The White Robe (14 page)

Jonderill made no move to take the robe but just looked at the man in front of him. He was as tall as Jonderill but with a heavier build and had the look of someone who used to be fit and active but had gone to seed. The man’s face, framed by medium length hair the colour of squeaker fur, had deep frown lines across his forehead and downturned creases around his eyes and mouth as if he was very dissatisfied with his life.

“Where are my other clothes and my swords?”

“Tch! Such rudeness! Still standing in the cold half naked for most of the day would make one a little tetchy. However, rudeness or disobedience are not tolerated from the acolytes so I will give you one warning; if you wish to remain here you will address me as High Master Razarin and you will do as I or any other master tells you. Now take the robe and put it on and then I will answer your questions.”

Jonderill thought about refusing but there seemed to be little point so he took the robe and pulled it over his head. The cloth felt soft and warm against his cold skin as it slipped easily over his shoulders and back and hung in gentle folds to mid calf. He flexed his shoulders slightly and the robe adjusted the way it hung until it felt comfortable and more natural to wear than it had ever done before.

“There, that’s better isn’t it? You will find some slippers beside that chair that will fit you and when we have finished our little talk and you have settled into your rooms, your clothes, boots and weapons will be returned to you. Now please sit.

“And what if I don’t want to stay?”

The High Master ignored his question and indicated a padded chair to one side of his desk. Jonderill hesitated, waiting for an answer, but when it didn’t come he reluctantly sat and pulled on the soft slippers that were on the far side of the chair. They were warm and comfortable and reminded him of the slippers Plantagenet and Animus had given him to wear when he had lived in their tower. He had a sudden desire to be back in the safety of their rooms and looked around Razarin’s room searching for something familiar.

The room was large and well lit by oil lamps which hung on chains from the ceiling. A number of chairs were placed around the weiswald desk as if the High Master had numerous visitors all at once. Some of the chairs, like the one he sat in, were soft and padded and had a side table beside them whilst others, mostly the ones directly in front of the desk, were hard and upright.  Shelves lined all the walls except the one where the door stood. They were laden with books neatly placed in straight lines and scrolls stacked in pyramids three high.

Next to the door was a long dresser with an assortment of mugs and plates. There was also a small silver kettle which the High Master was using to make tea. Jonderill could smell the herbs releasing their scent as he poured the hot water over them. The room felt very familiar but it lacked Plantagenet’s untidy heaps of books open on every available surface and Animus’s half forgotten experiments cluttering the floor.

The High Master handed Jonderill a mug of herb tea and placed a plate of small pastries on his side table before taking his place back behind his weiswald desk. Jonderill sipped his tea gratefully feeling its warmth flow through his body. “Now, young man, I have some questions for you and then, perhaps, some explanations. Firstly, where did you come by that robe?”

Jonderill fingered the soft fabric and wondered what Dozo had done to it. It felt so different from the rough grey cloth he was used to. “Callabris gave it to me on my apprentice day six summers ago.”

“Did he now? Callabris had no right to do that without you being tested to see what form your gift would take. Only I, as the goddess’s voice, can confer such an honour. It would seem that I will have to have serious words with Callabris should he return to the Enclave. And what about this?” He picked up the torc and held it gingerly with his fingertips as if the thing would burn him.

“That belonged to Maladran. It came to me when Maladran died.”

“When Maladran died?” The High Master asked in astonishment.

Jonderill nodded and the High Master stared at him in disbelief and waited for him to say more. When Jonderill remained silent, Razarin replaced the torc carefully on his desk and pulled a piece of black cloth from a draw to cover it, blocking out the glow from the engraved dragon’s two ruby eyes. “Do you know what this is or what it does?” He pointed at the covered torc.

Jonderill shook his head. “No, High Master.”

“Do you know what you may have unleashed by taking this from Maladran?”

“No, High Master.”

“Do you know anything about magic?” he asked in exasperation.

Jonderill didn’t bother answering but just shook his head again. The High Master slipped the torc and its black covering into a drawer in his desk and locked it with a key which hung on a long chain around his neck. He stood and walked to where Jonderill sat and took a seat nearby, leaning forward until he was almost touching him.

“I blame Callabris for your ignorance; he should have never left you with those two doddering old fools to find your own way. If he thought you had magic, which he must have done to give you that robe, he should have brought you here; it was his duty. Still, what is done cannot be undone.” He paused for a moment and sat back in the chair tucking his hands into his long sleeves. “If you are to stay here you must understand about the balance and how what we do with Federa’s precious gifts affects all those who wield the power she has given them.

“You see the six kingdoms are very special; they are the only lands that exist which have been blessed by Federa’s gift. Fear of magic keeps other nations from invading and attempting to conquer our small kingdoms one by one although the barbarians from across the Northern Sea seem to lack the imagination to fear even that. However, to prevent any one of the six kingdoms becoming too powerful and overthrowing the others, magic has to be balanced so that each kingdom controls an equal amount of magic.

