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

disappear beneath his hands, Maladran guided the
boy to the log by the fire and pushed him down onto the makeshift bench whilst
he ladled out a small bowl of oats and poured golden honey on top. The boy took
the proffered bowl hesitantly and then, before his host could offer him a spoon,
scooped the meal into his mouth with frantic fingers like a starving animal.
Maladran scowled down at him, his patience coming to an end.
    “Steady, steady. I know you are hungry but if you eat
at that speed nothing will stay down long enough to do you any good.” He
reached out to take the bowl and the boy cringed back with a whimper. “I have
told you boy that I will not abuse you, nor will I beat you, but in return you
must show a little trust.”
    The boy said nothing but his shoulders straightened
slightly. Maladran relaxed a little and smiled to himself as he returned to the
pot hanging over the fire. Satisfied at the progress he had made he poured the
boy another bowl of hot oats. This time he took the spoon and ate the sweet cereal
at half the speed. Maladran left him with a small flask of watered wine and a
piece of travel bread whilst he went to saddle his horse. The boy nibbled the
bread carefully wondering how long it would be before he was fed again.
Furtively he looked around the clearing hoping to find some berries which he
could pick now and save for later but all he could see were some greying
mushrooms and some old nut shells. He looked back to the fire when the man
returned with a rolled bundle of clothing.
    “I burnt the sacking they gave you to wear; it stank
of the middin and was full of vermin. Until we can find you something more
fitting you can wear these.” He handed the boy a neat bundle bound around by a
leather belt, gathered up the dirty dishes and with a tuneless whistle walked
away from the clearing towards the ford to wash them.
    For several minutes the boy sat with the bundle on his
knee, listening to the man whistling and walking away from him, unable to move.
He was confused. He had expected pain or at least to be treated with contempt
as he had always been treated for as long as he could remember. Instead the man
had shared his food and had now given him his own clothing to wear.
    Cautiously he ran his hand over the fine weave and
held the bundle to his nose, it smelt of soapwort and herbs and vaguely of
saddle leather and horse. It was a provocative smell and disturbed a memory in
the boy which he couldn’t totally recall. The half memory added to his
confusion. He was kingsward, to be treated as his masters thought fit and
kindness was no part of that treatment. Yet vague feelings, more like a tickle
in his mind, told him there had been a time before he became the king’s
property when kindness had been a part of his life but he wasn’t sure, he
couldn’t quite remember.
    The sound of the man’s returning footfalls made him
jump and he scrambled out of the cloak to do his new master’s bidding. He
pulled the soft grey shirt over his head but it was far too large for him,
reaching to his knees and trailing the long arms far beyond the end of his
finger tips. Quickly he rolled back the sleeves as best as he could and concentrated
on the fastenings which seemed small and intricate and completely unmanageable
with the man’s eyes boring into his back. He fumbled the fastenings completely and
his sleeves unrolled and swamped his hands. When Maladran’s laughter surprised
him he looked up in annoyance and caught the man’s eye before remembering his
place and returning to his habitual subservient pose. Maladran was not
displeased with the response; it seemed the boy still had some spirit left
after all.
    “You look like the ancient father of time in that
shroud,” laughed Maladran, surprised at his own humour which rarely surfaced.
He picked through the bundle of clothing and discarded the breeches and leather
jerkin which would have been too large to serve any useful purpose but
extracted the