A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (14 page)

Sleep was a long time coming for Corlin. When it did, it was troubled, populated with unfamiliar and sinister characters, and plunging him into weird and impossible situations.

Even the luxurious comfort of a plump feather-filled mattress did little to ease him into restful slumber. As soon as the single arched window admitted enough light for him to see the end of his bed, he scrambled out, got dressed, and made his way outside. Halfway across the keep he met Kethyn.

The servant gave him a respectful nod. “Good morning master Corlin. Will you be breaking fast at the castle?”

Corlin raised his hands. “I have no choice. Duke Alexander wants to talk to me again.” He rubbed his arms and frowned. “I don’t suppose you know where my coat is, do you?”

Looking rather pleased with himself, Kethyn gestured towards the stable block. “I managed to rescue it before the waggoner drove off, less than an hour ago. I’ve hung it on a peg in your horse’s stable. You’ve got time to fetch it. It’ll be about an hour before breakfast. I’m now on my way to wake the duke.”

Corlin thanked him and headed towards the stables. A single lantern, turned low, hung just inside the door and the minstrel chuckled at the sight revealed in its soft glow. In an open stall, on a bale of straw beside his tethered cob, lay Otty, flat on his back, mouth wide open, his snores sounding for all the world like a stone grinding corn. The minstrel tiptoed past him, murmured a few words to Megan and retrieved his coat. He was not too surprised that the waggoner had left; there wasn’t any particular reason for him to stay once he’d told of his part in the previous day’s events. What did puzzle him was why Otty was sleeping in the stable.

Another thing which had been on his mind during his restless night had been why Prince Olaf had been sent haring off to Vellethen just at this particular time. He realised it was probably nothing to do with him, but it seemed too much of a coincidence, and Corlin wasn’t a great believer in coincidences. With a decision still to make about how he was going to proceed with the next part of his quest, he wandered back to his room to wait for the call to breakfast.

* * *

Otty was late, which gave Corlin and the duke chance to discuss matters in private.

Alexander waited until Corlin had filled his plate. “Have you come to a decision young man?”

Corlin chewed thoughtfully for a moment or two, then put down his fork. “The way I see it is this. If we find the other half of the clock’s frame here, and I take both halves with me, these creatures that hold its working part could well steal the frame, put it all together and so use whatever power that would give them. There’s a good chance that my staying alive wouldn’t be part of their plan.”

The duke took a sip of his beer and nodded. “My thought also. Carry on.”

Corlin frowned. “I was thinking about leaving the piece I’ve already got in your safe-keeping but...” The duke interrupted. “You don’t know me well enough to place your trust in me?”

The minstrel shook his head. “No! Er...I mean...it’s not that at all. If I go after the clock’s heart without any other part of it, then these creatures might not believe me, and refuse to part with it. That could also be a bit risky for my health.”

Alexander considered that for a while, and Corlin carried on eating his breakfast.

Eventually the duke leaned back in his chair and looked hard at Corlin. “So, what have you decided to do?”

Corlin smiled. “Go after the clock’s heart first and take the piece of frame I already have for proof. If I’m successful, I shall have to come back this way so...” He took a deep breath... “I was wondering whether you would search for the other half of the frame while I’m gone, and I’ll tell the creatures guarding the clock itself that I already have it but that it’s in safe keeping.”

The duke looked a little alarmed. “Will you tell them where?”

“Not unless I have to.”

His breakfast finished, the duke left the table and crossed to a window. He stood looking out beyond the castle at the open countryside, now bathed in early morning sunlight.

As if he had made a decision, he turned to Corlin, a determined expression on his face. “It is, I think, a good plan. With the aid of Cadomar, we will search for the frame while you are gone. Harald and Olaf can help.” He smiled. “When they were boys I think they explored every inch of this castle, as boys, even princes, will. So perhaps they may remember something useful.”

Corlin stood up and joined the duke at the window. “Forgive me for asking sire. I know it might be none of my business, but...er...why has Olaf gone to Vellethen?”

Alexander folded his arms, a steely glint in his blue eyes as he looked at Corlin. “In a way, it is your business. If the stories are to be believed, then the next part of your quest will probably be the most dangerous. Olaf has gone to Vellethen to inform certain people that you are on your way, although the news has probably arrived ahead of him, and not to the ears of those we would wish to hear it.”

