by Clare Smith
“Unfortunately my sister saw what had happened and started to scream, so I pointed my fingers at her too. By the time my pa missed her, her ashes had blown away on the wind. I was a bit more careful after that, but got caught eventually trying to cook the family grunter whilst it was still alive. Pa nearly beat me to death for it, and sent for the prince’s guard; he said I was demented. The upshot was I was sent to the Enclave to be tested.” Sadrin laughed and shook his head at the memory. “I nearly burnt the school of learning down without even trying. They said I was a freak and tried to block my magic, but it didn’t work; every time I got angry, something would go up in flames.
“Eventually they found out how to control me. If they kept me weak, beaten, starved and abused me, I couldn’t call on the fire within me, but I found that there are other ways to kill those who torment you. It would have been kinder if they’d done away with me there and then, but their kind don’t do that sort of thing, so they sent me to Essenland’s silver mines instead. I was put into one of the deepest mines where they work you without rest until you drop, and then they beat you bloody to make sure you’re not faking.
“Prince Vorgret found me there and gave me back my life. He gave me a safe place to live, time to learn how to control my gift and encouragement to develop other talents. He gave me the robe I wear, the slave who attends me and everything else that I have. In return I deal with his enemies for him, I go where he says I should go, and most of the time, I do what he tells me to do.”
He threw a branch on the fire and watched the flames leap upwards with a look of wonder. “Not a very edifying story is it? It’s not the life I always dreamed of, but it’s better than any sort of life that I’ve had so far. What about you, Jonderill, is your story any better? How did you come to the exalted position of wearing the white and yet be under attack and fighting for your life?”
Jonderill shook his head. “My story’s not much better. I was a kingsward, rescued by a magician and sold as a slave. Rescued again by two old magicians, captured for a slave and ended up at the Enclave, where my experience was only marginally better than your own. Callabris of the white took me in, and for a while, I was the property of King Borman. I didn’t like what he was or what Callabris did with his magic in the name of service to his king, so I left and took these others with me.” He looked over his shoulder at Tarraquin and her friends deep in conversation by an everleaf tree and wondered what they were talking about so earnestly.
Sadrin gave a small ironic laugh. “You know, you and I are much alike; unwanted, abused by others and having to make our own place in the world. It seems that Borman is very much like Vorgret. He wouldn’t let his possessions get up and walk away without trying to get them back either, but I’m surprised that Borman sent guards to kill you and not Callabris to fetch you back.”
“Callabris would have refused; he wouldn’t do anything to harm me.”
“Don’t be so sure, he comes from a family of turncoats who are renowned for doing almost anything for their own prestige and comfort. What do you say, protector, you must have heard some of the rumours about Callabris and his family when you were training at the Enclave?”
Tissian shook his head and stared at the fire. “It’s not the place of a protector to talk about a white robe or their family.” He looked up at the expectant faces of one magician and then the other and shook his head. “But it’s strange that Borman didn’t send him after us, especially as he sent Callabris to track down Istan and the others. From what Jarrul says it was only by luck that he survived.”
“You see what I mean? You need to be careful, Jonderill, Callabris may wear a white robe but that doesn’t make him pure and clean.”
He took the wine skin which Jonderill held out to him, hesitating as he noticed the scar on his arm. “I see you wear the mark of a kingsward. I knew one once, we were chained together for a while until they beat him to death. He was a big bear of a man, full of fight when he first came to the pits with his number branded on his arm, but they broke him, like they did all the others. He told me his pa was quartered as a murderer but didn’t say much else, so I’ve always wondered what being a kingsward was like.”
“It’s like being in hellden’s halls. A filthy compound where they put orphans and the children of felons until they’re raped and murdered, die of starvation or are old enough to be worked to death.”
Sadrin chuckled to himself. “Which one were you, orphan or felon’s get?”
“I don’t know. I have no memories of who I am or how I ended up being a kingsward.”
“Really? If I were in your boots I would really want to know which. Don’t you?”
Jonderill shrugged. “I always thought that it would be better not to know. Callabris did offer to remove the memory block that Maladran of the black put in place, but I refused to let him do it. I thought it was the right choice at the time but now I’m on my own again, I’m not so sure.”
Sadrin leant forward almost eagerly. “If you could change that decision, would you?”
“I suppose so, but the chance has gone.”
“Possibly not.” Jonderill looked up questioningly. “I told you that Vorgret gave me time and encouragement to develop other talents. It was part of my therapy, as it helped me to stop burning things down without meaning to. Well one of my talents is the ability to walk through someone’s past. What I do isn’t like unblocking someone’s memory, which Callabris said he could do, because when I help people they don’t actually see anything and the memory remains hidden, but most of the time it’s enough to find out what’s gone before. It’s a useful gift for meting out justice to those accused of wrong doing, not that Vorgret takes much notice of what I say, he tends to condemn anyone who comes before him as it keeps his mines supplied with workers.”
