The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (3 page)

Panic started to rise within him and he tried to force his limbs into movement but that only made things worse as sand trickled down to touch the corner of his mouth, sticking to his lips and coating his tongue. He breathed in too hard and coughed violently, filling his small air space with more sand. Closing his eyes he did his best to control his panic but it was difficult as memories of once being buried in a sandstorm flooded his mind. His stallion had saved his life on that occasion, but he wasn’t here now.

With an effort he pushed those thoughts from his mind and tried to remember what his father had taught him about escaping from a sand pit. It was small movements which were important; testing for weight, testing for damage and using anything you could as an anchor. He started with his fingers, testing the muscles and making small movements. With the exception of two fingers on his left hand they all moved and his right hand, which was stretched out in front of him, felt relatively free.

He continued down his body tensing and relaxing each muscle until he knew exactly how he was lying and how the heaviest weight lay across his legs. Carefully and slowly he moved his right arm away from him increasing his air space and pushed at the debris with his left hand until the top of his body was free. The Goddess, if she existed, had surely smiled upon him. When the roof fell in the beams had fallen into another set of triangles, smaller this time, but still big enough for him to crawl through.

Two of his fingers had been crushed by a heavy beam and he was badly bruised down one side but he was alive and that was all that mattered. He started crawling forward through a space no bigger than a pack tent, pulling himself over broken beams and chunks of rock. Desperately he hoped he was going in the right direction and that somewhere his armsbrothers were digging their way towards him. He pulled himself over one soft mound and then another and stopped as his hand touched warm flesh.

It was as black as a starless night but he could feel the shape of a head, a nose and a mouth beneath his hand. Whoever it was he was still breathing so Tozaman cleared away the sand and the rubble, cursing to himself as the debris scraped against his crushed fingers, and pulled on the body until it was free of the roof fall. Behind him there was a sudden noise of rock falling and he instinctively covered his head with his arms and the man’s head with his body. Wherever the rock was falling it had missed them.

A dim light filtered through the dust and he sighed in relief as he heard the sound of digging and the heavy breathing of labouring men. He grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him towards the light, ignoring his groans as he regained consciousness. If the man was injured it probably wasn’t doing him any good dragging him like that but it was better than just leaving him until the rest of the ceiling fell on him.

By the time he reached the light there was an escape hole big enough for the man to be pulled through. He left him there for the others to deal with and returned for the other buried armsbrother. To be honest he was sorely tempted to leave him there, but if the Goddess or Talis or whoever looked over the fortunes of men had been good enough to save him, then the least he could do was return the favour. When he reached the mound he had crawled over, the sand had shifted and the man had regained consciousness and had cleared most of the debris from his body. All that remained was one heavy beam that pinned his foot to the tunnel floor. In the darkness Tozaman couldn’t see his face but he could hear his ragged breathing and smell his fear.

He crawled across the body and felt around the trapped foot. The ankle was broken and it was likely that the foot beneath was crushed although it was impossible to tell. He ran his hands along the beam to each end. Both ends were buried deeply in the mounds of rubble and when he gave the beam a tentative push nothing moved, except a small clatter of stones and pebbles. Around him the strained timbers had started to groan again and the grinding of moving stone came from somewhere above him. The man gave a whimper of fear and Tozaman made the only decision he could.

There wasn’t enough room in the enclosed space to slice quickly downwards so he rested the knife on the man’s ankle just above the place where the bone had broken. The man’s whimpers were louder now and he only hoped that the armsbrother would have courage enough not to scream and bring the roof down on them both. He took a deep breath and pressed down as hard as he could and the sharp knife cut through skin and muscle and tendon until it reached the bone. Now he had to saw to get the foot free and the man jerked and whimpered but kept the scream to himself.

Once the bone parted Tozaman clambered back over the body and pulled him free, leaving the trapped foot behind. When he reached the hole eager hands pulled the man through and then helped him into the main tunnel. It wasn’t until they were almost back into daylight that they heard the roar of the tunnel collapsing behind them and felt the whoosh of air and dust as the gem cave was sealed forever.

