A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (17 page)

It was impossible to turn round. Two hours of steady walking had brought them to a narrow track, little more than a precarious ledge, which hugged the base of the mountain. Barely half a pace to their left the ground sheered away, the tree tops a dozen feet below thrashing in the ferocious gale which had sprung up, threatening to hurl them bodily down into a deep wooded gorge. A hundred yards ahead the trail dipped out of sight beside a rocky buttress. Small rocks, stones and clods of earth littered the ground. Corlin rode a few yards closer, a cold sheen of perspiration breaking out on his skin, his heart drumming in his chest.

Turning round in the saddle, he gestured to Otty. “Stay there a minute.”

Otty immediately reined in, stroking his hand down Egg’s neck to calm him. “What’s up?”

Corlin eased Megan to a halt. “I think we may have a problem. It looks like a rock fall across the trail. I’m going to have a look.”

He studied the ground to his left and gave an involuntary shudder. Trying to ignore the unnerving proximity of the sheer drop, he kicked his left foot free and swung it over until he was standing on the right stirrup. Wedged between Megan’s body and the rock face he grasped the saddle, slipped his foot from the stirrup and squeezed down until his feet were on the ground.

It seemed that Megan and Otty were of one mind. “What are you doing?”

Corlin grimaced as he wriggled into a crouch and ducked under Megan’s belly. “You’ll see. There isn’t any room to dismount properly.”

It was Otty’s turn to grimace as the minstrel scrambled forwards, and with a few words of reassurance to the faithful mare, squirmed out between her forelegs.

A hint of wry humour wove itself into the concern in Otty’s voice. “I hope it’ll be worth it.”

Corlin waved a hand in acknowledgment and, keeping close to the rock face walked slowly towards the blind corner. Picking his way through the scatter of soil and rock in his path, he looked up. Hundreds of feet above, a group of trees leaned at a precarious angle, clods of soil clinging to exposed roots which thrashed in the wind as if searching for a foothold. Corlin hurried on. With only a few yards to go his footsteps faltered and his chest tightened with dread. It looked as though the trail had fallen away completely. Almost afraid to go any further, he looked behind to see Otty sitting very still, body rigid, watching him. Seeming to have sensed his tension, Egg was like a statue.

The minstrel took a few more paces forward, stopped, stared, swallowed hard and turned around. He gave a short sharp whistle and Megan began walking towards him with Otty following, if less eagerly. As Megan stopped in front of him, Corlin caught hold of her bridle and led her round the end of the massive rock bastion and onto a broad rocky platform sweeping round to meet the base of the next part of the trail.

A few seconds later Otty guided Egg round the sharp angle to see Corlin in the saddle and grinning at him. “That’s one of those things that trick your eyes. Did you see how the trail dips down and looks as though it’s broken away?”

His companion chuckled and looked over his shoulder. “Let’s hope there aren’t any more places like that. It didn’t do my nerves any good at all.” He peered past Corlin. “So, where does it go now?”

With a jerk of his head, Corlin gestured towards the wide entrance to a canyon slicing its way between the mountain they had just ridden round, and its neighbour. “Straight through there. At least it’ll get us out of this blasted wind.”

Relieved to be out of a potentially life-threatening situation and riding over solid rock which no longer threatened to collapse under him, Corlin began to take in his surroundings. Hemmed in by neck-achingly high and sheer walls of white-veined black rock, but wide enough for two riders to pass, the trail followed an erratic course which took them gradually higher and further into the mountain range. All along the route, the rock face was pock-marked with small cave openings, many of them far above their heads.

Noticing one or two larger ones easily accessible from the trail, Corlin gestured towards one as they rode past. “At least we can shelter if the weather turns nasty.”

There was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in Otty’s reply. “I’d rather shelter in a tavern with a tankard of ale. Where are we heading for now?”

Distracted by a flutter of movement in one of the small high caves, Corlin’s reply drifted vaguely over his shoulder. “Erm...somewhere called the Fellgate.” He swung round in his saddle. “Y’know, I think there’s some kind of birds living in those holes up there.”

