The Grey Robe

by Clare Smith

  Instead of accepting the invitation Maladran had been sent to witness the pomp and ceremony of the child’s naming day and to gather intelligence in preparation for Sarrat’s invasion of Vinmore. Travelling through the vineyards and orchards of the peaceful kingdom he could, for the first time, understand Sarrat’s desire to have the lands as his own. It was a rich land which produced the finest wine, ale and cider in all of the six kingdoms and the people were as happy and as mellow as the elixirs they produced. To see the kingdom overrun by Sarrat’s bludgeoning army who cared nothing for beauty would have been a sacrilege. They would have eaten the raw grapes and used the orchards for firewood and then have drunk the country dry without a care for preserving rare blends or maturing vintages. The thought of such desecration was more than Maladran could stand and so he had come up with his plan to wed the infant princess to his master.

  It was a simple way to unite the two kingdoms, satisfy Sarrat’s greed and retain Vinmore’s tranquillity but as he had stood in Vinmore’s Great Hall and waited to present his master’s gift to the fair-haired babe his doubts had begun to grow. There had been the usual gifts of gold and silver, precious scents and fine silks from the noble houses which caused him no concern. However, Steppen’s two doddering magicians, barely capable of putting an enchantment together, had stepped forward to present their gifts and had proved not to be as senile as he’d anticipated.

  Plantagenet, tall and thin with a nose like a hooked beak and fine grey hair which fell in waves down his back had given the child the gift of unsurpassed beauty. He endowed her with golden hair and blue eyes and a complexion of pure, unblemished cream. Maladran noted with a wry smile the Queen’s look of relief at such a wondrous gift. Fair hair and blue eyes were a rarity in both her husband’s and her own genealogy and already whispers had started about the true parentage of the child. The king seemed to be more interested in the gift of the fat, waddling Animus, with his layers of chins and rosy red cheeks. He gave the gift of sunshine, rich harvests and bountiful prosperity for all during the lifetime of the beautiful Princess Daun.

  It had been instantly obvious to him that a girl possessing both unsurpassed beauty and a tempting dowry which would make a man rich for as long as he kept his wife safe would not easily be persuaded to wed an uncouth, middle-aged soldier with a pock marked face going to seed. Sarrat would not stand a chance once more handsome and charming suitors presented themselves and present themselves they would, in droves, on the day she became sixteen and became eligible to wed.

  He had looked down at the gift he was carrying, a priceless volume from Sarrat’s rarely used library and quietly took a step backwards into the shadows. Carefully he placed the book in an unobtrusive position on a small table behind him to be retrieved later. If his plan was to succeed his gift would have to match those of Plantagenet and Animus and he had little time to work out the details. The wording of these things had to be exact or otherwise all sorts of flaws and foibles could develop.

  By the time King Sarrat’s name was called he was barely ready but he stepped forward from the shadows with an air of confidence which he didn’t feel whilst his mind raced to complete the final details. The unannounced presence of another magician in their court brought an exclamation from Plantagenet and Animus and an instant silence from those gathered. It was quickly broken by the surreptitious whispering of his name and reputation which was cut short by a wave of King Steppen’s hand. He bowed low to the king and queen, lower than he would have bowed to Sarrat and stepped forward with a benign smile. Plantagenet leant down to whisper urgently in his master’s ear and Animus put his podgy hand out as if to protect the child. Maladran sneered in contempt, as if their interference could protect the babe against anything he could do.

  “You are welcome to our court, Maladran of the black, envoy of our much honoured neighbour King Sarrat.”

  “I thank you, Your Majesty, although I can see that the presence of King Sarrat’s magician is not so welcome by those who also serve the goddess Federa.”

