A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (20 page)

When Corlin arrived in the village, Bardeen was waiting outside the inn.

He raised a restraining hand as Corlin prepared to dismount. “Remain in the saddle. We’re not staying. I was hoping to discuss certain matters with you, but this location is no longer safe.”

With a wistful glance at the clean and tidy frontage of the inn, Corlin tensed as Bardeen placed a hand on Megan’s shoulder. From the top of a hill on the far side of the valley, a rider with a braided hatband watched the swirl of blue and silver motes vanish into the clear morning air.

This time Corlin didn’t shiver, and even had time to think what a marvellous way it was to travel. Megan simply tossed her head and looked around with vague disinterest at the place to which Bardeen had brought them. Not that there was much to see. They had arrived near the edge of a small wood at the top of a small meadow sloping gently down to a well maintained country road. To Corlin’s right, small triangles of grey-blue ocean were visible between purple and brown-hued hills. In front and to his left he could see ploughed fields, and instantly recognised the burgeoning green of crops of winter wheat.

He glanced down at Bardeen. “Where are we now?”

The magician gestured towards the hills. “Just beyond there is our capital city Vellethen and, I believe, your destination. When we get to the top of that rise in the road, you will have an excellent view of the harbour and the city, and if the air is clear, on the opposite hill you can see the palace of king Vailin II.

Corlin was interested but not overly impressed. “So, where are we going, and where have you taken Prince Olaf?”

Bardeen gave him a long-suffering look. “So many questions, all of which will be answered if you will be patient. First, we will put your mare in livery stables. Then we shall return to my house. There I will hopefully provide answers to many of the things that are troubling you.” He held up a hand as it became clear that Corlin was poised to ask another question. “And before you ask, it would be best if you put your friend Otty from your mind for a while. I doubt whether he will be allowed to come to any harm.”

Before Corlin had chance to argue, Bardeen strode off across the meadow and down towards the road. He called back over his shoulder. “We’ll walk from here. It’s not far.”

Corlin quickly drew alongside. “Wouldn’t you rather ride?”

The magician shook his head. “It’s hardly worth the trouble.”

A little over half an hour later, Bardeen led the way into a narrow rutted lane which meandered between dense hedges of thorn and holly. At the end of a long curve to the right, the lane stopped at a heavy five-barred wooden gate. Beyond this, a paved courtyard fronted a neat stone-built cottage with a large stable-block built at right-angles a short distance to one side. Their arrival had been observed, and as Corlin rode through and Bardeen closed the gate, a stable-hand hurried towards them. Standing at Megan’s head while Corlin dismounted and untied his gimalin from the cantle, the man cast an approving glance over the quiet grey mare.

Bardeen moved to stand beside him. “Another guest for you, Marcus. Her name is Megan.” The magician lowered his voice. “The mare is carrying an odd shoe and it is affecting her gait. You’ll easily see which one it is. If you can get her to the smithy as soon as you’re able, and get it replaced, we’d be obliged.”

Marcus nodded as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Not a problem Master Bardeen. It’ll be done by morning.”

Watching Megan being led away in the care of yet another total stranger, Corlin suddenly felt overwhelmed and confused. He wasn’t sure where he was, or where he was going, but the thing that bothered him the most was the fact that everywhere he went, some magician seemed to turn up, apparently out of nowhere, all set to tell him what to do or where to go. He hadn’t expected his quest for the ancient clock to be easy, but he failed to understand why it seemed to be getting more and more complicated. He liked Bardeen, but found his seeming reluctance to provide immediate answers rather irksome.

Both hands lifted in a gesture of frustration, he turned to the magician. “Now what?”

Bardeen’s eyes widened and he gripped Corlin’s wrist. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world, he replied “Now we go to my house, of course.”

