A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (28 page)

Under the shelter of the oak’s dense and spreading branches, Corlin stared at the object in the Mage Prime’s hands. It shone with an almost ethereal glow, created only in part by the orb of soft golden light which hovered near the magician’s shoulder.

He reached out and ran a tentative finger over the perfectly square case of skilfully crafted metals. “It doesn’t look like any clock I’ve ever seen. It hasn’t got a face, but I can see two rows of numbers.”

Cadomar folded his hands inside his sleeves. “What did Grumas tell you about it?”

Corlin took the chance to buy some thinking time, peering closely at the unfamiliar object and the numbers engraved in old style script above two equally spaced narrow slots in its front. “Not much. Only that it wasn’t a normal clock, and that using it sent his master off his head.” He stood back and looked at the two magicians in turn. “Anyway, it’s no good to anybody without the frame, but I can’t see what difference that would make. By the look of it all the works are inside that case.”

Karryl turned the object towards the light and pointed to three small round apertures equally spaced across the top. “I believe the frame slots into these. There are four more at the bottom. My guess is that when the frame is fitted, whatever is inside here is set in motion.” He turned it so that the front was facing upwards. “In each of those slots is a small pointer. When the clock is working, it’s likely that they move, or can be moved, along the sets of numbers.”

Corlin reached out and lifted the clock from the magician’s hands. Turning it over and around he studied the metal casing, parts of which appeared to be gold. Bronze and brass made up the rest, the whole meticulously joined together with numerous tiny screws, countersunk into the body. If nothing else, the piece was a work of art.

Impressed, he ran his fingers once more over the polished plates which formed the sides. “Who put it all back together?”

Karryl smiled. “You are indebted to a race that dwells far from here, known as the Grrybhñnös. They have skills and magic powers which are beyond even my understanding.”

The minstrel made to hand it back to Karryl, but the magician shook his head and stood back. “No, Master Bentfoot. For the time being, it is yours. It was the object of your quest, and you have obtained it. We are pleased that we were able to be part of it. All that remains for us now is to tell you the location of the two pieces of the frame. When you’ve recovered those, you can go about the business of getting your brother released.”

Corlin peered round the massive trunk towards the castle. “So what happens now? I can hardly go strolling back in there with this tucked under my arm, can I?”

Karryl grasped Corlin’s shoulder. “When the situation is honourable, then we behave honourably. This, however, is not an honourable situation, so we act accordingly.”

He reached into the air, made a twirling gesture with his fingers and pulled down a plain brown cloth bag. Taking the clock from Corlin, he slipped it into the bag, tied the neck and handed it back to him. It looked just like a small kit bag that perhaps a foot soldier would carry his personal belongings in.

The magician gave a wry smile. “That should keep it from prying eyes. Now, the piece of the frame which you have carried all this time is on the person of one of Duke Alexander’s housecarls.”

Corlin gasped and his blood ran cold. “What do they want it for?”

The minstrel suddenly felt calm and focussed as Karryl held up a hand. “Duke Alexander gave orders for it to be removed from your saddlebags. The housecarl who has it will take it to him when he gives the order, so we must hurry and discover which of those men has it.”

Before Corlin could say anything further, the two magicians each grasped one of his arms. Left unattended, the glowing ball of light sank slowly to the bare earth beneath the oak tree, fading away as the three men materialised in the keep, under the deep shadow of the North wall. Leaving Corlin with the Mage Prime, Cadomar hurried across to the South wing of the castle where the housecarls had their quarters, and slipped inside. Giving Corlin’s sleeve a gentle tug, Karryl stepped out into the light, and with the minstrel in tow, began to walk towards the stables. They were barely halfway there when they were challenged by two housecarls. Karryl slowed his pace, allowing the guards to draw closer until they were no more than two paces away.

Corlin couldn’t have said what happened exactly, but the two men stopped, their expressions frozen on their faces, even the droplets of rainwater from their hat brims hanging motionless in mid-air. Karryl stepped forward and quickly frisked each man, pausing at a suspicious bulge at the left side of the second one’s surcoat.

