The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (6 page)

He handed them a small key from a chain around his neck which the largest of the guards slipped into the lock, turned and then pulled the door open. Instantly Jonderill could feel the release of pressure on his arms as their burnt stumps sprang away from the confinement of his body. Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and heaved him from the cage dropping him heavily on the floor. Jonderill lay there panting with the pain and unable to move, his muscles numb and his joints locked in place. Tallison kicked him in the side in his frustration but it did nothing to help him straighten his back or his limbs.

Two guards grabbed him and hauled him upwards and he shrieked with the sudden agony as his back straightened and his legs dangled beneath him. He could feel his heart beating very fast and erratically and his vision started to dim. Tallison said something to the girl and then he felt her cool hand on his arm and the pain was gone. He steadied his legs beneath him, slowly taking the weight of his own body whilst his heartbeat slowed to a stuttering jump and his vision cleared. Tallison stood in front of him, his hands on his hips and a look of triumph on his face. He gave the girl a manic grin and she removed her hand from Jonderill’s arm. The pain of muscles cramping and the fire of blood returning to lifeless limbs hit him and he staggered under the shock but remained standing, determined not to fall again.

Tallison snapped out more commands and the largest of the guards stepped forward and wrapped a thick leather band around Jonderill’s neck, pulling it tight enough to restrict his breathing and fastening it behind him with heavy buckles. Jonderill struggled to draw breath but realised it had been cleverly done; tight enough to hurt and stop him moving his head but not tight enough to choke him completely. The guard attached a chain to the loop at the front and handed it to his master whilst two other guards grabbed his arms, crossed them in front of him and bound his elbows and forearms together so that his burnt stumps stuck out in front of him like trophies for all to see.

With a sharp yank on the chain which made Jonderill stumble forward Tallison set off leading the procession with Jonderill following behind like a whipped cur. The guards fell in beside them and behind he could just make out the lighter footfalls of the girl and the slave. More guards opened the door flaps of the pavilion letting the procession pass and then falling in behind them. Jonderill gasped in the sudden heat and blinked away tears as the brilliant sunlight stung his eyes.

He staggered forwards trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. Beyond the heavily guarded compound there was a grey cloud that rippled in the sultry breeze and movement as if the cloud was writhing with a terrible infestation. The smell of sickness and death tainted the air and the buzz of swarming insects deadened the sound of the heavy boots of the guards marching all around him. Jonderill stumbled on the hard packed grit covered ground, choking on the pressure of the collar around his neck as it was yanked forward and desperately trying to remain upright on legs which would barely support him.

When he stumbled on a loose stone which turned beneath his bare feet he went down onto his knees, fighting to keep his balance so that his bound arms wouldn’t hit the ground. Gasping for air as the collar tightened around his throat and stole his breath he rolled to one side and instantly two guards were beside him. They hauled him to his feet again and propped him up whilst he steadied his legs and caught his breath. The moment’s respite gave him the chance to clear his vision and focus on where he was being led. His eyes opened wide with shock and his stomach turned in fear.

What he had taken to be a grey cloud were tents, rows and rows of open-sided shelters intermingled with shacks and hovels propping each other up. He had seen the homes of the poor in Tarmin but they were palaces compared to this. As his focus improved he realised what he had taken to be the swarm of insects were people, thousands of them, their screams of hatred and cries of derision becoming louder with every step he took in their direction. The only thing which remained unchanged was the stink of filth, rot and death. He stumbled onwards not noticing that his leash had gone slack until he came level with where his captor stood.

“Just look, Callistares, my people wait for you. They have no love for your kind which tried to enslave them all, but I saved them and set them free. Now I will show them that I have saved them from you and your evil spells, and they will love me all over again for what I have done for them. Do you hear them, Callistares? They hate you and will tear you limb from limb if I let them, but I won’t, not yet at least. Have no fear, magician, you have a lot of dying to do yet before I give you to the mob.”

