by Clare Smith
“What happened?”
“Some people I knew in Vinmore had a problem so I went back to help them.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t get there; the great Southern Ocean is worth seeing. I went there once with my brother; his name was Jonderill too which is why I thought you might have come from Essenland.”
Jonderill looked at him quizzically. “Where is he now?”
“Dead. He was a protector like me but he died trying to protect his master, or at least that is what we believe. Neither his body nor the remains of his magician were ever found although we are pretty certain that Tallison destroyed his brother’s magician when he murdered his brother to take the throne of Sandstrone.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was Allowyn’s turn to shrug. “Don’t be, we both knew what could happen to us when we took up our calling as protectors, but neither of us would have it any other way, you wait and see.”
“Have you always been a protector?” asked Jonderill curiously, not certain what a protector was.
“Aye, nearly all my adult life. I was called by the goddess in my twelfth summer which is a bit old for a protector to start training, but I’ve always had a bit of magic, you know, enough to light a fire or move small objects a short distance or open the occasional door. I think it was that which brought me to the attention of the goddess. I trained at the Enclave for ten winters before I was eventually paired with Callabris. I was beginning to think I would never be called to serve and would spend the rest of my days as an armsman like these men you see here.”
Jonderill looked thoughtful. “So not everyone who is taken to the goddess’s Enclave becomes a protector or a magician?”
“Good goddess, no. If they did there would be magicians and protectors everywhere and that would cause chaos. No, there is a natural order to things, ordained by the goddess and controlled through the High Master who is Federa’s voice and the master of all those who live, work and study in the Enclave.”
“Then if I decide to go to the Enclave with you I could spend the next ten winters learning to be just a man at arms?”
Allowyn frowned and shook his head. “As I told you this morning, you have no choice in whether you go or not. The goddess has called for you and even the High Master cannot override her wishes, although I heard that he doubted the wisdom of taking you in. You see most acolytes are called before their tenth summer and some are even born in the Enclave in the shadow of Federa’s temple.
“They all go there hoping they will become a magician, but those who have no power train to be the best at whatever talents they were born with, whether it’s blacksmithing, farming or healing or anything else. And everyone learns the use of arms in case they are called upon to become a protector and to be paired with a white robe that has come into their power.”
“What did you train as?”
Allowyn looked down at his feet and shuffled them around piling up a small mound of earth and leaves between his toes. “I had some magic so they thought I might be a white robe but I never got any further than producing a bit of elemental fire and opening the door to the wine store. I got into a fight in my third summer and accidently killed someone and after that, all the magic I produced got absorbed into my fighting skills.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Like my brothers before me I am one hellden of a good protector and I have a fine life travelling the six kingdoms serving my master. On the rare occasions when he cannot take me with him it gives me the chance to return to the Enclave to hone my skills and renew my vows to Federa. Callabris is a good man who I would be proud to lay down my life for should the need arise.”
“I would have thought magicians would have been able to defend themselves; Maladran never had a problem with that.”
Allowyn looked at Jonderill in surprise. “You knew Maladran?” Jonderill just nodded. “Maladran was of the black and has no need of protection unless it’s protection from himself. Callabris is of the white and cannot use his magic to protect himself or to kill another, that’s why he needs me.”
“What about Plantagenet and Animus?”
Allowyn gave a gentle laugh. “Both are retired from a long life serving the six kingdoms. In her wisdom Federa left them enough magic to live in comfort but not enough to cause themselves or anyone else any harm.”
Jonderill laughed. “You have clearly never been around Animus when he’s trying to use his wand.”
They both laughed and sat in companionable silence for a while watching the activity of the camp.
“I can’t think why your goddess should take an interest in me; you’ve seen how much magic I have and that’s after being apprenticed to Plantagenet and Animus for more summers than I care to count. I probably have enough talent to make a mediocre armsman, either that or the goddess has made a mistake.”
“The goddess has her own reasons for who she calls and she certainly doesn’t confide in the likes of me, but when we reach the Enclave the masters will test you and if it’s Federa’s will, you will discover what your calling is to be.”
“Tests! What tests?”
Allowyn shrugged. “Everyone has a different test but nobody has been harmed by them yet.”
“There’s always a first time,” muttered Jonderill under his breath.
“It could be that Federa is seeking a new servant or even a protector for the future. Since the passing of Coberin there haven’t been enough white robes in the six kingdoms to maintain the balance of power so someone must come into their power soon.” Jonderill looked confused.
“I am not permitted to say more but the masters will explain everything to you when we reach the Enclave. Until then I think I need to teach you how to use a sword so that you can at least protect yourself next time someone tries to take you prisoner against your will.” He held out his hand and pulled Jonderill to his feet. “The meat won’t be ready until moonset and some exercise will ease your stiffness.” He laughed at Jonderill’s look of uncertainty. “Don’t worry, I’ll go gently with you.”