Slipping his hand inside, he drew out a bundle, flipped open the cloth wrapping and glanced inside, before rewrapping it and handing it to Corlin. “There, that wasn’t too difficult. Let’s hope that retrieving the other part will go equally smoothly.”

Corlin was baffled. “How did you know where to find it, when Grumas is still in the gaol-house, drawing?”

To Corlin’s surprise, the Mage Prime gave him a wink and a mischievous grin. “I cheated. I’ve got quite good at it over the last few years.”

The minstrel murmured “Hmm. I can imagine.” A little louder, he asked “So, where to now?”

Leaving the two housecarls standing in the rain like a pair of statues, Karryl steered Corlin towards the stables. “In here, to do some very serious magic.”

As they slipped through the door, Corlin jerked a thumb back towards the keep. “What about those two?”

Karryl’s upper lip twitched, as if the matter was of no consequence. “They’ll come out of it in a minute or two and carry on as if nothing had happened.”

He strode down the length of the stables and beckoned to Corlin from an empty stall at the far end. The minstrel limped slowly along and, with a deep sigh, sat down heavily on a bale of straw.

With his chin in his cupped hand, he glanced up at Karryl. “D’you know, when I started this quest, I never gave magic a thought. The clock was just a valuable thing that Lord Treevers wanted, and magic...well...I think I only half believed it even existed.” He threw his hands in the air. “Now I’m bloody well surrounded by it! Do you use magic for everything in these parts?”

The Mage Prime leaned on the rear wall of the stable, folded his arms and studied Corlin for a long moment. When he replied it was with a tinge of cynicism. “Life would be much easier, and at the same time more complicated if we did. The truth is, we only resort to using magic when it is absolutely necessary. Prolonged or constant use can be tiring and sometimes exhausting, both mentally and physically. Most magicians will restrict themselves to doing just enough to keep themselves sharp.

“Cadomar only contacted me when he discovered that magic had already been initiated in your quest. Otherwise, it’s likely you would have got on with it without even knowing we existed.”

Corlin frowned, lifted his hat and scratched his head again. He suspected that some Fellgate rock-dust was still hanging around.

After giving the hat a good shake he clapped it back on his head and squinted up at Karryl. “All right. Then what about the Whispering Forest or...or...the Grollarts, and all that other stuff? That was magic and I couldn’t have avoided any of it. Otty will agree with me on that.” His brow furrowed. “Where
is
Otty, by the way? Is he still at Grollart Mountain?”

Karryl pushed away from the wall, bent down and dragged a straw-bale to one side. “He’s more than likely arrived in Tregwald by now.”

Before the puzzled minstrel could ask what reason Otty would have for being in Tregwald, the magician pointed to the two exposed flagstones. “These remind me of something my old mentor Symon and I did, a few years ago.”

Always keeping an ear open for a good story, Corlin leaned closer. “Oh. What was that then?”

Karryl bent forward and peered closely at the floor. “We saved the world; well, most of it anyway.”

Recent events had brought Corlin to the point where very little surprised him anymore. Karryl’s understated throwaway did nothing to change that.

With remarkable equanimity Corlin nodded. “Well, that’s all right then.”

However, his mental balance did waver a little when the edge of one of the flagstones that Karryl had revealed began to lift, apparently of its own volition. In moments it, along with a thick layer of clinging dirt, had been transported to the top of the straw bale, while its companion stood upright on its edge, seemingly with nothing supporting it.

Raised voices and the clatter of boots across the keep, brought Corlin to his feet. “Now we’re for it! They’ve found out I’m not where I should be.”

Karryl turned an expressionless gaze on each of the two pairs of stable doors in turn. Timbers creaked and bolts rattled. The commotion outside continued, but the magician ignored it. He looked back at the ground beside his feet, crouched down and held his open hand, palm downwards, over the wide rectangle of dirt. Like a miniature volcano, soil and pebbles flew two feet into the air, the potentially dangerous eruption controlled by subtle movements of Karryl’s hand.

