Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (21 page)

The result was that almost the entire population of
Vinmore, in lively spirit, crowded into the city beneath the palace walls.
Vinmore's famous wine and cider had already been consumed in large quantities
by everyone not taking part in the ceremony and the mouth-watering smell of
huge roasts, generously provided by the king, reminded revellers of the feast
to come.

Barrin, Redruth and the other junior guards and
trainee knights he practised sword with every week formed a guard of honour
through which the apprentices walked as they entered the main square. His
friend had been sympathetic with his plight. In all the time they had been
friends Jonderill had only managed to produce elemental fire once and that had
fizzled out to nothing after a few seconds.

However sympathy could not help much now it had come
to the testing and the best Barrin could do was give him a quick smile for good
luck. When it was Barrin's turn to parade before the king and be accepted into
the guards Jonderill hoped he could offer more support than a half-hearted,
pitying smile. As soon as he had finished with the thought he felt guilty. He
was being grossly unfair. Barrin had been a tower of strength and support in
the past few weeks and didn't deserve to be so maligned.

A sudden burst of cheering dragged Jonderill back to
the present as the first apprentice moved forward. More applause and shouting
then accompanied each apprentice as they entered the city square although most
of the young boys were too nervous to acknowledge it and their masters too
dignified. Animus and Plantagenet, with Jonderill between them, entered last
and made their way to the far end amidst some half hearted-applause, laughter
and whispered comments. Jonderill was not perturbed at his quiet reception; the
fewer people who supported him, the fewer people he would disappoint when he
failed. He took his place at the end of the line of apprentices, wishing he
could be anywhere else except where he now stood.

There were eight apprentices in all, none who had seen
their twelfth summer except for himself. Behind each stood their master
carrying the object to be judged, most hidden beneath a cloth embroidered with
the guild's colours. Jonderill glanced at the boy next to him, dressed as all
the others were in new shirt and tunic, hose and shinning boots and then behind
to where his master stood. It was Tarris, holding a small gleaming pony with
plaited mane and tail and leering back at him. He licked his lips and ran his
hand suggestively down his thigh. Jonderill looked rapidly away knowing that
very shortly Tarris could be his new master; Tarris seemed to know it too.

A joyous fanfare brought a hush to the crowd and
everyone turned their attention to the balcony which jutted out from the castle
wall and overlooked the square. When King Steppen, his wife and daughter came
into view the crowd cheered with double the volume they had so far made.
Jonderill's eyes settled on the princess, looking golden and more beautiful
than anyone he had ever seen in his fifteen summers of life. He could have
spent the entire day looking at her and still not have been bored.

The princess obviously didn’t feel as interested in
the crowd as they were in her and quickly turned away to talk to the young man
behind her. Jonderill recognised him as the princess's companion at her
birthday celebrations and as King Porteous was also there he assumed he must
have been Prince Pellum, his youngest son.

Three other men were with the royal party. One was
taller and darker and a little younger than the two kings and seemed to laugh a
great deal but take little notice of what was going on. In contrast the one who
stood next to him, dressed in a white robe with a deep hood, studied the crowd
intently as if he was looking for something or someone. The other man, in
bronze and leather armour with two swords crossed over his back, stood behind
King Steppen’s two guests, his eyes watching the crowd and his body tense as a
spring. A second fanfare sounded and the crowd’s attentions turned away from
their beloved king and his guests to the more important and interesting events
about to take place in the square where the eight nervous boys waited for the
ceremony to begin.

Through the centre of the crowd Barrin's guard of honour
opened a pathway and seven men, all masters of their guild, marched purposely
forward to take their position in front of each apprentice. Jonderill
recognised the master baker from the king's kitchen, dressed in his white apron
and tall white hat and with his sleeves rolled up passed his elbows. All the
others were strangers except for the last in line who he recognised as the
king's old Stablemaster, now retired in favour of the younger and more
energetic Tarris. He turned his eyes towards the empty space where his own
assessor should have stood and felt his face flush with shame; Maladran hadn’t
bothered to attend, nor even sent word.

Jonderill tried to look as if he didn't care but all
around him he could hear whispered comments and the scornful laughter they
invoked. He felt people’s eyes boring into his back and was certain everyone
was mocking him, including the princess. When he glanced up to the balcony where
the royal party stood, she was still talking to her friend and taking no notice
of what was going on below. In fact the only thing which had changed was the
man in the white robe and the armed man behind him had disappeared. He turned
back to the ceremony and stared straight ahead of him, as one after the other
the apprentices presented their work for assessment and were received into
their guild as junior journeymen with rapturous applause from the crowd.

He tried to look unconcerned as Tarris led the small
pony forward and gave its halter to the apprentice from his stable but couldn’t
help a grimace at Tarris’s scornful laughter when he returned to his place and
hissed into Jonderill’s ear, “yer’ll be mine soon, boy.”

Jonderill wished the stableboy's presentation would last
forever so the moment wouldn’t come when he would have to acknowledge that he
had been disdainfully rejected as an apprentice. Then he wished it was all over
and done with so he could go and hide. Loud applause accompanied the
stableboy's acceptance and the young boy returned to stand next to his master,
smiling and proud.

When the applause ceased an expectant silence fell
across the crowd and all eyes turned to Jonderill who had no idea what to do
next. Tarris started the whispering, leaning towards his apprentice and making
a disparaging remark just loud enough for those behind to hear. His apprentice
laughed nervously and the laughter was taken up by the tightly packed crowd behind
him. Someone at the back of the crowd became bored with waiting and started a
slow, funeral pace handclap which was immediately taken up by others until the
entire crowd clapped in derision.

