Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe

by Clare Smith

  With an imperious wave the powerfully built man on the throne commanded immediate silence. It took no magician to sense his annoyance and impatience with his courtier’s bickering. With just two words he sent the gaggling flock scattering in all directions and the soldiers of the kingsguard opened the side doors of the Great Hall to let the panicking coolly birds escape. Only Lord Tulreth remained where he was, under armed guard in the centre of the room with his brow pressed to the floor and his buttocks in the air.

  It was one of the things Maladran admired the most about King Sarrat, his absolute control over the lords who gave him their fealty. He also admired Sarrat’s strength of purpose and his determination which had gained him the throne. Manoeuvring his way from the lowly position of a disgraced lord’s third son to the position of High Lord had taken daring and courage.

  That had been nothing though compared to his successful bid for the throne which had been a masterpiece of audacity and planning. It was there that Maladran’s admiration ceased. The king was a clever and ambitious man, but all his strongest attributes had led to bloodshed and he cared not if his commands caused the death of his enemies or the innocent. Whilst Maladran was not averse to dealing with the removal of others when it was necessary he only did so to honour his vows to the king and only once had he killed someone in pursuit of his own ambitions.

  Maladran might not like the man who sat on Leersland’s throne but he couldn’t escape the hold the king had over him. For the present, whilst his powers continued to grow under Sarrat’s patronage, he was content to let the situation rest. Sarrat’s rise to power had been his rise too but his support of Sarrat had cost him his freedom and he was now as much the king’s slave as if he had been bound to his service since childhood. He resented the hold Sarrat had over him even though it was the way it was with his kind. Only a king’s protection could give Federa’s initiate the chance to study and obtain mastership of their arcane power in safety but in return they became the property of the ruling monarch.

  The alternative was to practice in secret, hoping to become proficient and able to protect themselves before they were discovered by the spies of one of the other five kingdoms. If they failed the end was invariably the same, loss of both hands and inevitable death for the initiate and anyone who had helped them. The common people feared those with the power but not as much as kings did. A master magician at the height of his powers was always considered far too dangerous to the security of the six kingdoms to be left to his own devices and so the decision to live and serve Sarrat had not been a difficult one. Maladran had seen the way others just coming to their powers had died and that held little appeal compared to being a great man’s property.

  When he had pledged obedience to Sarrat the man had not actually been the ruling monarch, or even for that matter High Lord. He’d just been the youngest son of a minor lord who had fallen from the king’s favour and as such had little prospect of dying from natural causes. Sarrat had done the only thing he could, he had found himself an ally although their association would have had them both horribly executed if King Malute or his magician, Yarrin, had found them out. However Sarrat had been more than willing to take the chance of discovery knowing he needed Maladran’s power behind him if he were to survive. Similarly the young magician needed Sarrat’s ambitions to be fulfilled in order to lay claim to the secret of Yarrin’s unrivalled power.

  The price of achieving their ambitions had been high on both of them. Nothing remained of the pleasant young man Sarrat had once been and his continuing patronage had cost Maladran the life of every acolyte he had brought to initiateship. Sarrat’s fight for survival had turned him into a hard man who would have no one stand against him. It was one of the reasons he had given Maladran the degrading but necessary duties of king’s soul searcher and occasionally, executioner. Despite that it had been worth the sacrifices to find out how Yarrin could call on the power which lay beyond the arcane without going mad. Once he had taken this knowledge further and had become the power’s master he would have no need to wear the collar around his neck. He would be the most powerful of all magicians and Sarrat would no longer own him.

  He pulled himself from his contemplations as the last courtier waddled from the Great Hall and stepped further forward from the shadows into the full exposure of bright candlelight. The kingsguard looked uneasy at his sudden appearance and fingered their weapons nervously. He ignored their reaction and walked purposefully towards the figure on the dais, his eyes fixed on the king and only his long dark robe making a sound as it trailed across the polished stone floor. At the foot of the dais Maladran inclined his head in a brief nod. From anyone else it would have been considered an insult worthy of punishment but Sarrat accepted it, albeit with some annoyance. He might be king but he still needed his arrogant and powerful magician.

  Maladran remained standing; he had always refused to prostrate himself at the king’s feet to demonstrate either his loyalty or his subservience and wisely Sarrat had never insisted. The magician watched his lord, a smile of greeting curling the corner of his mouth but leaving his dark eyes cold and unaffected whilst he judged the king’s mood. He waited in silence, knowing the king expected him to speak first and watched for Sarrat’s volatile temper to reach the edge of explosion before stepping in with the expected courtesy.

  “I’m at your service, My Lord.” As always he had gauged Sarrat’s mood to perfection, dangerously using the familiar form of address which would not be tolerated from anyone else.

  “You’re late; my guards tell me you returned yesterday.”

  Maladran looked contrite in mock appeasement. “That’s true but I hardly thought Your Majesty would care to share my dust and grime from the road as well as the information your humble servant carries.”

  Sarrat gave a burst of cynical laughter but a genuine smile of pleasure creased his face, momentarily softening the hard features. He stood and descended the three steps from the dais, throwing an arm around the magician’s shoulder and guiding him towards one of the Great Hall’s many doors.

