The Grey Robe

by Clare Smith

  He threw back the last of his ale, banged the pot down on the table and stood to leave but a firm hand pushed him back down into his chair. Jonderill pushed the hand irritably away and then felt guilty and peevish; after all it wasn’t Barrin’s fault that his first sword practice had gone so wrong. Barrin took the seat opposite him and refilled their pots from the stone pitcher he had been carrying around the inn for most of the night.

  “I’m sorry, Jonderill, I know how much attending sword practice meant to you.

  That was the problem, Barrin didn’t know what attending the sword practice had meant to him. How could he know? He’d never been alone and in need of acceptance by others. Nor had he ever been as brutally rejected as he had been that morning.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over them. It’s sort of a tradition to make the first day of practice tough for a newcomer and we’ve all been through it, only this time they went a bit too far.”

  Jonderill looked up, the bruise on the side of his face showing the pattern of a hand. He had barely left the practice yard when Redruth had stopped him, striking him across his cheek with his gauntleted hand in challenge for the humiliation Jonderill had caused him. After the Housecharge’s warning about fighting, Jonderill dared not accept the challenge so Redruth had used the broadside of his sword to vent his feelings of anger whilst his friends kept watch.

  If it hadn’t been for Barrin’s timely arrival, Redruth could have made the error of judgment the Cadetmaster feared. He wanted to tell Barrin it was all right and it didn’t matter but it did, more than Barrin could ever understand. Perhaps Animus had been right all along, perhaps he should concentrate all his efforts into becoming a magician and forget about being like everyone else.

  “It won’t happen again,” said Barrin. “I’ll see to that.”

  Jonderill shook his head. “No it won’t happen again because I won’t be going to sword practice again.”

  “You don’t mean that do you? I know how much you wanted to learn swordcraft”

  Jonderill painfully flexed his bruised fingers and considered his answer. He didn’t want to mean it, but he didn’t want Barrin fighting his battles either. Before he could reply, an angry shout for Barrin to move cut through the noise of the inn. Barrin jumped to his feet and clutched the pitcher of ale.

  “I’ve got to go, my dad’ll skin me if he sees me here sitting and talking to you when the place is so busy. You stay there and drink your ale and I’ll be back when I’ve been ‘round with the ale jug again.”

  He left the table almost at a run and was instantly lost in the growing crowd which had come to hear Tavlon play. Jonderill knew if he sat there for much longer the innkeeper would come and shift him to make room for paying guests and he didn’t feel up to being told his presence was not required twice in one day. He left the table and pushed his way through a group of men smelling of straw and horses. The smell jogged unpleasant memories and Jonderill elbowed his way through the crowd, eager to be outside in the night air and away from people.

  Outside of the packed inn with its smoke and noise and smell of stale sweat, the night was cool and dark. Torches burnt in brackets at each street end, giving off a creamy yellow light, sufficient to light the way but gentle enough not to take the blackness away from the sky. There was no moon but thousands of stars speckled the heavens as if someone had thrown them up into the air and they had stuck to the black velvety surface. He began to walk, still staring at the sky and drinking in its calming influence.

  The Princess’s birthday celebrations were going on in the palace and the place would be bursting with people and noise. He wanted to be alone so he carried on walking passed the turning he would normally take to the magician’s tower. The streets beneath his feet were now as familiar as the striped pattern on Plantagenet’s best robe, which he had pressed that morning, so he didn’t have to think where he was going, only let his mind wander.

  His mind picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and automatically guided him away from the human contact he didn’t think he could face and down a less well lit side street. Here the sky seemed even darker and the stars brighter. He had an overwhelming urge to stand in total darkness and solitude and let his mind reach out to the stars’ distant light. When more footsteps approached he didn’t hesitate but turned almost instinctively down a small unlit roadway.

  After a score of paces the roadway opened into one of the city’s many squares redolent with the smell of flowering honeyvine but unusually not lit by torchlight. He crossed to the centre of the square and found the stone bench and marble statue of some past Vinemaster which he knew would be there. With a sigh of satisfaction he leant back against the statue and watched the stars, oblivious to anything else.

  A glow of torchlight interrupted his contemplation and with some annoyance he turned towards the roadway he had recently trod. A tall man held the torch, its flickering light obscuring Jonderill’s sight of him. Lost in shadow, Jonderill felt that he should have known the man and a sudden apprehension made him sit up. Surely Redruth had taken enough revenge for one day. He stood slowly and began to walk away towards one of the other streets which opened into the square but before he could reach the entrance, another torch carrier appeared, blocking his way. This one was smaller and more stocky and looked like he would know how to handle a blacksmith’s hammer.

  Jonderill’s apprehension turned to fear and he broke into a run, intent on reaching one of the other exits before whoever it was could cut him off, but torches were already there and figures blocked every exit except one. The figures started to move towards him and Jonderill knew he was being herded into the remaining unlit passageway but as his only other option was to try and defend himself in the open he decided to give it a chance. There was always the slim possibility that the passageway would supply some means of escape.