*

Tozaman sat outside the miners hut and nursed his injured hand. He had splinted the two broken fingers and had wrapped them as tightly as he could but it was an awkward job with just one hand. That was another one of Talis’s idiotic tenets; that each man must care for himself so that they may honour their god with their pain. Clearly the god had never tried to stitch himself up or set his own broken bones. At least he had taught all his armsbrothers how to care for their wounds, and if they practiced that care in pairs when there was nobody watching, then who was he to stop them? Normally it would have been Dravin who would have practiced his field craft on him but he hadn’t seen Dravin since the roof fall in the mine.

Out here in the Stone Hills the miners had a much more sensible approach to caring for their sick and injured so even the overseer had turned a blind eye to their blaspheme. He had no problem leaving Bradge in their care; he had already decided that the crippled armsman would not be returning to Tilital. He had been sorely tempted to honour Talis and let the man bleed to death but losing a foot and being exiled to the desert seemed enough punishment. That still left Dravin to deal with and that was going to be far more difficult.

He watched as Dravin left the hut where Bradge lay and wondered what his father would do. How he missed the old man’s wise words, as he missed all his family. If it hadn’t been for Talis they would have still been with him, instead, there was just him and his sister left and her two children. He worried about their safety whilst he wasn’t there to protect them. Just thinking about all the things which had been done in Talis’s name made an old anger rise within him, but he pushed it back down as Dravin came and stood in front of him giving him a formal bow. It would be proper to pass his judgement now, but for his sister’s sake, who had a liking for the boy, he would wait and give more thought to the question of punishment.

“How is Bradge?” By the look on Dravin’s face it wasn’t what he was expecting his brotherlord to say.

“He offers his pain in praise to Talis, may his word live forever, but it will be a few days before he will be able to ride with us back to Tilital.”

“Bradge won’t be returning with us or riding with his brothers again. I have released him from my service.”

“Oh.” Dravin was silent for a moment and stared at his feet before finding his courage to continue. “I thought you might say that. I’m sorry, Tozaman, it was just that a handful of gemstones would make such a difference and I could see no harm in taking just a few. In any case, I have given mine to Bradge; he will need all the help he can get now he is no longer worthy to serve.”

“And what about the miner you killed?”

Dravin shrugged. “He was going to die anyway so we just helped him on his way into Talis’s halls, may his name be praised. The man should thank us for the kindness we have shown.”

Tozaman shook his head and gave a deep sigh. “Sit, Dravin, you are giving me a crick in the neck looking up at you.”

Dravin gave him one of his disarming smiles and sat on the bench next to him. It was an uncomfortable silence with neither of them saying what they really wanted to say. They watched as a family of nomads took down their brightly decorated tents and prepared to leave for somewhere further out into the desert.

“I have been talking to our travelling brothers.” began Dravin, breaking the silence. “Do you know that the men and the women live together and that a man lies with just one woman?”

Tozaman nodded. “Yes, it’s the way most people in the six kingdoms choose to live.”

“That’s because they are unbelievers and don’t know any better. Talis, may his name be praised, says it weakens a man to be with a woman unless he is sharing his seed.”

“Its how we used to live before Tallison changed our lives.” Dravin looked at him quizzically. “You are too young to remember but I do. My family had a house in the city, a white one with a green door made of wood. Each night my mother and father slept together in a small room at the back of the house and I shared a big room with my brothers and sisters. In the daytime we would go together to the school in the city square to learn our letters and numbers or sometimes to the market to buy food, and in the evening we would play on the roof of our house or listen to the stories my father and brothers told.”

“Yes, but that was before Talis, may he live forever, showed us the right way to live, how to avoid the sin of fornication and how to grow and be strong.”

