The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (67 page)

When the Commander entered, the two guards jumped smartly to their feet and Jarrul rose wearily between them. He knew at once that the man they called the Commander had to be a protector; he’d been attacked by one once. This one had two swords, the hilts of which were visible behind his shoulders, a formidable array of weapons and the ancient bronze armour he’d heard described but had never seen. If a protector was here, then that meant that Callabris would be here too. It was time to change his story.

Allowyn looked the man up and down and dismissed him as a threat. The Captain had said that the man had given some cock and bull story about hiring men to fight in Essenland. If it hadn’t been for the sack of raw silver, he would have dismissed the tale as nonsense and would have had the man locked away for his own safety. However, freshly mined silver was unusual, and as far as he knew it only came from one place.

“Where did you get this?”

Jarrul bowed as best as he could with the two armsmen holding him. “My Lord Protector, the leader of Essenland’s freedom fighters gave it to me so that I might use it in any way I feel fit to secure support for his cause.”

Allowyn scowled in irritation. He didn’t like being called a lord, and this man’s condescending words and silky tongue were as slippery as the back of the silver nugget he held. “What is the leader’s name?”

Jarrul hesitated, he wasn’t sure if he should reveal that yet, but when the protector took a threatening step forward and eased the top of his long knife from its sheath he rapidly changed his mind. “It’s Dozo, My Lord. It was he who sent me here to ask for Callabris’s help.”

“How are Tia and their four children?”

Jarrul looked confused. “I don’t know anyone called Tia, but his wife’s name is Stanner, and there are just two children, although a third is on the way.”

Allowyn let his knife drop back into its sheath and relaxed. Despite appearances it would seem that the man was genuine. He indicated that the two armsmen should leave and waited until they had closed the door behind them before he spoke again. “Dozo is a close friend of mine, and Stanner once helped to save my life so I am in debt to them both. Had Callabris still been amongst us I am sure he would have wanted to help, but I regret that he has passed into the arms of the Goddess and I now serve the Lord Jonderill.”

“Jonderill? Jonderill of Leersland, the magician?” Allowyn was slightly taken aback by the man’s enthusiastic reaction, but nodded just the same. “Jonderill is a friend of mine and has saved my life more than once. The last time I saw him we were both escaping from Borman’s fang hounds together. I know he will want to help me for the friends we share and for old time’s sake.”

Allowyn thought that was unlikely. Jonderill had other things on his mind and as far as he was concerned he had no men to spare to go gallivanting off to Essenland, they needed every man they could get for the defence of Northshield. Information about Dozo and their fight for freedom in Essenland would be of value though. “You have picked a good time. My master and Lord Rothers, the leader of the council, are together and I think they would want to hear what you have to say.”

He led the way along corridors, through archways and up stairs until Jarrul was completely lost. The palace was huge, and there were people everywhere hurrying about their business and swiftly getting out of the way of the heavily armed protector. When they finally reached the richly decorated doors with two guards outside, Allowyn slipped inside leaving Jarrul to catch his breath.

Jarrul looked at the two guards warily and they eyed him back, but didn’t take their hands off the pikes they held. With shaking hands he tried to straighten his clothes which had become dishevelled with his rough handling, and then laughed to himself. Jonderill wouldn’t care what he looked like, he was his friend. The last time he had seen him was at Crosslands Gap and so much had happened since then. He couldn’t wait to see him and tell him everything.

When Allowyn opened the door and beckoned him in, he hurried forward with a smile of anticipation on his face. The room was large and richly furnished with wood-panelled walls, thick rugs and a huge window at one end. A man he didn’t recognise stood by the window talking to a robed figure silhouetted by the bright light. Jarrul hurried forward and then stopped dead as the black robe turned towards him. A cry of shock escaped his lips and he took an involuntary step backwards in alarm. This couldn’t possibly be the same Jonderill that he knew.

“Hello, Jarrul, my friend.”

