Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (35 page)

With each flight of arrows men died and their ranks
thinned until less than a dozen men remained to guard the palanquin. At the
next road junction the foreign mercenary had taken six men to hold the road
open and fought off a dozen soldiers trying to reach the palanquin but two of
their number were already down and blood pooled around where they fought.

Inside the palanquin's confusion of cushions and
drapes Tulreth had acted with remarkable speed for a man of his bulk, throwing
a heavy fur wrap over Tarraquin's head and bearing her to the floor with his
superior weight on top of her. For a moment Tarraquin couldn’t move or breathe
with the fur pressed to her face, her arms pinned beneath her and Tulreth's knee
pressing in her back.

She squirmed and tried to get her knees under her to
lever Tulreth off but the space was too small and he was too heavy. A stray
arrow pierced the throat of one of the palanquin's horses and with a terrified
scream and flailing hooves the stricken animal reared across its partner and crashed
to its side, twisting the palanquin over and crashing it to the ground in a
shower of splintered wood, wheels and lacquer.

Tulreth was thrown sideways onto the shattered
driver’s window and Tarraquin rolled free. In an instant she was on her knees
but Tulreth had recovered and his hands clutched at her throat. As he squeezed
she tore at the sash which had held her torn silk robe closed and pulled her
knife free. Tulreth saw the glint of the blade and with his free hand dragged
her loose robe from her shoulder to entangle the knife but she thrust the knife
through the silk and into his groin, slicing upwards through his abdomen.
Tulreth shrieked and clutched at grey entrails which spilt through his hands as
Tarraquin leapt from the ruined palanquin and ran.

The huntsman heard the scream above the noise of
battle and saw Tarraquin run away from the palanquin. Pushing back against the
soldier he was fighting he gave himself enough room to swing his blade and
slice his opponent across his face. The solder collapsed screaming and in the
brief respite he shouted to Perguine to follow the running figure. He watched
as the thief detached himself from the street battle to chase after Tarraquin,
giving her what protection he could from any other guards who followed.

Jarrul and the remaining men, many of them wounded,
took shelter behind the palanquin and waited for the kingsguard to reform and attack
in force. Both of the palanquin's horses were down and in their death agonies
they had skewed the carriage around to block the street. Jarrul waited,
catching his breath, knowing that the kingsguard would have to come over the
barrier to get to him and then on to Tarraquin and Perguine. Every minute he
could delay them was another minute more for Tarraquin and his friend to reach
safety.

Three streets away Captain Gartnor heard the first
screams of battle and cursed. The barricades they had set should have sent the
traitors in his direction where he held the main force in readiness; instead it
had led them where the rear guard were waiting ready to just mop up the
stragglers. He drew his sword and yelled a command. His men rushed forward,
pikes and swords in hand eager to join in the killing, knowing the price for
taking the girl alive was promotion to squad leader.

They charged through the streets behind their
commander ignoring who might be hiding in the shadows of deep doorways, alleys
and those streets already barricaded. Quickly they fell on Jarrul and his hard
pressed men climbing over the fallen palanquin and the bodies of the injured
and dead. Jarrul shouted to his men to form a defensive circle but there were
so few of them left on their feet that they could only fight in small groups back
to back.

With his back pressed against one of the twins he
parried an overhead blow which threatened to slice through his skull and then
dropped his sword low to block a cut to his knees but, before he could recover
his position, the man behind him fell to a sideways thrust and with his support
disappearing Jarrul stumbled to his knees. He saw the blow coming but was
powerless to stop it and the last thing he felt was the broadside of a sword
crashing into the side of his head and a brilliant explosion of light before
darkness overtook him.

Tarraquin had seen Captain Gartnor and his heavily
armed force pass by from the shadows of a dark alleyway and would have followed
them back to the fallen palanquin if Perguine hadn’t pushed her firmly back into
the shadows and held her there with his body pressed against hers. As soon as
they were out of sight he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in a stumbling
run towards the postern gate. The men Jarrul had detached in case of a trap
waited with drawn swords, some bloodied where they had fought with the three
gate guards who lay in the shadows with blood on their uniforms.

