A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (33 page)

With Treevers so ignominiously dispatched, the shouted orders of mounted armoured knights and halberd-wielding housecarls were ignored as they were pushed aside and forced down by a surging mob, determined not only to escape from the terrifying creature they believed to be a Marsh Ogre
,
but from the hissing stink of the Fade-lizards.
Like a massive tidal wave the entire force surged forward over the open and invitingly lizard-free ground which lay between them and the deep dark water of the moat.

The Grollart needed no prompting. Once again a series of staccato and discordant high-pitched notes flew from Ragar’s flute. The response of the Fade-lizards was immediate, but not in a way that was expected by those who watched in horror and grim anticipation from the ramparts. Huge bubbling domes and great seething geysers of water erupted from the moat, gushing and gurgling over the wide coping stones of the moat’s edge to form a rushing waist-high torrent. Following the wave, a horde of furiously hissing Fade-lizards emerged to clamber out onto the land, but compared to these, the creatures surrounding Treevers’ army seemed puny. Four feet high at the shoulder, the new arrivals were gigantic, heavy-limbed and fanged, each long thick-set body armoured with a glistening carapace of blue-black chitinous shell. Ragar continued to play, the eerie notes of his flute sending the huge amphibians ploughing forward across the inundated ground on a potentially deadly collision course, as the wave of fleeing men and horses stampeded towards them.

At the sight of this new threat, the leading edge faltered, staggered and tried to turn. Suddenly there was nowhere for anyone to go, as the troops barging their way forward were confronted by those attempting to turn back. Darting to the front, a lucky few, quick thinking and fast on their feet, dodged and jinked, managing to avoid lizards, water and their hapless companions as they quickly turned aside and made a headlong charge towards the uneasy shelter of Castle Tregwald’s extensive woodlands.

Corlin barely noticed them. Leaning on the wall of the rampart, he hardly dared breathe as Otty drew closer, holding Clies as carefully as an egg in his huge outstretched hand. A nervous crossbowman’s trigger finger twitched, sending a feathered bolt streaking over the battlement to lodge in Otty’s broad shoulder. It may just as well have been a fly.

Jouan’s voice rang out. “Hold! He’s on our side! Anyway, those will do no more harm than a seamstress’ pins!”

With obvious reluctance, but to Corlin’s relief, Sergeant Ryman signalled to his men. As they lowered their weapons, the discordant notes of Ragar’s flute changed to a simple but subtle flowing melody, reminding Corlin of a lullaby. Like a broad silver stream reflecting the blue of a summer sky, the lizards that had formed the cordon began to disperse. Their visibility fading as they scurried and skittered over the meadow towards the castle, one by one in a continuous stream, they slithered over the edge of the moat and vanished beneath the water. Replenished by streams from the marshes, the moat had already filled up again, surplus water pouring with a rushing gurgle into the overflow tunnels which ran beneath the castle.

Unguarded, their morale in tatters and with open ground behind them, what remained of Treevers’ army turned tail and made a hasty, ragged and disorganised retreat. Ragar brought his tune to an end with one long clear note, lowered his flute and tucked it back inside his jacket. All eyes were now fixed on Otty, his feet leaving deep boat-sized prints in the wet ground as he came nearer. At the edge of the moat he stopped and leaned forward. With Clies kneeling in the palm of his hand and punching the air like a conquering hero, Otty reached out to the battlement. A low groan escaped Corlin’s lips as he realised that Otty’s arm was not long enough to reach across.

He yelled up to Clies. “You’ll have to jump!”

His voice cracking with tension, his brother yelled back. “No! Throw me a rope!”

Like a row of white-painted doors, Otty’s teeth gleamed in the first rays of the rising sun as he gave the watchers on the ramparts a wide grin, and with a deep rumbling chuckle, stepped down into the moat. Up to his knees in the dark, peaty water, Otty rested the back of his huge hand on the broad stone of the battlement. As if he had achieved a great victory, Clies executed a double somersault across Otty’s palm, ran along his middle finger and grinning all over his face, swung down onto the rampart’s walkway.

The two brothers hugged and back-slapped before standing at arm’s length and looking with undisguised joy and relief into each other’s flushed faces.

Clies’ mouth quivered as he gave Corlin a soft punch on the shoulder. “Silly bugger! What you crying for?”

Corlin sniffed. “So, I suppose your eyes are wet ‘cos you’ve got a cold.”

The two men gave each other another quick hug, then turned and with a loud cheer, waved up at Otty. After making certain that Clies was unharmed and that the excitement of the reunion had died down, Earl Jouan stepped forward, and after a quiet word to both men, and accompanied by Karryl and the Grollart Ragar, took Clies down to the barracks to ask him some questions.

Corlin looked over the battlement at Otty who had stepped out of the moat and, with a wistful expression was looking over into the bailey from the edge of the water-logged meadow. Assured that they were in no danger, the entire population of the castle had come out from their refuge in the keep to gaze, some in horror, and some in amazement, at the giant who stood beyond the west wall. D’ta also had her gaze fixed on Otty and seemed to be studying him intently.

