The White Robe (The Sword and the Spell)

by Clare Smith

  He led the way back to the remains of the camp site and dropped the bag of armour beside the log around the empty fire ring. Before he’d finished cleaning the first piece, Dozo approached with bread and cheese in one hand and Jonderill’s grey robe draped across his other arm. He held it out for Jonderill to take.

  “It took a bit of drying but all the stains have come out.”

  Jonderill held it up and studied the garment. “Many thanks for having a go at it. I think the sun has bleached it a bit but apart from that it looks as good as new.” He folded the robe in half and rolled it into a ball.

  Dozo gave the protector a quizzical look and turned back to Jonderill. “Aren’t you going to wear it?”

  Jonderill shook his head. “No, not unless you want these clothes back which you lent me.” He looked between the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” said Allowyn, “Unless…” He was interrupted by the sound of approaching horses which drew their attention.

  Around the camp the men stopped what they were doing and ran into a defensive line with Allowyn at its centre and Jonderill behind. A piercing whistle in the near distance followed by another announced the arrival of friends and the whole line of men relaxed their grip on their sword hilts. A dozen grey clad armsmen rode into the camp, tired, lathered and dusty and in the middle of them trotted a silver-grey stallion a hand and a half taller than any of the other horses. It barged its way through the escort using its teeth when one horse and rider were slow to move out of his way and walked up to Jonderill giving him a playful head butt in the chest.

  Jonderill staggered back a step and then threw his arms around the horse’s neck. “Sansun! Am I glad to see you.” The horse gave a gentle whicker in reply.

  “Any problems?” asked Allowyn.

  The man at the front of the troop, who Jonderill thought was one of the leaders that had rescued him from the slave caravan, shook his head. “None at all. The guards at the river crossing were easily persuaded that it was better to return Jonderill’s things than to be dead. They were a little more reluctant to pay interest or damages but in the end they saw sense.” There was some laughter amongst the rest of the troop.

  “We had no problem finding the horse, in fact, he found us and as long as we didn’t try to mount him or lead him the horse was happy to come along.” He looked at Jonderill who was gently stroking the horse’s nose. “That’s a very special horse you have there; you need to be more careful about where you leave him.” He beckoned to one of the armsmen who came forward with a large bundle which he handed to Jonderill. “I think these belong to you.”

  Jonderill put the bundle on the ground and undid the straps around it whilst the troop leader dismounted and took Allowyn to one side. Wrapped inside the blanket were his own clothes, the sword that Swordmaster Dilor had given him and Plantagenet’s old iron blade. The small bag of gold which had been a gift from Animus seemed to have grown heavier and the parchment with his pardon from King Steppen was noticeably more crumpled. The only things that were missing were his introduction to Callabris, which he no longer needed, and Maladran’s golden torc. He was sorry that it had gone but thought he was probably better off without it.

  “Thank you,” he said to the armsman and then repeated his thanks to Allowyn.

  Allowyn nodded in acknowledgement and then moved Jonderill to one side. “They also found this.” He handed Jonderill a black silk bag. Jonderill loosened the neck of the bag and took a brief looked inside; the ruby eyes embedded in the torc glowed in the darkness. “Do you know what this is?”

  Jonderill nodded. “It’s the torc Maladran wore.”

  Allowyn gave him a questioning look and shook his head. “The thing is evil Jonderill. You need to keep it safe and out of sight until we reach the Enclave and then give it into the keeping of the High Master.” He turned back to his waiting armsmen. “Now that matter is dealt with we can proceed with the goddess’s business. When the horses are watered we’ll take Jonderill to meet Federa.”

  *

  Jonderill rode up next to Allowyn and pulled Sansun to a stop. They had been riding westwards for nearly three and a half days across increasingly barren hills and through small woodlands. The weather had been pleasant with clear skies and a slight but cool breeze. It seemed to raise the spirits of the men as they rode and they talked and laughed whilst Jonderill became more and more nervous. Standing next to Allowyn, in the clear morning sunlight, he could see right across the valley to the steeply wooded hill on the other side and the distant mountains which reached to the horizon.

  The valley sides here were steep and rocky although further along the valley they were greener and less steep. There was only the one well ridden pathway winding downwards from where they had stopped and an equally steep pathway leading upwards on the other side. Neither pathway would give easy access for a large force if it wished to reach the valley bottom at speed. On the floor of the valley, surrounded by a patchwork of cultivated fields, stood the goddess’s Enclave, a dark and menacing presence in an otherwise green and peaceful setting.

  Sunlight reflected off the crystals buried deep within the grey granite walls, but instead of rainbow colours, the reflected light cast deep shadows across the barren land around it so that the very outline of the city seemed to blur. A line of pillars stood sentinel on each side of the roadway leading up to a towering archway supported on either side by two turrets. Even from this distance Jonderill could see the soldiers who guarded their crenulated walkways. Other turrets and towers broke up the continuous line of the outer wall whilst close to the entrance of the Enclave, towering above the walls, was a huge dome which glowed the colour of dried blood in the early morning sunlight.