Jarrul blinked, swallowed hard and then took a hesitant step forward holding out his hand in greeting. When Jonderill didn’t move to take the proffered hand he looked down, saw the empty sleeves and gave an involuntary cry of alarm. He staggered backwards with the shock, and almost went to his knees except for Allowyn’s steadying hand. In undisguised horror he stared at the leather-bound stumps and then back at Jonderill and cringed as a dark anger passed across the magician’s face.

“Oh, Jonderill, I am so sorry. What has happened to you?” The flash of anger returned and Jarrul wished that he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Just time, that’s all.” Jonderill did the best he could to smile and reassure the man. He should have been used to people’s reaction by now, but their horror and revulsion still hurt. “Allowyn, pour Jarrul some wine, he’s had a shock.” He sat and took a sip of wine from the goblet Rothers held for him, and waited for Jarrul to recover, hiding his impatience when it took longer than he thought it should. “Now tell me about Dozo and what is happening in Essenland.”

Jarrul hesitated. He’d thought that Jonderill would have wanted to know what had happened to him since Crosslands Gap, but there again he supposed his friend was above that sort of thing now. After all he was a black robe and probably only had time for those in power. So he began when he had first met Dozo, leaving out any mention of Birrit or Tarraquin and ended with the freedom fighter’s need for more men.

Jonderill listened with his mind only half on what Jarrul was saying, his thoughts on more important matters. His search for the Pillars of the Allkinds was proving fruitless, and despite the size of the palace library, he’d not been able to find one reference to the pillars. The previous night he thought he’d found something, but had fallen asleep over the ancient tome, which was unusual for him as he rarely slept, and when he woke, the words were gone. He was certain they had been there but that, of course, was impossible. Ink marks don’t rearrange themselves of their own accord.

He was suddenly aware of the silence and everyone looking at him expectantly. Surely they could make a decision on a simple matter like this without him. “I’m sorry, my friend, but we cannot help. We need every man we have to defend Northshield from Borman when he comes to retake his throne.” He stood to indicate that the audience was over, irritated at the look of disappointment on Jarrul’s face and Rother’s clear look of disapproval. If they wanted to send men to aid Dozo, then why didn’t they say so?

Jarrul looked from Allowyn to Rothers and knew he had to say something. He licked his lips nervously. “Lord, if you send men to help Dozo, then I will stay and serve you for the rest of my life.” It was the only thing he could think to offer in exchange for Jonderill’s help, but the disdainful look from those cold, green eyes made him cringe.

“I don’t need that sort of sacrifice from any man.” Jonderill stood, turned his back on the three of them and stared out of the window until they had all left, except they didn’t all leave. Allowyn was still there as silent and as unmoving as a statue when he turned around again. “Well, out with it.”

“You were unkind to your friend. He offered everything he has and you threw it back in his face.”

“I don’t need his pity, and in any case, what would you have me do, make him my slave in exchange for a hundred men we can ill afford to lose?”

“No, Lord, but he didn’t offer to be your slave, just to serve you as I do. It was a genuine offer and you should think about it. As much as you try to deny it, you do need someone to help you, and you cannot expect Lord Rothers to be at your side forever. He has his own life to lead.”

Jonderill turned back to stare out the window at the fading light and sighed. Allowyn was right of course, Rothers had grown in confidence and needed to be set free to follow his own path. If not, their friendship would sour. “What about the men? You’re not telling me they can be spared?”

“No, master, but some of them, say two troops, might be better deployed in helping to delay Borman in Essenland giving the rest more time to prepare Wallmore’s defences than digging ditches here.”

He could see the logic in that but they would need the right leader if they were to be effective. “You have a good point, but it will only work if you lead them and leave Rothers here to organise the defences.”

“I cannot do that, master. Not unless you come with us.”

Jonderill shook his head. He should have known that would be Allowyn’s response. “Then my decision stands, I cannot leave here until I have found what I am looking for.”

Allowyn hesitated. It wasn’t a protector’s place to question their master, but Jonderill wasn’t like Callabris. “Master, what is it that you are searching for?”

It was Jonderill’s turn to hesitate. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Rothers, but as his protector Allowyn had a right to know.  “The Pillars of the Allkinds. They have a certain kind of magic that can be found nowhere else.”