Jonderill felt hot and cold at the same time, his
stomach churned and tears pricked behind his eyes. He looked up towards King
Steppen whose command could put an end to his shame and saw the Princess Daun
point at him and laugh. He stared down at his feet and wished the ground would
open up and swallow him. The clapping stopped so abruptly that it took him a
moment or two to realise the crowd had become silent and those closest to him
had taken a hasty step back. Blinking to hold back the tears of shame which
threatened to shame him even more, he looked up into the coldest eyes he had
ever seen.

Dressed all in white and with his head hidden within
the deep hood of his robe, only Jonderill could see the cloaked man clearly.
His hair, beard and moustache were silver white and plaited into long thin
braids and his features were angular and drawn. Beneath a hooked nose, his
mouth was stretched into a thin line but most frightening of all were his eyes,
sea green, cold and piercing as if he were looking into your soul.

Strangely Jonderill felt no fear but stared back
unflinchingly, his feelings clearly open and readable to the man in white. The
stranger nodded slightly as if he was acknowledging something he saw in
Jonderill and smiled, softening his features and making Jonderill feel a little
better. Then he turned to bow briefly at King Steppen who, with a wave of his
hand, indicated his acceptance of the man's position as a suitable person to
test an apprentice, giving his permission for the ceremony to continue.

"Begin, apprentice," the man in white said
in a low voice which was barely a whisper and carried no further than
Jonderill's ears.

Animus hurried forward carrying the broom which he
placed at Jonderill's feet. He bowed deeply to the white robe and stepped back,
giving the boy a smile of encouragement. At that moment Jonderill forgot all
the fears of the last weeks and knew only a steely determination to succeed and
show his judge that he was worthy of his confidence. He pulled the wand from
his belt, whispered the appropriate words and pointed the carved golden
weiswald at the broom.

Nothing happened, nothing stirred and nothing moved.
An inkling of doubt crossed his mind as he tried again, concentrating his
thoughts to focus power into the wand but still nothing happened. The old fear
of failure returned, expelling the determination which for a short time had
made him feel he could do anything. A restless murmur stirred in the crowd and Jonderill
could feel his desperation growing. He licked his lips nervously and tried again,
his whispered words hesitant and unsure.

Slowly the broom began to move, the bristles first in
a gentle waving motion and then the handle, lifting the broom into a vertical
position. Awed by the magic, the crowd went silent and leaned forward to see what
would happen next. Jonderill concentrated harder whilst the broom began to
sweep the cobbled paving at his feet in short deft strokes. He whispered a
command and the broom pushed the small pile of dirt it had gathered passed
Jonderill to where Tarris stood. With a vigorous forward push it swept the pile
of dirt over Tarris's clean and shiny boots and finally came to rest against
the Stablemaster’s clenched fist. The crowd roared with laughter and applauded
loudly whilst Jonderill stood with wide eyes and the wand still extended in
front of him.

Whilst the crowd were still applauding and Jonderill
stood fixed to the spot the hooded man’s companion stepped forward and placed a
deep grey robe over his outstretched arm, completely covering the wand.

The magician lent forward so only Jonderill could hear
what he said. "You have much to discover about the nature of spells and
their power, apprentice, but when you have come to understand the source of
your magic and have learnt what you are, come to me and I will show you the
mysteries which lie beyond, the mysteries which I think are your
inheritance."

He stepped back, allowing Animus and Plantagenet to
enthusiastically embrace Jonderill and when Jonderill looked up again the
magician and his companion had gone.

"Now who would have thought he would have done
such a thing for a mere apprentice?" said Plantagenet, indicating the robe
as he began to guide Jonderill from the city square. "You have been
greatly honoured my boy, a white robe is amongst the most revered of all
magicians."

“Who was he?” asked Jonderill. “I thought Maladran was
meant to be here.”

“That was Callabris and his master is King Borman of
Northshield who is Steppen’s guest. It looks like he has at last persuaded
Callabris to be his bound magician. Sarrat won’t like that at all.” Animus took
the robe from Jonderill’s arms and looked at it admiringly, “He has a strong protector
too who I hope is good at his job as there are far too few whites left these
days. You know, Plantagenet, we should have thought about getting Jonderill a
robe in our colours, but it never crossed my mind.”

"Nor mine," admitted Plantagenet, "but
to be given a robe the colour of this one is beyond anything we could have
offered, so few are chosen to wear the white."

“Or the black,” put in Animus.

Jonderill looked at the dark grey cloth draped across
the magician’s arm and then questioningly at Plantagenet. "The robe is
very special, it will grow with you and the shade will change as you become
more powerful. When you have reached your full power the robe will be pure
white.”

“Or black,” added Animus

“It is a portent of what you can become, Jonderill,
now that you finally have the use of your magic."

Jonderill stopped suddenly and stepped away from his
two masters looking at each of them in turn. "Wasn't it you who moved the
broom?"

The magicians looked at each other with blank
expressions and then at Jonderill, both shaking their head.

"You mean you didn't move it?" asked Animus
incredulously.

No," replied Jonderill, "I had no power at
all."

"Then who could have done such a thing?"
questioned Plantagenet.

"And why?" whispered Jonderill but so
quietly nobody heard.

*

“So, is the boy a threat to us?”

King Borman draped a leg languorously over the arm of
his padded chair and toyed with the goblet of Vinmore’s rich red wine as he
studied the magician seated opposite him. Long white robe, long white moustache,
long white hair; if it were not for the intensity of his green eyes the man
could have been a corpse. Borman took a long drink of wine and scowled in
irritation. “Well?”