  The size of the Enclave took Jonderill by surprise. He’d expected a small village built around a stone temple, but instead the goddess’s Enclave was the size of a city, and a well guarded one at that. He sat and stared at the dark city gates and the doubts that had troubled him since Allowyn had first told him of the goddess’s call grew tenfold.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Allowyn, breaking the silence.

  “You never said it was so big and that so many people worshiped Federa here.”

  Allowyn laughed at Jonderill’s surprise. “There are only ever a few of us who are devoted to Federa and worship at her temple but there are many many more who live and prosper under her protection.”

  He pointed to the eastern side of the Enclave where a grey pall of smoke hung over a corner of the city. “Craftsmen all live and work in the east of the city and where you see the smoke rising, that’s where the metal smiths can be found. Smiths from all over the known world come to perfect and ply their craft there and the weapons and armour they produce is the finest in all the six kingdoms.

  The High Master controls the sale of all the smiths produce ensuring that a balance is kept between each of the armies of the six kingdoms. The same goes for leather goods or silks or anything which would give one kingdom an advantage over the others. It has been that way since Federa brought magic to our land and I pray to the goddess that High Master Razarin has the strength to keep it that way.”

  He pointed to the west side of the city where a large stone building with rows of windows could be seen rising just above the city walls. “That’s the House of Learning where the Enclave’s acolytes discover what their calling is to be. All those who wear the white and the black have passed through its doors.”

  “It’s a big place for so few,” commented Jonderill.

  “It would be if it were just for magicians, but the finest administrators in the six kingdoms and in lands beyond our shores have learnt their trade there. Everyone who goes through those halls learns the ways of the goddess and of peace and justice as well as how to keep records and accounts. It’s another way that the High Master keeps the balance within the six kingdoms.”

  “And the protectors, where do they fit in all this?”

  “We have no single pl
ace which is ours in the Enclave. We work with the craftsmen in their quarter or learn with the acolytes in the House of Learning or train with the masters in the area beyond the city. In between that we man the walls and attend to the goddess’s business. We do as the High Master commands until the day we are paired with a white robe and then we do as they command until the day we die.”

  Jonderill raised an eyebrow, “That is a lot of doing what others command. I’m surprised that anyone would want to be a protector.”

  “You’d be surprised how many do. As I told you before, being a protector is a good life and the greatest honour any armsman can ever achieve but only a few are ever paired, the rest are used by the High Master to maintain the balance of power in the six kingdoms or do his bidding.”

  “It seems to me that High Master Razarin has a lot of influence and power without being a king. Don’t the other kings object to his interference?”

  Allowyn shrugged. “The goddess’s representative has always been respected in the six kingdoms and until recent times the rulers have always followed his guidance and put the welfare of the six kingdoms before their own ambitions.”

  Jonderill looked skeptical.”What about Tallison of Sandstrone? Killing your own brother to gain a throne seems ambitious to me.”

  “We are forbidden to talk about Sandstrone. In fact, I shouldn’t be telling you about any of this; when the High Master wishes you to know something, he or his masters will tell it to you.”

  Allowyn kicked his horse forward leading the way down the steep path and Jonderill watched him with concern, not certain if he had been reprimanded or not, as the rest of the troop followed behind.

  Only Dozo hung back and as he passed Jonderill he leant slightly out of his saddle so that the others couldn’t hear what he had to say. “Don’t you mind Allowyn too much; he gets a bit moody when anyone talks about Sandstrone. You see, he and his brother were very close and when his brother and his magician were killed Allowyn wanted revenge, but the High Master never allowed him to take it. Callabris and he are too valuable to risk their lives going into Sandstrone and it burns him up inside whenever it gets talked about. He’ll be okay again when Callabris returns.”

  Dozo rode on to catch up with the rest of the troop who were eager to return to their homes and Jonderill followed behind, the only one reluctant to reach his destination. His reluctance increased as he approached the city and the shadow of the sixteen huge pillars crossed the cobbled roadway in front of him. Sansun slowed and then came to a halt as if he too was unsure if he wanted to go any closer to the Enclave. Jonderill looked around him and then up at the first pair of pillars.

  The pillars were made of buff coloured stone and from a distance, looked to be plain, but up close he could see that each was carved with unfamiliar lettering and strange symbols. In between the unfamiliar words were strange creatures which seemed to twist and move around the stone pillars as if they were alive. Some were similar to the woodland creatures that he had grown up with or had hunted in Vinmore’s forest, but with parts of their body out of proportion or with extra claws or tusks, whilst others looked like demons or creatures out of a nightmare.

  Jonderill urged Sansun to move forward to the next pair of pillars which were different again. Instead of creatures being carved into the stone, dark figures of beaten metal had been fixed to the pillars, their cloaks seeming to ripple and sparkle as the sunlight reflected off them. Sansun shifted nervously beneath him and Jonderill could almost feel the power radiating off them. He moved Sansun onwards where figures, some with wands in hand, had been carved into the stone. Other figures, smaller but wearing strange armour and with curved swords stood behind them interspersed with the outlines of cities with impossibly tall spires.

