The White Robe

by Clare Smith

  Gellidan came at him with both swords held high. Jonderill parried one and ducked under the other which came so close to decapitating him that he could feel the moving air ruffle the hair on the top of his head. He scuttled backwards and took his defensive stance once more. Gellidan gave him a predatory smile and attacked again with both swords at waist height, preventing any attempt at ducking underneath. Jonderill tried to parry both swords at once but felt a shock run up his arm as his sword became trapped between the two blades. He pulled his sword free to the screech of grinding metal and retook his stance.

  With a derisive laugh Gellidan came forward again, but this time Jonderill was ready for him, and instead of parrying, he lunged under the slicing swords and buried a finger width of steel into Gellidan’s thigh. Gellidan stepped back with a look of surprise on his face, and waves of nausea hit Jonderill as if he had been punched in the gut. His sword point dipped and he staggered slightly as he fought to control his heaving stomach and clear the sparking lights in front of his eyes.

  “So you can use a sword well enough to score a hit, which proves you are no white robe. Now there is no doubt, I can stop playing with you and do this properly. Prepare to die imposter.”

  Gellidan came at him so fast that Jonderill barely saw the movement in time to move and only saved himself from being sliced in half by throwing himself full length onto the ground in front of his opponent. He rolled and came unsteadily to his feet, his sword twisting in his hand. Before he had the chance to adjust his grip, Gellidan attacked again with both swords at waist height. Jonderill tried to repeat his earlier move of blocking both blades, but this time his sword became completely trapped. With a simple sideways move Gellidan dragged it from his hand and flicked it into the air to land out of arms reach.

  Jonderill scuttled backwards until he stood against the hard trunk of an everleaf, and Gellidan gave him a grim smile of satisfaction. He raised one of his swords above his head and bought it down in a diagonal stroke designed to cut a man from shoulder to hip. Helpless to do anything about it, Jonderill clenched his eyes closed and waited for the blow to fall, but instead of the sharp cut of steel ending his life, he was showered with leaves and twigs and twisted branches which pushed him to his knees.

  When his heart had slowed enough that he could catch his breath, he pushed the debris on top of him to one side and stumbled to his feet. Around him the outer reaches of a huge branch covered the ground. He looked around him in disbelief, and pushed more twigs and branches out of the way until he found Gellidan’s crumpled body beneath the shattered remains of one of the trees huge spreading limbs. From the blood that trickled from a cut on his head, it was clear that he had been felled by the falling bough. Jonderill placed a hand over Gellidan’s heart and then wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not when he found a strong beat.

  He searched amongst the fallen debris and found Gellidan’s swords which were buried in leaves and twigs. When he’d freed them, he removed his attacker’s long belt knife and used it to cut through the man’s baldric. He carried the weapons to where the horses stood and returned to Gellidan with a length of rope from one of the saddle bags. With a huge amount of effort, and not much care, he bound Gellidan’s hands and dragged him across to the fire, where he propped him up against one of the logs they had been using as seats. Using a bit of cloth he had torn from Gellidan’s shirt, he dabbed at the cut on his opponents temple until it stopped bleeding, and waited for him to regain consciousness. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with Gellidan after that, but every time he thought about cutting his throat, his head pounded and his stomach roiled.

  Gellidan had just opened his eyes and was groaning miserably when the sound of horses pushing their way through the undergrowth made Jonderill grab his sword and jump to his feet. Ignoring the waves of sickness that rolled over him he waited anxiously for the horsemen to show themselves, but sighed in relief when Allowyn rode into the clearing. Behind him were a small group of armsmen, and behind them rode Tissian. Jonderill put his sword down and gave Allowyn and Tissian a relieved smile of welcome.

  Allowyn pulled his horse to a halt and looked around the untidy camp site before returning his attention to Gellidan and then to Jonderill. “What’s going on here, Jonderill? Why is this man bound?”

  Before Jonderill could reply Gellidan clambered to his feet and took a step towards the protector. “He used magic! He used magic to tear that branch from the tree. Razarin was wrong; he really does have magic.”

  “Gellidan tried to kill me,” said Jonderill calmly.

  “No! No I didn’t, you’re mistaken. You needed to use your power before we could be bonded as white robe and protector and that’s what I made you do. Now we are bound I’m truly your protector. Allowyn, untie me so I can serve my new master.”

  Tissian pushed his horse through the group of armsmen and stopped next to Allowyn, staring disdainfully down at the bound man. “No true protector would try to kill their master.”

  “I didn’t,” pleaded Gellidan. “Allowyn, you know how these things work. Didn’t you test Callabris’s power before you were bonded?

  “Yes.” said Allowyn slowly, “but I didn’t try to kill him.”

  “And not twice,” muttered Tissian under his breath.

  Gellidan returned his attention back to Jonderill. “Jonderill, you must release me. I’m your protector now and the High Master has paired us until the day death takes one of us. It’s the way it is with our kind and it cannot be undone.”