Otty looked up and squinted. “Could be. Might be bats too. Where’s the Fellgate?”

Urging Megan into a trot, Corlin called back. “I’m not sure, but Duke Alexander said that’s where the main part of the clock is probably hidden.” He waved Otty forward. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. If those are bats in there I don’t want to be anywhere near them at nightfall.”

Two hours later they were still in the canyon and the light was failing. Every few minutes rustling and fluttering noises reached their ears, and Corlin was remembering stories he had heard about huge bats that attacked people and animals, and sucked their blood. He let out a startled yelp as something whirred past his head and he felt a cold touch on his face. Seconds later the air was filled with the hissing rush of flying things, but Corlin could see nothing. He could feel them crawling and slithering over his arms and legs, their ice cold touches on the exposed skin of his face and hands. Kicking out and waving his arms he tried to dislodge the invisible attackers, vaguely aware of Otty behind him, also battling furiously and yelling.

To Corlin’s ears, Otty sounded not frightened but very, very angry. “Let me see you, you flying bastards! Let me see you!”

Corlin grabbed at the back of his hand and closed his fingers. Something cold and wet like a fish wriggled and squirmed against his palm, His first impulse was to let go, but he controlled his revulsion and threw the invisible creature as hard as he could into the air. Otty’s furious outburst had jogged the minstrel’s memory. He delved into the inside pocket of his coat, remembering the old woman’s words as he grasped the replica walnut, pulled it out and held it on his open palm high in the air.

He quoted the woman’s words out loud. “So you will see what cannot be seen!”

A silver sheen glistened on the walnut’s shell as the seam between the two halves split open, releasing a billowing cloud of pale green iridescent dust. Whirled around by the strong breeze funnelling down the gorge, it rose high into the air and swirled along the canyon walls. Almost as if it was borne by some innate consciousness, it sought out and clung to each one of the flying beings. No longer able to retain their invisibility, the creatures rippled in an undulating frenzy, frequently colliding with each other in their haste to plaster themselves against the canyon walls. Resembling glistening rectangular ferns, all ribs and fronds, they clung quivering to the sheer rock surface.

Feeling slightly sick, Corlin let his horrified gaze run over the canyon walls as far as his eyes could see. There were hundreds of them, clustered in groups, end to end in long ribbons, even overlapping each other, but all touching and totally motionless. The atmosphere in the canyon reminded Corlin of an over tightened string about to snap. He looked behind him. Otty’s face registered the disgust and revulsion that Corlin was feeling.

The stocky man nodded back at him. “Whatever that is you’re using, keep it there and let’s get going.”

Corlin wasn’t sure it was going to be that easy. The nut replica only held the power to reveal the invisible creatures; he was sure it would be of no use as a defence against them. The glowing dust was now little more than a few sporadic wisps, spiralling unerringly to attach themselves to their prey clinging to the rock face. Soon the nutshell’s gift would be exhausted and Corlin was in little doubt that if or when its effects wore off, the safe progress of both himself and Otty would be severely jeopardised. Added to that, the trail was rapidly becoming more treacherous. The gentle uphill gradient had levelled out over the last quarter mile and now the two travellers were faced with a rock-littered downhill slope, scattered with pebbles and loose scree.

With a few words of encouragement, Corlin urged Megan forward. High above the canyon the light of a few stars shone in feeble competition with the moonlight striking the top few inches of the left hand wall. The trail was barely visible and the black expanse of the walls was alleviated only by the pale green shimmer of the clinging creatures. Trusting Megan to pick her way through the tumbled rocks, Corlin kept a continuous watch for any sign of movement, the tension easing from his body as the horrors fell further behind. The last tiny glowing mote drifted out of the nutshell and sped away into the darkness, the two halves snapped closed, and with a twinge of reluctance Corlin slipped the replica walnut back into his inside pocket. He turned in the saddle and looked behind him. Otty was barely visible a couple of lengths back, and the canyon walls still glinted with the random patterns formed by the impossible creatures.