  He gave the two aged magicians a withering look and was pleased to see them cringe and Animus guiltily remove his hand. He stepped towards the child and took her tiny hand between his forefinger and thumb. Of all the magician’s skills a long term enchantment was the most exhausting to seal and he knew he would feel the effects for days after, but it couldn’t be helped, it had to be done. He emptied his mind and focused the power which always hovered at the edge of his consciousness. As he wove the enchantment his voice became distant and hollow but each word could be heard clearly by those gathered around the baby.

  “Such beauty in this world is rare

  and many, her charms would blight

  but she will be safe in my care

  and unspoilt whilst in my sight.

  “To Daun the gift of temper real

  cruel touch and lashing scorn

  acid spite for all to feel,

  a beautiful rose with cutting thorn.

  He pushed the power from his mind, bending his head and kissing the tiny hand to seal the enchantment beyond redemption. Immediately the child screamed in temper, her tiny fists clutching at the air and her feet kicking wildly in a fit of tantrum. Maladran stepped back with a satisfied smile. Along with the reputation of her beauty and the size of her inheritance would go the perversity of her nature. If that didn’t keep the suitors at bay nothing would.

  “Maladran,” snapped Sarrat angrily. “Do you dare ignore me?”

  The magician jumped at the raised voice. “I’m sorry My Lord, my mind was elsewhere.” Their two natures would complement each other nicely, he thought with blatant disrespect. “The child grows more beautiful by the day, a rare gem of outstanding value but one with a cutting edge which no man would wish to hold to his heart or press to his lips.”

  “And have you worked out a way to release her from your enchantment when the time is right or do you still owe me your eyes?”

  Maladran sighed. “Have no fear, My Lord, she will be released when you are ready to take her.” That was one part of the enchantment which hadn’t been quite right. In his haste to cast the spell he had bound her acerbic nature to his sight and could not release one without losing the other.

  “Don’t worry about me, I have no fear,” laughed Sarrat viciously. “It’s your eyes which will be forfeit, not mine.”

  “Just so,” replied Maladran with icy coldness and obvious irritation. He stood to withdraw, giving the briefest of bows before pacing to the door.

  “Magician! You forget yourself, I have not given you leave to go yet, I have other matters to discuss with you.” Maladran turned back, reading the extent of Sarrat’s anger and deciding it was unwise to provoke him further. “I’ve decided it would be a good idea to make my future wife a gift, something simple but of beauty and value. I thought such a gesture would cement our good relations with her father and remove any mistrust he might have of me after your endowment to his daughter.”

  The magician bowed in acquiescence and waited in silence for his master to continue. “I hear High Lord Coledran has a racing mare of exceptional quality and it has given birth to a foal of outstanding beauty and unusual colour. It has the silver coat of its sire and his fighting temperament but the dark main and tail of its dam and her speed. I think this would be a fitting gift for the princess, especially if the animal was blessed by you in some special way. I thought I might also send one of the High Lord’s stablemen in attendance to look after it and see to its training. Perhaps the Stablemaster’s head stable boy would be a good choice, I hear the boy is sharp witted and ambitious. Did you come across him during your recent visit to the High Lord’s estate?”

  Maladran recalled the vicious look in the boy’s eye and the malice of his words. “That would be Tarris. Yes, I came across him. He has a certain intelligence but he is also sly and vindictive by nature.”

  “Good, then he should serve my purpose well; a sharp mind and a quick eye will keep a good watch on my
interests.”

  “Then you no longer have trust in my counsel,” asked Maladran, unaccountably hurt by Sarrat’s suggestion.

  “Trust? Of course I trust you but a spy in the enemy’s camp will give me an advantage.” He looked suspiciously at the magician. “This journey has changed you Maladran. There is a new softness within you which wasn’t there before, some depth of feeling where there used to be a stone heart. You’re not developing a conscience are you? A soul searcher with feelings for others is of no use to me.”

  Maladran shook his head and smiled wanly. “No. My Lord, it’s just that I am tired. The journey was long and tedious. I have been away from the peace of my own tower for too long and the unpleasant manner of the death of High Lord Coledran’s son tired me. I shall be more like myself after I have rested.”