  “Since when have you been a humble anything?” he questioned with a laugh. “If I remember rightly the last time I reminded you of your lowly position you threatened me with brewer’s droop for a year.”

  “Ah yes,” replied Maladran, remembering the heated argument over the wardship of a lord’s pretty, orphaned daughter, “but as I recall you were threatening to have me castrated like a common slave at the time.”

  Sarrat laughed with a malicious glint in his eye whilst a kingsguard opened the door to allow the two men to pass through into a small private room decorated with considerable comfort and style. “But she was such a pretty wench wasn’t she Maladran?”

  “She was indeed My Lord and from what I hear she has turned out to be a woman of exceptional beauty who is loved and honoured by her husband and three children. It would have been a great pity to despoil such delicate fruit for a few nights pleasure, especially when there are always so many others more willing.”

  “So I recall you counselling me at the time, only threatening me with the pox was taking your point too far.”

  “So was threatening to take my balls,” retorted Maladran.

  Both men laughed at their past encounter although at the time it had been no laughing matter. The king poured two silver goblets full of deep, red wine and handed one to the magician, indicating him to be seated. Maladran chose a hard wooden chair without any padding but supporting a magnificently carved high back of entwined dragons. It was his usual place, half in the shadows with the sun behind him. Sarrat chose a more comfortable chair which seemed to wrap around his short but muscular frame, giving the magician the advantage of both height and light.

  “Well, will High Lord Coledran return to my court?” Sarrat asked when he was settled.

  “Most certainly, My Lord. Surprisingly the illness which kept him from your presence appears to have been genuine; I found him barely able to walk and for most of the t
ime incoherent.

  “He’s been like that since the night we took the throne,” laughed Sarrat.

  “True, but for once this was not due to a surfeit of red wine. However he will recover rapidly now, although he has found the cure a most bitter one to swallow.” Sarrat raised an eyebrow in question. “Even as we speak your will has been made known to the High Lord although I regret that his only son will be unable to follow him to court as he is no longer heir to the family name. That honour will have to go to another.”

  Sarrat gave a cackle of laughter and clapped his hands together in pleasure. “You never cease to amaze me, Maladran. I send you on a diplomatic mission to see why the High Lord has absented himself from my scrutiny and you return with the old man put firmly in his place, his ambitious son dealt with and Coledran’s house sufficiently weakened that they no longer pose a threat. All that without a single sword being drawn. You are truly a great magician.”

  “I live to serve,” bowed Maladran mockingly.

  The king narrowed his eyes as he considered the magician’s tone but decided to ignore the veiled insult. “What about the girl, did she have anything to do with the High Lord’s illness?” Maladran shook his head. “Has she remembered who she is yet?”

  Maladran shook his head again. He’d been in the throne room the night Sarrat had killed King Malute and he’d placed the memory block on Malute’s only child, a four year old daughter. It was a night he tried to forget; his treachery and the blood of his friend and mentor still disturbed his dreams. Yarrin had been old and slow but if he’d wanted to he could have let Yarrin die with dignity instead of crippling his body and then destroying his mind. He would never forget the look in the old man’s eyes as he took the torc from Yarrin’s neck and ripped the focus of his power from his mind.

  It had taken the most powerful magician only minutes to die but those minutes were full of a raving madness which must have made Yarrin’s last moments stretch to eternity. Maladran’s horror at what he had done at Sarrat’s command was such that he’d had to find a way to appease his guilt and so he had persuaded Sarrat to spare the life of Malute’s daughter. It still amazed him that Sarrat had agreed, placing her in the care of his trusted friend and co-conspirator, Coledran, the newly appointed High Lord of Leersland.

  “And was the boy really poisoning his father?” Sarrat asked, interrupting Maladran’s morbid thoughts.

  “That is what your soul searcher will tell your court, that he confessed.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked but never mind, you have done well and I am pleased. “Now tell me, what did you think of this morning’s little charade?” He leaned forward eagerly, referring to the accusations of the three Great Lords against their lower status fellow. “Is the man plotting against me or is there something more sinister going on in which the others are involved?”

  “I regret I only heard the end of the argument so I am unable to make a sound and reasoned judgment.”

  Sarrat snapped out a cynical laugh. “I sat through a morning of their arguments and I still can’t make a sound and reasoned judgment. They obviously lie, all four of them, but somewhere in their claims of wrong doings, plots and counterplots there must be a grain of truth.”

  “Certainly, My Lord, every lie once grew from a grain of truth; the problem is, as always, finding it under a mountain of chaff.”

  “Perhaps your torturing could be used to dig the truth out of Tulreth?” suggested Sarrat with a wry grin.

  Maladran returned the smile, well used to this little game. “As My Lord knows I am a man of peace and gentle persuasion. If you wish to use force to find answers then you must find one who is not sworn to the service of the goddess Federa.”

  “Come Maladran, everybody knows of your skill as a seeker of the truth.”