Tozaman shook his head sadly. “We were strong then and happy, my family and I. Now there is just my sister and me left, and our people grow weaker by the day. If I could I would follow the nomads into the desert and live the life that I knew as a child, the sort of life a man should lead, not this abomination which is being forced upon us by some faceless god that doesn’t exist.”

Dravin looked at Tozaman in alarm. “Quiet brother! What you say is heresy and should it be overheard it will have us both killed, you for saying it and me for listening to you. In any case you are wrong; Talis is a mighty god who will lead us to victory over the unbelievers.” Tozaman shook his head again but said nothing. “The trouble with you, brother,” continued Dravin, “is that you are tired. It has been a long patrol and your responsibilities have weighed heavily upon you. When we return to Tilital you can rest and make a sacrifice at the altar to restore your faith.” Dravin gave a big grin and punched Tozaman playfully on the shoulder. “Perhaps as a reward for our diligence we will be allowed to take a woman or two; it’s a long time since I planted my seed. Do you think your sister would lay for me?”

Tozaman looked at Dravin’s eager face and gave him a small smile. “If Talis wills it then I am sure she will.” He stood and looked wistfully into the night. “Now, if you will excuse me I need to check that our armsbrothers who have the watch are awake and alert.”

Dravin watched him leave to check the guards, yawned and then set off for his bedroll; the thought of Tozaman’s sister’s naked body and parted thighs making his manhood rise.

Tozaman was also thinking about his sister and their argument the day before he had left on patrol. She had never been the same since the father of her children had been taken from her in the pointless war with Leersland, and she had become one of the many women who were expected to lay with any man who wanted her. The problem was that despite having birthed two children, she was still a beauty, and when the men were given permission to take a woman to their bed there were always too many men who wanted her. He had done his best to protect her, but she became increasingly bitter every day and her hatred of Talis and Tallison was becoming dangerously obvious.

Their argument hadn’t been about Talis or Tallison though; it had been about the children. The boy was just six and would have at least one more summer at his mother’s side before he would be moved to the mens’ camp. However, the girl was different; a sweet, pretty thing who would be eight at the next moon cycle. When she had seen eight summers she would be shown to Tallison and if he liked her, she would live in his tent until he tired of her.

His sister had wanted to cut her, to scar her face and body and mutilate a part of her so that the child wouldn’t be attractive to Tallison. He had argued vehemently against it and had threatened to kill her if she touched the child. She had promised not to harm her daughter but his sister was desperate and he had been afraid to leave her. He had asked one of his fellow brotherlords to keep an eye on her, but he needed to return before she did something stupid. With that thought Tozaman came to an abrupt halt and called the nearest perimeter guard to him. If they broke camp now and set off at first light they could be in Tilital before the moon rose again.

*

Tozaman stared down at the small bundle of belongings in disbelief and choked back the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a weakness and an affront to Talis for a man to cry but he couldn’t help it, she was the last of his family. His father, mother, uncles and four brothers had all gone. This was all that was left of them; a small bundle wrapped in his father’s old leather cloak, left by the refuse heap and chewed by the gnawers which grew fat on the rubbish and the discarded bodies of those too poor or too alone to receive a proper burial.

Her body wasn’t amongst them though. She had been burnt alive along with five others for daring to speak out against the way they were forced to live. He knew he shouldn’t have left her. Not that he had any choice; a brotherlord went where he was told, but he never thought she would do something so stupid before he could return and talk some sense into her. Tozaman wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and continued to stare at the bundle. He had no idea what it contained but whatever was in it would be worthless; like everyone else in this cursed city of tents and shacks his sister had sold everything to feed her children.

He had tried not to think about the children until then, so deep had been his grief for his sister, but now he studied the refuse heap wondering if their small bodies had been dumped there too. He had always assumed that children were too valuable to kill for no good reason, but their mother leading a rebellion against the Rale of Sandstrone could have been considered reason enough. If he could find their bodies then he could at least give them a decent departure from this life.