Jonderill thought about it for a moment. “Could you see my past?”
“I probably could, although I have never tried it on a brother before.”
“How would my master know that what you were telling him was the truth?” interrupted Tissian suspiciously. He had finished cleaning his long knife and had put it to one side whilst he started on one of his swords.
“Good point. Trust I suppose.” Tissian looked sceptical. “Or by holding something of magic which belongs to Jonderill. If my magic was directed through that he would know if I was making things up.”
Jonderill nodded in understanding and crossed to where their saddles and gear had been stacked. He pulled a black silk bag out of its keeping place and returned to his seat by the fire. Carefully he opened the drawstrings and pulled out the torc.
“Bloody hellden!” shrieked Sadrin, scuttling backwards as fast as he could away from the presence of the torc. “What in the goddess’s name is that?”
Jonderill looked down at the torc in his hands, the eyes of the entwining demon pulsing a blood red. He took a look at Sadrin’s horrified face and slipped it back in its bag and pulled the drawstring tightly closed. “It’s the torc Maladran the black gave me as his parting gift. I’m sorry; I didn’t think how it might affect others of the black.”
“Just keep that evil thing covered up will you and well away from me.”
Jonderill nodded and took the black silk bag back to its hiding place. “I’ve something else here which should do, it’s an old iron blade that was given to me by a friend and has served me well, only you’ll have to come and get it, you know how it is with white robes and weapons.”
Sadrin laughed and came to where Jonderill stood, drawing the old blade from his roll of belongings and looking very unimpressed. “You haven’t actually tried using this thing have you?”
“I’ve used it once or twice for getting into places where I shouldn’t be, but I’ve never used it as a weapon.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Sadrin put a friendly arm around Jonderill’s shoulders and led him back to the fire. “Come, this is simple and I promise it won’t hurt. You just need to touch one end of it very lightly and cl
ose your eyes and I’ll do the rest.”
Tissian watched him closely from the other side of the fire, his sword across his knees and a throwing knife in his hand.
Sadrin looked at him nervously. “Jonderill, would you mind telling your fang hound there to relax and that I’m not going to harm you before he loses his sense of fun and plants one of those very sharp pointy things inside of me.”
It was Jonderill’s turn to laugh, even with his face deathly white and his arm bandaged from wrist to shoulder, his protector looked dangerous. “It’s all right, Tissian, I’ve given Sadrin leave to do this.”
Tissian nodded and relaxed slightly but still held onto the throwing knife.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be.” Jonderill closed his eyes and waited for something to happen.
Sadrin touched the end of the blade and closed his eyes knowing that from across the fire Tissian was watching, waiting for any sign of treachery. For a moment it made him feel like a boy again, expecting to be beaten for using his gift, but then he pushed the memory aside and concentrated on what he was doing. When he had finished he removed his hand from the iron blade and gave out an appreciative whistle.
“Oh, Jonderill, are you something special or what?”
Jonderill opened his eyes and blinked, feeling slightly dizzy and confused. “I don’t understand?”
“No, you don’t, do you? You have no idea. Well, I can tell you that the reason you were a kingsward is that you are an orphan, not a felon’s get, but that’s only the half of it. Jonderill, my friend, you have a family that anyone in the six kingdoms would give an eye for. Have you ever heard of Coberin the white?” Jonderill nodded. “Well, that’s where you get your gift of magic from, Coberin was your father.”
Jonderill shot to his feet. “But how can that be so, surely I would have known?”
Sadrin shrugged. “Not if your memory was blocked.” He gave a chuckle of laughter. “And of course that makes Callabris your uncle. It’s no wonder Borman wanted you back so badly!”
“No, that’s not so, Callabris doesn’t know who I am.”
Sadrin shook his head. “I’m sorry to disillusion you, Jonderill, but he does, he’s been into your memories. The block is still in place but it’s been breached and Callabris’s signature is all over it. You’ve been raped, Jonderill, by your own uncle.”
Jonderill collapsed back to his seat by the fire as if the air had been let out of him. “Callabris wouldn’t do that to me, I trusted him.”
Sadrin just gave a cynical laugh. “Trust isn’t something which runs deep in your family, my friend, and with Callabris least of all. I have heard that his old master’s death was very suspicious and within a few days he had left Tarbis and a grieving heir, who was no more than a boy, to serve his master’s old enemy, King Borman. Even your own father, the revered Coberin, walked out on his master and left King Duro to die. If he had kept to his trust King Duro would still be on the throne of Sandstrone instead of that magician-hating little shit, Tallison.” Jonderill shook his head in denial. “So you still think Callabris would do nothing to harm you? Are you going to tell him, protector, or shall I?”