  He reached the entrance before those carrying the torches and shot down the cobbled path without further hesitation even though it was obviously a trap. High walls of smooth polished stone towered on either side with another one at the end of the passageway. It was a part of the crenulated city wall standing nearly twice his height and blocking his exit. He looked around for doors or windows through which he might escape but the walls were featureless, neither did the smooth stone offer any possibility of handholds for climbing. Anxiously he studied the gap at the end of the unlit street passageway which was now filled with armed figures but they were men and not boys. When the tallest of them stepped forward Jonderill instantly knew who it was.

  “Well if it aint the magician lovin’ dirt crawler out takin’ the air an’ lookin’ for someone’s arse to lick.”

  “Leave me alone, Tarris.”

  “Leave yer alone? What, after our last meetin’ when yer tried to burn down me stables wiv yer filthy magic tricks? I’ll leave yer alone all right but only after me friends an' I’s ‘ad what we want from yer.” He turned to his four helpers. “Take ‘im an old ‘im real tight, an’ watch owt for ‘is ‘ands, they spit fire.”

  Tarris stepped back and the four men moved forwards, their swords sheathed but with weighted clubs in their hands. He knew he couldn’t fight them, each man weighed twice as much as he did. His only hope was to let them come as close as possible and then dive between their legs and make a run for it but in the enclosed space he didn’t fancy his chances. As the men came within three paces Jonderill dived low, knocking the centre man sprawling and catching another a glancing blow which made him stumble backwards. The fallen man groaned but Jonderill only managed one more step before one of the two remaining men grabbed him by the arm twisting it viciously behind his back and the other grabbed him by the hair. He cried out as an iron grip dug into earlier bruises and ceased all resistance before his arm was wrenched from its socket.

  One of the men lifted him from his feet and slammed him hard against the wall. His breath left his body in a rush of air and his head rang where it collided with the stone. Before he could collaps
e to the ground two of his attackers lifted him from the floor and stretched his arms against the wall holding his hands so he couldn’t produce elemental fire even if he had the concentration to do so. He managed a gasp of breath as another closed in on him but in an instant that was knocked from his body. The men laid into him with fists and clubs and when his legs began to give way Tarris came forward, torchlight reflecting off the long blade in his hand.

  “Now me mates ‘ave ‘ad their fun it’s my turn an’ I’m goin’ ter do somethin’ to yer which yer aint goin’ to forget in a long, long time.”

  He took a step forward and lowered his blade. Jonderill closed his eyes and helplessly waited for Tarris to begin but instead of the searing agony of the cut he expected, his arms were very nearly ripped from his sides as the passageway erupted into chaos. Bodies dropped from the wall behind him accompanied by screams and shouts and the sound of sword against sword. He opened his eyes to see Redruth charging passed him, sword in hand, with four other cadets behind him.

  The men dropped Jonderill and scrambled to form a defensive line in front of Tarris, hoping to withdraw into the open square and use the advantage of strength against their young opponents. Tarris, as yet unblooded, took quick note of the situation and ran as if a trolsterk was after him, escaping into the square only a moment before another group of cadets arrived from another direction, trapping the men between them. Outflanked and hopelessly outnumbered the men dropped their weapons and backed against the wall with their hands held high in submission. The cadets closed in but stopped just short of an arm’s length, holding them at sword point and looking eagerly to their leader for a chance to blood their swords for the first time.

  Barrin helped Jonderill to his feet and then looked at his eager friends and shook his head. With some disappointment the cadets reluctantly lowered their swords. Meanwhile Redruth had pushed to the front and stood staring disdainfully at the men with his hands braced on his hips, just as he had seen the Cadetmaster do.

  “When you see that cowardly gnawer who ran off and left you to our mercy, you can tell him that if he ever tries to lay a finger or anything else on Jonderill again he will face the anger and retribution of the king’s cadets and the knight’s squires. Now just to remind you to deliver this message we’re going to give you a taste of your own medicine.” He stepped back behind the grinning ring of cadets and squires. “Broadside lads and then run them out of here.”

  The young swordsmen yelled like tortured souls from hellden’s halls and enthusiastically carried out the reminder with the flat of their blades before letting the men go, chasing them for a short way with shouted jeers and insults. In a moment they returned, noisy and laughing to stand around Jonderill, Barrin and Redruth.

  “Thanks,” said Jonderill in a shaky voice. “I thought I’d had it that time.”

  “Think nothing of it; it makes a nice change to use our swords on real people instead of dummies. Not that I could tell much difference except they screamed and ran away and the dummies don’t.”

  “How did you know I was in trouble?” asked Jonderill through the laughter.

  “We didn’t,” replied Barrin, “but Redruth had just come in to the inn when you left and he recognised the men from the stables as they followed you out. He guessed something was going on.”

  “We would have been here sooner only we couldn’t drag Tuckin away from his dinner” added Redruth.

  “Thank you,” said Jonderill again against another peal of laughter.

  “It’s nothing,” said Redruth, “especially after what you did for Lias.”

  “We’d do the same for any sword brother,” added Tuckin.

