Read The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) for Free Online Page B

one the slave called a demon, or the girl. Both meant pain but that couldn’t be helped, he needed to drink.
    “Water,” he croaked. The plea sounded like a whisper in the silence so he tried again, louder this time.
    “Water.”
    There was the sound of footsteps behind him and the girl walked into view. His heart dropped as she stood in front of him, her eyes full of hate and anger. She looked even more dishevelled than she had before with her long hair tangled and uncombed and a large bruise darkening one cheek. Her sheer silk robe had gone and instead she wore a thin band of cloth which barely covered her breasts and a short wrap which exposed her legs and thighs. There were bite marks on her neck and long scratches on her thighs. She looked little better than the slave and despite his own condition he felt sorry for her.
    “Why did you do it?” he asked, the question coming to him without him thinking about it.
    “I gave you to him because I wanted him to love me.”
    “And does he?”
    She thought about it for a time, her pale green eyes never moving from his. “No. But if I make you scream for a long time and beg for death he will.”
    Jonderill swallowed hard and pushed his fear down within him. “No he won’t, he’ll just use you again and then discard you as he did last night.”
    It was just a wild guess, but by the look of hatred which flashed across her face he knew he was right. She took a belligerent step forward and drew the knife which was hidden beneath her brief wrap. Perhaps if he provoked her enough she would use her knife to end his life; it wouldn’t take much, his neck was exposed so a quick slash would put him out of his agony.
    Instead she smiled. “No, magician, I’m not going to do what you want me to. It’s your kind that has destroyed my life and for that I’m going to make you pay.” She sheathed her knife and clicked her fingers and the slave scurried into view carrying the water pot and spoon. Jonderill did his best not to look as desperate as he felt but couldn’t help pushing himself against the bars of his cage. “Give him enough to moisten his lips but not enough to ease his throat.”
    The slave hesitated for a moment and wrung his hands. “Your master said I was to give him feverbane to prolong his life, mistress.”
    Her hand shot out catching him hard on the cheek and knocking him over backwards, the precious water spilling on the floor and soaking away. “You will do as I say, slave. Now wet his lips with what remains.”
    The man stood and ran his finger around the inside of the pot and then dabbed the dampness onto Jonderill’s cracked lips. He tried hard not to whimper but his need was desperate. She laughed, kicked the cringing slave and sauntered away. Jonderill heard the sound of the heavy fabric being moved as she left the pavilion leaving him and the slave alone together. After a short while he heard the slave move away and when all was silent again he closed his eyes and prayed to the Goddess to release him.
    A light touch on his arm just below the knife wound and the stump where his hand had been brought him back abruptly from his futile prayers. It was the slave again, but this time with a look of determination on his face, not the usual pathetic cringe. He gave Jonderill a nervous grin, looked over his shoulder to the door and then held up a skin with a spout at one end. Jonderill opened his eyes wide in surprise.
    “I stole it!” The man looked extremely pleased with himself. “I took it from the brotherlords’ camp, and if they find out they will kill me, but if not, you will live. In either case I will be free.”
    He pulled the stopper out of the spout and Jonderill didn’t need to be asked to open his mouth. The water was warm and stale and wonderful. He took three deep gulps before the man stopped pouring and took a small sip for himself. Then he dampened the ragged sleeve of his robe and dabbed lightly at Jonderill’s stumps, knocking off