Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (12 page)

He held out his hands again and turned them over,
palms up, backs up, and then the palms up again but nothing happened. He moved
his fingers one by one and then in sequence and then all together and still
nothing happened. In frustration he waved them in the air and then clapped them
together but all he felt was stupid so he dropped them onto his lap. Perhaps he
hadn’t created elemental fire after all; perhaps he had been day-dreaming. In
fact he remembered feeling warm and peaceful as if he was drifting off to
sleep. He thought of the golden glow which had washed over him and felt a
tremor of excitement as the pale light once again filled his mind. Carefully he
held out his hands and worked almost in a trance as each long finger moved in
turn. When the smallest one came into position a round ball of elemental fire
shimmered into existence, coalesced and then was gone as his growing excitement
pushed the yellow glow out of his mind.

His excitement was too much to contain. Now he knew
how to call on the power, not like the book said or how Maladran had explained
it to him but with light and warmth and peace. Jumping from one foot to another
he tried again but the soft glow wouldn’t come into his mind, only a liquid
orange light streaked with bright flashes. He stopped jumping around and sat back
down quietly on the grass until his heart ceased racing and his hands were
still, then he tried again.

The elemental fire formed instantly, wavered and then
steadied. Slowly Jonderill lowered his hand leaving the fire to burn in the air
and then with a movement of his fingers he moved the fireball up and down and
from side to side. It was his whoop of joy which finally extinguished the fire,
that and the wind as he raced towards the tower with his wonderful news.

Maladran looked up from the chart he had been studying
with a look of annoyance and surprise. It was the strictest of rules that when
he was working in the upper most room of the tower he was not to be disturbed and
none had ever dared to break that rule. Whatever had brought that person to
stand in front of the forbidden door and tap with such haste on its warded
timbers must have been of the utmost urgency and importance. With no effort he
lifted the warding and snapped a command to enter which was unnecessary as
Jonderill had already thrown the door open wide and stood on the threshold of
Maladran’s private chamber.

What he expected to see there is difficult to guess
but the room was certainly nothing like he thought a magician’s workroom should
look like. For a start it was neat and tidy and well ordered with books stacked
by size on wooden shelves instead of lying open on desks and tables. Jars of
all sizes were carefully labelled and neatly stored and there wasn’t one
skeleton in sight. Only the walls were different, being completely circular and
decorated with star maps of the constellations as they would appear from the
top of the tower. Jonderill glanced upwards as if his eyes were being drawn
towards the centre of the conical roof. Complex mechanisms for drawing back the
roof, which would allow starlight to flood down onto the obsidian chart table
below, were fastened to cross beams and had the appearance of being well used.

The only other remarkable aspect of the room were the
strange creatures with horns and snouts and long tusks which stood along one
wall. Each was slightly shorter than a man but massively built with large,
powerful arms and muscular legs. They looked to be carved out of pale stone
with intricate care and would have normally fascinated Jonderill but today he
took no notice of them, he had eyes only for his guardian.

If it had been any other person, Maladran’s response
would have been pure acid followed by curt dismissal from his service but the
boy was different, he had changed his life, showing him light and laughter
again. He could deny him nothing. With an effort he looked stern, ready to
chastise but Jonderill’s obvious excitement and infectious smile disarmed him
completely. He sat in his chair happily defeated.

“This had better be good,” he warned gently, waiting
for an explanation.

“It is,” replied Jonderill excitedly, hopping from
foot to foot and then, as if realising where he was, he added in a serious
voice, “I’ve something to show you, it’s something I’ve done for you.”

Maladran gave a nod of acquiescence and sat back
waiting for Jonderill to begin. The boy had grown considerably in the four
summers since he had become Maladran’s property and if he remembered any of the
depravations of his previous existence it didn’t show in his ready smile and
sparkling eyes. After the difficult early days when Jonderill had cowered at
the slightest sharp word or raised hand, Maladran had been amazed at the
quickness of his mind and the speed with which he learnt things other boys of
his age already knew. In all truth he was as proud of Jonderill as if he had
been his own son, which he would be if he could persuade Sarrat to allow him to
legally adopt the bound kingsward.

“Watch,” said the boy, pulling the magician from his
contented thoughts.

Maladran watched as Jonderill held out his hand and
concentrated hard, a slight smile on his lips at the boy’s intensity. He knew
the boy practised the power in secret but there was no likelihood of him ever
obtaining it, such power was not in his blood and his testing had shown that he
had no aptitude for magic. However he let the boy continue. It obviously meant
something to him although Maladran wished he would have chosen a more
appropriate time and place for his games. He was working on a problem for
Sarrat and he knew the king was impatient for a solution.

The magician felt the tingle of arcane power a fraction
of a second before the boy’s pale green eyes darkened slightly. He shifted in
his seat, consumed by a terrible apprehension and watched as the boy moved his
fingers. The first ball of elemental fire appeared from the air and hovered
above Jonderill’s open palm. Mesmerised by the wavering light, Maladran rose
from the chair in parallel with the fireball and stared transfixed as the boy
produced another and another. All the strength seemed to drain from his legs
and the warmth from his body, leaving behind a fearful cold. Jonderill looked
into Maladran’s eyes and saw something there which made him immediately release
the elemental fire and the mind glow which produced it. Released from the
vision, Maladran collapsed back into his chair, his heart pounding and his mind
stunned. For a moment the boy stood in silence, unsure of himself and bewildered
by the look in Maladran’s eyes.

“Aren’t you pleased?” he asked hesitantly. “I only did
it for you”.

“Yes. Yes of course I’m pleased, it’s just come as a
surprise, that’s all.” He smiled fondly at the boy. “It’s a different kind of
talent to mine and it will need careful nurturing if it’s to blossom into full
power. For now only use it sparingly and in private until we have the chance to
investigate it properly.”

