by Clare Smith
However much he loved her, it was of no importance. All that mattered was today, at sunset, she would return to Alewinder and once again be the Princess Daun instead of the gentle Rosera. After that she would become another man's wife. Jonderill slowly pulled himself to his feet. He had played his part in making sure Maladran's spell was foiled and had discharged his debt to the two magicians. Now it was time for him to go and make his own life and forget all about her.
Rosera ran on deeper into the forest with tears streaming down her cheeks. At first they were tears of anger; she was a woman not a child and then they turned to tears of regret. Jonderill had always been there when she needed him and she knew she had treated him badly playing with him like that, yet she had been sure that he loved her more than as just a sister. Guilty and more than a little confused, her pace slowed from an all out run to a gentle walk.
Eventually she stopped at the edge of a small brook. It was one of the many which tumbled over well worn stone beds on its way from the mountains of Essenland, down through Vinmore’s forests to the low lands and the Blue River. The stream was noisy and bubbling and full of sun-sparkled reflections and the green mossy bank which boarded both sides looked cool, comfortable and inviting.
Not caring about her abandoned basket, she found a comfortable spot on the edge of the stream, sat down on the soft turf and gently dangled her feet in the bubbling, icy water. The sparkling liquid bounced over her feet making her gasp at its coldness and then laugh as the bubbles tickled up between her toes. A sun fish with a speckled back darted from beneath the bank as she splashed in the water and a complaining green pond hopper hopped from a newly drenched stone onto the bank to avoid the disturbance.
Sky flyers ignored her presence and called overhead as brightly as a dawn chorus and an untimely night hooter called and received an indignant hoot from its surprised and disgruntled mate. The strangeness of the sights and sounds made Rosera wish that Jonderill were here to share them with her but she was far from being frightened; this was her forest and as long as the forest creatures were at rest there was nothing to be scared of.
She lay back against the warm bank and her mind began to wander back to Jonderill and her feelings for him. Somehow, in the heady fragrance of forest everleaf and wild skyflower, his face became harder to focus on and another face prevailed, hazily, as if it were a face in a dream. The more she thought about it the more she was certain she had seen that face before, but a very long time ago. Only she couldn’t remember where she had seen him except that it hadn’t been in a forest. She frowned and shut her eyes whilst she tried to bring the image into focus.
When she thought she had it securely in her mind, it disappeared in a sudden scolding chatter as two tree leapers with bushy tails scuttled up a nearby bole and sent out their alarm call from an overhanging branch. The sky flyers flew from the trees calling out their warning cries and she hastily sat up looking for the source of the disturbance. Rosera followed their line of complaint and was startled to see a bright red hunting cap, adorned with a single coolly bird feather, float jauntily down the bubbling stream, bobbing and ducking over boulders and stones.
Intrigued by the unusual sight, she hitched up her long skirt in one hand and using the other to keep her balance waded into the centre of the stream to retrieve the object. By the time she had reached the hat it had been joined by a swirling red cloak and most curiously of all, two soft, knee high, brown leather boots. She laughed out loud at the strange sight, her natural sense of humour pushing any other thoughts from her mind.
Within moments she had dragged the odd collection out of the water and had hung them up to dry. The hat came first, placed squarely on a round boulder she had propped in the fork of a tree and below this she draped the cloak, slightly lopsided but flowing freely in the light, warm breeze. Finally, braced by several twigs, she propped up the boots, painted a face on the boulder with mud from the stream and stood back to admire her work.
"My, aren't we the handsome one?" she said curtseying deeply to the imaginary figure. "Please excuse me, my prince, but it's not often we have the pleasure of such a notable personage as yourself in our forest." Rosera giggled in delight at her own game. "Now if you have no objection to me being slightly forward, perhaps you would care to dance."
She leaned forward, closed her eyes and began to hum clearly and tunefully to the rhythm of a swaying dance. Although she only vaguely remembered the tune, she felt as if she should know exactly what to do, almost as if dancing were second nature to her. Gracefully she held out her arms and made only the slightest protest when strong arms engulfed her from behind and pressed her body against his hard, muscular form. Together they swept around the glade as if it were a festive ballroom and it wasn’t until a strong baritone voice joined with hers that Rosera realised the man who held her in his arms wasn’t Jonderill.
With a startled cry she stepped away from him in sudden fear and looked around for something with which she could defend herself. When she looked back a tall young man with shoulder-length hair, a broad smile and deep brown eyes full of humour and joy stood before her. His richly embroidered tunic fell over soft leather breaches at the bottom of which stockinged feet poked out. He took a step forward and carefully took her hand lifting it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. When he released her hand he made a deep, noble bow, giving her a charming smile and making her pale cheeks flush in confusion. She looked down coyly and so missed him moisten his lips in anticipation of what was to come.
"My Lady, I hope I didn’t startle you but I saw you here conversing with my cloak and whilst it is certainly an attractive garment, I thought you would prefer a more substantial and responsive personage on which to focus your attentions." Rosera blushed again whilst the young man with the charming smile bowed briefly to the limp cloak. "May I introduce my three faithful companions; Sir Cloak, Monsignor Hat and in a supporting role Squire Boots."
