The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (47 page)

It had been an awkward meeting with the council not quite certain of Rothers’ status or their own powers now that Sallins had gone. They had listened politely to Borman’s heir as he outlined his proposal to rule Northshield as part of the council now that Borman had abandoned the kingdom, and not one of the council had objected. Jonderill thought that his dark presence there might have helped to persuade them to consider the idea that they didn’t need a king any more, but Rothers had done a pretty good job on his own. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t accompanied Rothers when the council had requested his presence to tell him of their decision. If the people of the six kingdoms were going to govern themselves they didn’t need a black robe to stand over them. It had been difficult for him to just wait to learn the outcome but the look on his friend’s face said it all.

“They agreed. They actually agreed! The formal charters are being drawn up now and all those who own property or employ others are being summoned. Once the charter has been signed and sealed, Northshield will no longer have a king, it will be a free land!”

Jonderill couldn’t help laughing at Rothers’ excitement although he knew there were many problems yet to be faced if this new form of government was going to work, not just in Northshield, but spread to the other kingdoms. “What of the guards?”

“You were right, making the captains of the palace and city guard part of the council worked just as you said it would. In Borman’s absence they have become accustomed to giving orders and have no desire to return to just taking them.”

“And what about the lords of Northshield?”

Rothers smile disappeared. “That is more of a problem. The lords of the Northern Reaches are occupied with repelling raiders from across the sea, and as long as we send them aid occasionally and don’t ask too much of them, they should be content. All the other lords rode with Borman into Tarbis and they may well cause us trouble when they return.”

“That’s true but you have time to strengthen your defences and gather your allies.”

“It would have been good if we could have had Leersland to stand by our side.”

Jonderill nodded but didn’t say anything. They’d had this conversation before and it always came down to the same thing. Borman’s hold on Leersland was too strong and there was no one left there with the strength to rally the people, but Tarraquin had shown that it didn’t have to be like that. If they could find someone like her who the people knew and trusted, then Leersland might rise up and follow Northshield’s example, but the people were afraid.

In that respect Sarrat and then Borman had done a good job; they had removed anyone who might stand against them and made people fear them.  Regretfully Leersland would have to stay as it was for now, and they would just have to protect that border too against Borman’s return. That was a problem for another day though. For now there was something of greater importance to be done. He turned back to the window and continued his study of the maze.

Rothers left his position by the door and joined him looking down at the twisting pathways between the white stone walls. “Is that where it is?” Jonderill nodded. “It doesn’t look too difficult to do; you just need a good memory, that’s all.”

“That’s what I thought the last time I walked the maze. It was built with magic to house the remains of my grandsire and it doesn’t like intruders.”

“Yet Callabris made it through. The servants say he’s been gone for almost a moon cycle.”

“Possibly, but he could be dead for all we know and his body hidden in the shadow of one of those walls.” He took one last look and turned away from the window. “And now I must go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Jonderill smiled. Borman had been a fool to belittle his cousin. Rothers had more courage than most men and an unswerving loyalty. He would have been a strong ally to Borman if the King had had the sense to see what was beneath the flowery clothes and effete manners and had fostered it. He shook his head and walked towards the hidden door which opened at his approach. The stairs were dark, but it only took a thought and the lantern half way down the spiral sparked into life giving enough light to see to the bottom. As he had anticipated, the key was missing from its hook but it didn’t matter, the door opened before he reached it.

Outside in the courtyard the sun shone brightly from an impossibly blue sky. He knew it was only an illusion; that sky could turn from blue to black within moments and bring with it the worst storm imaginable. Memories of the freezing rain which had even soaked through his robe the last time he stepped into the maze made him shudder, but he’d been different then. Then he’d been a young white robe with very little power, and he’d had Borman at his side. At the time he hadn’t understood the relationship between the King and the maze, but now he knew that the maze would never let Borman pass. Now he was older and the power of a black magician was his to call on. He didn’t think the maze would be able to stop him even if it tried.

