Sinners of Magic (18 page)

‘
What’s
troubling you?’ he asked, baffled. ‘Why, you’re not one of those
fussy eaters are you?’ The horse became restless and Nekton started
to feel uneasy. The horse was sensing something, but what? He shook
his head, for he knew there was nothing to fear here. He stroked
her strong neck to calm her; she was of good stock and a pure-bred,
which could make them temperamental at times. Eventually she nudged
him with her warm nose and Nekton forgave her irrational behaviour
and headed back inside the hut.

A while later, Amadeus lay on a
lumpy mattress rolled up in a horsehair blanket. He was unable to
sleep, yet the night was turning cool and windless. He lifted his
head when he thought he had heard something and listened – nothing.
Then he heard it again. He rose from his bed already fully dressed,
just his boots lying abandoned on the floor. He grabbed them and
shoved his feet inside, making not a sound when he crossed the
wooden floorboards. Nekton lay asleep in a makeshift bed situated
on the other side of the room, and for privacy he used an old torn
and threadbare sheet for a curtain, which he draped over a piece of
taut string.

Amadeus went to the window and
looked outside. The night air was becoming sharp like glass and the
stars were sparkling in the sky, clear of any clouds which might
dare to drift across them and dim their brilliant light. The trees
surrounding the hut stood like stone statues in the background, not
even the leaves rustled, and then Amadeus saw the eyes. He took an
involuntary step back for the eyes had no face or body. He knocked
over a chair and sent it crashing to the floor, causing Nekton to
jump from his bed, startled by the sudden noise.

‘
What was
that?’ he called out, pulling back the curtain and rushing to light
the lantern before going to Amadeus’s side. Even before he spoke
Amadeus knew he would sound crazy, but he knew what he had just
seen. ‘There are spies out there watching me,’ he bellowed. ‘I’ve
just seen them.’

‘
Seen who?’
asked Nekton, confused. He was the keeper and would know if someone
approached the hut. ‘There is no one here but us,’ he said, trying
to calm him. ‘Perhaps you have had a bad dream?’

‘
No,’ said
Amadeus turning angry. ‘I was not asleep. I saw with my own eyes
three sets of yellow pupils staring through the window.’

Nekton was in despair. Amadeus
had obviously drunk too much wine.

‘
You must be
mistaken,’ he said, taking a tone of voice which he thought may
pacify his guest, ‘but if it makes you feel better let’s take a
look outside and see if your eyes are still watchful.’ Amadeus
walked over to his bed and took his sword from underneath
it.

‘
You cannot
use that here,’ warned Nekton, pointing to the blade. ‘Are you not
aware it is neutral soil here and no one must be harmed?’ Amadeus
tensed; he knew what he had seen, but he also understood the law of
the magicians. If he was to break such a law, he would be punished,
perhaps even put to death.

‘
Very well,’
he said, sounding resentful. ‘I’ll leave my sword behind and we’ll
take a look together.’ Nekton looked relieved.

‘
Come on
then,’ he urged, opening the door, ‘you go first.’ Amadeus shot
Nekton an expression of distrust, which spread like butter over his
face.

‘
If there’s
nothing out there, then why don’t you go first?’ he asked, a hard
look reaching his eyes.

‘
Fine, I
will,’ Nekton snapped. ‘I just thought because you are a warrior
and I’m a dwarf you would wish to defend me. I haven’t a problem
with who goes first as I don’t believe anyone is actually out
there.’ Amadeus gave a broad grin. Nekton was right; how could he
even think of sending out the dwarf? What on earth was he
thinking?

‘
You’re
absolutely right, my dear fellow,’ he said, genuinely ashamed of
his outburst. He targeted Nekton with a hefty slap on his back,
almost sending him reeling out of the door.

‘
Hey, stop
that,’ said Nekton, looking unamused. ‘I’m only little.’

The two of them walked outside,
keeping a few feet apart, with only the lantern and the stars to
help illuminate their way. The warrior and the dwarf checked the
area for anything suspicious. At last Amadeus was satisfied they
were alone and called to Nekton to call it a night.