The girl giggled coyly and curtsied. "Rosera, My Lord."
"And even more beautiful than the exotic flower after which you were surely named." He took her other hand and kissed her fingertips again, lingering longer than before. "One of such exquisite beauty shouldn’t be alone in the woods, even in this quiet and gentle dell."
He looked around his surroundings to make certain there was nobody else around and then with a brief gesture and a steady arm pressure, pressed Rosera to be seated on the soft turf. He knelt down beside her, still holding her hand. "Now, my lady of the forest, tell me what magical deity has brought you to me in this lover's bower."
Rosera laughed, delighted with the romantic speech of the handsome young man with the noble manners. "I was walking, sir, searching for berries."
"Are you certain you were searching for just the fruits of the forest? Perhaps, instead, you were searching for someone who could appreciate your beauty and offer you pleasure beyond your dreams?”
Rosera was overwhelmed and put up no resistance at all when the young man wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him so tightly she could feel the pounding of his heart. He held her in a warm and lingering embrace lowering his lips to her neck and nibbled slowly and deliberately upwards until his moist tongue reached her earlobe and his firm hands caressed her shoulders. She squirmed slightly beneath his touch, enjoying the unfamiliar sensations that it gave her, and didn’t pull away until the moment his lips touched hers.
"My Lord, I don’t know you and we’ve only just met. I don't even know your name."
The young man pulled away slightly, still smiling. "That cannot be true, my lovely. I have seen you so many times in my dreams that surely you know me. My name is Pellum; do you not remember my touch, my embrace, my kiss as we lay together?"
Rosera felt even more confused, uncertain of what was dream or reality and yet she was certain she knew who he was, certain that they had once met. He kissed her hand and smiled once more then pulled her to his lips. Memories stirred within her of strange feelings, of possessing things
and having what she wanted and at that moment she wanted this man to be hers, to have and to command. She pulled him tightly to her and leaned back onto the mossy bank. Pellum needed no second invitation.
His lips pushed her to the ground whilst his hand began to caress her body, gently at first and then with an overpowering urgency which took even him by surprise. Whilst his lips held her immobile his hand pushed down the high lacings of her girdle to expose a pale breast which he squeezed gently and rubbed the raised nipple between his practised fingers. The other hand had already reached the inside of her thigh when the girl instinctively parted her legs in welcome.
He rubbed gently at the dampness between her thighs and moved his other hand down to release the laces of his breaches. Quickly he moved across her taking her nipple into his mouth and pressing his manhood into the soft fuzz between her legs. The furious screech of an enraged war-horse shattered the peace of the clearing and Pellum rolled off the girl as if he had been thrown.
A moment later he was on his knees and shaking violently, not so much with fright at the sight of the grey stallion pawing angrily at the ground only a fraction away from where his head had been but at the shock of his own behaviour. True he had taken girls wherever he could attract or pay for them but he honestly had no intention of taking this beauty so quickly or rapaciously, she was a pleasure to be savoured. Rosera was as equally overwhelmed, curled into a tight ball and too terrified to cry.
Pellum crawled back to her, pulling his breaches together as he did so and keeping a watchful eye on the grey horse. If he was not careful either of them could scare the girl away and that would be a great pity. Such innocent and untried beauties were rare in the six kingdoms and he was excited at the thought of being the first to sample this one's pleasures. He helped her into a sitting position, putting his arms around her and holding her tight whilst the black-maned horse snorted its disdain down at them.
"Don't be scared of him, it's just Sansun. He was the one who threw my cloak and boots into the brook and all because he gets jealous when I give my affections to others instead of him.”
Pellum looked at the girl again and was shocked by the strength of his own feelings. He wanted to possess her come what may and moved his hand to cup the still exposed breast. The horse snorted in warning and took another stiff-legged pace forward and Pellum hastily helped the girl cover her breast with her dress.
"I'm afraid my noble steed intends to come between us but we must meet again and continue where we left off, preferably when Sansun isn't here to disturb us."
Rosera jumped to her feet and pulled back in shock and dismay, equally surprised at her own feelings. "Oh no, we can never meet again," she said in real alarm as she started to move away from him.
"What, never?" questioned Pellum disappointedly.
"No, never." Rosera stopped and looked back to the young man. "Well perhaps someday."
"Someday? When?"
"I don't know, someday..... Well why you don’t come tonight to the woodsman's cottage."
She pulled the top of her girdle straight, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran into the forest, stopping only once to turn and wave goodbye.
*
Jonderill placed the two rough sacking bags, tied together with thick plaited leather, on the step by the front door of the cottage whilst he made a last check of their contents. Carrying the weight of the bags would cause him little discomfort. In twenty summers Jonderill's possessions only amounted to two clean shirts, a spare pair of leggings, his inactive wand and the grey magician's robe, which was far too small for him to wear. The only other things he took were a woodsman's cloak, a hunting knife with a broad, long blade and the axe.
