A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (26 page)

The evening sun teetered on the horizon like a golden ball on a knife edge. It would soon roll off. Unperturbed by the new experience of translocation, Luma leapt down from Megan’s back. Nose to the ground, the dog immediately began exploring, sniffing new scents and terrifying a number of small nocturnal rodents who, up to now, had lived a relatively undisturbed life amongst the vast acreage of shrubs and grass which bordered the road from Tallard City to the castle.

Relieved to see the silhouetted square turrets, the sturdy walls and lamp-lit windows, Corlin pointed towards Castle Tallard, dominating the landscape half a mile ahead. “It looks as if we’ve got company.”

Striding alongside on Corlin’s right, Karryl shielded his eyes with his hand as he watched the glow of a flaring torch bobbing towards them, sending shadows dancing over a quartet of troopers.

The magician reached over and tapped Corlin’s arm “It’s to be hoped that’s a friendly escort, because I think we may be glad of their company. Take a look over to your left.”

The tone of Karryl’s voice added an extra chill to Corlin’s skin as he peered across into the gloom. For a moment he felt sick. Riding parallel with them, about a hundred yards away, was Jacca. In a gesture clearly intended to be insolent rather than polite, the man tipped his hat.

Keeping his gaze straight ahead, Karryl spoke quietly up to Corlin. “Can Megan gallop?”

The minstrel didn’t miss a beat as he too kept looking straight ahead. “D’you want her to?”

Karryl’s tone remained even. “When you’re ready.”

From the touch of Corlin’s knees and heels, Megan knew immediately what he wanted. They had done the same thing many times in the meadows of Corlin’s father’s holding. She surged forward, heading straight for the troopers, her hooves clattering on the packed stone road. A crackling explosion split the air around him and something slammed into the back of his shoulder. Knocked sideways and breathless, he made a grab for the saddle’s cantle in a desperate effort to stay mounted. Two of the troopers wheeled their chargers and kept pace, flanking Megan as she thundered on towards the castle, Luma close on her heels.

Karryl focussed on Jacca, whose arm was raised in readiness to release another bolt of power towards Corlin and his fleeing escort. The malevolent magician found himself totally immobilised. Able to move only his eyes, he was forced to watch as Karryl turned aside and waved down the other two troopers riding at full pelt towards him. After a brief conversation they wheeled their mounts and galloped off in pursuit of Corlin and his escort. Ignoring Jacca completely, Karryl strode in their wake for a few yards and then stopped. A second later a handful of dust swirled briefly on the spot where he had stood. In the middle of a darkening and empty field, Jacca tried to scream.

Karryl emerged from the shadows at the far side of the keep and hurried across to where Corlin was being helped from the saddle by one of the troopers.

The minstrel staggered, winced and groaned. “What in the name of blood and thunder did he hit me with?”

Karryl placed a supporting hand under his elbow. “It was a power-bolt, but his aim was off.”

It was clear from Corlin’s expression that he found that of little consolation. “But why did he do it, and why now?”

Karryl’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. “I can only guess that Jacca thought you had the clock with you and intended to rob you. He hadn’t counted on the troopers, and I’m fairly sure he didn’t realise who I was.”

Corlin worked his arm in an effort to get some feeling back into his numb shoulder. “Where is he now?”

The magician gave a derogatory snort. “He’s where you last saw him, doing a very good impression of a statue.”

Corlin looked horrified. “You haven’t killed him?”

The magician shook his head. “Indeed, no. I have bound him with a spell of immobility, and enclosed him in a power shield. Cadomar and I will deal with him presently. It will give him a chance to consider the folly of his actions.”

* * *

Duke Alexander was waiting in the bailey, his magician Cadomar standing beside him and murmuring urgently in his ear. He stepped forward as Karryl and Cadomar held a brief discussion before moving away across the keep towards the main gate.

The duke’s expression was darkened by a deep frown. “Welcome back, Corlin Bentfoot! It’s good to see that you have come to no serious harm in that little skirmish.”

