbed freedom was a real delight, almost like a holiday where they were free to do as they wanted. They walked around the pavilion exercising cramped muscles and stiff joints and rearranging the many treasures that Tallison displayed for his own pleasure. The sense of freedom didn’t last long though, and Jonderill was soon too exhausted to walk further so they sat down and talked. It had come as a surprise to Jonderill that Rother’s life had been so miserable. He’d supposed that living in a palace for most of your life and never having to worry about your next meal, or who was going to attack you, would be wonderful.

When he thought about it though it made sense, living in Wallmore and being bullied by Borman was not going to make for a happy existence. He didn’t talk about his past; the memories were too fresh and too painful, so he talked about a future where they could both find peace. It was a future with no kings to lord it over the people, no slaves to be worked to death, and no kingswards to be beaten, abused or starved. It was only a dream of course, but for a man with no future, it was a good dream to have.

In between waiting and talking they listened to the distant sounds of the tented city hoping to discover what was happening. There were shouts and screams but there was always shouting and screaming going on. More recently they had heard chanting, or it could have been wailing, but it gave them very little clue as to what it was that had delayed Tallison’s return.

They had no idea of why they were being so closely guarded and denied food and water or what would happen next. Neither of them said it but they both expected that whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for them. One way or another they knew that their lives were in more peril now than at any time before. They dreaded the moment when the guards came for them because it would mean only one thing, but if they didn’t come soon with some water they were both going to die anyway.

Jonderill put that thought out of his mind and tried to think of some sort of magic which he might be able to do which would keep them alive. He’d been trying out one or two minor things and had found that what had once been simple, such as clearing a room of vermin was almost impossible but more complex magic, like levitation, was comparatively easy. Unfortunately creating something from nothing just couldn’t be done, as Callabris had once told him. Never the less, he was still trying, although his thoughts of water kept getting in the way. He tried again to push his desperate need to the back of his mind and concentrate on his magic when Rothers croaked a warning and crawled away from his spy hole at the edge of the pavilion’s entrance.

He’d already decided that he wouldn’t be returning to the cage and if that cost him his life then so be it. With some effort he levered himself into a sitting position and glanced furtively at the line of statuettes Rothers had placed by his side. His levitation wasn’t very fast or accurate but Rother’s had persuaded him that the sharp-edged ornaments would provide him with some defence whilst he thought of something better. If he couldn’t think of anything then the missiles might just anger Tallison or his guards enough that they would use their swords on him and end his life quickly.

Rothers crawled over to crouch down beside him and together they listened to the shouting outside the pavilion. They couldn’t quite make out what was being said but it sounded like someone was shouting to be let in and the two guards were equally loudly refusing admittance. There was a sudden shuffling of feet, cries of alarm and then silence followed by a cold wave of air which washed over Jonderill and for a moment took away his pain, thirst and hunger and made Rother smile in pleasure.

The door flap twitched open and Nyte stumbled through looking pale and shaky but with a look of triumph on her face. She staggered to where they waited and knelt down in front of them, looking from one to the other and clearly not liking what she saw. If she thought that these two were going to be able to help her, then she was badly mistaken, but as she had no other option she had to try.

“Magician, I need your help. Tozaman needs your help.”

The situation was so absurd that Jonderill almost laughed. “Sorry, can’t help anyone at the moment.”

She looked at him in desperation and pulled a water skin from her back and thrust it into his arms. “Drink.”

Jonderill looked at the skin as if some strange animal had just landed in his lap but Rothers was onto it in an instant, snatching it from him, pulling the stopper free and taking two quick gulps before holding it up for Jonderill to drink. The water was fresh and cool and better than any wine he had ever tasted. They shared the skin between them whilst Nyte rummaged inside the oversized jerkin she wore and pulled out some small packages. Inside the wrappings there were half a dozen of the oat and desert bush sap rolls which seemed to be the main food people ate, and two flatbreads stuffed with soft, strong smelling cheese. She waited impatiently whilst they ate, drumming her fingers on her thigh and glancing nervously at the door flaps as if she expected to be disturbed at any moment.

“Where are the guards?” asked Jonderill as he finished the oats and started on the flat bread.

“Asleep, but I don’t know how long for.” She looked slightly sheepish. “My gift takes away pain by countering it with pleasure. Too much pleasure tires a man and makes him sleep, but not for long.” Jonderill raised his eyebrows and Rothers blushed. “Please, you must hurry. We need to be away from here if you are going to be in time.”

