Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (22 page)

“In the short term no, the boy has talent but it’s
hidden from him. He has never been properly trained to call on it and the two
old magicians’ are retired and have little skill at teaching. In the long term,
if he trained with a master, then he could be a force to be reckoned with.”

“And has he shown what colour he will be?”

The magician steepled his fingers and tapped the two
extended ones against his upper lip in thought. “I believe he is of the white
but I cannot be sure. If I were certain of his ancestry then I would have a
better idea but the only people who are likely to know that secret are the boy
himself, Maladran or, if my guess is right, the man who ordered his father’s
death and I am assuming that you don’t want me to ask any of those.”

“What about the goddess’s enclave, wouldn’t the
masters know what he was?”

“It’s possible but they are unlikely to reveal anything
to me. High Master Razarin and I don’t see eye to eye.”

Borman gave a snort of derision and put his goblet
heavily onto an ornately carved side table. He stood and strolled over to the
long glass doors which opened out onto a balcony and pushed the heavy drapes
aside so he could see across to the magicians’ tower.

“Do the two old fools know who the boy might be?”

“No, and I gave no hint of it except to leave a grey
robe with the boy. However, they might guess by my unexpected presence here
that the boy is special in some way.”

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on him until I am ready
to move. I don’t want anyone else to take an interest in him.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem, he doesn’t have
the skill to move away from the protection that Animus and Plantagenet give him
and, should the day come when he has, I have told him that he should search me
out.”

Borman turned away from the doors and gave the white
magician a hard look. “Don’t go soft on me Callabris. If the boy turns out to
be a threat to my plans then it is you who will have to deal with him and I
don’t want the thought of who his father might have been clouding your judgment.”

Callabris bowed his head in acquiescence. Crossing to
the large polished wood dining table Borman studied the map of the six kingdoms
spread across its gleaming surface and anchored at each corner by small stone
paperweights carved to resemble bunches of grapes. When manipulated correctly
the four small bunches clipped together to form a single bunch but, much to his
annoyance, Borman was yet to discover how the puzzle worked.

There was a loud knock on the room’s door and without
waiting for a call to enter Borman’s Guardcaptain strode into the room. He
pushed the door shut behind him and saluted the king with his left hand across
his chest and fist on heart. From the shadows the magician’s protector quickly stepped
forward, his hand on the hilt of the long knife at his side and his eyes fixed
intently on the Guardcaptain. Rastor gave him a cold look of contempt and turned
back to address the king.

“Your Majesty, all the preparations have been made for
your return to Northshield at dawn tomorrow.”

“And the other matter?”

“The task was simple, Swordmaster Dilor showed me
everything. The guards here are professional and well trained and Dilor is
experienced and a good tactician but the guards are few in number and many are
just boys; not one of them have drawn blood in anger. Each town and village in
Vinmore has its own guard troop made up of farmers and shop keepers who
practice every seventh day, but they too have never been called upon to fight.
Vinmore is a very peaceful and very vulnerable little kingdom.”

Borman grinned wolfishly and beckoned his Guardcaptain
over to the map. “It wouldn’t take much then for us to move our army through
the Deeling Pass or across Sarrat’s borders into Vinmore. If we moved quickly
we could be in Alewinder in less than a moon cycle and with very little
opposition.”

Callabris stood and crossed to the table with Allowyn
two steps behind. He looked carefully at the map and grunted in disagreement.

“You have something to say about this?”

“Yes, My Lord. I think the good Guardcaptain has
counted the soldiers of Vinmore well and indeed Vinmore does appear to be a
very peaceful and vulnerable kingdom, but I think you have underestimated its
hidden assets.”

Rastor looked at him in irritation but Borman just
raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Stephen has two very strong allies.” He placed his
long finger on the kingdom to the north of Vinmore. “King Porteous is Steppen’s
neighbour and close friend, some say even the real father of his child. He would
most certainly come to Steppen’s aid if you were to invade Vinmore.”

“Porteous is fat, foolish and pompous. His eldest son
is an idiot and his younger one is a lazy womaniser.”