  “You are mistaken, My Lord, however if you command my services I will use my soul searching ability but I think it would be unnecessary in this case. The three lords have chosen to accuse one whose land lies adjacent to their own and is therefore desirable. Whilst the High Lord is absent from court and unable to keep them in check, they have made their move against the unfortunate man. Such a matter will not occur again when the High Lord Coledran returns to his duties.”

  “So in the meantime what do you suggest I do with Tulreth? I can hardly leave him kissing the floor in the Great Hall.”

  “It would be seen as an act of nobility and clemency to return the lord to his estates unharmed.”

  “Rubbish! It would be seen as an act of weakness.”

  “Perhaps but then again some might see it as the move of a strong king in an unassailable position. At some other time, when you need a favour from Tulreth, your mercy could reap a valuable harvest.”

  Sarrat laughed viciously. “You have a devious mind Maladran and I shall think about your proposal.”

  He toyed with his empty goblet and gave his magician a long appraisal. Sometimes the magician’s behaviour troubled him. He could be as hard and as ruthless as any man but when it came to inflicting pain or taking a life without just cause he displayed a streak of mercy which bordered on cowardice. Compassion was a weakness which didn’t fit well with his need to have a strong ally at his side and would have to be curbed in the magician if he were to be of continued use.

  Thoughtfully he stood and crossed the wooden panelled room to pour himself another goblet of wine. It was early in the day for a second goblet but it helped him find solutions to irritating problems which threatened to interfere with the smooth running of his kingdom. He opened the shutters of the largest window and allowed the sunlight of a glorious noontide to flood inside the room, making the priceless silk rugs glow in the natural light.

  The brilliant rays fell across the black hair and dark robe of the magician, removing his shadowy security and making him aware of the timbre of Sarrat’s thoughts. Being in the king’s disfavour no longer caused him the concern it once had but one had to be careful when dealing with someone who was both powerful and paranoid.

  Standing at the casement, Sarrat took in a view of breathtaking beauty. Green fields, lush with spring rain lay in a patchwork of colour, interspersed with the rich brown of newly ploughed fields left fallow until the turn of the year. The land spread like an exotic quilt into the distance where the faintest ribbon of blue separated Leersland from Vinmore. It was his favourite view of the kingdom, lacking the harshness of the distant glow of red deserts or the greyness of the granite mountains which could be seen from the southern and northern sides of his fortress.

  Each green field in his sight would hold fine horses or fat cattle or yield crops enough to feed the population of Leersland twice over but for all its beauty and wealth it contained one flaw, the land across the Blue River was not part of it. The rich land of Vinmore was not his and he was a greedy man. He closed the shutters and turned back to the magician.

  “And how fares my neighbour across the Blue River? I dare say you have used the full moon to scry on my wife to be.”

  Maladran cringed slightly at the thought of the match between his bullish master and the small, golden haired child. By the time she was old enough to wed he would be a middle aged man. Their union would be an obscenity which he would have opposed except that the political alliance he had suggested to his master would prevent a war and untold bloodshed and destruction.

  “The kingdom prospers under the rule of King Steppen as it always has. The vines will be heavy with grapes and the trees laden with fruit again this summer and the people continue to be happy and content, as they have been since the naming of the princess.”

  “Ah yes, the Princess Daun. Is she still growing into the most beautiful flower which has ever bloomed and are her thorns becoming sharp and fierce?”

  Maladran had a passion for flowers and found the reference to the perversion of such natural beauty distasteful. For a moment he must have let his feelings show on his face as Sarrat gave a mocking laugh.

  “Don’t go soft on me, magicia
n, remember that taking the child as my wife was all your idea and your doing. I’m still happy to move across the Blue River with my army and take Vinmore by force.”

  It was true, it had all been his plan, like all the other plans he had devised which had put Sarrat on the throne of Leersland and now held him there. In truth he had devised the strategy to take Vinmore peacefully but only in order to prevent a beautiful kingdom from being pillaged and its population being raped and murdered rather than to satisfy Sarrat’s avarice. Not that he would tell him that. He hadn’t done it out of any sympathy for Vinmore’s monarchs either, although their goodness and patience couldn’t be denied. He wondered what it would be like to serve a good king and live without the constant fear of Sarrat’s violent temper.

  Steppen and Althea had waited eleven summers for the birth of their first child and in all that time Steppen had remained faithful to his wife and never once sought to provide the kingdom with an heir outside of his wife’s bed. Whether she too had confined her love making to her own bed was a matter of conjecture and there were whispered rumours of a dalliance with her husband’s neighbour and ally. When she finally gave birth to an heir, her husband and the entire kingdom had rejoiced.

  Invitations to the naming celebrations had been sent to every nobleman far and wide, which in Sarrat’s case was a mistake as it only reminded him of the lands he could see from his window but couldn’t have. It was fortunate, thought Maladran, that Sarrat was visiting the southern kingdom of Sandstrone at the time assisting Tallison to kill his brother and take the throne. If he and a good part of his army hadn’t been otherwise occupied he might have invaded Vinmore there and then instead of listening to his good advice.