He yanked on Jonderill’s chain and the procession moved forward again. As they reached the edge of the crowd the guards drew their swords making a passageway through the mob but doing nothing to lessen their screams of hatred. The noise battered at Jonderill’s ears, beating down on him like a physical force, making him bow his head and keep his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. He had tried to see into the crowd, to understand their hatred of him, but all he had seen were desperate women being driven by something more than just their loathing.

When the first stone hit him on the shoulder he recoiled in shock. The impact was nothing compared to his other hurts but it was unexpected and with it came a change in the tone of the crowd, now they had found a target on which to focus. Another stone came and then another, hitting his body and bruising his skin but never once cutting through the protection of his robe. The shouting of the crowd became more piercing as they called for his blood and their target changed from his body to his exposed arms. One cut into his newly stitched wound and despite himself he screamed with the sudden pain. The crowd roared its approval and more stones were aimed at his exposed wounds. His fear of what would happen if the stones cut into his burnt wrists tore through his being blocking out every other thought and making the flame in his mind burn more fiercely. He closed his eyes and staggered onwards waiting for the impact but miraculously it never came.

Failing to draw further blood from his exposed arms the crowd changed the direction of their thrown missiles. When a sharp edged stone hit Jonderill just above the temple making him stagger to his knees with blood pouring from the jagged cut the crowd roared in excitement, pressing forward in their eagerness to reach him. Then the screams changed in tone becoming more frantic. Jonderill shook his head trying to clear the blood from his eyes and listened as the screams changed to those of fear and panic. He glanced to the side and stared in horror at the bleeding bodies at the edge of the crowd where the guards had charged using their curved swords indiscriminately. They were still there, hacking and slicing into the crowd which fought desperately to escape their deadly blades.

Jonderill struggled to his feet and moved on hoping that the guards would be forced to follow. He heard the screams diminish behind him and wondered what sort of monster would slaughter his own people. Another change in the tone of the crowd broke through his confused thoughts as the high pitched calls of the women receded and the more rhythmic sounds of men shouting to some order took their place. He shook the blood from his eyes again and did his best to look around him. Men stood in ranks on either side; thousands of them, dressed in the loose robes of the desert peoples, and chanting well rehearsed lines of adoration for their leader. Apart from the officers, who stood at the head of each file, the men were unarmed and from the few he could see they looked sullen and less enthusiastic than their loud chanting would suggest.

In front of him Tallison waved at the crowds like some idolised commander, but it was not that which caught Jonderill’s attention. Beyond him was a high stone platform and below that, a lower platform with a thick stake driven through it into the ground. Between that and the procession, there was a double column of men, about twenty on each side, each armed with a thick cane. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Goddess to give him strength to face what he guessed was to come. The flame in his mind burnt stronger but the Goddess didn’t answer his prayer as the first blows fell across his back and shoulders.

The shock of cold water hitting his face brought him back to consciousness, that and the pain from his bruised and battered body as two guards hauled him to his feet and dragged him up onto the stone platform where Tallison stood waiting. He tried to brace his legs firmly underneath him but when the guards released their hold his knees buckled and he slid to the ground. Tallison snarled a command and the two guards hauled him upright again and propped him up. Jonderill looked out over the sea of silent faces and then glanced back at Tallison who stood with his arms held aloft as if he was taking in the adoration of his people. He could feel the anger of the men lined up in ranks but curiously it didn’t seem to be directed at him.

Tallison dropped his hands and smiled broadly at the waiting men. “My people, beloved of Talis, may his name be forever on your lips, I, Tallison, chosen of the one true god, have again brought you the gift of life and freedom.” There was a scattering of applause and a few shouts of praise from the officers and the men in the front ranks. “I, your father and your leader, have fought to protect you and your women and your children from the evil which would corrupt your minds and enslave your bodies. I have fought and slain the demon’s minion whose life is dedicated to destroying you.”

