A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (13 page)

Surprises came one after the other for Corlin that evening. Compared to Tregwald, which was the first castle he had ever set foot in, this place was the height of luxury. There was none of the damp, slightly musty, atmosphere he had previously experienced, and to his great relief, all the accommodation and reception rooms were situated on the ground floors. Their arrival had not gone un-noticed, and as Prince Harald directed them along a short passageway, a tall dark-skinned man in embroidered robes and cap hurried past them and opened the door to a large comfortable room. A log fire burned in a fireplace wide enough for a horse to stand in, while the light of tall candles set in a number of silver candelabra banished all but the furthest shadows.

The robed man pointed to an open-armed upholstered chair near the fire. “Please, seat prince Harald there while I fetch a footstool, then I will assess his injury.”

A deep, heavily accented voice boomed from the doorway. “What have you been up to now, boy?”

With the prince settled, Corlin and Otty turned to see Rywald, bare-headed and eyes lowered, standing back against the wall. They stepped to one side of the prince’s chair and bowed their heads briefly in respect as, leaning heavily on a plain and sturdy walking cane, the owner of the voice moved slowly into the room until he stood looking down at Harald. The corners of his full-lipped mouth turned down as he waited for an answer.

The young prince looked decidedly shame-faced. “I’m sorry father; the fault is all mine.” He looked round at Corlin and Otty. “If not for these two sturdy fellows and the carter over there...” He nodded towards Rywald. “...my situation may well have been much worse.” He winced as he tried to move his leg to a more comfortable position on the footstool.

Ever practical and not unduly over-awed by persons of a higher social standing, Otty turned to the robed man and jerked his head towards Harald’s knee. “What that needs is alternate cold and hot compresses, and rest.”

The man’s chin rose in indignation and he glared at Otty. “I am Duke Alexander’s physician-mage, and I will decide what is best for the prince.”

Otty shrugged and pinched his lips together between finger and thumb in a rather impudent sealing gesture. Fearing that this might be the moment when they would be escorted from the castle, Corlin was surprised to see that the duke had a half-smile on his face and was regarding Otty with some appreciation.

As the physician began to remove Harald’s boots, the duke looked at Corlin then back at Otty. “If you gentlemen will remain as my guests, I am sure you would like something to eat and drink. But first, your names are...?”

Corlin made the introductions. “I’m Corlin, this is my travelling companion Otty, and the waggoner over there is Rywald. Pleased to be of service sire.”

The duke nodded. “Very good.” He looked down at Corlin’s foot. “I see you and I are similarly afflicted. An accident?”

Corlin shook his head. “I was born with it sire.”

After a minute of silent contemplation, the duke turned towards the door. “You may both entertain me with your stories while we dine. Come.” He smiled as he passed the waggoner, still standing against the wall. “You too, waggoner Rywald. I will have your wagon brought into the keep and your team fed and stabled.” He continued talking as he led the trio along a torch-lit passage running parallel with the keep. “You must all lodge here tonight. If you need anything from your packs, it will be fetched for you.”

A liveried servant hurried towards them and opened a door, his expression one of bafflement coloured with a hint of disdain as the trio followed Duke Alexander inside. The servant waited just inside the door as the duke gestured in the general direction of a number of chairs upholstered in soft serviceable leather. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He turned to the servant. “We will have a plain but sustaining supper please Kethyn, and some entertainment if some can be found.”

Kethyn’s thin face wore a worried frown. “There are presently no entertainers at the castle sire. If you recall, the last were an ill-talented lot and you sent them packing.”

The duke chuckled at the memory. “Indeed we did.”

The servant gave Corlin and Otty a sidelong glance and took a step forward. “The word is sire, that one of our guests has a gimalin tied behind his saddle.”

Duke Alexander leaned back in his chair and regarded his three guests in turn as he rested his folded hands on his stomach. “Indeed? This is most interesting. Is then one of you a minstrel, or is the gimalin a thing to be sold?”