* * *

The large kitchen was warm, homely and obviously much appreciated by the half dozen cats and a few assorted kittens that slept or played in the vicinity of the black-leaded range. Corlin sat at the large white-wood table, while Bardeen busied himself, first with feeding the cats, then preparing a belated lunch. Despite Corlin’s repeated requests, the magician refused to discuss anything of importance until they had eaten. Now, with a full stomach, and a big mug of tea in front of him, Corlin decided it was time to start things off.

He took a sip of his tea, leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table. “So, why have you brought me here?”

Bardeen leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Mainly for your own protection, and also to decide the best way to tackle the next part of your quest.”

Corlin screwed up his face in disbelief. “I’d already worked that out after you went off with Olaf!”

The magician clasped his hands together, a wry twist to his mouth. “And I suppose the evening’s events at the inn had nothing to do with you; a coincidence perhaps?”

Corlin hesitated. “Well...er...no, but...”

Bardeen looked triumphant. “There! You see? You hadn’t worked it out at all, not properly anyway. Now drink your tea, and listen to what I have to tell you. Some of it may seem incredible, but nevertheless it’s true. Hopefully, when I’ve finished you will see things in a different light.”

The magician’s raised finger effectively forestalled Corlin’s question. “Although it may seem odd, I am not going to start at the beginning. That can come later, although it may well end up in the middle. We shall see.”

Corlin sighed, folded his arms and gave the magician a long hard look.

Satisfied, Bardeen nodded. “Good. Now, try not to interrupt. You see, your quest was already going off course when circumstances took you to Castle Tallard, and that was due, not as you might think, to Prince Harald, but to Prince Olaf. That’s why I had to get him away from the inn at Wycholt.”

His thoughts already floundering, Corlin frowned but said nothing as Bardeen wagged a finger. “You see, Olaf was carrying documents from King Vailin, very important ones, but he had only travelled a few miles when he suspected, and rightly so, that he was being followed. Fearing for his life, he stopped at a holding, removed his caparison and insignia, and persuaded the farmer to sell him some old clothes.”

Corlin chuckled. “I thought they didn’t fit very well.” His brow furrowed. “The ruse didn’t work though, did it?”

Bardeen gave a non-committal grunt and swallowed a mouthful of his tea before continuing. “I fancy that the farmer felt more loyalty to the pursuer’s coin than to his royal visitor. Anyway, it
was
sheer coincidence that I was able to get him away from the inn, because I was actually following you and another person. I think you know who I mean.”

The minstrel squinted at Bardeen. “And I’ll bet it was him following Olaf as well; the man with the hatband.”

Bardeen gave an assertive nod. “Exactly. To a point, it is as vital to him as it is to you that your quest is successful, but he had to get hold of the documents Olaf was carrying.”

Corlin thought about that for a moment. “So, where’s the prince now? And more to the point, where’s hat-band taken Otty?”

The magician looked a little smug. “Olaf is safely back at Castle Tallard, and the documents are in Duke Alexander’s hands.” He flicked his own hand in a dismissive gesture. “The significance of that will, hopefully, become clear later. As for Otty’s whereabouts, that is unclear, but doubtless he will be kept safe. Anyway, perhaps it will ease your mind a little if I tell you that in all probability you would have been left to go your own way without interference if not for Otty. Over the years, many travellers have used that mountain pass and come to no harm. It is my belief that those things were deliberately incited to attack your friend. Undoubtedly he is an unwanted presence on your quest.”

Corlin butted in. “Hat-band said something about that. He certainly didn’t seem too happy about Otty being with me.”

Bardeen looked surprised. “You’ve spoken with him?”

The minstrel nodded. “A couple of times. It was after he’d destroyed some outlandish creature he called a Morghel that he asked about Otty.”

The magician’s eyes widened. “A Morghel! Indeed, this is most intriguing. I wonder whether he conjured it himself, or whether another force is at work.”

Suspecting that Bardeen might go off at a tangent, Corlin asked the question that had been niggling at him ever since the incident in the pass. “So, what
were
those things...in the mountains?”