He bent forward and pulled a decaying ball of flesh from a box at his feet and held it high for everyone to see. Jonderill felt sickness rise within him at the sight of Tissian’s severed head but he didn’t turn away. Instead he uttered a small prayer of farewell to his friend and protector as Tallison dropped it back into the box, wiped his sticky hand down the front of his tunic and held his hands high to accept the louder and more enthusiastic applause and chanting of his audience.

“I, who love you and care for you all as a father cares for his children, have laid down my life for you and have battled and triumphed over the greatest of all evils. I, Tallison, touched by Talis’s own hand, have taken this magician’s terrible power and have destroyed it. The applause and shouting were thunderous and Tallison let it go on, beaming at his subjects until the sound reached a crescendo and then stopping it abruptly with a slicing motion of his hand.

In the sudden silence he spoke quietly so that men had to lean forward to hear his words. “It was I, alone, who took the power of the one named Coberin, son of Callistares, who would have enslaved you all.” He raised the volume of his voice so that all could hear. “It is I, alone, who has taken the power of this one, the son of Coberin, who would have enslaved all of you again.” He raised his voice to a shout, “I have done this for you, for all of you.” This time he let the adoration go on and on and at the moment it started to fade away he waved it to silence. “I have destroyed this magician’s power. I have destroyed the most evil of all beings and turned him into just a man, a man like any one of you, a man of flesh and bone. Do you want me to show you what a magician without his power looks like?”

The roar of assent was overwhelming and Tallison yelled along with the crowd whilst the two guards dragged Jonderill forward to where Tallison stood. He lent forward so only Jonderill could hear what he had to say. “I am going to humble you, magician, in front of all my people and then humiliate you and make you less than a man so they will all know that I am more powerful than Callistares ever was.”

He pulled his knife and for a moment Jonderill thought he was going to cut him. Instead Tallison took hold of the front of his soiled robe and slid his knife behind it. Jonderill felt the bite of the cold knife between his skin and the neck of the robe and gritted his teeth as Tallison yelled in exaltation and sliced downwards. The back of the robe yanked hard against his neck as the knife pulled the front forward but nothing else happened, the knife didn’t move and the robe didn’t part. Tallison looked angrily into Jonderill’s eyes, hissed a curse and sawed at the neckline again but still it remained intact. In fury Tallison sawed harder at the fabric, the tip of the knife jabbing into Jonderill’s flesh and drawing blood. Instantly Tallison dropped the knife with a scream and jumped back clutching his hand as if his fingers had been burnt.

There was a murmur from the crowd as they waited in anticipation of the magician being exposed. Tallison glared them into silence and waved two of his bodyguards forward. “Get that robe off him, but don’t kill him.”

The two guards who had been holding Jonderill up pushed him to his knees whilst another two drew their knives and tried to cut through the back of the robe, pulling on the neck and making Jonderill choke. When that didn’t work one pulled his sword and tried to pierce the fabric where it was loose but the sword just pushed at the cloth and then slid off to one side. Tallison stamped his feet in anger whilst somewhere at the back of the crowd someone dared to start a slow handclap.

Tallison screamed in frustration. “Pull the bloody thing over his head, you fools.”

One of the guards kicked Jonderill to the ground and held him there with a boot on his tied arms whilst the others grabbed the soiled hem and yanked the robe upwards. The robe moved a hand span before the men screamed and scuttled backwards clutching their hands. They glanced at the furious face of their master and tried again but the moment their fingers touched the robe they were forced back, the skin on their hands black and blistered.

From his position on the ground Jonderill couldn’t see what was happening. He had felt them tugging at his robe and its movement around his ankles but after that all there had been were the screams of the men who were trying to disrobe him and the smell of burning flesh. Behind him he could hear Tallison shrieking in anger and frustration and amongst the crowd the growing strength of the slow handclap interspersed with derisive laughter. Despite the desperate state he was in he smiled to himself in satisfaction; he might have lost the little bit of power he had but there was still some residue left in the robe to give his body some protection. That wouldn’t last for long, of that he was sure, but for the moment it prevented Tallison from stripping him and doing what he had threatened. It had given him a moments respite and for that he was more than grateful.