Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe (42 page)

"I don't know, there used to be just a couple I
think. They were just carvings, not alive."

"Well I 'opes they aint been breedin’ or ‘e’s got
them lookin' out fer us 'cause we won't be able to pick'em out ‘gainst that
there black rock."

"He won't. Whatever gives them life takes a lot
of power and Maladran won’t waste it. All the time he thinks he's safe inside
his tower the creatures will remain inactive." Jonderill took a deep breath
and suddenly felt a bit more confident. He gave Perguine a cheerful grin. "Come
on then. I think the changes Maladran has made may have done us a favour."

Without waiting to see if Perguine was following, Jonderill
left the
 
forest edge and made a quick
dash for the base of the jagged outcrop, darting into the shadows of the first vertical
rock face just as the moon appeared from behind the wind-swept clouds. The
sudden light was sufficient for him to gain a close up view of what he had to
climb before the moon was gone again, hidden behind the fleeting clouds.

Keeping the picture in his mind of what he had to
cross he began to climb, carefully at first, relying on the roughness of the
rock to provide him with hand holds. He tested the rock’s stability and then moved
faster as hand holds turned into ledges and their edges became less jagged.
When he reached the top of the first rock face he stopped to rest and take his
bearings. They had moved to the right of the tower but they were that much
closer now so that only its top two storeys could be seen above the jagged
rocks. The elemental light still glowed from the topmost window but the rest of
the tower remained in darkness.

Jonderill waited for Perguine to clamber onto the
ledge beside him and then set off again, following the ledge upwards and
keeping his body pressed to the rock face when it became less than a hand span
wide. He could hear Perguine breathing hard behind him, his rasping breath
ragged with fear rather than gasps of exhaustion. Once, when they stopped to
catch their breath, he even caught the thief muttering something about not
being a mountain goat. Jonderill smiled to himself but said nothing, finding it
gratifying that the supremely self-confident little man should at last have
found something which unsettled him.

Before they reached the far end of the ledge they came
to a steep gully, littered with stones, dead bushes and an assortment of old
bones. The narrow gulley, which was just wide enough to take a man sideways on
led back towards the tower. It was what Jonderill was looking for and made him
feel more confident than he’d been since they had started out on the climb. He
slipped once or twice on the loose stones and grazed his shin but he steadied
himself each time and continued on until he reached the end of the gully where
a wall of smooth stone, split in two like a chimney and twice the height of a
man blocked their path. At the top of the vertical wall he could just make out
a bush of thorny scrub and just beyond that he was certain he would find the
huge, blackened stone blocks with which the magician's tower was built.

"'Ow's yer goin' to get up there then? Bein' a
mountain goat's one thing but I aint no sky flyer."

Jonderill slipped the roll of blankets from his back
and the sword and axe from his belt, pushed his shoulders against one rock wall
and his legs against another and with alternating movements of back and legs
began to work his way up the chimney. It was a skill he’d learned as a small
boy during his time in the kingsward compound. Climbing up in a tight crevice
between two adjoining walls he could hide from the men who came to select boys
for their pleasures and he’d never forgotten the technique.

At the top of the natural chimney he pushed himself
through the thin bushes and then returned to give Perguine the thumbs up. He
leaned as far over the chasm as he dare whilst Perguine threw him their
bundles. Jonderill used their lashings to make a rope and pulled the weapons up
followed by Perguine. By the time everything was at the top he was grateful
that Perguine was small, thin and very light.

"I 'opes we don't 'ave to go down that way,"
commented Perguine as Jonderill fastened the sword to his belt,
"'specially if yer mate aint feelin' too good."

Jonderill didn’t answer. The same thought had crossed
his mind and for the first time he wondered whether the person they sought had
already been questioned by Maladran and if so whether he was still alive. He
dismissed the idea and keeping low behind the leafless scrub, led the way, as
quickly as he could without making too much noise, to the base of the tower. Praying
for the moon to stay behind the ragged clouds he inched his way along the cold
stone wall of the tower until he came to the door he was seeking. He tried the
handle but as he had expected it was firmly locked. Perguine pushed him out of
the way, produced a long thin piece of metal from one of his hidden pockets and
picked the lock open with a minimum of effort.

Jonderill was surprised at the ease in which they were
able to break in but as this was the kitchen entrance perhaps Maladran hadn’t
sealed it with magic. He slipped inside and stopped so abruptly that Perguine
careered into his back and hissed a curse. He’d expected the inside of the
tower to have changed, affected by the corruption as much as the outside had
been but he hadn’t expected Garrin's domain, especially the kitchen, to be as
badly affected as it was. The place stank of decaying vegetables, rancid fat
and the cloying stench of rotting meat. Jonderill's stomach turned over and he
could hear Perguine gag behind him.

Almost without thinking he flexed his fingers and
produced a small ball of elemental fire which illuminated the room and
identified the cause of the smell. A half prepared joint lay in a pool of dried
blood on the table, its surface shifting almost like a mirage as maggots
crawled over its rotting surface. Vegetables, blackened and soft with decay,
lay in a pan next to the joint ready to be cooked whilst milk, separated and
green, stood in an open jug. It was a strange contrast to the rest of the room which
was spotlessly clean.

"Look's like they left ‘ere ina 'urry."

"Garrin's wife wouldn't have left it like this,
not unless something suddenly happened to them."

He crossed the room giving the table with the rotting
food a wide berth and opened the door into the stone hallway beyond. It was as
black as night with the heavy air of a mausoleum, cold and untouched. The
elemental light in his hand wavered as if something had breathed on it and
Jonderill felt a prickling sensation explore his hand. He immediately killed
the light, cursing himself for not realising the slightest use of any arcane
power foreign to the tower was likely to be detected.