  “Then you had better go and rest in solitude and take as long as you need, your presence here is not required. I will inform you when you may leave your tower again.” He waved the magician angrily away but stopped him again as he reached the door. “I’ve been told you have taken a new apprentice. After the last one I thought we had agreed you would train no more to be sacrificed to fulfil your vows to me?”

  Maladran shrugged but did not turn around. “This one is different; he’s not of this kingdom but the spawn of a foreign soldier. He’s merely a kingsward and without the slightest hint of power.”

  “Then what will you do with the boy?” laughed Sarrat. “Surely you haven’t developed unsavoury appetites for small boys amongst your other failings?”

  Maladran refrained from responding to the taunt. His last apprentice was just coming into his power when Sarrat had decided that he was a threat and had ordered his death. After witnessing what the kingsguard had done to him Maladran had very little appetite for anything, particularly the pleasures of the flesh. For weeks after the body had been returned he had been too sickened to use his skill, much to his master’s annoyance and had been more than willing to agree to train no more apprentices.

  However the boy he had taken from the High Lord was different than the others had been, it was in his eyes and his manner and the experience they had shared together. There was an attraction which had nothing to do with perverted pleasures or arcane skills and everything to do with the return of long forgotten feelings and the resurgence of his humanity which was diminished every time he did Sarrat’s dirty work.

  “I don’t know what I shall do with the boy but one thing is for certain, he will never become my apprentice.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Testing

  Twilight settled gently between the rolling hills, darkening the winding river and obscuring the dark road which followed a straighter path parallel to the waterways meandering course. On the higher ground between the dark road and the tall weiswald trees, still touched by the setting sun, three crackling camp fires ensured twilight and darkness would be kept at bay. There were other things to be kept at bay as well, like the packs of sly hunters which were notorious scavengers along the kingdom’s southern highways. However, the three elemental fires burning brightly in their circles of stone and the escort of kingsguard were more than adequate to prevent any possible attack.

  Maladran had purposely chosen to travel this route to the High Lord’s estate as opposed to the wide commercial road which carried goods from the southern border to the king’s court in the north. It had been the road he and the boy had travelled two summers earlier and it was important that he should use a place already touched by arcane power for the testing which lay ahead. The timing had been perfect; the boy’s tenth summer solstice and the king’s command for him to leave his tower and once again travel to the domain of High Lord Coledran. The escort of kingsguard, particularly the presence of Captain Gartnor was an inconvenience but he would deal with them before the testing began. It was better that a troop of soldiers should sleep for a while rather than the boy show some inkling of power in front of Sarrat’s men.

  Garrin, his faithful and unquestioning servant, would have to sleep too, his affection for the boy and his fear of what the arcane might do to him would interfere with the testing. Maladran had to know if what he had felt in the boy, in that place two summers previous, had been a manifestation of Federa’s gift or just the boy’s raw emotion. He laughed as the boy leapt from behind a tree onto Garrin’s back with a wild scream and the servant dropped to the floor in mock surrender. The years seemed to drop away from the man when he played with Jonderill. Now, scrabbling across the grass on all fours and bucking like a wild horse with the boy clinging to his back, he looked almost like the young man who had come long ago to the magician’s tower to be his servant.

  His servant may have looked younger but his strength was still that of a man well passed his middle years and playing mustang to a boisterous ten year old could not be sustained for long. In a last act of self-preservation he grabbed hold of the boy’s tangle of shirt and pulled him over his shoulder so that he landed face down, his arms pinioned before him and his head hidden in folds of linen.

  The picture of the boy’s exposed back and helpless position stabbed at the magician’s memory but apart from the two cuts which had drawn blood, the scars had gone and a healthy layer of flesh covered the boy’s ribs. He screamed and begged for mercy as Garrin tickled his sides but the servant wasn’t relinquishing revenge that easily. He flipped the boy over so he could pull off his shirt and then made a grab for a naked foot and tickled that instead. The boy laughed and shrieked and squirmed and pleaded with him to stop until they both fell into a laughing, exhausted heap.