“That may be true but Essenland has an army as large
as Northshield’s commanded by a close friend of Swordmaster Dilor who is an
excellent commander. Should the younger boy wed the Princess Daun, the army will
be obliged to come to their rescue. You should also not underestimate the elder
son, Vorgret, who is a nasty piece of work but full of cunning.” He moved his
finger down the map. “To the south you have Tarbis which also has a large
standing army with an experienced commander. Prince Newn is too young to rule
yet but his uncle is a wily old slyhunter; he would not want to see an invading
army on his northern border.”

Borman scowled at the map and tapped his fingers on
the edge of the table in irritation. “You’re right of course, we couldn’t win
if two armies came down on us, at least not without destroying Vinmore and its
wealth, which would defeat the object of our annexation.”

He thought for a moment and the others waited,
studying the map. “Rastor, my plans have changed. I think I need to pay a visit
to Prince Newn and his uncle and see the situation for myself. I will take you,
a small honour guard of five men and all the horses and spare weapons we can
muster. Let the rest of the guards share horses or walk back to Northshield. I
will also take Lord Rothers with me, he might come in useful. Callabris, I
don’t think you would find a warm welcome in Tarbis, so take the men back and
keep an eye on things whilst I am gone. Guardcaptain, make the arrangements and
on your way out pour me some more wine.”

Guardcaptain Rastor frowned and flushed in anger at
being so easily dismissed but knew better than to argue with his king. He
saluted to Borman’s back, poured the wine as ordered and left the room making a
point of closing the door louder than was necessary.

“You shouldn’t treat your Guardcaptain so
dismissively. One of these days he’s going to lose that temper of his and do
something you will both be sorry for.”

“Don’t bother about Rastor, he has no feelings and in
any case I own the man from the top of his arrogant head to the bottom of his
decorated boots.” Borman returned to his comfortable chair and waved the
magician into the one opposite. Allowyn took up his previous position in the
shadows behind Callabris. “Did you know that I’m related to Prince Newn? There’s
some sort of connection on my great grandmother’s side so if his uncle were to
disappear I would have a legitimate claim to the regency.” He picked up his
glass and sipped at his wine, watching Callabris over the rim and waited for a
response.

“That is a possibility, My Lord, but it would be a brief
regency as the prince is a young man and will be crowned in a few summers.” Callabris
paused and looked intently at his master waiting for him to comment.

“Yes, unless something happens to him.”

“You have not forgotten that I cannot use my power to
take another’s life.”

Borman shrugged, “There are other things which can prevent
a prince from becoming a king. And now, what is the news from Leersland? How is
the usurper and his pet fanghound?”

“Sarrat continues to consolidate his position and uses
Maladran to keep the restless nobles in their place.”

“And High Lord Coledran?”

The High Lord is not the man he once was since
Maladran murdered his son and heir. He is bitter and twisted and becomes less
cautious about his words and actions and will one day become a liability. For
now he continues to take your money to bribe the other lords into thwarting
Sarrat in whatever way they can without being accused of treason. It is an irritant
to Sarrat, nothing more.

“Is it enough to keep him occupied and away from our
borders?”

“For the time being yes, but the time will come when
you will have to provide further distractions, especially if you wish to ride
an army across his lands into Vinmore.”

“I have some ideas about that, which I might pursue
after my visit to Tarbis, but for now let’s keep supporting the High Lord in
his attempts to undermine Sarrat.” Borman emptied the glass and placed it on
the table, filling it half full with the last of the wine from the flagon
beside him. “Vinmore produces the finest wines in all of the six kingdoms. I am
surprised that Sarrat has not invaded and taken the place by force by now, he
must have his eyes on it too.”

“That’s Maladran’s doing; he’s clever and advises
Sarrat to use other means rather than force and most of the time Sarrat listens
to him.” Borman raised an eyebrow in question.

“It was Maladran’s idea that Sarrat should court the
Princess Daun and he suggests what gifts Sarrat should send to her to keep her
interested.”

“Does he indeed? It would be most awkward if Sarrat
should bribe his way into the girl’s bed.”

“That’s unlikely to happen. We have an arrangement
with Sarrat’s spy in Steppen’s palace to intercept any gifts sent from
Leersland before they reach the princess. His loyalty to you is assured as he
sells the gifts on and keeps the proceeds. That is very profitable for him but
deadly if he decides to change sides. So far the only gift which has reached
her was a horse and that might have been missed if it had been sold on.”