For a moment she was tempted to send the men back into
the battle in the hope she could save Jarrul and the others but from the look
on their faces she knew it was hopeless. Thirty poorly trained and armed men against
a hundred soldiers would be a waste of life and she owed Jarrul more than that.
Grimly she turned and slipped through the postern gate and into the dark
streets of the city; her men following as quickly and as quietly as they could
behind her. One by one they slipped away into the side streets and alleyways
from which they had gathered until only she and Perguine were left to escape
from the city by an exit only known to the city’s thieves.

Guilt seemed to swamp her and she wanted to stay
behind but knew she couldn’t. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, her voice
broken with emotion as she ran. "I should have listened to you and Jarrul instead
of thinking about myself."

The small thin thief by her side shook his head in
denial. "Yer did what yer thought were best."

"Try telling that to Jarrul," she said
despondently wiping the tears from her face onto the back of her hand.

"I intend to," he replied. "That's if
he still lives."

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Meetings and Departures

   
The
lively breeze stirred the uppermost branches of the giant weiswald trees,
bending the swaying limbs in ripples which spread across the forest canopy like
waves on a beach. Leaves danced in the breeze, touching each other and jumping
free to touch again with the next surge of wind. The muted noise of their
movement carried to the forest floor where the sound of the breeze didn’t
penetrate, making the shadowy spaces between the giant boles a mysterious place
full of whispered secrets and dappled shade. Small animals skittered from tree
to tree, made nervous by the rustling sounds around them and the movement far
above, whilst sky flyers had deserted that part of the forest in favour of more
settled realms.

Jonderill sat back against an ancient weiswald, his
arms around his knees and his wood axe by his side. He rarely carried it into
the deepest parts of the forest as the only trees he ever cut were the small
silver leaf which grew near the cottage but today, for some reason, it seemed a
natural thing to do. Perhaps after nearly four summers of using its blade every
day to provide the cottage with firewood the axe felt like an old friend and he
felt in need of a friend's comfort.

He moved his shoulders flexing the muscles which had
grown hard from using the axe and eased away slightly from the weiswald. Its
tough, gnarled bark had pressed deeply against his woollen shirt and had made
uncomfortable indentations in his back. The ground was hard and dry beneath the
swaying canopy and even the remains of last autumn's leaf fall failed to soften
the stony ground.

Yet it wasn’t the physical discomfort or the deep
forest chill which kept the smile from his lips or kept his pale green eyes
fixed on the twig he carelessly stripped of bark. For days the feeling of
hopelessness had grown within him, reminding him of how it felt to be a small
boy rather than a grown man. The feeling had now culminated in this final
misery which he could neither escape nor hide.

A dozen steps away across the small clearing the cause
of his unhappiness and the source of his never ending joy, Rosera, picked red
berries with fine delicate fingers and placed them carefully in the basket over
her arm. Occasionally she licked the deep juice from her finger tips, staining
her lips, which were darker and redder than any berry. Jonderill purposely
refrained from looking at her, denying himself her beauty like some penance but
he couldn’t ignore the sound of her happy singing, a simple tune he’d taught
her last summer, and each note adding to his dejection.

If she had remained a spoilt and spiteful child or
even the innocent girl who first awoke in the forest his misery might not have
been so profound. However, for almost four summers they had gathered the fruits
of the forest together, laughed at the antics of tree leapers and built a
secure and comfortable home along with the two elderly magicians. Through all
that time together he’d never told her of his love or even kissed her.

Now their time together was over he knew he wouldn’t
be able to stand the pain of watching her leave or of hearing the city bells ring
out to proclaim her another man's wife. He closed his eyes to stop his tears
falling until her shadow fell across his face and he couldn’t resist the
temptation any more to look up into the most wonderful blue eyes and
unsurpassable beauty. If he’d not been a grown man he would have wept openly. As
it was he blinked and turned away, trying to push the memory of her soft hand
in his from his mind.

"What's wrong, Jonderill, you look so sad?"

"It's just the sounds of the trees," lied
Jonderill. "They're like the waves of a great ocean in one of Plantagenet’s
books of places far away."