The minstrel limped over to her and leaned on the wall of the rampart. “What will happen to him now? Will he ever be his normal size again?”

D’ta lowered her gaze and smiled as though the answer should have been obvious. “He will be returned to the place to which the magic of the clock took and transformed him. There his size will not be a problem as he will be considered simply average. As for his being normal size again, that would only be possible if the clock were to be recovered and its power used correctly.”

Corlin looked dejected. “Oh well. I s’pose that’s for the best. He couldn’t really go back to Redmire like that, could he?”

D’ta shook her head. “Not at all. He may not be completely happy for a while until he has settled, but at least he will be safe. The Megamen are peace-loving farmers, and Otty will fit right in to their world, I’m sure.”

Corlin’s eyes widened as a sudden thought struck him. “How will he get there? I pitched the clock into the moat!”

The goddess gave him a stern look, but there was a twinkle in her amethyst eyes. “Who are you standing here talking to, Corlin?”

The minstrel looked perplexed. “But I thought you said you couldn’t do anything!”

D’ta raised a slender finger. “Aah! But I know someone who can.”

At that moment a thunderous boom reverberated round the castle and the crowd of spectators scattered like disturbed ants. Apparently tired of being stared and pointed at, Otty had stomped back into the moat, sending another wave of dirty water rushing up the western meadows. With his arm through the top of the battlements, Otty waggled a tree-trunk of a finger at Corlin. Not certain what the giant man wanted, Corlin reached up and ran his hand along the warm coarse skin. He smiled up at Otty, but his insides were in knots. He had only known this farmer from Redmire for a few weeks, but they had been through a lot together, and Corlin knew that this was a friendship that was soon to come to an end.

Knowing that the giant of a man would hardly feel it, Corlin gave the thick finger a hefty double slap in a gesture of farewell and good luck. Otty’s warm breath gusted over the minstrel as he leaned forward and uttered a slow, low rumble. Stepping back, Corlin raised a hand high in acknowledgment of Otty’s “Goodbye Corlin.”

The water in the moat sloshed and gurgled as Otty stepped out, over the massive coping stones and onto the meadow. A half dozen strides took him to the centre of the torn and mangled ground so recently occupied by Treevers’ army. Turning to face the castle, Otty raised one mighty arm in a final gesture of farewell. His long red-brown hair caught the morning sun, and as he turned and strode off into the distance, it seemed as though his head was on fire.

Sergeant Ryman stood his men down, leading them in a quick march to the keep from where the mouth-watering aromas of breakfast were drifting across into the bailey. The few remaining onlookers drifted away back to the duties and chores, leaving Corlin alone on the walkway with D’ta. They stood watching Otty through the battlements until he was no more than a grey indefinable shape on the horizon.

D’ta held out a slender hand. “This must be goodbye, Corlin Bentfoot. It is unlikely we shall meet again, but you may rest assured that no harm will come to Otty.”

As Corlin’s fingers brushed hers, the amethyst-eyed goddess vanished, leaving behind a delicate trace of honeysuckle and spring blossoms. Corlin stood lost in thought for a few moments before making his way down the steps, wondering how the blood and thunder he was going to tell Otty’s father what had happened to his only son.

It was evening when Corlin rode into Redmire. His behind was sore, his leg ached and he was hungry. Ned the landlord had drawn the curtains but, through a chink, a shaft of inviting golden light shone from the window of ‘The Red Dog.’ Corlin clambered from the saddle and stretched tired and cramped muscles before leading Megan under the arch and into the inn’s stable-yard.

A figure stepped forward into the circle of light shed by the single lantern. “Good evening sir. Will you be taking lodging?”

Corlin handed Megan’s reins over to the ostler, the same man who had tended her on his first arrival at this inn. For a brief moment, the minstrel felt as if he had gone back in time and the whole thing was about to start all over again. The reassuring tangibility of his staff and gimalin as he unhitched them from Megan’s saddle was enough to dispel the disturbing thought.

He fumbled in his inside pocket, pulled out a half-silver and dropped it into the ostler’s hand. “A day or two, hopefully; maybe a little longer.”

The man nodded his thanks as he looked Megan over then peered at Corlin. “I reckons we’ve ‘ad the pleasure of your company before sir.” He nodded at the gimalin slung over Corlin’s shoulder. “You be the minstrel what was ‘ere a few days afore Duke Ergwyn died.”

Corlin gave a tight smile and nodded. “You’re right, and if I have time I’ll attempt to write a ballad about it, but right now I need something in my stomach and a good night’s sleep in a proper bed.”

The ostler chuckled. “Well, you and your mare here ‘ave come to the right place. No doubt Ned’ll be glad to see you. ‘E still talks about your playin’ an’ singin’.” He gave an assertive nod. “That ‘e does.”