There also has to be the right mix of magic so that there is both passive magic for peace and prosperity and aggressive magic for battle and defense. Federa in her wisdom gave her gift to four of the white to care for her lands and to bring justice to her people. Her gift was given to one of the black so they could use their powers against an aggressor and her final gift was given to the crimson so that he could hear her words and maintain the balance.”

Jonderill looked up from his herb tea and frowned. “But I thought Callabris was the only white magician?”

“Just so,” Razarin answered irritably. “It’s unfortunate that one of the kingdoms became deaf to the wisdom of Federa and turned their hearts towards Talis, an evil and vengeful god. When Coberin was slain the balance was disrupted and the black grew in power. It became necessary to control those of the black to prevent the power turning them to madness and that was why the torc you have brought here was created by the goddess.

“I was as concerned for Maladran’s sanity as I was for Yarrin’s before him so I told Sarrat what must be done and when Sarrat became king he placed the torc around Maladran’s throat and the power of his black magician was contained. Or at least it was until Sarrat foolishly thought he could use madness to punish Maladran and removed the torc. It appears that Maladran found a way to thwart his king even though it cost him his life.

“With Maladran’s death the balance has once again been disrupted and I have been commanded by the goddess to restore her order to the six kingdoms. For that reason I must keep the torc safe. It is also the reason why you have been brought here.”

Jonderill looked confused, “Do you think I am some sort of magician then?” he asked hesitantly.

“Callabris clearly thought so and the goddess has taken an interest in you.”

Jonderill gave a cynical bark of laughter and shook his head. “I think you have the wrong person, High Master. I can barely produce elemental fire. Maladran tested me and could find no power within me and in eight summers Plantagenet and Animus failed to teach me one bit of magic. If the goddess has taken an interest in me, it must be for some other reason. Perhaps she wishes me to be a protector or even one of your armsmen; I am quite handy with a sword.”

“Perhaps, but those of the white do tend to come into their powers late.”

Jonderill shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but you’ve got it wrong. There is no way I could be a white magician; they can’t take another’s life but I already have the blood of another on my hands. Now if you wouldn’t mind, High Master Razarin, I would like to have my clothes and weapons back and see to my horse so that I can leave this place in the morning.”

He stood to leave and the crimson magician followed him to the door with a deep frown on his face. Razarin put a restraining hand on Jonderill’s shoulder. “Jonderill, please wait. I know that this all seems strange to you but Federa is never wrong, although I do sometimes misinterpret her words. If you leave now without even trying to release the power within you, you will never know if the goddess was right or not. Stay in the Enclave with us and even if the goddess is mistaken, we will teach you enough magic to protect yourself and then you can decide if you want to leave or not.”

Jonderill shook his head but didn’t move to open the door. “Allowyn was sent to find you by the goddess herself and he went to a lot of trouble to bring you here; he would be very disappointed if you left without even trying to touch your power.”

Jonderill sighed and gave a half smile. “You’re right, it would be ungrateful of me to leave without trying, I owe Allowyn that much. I will stay for one moon cycle and learn what I can.”

“Good. I will arrange for rooms and fresh clothing to be provided for you and you will train with the Master of Magic himself. When you are rested and more settled we will talk again about your future.”

He opened the door and beckoned to one of the acolytes giving him instructions for Jonderill’s care and then watched them leave the temple together. Razarin turned back to his room and closed the door before crossing to his desk and taking his seat.

“You can come in now, Master Tressing.”

One set of shelves moved silently forward allowing the tall master in his long dark grey robes to enter the room. He pushed the shelves back into position behind him.

“Well? What of the testing? Is he what the goddess says?”

Tressing bowed and sat in one of the upright chairs opposite the weiswald desk folding his hands in front of him. “The boy is a fool. He has no idea of the power he has inside him or how to use it. Standing in the shadow of the temple for the best part of a day would have most people on their knees but he was barely shivering. What’s more he used his power to disarm Gellidan without even knowing he did it. And then there’s the robe. He wears it as if it had been given to him by the goddess herself.”

The High Master sighed in frustration. “If only we could be certain of who his father was we would know what the boy was capable of. I have spoken to Allowyn who reports that the boy didn’t show any signs of recognition when he talked about his brother Jonderill’s death, and when I mentioned Coberin the name seemed unfamiliar to him. It could be just a coincidence that the boy has taken the protector’s name and Callabris’s interest in him could be misplaced.”

“It would explain why Callabris failed to bring him here when he first found him but it doesn’t explain what happened outside.”

“Perhaps he has just enough power to be a protector; apparently he’s already taken a life and he says he’s good with a sword.”

“We don’t need another unpaired protector, High Master. I have acolytes turning on each other because they have no one to pair with. If we announce that we are going to train yet another there will be jealousies and someone will be killed. If that someone should be Gellidan, then Vorgret will want vengeance for his cousin’s death.”

The High Master sighed in frustration. “You’re right, Tressing, we cannot afford to bring the king’s wrath down on us but neither can we afford to pass up the power or the advantage that a new white robe would give us. With personal tuition from the Master of Magic we will only need one cycle of the moon to discover exactly what he is.”