The White Robe (28 page)

He beat back another attack catching a low slice on the iron blade which would have severed his leg if it had reached him, and leaped back out of reach but his heel landed on the edge of the fire and he stumbled on the partly burnt wood. Gellidan was on him in an instant and it was only a desperate roll across the outer limits of the fire which saved him. Ash and hot cinders scattered and he yelped in sudden pain as he rolled over a glowing ember. When Gellidan attacked again, he feinted to the right and struck out left with the long sword catching Gellidan in the elbow joint. Gellidan swore and dropped his sword, but swung the other at Tissian’s neck which would have taken his head if he hadn’t done an acrobatic leap backwards. As it was, he caught a glancing slice on his shoulder which peeled back the skin and sent blood running down his arm.

They circled again with Tissian ducking away from his opponent’s sword, parrying when he could, but constantly being driven back to the edge of the marked area. He knew if he put his foot over the circle’s edge he would lose the fight and Gellidan would show him no mercy. When he tried to attack Gellidan’s unarmed side, his opponent used his bracer to deflect the blade whilst using his own blade to go for Tissian’s throat. He lunged trying to get inside Gellidan’s guard, but his opponent’s heavy blade caught him broadside on, knocking the breath from him. As he staggered back gasping, Gellidan rolled and retrieved his dropped blade and attacked again. Tissian was ready for him and using a classic riposte, he stabbed at Gellidan’s thigh, and was rewarded by blood splattering across the ground.

Encouraged by his two hits he smiled grimly at Gellidan, feeling for the first time that he had the advantage. Instead of being defensive he attacked, but Gellidan was waiting for him and scored an easy hit to his calf and another to his forearm. Tissian pulled back and retook his stance trying to remember what Allowyn had taught him about footwork and balance. As Gellidan returned to the attack he lunged for an opening, but Gellidan caught the long sword between his two blades and the thin steel snapped like a twig.

Tissian dropped the hilt with its short length of broken blade and pulled back again, but it was an awkward move, and Gellidan’s return cut slashed deeply along the length of his thigh. The intense pain of parting muscle made him stumble and he had to put all his weight on his good leg, trailing the other behind him. Gellidan, sensing his weakness, attacked again with an overhead cut which Tissian barely deflected but his forehead was laid open so blood ran down his face and into his eye. Beyond the marked area he heard Jonderill call out in alarm. He stumbled again and tried to circle as Gellidan pressed forward to finish him.

Desperately he parried an overhead blow, and then another, which sent the iron blade spinning from his hands and drove him almost to his knees. With a look of triumph Gellidan towered over him and raised his blade for the killing stroke, but Tissian had his good leg beneath him. With the last of his strength he powered upwards and thrust the hand span of broken sword he’d scooped up from the ground into Gellidan’s exposed throat and on into his brain. Gellidan only had enough time to open his eyes wide in shock, before he died and tumbled over backwards. Tissian drew a shuddering breath and tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes so he could see Jonderill’s reaction, but his vision darkened and his leg gave way as he collapsed.

*

Tissian groaned and tried to roll over and then wished he hadn’t. His leg throbbed from groin to knee and his other calf stung. The top of his arm ached as if he had been skinned, and the top of his head felt like it had been hacked off with a blunt axe. Worst of all though was the searing pain in his other arm, and he turned his head expecting to see someone pressing a cauterising iron into it. Instead Jonderill smiled back at him.

“You’re awake at last; I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

“Gellidan?”

“Dead. They have taken his body to King Vorgret as was his wish. It should take them quite a while to get there and as long again to get a message to the High Master to tell him that Gellidan is dead, so we have a little time before we have to leave Essenland.”

Tissian closed his eyes, but Jonderill could still see the moisture on his eyelashes. “I never wanted him dead,” muttered Tissian. “He was always a bully but we grew up together. For twelve summers Gellidan was the closest thing to a family that I had.”

“Well you have a different family now; me and Allowyn and, I suppose, Callabris too.”

Tissian opened his eyes again and gave a small smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry for my moment of weakness; it wasn’t very protector like was it? Here, help me up.”

“I don’t think you should, at least not until Dozo says you can.”

“Is Dozo still here?” He struggled to push himself up, so Jonderill helped him into a sitting position and rolled a log forward to prop him up.

“Dozo stitched you back together again and then insisted that he stay with you until you recover enough to travel. The rest of the armsmen have gone to Vorglave with Gellidan’s body.”

Tissian winced as he moved his heavily bandaged arm. “I wish he had sewn this one up instead of cauterising it, it hurts like hellden’s fires.”

“He didn’t. When you rolled through the fire a live coal stuck to your arm and you were too busy holding Gellidan off to notice. It had almost burnt through to the bone, so Dozo had to cut it out and clean the hole up. It was a bit of a mess and you’re going to have a really big scar there.”

“What about the rest?”

“Oh, they are going to leave lots of scars too. He did a good job on your forehead though; small neat stitches. It’ll leave you with just enough of a scar to make you look dangerous and irresistible to every innkeeper’s daughter from here to Dartis. I won’t get a look in with you around.”

