by Clare Smith
“I’m sorry about what Tarris was going to do, he’s cruel and hateful and I wish he would go away and never come back again.
“Thanks for saving me,” said Jonderill in a shaky voice and then when he could think of nothing else to say he asked her for her name.
“I’m Tarraquin. I’m the High Lord’s daughter.” She hesitated for a moment and looked earnestly at Jonderill. “You won’t tell anyone about what happened will you? My father would be shamed that such a thing could happen to a guest in his own house, even if what Tarris said about you is true.”
Jonderill shook his head and for a time the only sounds which disturbed the silence was the rustling of squeakers in the straw and the crunching of apples. When Tarraquin had finished her apple she turned her attention back to Jonderill. “Is it true what Tarris said about you, are you really the magician’s bum boy?”
“No,” denied Jonderill vehemently. “He doesn’t do those sort of things.”
“Are you his son then?”
Jonderill thought about the question carefully, it was a difficult one for him to answer. He searched for a word which would describe their relationship but couldn’t think of one which would encompass all his feelings for the magician. “No, I’m his kingsward and he’s my master, that’s all.”
“Good, then you won’t mind it when I kill him.” Jonderill looked aghast at her earnest face. “The magician murdered my brother, you see and when I’m old enough I’m going to avenge his death.”
“You can’t do that,” cried Jonderill. “You’re a girl!”
“So what, I can use a knife as well as any boy and I am better than any boy on the estate with a bow.”
“But girls don’t do that sort of thing,” protested Jonderill.
“This one does.”
Jonderill leaned his head back against the sack of grain and tried to sort out his whirling emotions. He didn’t know many girls but the ones he did know all played with dolls and wouldn’t know one end of a knife from another. As for drawing a bow they wouldn’t even know where to start. Yet if this girl was going to kill the magician it would have to be from a distance and from the shadows. The thought of an arrow speeding through the darkness and piercing his friend in the back made him shudder and feel sick.
A deep frown furrowed his forehead. “I don’t think it could have been Maladran’s hand which killed your brother, it must have been some other magician. He’s always been kind to me and took me away from here and has never raised a hand against me or anyone else that I have seen.”
“Of course he didn’t kill my brother with his own hands silly,” snapped Tarraquin irritably. “He didn’t have to; he used a spell or an enchantment, which is even worse because there’s no escape.”
Jonderill looked at her in sympathy, expecting her to look contrite but instead she looked determined as if she were trying to persuade him to her point of view.
“Tarris told me he had been burnt from the inside out. He said when they found the body it was just a shell, blackened in places where the flames had burnt through. I suppose it served him right because he was trying to poison our father but I’m going to avenge him all the same. Tarris said Maladran did it so that makes him a murderer.”
“Maladran wouldn’t do something like that,” defended Jonderill hotly. “I think it’s a nasty lie Tarris has made up to hurt you.”
“No it’s not, it’s true because my father said so. My brother was a bully and I didn’t like him much but nobody else is going to avenge his death so I made a promise to my brother’s shade that I would slay his murderer, so there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I can tell Maladran what you are going to do, that will stop you.”
Tarraquin looked horrified. “You wouldn’t do that would you? He would be very angry and he’d do horrible things to me. Please don’t tell him, I don’t want to die like my brother did.”
Jonderill felt trapped. “He’s my friend, I can’t let you hurt him can I?”
“But I’m your friend as well,” pleaded Tarraquin, “You wouldn’t want to see me hurt would you?”
“I don’t want any of my friends to get hurt,” said Jonderill seriously. “Which means you can’t be my new friend because you are going to hurt my old friend and I can’t let you do that.” He felt confused.
Tarraquin rested her head against the grain sack whilst she considered the impasse. “I know! What if I promise not to avenge my brother’s death until Maladran is no longer your friend?”
Jonderill smiled at the perfect solution. “Done.”
He spat in his hand and held it out to seal the promise, as he had seen the kingsguard do when they were playing stones and Tarraquin gripped it tightly, quickly leaning over to give him a kiss before he could escape. Jonderill blushed and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and Tarraquin giggled.
“Now what do you two think you’re up to?” demanded a stern voice behind them, making them both jump guiltily to their feet. A plump woman in a plain grey dress and white apron stood in the doorway with her hands planted firmly on her ample hips.
“This is no way for a lady to behave, kissing and canoodling with one who is no better than a slave boy. Just look at you, Lady Tarraquin, straw in your hair and mud on your tunic and you, boy, hiding in here up to no good when your master’s calling for you. Now hurry to the stable yard before the pair of you feel the weight of your master’s belt.”
Tarraquin gave Jonderill a brilliant smile full of mischief, grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him towards the door and out into the bright sunshine. Neither waited to see if the scolding maid was following but ran, laughing with their new found friendship, to where she had ordered them.
