Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe

by Clare Smith

  Plantagenet didn’t waste his breath on words but continued upwards, two steps at a time, until they reached their end at the entrance to Jonderill's room. Cautiously the magician entered, unsure of what magic would be present to entrap them but the room was deserted without the slightest sign of magic ever having been used there. Plantagenet left the small, cold room deep in thought and waited for Animus to join him, still puffing and blowing loudly.

  From the look on Plantagenet’s face Animus didn’t need to ask if she was there, which was just as well in his breathless state. Instead he started to retrace his steps downwards in case he had missed some clue to Daun's whereabouts. A sudden loud crash told him he was going in the wrong direction and together, careless of the consequences, the two magicians focused their power on the top step. Instantly the wall disappeared and other steps materialised and at their end a low archway. The magicians ran forward, calling to Rosera not to touch anything, and within moments they had negotiated the narrow stairs and low archway to stand in a strange room they had never seen before in their tower.

  An unnatural icy cold hit them and the effort of moving forward became as painful as wading through freezing water. In front of them a dark shadow swirled, obliterating the far wall and stopping them with the threat of its presence. A low voice, harsh and disembowelled, but clearly that of Maladran, echoed around the room giving a cry of triumph.

  "You poor, simple-minded fools, thinking you could defeat me with your silly games and pathetic counter-spells. No one cheats Maladran. Look fools! Look at your princess and weep."

  The dark shadow gathered itself into a swirling spiral and in an instant, was gone. In its place, Rosera lay on the dust covered floor where she had fallen, her golden hair fanned around her and her arms out stretched as if she were reaching for someone. At one side the golden circlet had tumbled free of its box, whilst on the other, close to her head, lay a silver statuette of a horse with flailing hooves. A small trickle of blood ran from the princess's temple, brilliant red against her deathly white skin.

  "This is all my fault!" cried Animus in anguish. "I should never have suggested leaving her alone."

  "It's both our faults," groaned Plantagenet. "I should have known that Maladran would never give in." He knelt by Daun's side and took her cold hand in his whilst Animus hovered close by, too scared to ask if his sleeping spell had worked. Plantagenet looked up and nodded sadly. "She sleeps."

  Animus gave a sigh of relief. "Thank all the gods for small mercies."

  "A small mercy it is," said Plantagenet sadly. "For now we’ll have to go and break the news to King Steppen."

  "I don't think that's a good idea," said Animus nervously. "After stealing his daughter away and keeping her hidden for all that time I don't think he's going to be very pleased when we tell him we've failed and Daun is as good as dead."

  "I suspect you're right but what can we do about it? Without her true love's first kiss she could sleep for a hundred summers."

  "Then we will have to go and find her true love," said Animus with determination.

  "You mean the boy from the forest?"

  "Precisely." All we have to do is go to the woodsman's cottage and wait for him to arrive, then we bring him back here and he kisses her. By sunset tomorrow the spell will be broken once and for all."

  From the courtyard below and the high ramparts, fanfares and cheering sounded, announcing the setting of the sun and the beginning of the wedding festivities.

  "That's tomorrow," said Plantagenet in alarm but what do we tell Steppen tonight?"

  For a moment Animus looked crestfallen and then he gave a big, beaming smile. "I know, we'll put everyone to sleep and then the king will never know how things went wrong until we've put it all right and by then he’ll be so overjoyed to see his daughter again that he won't care about one nights’ delay."

  "It seems a good idea to me but can you do it?"

  "Oh yes, simple. It's just a rewording of my earlier enchantment and just to make certain no one comes into the palace uninvited whilst the guards are asleep, I'll put a ward around the place at the same time. Now you move the princess to somewhere more comfortable whilst I work out the right words."

  Plantagenet looked a little dubious but concentrated his power into his wand to levitate the sleeping princess to the canopied bed in the guest room. With care and affection he arranged her golden hair and placed the circlet in position. He folded her hands demurely across her breast and covered her feet and legs with her fur cloak in case she should become cold. When he had finished he stepped back to admire her beauty, a single tear glistening in his eyes. He wiped it quickly away as Animus stepped forward.

