A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (30 page)

As the minstrel refastened the leather bags and settled them over the saddle-rack, Otty gestured towards them. “Did you get it?”

Corlin turned and studied the man’s face for a moment, looking for any sign of duplicity before giving a little self-satisfied grin and a brief nod. “Yes, I did, eventually, but you’d never believe what I had to go through.”

He sat down beside Otty on the straw-bale and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened since he had left him at the Grollarts’ mountain. His description of the cruel imprisonment and eventual death of Malchevolus, elicited groans of disgust and horror from his companion. It was only when Corlin had told him how the Lammergeyer Lamak had flown away with the bag of disassembled parts, and later returned the innards of the clock in one piece, that Otty gripped Corlin’s arm.

He made a head gesture towards the saddlebags draped over the rack. “Is it in there? Can I see it?”

After a moment’s thought, Corlin stood up and looked down at Otty. “Alright, but don’t try fiddling with it. It looks complicated and anything could happen if you do.”

He turned away and crossed the stall to the saddle-rack. After giving Megan a reassuring pat on her neck, he began to unfasten the brass buckles which secured the bags’ wide flaps.

He was floating on a warm dark sea. Distant voices drifted, but he was unable to make out what they were saying. It sounded like a foreign language, but the effort of listening was too much and he gave up, letting the silent waters pull him down.

* * *

A deep voice, strong but gentle found its way into his mind. “Corlin; it’s time to wake up now.”

His head and mouth felt full of feathers, and the ones in his mouth tasted as if they were still attached to a bird that had been dead a while. He moved his head a little to one side, failing to stifle a groan as vicious pain stabbed into his neck and skull. Forcing one eye open he tried to focus it on the dark blurry shape looming over him. His attempt at speech resulted in an unintelligible mumble, eliciting a sympathetic chuckle from somewhere near his left ear. He closed his eye, took a deep breath, grimaced and opened both eyes together. With some reluctance his vision crawled into focus, and he realised he was lying on his back looking up at the solid timbers of a beamed and vaulted ceiling.

A figure drifted into view and stood looking down at him. “How do you feel?”

Corlin really wanted to be rude and offer some cutting rejoinder that was as sharp as the pains in his head, but his respect for Karryl overcame the urge.

He gave the Mage Prime a weak grin. “I’ve felt better.” His face twisted in another grimace as he turned his head to the side. “What am I doing here?”

Without waiting for an answer he pushed himself up on his elbows and, ignoring the monotonous drumbeat inside his skull, surveyed his surroundings.

Karryl placed a supportive arm behind the minstrel’s back. “You’re in Earl Jouan’s private quarters. One of the troopers sent to fetch you, found you in the stables and raised the alarm.”

Corlin groaned again, not with pain but with the realisation of what had most likely happened. He swung his feet over the edge of the couch he was lying on and stretched out his legs.

His eyes full of pain and distress he looked up at Karryl. “Otty’s taken the clock, hasn’t he?”

His expression grim, Karryl nodded. “Jouan and some of his men have gone after him. He won’t get far. The earl knows every inch of this place. One of the stable-hands is also missing, but we can’t say yet whether he had anything to do with it.”

Corlin struggled to his feet, walked unsteadily over to the window and looked out into the night. A whole gaggle of emotions was twisting around inside him. Anger, disappointment, resentment all vied for prominence, but most of all Corlin felt betrayed, not only by Otty but also by his own gullibility. He had assumed that because Otty was here at Tregwald and not under guard, that the enchantment, which had previously made him a threat to Corlin’s quest, had at last been removed. If it had, then Otty was acting of his own volition, spurred on by some other selfish motive, regardless of any kind of friendship that may have existed between the two men. If not, then Otty could not be wholly blamed for actions prompted by the power of some malignant spell cast by another, most likely Grumas, under the evil influence of his late master Malchevolus.

The fog that Karryl had conjured earlier had dispersed, and the land lay dark under a heavy cloud cover. The minstrel turned and rested his behind on the wide window-sill, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He focussed on the blue slate slabs of the floor, not really seeing them, simply feeling thankful that the severity of his headache was gradually lessening.

It was perplexity rather than anger that registered on his face as he looked across at Karryl. “What does the blasted idiot think he’s going to do with it? And how does he think he can get out of the castle?”

Karryl stood up from his seat on the couch and came to lean against the wall beside the minstrel. “There is a way out, but if he’s taken that route I really do fear for his safety.”

