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

that first stone, had touched his arms or the burnt stumps where his hands used to be despite them being exposed and stuck out in front of him. It was a pity the same couldn’t be said for his head, which was cut in several places where stones had hit him. One had come precariously close to his eye and he had only avoided it by a fraction. He could feel the blood from it trickle down the side of his face and the irritation of black buzzers as they investigated the open wound. When he thought about it, he realised that it was that stone which had sent him into unconsciousness, and he wondered who the civil minded person was who had propped him up until he could find his own feet.
    It wasn’t Rothers so it had to be someone from the crowd, although that seemed most unlikely. He could hear them now around the post like honey buzzers around their hive. Tallison had played them well, turning them from a sullen, angry crowd into an adoring multitude ready to throw themselves at his feet. To give Tallison his due, he knew how to control a mob, but that wasn’t hard when they were starving and desperate and you were offering food and a moment’s respite from their bitter lives. Once Tallison had left, the mood of the mob had changed again and now the desperation had returned, and with it the anger and the hatred. He could hear the babble of voices increase in volume and could smell their fear above the stench of filth and decay. It wouldn’t take much to incite the crowd to violence and surely, once they started, not even the flame in his mind which refused to go out could stop them.
    The thought of being torn to pieces by the mob was not an attractive one but it was no worse than the other things which were going to be done to him and a lot more immediate. He took the biggest breath he could manage with the collar restricting his breathing and screamed a curse at the mob. The sound which left his parched and swollen throat was little more than a croak and was instantly swallowed by the noise of the crowd. He tried to find some moisture to ease his throat and took a breath to try again but a firm hand clamped on his shoulder and a voice whispered in his ear.
    “Quiet, magician, your time to die is not yet and not by the hands of these people who deserve better than your pointless death.”
    Jonderill swallowed back the curse he was trying to shout and turned as far as the collar and chain would allow him so he could look at the man who had spoken. He was tall with skin darkened by the desert sun and black hair tied in warrior fashion. His robes were full and clean and he wore a curved sword at his side. He was an officer then; one of those who had drawn their swords to quell the mob earlier. The man gave Jonderill’s shoulder a slight squeeze of encouragement and then stepped forward to face the crowd. Four others, similarly dressed, stepped up beside him and slowly the angry shouting subsided until just a shuffling of feet and a tense silence remained.
    The man took another step forward and addressed the crowd in a voice loud enough to carry to the back row of the gathered men. “Return to your dwellings, there is nothing more for you here; you have done the mighty Tallison’s work and have shown this man your anger and disdain. To do more would cause his end and would deny Talis his pain. Return to your shelters and enjoy the bounty which your Rale has provided for you.”
    There was a disgruntled muttering amongst the crowd but when the five men stood their ground the crowd slowly began to disperse. Jonderill watched them leave not certain whether he was disappointed that his chance to die had been taken from him or relieved that he would live for a little longer. Perhaps if his saviour turned back to him he could ask him what he thought. It was such an absurd thought that an almost hysterical laughter bubbled up inside of him erupting as a choking grunt. The noise made the man turn and Jonderill watched as he bowed