Free Sword and the Spell 01: The Grey Robe by Clare Smith Page A

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on Malute’s only child, a four year old daughter. It was a night he tried to
forget; his treachery and the blood of his friend and mentor still disturbed
his dreams. Yarrin had been old and slow but if he’d wanted to he could have
let Yarrin die with dignity instead of crippling his body and then destroying
his mind. He would never forget the look in the old man’s eyes as he took the
torc from Yarrin’s neck and ripped the focus of his power from his mind.
    It had taken the most powerful magician only minutes
to die but those minutes were full of a raving madness which must have made Yarrin’s
last moments stretch to eternity. Maladran’s horror at what he had done at
Sarrat’s command was such that he’d had to find a way to appease his guilt and
so he had persuaded Sarrat to spare the life of Malute’s daughter. It still
amazed him that Sarrat had agreed, placing her in the care of his trusted
friend and co-conspirator, Coledran, the newly appointed High Lord of
Leersland.
    “And was the boy really poisoning his father?” Sarrat
asked, interrupting Maladran’s morbid thoughts.
    “That is what your soul searcher will tell your court,
that he confessed.”
    “That wasn’t what I asked but never mind, you have
done well and I am pleased. “Now tell me, what did you think of this morning’s
little charade?” He leaned forward eagerly, referring to the accusations of the
three Great Lords against their lower status fellow. “Is the man plotting
against me or is there something more sinister going on in which the others are
involved?”
    “I regret I only heard the end of the argument so I am
unable to make a sound and reasoned judgment.”
    Sarrat snapped out a cynical laugh. “I sat through a
morning of their arguments and I still can’t make a sound and reasoned judgment.
They obviously lie, all four of them, but somewhere in their claims of wrong
doings, plots and counterplots there must be a grain of truth.”
    “Certainly, My Lord, every lie once grew from a grain
of truth; the problem is, as always, finding it under a mountain of chaff.”
    “Perhaps your torturing could be used to dig the truth
out of Tulreth?” suggested Sarrat with a wry grin.
    Maladran returned the smile, well used to this little
game. “As My Lord knows I am a man of peace and gentle persuasion. If you wish
to use force to find answers then you must find one who is not sworn to the
service of the goddess Federa.”
    “Come Maladran, everybody knows of your skill as a
seeker of the truth.”
    “You are mistaken, My Lord, however if you command my
services I will use my soul searching ability but I think it would be unnecessary
in this case. The three lords have chosen to accuse one whose land lies
adjacent to their own and is therefore desirable. Whilst the High Lord is
absent from court and unable to keep them in check, they have made their move
against the unfortunate man. Such a matter will not occur again when the High
Lord Coledran returns to his duties.”
    “So in the meantime what do you suggest I do with
Tulreth? I can hardly leave him kissing the floor in the Great Hall.”
    “It would be seen as an act of nobility and clemency
to return the lord to his estates unharmed.”
    “Rubbish! It would be seen as an act of weakness.”
    “Perhaps but then again some might see it as the move
of a strong king in an unassailable position. At some other time, when you need
a favour from Tulreth, your mercy could reap a valuable harvest.”
    Sarrat laughed viciously. “You have a devious mind
Maladran and I shall think about your proposal.”
    He toyed with his empty goblet and gave his magician a
long appraisal. Sometimes the magician’s behaviour troubled him. He could be as
hard and as ruthless as any man but when it came to inflicting pain or taking a
life without just cause he displayed a streak of mercy which bordered on
cowardice. Compassion was a weakness which didn’t fit well with his need