With a brief hand gesture, the duke dismissed the four troopers he had sent to escort minstrel and magician to the castle. Corlin hesitated, distracted for a moment by a silent but intuitive groom who unhitched Corlin’s staff and gimalin, and handed them to him before leading Megan away to the stables. Reassured by a quiet word and a pat on his back, Luma trotted off after them.

Returning his attention to the duke, Corlin gave him a respectful nod. “Thank you, sire. Considering what’s been happening, no one’s more surprised than me.”

Duke Alexander made a speculative noise in his throat as he gestured towards the south tower. “Hmmm. You must tell me everything at dinner.”

Long shadows danced as duke and minstrel crossed the broad torch-lit keep. Despite the duke’s welcome, Corlin felt uncomfortable. He looked across towards the main gate, but could see no sign of the two magicians, and the gate had been closed and secured.

Corlin briefly touched the duke’s arm as reached for the door-latch. “Excuse me, sire.”

The duke turned aside and nodded for Corlin to continue. The minstrel’s expression darkened in the torch-light. “It might be none of my business, but isn’t Karryl being here putting Cadomar’s nose a bit out of joint?”

Duke Alexander shook his head but said nothing, simply pulled the door open and ushered Corlin into the lamp-lit corridor. As they approached the door to his private rooms, he gave Corlin a long look as if assessing his strengths.

He stopped outside the door. “In the short time you have been away, there have been certain developments which may change everything.”

Not allowing Corlin’s surprised expression to prompt further explanation, the duke opened the door and ushered Corlin ahead of him into the large and comfortably furnished room. The manservant was setting the table for dinner, treading silently round as he arranged place settings, finger-bowls and napkins. The duke used his cane to gesture to one of the fireside chairs, and Corlin sat as Alexander took the chair opposite.

He called across the room. “Kethyn, a goblet of wine if you would, and then would you ask the boys to join us for dinner? Oh, and if you should see Cadomar and Master Karryl, their company would be appreciated.” He raised a cautionary forefinger. “But only if you see them. Do not seek them out.”

Quiet and unobtrusive, Kethyn poured deep red wine into goblets, placed one on each small side table and left the room. For a few moments Alexander sat gazing into the fire.

Easing his now painful shoulder against the back of his chair, Corlin sipped at his wine as he relaxed into the warmth, the relief enhanced by the heady buzz of full-bodied wine going straight to an empty stomach.

His eyes snapped open, and he apologised profusely as he realised that Alexander had been speaking to him.

The duke raised a dismissive hand. “You wanted to know about Cadomar and Karryl.”

Corlin nodded, a pained grimace crossing his face as he straightened up in his chair. “Karryl said that they were going to sort Jacca out, but it seems to me that there’s more to it than that.”

The duke leaned forward. “The whole story would take too long, so I will just answer your original question.” His full lips pursed as he thought for a moment. “Olaf returned from Vellethen with an ancient document telling of the whereabouts within this castle, of the second part of the clock frame.”

Corlin nodded. “Yes, I know. I saw him.”

Alexander gave him a long and searching look before continuing. “What is not told is that the artefact is warded; that is, it has a magical protective shield around it. Any person who comes into contact with the warding suffers great pain and discomfort, and cannot retrieve the artefact.”

Corlin folded his arms, his mouth set in a thin tight line as he mulled over Alexander’s words for a minute or two. “Would I be right in thinking that Cadomar can’t break the spell, and he needs Karryl to help him?”

His expression dark, the duke nodded. “Karryl is Mage Prime. If he cannot find a way to remove the warding, then no-one can.”

Corlin frowned. “What’s Mage Prime?”

Alexander reached down for the poker and replied as he pushed half-burnt logs around in the flames. “There has previously only ever been one Mage Prime. Karryl is the second. He has powers beyond anything we could even begin to imagine.” He lowered his voice. “It is even said that he converses with the gods, but I think that is taking rumour a bit too far. Even so, he is twice the magician Cadomar is.”