They both laughed and Dozo walked over to join them carrying two pots of herb tea. He gave one to Jonderill and held the other one out for Tissian to drink.

“How long before I can be up and around Dozo? I need to make my devotions to Federa and thank her for my life.”

“What you need is rest, a lot of your blood was spilt on the ground today and it will take time for you to recover.”

“I need to be moving around before my wounds stiffen and slow me down,” responded Tissian finishing the last of his drink. He pushed back the blanket which covered him and tried to rise but Dozo pushed him down.

“If you move too soon you will tear that leg wound open, and then you’ll end up with it being stiff, permanently.”

Jonderill laughed, but when he looked down at Tissian his eyes had closed and he was sleeping peacefully. He looked questioningly at Dozo.

“I used Shrezbere essence and red poppy seed. He should sleep through until morning. Now, Lord, if you don’t mind, I need to drain his burn and change the dressing, and I think you need to talk to Allowyn; he looks like a man with the weight of the six kingdoms on his shoulders.”

Dozo turned his attention back to Tissian and started to unwind the bandage around his arm. Jonderill watched for a moment and then stood and walked across the camp. It had changed again. The fire had been reduced in size but was once again surrounded by stones, and instead of a picket line, their four horses and a pack horse were tethered to the branches of a tree. The shelter remained but the pile of gear had reduced to a small heap. Amongst them, wrapped in his discarded robe, was Plantagenet’s old iron sword.

The remains of his other sword had been wrapped in Gellidan’s shroud and was on its way to Vorglave. Jonderill picked up the old blade without thinking but quickly put it down again as waves of dizziness assailed him. He walked on passed the shelter and a little way along the small stream to where Allowyn sat on a boulder staring at the water as it ran noisily over the pebbles of the stream bed. He looked up and gave a half smile as Jonderill sat down next to him.

“How’s Tissian?”

“Awake and eager to be about his duties, but Dozo has put him back to sleep again with one of his potions.”

“And how are you feeling?”

Jonderill shrugged. “Grateful that Tissian lived, sorry that Gellidan didn’t and trying to come to terms with the changes in me.” He laughed bitterly. “You know, I always wanted to be good with a sword, like Tissian, but I can barely pick one up now without being sick. I have never really wanted to do anything with magic apart from the most basic of things, like lighting a fire but now I have no option. You would think that a man should have some say in choosing what their life will be, wouldn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter how well your path is laid in front of you Jonderill, you always have choices. You can choose to be good like Callabris or evil like Maladran. You can choose to be the best at what you do like Tissian or bully your way through life like Gellidan. And when the time comes to serve a master, you can choose one who cares for his people like Steppen did, or one who only cares for themselves like Sarrat.”

“Choices like that are simple; you do the right thing, the honourable thing.”

“Sometimes the right and honourable path is hidden from us.” Jonderill frowned questioningly. “Tell me, do you think it is right and honourable to break a lifelong vow and steal from your master knowing that it will end in the death of your brother?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.”

“That is what I did, Jonderill. A long time ago I gave a vow of obedience to the High Master, and yet I stole Tissian from him, knowing that he would fight Gellidan and one of them would die.”

“But that’s different; the High Master’s punishment would have ended Tissian’s life in any case.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty of theft, being complicit in a brother’s death and foresworn.”

“I don’t see it like that.”

“Then perhaps you should.  A white robe has immense power, a black even more, and they can often face decisions where the right and wrong are difficult to discern as they do the goddess’s work.”

“I’m sure the goddess wouldn’t think what you did was wrong.”

Allowyn raised an eye and shook his head laughing. “Ah, the assurance of youth. A dozen words from the goddess and you think you know her mind.”

Jonderill looked abashed. “You’re right of course, how could I know the goddess’s mind, even if she did speak to me, which she didn’t.” Allowyn looked up in surprise. “Well she did speak but not to me. Her words were for someone called Callistares. Do you know anyone called Callistares?”

Allowyn hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. “No, not as such, but it has a familiar ring to it. Callabris will probably know of him; we can ask him when we reach Alewinder.”

“We’re going to Alewinder?”

“Yes, that’s where Callabris and I arranged to meet. Is there something wrong with going to Alewinder?”

“I don’t know how welcome I will be when we get there. I killed a man there and was implicated in a kidnapping. The new king and queen weren’t happy when Steppen pardoned me on both accounts.”

“I see, that is a problem as Callabris and I were going to stay there for a while before returning to King Borman. We had planned to go to the Enclave first, but as I’ve broken my oath to the High Master the goddess’s temple will be forbidden to me.”

“Oh, Allowyn, I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that you wouldn’t be able to return to Federa’s temple.”

Allowyn shrugged. “It’s an apt punishment for what I’ve done, and I have other ways of renewing my vows to the goddess. That won’t affect you though, you may return when you wish as you hadn’t taken any vows, although I would advise you not to do so whilst Razarin is High Master. He’s going to be very annoyed when he finds that you are once again in possession of this.”