"Is that where you would like to be now, far away
from here?"

"No," said Jonderill but his sigh sounded
wistful.

Rosera sat closely beside him and leant against the
tree taking his hand in hers. "Why do you stay here if you want to be far
away?" Jonderill remained silent, staring at the ground. "Is it
because you have found something here which you want for your own but don't
know how to ask for it?"

She leaned forward placing her head on his shoulder so
her golden hair caressed his arms and the smell of soapwort and skyflowers
filled his senses.

"No," said Jonderill firmly, wishing his
lying tongue would wither in his mouth. "There’s nothing here which holds
me."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." She moved
slightly away from him and released his hand. "I thought perhaps I might
have held an attraction for you."

"You know you’re like a sister to me," said
Jonderill, still not looking at Rosera, despite the fact that she was staring
at him with a look of anguish on her face.

"Sister! Sister! Is that all I am to you? Do you
think that I’m just a small child who follows you around because you're an
idolised big brother? Am I nothing more than that to you? Jonderill. Look at
me! I’m a woman."

"Please don't," said Jonderill, turning away
and looking deep into the forest shadows.

"Then I’m not good enough for you? Is that what
it is, Jonderill? Am I so ugly that you would be ashamed of me or is it that I
don't have your book learning and wit? Come on Jonderill, what is it, why don’t
you want me?"

"I can’t, you're just a child," whispered
Jonderill to the forest's depths.

"No!" shouted Rosera, jumping to her feet. “I‘ve
seen almost sixteen summers and whatever you or my guardians say I’m a woman
and the time has come to treat me as one. If you won't, Jonderill, then I’ll
find someone who will."

Rosera kicked her basket to one side, spilling berries
across the leafy ground and ran across the clearing and down the animal track
which passed between the trees. Within moments she was lost from Jonderill's
sight, hidden by the giant trees and their flickering shadows. In any other
place Jonderill would have followed close behind in case she became lost but
this was their home and they knew every pathway and clearing, every brook and
rill. He knew the forest had a magic all of its own and that it would protect
her and keep her safe until it was time for her to leave and return to the life
she had been born to.

However much he loved her, it was of no importance.
All that mattered was today, at sunset, she would return to Alewinder and once
again be the Princess Daun instead of the gentle Rosera. After that she would
become another man's wife. Jonderill slowly pulled himself to his feet. He had
played his part in making sure Maladran's spell was foiled and had discharged
his debt to the two magicians. Now it was time for him to go and make his own life
and forget all about her.

Rosera ran on deeper into the forest with tears
streaming down her cheeks. At first they were tears of anger; she was a woman
not a child and then they turned to tears of regret. Jonderill had always been
there when she needed him and she knew she had treated him badly playing with
him like that, yet she had been sure that he loved her more than as just a
sister. Guilty and more than a little confused, her pace slowed from an all out
run to a gentle walk.

Eventually she stopped at the edge of a small brook.
It was one of the many which tumbled over well worn stone beds on its way from
the mountains of Essenland, down through Vinmore’s forests to the low lands and
the Blue River. The stream was noisy and bubbling and full of sun-sparkled
reflections and the green mossy bank which boarded both sides looked cool,
comfortable and inviting.

Not caring about her abandoned basket, she found a
comfortable spot on the edge of the stream, sat down on the soft turf and
gently dangled her feet in the bubbling, icy water. The sparkling liquid
bounced over her feet making her gasp at its coldness and then laugh as the
bubbles tickled up between her toes. A sun fish with a speckled back darted
from beneath the bank as she splashed in the water and a complaining green pond
hopper hopped from a newly drenched stone onto the bank to avoid the
disturbance.

Sky flyers ignored her presence and called overhead as
brightly as a dawn chorus and an untimely night hooter called and received an
indignant hoot from its surprised and disgruntled mate. The strangeness of the
sights and sounds made Rosera wish that Jonderill were here to share them with
her but she was far from being frightened; this was her forest and as long as
the forest creatures were at rest there was nothing to be scared of.

