The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (71 page)

Malingar rolled his eyes; there was no point in being angry with a dying man. “You’re damn well right, I would have tried to save her.” He turned back to Allowyn. “My plans have changed. If you can use our help, then we will ride north with you.”

Allowyn nodded his acceptance and looked at Jonderill, deciding this wasn’t the time for gentle words. “And you, My Lord? You have already told me that you intend to abandon your friends and the dream of a land free of greedy and vicious kings for reasons of your own, but will you abandon the lady and her innocent child and leave them in the hands of Borman and Sadrin?”

Jonderill hesitated, balancing the life of a mother and child against being whole again. As much as he regretted it, there could be only one decision. “No, I will ride north with you and see what can be done to help them both.”

“See, Sharman, your attempts to save me from myself have come to nothing. What do you think about that then?”  Malingar looked down waiting for his friend’s response but Sharman’s eyes were far away and his spirit had flown.

*

For a moment Borman sat there, the land around him as uniform a grey as the sky, not understanding why the men behind him were falling to the ground and their horses were screaming in panic. And then, as if the sun had suddenly come out, he realised what was happening. They were under attack, and what was worse, he was at the very front of the line, exposed to the dark metal bolts that were descending from high up on the rocks and boulders like angry buzzers.

Why he hadn’t been hit in the first wave of the attack was a miracle and beyond reason, but he wasn’t going to hang about to see if his extraordinary luck would suddenly change. He dragged his horse around and dug in his heels as if his life depended on it, but instead of charging forward into the protective cordon of his men, his horse froze with every muscle and sinew shaking with the strain as it tried to obey its master’s commands to run.

Borman cursed, pulled his horse back around then nearly fell off the beast as a bolt quivered in the air in front of him just a hand span away from where the back of his head had been a moment before. Another fraction of a heartbeat and it would have split his head in two like an over-ripe melon. He swallowed back his scream of fear and turned startled eyes on to the magician beside him and the three bolts that hung in the air just in front of him.

The magician held out one hand, palm uppermost so that the razor tip of the closest bolt almost touched his skin. The look of intense concentration turned his young features into those of an older man and deep furrows lined his face. Borman would have liked to ask him how long he could hold the deadly missiles back, but decided it wasn’t a good time to interrupt the boy’s concentration.

Behind him he could hear his troop captains shouting frantic orders to retreat which, under the circumstances, would be a most sensible course of action, except he wasn’t interested in good sense, just survival. Already he could see movement up ahead where their attackers were forming up for a charge and any retreat by his army would leave him alone and exposed. His interest in how long Sadrin could hold the bolts back was immaterial now. If he didn’t do something soon they were going to be ridden down by the rapidly advancing enemy line.

“Be ready.” hissed Sadrin through clenched teeth.

Building a protective ward was simple and something he had mastered a long time ago, but he’d never tried to hold one for so long or around someone other than himself. It was unbelievably tiring and he could feel his power draining away from him like water from a rusty trough. If it hadn’t been for the energy he was absorbing from the flight of the four bolts, he would already have succumbed to exhaustion. However, if something didn’t change soon he was going to have to let the bolts through and hope that they were too spent to cause much injury.

Borman was ready to turn his horse and ride away as fast as he could, but for the moment he was stuck in place by whatever it was that Sadrin had created, watching a huge bear of a man with a wood axe the size of a meat cleaver in his hand charging towards him. He was almost wetting himself with fear when the four bolts suddenly dropped from the air and his horse surged forward released from the spell, nearly unseating him. If it hadn’t been for Sadrin’s restraining hand he would have probably charged forward out of control to his death but the magician grabbed the horse’s bridle and turned its head allowing Borman to regain his seat.

The speed of the boy’s reactions surprised him, but no more than the magician’s manic grin of delight when he glanced his way. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he would have thought that the boy was just about to fuck a whore. Sadrin turned back to the charging hoard, excitement raising the hair in his outstretched arms and released his power. The feeling of ecstasy surged through him making each part of him shudder with pleasure and when he opened his eyes again every man, horse and weapon had gone. He gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned his horse away, breathing hard but still enjoying the tingling sensation that using his gift always gave him.

