The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) by Clare Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

to dim. Tallison said something to the girl and then he felt her cool hand on his arm and the pain was gone. He steadied his legs beneath him, slowly taking the weight of his own body whilst his heartbeat slowed to a stuttering jump and his vision cleared. Tallison stood in front of him, his hands on his hips and a look of triumph on his face. He gave the girl a manic grin and she removed her hand from Jonderill’s arm. The pain of muscles cramping and the fire of blood returning to lifeless limbs hit him and he staggered under the shock but remained standing, determined not to fall again.
    Tallison snapped out more commands and the largest of the guards stepped forward and wrapped a thick leather band around Jonderill’s neck, pulling it tight enough to restrict his breathing and fastening it behind him with heavy buckles. Jonderill struggled to draw breath but realised it had been cleverly done; tight enough to hurt and stop him moving his head but not tight enough to choke him completely. The guard attached a chain to the loop at the front and handed it to his master whilst two other guards grabbed his arms, crossed them in front of him and bound his elbows and forearms together so that his burnt stumps stuck out in front of him like trophies for all to see.
    With a sharp yank on the chain which made Jonderill stumble forward Tallison set off leading the procession with Jonderill following behind like a whipped cur. The guards fell in beside them and behind he could just make out the lighter footfalls of the girl and the slave. More guards opened the door flaps of the pavilion letting the procession pass and then falling in behind them. Jonderill gasped in the sudden heat and blinked away tears as the brilliant sunlight stung his eyes.
    He staggered forwards trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. Beyond the heavily guarded compound there was a grey cloud that rippled in the sultry breeze and movement as if the cloud was writhing with a terrible infestation. The smell of sickness and death tainted the air and the buzz of swarming insects deadened the sound of the heavy boots of the guards marching all around him. Jonderill stumbled on the hard packed grit covered ground, choking on the pressure of the collar around his neck as it was yanked forward and desperately trying to remain upright on legs which would barely support him.
    When he stumbled on a loose stone which turned beneath his bare feet he went down onto his knees, fighting to keep his balance so that his bound arms wouldn’t hit the ground. Gasping for air as the collar tightened around his throat and stole his breath he rolled to one side and instantly two guards were beside him. They hauled him to his feet again and propped him up whilst he steadied his legs and caught his breath. The moment’s respite gave him the chance to clear his vision and focus on where he was being led. His eyes opened wide with shock and his stomach turned in fear.
    What he had taken to be a grey cloud were tents, rows and rows of open-sided shelters intermingled with shacks and hovels propping each other up. He had seen the homes of the poor in Tarmin but they were palaces compared to this. As his focus improved he realised what he had taken to be the swarm of insects were people, thousands of them, their screams of hatred and cries of derision becoming louder with every step he took in their direction. The only thing which remained unchanged was the stink of filth, rot and death. He stumbled onwards not noticing that his leash had gone slack until he came level with where his captor stood.
    “Just look, Callistares, my people wait for you. They have no love for your kind which tried to enslave them all, but I saved them and set them free. Now I will show them that I have saved them from you and your evil spells, and they will love me all over again for what I have done for them. Do you hear them, Callistares? They hate you and will tear you limb from limb if I let