As they sped round the corner of the white stable end they careered into Gartnor, the Kingsguard Captain, a tall man with broad shoulders and a permanent sneer raised by a scar which ran across his broken nose through his lip and into his beard. Jonderill didn’t like the man who smelled of sweat and stale beer. Gartnor held them firmly by their shoulders in his gauntleted hands and marched them towards the waiting lords. Their appearance had an immediate impact on the solemn proceedings taking place in the courtyard and a tense silence fell whilst every eye turned towards them.
Maladran was the first to break the silence with an amused smile as he turned to the High Lord. “It seems the children have already settled on their acquaintance without the need of our introduction.”
The High Lord’s eyes darkened at the thought of such an association but kept any other sign of his contempt well hidden. He indicated for his daughter to join him whilst Jonderill went to stand at the magician’s side.
“Now we are all gathered can we get on with things. It’s bad enough that the king should rob me of the pride of my stables and a leading stableman without robbing me of my time and my daughter’s innocence.”
Maladran raised an eyebrow at the High Lord’s inappropriate speech. “Not sentiments you would wish me to convey to His Majesty I assume?”
High Lord Coledran went pale, reminded of the exalted position of the person who stood in front of him and the fate that had befallen his son and heir. “Not at all,” he blustered. “I was just put out by this wayward child who seems to have no sense of propriety and will associate with anyone.”
He looked at Jonderill and scowled but he daren’t say more in case he offended his powerful guest. The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of the Stablemaster and Tarris leading a colt of such beauty that even those who had little appreciation of horseflesh had to admit to their admiration. The colt was a steely grey, which shone silver in the sunlight, and had a heavy black mane and thick tail reaching below its hocks.
From its sire’s side the colt had inherited the deep chest and powerful quarters of the kingdom’s war horses whilst the fine legs and intelligent head came from its fleet-footed racing dam. Tarraquin skipped forward from her father’s grip and threw her arms around the colt, giving it an affectionate hug
. The colt allowed her embrace without flinching but rolled its eyes and stamped its feet when the High Lord approached.
“Tarraquin, my dear, you must say goodbye to your friend. Lord Maladran has come to steal the colt from us. The king has decided that it should be sent as a gift to the Princess Daun of Vinmore.”
Tarraquin looked at the magician in anger but there was something in his dark eyes which forbade her furious words. Instead she turned to Jonderill and gave him a look which clearly said, “There, I told you so”. She called on all the restraint and control which she possessed and stepped back from the animal she had come to love more than any other creature, including her father. Tarraquin had seen the colt being born into the world, had helped to feed it in its early weeks of life and had the honour of being the first to ride on its back.
“You can’t take him without him being named and the king’s not here to do it,” she said as a last desperate attempt to forestall the colt’s departure.
“The king has designated that pleasure to me,” said Maladran kindly, “but as the colt is obviously very special to you, you shall have the naming of him and then I shall bless him with a special gift.”
Once again Tarraquin looked searchingly at the magician but despite the honour he had just given her she still couldn’t see what Jonderill found there to like. She caught Tarris’s eye as he stood in his new king’s livery, smugly holding the valuable animal and with a wicked grin she turned to Jonderill and gave him a warm smile.
“The colt means a lot to me and I will miss him every day but as a special gift to my new friend I would like Jonderill to give him a name.”
“That’s not possible,” said her father sternly. “This is a noble horse of the royal bloodline and as such must be named by someone from a noble house otherwise the line will be sullied. This boy is less than nothing, just the get of some felon, a worthless kingsward and beneath your attention.”
Jonderill looked down uncomfortably and shuffled his feet whilst Maladran’s eyes took on a dangerous glint at the insult.
“I don’t care, Jonderill is my friend and that’s enough for me,” pouted Tarraquin but nobody looked convinced at her outburst. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter who he is now, one day we will be married and then he will be of a noble house, so this is just a bit in advance, that’s all.”
The sincerity of her announcement stunned everyone, especially Jonderill who stood wide eyed and with his mouth open in shock. One look at him and Maladran burst out laughing, a reaction which no one there except Jonderill had ever seen before from the sombre magician.
“It looks like your future has already been decided for you, boy, so you had better do as your future bride commands and name this noble stallion.”
Maladran pushed the boy forward, ignoring the High Lord’s blustering protests and Tarris’s evil looks. Jonderill gently stroked the velvet nose of the grey colt feeling encouraged by the presence of Tarraquin and surprisingly less nervous than he usually did around horses. The magician stepped up behind him and placed one hand on his shoulder whilst he fixed his eyes in front to empty his mind for the enchantment he needed to set. Jonderill felt a tingling in his flesh beneath the magician’s hand and instinctively knew that Maladran had focused his power and was ready to proceed.
Jonderill held onto the colt’s head and in a small voice said, “I give you the name of Sansun, fighter of dragons.”
Nobody spoke or moved but in the silence Maladran’s voice echoed through Jonderill’s mind. “To you Sansun I give the gift of understanding, from this day forward you will understand the words spoken by your master and any other you choose to hear”.
The magician removed his hands and both Jonderill and Sansun staggered slightly as if they had suddenly been woken from a deep sleep.
“Is it done?” asked the High Lord anxiously, looking at the colt to see if it appeared to be any different. “What have you done to it, what will it be able to do?”