Together they walked across the camp to the open area where Jonderill had seen the guards practicing with Allowyn earlier, stopping to borrow Dozo’s sword on the way. The protector handed the hilt of the sword to Jonderill and went to show him how to hold the blade but Jonderill ignored him, made a few practice swings and walked away to take up a defensive stance. Allowyn saluted in acknowledgement and took up his stand opposite.
Slowly they circled each other until Allowyn made the first move, a simple upward cut which Jonderill easily parried. Allowyn attacked again with a slightly faster diagonal slice designed to disembowel an opponent. Jonderill batted the strike aside and followed through with a straight cut at thigh height which was blocked with a move so quick that he hadn’t seen the sword move. He licked his lips nervously and moved back into a defensive position. Again they circled each other until Allowyn lunged forward and snagged Jonderill’s shirt at the waist and withdrew before Jonderill could react. A small bead of blood stained the shirt where the sword had nicked his body.
“First blood!” called one of the armsmen who had come to watch.
They circled each other again and this time Jonderill stepped into the attack with a head cut but before the strike could make any contact, Allowyn had moved behind him and the broadside of the sword landed with a thwack on his exposed back making him stagger forward and stumble.
“Second blood!” called the same armsman to a ripple of laughter from his comrades who had joined him.
Jonderill retook his defensive stand, his face flushed with embarrassment and his mouth set in a firm line determined to do better. He’d thought that he was good with a sword but he’d been a fool trying to show off his meager skills in front of this expert swordsman. They circled again and this time he concentrated on looking for the small signs of attack like the tensing of muscles before a lunge, but there weren’t any
When the attack came it was all he could do to catch the
blade on the hilt of the sword and hold it there against Allowyn’s pressure. Instead of increasing the pressure to force him backwards as he expected, Allowyn took a step back, slid his blade upwards and with a deft flick sent Jonderill’s sword tumbling through the air and onto the ground. Jonderill followed its flight and when he looked back the tip of Allowyn’s sword rested in the hollow of his throat.
“And out!” cried the armsman to a round of applause and some derisive laughter.
Allowyn withdrew the point of his sword and turned to glare at the laughing armsmen. There was instant silence and they all hurried away back to their duties. He walked to where Jonderill’s sword had landed, picked it up and handed it back to Jonderill. “You’ve been well taught but you’re a bit out of practice and dangerously overconfident.”
Jonderill grinned sheepishly. “Not to mention piss stupid and arrogant.” They both laughed.
“Let’s just practice some forms, shall we?” suggested Allowyn
Jonderill nodded in agreement and for the next candle length they practiced together with Allowyn working alongside Jonderill and correcting his movements as each form changed. Jonderill settled into the steady rhythm of the exercise, relaxing with the familiarity of what he’d been taught by the Cadetmaster and Swordmaster Dilor. When the last form had been completed and they had saluted each other he was gasping for breath, sweating and steaming in the cool night air like a horse after a long race. Next to him Allowyn was barely breathing any harder than normal.
He smiled at Jonderill and slapped him on the back. “Well done, we’ll make a swordsman out of you yet. Now go and wash up and grab some food before my men eat it all and leave you with nothing but the bones, horns and hooves.”
Jonderill staggered away to the stream and when he returned to the fire, Dozo had saved him several thick slices of hot meat and spiced wild onions piled on a platter of fresh flat bread. He sat next to Allowyn and devoured the food as if he had never eaten before and washed it down with gulps of sweet red wine from a large skin which was passed companionably around the circle by the armsmen. When he dozed off and nearly fell off the log backwards they all laughed and two guards helped him to where his blankets had already been laid out for him. He went to protest about taking his turn on watch but he was asleep before the armsmen had chance to respond.
*
He woke to the sound of the camp being broken up and realized that today he would be escorted by Allowyn and his men to Federa’s Enclave to face a future he didn’t really want any part of. For a moment he thought about leaving whilst everyone else was busy and just walking in the opposite direction but there was little point. He had nowhere else to go and his experience so far of travelling by himself was enough to put any sane person off walking the roads of the six kingdoms alone.
Jonderill rolled out of his blankets and did his best to smooth down his crumpled shirt and breaches. He wasn’t going to make a very impressive sight arriving at the Enclave like he’d slept under a hedge for a seven day. His shirt had a hole in the side and was stained with the dried sweat from the sword practice of the previous day and there was a grass stain on the knee of his breaches. He sighed to himself and thought how useful it would be if his clothes were made of the same stuff as a magician’s robe, then they would never need cleaning or mending. The idea made him think about his old grey robe and he wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps Allowyn or Dozo would know.