Corlin smiled as he relieved the duke of the poker and worked on his side of the wide fire-basket. “So, why not have him work for you?”

Alexander raised an eyebrow and gave a lopsided smile. “Because, my young minstrel, Master Karryl is magician to King Vailin himself.”

At that moment the door flew open to admit the princes Harald and Olaf. Both looked hot and dishevelled, with scuffs of dirt and even one or two small rips in their jackets and breeches.

A frown flickered across the duke’s face, quickly replaced by a knowing smile. “You have been wrestling with the troopers again?”

Looking a little shame-faced, the two princes both started to make excuses.

Alexander held up his hand. “Enough! It is good training which you may need one day; but please, next time will you change your clothes before you start tumbling about in the dirt.” He beckoned. “Now, come and greet our guest; no stranger to either of you, I think.”

Prince Olaf’s face screwed up as he recognised Corlin. He groaned. “I hope trouble hasn’t followed you here.”

Corlin’s eyes glinted above a wicked grin. “Not at all sire. I brought it with me.” Over Olaf’s shoulder he could see Harald nearly bursting with stifled laughter.

The minstrel’s grin widened. “However, the trouble that was following
you
in Wycholt is now cooling his heels a mile away in my lord Duke’s meadow.”

The almost comical absurdity of the situation went straight over the prince’s head. He almost screamed “You brought him here?”

Duke Alexander stood up and clapped his hand on Olaf’s shoulder. “Calm yourself boy. While we dine, I believe that problem will be dealt with.”

The prince glared at Corlin. “Permanently, I hope.”

Corlin let his grin fade. “Not half as much as I do sire.”

Olaf was clearly not happy, and Harald’s face now wore a more serious expression. He turned to the Duke. “Father, for everyone’s peace of mind, and my brother’s comfort, could not the matter have been dealt with more swiftly?”

Corlin cut in. “Pardon me sire, but short of actually killing the man, there is little we can do. Like your magician, he can move himself great distances without taking a step. I think Karryl wanted to stop him going anywhere”

An urgent knock on the door had each man’s head turning. The duke barely had chance to acknowledge before the door flew open and Kethyn darted in, closely followed by one of the duke’s heavily armed housecarls, his own personal guard.

Kethyn was breathless, and turned aside as the housecarl stepped forward and saluted the duke. “We have arrested a dirty ragged man at the gate, sire. He claims to be a messenger from Tregwald, but has neither mount nor insignia.”

Corlin hurried across the room, the duke close behind him. Their hands cupped against the window, the two men peered out across the keep towards the gate. Ensconced torches illuminated a miserable tableau. Hunched over with his hands on his head, a man knelt on the cold flagstones, three pike-armed guards glaring down at him. Still feeling tired and battered, Corlin limped towards the open door, grabbed his staff from against the wall, and set off as fast as he could down the corridor. The staff’s magic began coursing through his body. All pain and tiredness left him and he felt as though he was crossing soft springy turf. The wide keep seemed no distance at all, and in seconds he was crouching beside the bedraggled man. Despite the partly dried mud clinging to his clothes and his scratched and bruised face, Corlin recognised him immediately. It was Artheg.

The duke and the two princes were only seconds behind. Corlin looked up at them. “I know him. His name’s Artheg and he
is
from Tregwald.”

Alexander immediately took charge. Ordered to help Artheg to his feet, the troopers guided the exhausted messenger to their common room, while the duke, all thoughts of dinner forgotten, followed with the princes and Corlin. A full complement of six armed and stern-faced housecarls now accompanied them, stationing themselves at strategic points within the keep while Artheg was taken inside, given a half tankard of small beer, and made as comfortable as his condition would allow. He began to get warmer, and duke, princes and troopers all took a prudent step backwards as the marsh mud which caked Artheg’s clothes began to give off its own distinctive odour.

Corlin was bursting with questions, but knew deep down that they were probably the same ones for which Alexander also wanted answers. Curbing his impatience, the minstrel leaned on his staff and waited.