Corlin frowned. “Has he still got that enchantment on him?”

The Mage Prime shook his head. “The Grollarts assured me that it had been completely removed. If that is the case, and I have no reason to doubt it, then until Otty is apprehended, it is hard to say what is on his mind.” He gave Corlin a self-assured smile. “Now, if you’re sufficiently recovered, shall we go and help find our villain?”

Corlin stared at the magician as though he had made an improper suggestion. “What use will I be? I’d just hobble along behind everybody else, not knowing even where I’m going! No, you go. I’d rather stay here and nurse this headache if it’s all the same to you.”

Karryl was having none of it. He placed one hand on the minstrel’s forehead, the other under his elbow and eased him away from the windowsill. “There are more important things to concern us than a headache. Earl Jouan has raised the hue and cry for Otty, and has joined in, but there are other methods by which people can be found, and in this case, I will need you to assist me.”

Corlin’s face fell. “Not more magic? I’ve had enough of the funny stuff to last me a lifetime.”

Karryl’s wide grin did nothing to repair Corlin’s mood. “You might enjoy this particular ‘funny stuff’. After all, you’ll only have to gaze into a bowl of water and describe what you see. That should come easily for a minstrel of your talents.”

Not truly convinced, Corlin nodded his sullen agreement and followed the Mage Prime out of the room and down the winding stairs into the keep. He paused in the doorway and looked across in the direction of the stable-block hidden from view by the high wall between keep and bailey.

Anticipating the worst, he called to Karryl who was striding ahead. “Did he take anything else? Do you know?”

The magician checked his stride and looked back. “It would seem not. Your staff and gimalin were where you put them, and both Megan and your hound are unharmed. His own horse, however, is gone, as are your saddlebags.”

The magician turned and continued across the bailey, but Corlin stayed where he was. He needed to think objectively. The thought of Otty’s treachery sickened him to his very bones, and the last thing he wanted right now was to see the man’s face smirking up at him from the depths of a bowl of water.

Leaning on the elaborately carved stone doorframe, he marshalled his thoughts, attempting to get recent events into perspective. Foremost in his mind was the knowledge that there was little, if anything, he could do until Otty and the clock had been found and returned to Tregwald. After a few minutes of intense concentration which threatened to give him another headache, he resigned himself to the possibility that Karryl was right and that the magician’s method of locating Otty could work.

He pushed himself upright and was about to start making his way across the bailey when he heard a sound he had hoped he would never hear again. He paused, listening intently as he let his gaze travel slowly across the dark grey, night-damp flagstones. Something glinted, a slender curve of silvery blue captured briefly in the pooling lamplight. Standing perfectly still, his breathing shallow, Corlin continued to watch and listen. Almost too quick to pinpoint, a dry slithering noise came from a few feet to his right. He tensed, his heart pounding in his throat as memories only too recent came flooding into his aching brain.

Another sound reached his ears, this one less furtively sinuous and threatening. Looking towards the East gate, he breathed a low and slow sigh of relief as the thunder of hooves and the shout of the sentry on the rampart to open the gate helped to dispel the sense of danger. The heavy timber gates were hauled open. Corlin stayed put, striving to analyse the information that his eyes were feeding to his brain. For the moment, none of it made any sense.

Astride a sturdy shaggy-haired hill pony was a Grollart, riding beside Jouan at the front of a large troop of soldiers armed with crossbows slung across their backs. As the last trooper passed under the gateway, and the gates were almost closed, the Grollart leaned over and said something to the earl. Jouan raised his hand and the entire troop came to a ragged halt at the edge of the courtyard. No-one dismounted, merely sat their horses as if waiting for something to happen, as Jouan bellowed out the order for any civilians to leave the bailey and make themselves secure in the keep. The Grollart reached inside his fur-trimmed jacket and drew out what looked to Corlin like a thick wooden rod. It was only when he raised it to his lips and set his fingers to the stops that the minstrel realised that the rod was in fact some kind of flute.

Low-pitched but smooth and mellow, a tune which reminded Corlin of an old traditional love song flowed from the instrument and echoed off the high walls, the music swirling round the courtyard like smoke in an autumn breeze. The minstrel had no doubt what was going to happen next. He took a step back under the arch of the doorway and watched as he attempted to establish what the connection could be between Grollarts and the creatures which were slowly becoming visible in response to the pure tones of the Grollart flute.