He was certain that the magicians would have no further use for any of them after that night. They were already rolled together in the blanket from his bed, ready to be tied across his back. He placed the two bags across his shoulders, the bag holding his possessions being balanced by the other containing bread and fruit, a small amount of dried meat and a clay pot of sweet red-berry wine. After carefully fastening the blanket roll in place between them, Jonderill moved to where Plantagenet and Animus waited in silence.
"You don't have to go, Jonderill," said Animus, more pleading than stating a fact. "When we return to the palace there will still be a place for you in our tower, the same as there was before."
"We can even start your training again," promised Plantagenet. "Now you’re a man you may find it easier to concentrate on your lessons."
Jonderill forced a smile. Whilst he was a man, Plantagenet would always treat him as if he were a small boy, the same as Animus would always treat him like a faithful dog to fetch and carry and find his lost possessions. They didn’t mean any insult by it; it was just the way they were.
"I must go," said Jonderill, unable to keep the unhappiness out of his voice.
"Please stay," begged Animus. "How are we going to manage without you?"
"You'll manage all right. Everything is packed and prepared for the journey and when you take the princess back to her parents and her people tonight and when she is married and Maladran’s enchantment has been defeated, you’ll be free to use your magic again. By tomorrow night you’ll once more be the king's respected magicians at home in your tower and you won't need me to care for your needs anymore."
"Why don't you at least stay until Rosera returns, she’ll be so upset if you leave without saying goodbye."
Jonderill shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
"Yes, why don't you and then you could escort us back to the palace? There's sure to be a big reward waiting for you when we return the princess safely to her parents and her people, not to mention her betrothed."
"I can't," said Jonderill, almost wistfully.
"Yes you can," replied both the magicians together.
"No, I can’t." Jonderill looked desperately from face to face. For four summers he had kept the details of his escape from the palace a secret, keeping the guilt to himself but now the magicians had a right to know. "When I stole the princess away from the palace things went badly wrong and I killed a man, the Stablemaster. I did it to stop him raising the alarm, so I dare not return with you.”
Plantagenet and Animus looked at each other in shock. Jonderill was right, he dare not return or his life would be forfeit. "Why didn't you tell us before?" asked Plantagenet. "We might have been able to do something then but your absence from the palace will be taken as an admission of guilt and will undoubtedly condemn you now."
"I know, that’s why I must go."
"Where will you, go boy?" asked Animus compassionately.
"I’m not sure, but I think I will go south to see if I can find a great ocean like the one in Plantagenet’s book."
“Don’t go to Sandstrone, it’s not a healthy place for one with even your abilities. No, you should go to Tarbis, a beautiful kingdom with mountain passes and hidden villages and a port where ships dock.”
“But it would be a dangerous journey if you were to pass close to Alewinder. It might be best if you crossed into Leersland and follow the Blue River until it turns west into Tarbis. It’s a long way round but I think I have something which might be of help.” Animus waddled off returning a few moments later with a small bundle. He held it out to Jonderill who wrapped his hand around a purse of coins. "I've never had need for coin but I always keep a few gellstart just in case of emergencies. They won't get you far but they might buy you a hot meal or two and a night's lodgings."
Plantagenet looked flustered and started rummaging through the woodpile outside the cottage door. After spreading the neat pile over a large area of garden he pulled a long battered sword from beneath the last few pieces of firewood and pushed the hilt, wound with faded leather and silver wire, into Jonderill's hand. The young man looked at it with surprise whilst Plantagenet looked abashed.
"It's a very old sword but it did me honourable duty before my power became strong enough that I had no more n
eed of it." The old magician hung his head in sorrow, "I'm sorry, boy, we’ve failed you. We should have made sure that you would be safe when this was all over."
"You haven't failed me, you took me in when no one else wanted me, even when it was obvious I would never be a magician. If anything, it’s me who has failed you by needing to live by the sword and not the spell but I will do it what honour I can and I will always remember that it was once the sword of a great magician." He gave them a brief smile and unable to say another word for the harsh lump in his throat, walked away without daring to look back.
Animus and Plantagenet watched him go until he disappeared out of sight. "Rosera is going to be very upset when she finds Jonderill has left for Tarbis without saying goodbye," said Plantagenet in warning.
"Then we will have to find a way to take her mind off things, won't we?" replied Animus with an impish smile.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Silver Horse
The time glass trickled its grains of gold slowly from one huge crystal bowl to the other, each particle falling slowly onto the apex of the receiving mound and adding to its bulk. The few remaining grains still hanging onto the upper bowl moved inexorably downwards on this, their last journey. Three times the summer had passed and the glass had been turned. Three times it had emptied but still Maladran was without an answer and now, with only a few more grains to fall before the glass would be emptied for a final time, there was so little time left. From his high-backed chair he watched another grain of gold fall, his dark eyes unblinking beneath half closed lids.
His thin, gnarled hands, criss-crossed with scars, pulled his black cloak closer around him as if to protect himself from the cold. It was an instinctive action, the constant cold and persistent hunger were self-inflicted, unlike the hatred and bitterness which gnawed at him. Sarrat had left him helpless, a prisoner in his own tower, tortured by the memories of what it had been like to control endless power with the will of his mind.