Jonderill folded his blankets and carried them across to where the pile of spare blankets had been. Now they were neatly rolled and strapped ready to be loaded onto the horses. The armsman in charge took the blanket from him and left Jonderill staring around the remains of the camp, which seemed a totally different place than the night before. The central fire had gone although the stones surrounding it remained. What was left of the ashes, which had been dampened down, were being carried away and tipped into the now exposed latrine pit. Two guards stood nearby with shovels ready to fill the pit in with earth and replace the cut turf.
Most of the horses were saddled and those that were not were having a last brush down. The remains of the slaver’s wagon had been chopped up for firewood, which had been stacked next to the empty ring of stones waiting for the next traveler to camp there. Dozo stood on the other side using the stump of a tree as a table, wrapping packages of last night’s meat and flat bread into leather pouches for the journey. He saw Jonderill and waved him over pushing a chunk of hard cheeses and some travel bread in his hand before returning to his task.
With all the activity he hadn’t noticed that the only person who wasn’t involved in the preparations for departure was Allowyn. He looked around the camp site and was surprised to see him alone and fully armoured in the centre of the practice area. Jonderill wandered over and squatted on the ground nibbling his cheese and watched as the protector went through his exercises. Each movement was familiar to him; they were the same ones that all swordsmen practiced but he had never seen them preformed like this before with such speed and precision.
Jonderill watched as Allowyn moved seamlessly from movement to movement without any hesitation, firstly with a single sword and then with sword in one hand and his long, wickedly sharp knife in the other. His strange leather and bronze armour glistened in the early morning sunlight, and sword and knife flashed and blurred with the swiftness of cut and thrust. At the climax of the movements, when a swordsman would usually hold the pose of the final thrust before winding down, Allowyn thrust forward with his knife burying it at waist height into one of the four posts which had been erected in the practice area.
Then he was gone again, moving fluidly into a new set of movements. This time the movements were delivered at an even faster speed as Allowyn attacked the posts, cutting from every direction but with such control that each blow stopped fractionally short of its target. With each turn Allowyn pulled a knife from his baldric and threw it at one of the posts until each post had two knives buried in their wood at head height.
When the last knife had left his hand he drew his second sword from the scabbard at his back and without slowing repeated the forms. The final climax, when it came, was delivered with such violence that Jonderill took two steps back and stared in awe as the swordsman stood with crossed swords held a fraction from each side of a post at head height, his muscles quivering with the need to complete the move.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Dozo at his shoulder making Jonderill jump. “And you are privileged to see it but you’d better let him be for a while; it’s dangerous to go near him until he’s come fully back to himself from his devotions.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He turned back and stared at the protector who still held his pose, his body completely still, but every muscle tense.
“When he’s ready he will need a hand off with his armour and these.” Dozo pointed down to the towels, clothes and water skin at Jonderill’s feet and a large bag containing rags and oil.
“Should I help collect his knives or something?”
Dozo gave a bark of a laugh. “Only if you want one buried in your throat, young man. Nobody touches a protector’s weapons and lives, not even their magician. Just keep an eye on him until he recovers and make sure he towels off properly; protectors have been known to sometimes neglect such matters and I don’t want to have to treat him for a chill before we get back to the Enclave.”
He gave Jonderill a friendly pat on the shoulder and walked back to what was left of the camp site. Jonderill turned back to the practice area and could already see a change in Allowyn. It was as if oil was draining from a small skin, each part relaxing as the oil drained away. After a few moments Allowyn stepped back from his stance, gave the post a brief bow and sheathed his swords. One by one he acknowledged each post with a brief bow and retrieved his throwing knives and finally his long fighting knife.
When he reached Jonderill he didn’t say a word but waited patiently whilst Jonderill fumbled with the unfamiliar straps and lifted the he
avy armour from his body. Underneath the metal strips the padded jacket was soaked through with sweat and he helped to pull it free of Allowyn’s body before handing him a towel and using the other one to wipe his back. His whole body was covered in thin white scars like spiders’ webs which criss-crossed each other and other scars which were larger and faded with age.
“Thank you.” croaked Allowyn between rasping breaths. He took the water skin, poured half over his head and drank the rest, and then pulled on his shirt and leather over tunic and piled his armour into his bag.
“I think I will just have time to clean this before the others return from their errand.” He smiled at Jonderill. “Have you eaten?”
Jonderill nodded. “Have you?”
“Not yet, not before my devotions, but I expect Dozo will have something ready for me; he’s a bit of an old woman like that.”
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.