To Corlin’s surprise, the duke clapped him on the shoulder. “The waking of the clock could prove very dangerous. Is there no other way you can get your brother released?”

The minstrel’s expression was grim. “Not without a small army, which Lord Treevers already has. He’s the richest landowner in the WestLands, and doesn’t take kindly to anyone who defies him. I think he’ll try and double-cross me if I get hold of the clock and he hears about it.” He shrugged. “But that’s not happened yet, so there’s really only one more thing I’d like to know.”

The duke’s gaze returned to the view through the window. “And what is that?”

Throwing decorum and etiquette aside, Corlin thrust his face close to Alexander’s. “Where the heck are we supposed to be going? Do you know?”

The duke frowned but let the apparent indiscretion pass. “It surprises me that you do not yet know your destination. If the legend is to be believed, the clock is somewhere in the mountains, a place known as the Fellgate. I know no more than that.”

Corlin was about to ask the way to the mountains when a knock came at the door followed by the sheepish arrival of Otty.

He bowed to the duke. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

As no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming, Alexander gestured towards the table. “Help yourself to whatever is left, then join us in the stables. Master Corlin is keen to be off.”

Otty’s eyebrows rose. “Where are we going?”

Corlin grinned as he and the duke strolled past the table. “To the mountains, wherever
they
are.”

Leaving Otty to finish his cold and belated breakfast, duke and minstrel headed towards the stables. Halfway across the keep the duke stopped and placed a hand on Corlin’s arm.

He kept his voice low. “Do not let your friend persuade you into the city of Tallard. Half a mile before you reach the city walls, turn south and follow that road. It will take you round the city and onto the mountain route. It is a rough road and little used but you must take it, and avoid the city. If Otty wishes to go in, do not stay him. You will meet up again, no doubt.”

Corlin frowned. “How do you know all this?”

The duke looked around before replying. “There are a number of talented magicians in this part of the country, my own Cadomar among them. They have knowledge of many things beyond our understanding, and this knowledge they frequently share.” He gave a knowing smile. “Cadomar is very loyal.”

Giving Corlin no chance to comment, the duke continued on towards the stable block, the brass ferrule of his sturdy cane tapping a steady rhythm on the flagstones. He chuckled, his eyes shining with humour as Corlin limped into the stables.

He held up his cane. “Perhaps you would like one like this, master Corlin?”

Not quite certain what the duke meant, Corlin shook his head. “Not really. I prefer a staff. It’s more supportive, and can double as a weapon if needs be.”

Alexander nodded but made no further comment, looking on with an approving eye as Corlin saddled both horses. He was leading them out into the keep when he spat out a couple of mild swear words.

The duke looked concerned. “What is the problem?”

The minstrel tethered the animals to a rail. “I’ve left the gimalin. It’s probably still in your sitting room.”

Alexander tilted his head and smiled. “Then let us go and fetch it.”

Before they could take a step, Otty bustled out into the castle keep, the cloth-wrapped instrument tucked awkwardly under one arm.

He handed it to Corlin and grinned. “Can’t go without this. Y’never know when we might need it.”

There was something in the grin and the tone of Otty’s voice that made Corlin feel uncomfortable, but he had no chance to study the man. He had already turned away and was checking his saddle and bags in preparation for the off. Corlin secured the gimalin, moved to Megan’s right side, and swung into the saddle.

Duke Alexander took the opportunity to take a clear look at the minstrel’s skilfully crafted boot. “It would interest me to know the name of your boot-maker.”

Corlin pulled his hat from his coat pocket and settled it on his head. “My parents had it made for me when I came of age, almost five years ago. All I know is that while the man was measuring my foot they called him Master Guido, and he had a foreign accent.”

The duke gave him a wry smile. “Does not everybody?”

Realising his gaffe, Corlin began to apologise but Alexander raised a restraining hand. “No matter. He should not be too hard to find. Now, I will detain you no longer. Remember what I told you. I wish you success, and hopefully we shall see you again before too long.” He moved past Megan’s head and looked up. “Take care, master Otty. Cadomar tells me that the spell which is on you lies quiet. Perhaps it will be broken somehow before it troubles you further.”

Otty did one of his shrugs. “Maybe it will. I can live with it for now.” Almost as an afterthought he asked “How’s Harald’s knee?”