“The king laughed. “You are clever Callabris, but so
is Maladran. Perhaps we should make him disappear?”

“That wouldn’t be simple. Those who wear the black are
not easily slain, they have a sixth sense for danger and unlike those of us who
wear the white they can kill but cannot be killed by taking their hands. If you
wanted to remove Maladran you would have to take the torc from his neck, by
which Sarrat controls him, and then kill him whilst the madness has him. It
would not be an easy task.”

Borman went to reply but a quiet knock on the door and
the entrance of his personal servant interrupted him.

“Your Majesty, your bath is prepared and your clothes
have been laid out for you to wear at the farewell feast King Steppen is
holding in your honour. You do need to get ready very soon.”

Borman stood and shrugged, “Even kings have to do what
they are told sometimes. Think on what I have said and we will talk about
dealing with Maladran when I return from Tarbis.”

Callabris stood and waited for the king to leave the
room. His protector moved from the shadows to his side. “You don’t think the
king was serious about taking on Maladran do you?”

“He is a serious man who considers all possibilities.”

“But after what happened to your brother surely he
knows the danger.”

Callabris sighed and put his hand on Allowyn’s
shoulder. “He cares nothing about the death of my brother or yours. He only
cares about himself and his power; it is the way of the rulers of the Eastern
kingdoms. Now, my friend, let’s go and prepare for tonight’s feast and our
journey home.”

~
  
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Promises

    
"I
don't like this, My Lady," said Jarrul, running his fingers through his
sand-coloured hair and then replacing his huntsman's cap with its decorative
coolly bird feather. "If anything goes wrong with your plan the
consequences will be dire." "Nothing is going to go wrong, I've
planned everything down to the last detail."

Tarraquin dripped the deep brown liquid carefully into
the small keg of wine and replaced the bung, then waited for Jarrul to tap the
bung back in place with a leather-covered, wooden mallet. To all but the most
trained eye it would be impossible to detect that the bung had been removed and
then replaced again.

"I know your plans are good but magicians don't
die easily."

"With his throat cut, his heart torn out and his
hands cut off he will die easily enough, in fact too easily. I just wish I
could prolong his suffering for the length of time it took my brother to
die."

Jarrul shook his head in disappointment. He was young
to be the huntsman for such a large estate but his skill as a tracker and a
trapper ensured the highly prized position had been his on the death of his
father. He was famous not only for the number of animals he caught each summer
but the quick and humane way he despatched all of his victims. Jarrul abhorred
unnecessary suffering and the thought that the girl he admired above all others
would wish to inflict a lengthy torment on another person sickened him.

"It still doesn't seem right that a woman should
take a life."

Tarraquin turned on the huntsman with an unaccustomed
ferocity. "Are you getting cold feet, Jarrul, or have you so quickly
forgotten what that man did to my brother?"

Jarrul shook his head in denial. "I haven't
forgotten or forgiven. Dennin was like my own brother and I would gladly see
Maladran dead if it would bring him back, but it won’t, and I fear for your
life and the lives of everyone else. If anything goes wrong with your plan we
will all pay."

Tarraquin walked to the window of the stone huntsman’s
lodge and stared out of the window watching the activity in the stable yard. "Well
nothing is going to go wrong. Even if I fail, which I won't, I have arranged
that no blame can fall on any of my family or the servants. Now, Jarrul, please
take this wine up to the house before my father changes his mind about which
wine to serve tonight and whatever you do, make sure my father doesn't start
drinking it until dinner has started. The last thing I want is him dropping to
sleep in front of the magician before I’m ready to confront him."

Jarrul sighed in resignation and hoisted the keg onto
a well muscled shoulder. He left by the rear door being careful not to be seen
and headed to the back entrance of the Great House where servants ran in and
out with fare for the night's banquet. Tarraquin watched him from the doorway
as he disappeared inside, knowing that the loyal Jarrul would not relinquish
the keg into another's hands until he dropped it into its cradle within the
dining hall. The wine would have to stand for at least six candle lengths
before it would be ready for drinking, by which time dinner would be under way.
Hopefully by now her father would have already found something else to drink
and would leave the dinner wine until later.

