The White Robe (37 page)

“Did it feel right?” Jonderill shook his head. “When magicians become as old as Plantagenet and Animus they sometimes need a prop for their magic, a bit like a walking stick. Do you need a walking stick, Jonderill?”

“The wand didn’t work when I was with them or when I was at the Enclave, so I suppose not.” They were silent for a long time before Jonderill spoke again. “Aren’t you going to teach me some magic?”

Callabris shook his head. “No, not until you have made some decisions about your image. How will you know what your magic should feel like or smell like if you haven’t made up your mind what you will be like.”

Jonderill nodded and without another word he stood and crossed to where Dozo had just finished grooming his horse. They talked for a short while and then disappeared into the cottage together. When they returned, the dirty bandage around Jonderill’s hand had been changed for a clean one, his hair was trimmed, combed and tied back with a leather thong and the stubble on his chin had disappeared. For a moment he felt good, but then Tissian and Allowyn appeared ready for their run and he failed to repress a groan. Despite his pleading look at Callabris he had no option but to set off after them.

Their return was similar to the previous day except that Jonderill managed to throw himself into the stream without Tissian’s assistance and carried his own boots and robe back to the cottage. On the following day he managed to eat a bowl of stew before collapsing into his bed and the day after that he returned at the same time as Tissian with a grin of satisfaction on his face.

“Will you teach me magic now?” asked Jonderill on the sixth morning of their stay at the woodsman’s cottage. The sky was overcast and a cold wind blew around the cottage throwing up small puffs of dirt and grit across the clearing. Dozo had taken the wagon into Alewinder for more supplies and the distant thump, thump of knives being thrown into wood could just be heard above the whisper of the wind.

Callabris thought about the question for a moment. “Produce elemental fire.”

Jonderill held out his hand, concentrated hard and produced a small flame at the end of his finger tips. The flame wavered, spluttered and went out. He tried again with the same result but on the third attempt nothing came at all. With a sigh he slumped in his chair in disappointment and resignation.

“Why did you produce elemental fire?” asked Callabris.

Jonderill looked at him oddly. “Because you told me to.”

“And why did you put it out?”

“I didn’t put it out; it just went out of its own accord.”

“Why did you produce elemental fire for a second time?”

“Because you were waiting for me to do it,” replied Jonderill with some annoyance.

“So why didn’t you produce it a third time?”

“I tried but it wouldn’t come. I suppose it was because I’d already failed you.”

“No, Jonderill, that is not the reason at all. Think about it and when you have discovered the cause of your failure to produce elemental fire we’ll move on. Until then I have other things to do with my time.”

Callabris stood and returned to the cottage leaving a shocked Jonderill staring after him. After a while he turned his attention back to the clearing and stared out at the steady downpour of rain. He was still there when Allowyn and Tissian came to collect him for their afternoon run. With real reluctance Jonderill followed them down the woodland path in the rain which was miserable and coming down heavier than before, as if in keeping with his mood.

In less than a candle length he returned with water streaming down his hair and face and his boots splattered with mud. He walked up the steps to the sheltered porch, removed his boots and robe which he shook out sending water droplets out into a spray and marched into the kitchen in just his small clothes. Callabris, who was sitting reading a scroll by the cold hearth, looked up in surprise at Jonderill’s early and unexpected return. Jonderill bowed briefly, produced a large ball of elemental fire which he dropped into the hearth, instantly setting the kindling and logs alight. Without speaking he propped his boots up by the fire, draped his damp robe over a nearby chair to dry and retired to his room. Callabris smiled to himself.

A short while later a very anxious Tissian arrived back at the cottage soaked to the skin and with his protective leathers heavy and dark with water. He dropped them onto the porch along with his weapons and hurried into the kitchen. Callabris watched him closely as his look of anxiety changed to relief when the protector saw his master’s robe and boots and then to one of annoyance. He turned and marched towards the door of Jonderill’s room but Callabris called him back.

“Leave him be, Tissian, it is not a protector’s place to chastise their master for their thoughtlessness. You must understand that he doesn’t yet feel the bond between you as strongly as you do. Apart from that, he is studying his first lessons of magic and I don’t think he would appreciate being disturbed. If I were you, I would return to the porch and rescue your weapons from the wet before Allowyn returns. He is very touchy about such things.”

Tissian looked at the doorway to his master’s room still unsure of what to do, but then nodded in agreement and went to see to his gear.

When Jonderill stepped out onto the porch the following morning, the sun was shining and the last of the puddles were slowly clearing from in front of the cottage. There was a steady patter of water as the last drips fell from the cottage’s thatched roof and in the distance, there was the familiar clash of swords. Only Dozo’s whistling was missing as he hadn’t yet returned from Alewinder. Jonderill sat and took a small handful of the mixed nuts and dried berries from the dish on the table between himself and Callabris and sat back with his eyes closed letting the morning sun warm him.