The duke imitated Otty’s shrug. “Not serious. He is resting.”

Otty turned Egg towards the castle’s East Gate and the road which led down to the city of Tallard. His parting words were “Cold compresses. That’ll fix it.”

He looked back to see if Corlin was following, and rode out of the keep into the outer bailey. Corlin raised a quizzical eyebrow at the duke and shook his head in amused disbelief.

With a smile, he reached down to shake the duke’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help sire. Let’s hope Cadomar’s search is successful.”

Duke Alexander nodded. “And yours also.”

The minstrel tipped his hat, turned Megan and followed Otty out of the castle. At the far side of the bailey, he turned in his saddle and looked back through the wide arched gateway into the keep. Duke Alexander and the magician Cadomar were standing side by side. The both raised their hands. Corlin raised his own and turned away to see Otty already a good distance ahead, holding Egg at a steady trot. Intending to catch up, Corlin kneed Megan forward. To his surprise she slowed to an amble and stopped. Thinking she might have picked up a stone in her hoof, he was about to dismount when, about two paces in front of her nose, the air shimmered. Within the column of disturbed air, a shadowy shape began to form, a thin line at first, gradually thickening and lengthening. Corlin watched the form solidify, relieved that the shimmering had almost faded. Looking at it had made him feel queasy. With a soft ‘pop’ like a cork eased from a bottle, the process completed. The magically constructed form clattered down onto the road, rolled a few inches and lay still.

Corlin dismounted, walked forward and picked up the exquisitely crafted brass embellished ash-wood staff. As tall as himself, it was sturdy and light and just the right thickness for his hand to grip it in comfort. With his bent foot lifted off the ground, he leaned on the staff. At that moment he knew that, apart from being conjured, this was something out of the ordinary. All his weight seemed to flow into it, leaving him feeling relaxed and enlivened as if he had really had a good night’s sleep. He turned to wave his thanks but the massive gates had already been closed behind him. Pondering the power of magic, he secured the staff as best he could to the saddle and remounted. With no prompting, Megan began to walk forward as if she knew what was happening, even if Corlin didn’t.

The early morning clouds had been shot through with bands of lurid red. Now, true to its early promise, the sky had darkened and there was the feel of rain in the air. Duke Alexander had made sure that the road from the castle to the city was kept in good repair and Corlin soon caught up with Otty. He had already attributed his travelling companion’s attitude to some effect of the mysterious and unidentified spell, but it still annoyed him.

He drew alongside. “Did you have to behave like a clod back there? And why did you sleep in the stable?”

Otty reined in, leaned on his saddle-bow and glared at Corlin’s back. “What’s this about?”

The minstrel stopped, turned and matched the glare. “You were only a whisker from being downright bloody rude to Duke Alexander. It’s a wonder he didn’t give you the bollocking you deserve. And what did Grumas tell you?”

The stocky man thrust out his chubby chin, a sneer curling his upper lip. “You’re so smart. You tell me.”

Corlin’s expression revealed that his patience was being sorely tried. “He told you not to let me out of your sight. I can think of at least three times when you’ve ignored that.”

Otty lowered his head and studied his hands for a moment. When he looked up again his gaze was cold, his tone hard. “Only because I knew it wouldn’t make a scrap of difference, ‘cos you’re so bloody predictable. There was no chance you were going to sneak off as soon as my back was turned. You do just what you’re told, obey all the rules, and accept whatever happens without question.” He paused and gave a little shrug. “As for sleeping in the stable; you should have tried it. You might have got a better night’s rest. That bed was too soft and I couldn’t breathe. Feather beds ain’t for the likes of we.”

He kneed Egg forward. “Now we’ve aired our grievances, shall we move on? We can be fed and lodged in Tallard city before nightfall.”

Corlin kept pace and gave Otty a sidelong glance. “You’d better let me get some food from the saddlebags then. I’m going round the city onto the mountain road. I shall need some victuals.”

There was no response. For another mile the two men rode side by side saying nothing. All that could be heard were the rhythmic clop of hooves, the creak of leather and the intermittent shriek of a rising storm-wind. The first large drops of icy rain were falling when Otty made it obvious he had been thinking. Waving one hand for emphasis he looked everywhere but at Corlin.

His words came out in a rush. “If you want to ride for two or three days on a road that nobody uses and risk being attacked and robbed, or worse, by who knows what or who, then go ahead. It’s your quest.”