  “Is this so?” asked Jonderill. “Must I have him even if I don’t want him to be my protector?”

  Allowyn nodded. “It is the way the goddess has ordained it. The pairing can only be undone by the death of the master or the protector, although if the protector is killed another may take his place.”

  “So that is what must happen,” said Tissian determinedly. He slid from his horse and walked to confront Gellidan. “Gellidan, you have betrayed your calling and I challenge you for the pairing of this white robe.”

  “No!” interrupted Jonderill. “You can’t do that, he’s older and more experienced than you. He will kill you.”

  Tissian smiled. “He may be older and have more experience, but I’ve trained longer and harder.” He looked to Allowyn. “Can it be done?”

  Allowyn frowned, unhappy to be put in such a situation. “It could but such a fight is to the death and must be fought with your own weapons. You have none, Tissian and we are not permitted to give you ours.”

  “I’ll have two swords if Jonderill will gift his own weapons to me.”

  Jonderill nodded and walked to where the swords were stacked. He picked up his fine sword and Plantagenet’s old iron blade and returned to where Tissian stood, handing him the blades. “Please don’t do this.”

  “It’s the only way.”

  Allowyn shook his head but dismounted and released Gellidan from his bonds. “This man has been hurt and needs time to recover and we have been riding hard and need to set up camp. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, Gellidan and Tissian will fight for the honour of being this white robe’s protector.”

  *

  In less than a candle length the clearing had changed from a hastily made overnight stop to a purposely built, orderly camp. The fire had been extended and edged with stones, and the branch, which had saved Jonderill’s life, was cut and neatly stacked. Dozo and one of the armsmen tended the cauldron on the centre of the fire, stirring it occasionally or adding something from small packets kept in a waterproof skin bag. Flatbread cooked on a stone at the edge of the fire and the smell of its cooking drifted across the camp. Under the tree where the two horses had been tethered, there was a picket line of twenty horses or more, and armsmen worked on brushing coats and checking hooves. A shelter had been erected to one side of the camp, and bedrolls and other gear had been neatly stacked under its protection in case it rained.

  It wasn’t just the physical appearance of the clearing which had changed. Instead o
f just the two of them glaring at each other across the fire, there was bustle and activity, and instead of silence, there was the buzz of voices as men went about their duties. An armsman at the edge of the camp whistled whilst he dug a waste pit, and further out, two guards called to each other as they walked the perimeter. The only thing that hadn’t changed, was the atmosphere, which was still full of waiting and tension.

  Jonderill looked up from the shirt he was mending and watched the activity. In the flickering light from the fire it was difficult to do a good job of mending the holes where the acolyte’s sword tip had pierced his shoulder and side, but he’d borrowed needle and thread and had set to his task to take his mind off what was to come. Apart from that, everyone else was busy and the activity was infectious. He looked up when he heard Dozo call Allowyn’s name, and watched the protector cross the camp to where Dozo handed him a cloth and clean shirt. Allowyn removed his sweat soaked shirt, took the one offered and crossed to where Jonderill sat, breathing hard. He sat a little way from Jonderill and wiped himself down.

  “Evening devotions?”

  Allowyn nodded. “Yes, Tissian asked if I would share his devotions with him as he prepares for tomorrow.”

  Jonderill looked down at his hands and felt his spirit drop even lower. “Isn’t there any way you can stop this?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t even if I could. The only person who could stop tomorrow’s battle is you, by declaring Gellidan as your protector for the rest of your life, but I would advise against it. After what happened at the Enclave, this is likely to be Tissian’s one and only chance to become a protector, and if you took it away from him, I think it would destroy him.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw his face when the High Master destroyed his armour and weapons. It was as if the world had ended and he’d lost his reason to live.”

  “He was like that when I found him.” Jonderill looked up in surprise. “Do you recall the small pot boy from the Armsmaster Inn? Well, when the temple guards came for you, the innkeeper sent him to find Dozo.” Allowyn laughed and shook his head. “He’s only a little slip of a thing but he ran all the way from the inn to my camp. It took him half a day and he nearly collapsed when he got there, but he told Dozo that you were in trouble and I returned with him to the Enclave to see what could be done.

  “You’d left with Gellidan by then and from the story Master Tressing gave me, I understood that you’d been paired with your protector, and had left of your own free will. It was too late to return to camp so I decided to stay for the night at the Enclave, and went to find Tissian to see why he hadn’t reported for penance that day. When I couldn’t find him I persuaded one of the acolytes to tell me where he was. After that I searched the cells until I found him.”

  Allowyn shook his head and paused for a moment while he pulled on his clean shirt. “He was just sitting there with his eyes blank, and when I asked him what was wrong, all he could do was to ask me to take his life for the goddess.” Jonderill looked at him questioningly. “It’s a kindness, which is used to end the suffering of a protector who is too badly injured to fight again, or one who has failed to protect their master and cannot live with their shame. I told him that before I could do that, we had to share one last devotion together. That seemed to break through his misery and we left the Enclave together.”

