Read Online The White Robe by Clare Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Clare Smith
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Epic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, dark fantasy, Sword & Sorcery
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spoke softly to the guard on his left.
Dejectedly, Jonderill walked to the edge of the camp and sat with his back propped up against a large everleaf; close enough to the camp to benefit from its protection but far enough away that the smell of hot food wasn’t a torment. It was a long time since he had been very hungry but he remembered the unpleasant feeling and the unhappy memories which went with it. He almost jumped when a tall figure coughed loudly beside him and he looked up to see one of the fat merchant’s guards standing next to him, relaxed but with his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword.
“My employer would like a word with you.”
Jonderill shrugged but didn’t move. “What does he want?”
It was the guard’s turn to shrug. “Don’t know, he don’t tell me his business but we’ve got a dozen wagons and not enough hands to manage the merchandise so perhaps he’s got a proposition for you.”
Jonderill looked across to where the caravan was parked well away from the others with its covered and guarded wagons. There seemed to him to be lots of people in the encampment, most of them armed. The camp’s fire was the largest he had seen and two huge cauldrons were suspended over it cooking more food than could be eaten by those he could see. The guard followed the direction of his gaze and gave a rough laugh.
“Stews about ready, could be that the merchant will exchange some of the surplus for a bit of hired help.”
His stomach rumbled again making his mind up for him. “Lead the way,” he said as he stumbled to his feet.
He followed the guard to the edge of the camp and then through the gap between two covered wagons grimacing at the smell of rotting flesh and animal waste as he passed by them into the light of the fire. The merchant sat in a portable chair as far away from the wagons as he could get. When Jonderill reached him the merchant looked him up and down with small beady eyes almost hidden in between heavy eyebrows and fat cheeks. He tapped a fat finger bedecked with rings against his painted lips and smiled. Instantly Jonderill knew he had made a mistake and took a step back into the guard behind him who gave him a shove forward closer to the merchant.
“Nice, very nice,” muttered the merchant. “Pity about the dirt but that’ll wash off. Is he alone?” The guard behind Jonderill gave a brief nod. “Good, I think I have a buyer in mind who would be pleased to purchase a strong young man.”
Realisation of what the smell had been from the wagons and what the merchant traded in suddenly hit Jonderill and he turned to run but the guard made a grab for him, catching his robe at the shoulder and at the same time hooking his bare feet from under him. Jonderill hit the ground hard and rolled, wrenching his robe from the guard’s grip and scrambling to his feet. Behind him another two armed men closed in blocking his exit.
He turned to face the new threat and in desperation threw two balls of flaming elemental fire at the approaching men. One of the guards knocked the ball away to one side with his sword but the other ball of flame hit the second man in his chest, igniting his tunic. The man screamed and rolled in the dirt to put the flames out and Jonderill took his opportunity in the confusion to run, but before he had taken two steps, a brilliant light and intense pain exploded in his head followed by total darkness.
*
Jonderill regained consciousness with a groan, his head throbbing in time to the beating of his heart. Wherever he was it was moving and his body and head was being jostled against a hard wooden floor. He came to the conclusion that he must be in one of the wagons he had seen in the merchant’s camp. When the wagon suddenly tipped into a pot hole his head banged sharply against the floor almost making him pass out again. His stomach roiled against the pain and the stench of the other bodies and their filth
Dejectedly, Jonderill walked to the edge of the camp and sat with his back propped up against a large everleaf; close enough to the camp to benefit from its protection but far enough away that the smell of hot food wasn’t a torment. It was a long time since he had been very hungry but he remembered the unpleasant feeling and the unhappy memories which went with it. He almost jumped when a tall figure coughed loudly beside him and he looked up to see one of the fat merchant’s guards standing next to him, relaxed but with his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword.
“My employer would like a word with you.”
Jonderill shrugged but didn’t move. “What does he want?”
It was the guard’s turn to shrug. “Don’t know, he don’t tell me his business but we’ve got a dozen wagons and not enough hands to manage the merchandise so perhaps he’s got a proposition for you.”
Jonderill looked across to where the caravan was parked well away from the others with its covered and guarded wagons. There seemed to him to be lots of people in the encampment, most of them armed. The camp’s fire was the largest he had seen and two huge cauldrons were suspended over it cooking more food than could be eaten by those he could see. The guard followed the direction of his gaze and gave a rough laugh.
“Stews about ready, could be that the merchant will exchange some of the surplus for a bit of hired help.”
His stomach rumbled again making his mind up for him. “Lead the way,” he said as he stumbled to his feet.
He followed the guard to the edge of the camp and then through the gap between two covered wagons grimacing at the smell of rotting flesh and animal waste as he passed by them into the light of the fire. The merchant sat in a portable chair as far away from the wagons as he could get. When Jonderill reached him the merchant looked him up and down with small beady eyes almost hidden in between heavy eyebrows and fat cheeks. He tapped a fat finger bedecked with rings against his painted lips and smiled. Instantly Jonderill knew he had made a mistake and took a step back into the guard behind him who gave him a shove forward closer to the merchant.
“Nice, very nice,” muttered the merchant. “Pity about the dirt but that’ll wash off. Is he alone?” The guard behind Jonderill gave a brief nod. “Good, I think I have a buyer in mind who would be pleased to purchase a strong young man.”
Realisation of what the smell had been from the wagons and what the merchant traded in suddenly hit Jonderill and he turned to run but the guard made a grab for him, catching his robe at the shoulder and at the same time hooking his bare feet from under him. Jonderill hit the ground hard and rolled, wrenching his robe from the guard’s grip and scrambling to his feet. Behind him another two armed men closed in blocking his exit.
He turned to face the new threat and in desperation threw two balls of flaming elemental fire at the approaching men. One of the guards knocked the ball away to one side with his sword but the other ball of flame hit the second man in his chest, igniting his tunic. The man screamed and rolled in the dirt to put the flames out and Jonderill took his opportunity in the confusion to run, but before he had taken two steps, a brilliant light and intense pain exploded in his head followed by total darkness.
*
Jonderill regained consciousness with a groan, his head throbbing in time to the beating of his heart. Wherever he was it was moving and his body and head was being jostled against a hard wooden floor. He came to the conclusion that he must be in one of the wagons he had seen in the merchant’s camp. When the wagon suddenly tipped into a pot hole his head banged sharply against the floor almost making him pass out again. His stomach roiled against the pain and the stench of the other bodies and their filth
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