The protector grinned and felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. “You have no need to search any further then. In fact you have already been where they stand, although you may not remember it. The Pillars of the Allkinds guard the entrance to the Enclave, and you rode between them when we first went to the city. We could ride into Essenland and do what needs to be done, and then go on to the Enclave together.”

Jonderill returned the grin, pleased that he had the answer to his question at last, but angry that it had been so close and he’d wasted so much time searching for it. Yes, they would ride to Essenland and Allowyn would aid the freedom fighters, but he would continue on to the Enclave alone.

*

Sadrin was so bored that he thought he was going to die. Ever since the day he’d been condemned to slavery in Essenland’s deepest silver mines, and had been taken away with a sack over his head and his hands bound in wire, he’d dreamed of being High Master. In his dream he’d seen himself in his crimson robes sitting on his grand throne with kings bowing at his feet. Of course he knew he couldn’t sit on his throne all day long, so he’d imagined himself conversing with the Goddess, and then dispensing her wisdom to a grateful and amazed populace. There were other things too, although they were a little more hazy, but listening to minstrels, drinking ale with friends, hunting and riding out to meet kings was included in his dream.

The reality had turned out to be very different and already, after less than a moon cycle, he was wishing he was somewhere else. For a start, there was no throne, and the last time a king had visited the Enclave was so long ago, that it had even been before Tressing had been born. Instead he’d spent the first seven day sitting behind the High Master’s desk, trying to read an interminably boring treatise on magical theory and listening to accounts of the Enclave’s finances.

The most interesting think he’d done so far was to rearrange his rooms and agree a new issue of boots to the Enclave’s armsmen. He wouldn’t have had those little bits of excitement if it had been up to Tressing, who said that such mundane matters were beneath the office of High Master. Tressing was very wrong there though; most things which were put in front of him were way above and beyond him. Peasant farmers didn’t teach their whelps how to read and write, only how to count the stock and know good coin from bad. Vorgret had one of the palace scribes teach him to read, but he hadn’t been that interested and had rarely practiced.

Consequently the parchments which Tressing laid in front of him were indecipherable, and it didn’t matter how long he stared at the words, they meant nothing to him. Whether Tressing knew or not was difficult to tell. The grey robe always kept his face blank, which was a good thing. If he had smirked just once, he would have turned the man to ash. In the end he’d bundled all the scrolls up and pushed them into Tressing’s arms and told him he had more important things to do with his time than to look at meaningless bits of parchment.

The problem was he hadn’t. Tressing had taken over the administration of the Enclave, reporting to him twice a day, at morning and at night, about the decisions he’d made and leaving him with nothing to do for the rest of the time in between. He’d tried to go for a walk once, but had been told it was undignified for the High Master to walk the streets with the common people, and his attempt to go hunting had ended in fiasco, when four squads of armsmen were assigned to accompany him.

In all honesty, the only real pleasure he had was when he visited the woman and held her baby. It reminded him of his own sister when she had been small, the one he’d incinerated to keep the secret of what he could do from his father. He was so bored that he’d even considered visiting the two old magicians who were being held in one of the lower cells beneath the temple. They at least might have something interesting to say.

If he’d been able to talk to the Goddess then his life would have been different. Then he would have known things that nobody else knew, but he hadn’t been able to find his way into her sanctuary. Tressing had told him where the entrance was, but it didn’t matter how hard he pressed on the wall panels behind the book case, they didn’t open for him. He thought Tressing might have told him the wrong place on purpose, so he’d tried the walls in every other part of the room, but still with no success. The next option was to burn the walls down until he found the entrance, but that was a bit drastic and might result in the Goddess’s disapproval, so he hadn’t tried it yet. He would though and soon if something interesting didn’t happen.

He left his desk and tried to find the hidden catch in the bookcase once more, but it was well and truly hidden. Of course he could have asked Tressing to open it for him, but he didn’t want the grey robe thinking he was an idiot. He’d had enough of people looking down on him. He was still considering if he could burn the back out of the bookcase and then cover it up with books and scrolls so nobody noticed, when there was a knock at the door and Tressing entered uninvited.