  “Didn’t anyone try to stop you?”

  “There were some temple guards who challenged us and who will be out of action for a few days, but it’s very difficult to stop a protector when they want to leave. Anyway, we rode back to camp and somewhere in the middle of our devotions he broke down, and told me what had happened. I told him that he was ten times a fool for breaking into the temple, and you were even worse for encouraging him, and then we gathered the men, packed up the camp and came after you.”

  “It’s a pity you did, then at least Tissian would live beyond tomorrow.”

  “Don’t give up on him Jonderill, he may be younger and less experienced than Gellidan, but his faith in you and the goddess is boundless.”

  “Faith is a poor substitute for a longer reach and good weapons.”

  “Tissian’s agility will make up for his lack of reach, and his devotions tonight were done with the weapons you gave him, so he knows their feel and balance.” Jonderill looked sceptical. “Well, alright, imbalance, but they are good weapons in their own way, and they were a gift from you which makes a difference.”

  “One’s short heavy and blunt, and the other is long and thin, and will snap if Gellidan hits it too hard.”

  Allowyn shrugged. “At least knives are not a problem. You took Gellidan’s knives from his body and haven’t returned them and until you do they belong to you and he cannot use them.”

  “Could I give them to Tissian instead?”

  “No, or at least you can’t whilst Gellidan is still alive. It would be showing favouritism and would shame them both.”

  Jonderill shook his head. “I don’t understand this strange code of yours; it’s alright to kill your brother as long as you follow the rituals.”

  Allowyn frowned and went to say something else, but was interrupted by Dozo and his assistant holding out bowls of steaming stew and hot flatbread. They took the food and started to eat. “It could do with some meat in it,” commented Jonderill as he searched amongst the vegetables.”

  “It’s another of our rituals,” laughed Allowyn. “No meat for those who will just stand and witness single combat; all the meat goes to those who fight. Jonderill looked at him in surprise, his spoon suspended half way to his mouth. “And no wine, ale or spirits are to be taken either.”

  “I bet that prevents a lot of fights taking place.”

  They both laughed and continued eating in companionable silence. After they had finished their meal, Dozo brought them herb tea, whilst around them, those who were not on guard duty collected bed rolls and settled down for the night around the fire.

  “When we talked last Jonderill, you hadn’t decided what you wanted to be. Have you made that decision now; I would hate for one or both of those young men to die tomorrow for nothing.”

  Jonderill nodded. “I don’t think I have much choice in the matter. It seems that since going into the goddess’s sanctuary I’m unable to touch a sword without feeling dizzy and sick, and I can’t rely on branches crashing down to save my life every time someone attacks me. If others are willing to fight and die for me, the least I can do is try to be what they expect me to be.”

  “And will you work hard to be the best magician you can be?”

  “Yes, I will try hard, but I’m not sure how good I will ever be.”

  “Good. I’ve heard that Callabris has returned from Tarbis so that after the fight is over, we will ride to meet him. If Gellidan dies tomorrow, neither the High Master nor Vorgret will be pleased, so I don’t think Essenland will be a safe place for any of us for a while. Now I must go and give my counsel to the two combatants, and you must get some sleep. Tomorrow one of them becomes the six kingdom’s newest protector and you the six kingdom’s newest white robe.”

  *

  Jonderill woke before dawn, at that time when the sky is dark but the silhouette of trees and hills can just be seen. He wasn’t the first to rise; a cauldron of water was already heating over the fire and Allowyn stood with his back to Jonderill, warming his hands. Jonderill rolled up his blankets and walked past the protector to where the shelter had been erected. It hadn’t rained in the night, but the dew had been , and the taut waxed linen was covered in tiny globes of moisture. He placed his blankets next to the other three and picked up his roll of belongings. It felt light and insubstantial without Plantagenet’s old blade thrust through the middle. He walked past the picket line, giving Sansun an affectionate pat, and followed the sounds of running water.

  When he returned, he shaved off the light growth of stubble, combed his hair, tied it back with a leather thong, and he wore his white robe. He returned his roll of possessions to the shelter
and joined Allowyn by the fire.

  “No devotions this morning?”

  “No, Gellidan and Tissian are eager to die, so as soon as the sun shows itself above the hills they will fight, and then we will be on our way.”

  “Where will they fight?”

  “Here in the camp. We will clear it the best that we can and put markers down for a fighting ring, but the fire remains lit until it’s finished. Dozo may need it to cauterise the wounds and Tissian has asked for his body to be cremated if the fight goes against him.”

  Allowyn looked up at the sky which had changed from black to dark blue. In the east the sky was lighter and the details of the distant hills were starting to appear. Behind them the camp was waking, and some of the men were already eating the remains of last night’s flatbread and hard cheese. At the picket line the horses were being led away in twos and threes to be watered, and those that returned were being taken out of the camp area to feed on fresh grass.