For a moment Borman couldn’t move, he was so stunned. He’d been close to magicians since the day he was born and had become accustomed to what they could do, but he’d never seen anything quite like that. One moment the riders were charging towards him and the next they were gone, leaving hardly a trace. Somewhere in between Sadrin raising his hands and the enemy disintegrating there had been white hot flames, of that he was sure, but it was no kind of fire that he’d ever seen before.

Even the fabled burning oil which burned on water with a white hot flame and couldn’t be put out, could be nothing compared to what he’d just seen. A big smile crossed his face as he considered the possibilities. With Sadrin at his side nobody would dare stand in his way ever again and if they did he could command his magician to turn them to ash. If he’d ever had any doubts about being able to take control of the six kingdoms Sadrin had just burned them all away.

The King wasn’t the only one who was stunned. High on the rocky slope Dozo stared down in horror at the dark marks and welded stone which was all that was left of the hundred or so men and women who had charged forward and had died. Next to him he could hear Barrin breathing hard trying to hold back his own feelings of fear and revulsion. It had been his plan to send them forward in waves instead of all together as Barrin had wanted, which was the luckiest decision he’d ever made, otherwise they could have all been down there when the crimson robe turned them to ash.

A quarter of his force had been destroyed without drawing blood, men and women he had come to know and like, annihilated in a blink of the magician’s eye. He guessed that the next wave wouldn’t be following on as planned, but when he turned to get confirmation from Barrin, the horror had gone from his friend’s face to be replaced by determination and a dark anger.

“We have to strike now with everything we have before they have chance to recover and reform.” He started to move away but Dozo grabbed his arm.

“Don’t be a fool! Didn’t you see what that demon just did?”

“We have to. Don’t you understand! Once they get over their surprise they will be back to hunt us down and burn us to nothing, and not just us, but every man, woman and child who is hiding in these hills. Borman was a dangerous enemy before but now, with that monster at his side, he will be an unstoppable tyrant. Every dream we’ve had and everything we have planned for will be destroyed, burned away to nothing, not only here in Essenland, but in Vinmore and in all the six kingdoms. Borman and that demon will rule it all. We have to stop them now.”

Stunned, Dozo released Barrin’s arm and watched him hurry away. Barrin was right of course, they had to stop Borman and his pet magician, but at what cost? He could see the King and his guards retreating but it wouldn’t be for long. They would reform and come back again, it was what they were trained to do. No, it was more than that. They were soldiers who would follow their king’s command and who expected to die with a sword in their hand.

The people who followed him were different. They were farmers or miners or shopkeepers. They had families and children and hopes for the future. Did he have the right to command them to attack knowing that they would all die? The Dozo he had once been might have said yes, you had to stand up to tyranny, but what about Trad, Ennett and Stanner and their unborn child? How could he lead his people into a suicide charge knowing that his family would be amongst those going to their death?

Stanner came up beside him and touched him gently on the arm. “Where is Master Barrin going?”

Dozo swallowed back the hard lump in his throat. “He is going to attack Borman before he has time to regroup and come after us.”

She squeezed his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “Then shouldn’t we be going with him?”

“You saw what happened. If we go after them that could be our fate too.”

“I know, but if there is even a small chance that we can reach the King whilst they are in confusion and unprepared, then we have to take it, otherwise we will spend the rest of our lives running.”

Of course she was right, but it wasn’t as simple as that. “Will the others follow me?”

“Yes, they want revenge.”

He turned to face her and took both her hands in his. “If I asked would you to stay here with Ennett and Trad until it is all over?”

“You know I cannot do that.”

Dozo nodded. Of course he did, that is why he loved her so much. He closed his eyes to hold back the tears and took her in his arms to give her a long, loving kiss. If they survived he was going to make sure she was never put in danger by his actions ever again.