  "Are you ready?"

  Animus nodded. "As ready as I will ever be." He raised his wand and began.

  Come gentle vine and finest flower,

  to keep all undisturbed in innocent bliss.

  Protect them all in sleep’s deep bower,

  until she is woken by true love's first kiss.

  Animus concentrated his power and felt his wand warm in his hand. Slowly he turned, his arm outstretched, and little by little released the enchantment. Outside the tower guards yawned and stretched and closed their eyes as they propped themselves up with halberd and spear. Heralds rested their horns and sat back against the parapets whilst all those who had come to celebrate the princess's wedding sank gently to the ground and slept. In the busy kitchen, where an army of cooks and servants prepared the night's banquet, the Housecharge gave the order to rest and sat back in his chair by the hearth. Grateful scullions curled up in sleep and the huge fire flickered and went out.

  In the Great Hall, knights led their ladies to chairs and benches and then fell asleep at their sides whilst Steppen leaned back against his throne, Porteous next to him and in a moment both were gently snoring. The city folk stopped what they were doing, overcome with weariness and found comfortable places to sleep. Horses on roadsides or in stables braced their legs and closed their eyes, whilst dogs and cats curled up comfortably together. Sky singers flying overhead settled to roost on the palace's many towers and spiders stopped their never ending spinning. Even the fountain, which bubbled and flowed in the palace courtyard, became still and a peaceful silence settled over Alewinder.

  Beyond the edge of the city thick trunks of honeyvine broke through the ground, spreading tendrils which grew into entwined vines, twice the height of a man. The vines produced long curling fingers which twisted around each other and were covered with cream flowers, heavy with the fragrance of honey, which gave the vine its name.

  Animus looked out of the tower window and yawned loudly. "Well, that seems to have done the trick. All we have to do now is go and find the young man and bring him back here."

  He yawned again, hardly able to keep his eyes open. When Plantagenet didn’t reply he turned slowly, sinking to his knees and looked at the sleeping magician through half-closed eyelids.

  "Oh my goodness, I think I've overdone it."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Perguine the Pocket

  Pellum whistled a cheerful tune as Sansun trotted along the woodland path, his ears pricked to catch any sound of danger which might be hidden by his master's unwelcome noise. The tune had come from a ditty which was currently popular in the inns’ of the six kingdoms. Although Pellum didn’t know all the words of its many verses, the chorus was a ribald account of a wanton maiden, well endowed by nature and free with her charms.

  Pellum laughed to himself at the appropriateness of the song he’d chosen and thought of the girl who would tonight become a woman. He gave his horse a good natured slap on its muscular neck and Sansun snorted in appreciation, picking his hooves up higher and almost prancing along. It was a perfect evening, warm but with just enough breeze to keep it fresh, the setting sun turning the topmost leaves burning gold and very soon, he thought, it would be a perfect night.

  Without warning Sansun came to an abrupt halt, muscles
tense and nostrils flaring. Pellum pushed himself off the horse's neck and back into the saddle and looked around to see what it was that had alarmed the stallion. His hand moved to his sword hilt and eased the blade in its scabbard as he searched the forest edge. Vinmore was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom but there were still those who would attack a single rider.

  Cautiously he peered into the shadowy forest to see who was there but unless they were very well hidden, the woodlands seemed deserted. He stroked Sansun's trembling neck, spoke some encouraging words and heeled him on. Sansun reluctantly obeyed, moving forward at a cautious walk, ears pricked and nostrils still flared to catch any scent of danger.

  When they reached the edge of the clearing where the woodsman's cottage stood Sansun stopped again, every muscle tense and this time digging his hooves into the forest floor and refusing to go on. Pellum made a cursory inspection of the clearing and dismounted. Everything appeared normal; chickens pecked fussily around the door of the cottage, smoke curled up in a thin grey line from the stone chimney and windows stood open to allow the evening breeze to enter. He stroked Sansun’s sensitive nose and gave the horse one last pat before walking jauntily across the clearing to the cottage door.