‘
Well, I
won’t say I told you so,’ said the dwarf, grinning with
satisfaction. ‘And, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ll just check
your horse one more time before I go back to bed.’ Amadeus nodded,
appreciating his consideration, and made his way back to the
cabin.

He entered the doorway and felt
fatigue fill his bones. He sat on a chair to take a moment’s rest
and a cold warning rippled down his back. They were both
ill-prepared for the attack. Flashing their silver swords, strange
shadows came out of the trees and headed straight for the hut. They
were practically invisible to the naked eye, using forbidden magic
on the orders of their king. They had been waiting to attack the
soldier, Amadeus, who was known to be a mighty warrior and who
would not be taken without a fight.

They had not planned to take
the dwarf but now realised they had no choice. It would be easy to
capture him, although this would cause a great calamity if the
wizard of Raven’s Rainbow were to find out who had taken him.
Without a sound, they edged themselves closer to the keeper and
three of them surrounded him without him being aware. Another four
waited for the signal that Nekton was captured before attacking
Amadeus.

They pounced on Nekton, causing
him to fall against the horse. She whinnied a warning for the
second time that night, but it came far too late. Invisible hands
grabbed him from behind and another covered his mouth so he could
not alert the warrior. They gagged him with thick material, his
teeth biting down on the cloth, forcing his lips apart and causing
his mouth to turn dry. They tied his hands together with rope,
tugging sharply to make sure he could not make his escape. Fear
showed in Nekton’s beady eyes. This was Fortune’s End, the one
place in the extraordinary world where no one could be harmed, and
yet here he was being exactly that.

Moments later Nekton heard a
cry, followed by heavy scuffling. The sharp noise of glass crashing
to the floor made him flinch; they had attacked the warrior also.
It took the assailants only a few minutes to defeat Amadeus. He
could not see them and although he put up a brave fight he was no
match for their illegal magic. He was pulled out of the hut in the
same way as Nekton, bound and gagged. Fury burned in his eyes and
hatred showed in his twisted features when the same invisible hands
pushed them to the cover of trees.

Their captors made them walk
only a few feet before coming across a group of horses. Nine
stallions stood fastened to a rope that had been tethered to the
branches, and Amadeus and Nekton were forced to mount, then their
hands were bound to their saddles. More rope was used to tie two
horses together whilst a leash was stretched from the leader’s
horse to their own. A cry echoed through the forest and then they
were gone.

The party travelled for miles
and was following the main route out of Raven’s Rainbow when the
enemy removed the spell that had given them anonymity. Amadeus was
confused when he clapped eyes on them, instantly recognising the
crest of the Nonhawk embossed on their armour. He was no fool and
soon calculated the reasons behind his capture. These were
Forusian’s men; they had captured him before he reached the wizard
Bridgemear.

He rode along the bumpy road
with his mind racing ahead. There was something going on here more
than first met the eye. For the Nonhawk to break the sacred laws of
the land and risk the wrath of the wizard Bridgemear, it had to be
something extremely serious. It was clear to him that Forusian did
not want Bridgemear to know his daughter had arrived in the
extraordinary world, but why? This was the burning question to
which he had to find the answer. He knew he must stay alive at all
costs, for he realised that King Gamada had never needed him as
much as he needed him now.

Chapter
9

Tremlon awoke in his chamber to
find the sun was rising and Arhdel to be sitting beside him.

‘
You have a
terrible fever,’ Arhdel told him, turning to pick up an empty cup
and fill it from the pitcher that lay next to him. He placed the
cup to Tremlon’s dry lips and he drank thirstily.

Tremlon’s head was throbbing
with a terrible ache and the pressure behind his eyes gave him
cause to believe a hundred elves were slamming pickaxes on the top
of his skull. He was also suffering from the symptoms of
hypothermia, and even with his bed full of blankets and the warmth
of the sun flooding through the window he shivered with cold.

Arhdel gave a solemn rasp.

‘
It’s just as
I thought,’ he said, pulling a blanket under Tremlon’s chin. ‘You
are seriously ill and we must get the healer to you as soon as
possible.’

He glanced over at Matt who
stood waiting for him in the bedroom doorway.