Lips pressed tightly together, the minstrel struggled to stop himself laughing out loud, although he really wanted to give Otty a good slap. The man was behaving like a spoilt child, even if there was a grain or two of truth in everything he’d said.

Trying to keep a straight face, Corlin nodded, rivulets of water trickling off the brim of his hat as he looked at Otty. “I agree, but I’ll take my chances anyway. There’s nothing to stop you going into the city if you want. Just be careful.”

Otty gave him a silly grin. “You too.” He pointed towards a disused barn a few yards back from the road. “Let’s get out of the wet and sort out the saddlebags.”

An hour later the rain had eased and the food had been shared out. A brief shouting match, won hands down by Otty, resulted in Corlin having the saddlebags and most of the food, the crux of the argument being that Otty could buy food in the city anyway. The gimalin was secured behind Egg’s saddle, while the piece of clock frame was tucked down at the bottom of one of the bags behind Megan’s saddle.

Otty stood up in the stirrups and peered into the distance. “Did the duke happen to say how far it was?”

“Not exactly. All he told me was that the road past the city to the mountains was long and rough. That’s why I’m glad you’ve got the gimalin. It’s less likely to get damaged.”

The stocky man settled back in the saddle, his expression dubious. “That’s if it doesn’t get stolen.”

Corlin mounted, turned and glared at Otty. “Then you’d better behave yourself and make sure it doesn’t.”

For once Otty had no answer and the two men rode side by side, each lost in their own thoughts, towards Tallard. It was almost mid-day when their first view of the city’s west wall emerged from the grey murk that the storm had left behind. The two men exchanged glances. Otty’s eyebrows asked a silent question. The corners of Corlin’s mouth turned down as he shook his head. They reined in and sat in stunned silence for a few minutes then rode slowly forward, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the scene ahead of them.

The city of Tallard, such as it was, presented a sorry face to the two riders. Parts of the once magnificent, mile-long thirty foot high west wall had collapsed, and it now resembled a thick brown biscuit nibbled by a giant rat. Tumbled stone lying in piles at the base of the wall provided footholds for tussock grass and broadleaved weeds, while the many others strewn for yards across the ground made a broken mosaic interwoven with patches of coarse fescues, lichens and yellowing moss. Rooted in deep mortar-less cracks, saplings clinging tenaciously to the ancient walls added their own desolate note to the scene of dereliction. One half of the heavy timber iron-bound gates leaned partly open, its match lying where it had fallen to become a frame for a tapestry of nettles, goosegrass and bindweed. Through the open gate a mature heavy-limbed tree could be seen growing in the middle of the cracked paved road.

Corlin wheeled Megan to the left and urged her into a fast trot over the weedy unkempt ground, his gaze fixed firmly on the city wall. Drawing level with the end he reined in and looked along the length of Tallard’s south wall as far as he could see. He sat for a few moments analysing what his eyes were telling him, then turned Megan and rode back to Otty. The stocky man had brought Egg to a halt and was sitting gazing at the ruined wall, his chubby face a mask of disbelief and disappointment.

He added indignation to the mix as he flapped a hand in the general direction of the fallen gate. “His flippin’ high and mightiness never said anything about this.”

Corlin grinned. “Cheer up. All is not as it seems. The city isn’t in ruins; not all of it anyway.” He pointed back behind him. “There’s a gate in the south wall, quite a way down, but it looks quite busy, if you’re still set on going into the city.” He nodded towards the collapsed gate. “I reckon this part’s been abandoned for some reason.” He grinned. “If you find out, let me know.”

The transformation in Otty’s mood was quite remarkable. A lively interest lit up his eyes as he too nodded towards the old gate. “I reckon I’m going in through there to see what I can see.” He looked hard at Corlin. “Sure you don’t want to explore a bit?”

The minstrel shook his head and gave Otty a companionable thump on the shoulder. “No thanks. I might regret the time spent later. The duke said that it’s a long way up into the mountains, and I don’t think it’s going to be as straightforward as I’d like.” He widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “First I’ve got to find the road!”

It was obvious that Otty was eager to be away, so Corlin raised a hand as he wheeled Megan in the opposite direction. “You take care. I’ll see you on the other side of the city.”

Otty waved as he urged Egg into a trot. “You too. See you soon.”