  Pellum stopped outside the cottage to straighten his tunic slightly and resettle his hunting cap with the coolly bird feather before knocking on the door. The sound seemed to echo unnaturally loud across the clearing and he shivered with a sudden uncomfortable feeling. He looked back at Sansun and wondered if this was a good idea after all but before he could change his mind and back away the door opened and the warmth of the cottage's interior invited him in. Pellum turned and gave Sansun a salute of bravado and, ignoring the stallion's snort of alarm, walked boldly into the cottage.

  For a moment all was silent and then, with a crash, the door slammed behind him. Pellum jumped at the sudden noise and swung around expecting to see one of the girl's outraged guardians. Instead he stepped back in alarm as three monstrous creatures leaped towards him. Pellum had never seen such creatures before. They were a good three hands shorter than he was but what they lost in height they made up for in bulging muscles and ferocious appearance.

  All three were identical with long snouts and mouths full of razor sharp teeth. Each had two short horns growing from their heads just above small beady eyes and two tusks that protruded downwards either side of their mouths. Their skin was dark grey and as smooth as river washed stone and as they wore no coverings he could see that they were all male.

  “Oh shit! Where in hellden have you come from?”

  He drew his sword and backed into the centre of the room giving himself more space to wield his blade but as soon as he moved other creatures appeared from behind him until he was surrounded by twelve of the grotesque monsters. He turned in a circle trying to find an advantage but whilst the creatures carried no weapons he knew his chances of getting out of the place alive were worse than poor. His only hope was to reach the door and move outside, then he would have more room and if he could reach his horse he could escape. Even if he couldn’t reach Sansun the horse would come to his aid and that would improve the odds no end.

  “Come on then you ugly bastards; let’s see how well you do with a sword in your guts.

  He plunged forward and thrust his sword at the chest of the creature which stood between him and the door. The sword point struck the grey body and snapped, sending a jarring shock up the blade and through Pellum's wrist and arm.

  “Bugger!” He shook his stinging arm and looked at what was left of his sword. “Fucking body armour!”

  With a less than elegant overhead blow he brought the remains of his sword down with all his strength on what he hoped would be the creature’s most vulnerable spot, the space between its head and shoulder. The creature gave a roar of pain as the sword connected with its neck and leaped at Pellum, knocking the shattered half of the sword to one side. Pellum clutched his wrist as if it had been broken by the jarring impact of metal on stone and raised his arm just in time to protect his face as the tusked creature crashed into him.

  The weight of the creature knocked him to the floor but he rolled once and was on his feet again in a heartbeat. With grunts and snarls the surrounding circle of creatures pulled back allowing their leader more room to fight. It snorted loudly like a wild tusker and rushed forward but Pellum leapt to one side and the creature careered into another of the monsters, knocking it to the ground with a howl of rage. Pellum saw the opening and, taking his chance, dashed through the gap which had been made, getting as far as the hearth before the snarling creatures once again surrounded him.

  They started to move forward closing the circle and he looked around desperate to find some sort of weapon to defend himself. The nearest thing to a sword was a heavy fire iron and he grabbed it just as one of the creatures leapt forward. He brought it down with all his force on the shoulder of the charging creature stopping it dead in its tracks. The monster howled and staggered backwards leaving behind a smashed arm of solid grey stone.

  Pellum swung the heavy fire iron around him, slowing their advance, and started to edge his way along the wall to the door. He’d made it half way there when the creatures charged, all twelve at once. The fire iron connected with one, smashing down into its skull and shattering the monster’s head into sharp splinters of stone but the others were instantly upon him and forced him to the ground.

  He wrapped his arms around his head to protect himself but they were roughly pulled away and bound behind his back. Heavy ropes were wrapped around his body pressing so tightly that he could barely breathe and pinning his arms to his sides so he couldn’t move. Other ropes bound his ankles and knees until he was helpless. Finally a heavy sack was pulled over his head and tied at his throat so that he was plunged into complete darkness.