Storm clouds were building again, and before long Corlin was having to cope with riding in absolute darkness. If Megan or Egg turned a hoof on the shale and rock-littered surface, the consequences could be unthinkable.

He called back to Otty. “Stop at the next cave we come to!”

Otty sounded relieved but nervous. “D’you trust those...those
things
?”

The minstrel tried to sound more confident than he felt. “I think they’ll leave us alone, now we’ve shown ‘em we can fight back.”

All he received in reply was a strangled grunt. His mouth gave a wry twist as he silently agreed.

Progress was slow, and an hour later Corlin had still not found a cave. A glance over his shoulder revealed no glistening pale green shapes, and although he could hear the scuffle and clatter of hooves, Otty and Egg had also been swallowed up by the night. His spirits rose a little when moonlight suddenly poured into the canyon. The storm clouds had passed, taking their burden of rain with them to drop on the next valley they passed over. Corlin looked behind to see if Otty was keeping up. His shoulders sagged as he turned Megan and headed back along the trail. There was no sign of Otty.

The minstrel felt a twinge of irritation. As much as he liked him, the man was becoming a hindrance and a liability. There were times when it was good to have company, but for something as personal as this quest, Corlin would have preferred to travel alone. At least then he wouldn’t have to waste valuable time finding out what had happened to him. Not for the first time he found himself questioning Grumas’ motives in sending Otty along. Almost as if the scene was being directed by Fate herself, a hundred yards ahead, Otty rode into view.

Corlin reined in. “Ah! There you are! Been sightseeing have you?”

There was no reply as Otty kept riding forward, his head bowed. Corlin’s heart lurched and his skin crawled. Something about the way Otty was riding was not right, swaying and slumped in the saddle like a sack of grain. Egg stopped in front of Megan, their noses almost touching, and whiffled softly. Otty gave a long low moan, his hands clenched into tight fists round the reins, but made no attempt to dismount. Corlin eased Megan alongside, peered into Otty’s face, blinked and rubbed his eyes. Otty’s face seemed blurred. Thinking it might be an effect of moonlight and shadows, Corlin rubbed his eyes and looked again. The man’s face was still wrong, as though some of it was missing. He moaned again as Corlin shook his arm, but his head remained bowed. Alarm surged through the minstrel’s body.

He shook Otty’s arm again. “Otty, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Otty gasped and tried to speak but the words were an unintelligible gurgle. Corlin reached across to Otty’s face, his own contorting with revulsion as his fingers made contact with something cold and slick. Gritting his teeth, he placed his open palm across Otty’s face and curled his fingers until he could feel the invisible creature’s form inside his half-closed hand. Slowly and carefully, he pulled. The thing gave a lethargic twitch but firmly resisted Corlin’s efforts, remaining clamped over Otty’s nose, upper face and eyes. Otty could only breathe through his mouth. Corlin pulled the thing a little harder and Otty gasped.

Hoarse and rasping, his voice was distorted and tight with pain. “Leave it. Leave the bloody thing.”

Corlin released his grip, but he had already established the thing’s shape and position on Otty’s face. Not holding out much hope, he fished the replica walnut from his inside pocket. The shell failed to glow and the two halves remained firmly closed. Corlin dropped it back into his pocket, slid his hand beneath his coat and drew out the knife that Ned the landlord had given him. Testing the edge with his thumb he grimaced with satisfaction.

He looked into Otty’s blurred face. “Keep very still, Otty. I’m going to try something.”

To his credit, Otty gave a short rasping chuckle. “No...choice.” His mouth twisted. “Got one on my neck.”

Corlin cursed under his breath. From what he had seen on the canyon walls, it was a fair bet these things were linked.

He gripped Otty’s arm. “If I get out of the way, can you dismount?”

Uncurling his fingers from the reins, Otty gave him a feeble thumbs-up. Corlin backed Megan a pace or two, climbed down and hurried forward to help Otty dismount. Like a man with weights on his legs, Otty struggled to the ground.