‘
It’s the
effect of being in the snow for so long,’ Arhdel explained.
‘Warriors are very versatile to the bitter weather – we adapt
according to our climate with ease, but Tremlon is no warrior, his
inner strength is not the same as the soldiers’ and he was
unconscious in sub-zero temperatures for far too long. To be
honest, it was a miracle either of you survived.’

Matt looked gravely at the
shape-changer lying in his bed, sick and helpless. He had started
to like the temperamental shape-changer who clearly suffered with a
bad case of attitude, but he had concluded that he was just a
strange bird-man burdened with a heavy conscience.

Arhdel called out to a passing
servant and whispered urgent instructions. She hurried away, making
her way down the polished marble steps and through the long
corridors to seek out the king’s healer, Sawbones.

It wasn’t long before the
healer arrived laden with a long, willowy stick and a brown leather
pouch and he proceeded to the bedside table before opening the
drawstring bag and delving inside. Pulling the bed covers away from
Tremlon and placing them down to his waist, he listened to his
patient’s wheezing chest with mounting concern. Tremlon’s breathing
was becoming irregular and his skin was grey and clammy. Sawbones
held a small red bottle in his hand and he dislodged the cork with
his teeth. He continued by pouring a thick, brown liquid onto his
fingers before smearing it over Tremlon’s chest.

‘
It will help
his breathing and make him sleep,’ he explained to Arhdel when he
caught him staring. ‘This elf is in a critical condition and we
have no time to lose; we must take him to the Altar of Vitality and
ask the guardian of the catacombs for her help if he is to have any
chance of survival,’ he continued, replacing the cork. He didn’t
wait for Arhdel to speak before collecting his belongings and
replacing the covers over the shivering body. Matt was numb. He had
never seen anyone look so poorly, even when his granny suffered a
stroke. She had died at the age of seventy-two in her sleep, but
even in death she hadn’t appeared as grey or as lifeless as Tremlon
did now.

‘
The king
must be notified at once,’ Sawbones added, moving towards the
door.

‘
Yes, of
course,’ Arhdel agreed. ‘I will go immediately and tell him
myself.’ He turned to Matt. ‘Can I trust you to escort Tremlon to
the Altar of Vitality whilst I report to the king of Tremlon’s
sudden deterioration?’ Matt nodded, with keenness glowing in his
eyes.

‘
Good, it is
settled then; I will meet you there.’

‘
Is he going
to die?’ Matt blurted, swallowing hard. Sawbones took a deep breath
and puffed out his chest to show his authority.

‘
I’m afraid
it isn’t looking good; unless we can convince the guardian to use
her powers to restore his health, he won’t stand much chance of
recovery. However, I must warn you that these types of elves –
shape-changers – are not good at fighting infection and her powers
will only bring him back from the shadowy place where his soul is
lurking if it is not his time to leave us. If she agrees to help us
and manages to bring him back, he will still be weak and in need of
much care.’

Two guards with strong arms and
rippling muscles entered the chamber. They had been assigned by
Arhdel to transport Tremlon to the altar. The altar was set only a
stone’s throw from the palace in a small catacomb carved deep into
the rock close to the mountain and the guards laid Tremlon down on
a stretcher, ensuring he was secure before making any attempt to
move him. Matt picked up the blankets that had fallen to the floor
and fussed over him like a mother hen making sure he was kept warm,
but Tremlon’s symptoms were changing and he was becoming hot.
Instinctively, he kicked at the blankets to cool himself and beads
of sweat wound their way down his forehead to soak his pillow.

Matt watched Tremlon finally
fall asleep and in a sombre procession they made their way to the
catacomb. When they entered, the cool air was a welcome kiss on
Tremlon’s clammy skin and for the first time the shape-changer
looked at peace in his induced sleep.

Once inside the catacomb, the
air became damp and the earth underfoot changed to an orangey red.
Matt noticed the healer was already waiting for them by a table
made of rock; he had changed his clothes and resembled a
Benedictine monk with his long, brown robe, short only of the halo
of shaved hair. The catacomb was eerie and smelt of decomposing
matter; Matt saw that long hollows had been dug out of the rock and
what looked like mummified bodies were wrapped in decaying cloth,
protruding like trophies of death.