While Megan was led off to a stall, Corlin made his way round to the front of the inn, relieved to find that the staff which Cadomar had made for him still seemed to have the power to lighten his steps. He pushed open the door and stood blinking for a moment in the sudden brightness while once more he shook off the uncomfortable feeling that everything was happening again. This time, however, it was very different. The tall man bending to make up the fire stood upright and looked to see who had opened the door.

With a wide grin on his long face he strode across the room and grabbed Corlin by the arm. “Well, I’m blessed!” He called out across the room for his half dozen customers to hear. “Look who’s here! It’s Master Bentfoot, the minstrel!”

A little taken aback by the Ned’s effusive welcome, although the reaction of his customers was noticeably cooler, Corlin chuckled. “Thanks Ned. It’s good to be back.” He looked round the bar-room. “Where’s Hobb?”

Ned grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “I bought a proper cage like you asked, and kept him in the bar for a day or two. Then my brother comes in and takes a fancy to ‘im, so now ‘es livin’ down the road a mile or so with ‘is family. Love ‘im to bits, they do.”

Corlin hadn’t even expected the bird to be alive, so was secretly pleased that someone had given it a good home. He decided he wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to claim him back, if at all, although he had sometimes missed his antics, even as now he missed Luma, who had inexplicably switched his loyalty to Earl Jouan and refused to leave the hustle and bustle of Castle Tregwald.

No sooner had Corlin been settled by the fire, his gimalin placed with care on an empty table, and a tankard of ale pushed into his hand than the kitchen door clattered and Molly came scurrying in, her round face aglow. Corlin barely had time to grab his staff before she had scowled at Ned, clicked her tongue in disapproval and without a word was shepherding the minstrel and his tankard of ale across the room and into the kitchen.

Her eyes twinkling, she pulled out Ned’s comfortable carver chair. “There you are Corlin. You sit there and we’ll get some food inside you.” She jerked her head in the direction of the bar-room. “T’would never occur to Ned that you’d probably be hungry. He’d already got his mind set on you entertaining his customers.”

Dishes and cutlery clattered, and in only a few moments Molly was putting a generously filled plate of rabbit stew and boiled potatoes in front of him.

Corlin gave a little frown as he picked up his fork. “Were you expecting me?”

The landlady folded her plump arms over her generous bosom and gave the minstrel a warm smile. “Bless you, no. It’s almost Ned’s dinner-time, but I always makes extra, just in case. He’ll be here in a minute or two and then you two men can have a good natter while I goes an’ gets your room ready.” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Has Otty come back with you by any chance?”

Corlin paused, a forkful halfway to his mouth, and decided that the less he said for now, the better. “Er...no. Otty won’t be back for a while.”

At that moment Ned ambled into the kitchen, the expression on his face making it quite clear that he had heard.

He sat down on a straight-backed chair opposite Corlin and folded his arms. “Why’s that then? Somethin’ happened to ‘im?”

His mouth full of rabbit stew, Corlin shook his head and frowned.

Molly came to his rescue. “Leave him to finish his dinner Ned, and you get stuck into yours. You can talk after.” She called back from the doorway. “Who’s looking after the bar?”

Ned waved his fork. “Jenna. She’ll be alright ‘til I get back. There’s only a few in.”

Corlin looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Jenna?”

Ned smiled. “Jenna is my niece. She turned twenty-one while you were away, so she can come in and do the odd stint behind the bar if I’m busy.” To Corlin’s surprise he gave him a broad wink. “You could do worse.”

Leaving Corlin with food for thought to add to his dinner, nothing further was said until the two men had cleared their plates, and Ned had filled and lit his pipe. Corlin felt himself tense, as he waited for the questioning to start.

To his surprise Ned gave him a knowing look through a cloud of aromatic blue smoke, and smiled. “I guess you’ve had a long ride. You’ll be too tired to be giving us a song tonight, eh?”

To hide his relief, Corlin took a swig of his ale before replying. “A long ride but uneventful; still tiring though, all those hours in the saddle. Tomorrow night I’ll make a much better job of it. Tonight all I want to do is sleep.”

The question he had managed to avoid at the start of dinner duly came. “So, can we expect Otty later?”

Corlin finished his ale, stood up and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll give you the full story tomorrow sometime. All I can tell you for now is that he’s alive and safe, and so is my brother Clies.”

It was obvious that Ned didn’t want to let it rest, but once again Corlin was saved by Molly, who came bustling back into the kitchen. “You’ve got the room you had last time, and I’ve taken your gimalin up too. Now, you go up, sleep well and don’t worry about a thing.” She gave him a look that said she would stand no argument. We’ll see you in the morning.”

As Corlin made his slow way up the wooden staircase, Ned looked up at Molly, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown. “I’ve got a feeling that we ain’t going to like what he’s got to tell us.”

Molly nodded but said nothing.