Corlin was not in the mood to appreciate the subtleties of magic. Shouts, thumps and the sound of doors banging, had his attention in a headlock. He wasn’t entirely certain that whatever Karryl had done to the doors would be enough to hold off half a dozen armed and angry housecarls accompanied by a squad of Duke Alexander’s troopers. Despite his trepidation he found it impossible not to watch Karryl. The magician had reached into the hole created by the removal of the soil. His body trembled, and beads of perspiration had broken out on his forehead and trickled down his face. He grimaced, his arm tense and straining as if he was struggling to lift a heavy weight. About six inches below his open and outstretched palm hung a darkly patinated open rectangle of elaborately worked metal. Corlin hurried across the stall and stretched out his hand towards the object.

Karryl snapped “No!” He shook his head, his contorted face bearing a warning of dire consequences. He gasped between words. “It’s...a cruel...warding! You...you couldn’t stand...the pain.”

Settling back on his heels, the magician wiped his face with his sleeve. “I was certain I could break this warding without having to resort to the dubious efficacy of Grumas’ spell, but it seems I must try.”

Leaning forward once more he focussed his gaze on the section of clock frame, still magically suspended in the centre of the excavated hole. The words he uttered were like nothing Corlin had ever heard. The three short phrases which comprised the spell complete, Karryl reached down, and immediately pulled his hand back, beating his hands in frustration against his thighs.

He turned tired eyes up into Corlin’s expectant face. “As I suspected from the start, the spell is a mockery, a sham, a counterfeit. I must think of some other way.”

Fists clenching and unclenching, he stood up and began to pace the floor. Determined to help the magician retrieve what was so obviously the second part of the clock frame, but also determined to heed his warning, Corlin’s thoughts whirled as he stared perplexed at the magician’s drawn and sweat-streaked face. An idea danced into his mind, and refused to be ignored. Giving himself a mental kicking, he grasped his staff in both hands, reached out and slipped the curiously worked top through the centre of the frame. The tiny jewel set in the top of the staff glowed for two or three seconds, and the frame dropped to hang on the staff like plucked fruit. Suddenly relieved of the tension, Karryl swayed for a moment before stepping back, and sat down heavily on the bale of straw as Corlin lowered the frame to the floor.

Deep concern registered in his eyes, the minstrel frowned at Karryl. “Are you alright?”

The magician wiped his hands over his sweat-streaked face, as he sat in silence for a minute or two. “That’s impossible. Nothing should have been able to penetrate that warding. Where did you get that staff?”

Corlin gave his companion a wry grin. “That’s the trouble with magic, I guess. You’re never quite sure what to expect. Cadomar conjured it for me when I set out from here, to head for the Fellgate.”

Karryl nodded. “I just wish I’d known about its properties before this. It could have saved me a lot of discomfort.”

At that moment, a thunderous noise echoed round the stable block as soldiers and housecarls threw all their strength against both sets of stable doors at once, setting them shaking and rattling.

Karryl stood up and grasped Corlin’s arm. “I think it’s time we left.” He gestured towards the staff, the frame still dangling from its decorated head. “Can you hold on to that a bit longer?”

Corlin nodded. The two men were safely outside the castle walls and under the shelter of the oak tree when the stable doors were finally broken open. A few seconds later, Cadomar materialised a few feet away and strode over to join them.

His face animated with interest, he studied the section of clock frame still dangling from Corlin’s staff. “Is this still warded?”

His expression grim, Karryl nodded. “It is, and very strongly. Grumas has furnished me with the spell to remove it, so let’s get that done, then pack it away and move on.”

Corlin’s arm was beginning to ache. It seemed to him that the frame was getting heavier, and the moment when he could let go could not come soon enough. His hopes rose when Karryl gestured to him to lift the object a little higher, but then the magician just stood gazing at it, while Cadomar looked on, his face a picture of patience.