The duke turned to him, his expression unreadable. “Is this Artheg a friend of yours?”

Corlin shook his head. “Not really, sire. We rode a few miles together, near the start of my quest, but that’s all.”

Duke Alexander gave a little nod. “Then you will please wait outside. If this man has anything to say which affects your quest, you will be informed.”

Corlin’s heart sank. On top of that he suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as though his quest no longer had any importance for anyone but himself. Swallowing his injured pride, he gave the duke a brief but respectful bow and slipped out into the cool and comforting semi-darkness of the keep.

As soon as the door had closed, Duke Alexander waved the waiting troopers to the far end of the room, before seating himself beside Artheg on the wooden bench.

He kept his voice low, but his tone was urgent and made it clear that he would accept no nonsense. “Tell me what brings you here, Artheg, and how you came to be in this filthy condition.”

Now recovered, and some warmth back in his body, the Tregwald trooper looked the duke in the eye. “With your permission sire, I’ll remove my over-garment. It’ll make things easier for both of us, I reckon.”

Intrigued, the duke nodded and Artheg stood up. With the thick rope belt untied, the coarse woollen, wide-sleeved tunic, usually worn by herders, fell into a loose shapeless bag, which Artheg quickly pulled off over his head and dropped to the floor.

The duke smiled as he saw what the rough garment had so effectively concealed.

He gestured towards Artheg’s blue tabard with its embroidered insignia. “It is a long time since I have seen the colours and arms of Tregwald.” He frowned. “But these are the arms of the old Duke, Ergwyn. What has occurred to justify their continued use?”

Artheg took a deep breath as he sat down again. “Tregwald has a new duke who...”

His voice tight with indignation Duke Alexander interrupted “A usurper! By what right does he claim the title?”

Artheg held up a hand to check the duke’s outburst, and shook his head. “Not a usurper sire. The new Duke Tregwald has blood right. He is Ergwyn’s nephew, Jouan. Until the death of the old duke, Jouan was in disfavour with his uncle, and chose to serve as a trooper in his castle rather than be banished.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed as he thought about this news for a few moments. Eventually he stood up and looked down at Artheg. “So, I suppose he is now begging and borrowing to keep that crumbling pile standing?”

The Tregwald trooper’s eyes glinted with determination as he shook his head. His words came out in a rush, as if, now that he had the opportunity, he wanted to tell all as fast as possible. “No, sire. Beats me how he did it, but the castle is mostly repaired and has nearly all the troops and workers it had in the old days when my da was a retainer there. The problem now is that someone has got word to Jouan that Lord Treevers is planning to ride up from the WestLands with his army, and lay claim to Tregwald. Four nights ago, Jouan sent me to sneak out the back of the castle through the marshes, just in case Lord Treevers had spies watching the castle, and then along the river. I’ve got a cousin who’s a boatman, so he brought me past Throngholme to the coast, and paid for a ferryman to bring me across the estuary. I walked from there sire.”

He slipped his hand inside his tabard, fumbled for a moment as if struggling with a fastening, and pulled out a flat vellum packet bearing a large red wax seal. “Jouan ordered me to hand this to you sire. He said that everything you need to know is inside.”

Alexander took the packet and tapped it against the back of his hand. “So, why did he not request aid from Throngholme? After all, it is much closer than we are.”

Artheg blanched and swallowed hard. “You must have heard the stories about those who dwell there, sire. No man has passed through Throngholme’s gates in centuries.”

The duke’s smile was thin and humourless. “Beings who can build a fifty yard deep curtain wall would be an asset in any man’s army, however terrifying they may be, but enough of them for now. Get yourself something to eat, and rest.” He tapped the vellum packet. “I have matters to deal with.”

His brass-tipped cane striking a rapid cadence on the flagstones, the duke hurried from the common room. As the door slammed behind him, Artheg stood up and made his way over to the troopers gathered round the glowing brazier at the far end of the room. Between bites of coarse wheaten bread and hard cheese, washed down with a tankard of small beer, he told them his story.