For a moment Jonderill stopped eating and looked at the girl quizzically. He’d seen her angry and mocking, vengeful and half dead, but now she looked desperate, as if she were going to cry. “Be in time for what?”

“To save Tozaman. Tallison has him. They have beaten him bloody until he cannot stand and have chained him in the square so the people can see what the punishment is for those who disobey Talis’s commands and enter Federa’s forbidden temple. They are going to sacrifice him to Talis on the altar in front of the people so they can hear his screams as Talis takes his soul into damnation.”

Jonderill shook his head, his mind still sluggish from the effects of being without water for so long. He needed time to think. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Nyte sighed in frustration at the delay. She knew this had been a stupid idea, there was no way this magic worker was going to be able to help her. Impatiently she started to leave and then changed her mind and quickly recounted everything that had happened from the moment she had woken in the temple until Tozaman had left her. The only thing she missed out was their love making.

“When Tozaman didn’t return as he promised, I knew something must be wrong, so I left the temple and went to the brotherlords’ camp, but someone else was in his place, wearing his robes and ordering his men about. I tried to find out who he was, but none of the armsbrothers would talk to me, so I followed the crowds who were being driven from their shelters. They were being herded to where Tallison talks to them, and there I found Tozaman hanging from chains and barely alive. There’s nothing I can do by myself, but I remembered Tozaman saying to me that you were his friend, so I came here to ask you for your help.”

Help? What did she expect a half-starved cripple to do? “What about the other brotherlords, can they not help? I thought they were meant look out for each other?”

“Oraman has ridden to Astazin to bring all the brotherlords here, but he will be too late and I don’t know where the other two brotherlords have gone, they have disappeared from their camp. I think Tallison is planning some big ceremony to demonstrate his power to the people. It was why he was so desperate to capture a magician and humble you so he could use your death as a symbol of his power.

Tozaman and Oraman have been telling Tallison not to sacrifice you as it will turn the mob to violence, but now I think he wants to set that violence free and use it against the brotherlords. He hates them, but he fears them because they still have some hold over the people, but if he could get the people to destroy them he would become all powerful. So many people are going to die just so there will be no one left to oppose him.”

“Except me,” said Jonderill carefully.

“I think you are to be part of this ceremony too. I know he still fears you and the possibility that he hasn’t taken all your magic. That is why he has kept you both without food and water and so well guarded. If he can break you then you will be no threat to him when he gives you to the mob to destroy.”

“Is that how you guessed that we needed help?” asked Rothers.

“No, of course not, fool. I knew Jonderill needed help because he has been screaming for water for a day and a night. It was that which made me come here; I thought that if he had enough magic to call his distress to all who were able to hear, he might still have enough magic to be of some use to me. You will help, won’t you?”

Her motives for helping him were dubious, but of course he would help, although he had no idea what he was going to do; only that he had to do something. If it hadn’t been for Tozaman he would probably be dead already, stoned to death by the mob. That wasn’t his only motive though. In the days he’d been locked in his cage there had been plenty of time for him to think and to ponder the reasons why such terrible things had been done to him. At last he thought he had an answer.

He couldn’t remember the words of the Goddess when she had spoken to him at the Enclave and he’d never written them down; why should he? At the time he’d thought that they were for someone else, but now he was certain that the words had been for him. Nyte had just shown him what the words had meant. If Federa had a temple in the city that was forbidden to all, the task that the Goddess had given him had to be to destroy Talis and open her temple so the people could worship her once more. In return she would surely reward him, and if he was wrong he was dead anyway.

When he nodded his agreement Rothers helped him to stand. His legs were shaky, but with the food and water Nyte had brought he could feel some of the strength returning to him. He wondered whether it would be enough to stand up against Tallison and his evil god. Somehow he doubted it; one challenge and it would all be over. Yet he knew that his kind were capable of remarkable feats, or at least, that is what they had tried to teach him at the Enclave.

He didn’t believe a word the High Master had said, but Callabris had said more or less the same thing, only differently. His mentor had once told him that much of a magician’s power over others was in the image they portrayed and not the magic they used. As he looked down at himself he knew it to be true. He looked just what he was, a beaten man who has seen better times and was on the edge of death.