Jonderill glanced up at the capstone, noted that the words of warning had disappeared and stepped over the threshold. It felt different than it had last time. Then it had been an exciting adventure and the maze had felt alive with energy, but now there was a feeling of resignation. It felt like a tired soldier who had stood guard all his life and was being stood down with his duty done. He remembered the maze being made of shining white stone with a patterned brick pathway, but now the walls were grey and pitted and the pathway dusty and covered in grit. Carefully he followed the plan in his mind expecting to find dead ends and blocked turnings but the maze stayed quiescent until he stepped out into the central area with its grass and fountain and his grandsire’s mausoleum.

Callabris had lost all track of time; he could have been there for a candle length or a whole summer could have passed. He didn’t recall how he and Allowyn had passed the time or if they had slept, nor did he remember eating or drinking or attending to their bodily needs although they must have done. However, the moment the dark figure stepped through the opening that appeared in the seamless wall, all of that changed. In an instant, Callabris was on his feet, his power ready in his mind to defend the place against the intruder as the Goddess had commanded. Allowyn stood at his side, a sword in one hand and his long knife in the other, wound as tightly as a spring and ready to leap forward and do battle if the intruder threatened his master.

The dark figure stopped as if he was surprised to find them there and then walked slowly forward out of the shadow of the wall and into the sunlight. The magician and his protector watched him approach trying to discern who it was under the black hood. As far as Callabris was aware, Maladran had been the last of the black robes, but this certainly wasn’t Maladran.

“Stop! Tell us who you are and what you’re doing in this place.”

Jonderill stopped and shrugged back his hood. “Hello, Callabris, don’t you recognise your own nephew?”

“Jonderill?”

“The very same.”

“Oh, Jonderill, what in the Goddess’s name has happened to you?” Callabris released the power he’d been holding and stepped forward to take Jonderill’s hands in his own and then stopped and stared in horror at the two leather pads where the boy’s hands should have been.

“I lost them in an encounter with a dark god at the whim of the Goddess.” He looked at the protector who had moved forward to his master’s side, his blades still within striking reach. “Hello Allowyn. It’s good to see you again. Please put your arms away, I mean Callabris no harm.” Allowyn didn’t move.

“What are you doing here, Jonderill?”

“I’ve come for something which Callistares holds for the Goddess.”

Callabris and Allowyn quickly glanced at each other and Allowyn gripped his sword tighter whilst Callabris once again drew on his power ready to defend the entrance to the mausoleum. “There’s nothing here for you, Jonderill. Please just turn around and go back to where you came from or I will be forced to stop you.” Jonderill raised an eyebrow in question. “The Goddess has commanded me to protect this place with our lives.”

“Ah yes. The Goddess is very good at getting others to do her dirty work, but she has no care for who gets killed or maimed in the process. Now please step aside, Callabris, and let me pass.”

“I cannot let you do that.”

Callabris raised his hand to release his power but he was too slow. Jonderill didn’t need to move to release a spell, just a thought was enough. Callabris froze, his hand out in front of him, palm up, and next to him Allowyn stopped with his sword point a finger’s length from Jonderill’s chest. Jonderill took a step back and made sure they were still breathing. They would be stiff and sore when he released them, and tired, but they would both be alive. It was a better outcome than the Goddess usually allowed for.

He walked around the frozen figures and up the three marble steps to the black ebonwood door. Before he could even think of the command the door swung open as if it had been waiting for him and he stepped through hearing the door close quietly behind. Inside the Mausoleum was dimly lit, very cool and silent. The marble walls and marble floor were veined with green onyx so that it looked like sea ice in a frozen ocean.  It looked smaller inside than it had from the centre of the maze, much more like the size he’d seen from the palace window and much more befitting the last resting place of a great magician who had passed on.