She waited until Jarrul left the Great House and
crossed back over the yard, glad that she had chosen the steady young man as
her confidant. He’d always treated her with the gentleness and care which her
father often failed to show and he meant much more to her than the High Lord
ever had. She supposed it was her father's position or perhaps his drinking
which made him so cold towards her, but she had tried to love him as a daughter
should, especially after the death of her brother.

As Jarrul entered the huntsman's lodge, Tarraquin
slipped passed him and out of the back door to make her way into the Great House
without being seen. Six candle lengths was a long time to wait to fulfil her
vow and avenge the death of her brother but she was patient. Had she not waited
five summers already for the right moment, held back only by lack of
opportunity and to honour her promise and friendship to Jonderill?

At their last meeting he had made it clear that
Maladran was no longer his friend, so now that she had the chance for revenge
there was nothing to hold her back. She would strike a blow for both of them
and one day, when they were man and wife, she would tell Jonderill what she had
done and he would love her even more. Tarraquin reached her room overlooking
the ornamental garden at the rear of the Great House and lay back on her bed,
letting her daydream drift into a light, pleasant sleep.

Jarrul didn’t sleep. In fact he hadn’t slept for
several nights for thinking about Tarraquin's plan to assassinate the magician.
It was a good plan which could be successfully executed with any victim, except
perhaps the magician. What if he read her thoughts and saw murder there, or
detected the drug in the wine before he drank it and what if, when the moment came
to strike, Tarraquin found she couldn’t take a man's life in cold blood. He had
loved Dennin like a brother and was happy to see his killer dead, but there
were too many ifs in Tarraquin's plan, all of which could lead to disaster.

The biggest flaw, as he saw it, was the lack of an
escape route in case things went wrong. Tarraquin was so certain of success
she’d never considered failure but Jarrul had. He’d been preparing an emergency
camp so deep in the forest that nobody would ever find them, or at least that is
what he hoped. Now, as he collected the last of his stores together and headed
for the forest, he felt as if he was betraying her but better that than
watching her die horribly at the Magician’s hands.

*

Tarraquin awoke as the sun was setting, flooding her
room with orange and gold light. It was her favourite time of day and she was
feeling bright and fresh but unbelievably nervous. Hoping the warm water would
settle her nerves she bathed for longer than usual, however, she was still
jittery when it came time for her to dress for dinner. She had chosen something
simple in a pastel colour with childish frills rather than something sleek with
adult lace and she kept her hair down and wore little jewellery in the hopes
that her innocent appearance would mislead Maladran.

Her youth and inexperience would also provide the
excuse to forgo the red wine and she could only hope that her father would not
make any pointed comments about her girlish dress or lack of wine consumption. He
was terrified of Maladran and with any luck he might have been drinking for
most of the day and be too befuddled to notice anything different about her.

She needn’t have feared; when she entered the richly
decorated dining room her father was already swaying slightly and made few
comments about anything except to welcome his guest and offer the magician the
hospitality of the house. It was offered with barely hidden insincerity. The
High Lord, second only to King Sarrat in Leersland's strictly hierarchical
society, would rather have seen the magician dead than have him eating at his
table.

However, he was a practical man when he was sober and
he knew not to refuse the king's magician, however much one might want to. The
last time Maladran had sat at his table, Dennin had shared their meal but now
his chair stood empty, a reminder of just how powerful the magician was and who
owned him.

As the meal ended the High Lord poured more red wine,
drinking two goblets to the magician's one and glaring at him belligerently
across the table until the wine finally loosened his control over his tongue. "What
brings you here, Maladran? I've paid my taxes and raised the levy for Sarrat's
army, what more does the bastard want?"

Tarraquin cringed at her father's insult and gave
Maladran a quick glance but his face remained expressionless.

"Our king is concerned for your well being and
misses your presence at court," responded Maladran pleasantly.

The High Lord emptied his goblet and poured himself
some more wine whilst Maladran slowly sipped his. Tarraquin looked to see if
the magician was suspicious of the wine but he continued to drink without
betraying any suspicions.

"Well I don't miss Sarrat," slurred the High
Lord. "You tell that murdering animal fucker that if he wants to see me
he'd better get off his arse and come here instead of sending his boot-licking
jester."