“Why didn’t you finish your run yesterday?” asked Callabris, breaking the silence between them.

“Because it was something you wanted me to do and I was doing it to please you and not because I wanted or needed to do it.”

“Then you have an answer to my question?”

Jonderill produced a large, steady ball of elemental fire and hung it in the air. “Apart from the very first time I made elemental fire as a boy, I’ve never produced it just for myself, it’s always been at the command of others, or when there has been an urgent need. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Callabris nodded. “It is indeed beautiful. How did you feel, Jonderill, the moment you used your magic because you wanted to without a command from others, or because you needed light urgently?”

“It was like sunrise after a dark night, full of light and warmth and colour.”

“Welcome to the world of magic.”

“Now will you teach me?”

Callabris thought about it for a moment, a frown of concentration on his face. “No, I don’t think so, not yet at least. You understand what basic magic is and you need time to explore it further.”

Jonderill scowled in irritation and the ball of light disappeared. He laughed and Callabris joined in. “I see what you mean; I definitely could do with a bit more practice.” He produced the ball of light once more. “What were the first things that you and your brother learnt to do?”

“Oh, I did fairly straightforward things like mending boot ties or heating water or protecting the grain store from long tailed squeakers, but Coberin spent his early years trying not to make things explode or burst into flames and that was much harder. I think it was his use of so much power in his early years caused by the nature of his gift which left him so vulnerable at the end.”

“Oh,” said Jonderill. “What happened to him?”

“He was slain.”

“I’m sorry. What happened to his protector?”

“We believe he was slain too but we never found his remains. What of your father, Jonderill? You never speak of him or your family.”

“I have no family. My father died when I was very small but I have no memories of him.” He thought for a moment whether he should continue or not. “That’s not really true. I had some hidden memories of him which Maladran once helped me to see but I lost them almost immediately after they were revealed. The only thing I know is that I was named after my father.”

“I see,” said Callabris sadly. “You know it could be that Maladran replaced the memory block for his own devices or perhaps there was something there he didn’t want you to remember.”

“I don’t think so. Maladran was evil in so many ways but I think it was others that had driven him to be so. Underneath I think he was a decent man who genuinely cared for me as a boy or, at least, I thought he did until he sold me to the Housecharge at the palace in Alewinder.”

“You have had a hard life Jonderill for such a young man.”

He thought about it. “No, not really, or at least not compared to most of Leersland’s kingswards. Many of them die as children at the hands of uncaring or vicious men, raped, starved or beaten to death as I would have been if it hadn’t been for Maladran. Branding children as kingsward is an evil practice and if I ever have the power to do so, I’ll stop it one day, but for the most part I have been lucky; I have known both caring and friendship, what more could a kingsward ask for.”

“Love?”

Jonderill shrugged. “Perhaps one day.”

“I’m sure your father loved you. If you would like me to I can do what Maladran did and remove your memory block so that you could know more of your father.”

Jonderill thought about it for a moment but shook his head. “I don’t think so but thanks for the offer. If Maladran thought it was something I should see then he would have left me with the memory.”

“As you wish, but if you change your mind you only have to ask.” He gave Jonderill a bright smile. “Come, this is not a day for sadness. The sun is shining and Dozo will be back soon with fresh supplies from Alewinder and with any luck, a note from Barrin for you. Now to work, you have a whole new world of magic to discover and new skills to practice and I need to spend some private time with my protector; it’s a long time since we have worked together as one.”

Jonderill frowned not quite understanding the meaning behind Callabris’s words but he put them to one side and stood. “Sansun’s bridle has a broken strap which I both want and need to fix. I think that will be a good place to start. If you see Tissian, will you tell him that I’ll not be running with him this afternoon, but that when he’s finished with Allowyn, my boots could do with a good clean and polish and my room needs tidying.”

He walked down the steps from the porch and across the clearing where Dozo had built a small shelter to hold the saddles and bridles for the horses. Callabris watched him go and then headed in the other direction towards the practice area with a slight frown on his face. He knew he should be jubilant that Jonderill had discovered the nature of his magic, but something was not quite right, although he couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him.

When he reached the practice area he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. Instead of the intense training which he expected or even the graceful forms of the protector’s devotions there was a tense stillness. Tissian knelt on the ground with his head bowed and his sides heaving. His swords lay unattended in the dirt as if they had been abandoned. Allowyn towered above him, his face red with anger, and whilst Callabris couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was not difficult to guess.

The protector took a step back from the cowering figure, pointed towards the woods and gave a sharp command. Tissian abased himself until his forehead touched the ground and then scuttled to collect his fallen weapons before running away in the direction Allowyn had pointed. Allowyn stood where he was for a few moments breathing deeply and then relaxed before he walked across to where Callabris waited for him.