Tissian scowled at Sadrin but answered anyway. “When we were in Tarmin, Callabris put an enchantment on you to make you slow and compliant. Allowyn told me about it and I was going to tell you, but once we left the fortress the enchantment faded, so there didn’t seem to be much point.”
Jonderill shook his head again trying to come to terms with what he had been told, whilst everything he believed in lay in ashes around him.
“Your past memories are very confused, but there’s more I can tell you if you want to hear about it?”
He looked up. “I might as well, there can’t be much more that will turn my life upside down.”
“Well, for a start you know Tallison, or at least you’ve been in his presence. When he killed his brother he must have feared Coberin would turn against him, because it seems that he tricked his protector, Jonderill, after whom you were named, into leaving his master’s side for a short while. You were there when Tallison led the attack on the village where Coberin and you were staying and you saw Tallison taking Coberin’s hands.
“I don’t know what happened to him afterwards, but you were left as bait for the protector. I guess Tallison thought Jonderill would come after him for revenge and didn’t fancy looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Anyway, you remember Tallison’s men catching up with you and him as he crossed into Leersland, and then there’s a whole lot of fighting, and the next thing, Jonderill is given to Leersland’s guards to die on the crossed pikes. It must have been Tallison who arranged it all, including you being given over to be a kingsward on the certainty that you would die a most unpleasant death.”
Jonderill remained silent, staring into the fire whilst he tried to bring some order to his whirling thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Jonderill, that my talent couldn’t weave a better story for you, but that’s the truth of your past as far as I can tell from your memories.”
“It’s not your fault, you can only tell me what’s there; I only wish that others had been as honest with me as you have been.” He stood, still staring into the flames. “High Master Razarin once called me naive and a fool, and now I think he was right. If you don’t mind I think I’d like to be alone, I have a lot to think about and some decisions to make. I’ll take the first watch and let you and Tissian get some sleep.”
“I understand. If you want to talk some more, Jonderill, please wake me or we can talk at watch change if you want, I don’t need much sleep.”
Sadrin watched him walk away into the darkness, a small, secret smile on his face which he kept hidden from Tissian. He wondered if he should tell him of the other things he had learnt, but decided against it; perhaps he would ask Nyte what she thought. When Tissian started to rise in order to follow his master, Sadrin pushed him back into his place, and the protector reluctantly stayed where he was. Within moments he was asleep, exhausted from the day’s fighting, loss of blood and the ache of his wounds.
Now the excitement was over, Sadrin sudden felt lonely and looked towards the others, hoping for some company and a chance to join in their conversation, but they had already settled down for the night. Instead he thought about sharing his bed roll with his slave and asking her what she thought about Jonderill’s past, but she too was curled up with her head under her blanket. Disappointed, he settled down for the night, wondering what he could tell of Nyte’s past if she would only let him.
The sun was still low in the sky when Jonderill opened his eyes to the new day. He had stayed on watch until the darkest part of the night, turning things over in his mind until he had made his decisions, and then, when Sadrin came to relieve him, he had slept deeply and without dreaming. For the last candle length, he had lain awake with his eyes closed, going over his plans, and listening to the sounds of the camp as the others started moving around. He could hear horses being saddled and trail provisions being prepared, so he guessed that he wasn’t the only one who had reached some decisions about their future during the night.
In the light of day he reviewed his own decided course of action for one last time, trying to judge if it was the right thing to do or not, but as no other thought besides that of revenge occurred to him, he knew what it was he had to do. He pushed his blanket aside, sat up and surveyed the activity in the camp. Most of the horses were saddled and ready to go, just leaving Sansun and Tissian’s mount unattended to and tied to a bush by the tree. He was surprised that Tissian hadn’t saddled them ready for travel but perhaps it was a bit difficult with his injured arm.
All the gear had been sorted, and the remaining provisions shared out with their portion stacked in a neat pile by the fire. Some hot bread was keeping warm on a stone near the fire, and water with herb tea was heating in a small pot on some glowing embers. Whilst Tarraquin, Birrit and Jarrul were dressed ready for travel, Tissian sa
t with his back to a log on the other side of the fire wrapped in blankets, his face flushed and dark rings under his eyes. His weapons were by his side but for once, he wasn’t cleaning or repairing them. Instead his hands lay still in his lap. He looked up and gave Jonderill a weak smile.
“Good morning, master. I thought you would want to travel as soon as you woke, so I asked Jarrul if he would gather our things together, which he has done. Unfortunately Tarraquin wouldn’t let him saddle the horses, but it won’t take us long to do that.”
He slumped back against the log as if the effort of talking had taken all his energy. Jonderill knelt next to him and didn’t have to touch him to feel the heat coming off his body. Tarraquin walked up behind them and handed Jonderill a pot of steaming herb tea which smelled as if there was something else in it.