Corlin opened his mouth to reply, but Otty was a breath ahead. “The gimalin is mine. I won it in a card game.”

Fortunately Duke Alexander was studying Otty’s face and failed to notice Corlin’s start of surprise. Uncertain why Otty had fabricated the story in the first place, it took him only a second to decide to let Otty run with it. Just like the barrel-ball game, maybe he would end up taking the winning shot.

The duke leaned forward, something unreadable in his pale blue eyes. “And can you play a gimalin master Otty?”

As he asked the question his glance slid across to Corlin and back again as if he had recognised the untruth. Otty shrugged. “I can turn out one or two tunes, but I doubt I’ll find fame and fortune by it.”

The duke leaned back in his chair, looking puzzled and a little disappointed. “So, it was not you that gave voice to Duke Ergwyn’s old gimalin?”

Corlin was almost afraid to breathe. He had the distinct impression that the duke was choosing his words very carefully.

Otty’s mouth gave a rueful twist. “I had heard that someone had finally managed it. I just wish it had been me.”

The duke perked up a little. “Why is that?”

Otty shrugged again. He was gifted with a wide repertoire of expressive shrugs. “Well, there was talk of a valuable boon. It might have been enough to buy the two fields joining my da’s farm.”

Duke Alexander gave him a very direct look. “So, you have no knowledge of what the boon was, or its value?”

Otty shook his head. “No sire, and I’d rather not.”

His mouth drawn into a tight line, the duke thoughtfully regarded his three guests for a moment or two. Corlin could see that the man’s eyes were troubled and felt he knew the reason why. It was all to do with the Tregwald gimalin.

The duke’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Perhaps master Otty you would like to go down to the stables and retrieve your gimalin. The perhaps after we have eaten, you can ‘turn out’ your ‘one or two tunes’ for us.” He gave Corlin a knowing smile as Otty stood up and made a vague self-deprecating gesture. “I’ll try my best sire.”

As Kethyn opened the door, the duke gestured towards the waggoner. “You may also like to see where your team is accommodated, master Rywald.” He waited until Otty and Rywald had been escorted out before lighting an hour-candle and placing it on the mantel piece.

He turned and smiled at Corlin, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “While we wait for your companions to return and our meal to be served, perhaps you will tell to me the events which have brought you to my castle. Yes?”

Corlin felt decidedly uncomfortable. He wondered how much the duke would want to know. If he wanted to hear the story from the beginning, then Corlin felt he had no choice but to tell it how it really was. It would mean showing up Otty as a liar, but he hadn’t asked him to lie in the first place and couldn’t figure out why he had done it at all.

Unprompted Browd’s voice came from a shadowy recess in his memory. “We do believe your friend Otty is spell-bound but by what type of compulsion we cannot say, so the spell may break at any time. I suspect it will be somewhere near the end of your quest. Until then, stay aware.”

This was food for thought. Although he was certain he was nowhere near the end of his quest, the briefly resurrected words had Corlin wondering whether some aspect of the spell had caused Otty to lie. He made his decision.

Elbows on knees, hands clasped he looked into the strong-featured face of Duke Alexander. “If it’s all right with you sire, I’d like to start at the beginning.”

The duke’s full lips twitched as if pleased he had read his man correctly. “A wise decision master Corlin.”

The minstrel began the story by first admitting that the gimalin was indeed his. From there on, with a few questions dropped in by the intently concentrating duke, Corlin found the telling easier than he had anticipated. He left nothing out, including what Browd had said about Otty possibly being spellbound.

The duke nodded. “Cadomar my physician-mage suspected as much. Your friend has a shadowy aura around him. Only time will tell. Thank you, Corlin. Please continue.”

There were no outside interruptions during his narrative, and towards the end he began to suspect that somehow Alexander must have instructed Kethyn to keep Otty and Rywald otherwise occupied.

Duke Alexander leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “We shall continue to carry Otty’s deception for the time being. It is my belief that his action was caused by the spell which has been laid upon him.”