  He moved on and stared in awe as thousands of tiny carved soldiers marched in columns round and round the pillars from their fluted tops to their broad bases. Some wore ancient armour and carried old fashioned wooden bows, whilst others looked like the soldiers of Vinmore or Leersland or any of the other six kingdoms. In amongst them, made of beaten bronze and fixed to the pillars, were protectors with their double swords. Jonderill tried to make out if one of them was Allowyn, but his search was interrupted by Dozo riding up alongside him.

  “My Lord Jonderill, it’s not wise to stay in the shadow of the Pillars of the Allkinds for long, and in any case, you must come at once, you have been summoned to the High Master’s presence and he waits for no one.”

  Jonderill felt a moment of concern. Allowyn had told him that it would be days, perhaps even a moon cycle, before High Master Razarin would see him, and he could use that time to wash and repair his clothes and become accustomed to living in the Enclave and the way of the masters. It looked like that luxury was going to be denied to him. Dozo rode behind Jonderill almost herding him forward and Sansun snapped irritably every time his horse came too close.

  “Does the High Master usually summon people before they’ve arrived at the Enclave?” Jonderill asked.

  “No, My Lord, never, or at least not since I have been at the Enclave and that is over thirty summers now.”

  He jostled Jonderill forward again passed the other pairs of pillars, not giving him the chance to see what was engraved on them, and then fell back as Jonderill and Sansun reached the archway which was the main entrance to the city. Beneath the archway stood two severe looking men in grey robes, their hair cut short and their hands hidden in their wide sleeves. The rest of the troop had disappeared from view and only Allowyn remained kneeling to one side of the two grey robes with his head bowed. Jonderill could feel Sansun tense beneath him as if he was about to bolt so he slid from the saddle and took hold of his bridle, gently stroking his long nose to calm him.

  The taller of the two grey robes looked him up and down with a sneer of disdain on his face, whilst the other dismissed Allowyn with a wave of his hand. Dozo trotted forward and wrestled Sansun’s reins from his hands, giving him an apologetic smile before he led the horse away. Jonderill tried hard not to look as confused as he felt.

  “The High Master has summoned you to his presence,” stated the grey robe who seemed to be in charge without bothering with a greeting. “You will follow me with your head bowed and your eyes lowered. You will not look at anyone and you will speak to no one unless you are commanded to do so.”

  Both grey robes turned away and started striding into the city and Jonderill followed behind. Just beyond the archway the cobbled road separated into two, with one road going east and the other west. Where they forked, a smooth pathway of red veined marble, like veins in a man’s hand, led straight on towards the huge temple building. Jonderill followed them along the pathway feeling a bit like a miscreant as people stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

  He could hear their whispers as he passed them and even some sniggering laughter from a group of young men in short cloaks and light grey robes who lounged against a nearby wall. The pathway ended abruptly in a flight of dull red marble steps that led up to the double temple doors. They were huge, at least the height of two men and six arm spans across. Each door had a large metal ring at the edge of its centre post and was bound in silver and bronze.

  When the grey robes reached the bottom of the steps they turned and glowered at Jonderill. “Remove your clothes and boots,” commanded the grey robe.

  “Why?” demanded Jonderill looking defiantly from man to man.

  “You will do as you are commanded or you will leave the Enclave immediately,” snapped the other. “And you will do it in silence.”

  Jonderill hesitated for a moment trying to decide if he really wanted to be here and conform to their petty rules or if he should just take Sansun and ride away to find a different life. He thought of his attempts so far at travelling the roads alone and decided that a little bit of humiliation was probably going to be worth it. With a resigned shrug he removed his boots, noticing that a fairly large crowd had gathered behind him to watch and he tried to ignore th
em.

  He took off his leather jerkin and folded it neatly over his boots followed by his shirt. A mumble of disapproval erupted behind him which was instantly silenced by a stern look from the grey robe. Jonderill self consciously fingered the faded brand on his forearm but wasn’t sure if it was that which had caused the comments behind him or the welts and bruises across his back. He looked down at the leggings which covered his ankles and feet and his breaches and then defiantly back at the grey robe.

  “I said remove your clothes.”

  Jonderill hesitated and then took a deep breath and removed his breaches and leggings doing his best to ignore the whispering crowds behind him.

  “Enough!” said the shorter of the pair when Jonderill reluctantly started to remove his small clothes. “You will wait here until you are summoned.”

  He waved a servant forward who collected the pile of clothes and disappeared into the crowd. The grey robes gave him one last disparaging look and turned their backs on him without saying another word. He watched as they climbed the marble stairs and disappeared through a small door to one side of the great doors bound in bronze and silver. Jonderill remained where he was, goose bumps starting to prick at his skin as a chill breeze blew over his naked flesh.