Jonderill waited for the magician to say more but the
man had closed his eyes and withdrawn into himself. He suddenly became aware
that Maladran had his charts spread across the table and open books on his
desk. Perhaps he had chosen a bad moment to interrupt the magician. Quietly he
turned around and slipped from the room, the warded door closing silently behind
him.

Maladran waited for Jonderill to leave before he opened
his eyes and swallowed hard, choking back the emotions which the boy had taught
him to feel. So it had emerged at last, the hidden power within the boy which
he’d sensed the first time they had met. Why did it have to emerge now though,
after all this time? If the power had come to the boy earlier it would have
been easy to block it but to suppress it now could cause Jonderill considerable
harm, even madness. But even that was better than Sarrat discovering that the
boy had talent.

He dropped his head to his hands in blank despair and
closed his mind to every sense. Eventually the loud rapping on the door and the
shock waves rippling through his warding broke his trance and his mind jumped
back to the present. Angrily he lifted the warding and snapped open the door
allowing Garrin to tumble through the sudden opening and then scuttle back
guiltily over the threshold. He knew the rules and was terrified of where his
momentum had carried him.

“Well?” snapped Maladran.

“My lord, the king is here.”

For a moment the magician looked blank and Garrin
repeated himself. It took a moment longer before he realised what Garrin had
really meant.

“Not here,” he commanded but he was too late, the
bulky figure of Sarrat pushed the nervous servant aside and stepped into the
room.
          

He stopped and looked around him with a sneer of
disdain on his face. ”So this is where you have been hiding, hardly impressive
is it?”

“You’re welcome here to my work room, My Lord, but
perhaps it would be more appropriate if we were to retire to more comfortable
quarters where refreshments could be served. I have a fine red wine which I am
sure you’ll enjoy.”

“This’ll do well enough, I have no intention of
remaining long, I have more pressing matters to deal with. Now, magician, what
is this damn fool nonsense you have requested of me about adopting a kingsward
as your own son?”

Maladran sat back heavily in his chair, the mention of
the boy bringing back the memory of what had happened, which the king’s
unexpected arrival in his private room had momentarily put out of his mind. “It’s
the boy I took from the estate of High Lord Coledran, I have become fond of him
and thought I would take him for my son.”

“What foolishness is this, Maladran? You are a
magician not a damn father. I can see I have been over-indulgent with you,
allowing you to hide away in your tower instead of attending my court as you
should be doing. Now you’ve come up with this nonsense. Put the boy back in his
proper place, Maladran and come to your senses. The High Lord is up to his old
tricks again and is refusing to obey my commands so I once again have need of
your services.”

Maladran stood and took a step towards the king. “The
boy is in his right place, at my side learning from his father.”

Sarrat raised his eyebrows in question. “Learning what
from his father?” Maladran remained silent whilst the king looked annoyed at
the magician’s obscure comment and then a cruel sneer of realisation crossed
his face and he laughed maliciously. “You’ve done it again haven’t you,
Maladran? Despite my warnings and what happened last time you’ve taught the boy
to call on the arcane.”

“The boy has a talent,” replied Maladran defensively. “It
is a very different talent than mine and as yet immature but undoubtedly
strong. With care he could be a great magician.

If he were my son we could work together and share the
knowledge of his power, then you would own two magicians to do as you bid.”

“If you believe that you are deluding yourself,
magician. I told you at the outset that I would allow only one of your kind to
stand by my side and you took a vow on it when we took the kingdom. Don’t think
that I will allow you to break that vow, Maladran, for the sake of your
sentimental feelings.”

“But he could be of great value to you if I am allowed
to nurture his power.”

“No, Maladran. You know that none of the six kingdoms
can harbour more than one of Federa’s acolytes at a time. There is no way I
will let anyone with the slightest chance of using the power out of my control
to be snapped up by my enemies.”

“But he’s only a boy! I will ensure he’s always loyal
to you.”

Sarrat looked at the magician with contempt. “Don’t be
a fool, Maladran. Is your memory so short that you forget how we came to be
where we are, you and I? You were loyal to Malute and Yarrin but that didn’t
stop you plotting against them so you could take the place of Yarrin. I put
that torc around your neck and I can take it off again. Remember how Yarrin
died, raving and mad and fouling himself. Unless you want to go the same way
the boy dies and you will do as you are told. Now get your things together,
lock your tower and go and deal with the High Lord. I shall deal with the boy.”

Sarrat turned on his heel and stormed out of the
magician’s room leaving Maladran numbly staring after him.

Outside, in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine,
Jonderill sat quietly in his favourite place, the grassy hillock with the
glorious view across the kingdom of Leersland. He had seen the king and his
escort arrive and knew they could be here for only one purpose. Of course he
wasn’t meant to know what it was which brought the king to Maladran’s tower but
Garrin lacked the ability to keep a secret, especially from the boy he had
become a second father to.

If the king agreed then he would be Maladran’s son. He
wondered what it would be like, if he would feel different than he did now. Despite
all his efforts he still couldn’t remember his parents and he could remember
nothing of what it was like to be someone’s son. In fact, in all his life he
had only known one father and son and they argued all the time. He smiled to
himself in anticipation, when he was Maladran’s son he would never argue.

Sounds of someone approaching broke through his
daydreams and he eagerly jumped to his feet knowing he was grinning like a
fairground fool. The approaching man was a kingsguard with dull eyes and a
straggly beard. For a moment Jonderill was concerned and then felt foolish;
what did he expect, the king to come searching for him personally? The guard
beckoned him to follow and he did so, holding back an urge to skip across the
bright sunlit grass.