  For a moment he was left on the floor at his captors’ mercy and he waited with his heart pounding for them to take their revenge for the death and mutilation of one of their pack but the revenge never came. Instead strong hands and muscular arms took tight hold of him along the length of his body and lifted him from the floor. He could feel himself being hoisted into the air high above the creatures’ heads and their sharp horns and then there was movement and a sensation of being carried forward at speed. Pellum closed his eyes and prayed.

  *

  Jonderill looked up from his half empty goblet of flat ale and wondered how much longer he could make the drink last. The innkeeper, a large man with heavy muscles and broken teeth had already looked at him twice and he was certain the next time the innkeeper would insist on him purchasing food and drink or leave his place at the rickety table to someone who would spend a gellstart or two.

  It wasn't that he didn't have any coin but what he had needed to go a long way if he were going to make it as far as the great ocean. He’d no idea why he wanted to go there except that he’d been fascinated by Plantagenet’s description of rolling blue waters for as far as the eye could see. There was always the thought that in Tarbis, or perhaps on the far side of the ocean, he would find a clue to his identity.

  A shadow fell across the table and he looked up to find the innkeeper standing in front of the smoking oil lamp, his massive arms crossed, staring at him in annoyance. Jonderill swallowed his flat ale and ordered another goblet, bread and cheese and paid with one of his three remaining silver gellstart. The innkeeper slapped a few drac in change back onto the table but it wasn’t enough to buy a sleeping place for the night in the hayloft. Jonderill shrugged, he was getting used to sleeping in the hedge bottom but it wasn’t his preferred choice.

  He had to be particularly careful now as he’d crossed the border into Leersland where vagrants, if they were caught, became bound servants, unless they could prove they had a trade or they were mercenary soldiers looking for work. His situation would result in a fate worse than that and even though the brand on his arm was small and faded with time he instinctively checked to ensure that it was covered. It made him sick
to know that he was considered to be worth less than a vagrant in this land. He was an escaped kingsward and his life would always belong to the King of Leersland. If he was captured he would be returned and his fate would undoubtedly be slavery or death. Despite his current misery neither was a happy prospect.

  As he slowly nibbled his dried up and slightly mouldy cheese he tried to consider his options. He’d come to the inn hoping to be able to stay there until it emptied and then perhaps sleep under the table in exchange for chopping wood the following day. Unfortunately it had soon become clear that the innkeeper was a surly man who would as easily betray him to the kingsguard for a few drac as let him work for a night’s sleep.

  He looked around the old inn with its broken furniture and smoking lamp light and thought that the landlord could do with some help. The walls were a dirty yellow, becoming dark brown towards the ceiling where the smoke from the oil lamps collected. The tables were old and scarred and in need of scrubbing, whilst the floor was littered with rubbish and moulding food scraps squashed into layers of dried mud. What else lived there was uncertain but he could make a good guess. It was a foul place and he suddenly felt grateful for not having the chance to sleep there for the night.

  Loud peals of laughter made him look up as three men, the youngest barely older than he was, entered the inn and immediately demanded service and a table. The low murmur of voices in the inn increased to an excited buzz and the innkeeper immediately sent his pot boy out to spread the word that three couriers had arrived at the inn. Jonderill had seen their like before in the inn owned by Barrin’s father. He knew that this place was shortly going to become very busy as the villagers came to listen to the despatch riders.

  They not only carried the letters of the rich and powerful but news to every village and town across the length and breadth of the six kingdoms. Wherever they stopped to rest they were made as welcome as kings and given free food and ale in exchange for news. Jonderill popped the last of the cheese into his mouth, grabbed his half-filled mug and moved as close to them as he could. The landlord cleared a space in the centre of the inn and spread the largest table he had with roasted meat, pickled vegetables, bread and fresh cheeses as well as a large flagon of wine and a stone jug of ale.