She lay back against the warm bank and her mind began
to wander back to Jonderill and her feelings for him. Somehow, in the heady
fragrance of forest everleaf and wild skyflower, his face became harder to
focus on and another face prevailed, hazily, as if it were a face in a dream. The
more she thought about it the more she was certain she had seen that face
before, but a very long time ago. Only she couldn’t remember where she had seen
him except that it hadn’t been in a forest. She frowned and shut her eyes
whilst she tried to bring the image into focus.

When she thought she had it securely in her mind, it
disappeared in a sudden scolding chatter as two tree leapers with bushy tails
scuttled up a nearby bole and sent out their alarm call from an overhanging
branch. The sky flyers flew from the trees calling out their warning cries and
she hastily sat up looking for the source of the disturbance. Rosera followed
their line of complaint and was startled to see a bright red hunting cap,
adorned with a single coolly bird feather, float jauntily down the bubbling
stream, bobbing and ducking over boulders and stones.

Intrigued by the unusual sight, she hitched up her
long skirt in one hand and using the other to keep her balance waded into the
centre of the stream to retrieve the object. By the time she had reached the
hat it had been joined by a swirling red cloak and most curiously of all, two
soft, knee high, brown leather boots. She laughed out loud at the strange
sight, her natural sense of humour pushing any other thoughts from her mind.

Within moments she had dragged the odd collection out
of the water and had hung them up to dry. The hat came first, placed squarely
on a round boulder she had propped in the fork of a tree and below this she
draped the cloak, slightly lopsided but flowing freely in the light, warm
breeze. Finally, braced by several twigs, she propped up the boots, painted a
face on the boulder with mud from the stream and stood back to admire her work.

"My, aren't we the handsome one?" she said
curtseying deeply to the imaginary figure. "Please excuse me, my prince,
but it's not often we have the pleasure of such a notable personage as yourself
in our forest." Rosera giggled in delight at her own game. "Now if
you have no objection to me being slightly forward, perhaps you would care to
dance."

She leaned forward, closed her eyes and began to hum
clearly and tunefully to the rhythm of a swaying dance. Although she only vaguely
remembered the tune, she felt as if she should know exactly what to do, almost
as if dancing were second nature to her. Gracefully she held out her arms and
made only the slightest protest when strong arms engulfed her from behind and
pressed her body against his hard, muscular form. Together they swept around
the glade as if it were a festive ballroom and it wasn’t until a strong
baritone voice joined with hers that Rosera realised the man who held her in
his arms wasn’t Jonderill.

With a startled cry she stepped away from him in sudden
fear and looked around for something with which she could defend herself. When
she looked back a tall young man with shoulder-length hair, a broad smile and
deep brown eyes full of humour and joy stood before her. His richly embroidered
tunic fell over soft leather breaches at the bottom of which stockinged feet
poked out. He took a step forward and carefully took her hand lifting it to his
lips and kissed her fingertips. When he released her hand he made a deep, noble
bow, giving her a charming smile and making her pale cheeks flush in confusion.
She looked down coyly and so missed him moisten his lips in anticipation of
what was to come.

"My Lady, I hope I didn’t startle you but I saw
you here conversing with my cloak and whilst it is certainly an attractive
garment, I thought you would prefer a more substantial and responsive personage
on which to focus your attentions." Rosera blushed again whilst the young
man with the charming smile bowed briefly to the limp cloak. "May I
introduce my three faithful companions; Sir Cloak, Monsignor Hat and in a
supporting role Squire Boots."

The girl giggled coyly and curtsied. "Rosera, My
Lord."

"And even more beautiful than the exotic flower
after which you were surely named." He took her other hand and kissed her
fingertips again, lingering longer than before. "One of such exquisite
beauty shouldn’t be alone in the woods, even in this quiet and gentle
dell."

He looked around his surroundings to make certain
there was nobody else around and then with a brief gesture and a steady arm
pressure, pressed Rosera to be seated on the soft turf. He knelt down beside
her, still holding her hand. "Now, my lady of the forest, tell me what
magical deity has brought you to me in this lover's bower."

Rosera laughed, delighted with the romantic speech of
the handsome young man with the noble manners. "I was walking, sir,
searching for berries."