  It seemed to Maladran that there had been nothing but laughter since the boy had come into his life; something that he had nearly forgotten existed. As well as affection he had learnt to share the boy’s excitement and joy of living and being free. There had been the excitement of last solstice day when he had given the boy his first pony and Garrin’s wife had baked him a cake and smothered it in mixed fruit compote. He had shared the boy’s wonder at the sly hunter’s cubs they had found and had laughed at their antics as they tumbled over each other in mock battle.

  Together they had watched tree-leapers chase each other up and down weiswald trees and had caught silver fish in the lake. On cold winters nights they had shared the wonders of the great book of myths in front of a roaring fire whilst the wind howled around his high tower. His ambition to possess the forbidden power beyond the arcane had been replaced by the joy of hearing the boy laugh. In consequence the dark side of his nature, which had once threatened to consume him, had been confined to where it belonged, in the deepest recesses of his mind.

  Yet for all their affection he did not play with the boy as Garrin did nor spoil him like Garrin’s childless wife. Their relationship was more thoughtful, based on the trust they had for each other after what they had shared that night two summers ago in that same place. Maladran’s thoughts returned to the night when, for the first time since his initiation, his power had been overwhelmed and his will submerged beneath another’s. When the darkness had cleared from his mind the boy had been enfolded in his arms and was clinging to him whilst sobs racked his small, cold body. He was no longer screaming the man’s name but, by the way he shook, it was obvious that the vision of the man’s execution was imprinted firmly in his mind.

  Maladran felt sick at the memory and a terrible guilt touched him. Something in the boy’s mind had wanted to protect him against the horror of what he’d been forced to watch but he, in all his arrogance, had forced the boy to see behind the curtain. If the boy’s mind had been permanently damaged it would have been his fault and all because he wanted to know the boy’s name so he could have mastery over him.

  He’d released his arms from around the boy, intending to push him away but the boy clung on in desperation, assailing him with feelings of horror, confusion and a terrible sense of loss. Maladran had given in to the boy’s need of him, feeling too weak to fight against it, almost as if
he had been beaten. After a while the child’s sobs quietened and his shaking ceased altogether although he still clung to Maladran as if his life depended on the magician’s presence.

  “Do you remember your nightmares now boy?” He had asked with a voice made harsh by his own emotions.

  The boy nodded as if he dare not speak in case it gave reality to the terrible dream he’d just relived.

  “Who was the man in silver and white and the woman that held you?” The boy didn’t reply. “Come boy, you must talk about them otherwise they will forever haunt your life like wraiths.”

  “I think she cared for me and he was with her before the riders came.”

  “Who were the riders?” The boy shook his head and Maladran took it that he didn’t know. “Why did the riders take the man’s hands and kill everyone else?”

  “I don’t know,” said the boy, pulling away from the magician and wiping the tears on the back of his hand. “I can’t remember anything about him.”

  “What of the other man, the soldier?”

  The boy shook his head whilst tears ran down his cheeks again. Waves of guilt and despair emanated from him, threatening to swamp Maladran and for his own preservation he held the boy protectively to him to give him some comfort.

  “I killed him,” said the boy suddenly pulling away. “He was trying to protect me against them and they did that terrible thing to him because I was there and it should have been me.”

  The boy’s sobs began began again, verging on the hysterical and his emotional outpouring becoming more painful to the magician’s newly awakened senses. He had to gain control over the boy or become lost in his rampant emotions.

  “What did your parents name you boy?”

  The boy shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  “What of the man, what did he call you?” The boy shook his head again but said nothing. “Then I shall have the naming of you. It shall be Jonderill after the man who bravely gave his life for you. May you live long to honour his memory.”