*

When Borman caught up with his men, they had withdrawn into a small, broad valley and looked like a flock of cringing woollies rather than a king’s army. They had ridden at a break-neck pace for more than a candle length away from the ambush in the lowest part of the Silver Hills and had almost made it to where the road to Vorglave, the Enclave and the Silver Hills Bridge met before they had stopped. Borman was infuriated that they had not only run but that they had run so far.

He might have forgiven them if they had gone only half the distance, so they could quickly reform and pursue the rebels who’d had the audacity to attack him. Instead, they had run like frightened hoppers being chased by fang hounds, and it would take them forever to go back, pick up the rebels’ tracks and hunt them all down. It would take them even longer to find the villages which supported them, and kill every man, woman and child within.

Under normal circumstances he would have executed the officers who had led the retreat there and then except for one thing; he had Sadrin. The magician’s gift was terrifying so perhaps he could afford to delay his pursuit without too much damage being done. With luck, it might even prove to be to his advantage. Once the word spread of what his magician did to the peasants of Essenland, then perhaps the people of Northshield would be more inclined to hand over the rebels who had stolen his throne without him having to go to the trouble of winkling them out.

The thought made him smile for a moment, but it didn’t last long as he rode into the valley and saw what his men were doing. They could have only arrived a short while before him, and yet they were already setting up camp. A picket line had been constructed and wood was being gathered and stacked into several heaps ready for the cook fires. On one side a sturdy shelter had been built for the dozen or so men who lay on the ground whilst two healers tended to their wounds. There were even men digging waste pits.

It had all the appearance of being a permanent camp and that didn’t suit his plans one little bit. As soon as his horse came to a halt, Troop Captain Dwale hurried over looking both worried and relieved at the same time. He hadn’t found time to appoint a new Guardcaptain after Malingar had deserted him, but one thing was for certain; after his hasty retreat from the Silver Hills, the next Guardcaptain wasn’t going to be Dwale. The man was small and skimpy with teeth like a gnawer.

“Your Majesty, I thought we had better set up camp and attend to the wounded.”

The King looked across to where the healers were working, his mind already calculating numbers. “How many have we lost?”

“Seventeen dead, twelve wounded of which three cannot be moved.”

“Put the three who cannot be moved into the waste pit with the dead and the others on their horses. We are leaving.”

“But Your Majesty…..”

Borman glared down at the man, sorely tempted to order the magician to cremate him on the spot, but there was a shout of alarm and he turned his horse as one of the outlying sentries galloped into camp, throwing himself off his horse and hastily bowing. “Your Majesty, there are riders approaching from the north, around two hundred with more people on foot behind them.”

So the rebels had reformed and come after him. It was a stupid thing to do but it did show some courage which he reluctantly had to admire. “Change that order, dispose of all the wounded and get your men mounted. We are going out to meet these peasants and get rid of them once and for all.” He turned and gave Sadrin a cold smirk. “That was an impressive piece of magic you did there. Now let me see you do it again.”

*

It had been the wrong decision. Jonderill knew it now. The further north they rode away from the Enclave, the stronger became his need to reach the Pillars of the Allkinds and call on their magic. For the last candle length, he’d tried to think of an easy way to tell Allowyn and Malingar that he’d changed his mind once more, and wouldn’t be going to Dozo’s camp with them. He had even rehearsed the words. When they stopped where the three roads met to water and rest their horses, and he told them that he was leaving, their reaction had been even more hostile than he had imagined it would be.

Malingar had called him a coward and had stormed off to be with his men and Allowyn was adamant that he’d vowed to be Jonderill’s protector and would not leave without him. Despite everything he knew about protectors and their touchy natures, he’d been certain that Allowyn would have obeyed his command to leave him, but he’d misjudged the man and the strength of his convictions. It would seem that his vow of obedience to his new master was selective.