A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (9 page)

As good as his word Corlin let Megan find her own way and dozed off in the saddle. Otty let Egg follow while he tried desperately to stay awake. The sky above the forest was clear, allowing some moonlight to filter through the bare but close-knit branches. Seeing Corlin circling Megan in a wide clearing created and bisected by a large fallen tree-trunk, Otty reined in at the clearing’s edge.

The minstrel grinned at his companion “Blow sleeping in the saddle. D’you want to stop for a while?”

Otty nodded happily, dismounted and stretched. He looked around and hunched his shoulders. “I don’t expect there’s much chance of something to eat in here.”

Corlin also dismounted, and tethered Megan to the fallen tree. He prodded the thick leaf-litter with his toe. “No, but at least we’ll have a soft bed for an hour or two.”

For the next few minutes the only sound in the forest was the busy rustling of dry leaves as Corlin and Otty gathered them together in thick piles and settled into them to get some well-earned rest. Just as he was drifting into the comforting darkness of sleep, Corlin heard a light and sporadic rustling. Thinking it was only Otty wriggling himself comfortable, the minstrel let sleep take over. The rustling sounds continued but the two men slept on.

Corlin opened his eyes to see fragments of pale grey dawn sky above him. A good pace away, Otty was still sound asleep but Corlin hardly noticed him. His attention was held by what lay in the space between them. During the night someone or something had left food. He scrambled to his feet, crossed the space and gave his companion a prod. “C’mon Otty. We’ve got breakfast!”

Otty rolled over and sat up, blinking. “What? How?”

Corlin pointed. Otty stared. “Hazelnuts? Where did they come from?”

The minstrel’s mouth twisted in a knowing half-smile. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. C’mon. Let’s get cracking.”

There must have been well over a hundred nuts in the pile, and very soon a good number of them had their shells scattered amongst the leaf-litter.

Otty belched. “That’s better. So, who left them?”

Corlin shook his head. “Perhaps, when this is over, I’ll tell you. It takes some believing.”

He gathered up the rest of the nuts, handed some to Otty and slipped the rest in the pocket of the coat he had been using as a blanket. He could feel the hard shape of the frame under the fabric, and felt a brief tingle of excitement as he thought of where his discovery might lead him. The tingle gave way to a dull thud when it occurred to him that he didn’t even know where he was supposed to go next.

He leaned over the saddle and soon became lost in thought, until Otty’s voice interrupted his thinking. “Are you all right?”

His expression still thoughtful, Corlin looked across and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” He worried at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “Would you stay here with the animals for a while? There’s something I need to do.”

Otty raised an eyebrow, nodded and fished a hazelnut out of his pocket. “Just be careful if you’re going back in there, that’s all. This place might seem to be safe enough now, but it still gives me the creeps. I don’t want to have to come in after you.”

Corlin chuckled and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Hopefully I won’t be long. I’ve got a fairly good idea of where I am.”

He took a bearing from the rising sun, turned to his left and headed into the forest’s shadowy interior. If his calculations were correct he knew he wasn’t far from the spot where Frix had helped him recover the clock frame. Treading as quietly as he could, he stopped every so often and listened for a moment or two before moving on, keeping as straight a line as he could through the vast stands of trees. Thankful that there was little or no under-storey to hamper his line of view, he breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the remains of the broken stump about twenty paces ahead. He moved closer, dropped to his haunches in front of a massive beech and leaned his back against its sturdy trunk. Some indefinable something told him he was being watched.

Winding up his courage he called out in a low voice “Frix. I mean no harm. Please, if you’re there I’d like to talk to you.”

There was no reply; not a rustle or a whisper disturbed the still dry air of the forest. Wishing he’d brought some of the nuts with him, Corlin folded his arms and waited. About to call again, he held his breath as his peripheral vision caught a slight movement off to his right. Slowly he turned his head, vowing that if it was another giant bug he wasn’t going to hang about.

A high-pitched sing-song voice mangled his name, paused and tried again. “Co-o-orrrllinnn.”

Seeing movement amongst the mosaic of sunlight and shadow, Corlin stood up and crept towards it. A triangular russet-red head about the size of his own appeared from the cover of a pile of leaves and clicked pincer-like mandibles as long feelers waved towards him. Almost certain this wasn’t Frix, Corlin stopped and kept perfectly still. If this ant wasn’t friendly and had brought more of the colony along, Corlin knew he didn’t stand even a remote chance of escaping. The ant scurried to one side revealing a narrow beaten earth trail leading to a shallow depression in the forest floor. A pair of feelers waved, and a large shining chestnut-brown head appeared above the edge. Corlin smiled. This was definitely Frix.

The giant ant beckoned with one spiky foreleg, and the minstrel moved closer, dropping to his knees as he came within touching distance.

Frix’s normally sharp clear voice was husky and trembling, a weak and halting imitation of a fingernail on tree-bark. “The music has aged us...with each generation...our bodies...become smaller. The task...of our colony...is done. In...in the city...you will...find...the next part...of what you...sss...seek.”

