Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe Read Online Free

heat the burning log
produced but he had imposed the discipline of normality on himself in an effort
to retain the remnants of his humanity that his growing powers had threatened
to take from him. His master would laugh at his weakness if he knew or cared.
Maladran walked to where the boy lay and gently bathed his face with a soft
cloth and cold water. The boy was slick with sweat but since he had bathed the
limp body in the river the fever had abated and unless the sores on his body
became infected he would recover and be ready to travel within a day.
    It was the state of the boy’s mind rather than his
body which troubled Maladran now; that and his inability to block out the boy’s
emotions. Even though he had placed a token of healing and calm in the boy’s
hand his fevered sleep was confused and distorted by nightmares and he could
still feel his fear like searing fire. There was also something else which was
buried deep within the boy, fighting to be free from the chains which held it.
As if to confirm his feelings the boy cried out a name, Jonderill. Who could
this Jonderill be that the name was repeated again and again and why did the
boy scream the name as if it was being torn from his throat in agony? He shook
his head, confused by thoughts and feelings he   thought had been buried long ago.
    He was intrigued by the boy and he wanted to know why
he couldn’t block the boy’s emotions but was that enough reason to give his
time and attention to the child? True, the boy would have died without his
intervention but kingswards died all the time, they were as worthless as the
criminals who begat them. What then drew him to this one and, more importantly,
what would he do with the boy when his fever broke? He had made a vow to take
no more apprentices after Sarrat had taken the last one from him and there was
no room in his life for any who could never become a servant of Federa and call
on the power of the arcane.
    Perhaps it would be a kindness to end the boy’s life
whilst he slept, better than leaving him by the ford for the next traveller to
claim. As if he had heard the man’s thought the boy cried out not to leave him
there, pleading so that tears ran between his closed eyes. Maladran went to
pull the cloak higher around the boy’s body but he suddenly clutched his hand
and screamed and called the name again, Jonderill. He probed gently into the turmoil
of the boy’s mind until he calmed and when he rested peacefully again the
magician left him to return to the fire and his own troubled thoughts.
    The boy awoke with the sun on his face and the smell
of boiling oats in the air. He opened his eyes slowly and lay very still,
enjoying the unaccustomed warmth and peace. The cloak was smooth and warm
against his body and whatever his head rested against was soft and clean. He
moved an arm to push the cloak away from him and realised he was naked. With
that realisation all the memories of the past days came flooding back in a
sweeping tide of horror. It was the man’s cloak and the man had ordered him to
strip. Then there had been the feel of the man’s hand on his shoulder and he
couldn’t remember what had happened after that. Perhaps his rescuer was waiting
for him to wake before he did anything else. He closed his eyes again hoping
the man had not seen him stir.
    “So you are awake at last. When you feel ready there
are hot oats with dried apple and honey and some travel bread which is still
edible.”
    The boy didn’t move although the smell of the oats
made his stomach complain and his mouth water. There was another smell too
which invaded his senses, a smell from past days when warmth and comfort had
also been part of his life. It was soapwort and he realised he had been bathed.
His eyes opened wide at the sudden revelation and he raised his head
sufficiently to watch the dark haired man stir their breakfast. He wanted the
food desperately but not what the food might cost him.
    “Come boy, out of your