Except that he hadn’t. Or at least Jonderill thought he hadn’t, although it was a bit hard to tell. The black robed magician sat on a throne made of stone, his hands holding a small carved box and his sea green eyes fixed on Jonderill’s face. It wasn’t at all what Jonderill was expecting and not just because the long dead magician looked remarkably alive. He knew, of course, that Callistares had worn the crimson robe of the High Master but he’d always assumed that he’d once been a white robe like his sons. The implications left him speechless.

“You look like I did when I first woke, and found I suddenly wore the black.” The voice sounded dry and dusty as if it hadn’t been used for a very long time.

“You know who I am?” asked Jonderill hesitantly.

“Of course. You are Callistares, my grandson and inheritor of my power. You were named after me by your father, Coberin, and later after his protector, Jonderill, by Maladran the black. I assume you have come for what I hold for the Goddess?”

“It is why I’m here.”

“I had hoped that you’d come for my knowledge and wisdom and not this terrible thing I have kept the six kingdoms safe from all this time. You know that I let my king and best friend bury me alive in this place so that what the Goddess created and gifted to this land, and I in my arrogance and ignorance refused to use, could never be released. He would never have condemned me to this half life if I hadn’t promised him that one day Callistares would find a way to be free. Poor fool, he thought I meant that one day I would find a way to destroy this abomination and would set myself free. He must have died thinking that I’d betrayed him, the same way that I betrayed the Goddess’s trust.” He was silent for a moment whilst his eyes searched Jonderill’s face for some understanding but there was none. “You know what I keep safe, don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s the essence of a spell which changes what is broken and makes things whole again.”

“That’s true and I can see why you would want it, but the spell doesn’t work in the way you envisage. The spell is strong, stronger than you can imagine, and once it’s released, there’s no calling it back. If you take it from this place and set it free, you will be as cursed as I am, and will be tormented by your guilt beyond the grave as I have been. I beg you, my grandson, walk away from here, live your life as best you can and forget about this thing.”

“I cannot do that. I have come too far to leave without it now.”

“No, I didn’t think you could. You have your father’s stubbornness and my strength of will, but I had to try.” The long dead magician was quiet for a moment as if he was thinking. “You know, Callistares, it is a great pity that you and I never had the chance to spend time together. We are very much alike, and I think we would have enjoyed each other’s company, but it wasn’t to be. I blame it on your father of course, falling in love with another man’s wife and going to live far away from his home. Still, perhaps you would do one last favour for me? I believe you carry the demon torc which by rights should have been mine.”

“I thought the torc was made for Yarrin?”

“That is just semantics. I was the one who should have worn it. Before I leave this life I would like to see it.” Jonderill was surprised by the request but could see no harm in granting his grandsire’s last wish. He reached inside his robe and brought the torc out looped over his arm. “It is a thing of great beauty and great evil, and now I see it, I think I was better off never having worn it. Do you know the purpose of the torc?”

“Yes, it’s to prevent the power of a black robe from destroying their mind.”

“It does that although that is not its real purpose. It does something else quite remarkable. It protects the wearer from the effects of spells cast by others, but be warned, the stronger the spell the closer the contact with the torc has to be and that in itself carries dangers. Now remember those words, grandson, they may one day save your life.” He lifted the small carved box and held it out. “Goodbye Jonderill.”

Before Jonderill could move to take it Callistares let it slip through his fingers. Almost instantly Jonderill caught it with his power and wrapped it in a tight cocoon that only he could dispel but he was a heartbeat too late and for a blink of an eye the lid shifted and the slightest wisp of enchantment escaped before the lid snapped back into place.

“You tried to trick me, Callistares.”

“No, Jonderill, I tried to save you.”

The voice faded away to nothing and in front of Jonderill the black figure wavered and disappeared like smoke on a breeze. Around him his surroundings began to change. The grey stone throne crumbled to dust and the marble walls melted away to nothing. Beneath his feet onyx-veined marble changed to paving stone and the impossibly blue sky darkened with heavy cloud. As the essence of the spell spread and the magic was consumed, the high walls of the maze became transparent and disappeared until all that was left around him was a simple paved courtyard and the high walls of the palace.