Corlin agreed with a nod and a deep sigh. “I suppose you’re going to tell me next that we’re meant to be here.”

The duke chuckled, a deep warm sound which brought a smile to Corlin’s glum face. “That is true. Although Tregwald’s magician Grumas may have told you much, he will not have told you that one way or another you would have arrived here, regardless of circumstances.”

Corlin’s smile slid off to be replaced by tense lines of rising suspicion. “How can you be so sure?”

Duke Alexander chuckled again. “The identity of the one who would play the gimalin was never known, or the time and circumstances which would bring him to it. What was known was the necessity for him to arrive at this castle. Even without prince Harald’s fall, you would have turned up here eventually. You could say we have been expecting you. In these parts news travels faster than any rider.”

The minstrel went on the defensive. “So, why am I here?”

His expression seriously earnest, the duke leaned forward and poked a finger at Corlin. “Because now minstrel, you must make a choice...and no-one here can help or advise you.” His thick rolling accent seemed to add gravity to the statement.

Again, Browd’s words filtered into Corlin’s mind. “From here on your success will depend on your own decisions and resourcefulness.”

The Duke glanced up at the hour-candle. “I will be brief. The other half of the clock frame is believed to be hidden somewhere in this castle. That is why I am here. I was appointed to be its guardian.”

Corlin’s eyebrows shot up. “So the story isn’t true?”

Alexander waved a dismissive hand. “It has its basis on truth. That is all anyone needs to know. Now listen and please do not interrupt. This is most important.” He nodded a tacit acceptance to Corlin’s mumbled apology. “The workings of the clock are said to be guarded by terrible yet invisible beings, deep in the mountains far to the east of here. Only when the two parts of the frame are joined and the workings mounted within will the power of the clock be awoken.”

The hour-candle sputtered out and the Duke rose to his feet. “You have until tomorrow morning to consider how best to approach this problem. Your decision may well have a bearing on lives other than your own.”

A polite knock on the door effectively choked off whatever Corlin was about to say. Followed by Rywald and Otty, Kethyn entered the room, Corlin’s gimalin cradled in one elbow. As he rested the instrument almost reverentially in a vacant chair he announced “Dinner is about to be served sire.”

As Kethyn opened a side door, the duke crossed the room and beckoned to his three guests. “Time to eat.” About to enter the adjoining room the duke gave Otty a knowing smile. “Afterwards I shall look forward to hearing you play, master Otty.”

The stocky man gave a wry smile. “I’ll try not to disappoint you sire.”

They had just taken their seats when the door opened again and Prince Harald limped into the room. After making apologies to the duke, he seated himself at the end of the table.

While Otty waited his turn to fill his plate he nodded at the prince. “How’s the knee?”

Harald looked crestfallen. “I think it will be some time before I can ride again, but thanks to you and your friends I was not able to make my situation any worse.”

Duke Alexander gave a reproachful grunt. “I should have sent you off to Vellethen with Olaf. At least you manage to stay out of trouble when you are with him.”

Corlin looked up, a spoonful of vegetables poised over his plate. “Vellethen? That’s where we were heading for. Frix told me to go to the city. I thought that was where he meant.”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he did. I think you will find that city will also be connected in some way to your quest. Now, let us enjoy our supper and talk of other things.

As the duke had requested, the meal was plain but wholesome. They ate at a leisurely pace, their conversation covering anything that interested their host, but first and foremost the full details of Harald’s mishap. The meal finished, the duke promised them further reward then ushered the prince and their guests back into the comfort of his sitting room. With some trepidation Corlin watched Otty unwrap the gimalin and begin to tune it. The minstrel slowly released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, when the instrument proved to need very little in the way of tuning. To his further surprise, with a decent gimalin in his hands, Otty was quite a competent musician, although his singing voice left something to be desired. Corlin wondered whether the duke would call on him to play, but to his credit, the lie was carried and after a few songs Duke Alexander hinted that perhaps it was time they all found their beds.