The big head drooped forward as Frix feebly raised his forelegs towards Corlin. The lump in the minstrel’s throat threatened to choke him as he held out his hand. The ant leader picked up a small white stone and dropped it gently into Corlin’s palm. For a brief moment the bristly feet brushed over his skin, then the giant ant toppled slowly sideways. A squad of smaller ants scuttled forward. Ignoring their human observer they carried twigs and leaves, piling them over Frix’s body until he was completely buried, just another mound amongst the many which covered the dry ground and piled against the towering tree trunks. Paying him no further attention the ant squad engaged in a brief exchange of jaw-clicking and high-pitched humming notes, before lining themselves up in a column of twos and marching away into the forest. A sharp pain in his palm made Corlin look down at his hand. The tension of the last few minutes had made him curl his hand into a tight fist, with the stone that Frix had given him still inside. Opening his hand, he peered at the innocuous, vaguely rounded grubby white chip of gravel, about the size of his little finger-nail. Deciding to keep it as a small memento, he tucked it into an inside pocket of his jerkin, pushed himself to his feet and made his way back to Otty.

By the time he arrived back at the clearing the stocky man was already mounted with Megan standing alongside him, her lead rein bunched in his fist. “I heard you coming back so I got everything ready. I think it’s time we got going.”

Corlin nodded his thanks, walked Megan forward and swung himself into the saddle. As the two men settled their mounts into a fast walk, Otty called forward. “So, where
are
we going?”

The minstrel swung his arm to indicate ahead. “We’re off to the city. Which one I’ve no idea.”

Otty trotted Egg until they were alongside. “Well, as far as I know the nearest city, after we get out of this blasted forest, is Vellethen, the capital. According to my da it’s a big seaport on the southwest coast. We can take the coast road if we can find it. There’s bound to be one.”

Corlin turned and gave his companion a wide grin. “Then that’s where we’re going. Vellethen it is.”

He kneed Megan into a gentle trot, with Otty, mounted on Egg, following close behind. The atmosphere of the forest and the feeling of guilt that had washed over him as he watched Frix die had left him drained. Even though he had Otty for company, he felt isolated. He was beginning to understand what it must be like to be a fugitive. If it hadn’t been for this quest, duke Ergwyn and Frix would still be alive. With regrets and growing doubts eating into him, the minstrel rode on, head bowed, seeing little. It was only when Otty gave a delighted whoop that he realised they were at the edge of the forest, and riding into spring sunlight. This side was also bordered by a quarter mile of sloping dry ground, but beyond that stretched miles of green fields, amongst which lay dark patches hinting at wooded valleys.

Corlin pointed towards one of those dark patches where two columns of smoke spiralled into the clear air. “Let’s head down there. With luck we can get some food.”

Otty brightened visibly and urged Egg up the long slope, Megan and Corlin close on his flank. Seeing no sign of a road or even a sheep-track, they cut straight across country, and two hours later were riding down into the valley, meeting up with a cart-road just beyond a large field of cabbages. To their surprise the valley sheltered a neat little hamlet, and even better, there was a small tavern.

As they approached, Corlin leaned across to Otty. “If anybody asks, we rode
round
the forest, and yes, we heard the whispering, but that’s all.”

Otty nodded his understanding. “Good thinking.”

The little hamlet of Twygg made the two travellers quietly welcome, and the half-silver in Corlin’s pocket bought them and their mounts the best that the clean and cosy tavern could provide. The only downside was that there was no overnight accommodation and the local stable was a quarter mile away.

Owen, the keeper of the tavern, made light of the situation. “That there stable belongs to my brother. ’E won’t mind you kipping down in there for the night. It be empty right now, so just ride down when you’re ready. You’ll find feed for the horses inside.”

Now, with a full stomach and the prospect of a warm dry stable to sleep in, Corlin felt a little more at ease. Having begged a small burlap sack from Owen, he slipped the ancient clock frame inside it and gratefully claimed back his coat. As he was un-wrapping his gimalin to make sure it wasn’t damaged, Owen moved closer, resting his backside on the rim of a barrel.

A mixture of hope and curiosity animated his otherwise unremarkable face as he nodded towards the instrument. “Can you play that?”

Otty answered for him. “Like no one you’ve ever heard.”

Owen raised a sceptical eyebrow in Corlin’s direction. “Is that right mister?”

The minstrel made himself comfortable on a stool, flipped the gimalin’s strap over his shoulder and checked the tuning before replying. “My name’s Corlin. Corlin Bentfoot, and yes, I can get a tune or two out of it.”

Nearly choking on his beer, Otty gave a snort of amusement at Corlin’s self-effacing understatement.

The minstrel was barely half-way through his first simple ballad when one of the tavern’s three other customers left his half-full tankard on a table and hurried out. Owen shrugged as Corlin lifted a questioning eyebrow and carried on playing. About ten minutes later the man who had left clattered back in again accompanied by what seemed to Corlin to be the hamlet’s entire population. As he launched into a more lively ballad concerning the exploits of a gallant knight and a bevy of fair maidens, Corlin found himself surrounded by a dozen or so men, a couple of women and a large tabby cat which perched on the ledge of the tavern’s only window and glared at him with ferocious intensity. Otty and Corlin exchanged glances. Otty winked and Corlin smiled. For the next hour he lost himself in the warm friendly atmosphere generated by the little crowd’s enthusiasm for his music.