  Redruth put his arm around Jonderill’s shoulder. “You’re one of us now.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER TEN

  Changing Places

  The six black horses with their waving black plumes walked steadily through the ornamental gateway, the carriage they were pulling lurching slightly as it left the smooth roadway behind and rolled across the cobbled courtyard. Behind the coach rode the Household Guard, their usual red-plumed helmets changed for black and black cloaks covering their dress uniforms. Once inside the gateway with the gates firmly closed behind them the guard wheeled away left and right to return to their barracks and the coach pulled up under the covered portico. Drizzle continued to fall from a grey, leaden sky and outside the gates of the palace the damp crowd began to disperse back to their homes in the city of Dartis in silence; the only sound the mournful ringing of the city bells.

  The footman, also dressed in black, opened the coach door and pulled down the steps, waiting for the two passengers to alight. The first was a man of middle years with short salt and pepper hair, matching moustache and beard and soft grey eyes, red rimmed with recent tears. He stepped back from the carriage and held out his hand to assist the second passenger from the coach but had his proffered hand slapped ungratefully out of the way by the Crown Prince.

  At fourteen, Prince Newn of Tarbis was tall for his age but had the slight build that he had inherited from his mother. The rest of his features were all his father’s, wavy brown hair with a slight hint of red and deep brown eyes. His nature was all his own.

  “I don’t need your assistance and get these men out of their bloody black garb, it’s bad enough that I have to wear it without having to look at it as well.”

  He stamped up the steps leading to the palace’s Grand Reception Hall throwing his gloves and helmet onto the floor followed by his sword belt, scabbard and blunted blade. The sword skidded across the white marble floor and one of the many soberly dressed servants scuttled after it. The Prince glowered at her and she hastily stepped back into line with the other waiting servants.

  Lord Farrion followed his nephew up the first flight of stairs, along the corridor with guards at each end and into the prince’s private chambers. Newn pulled off his black jacket, not bothering with the silver cuff buttons which tore away from the delicate fabric and rolled across the floor. He threw the jacket in the direction of the fire grate before collapsing into a padded chair by the fire.

  “Pour me a drink.”

  Farrion scowled at the boy but went to the dresser and poured a small amount of red wine into a silver goblet and topped it up with a double measure of water from a matching silver jug.

  “From now on I will have my wine without water, and I want that maid punished, nobody steps out of their place when I pass.”

  Farrion picked up the goblet of watered wine, crossed the room and held it out towards the prince who glared back at him. His uncle shrugged and put the goblet on the table by the prince’s chair before sitting in the comfortable chair opposite him.

  “That was a boring waste of time. I should have been in Vinmore at Princess Daun’s birthday celebrations instead of having to listen to that old windbag droning on about life after death. The man’s a fucking idiot if he believes in that stuff; when you’re dead you’re dead.”

  “Your Highness! You should have more respect for the High Priest, he’s the head of your temple and that was your parent’s funeral.”

  “I would have more respect for him if he had kept his mouth shut and anyway, why couldn’t they have died after Daun’s birthday celebrations.”

  “It would have been better if they had not died at all. Your Highness”.

  Newn shrugged, “It didn’t do you much harm did it? From minor lord of a forgotten backwater estate to regent of Tarbis in one single move, but you’d better get this through your head, uncle, you’re not the ruler here, I am. It’s me who’ll live in the king’s apartments and me who’ll sit on the throne and when I am twenty you will go back to your estates and be forgotten and the realm will belong to me. You’re just a caretaker and if I’m not happy with the way you’ve managed things then I will make certain that you never return anywhere.” He swigged back his wine and held out his goblet to be refilled. “Now where’s that damn white magician?”

  Farrion p
ulled himself out of the comfortable chair and fetched the flaggon of wine, topping his goblet up first and pouring the the little bit which was left into Newn’s goblet. “I’ve sent for him, Your Highness. Please take my advice and treat him with care; Callabris is a powerful man and it wouldn’t be wise to upset him.”

  “Bollocks, he’s a white; he can’t even take a life without being sick whereas any one of my men could kill him without thinking about it if I wanted them to.”

  “You underestimate his powers and the strength of his protector, together they are formidable.”

  “Rot. If he were a black he would be dangerous but whites are useless, I don’t know why my father didn’t get rid of him and keep a real magician.”

  A knock on the door interrupted them before Newn could continue. A servant, now dressed in house livery instead of black, opened the door allowing the magician and his protector to enter. The tall magician, dressed all in white bowed briefly whilst behind him his protector searched the room with his eyes, finally settling them intensely on the prince. His arms hung loosely at his sides but his hands were tense as if at any second he would unsheathe the double swords that crossed at his back.

  “Well, what have you found out?”

  Callabris bowed slightly and took two steps forward. “It is as your uncle suggested, Your Highness. The landslide which swept your parents’ carriage into the ravine was not natural. There were signs that part of the hillside had been undermined and that it had been shored up with logs until the time was right to pull them away and let it slide. We found shattered logs at the bottom of the ravine and I detected traces of man sweat in the wooded area above the road.”

  “It was fortunate that this happened when they were on their way to visit you rather than when you were returning with them, wasn’t it Uncle otherwise it would have been your funeral today as well as theirs?”