The White Robe (35 page)

If it were not for his aversion to weapons and the white robe he wore, he wouldn’t have known he was a magician. Plantagenet and Animus had asked him how his magic felt, but he hadn’t been able to answer because he had never felt it. Plantagenet had said that his felt like the tingle you get when you have been nettled, and Animus said his felt like eating cream cakes. When he couldn’t answer they were as disappointed in him as he was in himself. Callabris was going to be even more disappointed when he found out how little magic he really had. He turned his attention back to the view from the window and wondered what it would be like to take Sansun from his stable and just ride away and leave what he was behind.

A light knock at the door brought him out of his sombre contemplation and he turned around expecting it to be one of the old magicians. Instead Tissian poked his head around the corner of the door and gave Jonderill a broad grin before slipping into the room. For the first time since coming to the tower he was fully dressed and had a sword at his side.

“If I stay in that room for another candle length I’ll go crazy.” He gave Jonderill a long look and shook his head. “It looks like you already have done.”

“I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s definitely a bad sign.” He gave a mischievous grin. “Dozo’s not back yet and the two oldies are asleep in the downstairs room. I assume there is some other way out of this prison without us having to go passed them?”

Jonderill grinned back. “There’s a small side door which I often used if I didn’t want to disturb them. What have you got in mind?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to spend a little time in the city? Now that our minder is busy elsewhere, this seems to be as good a time as any to see the sights of Alewinder. You do know some sights don’t you?”

“You bet and some good company too.” Jonderill jumped up enthusiastically and then stopped to look down at himself. “Tissian, if I didn’t wear my white robe would it prevent you from being my protector?”

Tissian laughed, “I don’t know, I’ve only been a protector for a few days but let’s have a go and see shall we?”

“I’ve got a shirt and breeches in my pack but you’ll have to pass them to me.” Tissian looked blank. “The sword’s on top of them and unless you want me to be sick all over your boots you’ll need to move it.”

Tissian laughed again and retrieved Jonderill’s green shirt with the mends in the shoulder and side and his dark breeches. Jonderill changed feeling a bit odd without his long robe flowing around him.

Getting out of the magicians tower was easy, passing the first inn they came to without going inside was impossible as was the second and third. The fourth one, close to the guard’s barracks, was as familiar to Jonderill as his room in the magician’s tower. He pushed his way into the busy common room and breathed in deeply the smell of ale, hot stew and the strong soap that the innkeeper used each day to scrub the tables.

The place hadn’t changed at all; it was just like coming home. As always the odd assortment of tables and chairs filled most of the space except around the central hearth where space was always left in case Tavlon, the minstrel, should call in. Oil lamps hung on chains from the ceiling, their clear glass covers contrasting with the sooty smudges on the ceiling above them. Benches and a long table lined the rear wall, and a long plank of wood propped up on a line of barrels, with the innkeeper behind, acted as the bar and stood at the other end of the room.

Jonderill grabbed Tissian by the arm and dragged him to the bar where he ordered two pots of ale. He looked expectantly at the innkeeper and felt a bit offended when the innkeeper didn’t recognise him. Slightly unsteadily he made his way to the other end of the common room and took a seat at the long table with his back to the room. Tissian sat opposite him, grateful to take the weight off his injured leg. They emptied their ale pots and Jonderill ordered some more from a passing pot maid who he took quite a fancy to. Before it arrived he needed to relieve himself so he left Tissian guarding their seats whilst he swayed unsteadily to the rear door.

When he returned everything had changed. The loud hum of voices had stopped and instead of talking in small groups every head was turned towards the rear of the room. Those by the bar had stood up to get a better view of what was going on so it wasn’t until he had pushed his way down half the length of the room that he saw what was happening. Tissian was backed up against the wall with his sword in his hand and with five armed guardsmen surrounding him. He had that look on his face which Jonderill had seen before in the moment just before he attacked.

“Tissian! No! Put up your sword!”

Tissian remained absolutely still but the tallest of the guards, the one with bright red hair, turned to see who had shouted at the swordsman they had cornered. Jonderill gave him a big grin; there was no mistaking that hair even if the boy had changed into a man since he had last seen him. “Hello Redruth.”

“Jonderill?”

“The very same.”

The tall guardsman sheathed his sword and threw his arms around Jonderill in a tight hug and pounded him on his back. “Hellden’s balls, Jonderill, it’s good to see you. When did you get back?”

“Just today,” he lied. He looked across at the other guardsmen who still kept Tissian at bay. “Do you think you could call off the guard? My friend gets a little jumpy around blades.”

Redruth laughed and slapped Jonderill on the back again. “No problem.” He pulled Jonderill into the group. “It’s okay lads, Jonderill here is an old friend of mine and apparently this fighting cock is a friend of his.” He waited until all the swords had been sheathed before he made the introductions. They were all strangers to Jonderill except the last guard, a burly soldier with a big bushy beard. “You remember Tuckin, don’t you?”

Jonderill looked him up and down and was grateful for the introduction; the fat boy with the huge appetite had changed into a muscular man without any spare flesh. He took Jonderill’s hand and pumped it up and down whilst Jonderill winced at the strong grip. “I wouldn’t have recognised you, Tuckin, you’re only half the boy you were.”