To his great relief, Owen and the inhabitants of Twygg were not in the habit of staying up late. There were cows to be milked, fields to be ploughed and cabbages cut and carted to market, a way of life with which Corlin and Otty were only too familiar. Gradually the little gathering dispersed and Corlin wrapped his gimalin, put on his woollen coat and picked up the sack containing the clock frame. As he and Otty were heading for the tavern door, Owen hurried forward with a small rush basket in his hand.

He pushed the basket towards them. “Here. Take this. It’s just one or two simple victuals for your breakfast, just to set you on your way. You can leave the basket in the stable.”

Corlin smiled as Otty reached out and took the basket. “Thanks. Much appreciated. Now, perhaps you could tell us if there’s a coast road anywhere near here.”

Owen nodded, steered him to the open door and gestured to his left. “If you go up that way you’ll come to the market town of Carthold. It’s about ten miles as the crow flies. Turn southeast on the other side of Carthold and you’ll come to the coast road, about half a day’s ride further on.” He turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “If you don’t mind going across country you can follow this road, turn off at the copse by the ford, keep the sun on your right and keep going. You’ll come to the coast road eventually.” He nodded towards the gimalin slung over Corlin’s shoulder. “I guess you’re off to the big city to make your fortune, eh?”

Corlin silently thanked the man for his mistaken assumption. “Yes; hopefully. How far is it to Vellethen?”

Owen chuckled. “Oho! The
capital
city is it? You’d best be going the Carthold way then. If you goes the other way, you and your animals will be starving by the time you gets there. I thought you meant Throngholme, although that’s still a fair step. Yep, you’ll be safer the Carthold route. When you gets on the coast road there’s places all the way along to Vellethen. The old city of Tallard is on your way. It’s a long ride, and in places a hard one, or so I’m told, but if you’ve got coin you’ll want for nowt.” He stuck out a broad thick-fingered hand. “I’ll wish you good luck and a fair journey.”

The two men shook the proffered hand and stepped out into the night. With a final wave to the friendly tavern keeper, they mounted up and rode off to their night’s lodging in the stable. There was no door, no lantern and barely enough moonlight to see by, but they soon had the horses settled, while a couple of bales of straw and their saddles for pillows ensured at least a half decent night’s rest.

Corlin had just made himself reasonably comfortable when something nudged his leg. Sitting bolt upright he peered down to see two green eyes staring back at him. He gave a little chuckle as he lay down again and turned on his side.

Otty’s voice whispered out of the nearby shadows. “What’s funny?”

The minstrel chuckled again as the cat ambled along his leg and over his hip, to curl up purring against the warmth of his stomach. “I have company in my bed.”

His companion mumbled “Lucky you.”

In less than five minutes the two men were asleep, Otty’s snores warning anyone who might venture close that the stable was occupied.

They were wakened at first light by the clop of heavy hooves and the jingle of harness. At the far end of the stable, the full extent of which they hadn’t seen in the dark the night before, a ploughman was fitting collars and harness to a pair of heavy horses.

He nodded as Corlin and Otty sat up, stretched and yawned. “Morning. You chaps sleep well in there?”

The two men answered in unison. “Yes thanks.”

The ploughman nodded again. “That’s good.” Walking backwards he steered the pair of horses towards the door. “Well, I’ll wish you a good day. We’re off; got work to do.”

Corlin and Otty rolled off their straw-bale beds and wandered to the door to watch him lead the plough team along the road.

The minstrel looked up at the brightening sky. “Nice day for it.”

Otty agreed then wandered back into the stable to investigate the contents of the rush basket that Owen had given them. Corlin looked around, but there was no sign of the cat that had cheekily shared his bed and his warmth for at least part of the night.

When Corlin joined him a minute or two later, Otty looked up from his seat on the straw bale and jerked his head towards the open basket. “Take a look in there.”

Corlin looked. At the bottom of one end lay a handful of coins, mostly pennies and half-pennies, but amongst them lay a quarter-silver. Corlin suspected that Owen might have dropped that in.

He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket, then gathered up the rest, grinning as he handed them to Otty. “That’ll keep you in beer and horse fodder for a few days.”

His companion’s expression turned serious as he held out his hand for the coins. “Not so much beer now. It was just...never mind. Thanks.”

Owen had been generous with the victuals, and half an hour later, with comfortably full stomachs, and the empty basket left in the stable as requested, the two were saddled up and leading their horses out onto the road. Men and women in the village’s single street and in the fields raised a hand as they rode past, and before long, a bend in the hard-packed stone-and-dirt road obscured the friendly little hamlet of Twygg from sight. All being well they should arrive in the market town of Carthold by mid-day.