Without the light the hallway seemed even sinister but
through that darkness he could detect a slim sliver of light showing beneath
another door further on. He pulled his sword from his belt and tapped Perguine
on the shoulder making him jump, then took him by the arm and led him to the
door.

Hesitantly he put his hand out to touch it, ready to
leap back if it was warded, but when he put his hand on the solid wood there
was only the barest trace of residue power which collapsed at his touch. He
sighed in relief and stepped back so that Perguine could deal with the lock.
After a few moments of twisting his pick in the lock the door opened and both
of them grinned in satisfaction as they stood bathed in the stairway’s bright
light, unharmed so far.

Jonderill led the way down the brightly lit stone
stairway with Perguine close behind. In the four summers he’d lived with the
magician he’d never been passed the door to see what lay beneath the tower.
Maladran had told him it was Federa's domain and strictly forbidden and Garrin
had refused to speak about it except to say that it was a place he would never
wish to visit. Now as he descended deeper beneath the tower he felt like a thief
and could feel the weight of the black rock pressing down on him. It was cold and
damp and fear made him shudder and constricted his chest whilst bright flashes
of light started to dance in front of his eyes. On the last step, in front of a
solid, iron-bound door, he stopped and Perguine looked at him giving him a
broad, impish grin.

"If yer don't breathe yer aint goin' to las’
long."

Jonderill realised he’d reached the bottom of the
stairs without breathing once and relaxed, drawing air into his cramped lungs.
With each breath the lights in front of his eyes became dimmer until they vanished
completely. Perguine moved forward to the handleless door and shrugged; all his
skill wouldn’t open one without a lock. Jonderill squeezed passed, pressed his
shoulder to the door and pushed with all his strength but the door didn’t
budge. He stepped back and stared at it in frustration.

There had to be a way through so he tried again using
his other shoulder this time but still nothing happened. Finally he took a run
at it and with both his arms outstretched and his sword still in his hand he crashed
against the door. A tingling sensation coursed up his arm and the door clicked
and suddenly swung open nearly depositing him on the floor on the other side.
He was so surprised that he burst out laughing and Perguine walked through the
door to join him allowing the heavy door to close solidly behind them.

They both stopped together as the dim light picked out
the fearsome stone figures crouched and poised ready to attack. The figures
were short with thick muscular arms and legs. Each face was contorted by a
bestial snout complete with curved tusks and pointed horns. From the smashed
parts they had put together at the cottage it was clear they’d found what had
attacked the man. Jonderill and Perguine moved reluctantly between them
expecting that at any moment the creatures would come alive but they remained
immobile as they passed by the grotesque statues of stone.

They left the creatures behind them and moved down the
dozen or so steps into the main cavern which was vast, ice cold and redolent of
putrefying flesh. Doors lined either side, most held closed by thick bolts
secured with heavy locks. Each door had an iron grill which was firmly closed
leaving any inmates to exist in darkness. Slowly they walked down either side
of the cavern, stopping to listen at each door for the slightest sounds of life
but everywhere was silent. Jonderill began to despair when the faint flickering
of candlelight caught his eye where the grill shutters of one cell hadn’t been
closed securely enough. He whispered to Perguine, a sound which sounded like a
shout in the oppressive silence and they ran over to the locked door.

When they drew back the shutter the prison cell wasn’t
the terrible hole they expected it to be. From what they could see through the
grill the room was plain and simple but clean with a rug on the floor and a
half finished flagon of wine on the table. A thick pile of soft woollen
blankets covered a person asleep in the corner on a well-padded bed. A red
cloak, the same colour as the hat they had found in the woodsman's cottage,
hung on a peg above a fine pair of leather boots.

"This must be him," whispered Jonderill,
relieved that the person they sought was alive and looked to be unharmed.

He waited for Perguine to pick the lock and then eased
the door open without a sound. Jonderill moved quickly to where the prisoner
lay whilst Perguine kept guard, never taking his eyes off the sinister stone
figures at the top of the steps. The prisoner was fast asleep with only his
dark hair and shadowy profile showing above the mound of blankets.

Something about the cut of the hair and his outline
tugged at Jonderill's memory but he’d no time to stop and think who it might
be. He shook the man's shoulder vigorously and pulled back the blankets.
Immediately the man was awake and scuttled up the bed to cringe in the corner,
his face pale and his eyes wide in the feeble candlelight. Jonderill looked at
him carefully and felt his heart drop: of all the men to capture Rosera's heart
why did it have to be him?

He didn’t bother with an introduction. "Were you
the one they took from the woodsman's cottage?"

Pellum dropped his arms from where he had put them
protectively over his head and moved out of the corner studying Jonderill and
trying to recall where he’d seen him before. He suddenly remembered the bound
servant the magicians liked to call their apprentice and felt annoyed that he’d
been rescued by someone who was no better than a slave.

Pellum gave a deep mocking bow. "At your service,
boy."

Jonderill bristled at the title and the contemptuous
sneer which accompanied it but Pellum had already grabbed his cloak and boots
and was half way out of the cell. He took one look at the small insignificant
man who kept guard, gave a grunt of disgust and started for the stairs.

"Come on, let’s get out of here."

"Not yet," said Perguine emphatically,
putting a restraining hand out to stop Jonderill following Pellum up the stairs.
"We aint finished yet."

"We've got the person we came for; it’ll be
dangerous for us to stay here any longer."

"Yer might 'ave got what yer came 'ere for but I
aint. I's got a friend down 'ere an' I aint goin' wivout 'im."

Jonderill hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"For all that’s sacred, let's get out of
here," hissed Pellum angrily. "Your friend is dead or at least as good
as, he stopped screaming half a day ago."