“I’m still twice the man you’ll ever be,” responded Tuckin, slapping him on the back and nearly knocking him over. They all laughed and took their seats at the table whilst Redruth ordered another round of ale from the pot girl. Tissian sat quietly on the end, his hand still on his sword hilt.

“Where’s Barrin?” asked Jonderill above the noise of the rapidly filling common room.

“He’s Squad Leader Barrin now. He had a report to write so he sent us along here to grab our usual table. We’ve had a few problems with another guard troop trying to muscle in on our place and Barrin’s dad won’t reserve our favourite seats for us. That’s what the drawn swords were all about. Your friend there didn’t want to move when we asked him to. A bit quick to pull his steel isn’t he?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” laughed Jonderill.

Across the table Tuckin waved to some newcomers and Jonderill turned to see who they were. Despite it having been more than four summers since he had seen him last, Jonderill recognised Barrin straight away; the same dark hair and brown eyes and cheerful smile. He saw Jonderill and his smile disappeared.

“Hello Jonderill, I didn’t expect to see you back in Alewinder.”

Jonderill stood and grinned at his friend. “You know me, Barrin, this was always my favourite haunt, especially if Tavlon was playing.”

“He’s not in tonight and neither should you be. You do know there’s an order out for the arrest of a white robe that goes by the name of Jonderill, don’t you? I don’t suppose that is you, is it?”

Jonderill laughed. “Come on, Barrin, do I look like a white robe? You know what always happened at my feeble attempts to use magic.”

Barrin smiled slightly but still looked unsure. “I know, but there were lots of rumours when you left and it just seems an odd coincidence that a white robe named Jonderill annoys the Queen on the same day that you turn up.”

“That’s just what it is, a coincidence. Come and have a drink and I’ll introduce you to my friend Tissian.”

The other guards shuffled over to let Barrin and the rest of the troop in whilst Jonderill ordered more ale and for the next candle length they talked and laughed about old times. The pot maid Jonderill fancied squeezed in next to him and started to nuzzle his neck whilst the volume rose and singing broke out. Half way through the third chorus of a raunchy song about a large lady with doubtful morals and a randy guardcaptain, the rival group of guards that Redruth had mentioned, arrived at the inn. They pushed their way through the crowd and glared at Barrin’s troop until the singing stuttered to a halt. Close behind them, Barrin’s father stood with a heavy wooden club in his hand ready for trouble.

Their squad leader was a large man with a pock-marked face who stood a hand taller than the rest of his men. He glared down at Jonderill and the girl who had an arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder.

“You’re in my seat,” growled the Squad Leader. Jonderill didn’t move but the rest of Barrin’s squad turned to glare at the newcomer. “I said you’re in my seat and that’s my girl.”

He grabbed Jonderill by the back of his shirt collar and dragged him over backwards dumping the girl on the floor at the same time. In an instant there was chaos as Tissian jumped onto the table and launched himself at the Squad Leader, catching him in the chest and knocking him over. His troop acted immediately making a grab for Tissian and pulling him off their leader but Barrin’s troop also reacted and in moments there was a drunken brawl with Jonderill somewhere at the bottom of the heap of fighting, punching and cursing men.

The innkeeper waded into the fight with his club not bothering who he hit as long as he broke up the fight before it spread to the rest of the inn. Men rolled out of the way but continued fighting once they were out of his reach. At the bottom of the pile Jonderill was kicked and battered, and the more he tried to free himself, the more people seemed to pile on top of him. Someone’s fist caught him in the eye making him yelp and a boot crunched into his stomach knocking the wind from him. Another man’s knee hit him hard in the groin and someone stood on his hand and ground it into the floor. Jonderill screamed with the sudden pain, there was a brilliant flash of light and then nothing.

*

Jonderill awoke with his head pounding to the beat of his heart and a taste in his mouth as if he had been chewing unwashed socks. His stomach heaved and he rolled over and wished he hadn’t as pain shot through his side and ribs. He tried to open his eyes but one wouldn’t open and the other wouldn’t focus properly. Instead he groaned, clutched his head and wished he was dead.

“Ah, you’re awake at last.” said a familiar voice.

Strong arms gripped him none too gently by the shoulders and heaved him into a sitting position. Jonderill vomited but fortunately the person who held him had thrust a bowl under his mouth just in time. He thought he should know him but the name just wouldn’t come. The same person slapped a wet towel onto his face and roughly wiped him over before holding a mug of bitter tasting liquid to his mouth. Jonderill gulped it down eagerly and focused on the man who knelt beside him.

“Hello Dozo. Where am I?”

Dozo sat back on his heels and shook his head with disapproval. “In the cave at the Soldiers Rest, it’s like a cellar so keep your voice down; there are guards up above still looking for you.”

Jonderill closed his good eye and tried to remember what had happened. He remembered the inn and the fight breaking out and having a sudden pain in his hand but everything else was blank. He opened his eye again and looked down at his bandaged hand.