Tarraquin looked alarmed at her father's unprecedented
outburst, certain that it was the effects of the drug along with a full day's
drinking which had loosened his tongue enough to speak treason. She quickly
moved to his side and took his hand trying to distract him and prevent him from
speaking further but the damage had already been done. Maladran rose to his
feet, his eyes full of anger.

"I see you have forgotten the lessons of my
previous visits and your arrogance has gone too far to be dealt with by a mere
warning. Tomorrow you will return with me to Tarmin and answer to your king for
your treasonous words. Any attempt to resist will result in the total
destruction of your house and line."

His words were wasted as the High Lord slumped onto
the table into a drunken stupor. Tarraquin clutched her father's limp body, terrified
at the implications of Maladran's announcement. "Please, Lord Maladran,
please forgive him! He didn't mean what he said. A man becomes bitter when he loses
his only son and too much wine makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He will
apologise for everything he has said tonight when he wakes in the morning and I
will make sure he attends court when he is summoned."

Maladran knew the bitterness of losing someone too and
what it could do to you but such an insult couldn’t be allowed to go
unpunished. He looked unforgivingly at the girl. There was not much to be gained
from letting Sarrat destroy the High Lord but if he could give the king
something to keep him occupied it might give him some respite from Sarrat’s
constant demands and interference. The girl was pretty enough to give Sarrat
some pleasure and young enough that he would enjoy taking her, and as she was
unlikely to be willing he would enjoy having her even more.

"You will accompany your father as well and
attend to the king’s wishes.”

Tarraquin held her father tightly and watched the
magician leave the room. If she had any doubts before about what she planned to
do, her course of action was now clear.

*

Maladran awoke with a start in the strange, dark room
and instantly knew something was seriously wrong. The pain in his head hammered
to the beat of his heart, his limbs felt like dead weights and when he tried to
move, waves of nausea threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness.
Instinctively he knew he had been poisoned, an unpleasant experience but
fortunately not one which would destroy him. However it was not his body's
violent reaction to the drug which had woken him to his peril, but his
magician's sensitivity to imminent danger.

Contrary to popular belief, magicians died as easily
as any other man with their throat cut or a knife between their ribs. The thing
which made them appear to be immortal was their instinct for danger, which now
clamoured for attention in Maladran's drug-befuddled mind. He sensed movement
to one side and at the last moment saw the knife thrust aimed at his heart.
With as much will power as he could muster he forced his unresponsive body
across the bed but not far enough. The drug had not only blurred his thoughts
but had drained his strength and he was not quick enough to avoid the blade
slicing into his forearm and side and slashing through to the bed.
          

Having missed their mark with the first attack, his assailant
pulled the knife from the bed and slashed out with it again, scoring down the
magician's back as he forced his drugged body to roll from the bed. Maladran
hit the floor with a crash, his head pounding to the racing of his heart and
the pain from his unresponsive limbs centring on the three deep gashes which
shed blood like burning acid.

He began to pull himself onto his hands and knees but
a booted foot crashed into his ribs and sent him sprawling back to the floor.
Desperately he tried to roll onto his side to protect himself but his body
would not respond and his attacker’s foot again made contact with his ribs. The
sound of bone cracking and the feeling of soft flesh tearing reverberated
through his body and were amplified by his drugged mind into a hideous scream
which tore from his throat, giving some relief to the pounding in his head.

The shattering sound seemed to make his attacker
hesitate for a moment and a third kick never landed. Instead he saw the deep
shadow of his assailant, all that could be seen in the darkened room, drop to
his side. A small hand gripped the back of his hair and yanked his head back to
expose his throat. Their eyes met for an instant and Maladran grasped at the
only way that was left to defend himself. He fought to create a void in his
mind powered by the glowing gems in the torc around his throat.

His black orbs looked into Tarraquin's eyes, holding
her mesmerised whilst he brought his power into focus. He pushed it outwards
into her mind full of jumbled, uncontrolled images. Images of Dennin, looking
smug and spiteful, assailed her, his cruel hands pinching her when no one was
looking and the hurtful words, which were all he ever seemed to have for her,
making her cry. She had sought revenge for so long that the truth about her
brother had become buried beneath the person she wanted him to be. The truth,
now she had it forced upon her, hurt like a knife cut and for a moment her
resolve wavered, but it was only for a moment as she fought to get control of
her own thoughts.