Bardeen blinked rapidly, as if a train of thought had been disrupted. “Oh! Yes. We believe they were...are...juvenile Fade-lizards.”

Corlin stared at the magician. “Fade-lizards? What the heck are those?”

Bardeen rubbed his chin while he thought for a moment. “They’ve been reported as living in a number of mountainous regions, although they have never been known before now to attack humans. Only on very rare occasions have the adults been glimpsed because, as you have seen in the juveniles, they are able to render themselves invisible. We are still not quite sure what to make of this sudden deviation from their normal behaviour.”

Realising what, for the second time, Bardeen had said, Corlin cocked his head to one side. “Who’s ‘we’?”

The magician acknowledged with a smile and a nod. “Other than those you already know of, I am not the only magician interested in your quest, for the simple reason that there is more dependent on the outcome than the freedom of your brother. We will help when we can, but it may not always be possible.”

An insistent knocking on the door prevented Corlin from firing another question, as Bardeen stood up and hurried out into the hallway. The door latch clattered, and the low murmur of voices drifted into the kitchen. A couple of minutes later Bardeen ushered a tall, dark-eyed man into the room. Noting the visitor’s tastefully embroidered cream robe and distinctive cap, and not wanting to appear disrespectful, Corlin stood up and pushed back his chair.

Bardeen smiled. “Corlin, I would like you to meet a colleague of mine, Master Karryl. He has been researching some aspects of your quest.”

Corlin held out his hand and found it grasped in a firm, resolute handshake. The two men studied each other for a moment before Karryl released his grip, pulled out a chair and sat down.

Without any preamble he looked earnestly at the minstrel. “Along with another colleague named Symon, I have been delving into the archives...” He looked across at Bardeen, his eyes wide. “D’you know how many storage rooms there are in that place?” then back at Corlin “...and I think we know who your mystery man with the black horse and the braided hatband is.”

He looked at Bardeen again. The magician nodded.

Karryl’s expression darkened. “It is almost certain that he is the maker of the clock, the object of your quest.”

Startled, Corlin held up a hand. “Don’t say his name!”

The two magicians exchanged glances before Karryl gave the minstrel a long hard look. “You are aware, then, of what happens if his name is uttered?”

Corlin grimaced. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

He went onto relate what had befallen Duke Ergwyn at Tregwald, and the subsequent events involving the magician Grumas.

When he had finished he glanced at each of them in turn. “What I find hard to believe is that if it is him, why does he only look a bit older than me? According to Grumas, the clock was made when he was just finishing his apprenticeship, and he’s no spring chicken!”

Bardeen’s chuckle was tinged with bitterness. “Magicians, some at least, can live for a
very
long time.”

Corlin frowned. “That’s as may be, but why is he following me around? If he wanted to stop me finding the clock, I’m sure he could have easily killed me by now.”

Karryl shook his head. “On the contrary. According to something else we found in the archives, it’s more likely that he wants you to recover it, as there is some stipulation, made by those who now guard the clock, which prevents him from doing so himself. Only when the three pieces have been retrieved will he do all in his power to gain possession. Until then he is content to let you continue as best you may, and is in all likelihood prepared to orchestrate proceedings to his benefit on occasion.”

The minstrel gave him a sidelong glance. “I reckon he’s already started doing that. If Browd is to be believed, Otty has had some kind of compulsion spell laid on him, and it’s a fair bet it was him that did it.”

The two magicians spoke in unison. “Who is Browd?”

Corlin glared at Bardeen. “I told you about the Grollarts before we arrived in Hanbrook. Browd is their chieftain.”

Bardeen shook his head in response to Karryl’s questioning eyebrows. “I’ll tell you later. It is indeed a fascinating story.”

Corlin slumped in his chair and appeared to be lost in thought. After a minute or two, he looked up, his expression pained. “I’ll bet it was him with the hat-band that set those whaddya call ‘em lizard things on Otty, too.”