“Sansun has received his gift and what that gift is, is none of your business. Now, Sansun is eager to be on his way, as are we all.”
The High Lord scowled angrily but there was nothing he could do about it, least of all argue with Maladran. He clapped his hands together and the stable yard exploded into activity. Grooms scurried back and forth carrying saddles, baggage packs and feed bags whilst the troop of kingsguard formed up ready to escort King Sarrat’s gift and its groom across the borders to the kingdom of Vinmore.
In all the confusion and activity nobody noticed Tarris come up behind Jonderill and bend forward to whisper in his ear. “Don’t forget what I told yer, Middin, yer aint escaped me yet. Now I’m a kingsman I’ve got power see an’ the time will come when you’ll be mine an’ then I’ll make yer pay.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
PART TWO
Magician’s Apprentice
CHAPTER SIX
Queen’s Darling
“No, No, No! I will not wear that stupid thing. It’s dull and ugly and I hate the colour.”
Daun snatched the pink silk dress from the maid’s hand, threw the finely embroidered garment on the floor and stamped viciously on the delicate flower buds which had been picked that morning to adorn the new dress. The maid looked aghast, the dress had cost more than she was paid in a year and the little harridan had chosen the colour herself. She pursed her lips in a determined line; the battle was on.
“Come, mistress, it’s a beautiful dress and you will look charming in it.”
“I don’t want to look charming,” retorted Daun, stamping her foot in temper and crushing another delicate flower bud.
“With a nasty temper like yours, you would have difficulty looking charming in anything but the queen says you’re to wear it and that’s good enough for me.”
The maid reached down and deftly pushed the six year old out of the way but Daun had seen that move before and stepped back sharply before her feet could be whipped from beneath her and fall on her bottom. Instead she grabbed hold of a nearby vase of flowers and threw the stale water and decorative contents at the maid who was still holding the unwanted dress.
“You ungrateful little vixen,” the outraged maid screeched, dropping the soaking, exotic silk and then looking horrified as the child smashed the vase into the fabric, scoring the fine threads. “Just wait until I tell the queen what you’ve done.”
“You tell her then, see if I care. Here, take this thing with you, she can wear it if she wants.”
The maid caught the torn and spoilt garment and left the room, locking the door behind her to prevent the girl running off and hiding as she had the last time she had thrown a tantrum. Let the queen deal with her thought the maid, she was her spoilt brat after all.
Daun stamped her foot in temper. It was less of a temper than it had been a few minutes before but still enough for her to look around the room for something to take it out on. Her eyes fell on the enormous crystal bowl which stood on its own special stand in the corner of the room by the long garden window. The delicate glass rippled with clear water and small turquoise fish flittered from side to side. It had been a present from King Porteous and had already given her hours of pleasure. She studied a silver bellied fish somewhat larger than the others and with a quick hand flipped it onto her open palm.
The little fish flapped its tail and then wriggled tickling delightfully against her skin. She watched the gills open and close with increasing urgency and the small mouth work as if it gasped for breath. Daun counted to twenty, noting the fish’s slowing movements and then popped the unfortunate creature back in the bowl. When she had done the same thing that morning the fish had swum frantically back to its fellows after being out of the water for fifteen seconds. Now it twitched once, dropped head downwards and then floated to the surface on its belly. Daun looked disappointed; there was no fun in killing the fish outright. She pulled the limp creature from the bowl and threw it to the kitt which had learnt its mistress’s ways long ago and now kept just out of her reach.
She looked around for something else to take her attention but at the rattle of the key in the lock she slipped back to her favourite chair and nestled back into its huge warm softness. Putting on a sad face she folded her hands demurely in front of her and produced a well practised tear so it rolled gently down her cheek. Her golden hair, reflecting the morning sun, framed her face in a brilliant halo giving her the appearance of a delicate, innocent angel.
It was a pose which never failed to melt her mother’s heart, no matter how heinous her reported crimes were. Queen Althea succumbed again, forgetting her anger and coming to kneel at her small daughter’s side. Like any doting mother she wiped away her daughter’s tears and gave her a loving hug. The little girl smiled sweetly and returned an embrace of real affection, even if her eyes were maliciously fixed on the angry maid and the ruined, pink dress.
“I’m sorry, mamma,” she whispered, knowing it was always best to get the first word in before questions could be asked. “I really wanted to wear the pretty dress but the maid wouldn’t let me put it on, she said I would look bad tempered and stupid in it. When I tried to put it on by myself she threw it on the floor and trampled on the poor flowers and then she spilt water on it and the dress was ruined.”
Overcome by the upset, the little girl threw her arms around her mother’s neck and sobbed loudly, allowing her mother to hold her until the sobs changed to small hiccoughs. From the corner of her eye she could see the maid’s horrified look and stuck her tongue out in provocation. It was more than the maligned maid could stand, as Daun knew it would be.
“That ain’t true, Your Majesty! The little minx snatched the dress from my hands and destroyed it herself.”