Over on the far side of the sizeable yard, Karryl had emerged from a shadowed doorway. Arms folded inside the sleeves of his robe, he also stood watching as the dark stones of the yard disappeared beneath a rippling, pulsing, silvered blue-grey mass. Each short blunt snout turned towards the source of the music, the Fade-lizards stood tall on their thick muscular legs, flexed their sucker-toed feet, and waited. Corlin swallowed hard, forcing back the loathing which had set his stomach churning. Bearing only a basic resemblance to those blind and disaffected creatures he had encountered at the Fell-gate, these were at least three times the size, fully sighted, and alert. Wall to wall, gate to gate, the bailey was filled with giant lizards, their unique stench filling the air with an almost eye-watering miasma.

The lizard nearest to Corlin turned its head, a bright blue membrane flicking across its pale green oval-irised eye every few seconds as it fixed the minstrel with a steady gaze. As if Corlin needed any more convincing of their very real presence, the creature opened its round pink-lipped mouth to reveal the triple row of small and pointed, backward facing teeth. Not certain what he should do, Corlin nodded as if acknowledging some secret communication. With a single flick of its forked blue tongue, the lizard closed its round mouth, curved its tapered flesh-crested tail and averted its gaze, as the melody continued.

No sound of threat or any kind of warning preceded the instant shattering of the musically induced calm. A screaming rushing roar filled the air above the crowded bailey, seconds before the night erupted in a violent cataclysm of fire and agonised screeching. Rigid with fear and horror, Corlin took a few seconds to realise that it was the lizards that were screeching, not with pain, but with fury. No more than six feet above them a swarm of head-sized fireballs hung, spitting and flaring and filling the air above the bailey with searing heat and lurid orange light. The sight of Karryl pushing his way through a thick squirming sea of angry lizards restored Corlin’s failing courage.

The minstrel yelled above the horrendous din. “Did you do that?”

Arms raised at shoulder level, palms forward, the Mage Prime called back, his voice resonant with the timbre of magical enhancement. “No. Lord Treevers has staged a pre-emptive strike, and judging by its form, he has at least one magician in his employ.”

He turned his hands palms upwards and slowly raised his arms. The hovering layer of fireballs began to swirl, forming a giant spiral which spun higher and higher until it hung above the level of the castle’s massive curtain wall. Just as Corlin thought the fire-wheel could not possibly spin any faster, Karryl brought his palms together above his head in a thunderous clap. At incredible speed the gyrating super-heated wheel straightened out to become a crackling flaming spear streaking out over the battlements and down to the open fields beyond the castle.

Corlin watched in horror, screaming at the top of his voice “No-o-o-o! My brother is out there!”

No-one had chance to consider the consequences, and the Fade-lizards already had a new agenda. The Grollart had dismounted and waded across the bailey to join Karryl in amongst the writhing mass of enraged creatures. Temporarily diverted from his distress, recent experiences told Corlin that an intense mental conversation was in progress between magician, Grollart and the lizards. Together Mage Prime and Grollart eased their way through to one of the two stairways which led up the face of the wall to the wide and recently constructed walkway and ramparts.

With a jerk of his head Karryl invited Corlin to follow as they dashed up to view the effect of the returned fire-balls.

Corlin shook his head and yelled “I’m not good with stairs.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Karryl appeared beside him. The magician said nothing, simply grasped Corlin’s arm. Two seconds later, mage and minstrel were on the wall-walk and looking out over the ramparts. Deep concern and bafflement registering on their respective faces, they arrived just in time to watch the incandescent fire-balls wink out one by one.

The Grollart stomped along the walk-way to Karryl and scowled up into his face. “Now what?”

Corlin was wondering the same thing. In whichever direction he looked, all was now in darkness. It was as if the fire-balls had never been there, and no tell-tale gleam shone from lantern or campfire.

Karryl gazed out into the dark distance. “They
are
there. No doubt the magician with them will have cast a glamour, but it would take very powerful magic to conceal an entire army.” He leaned on the rampart, a knowing smile crossing his lips.

Corlin nodded towards the grim-faced waiting Grollart. “So, like your friend said, ‘what now?’”

The Mage Prime’s smile widened a little. “We exercise a little patience. Those pyrotechnics were just by way of an insult from me to whoever’s down there.” He straightened up and pointed into the distance, a triumphant edge to his voice. “Look! I was right! The glamour is weakening.” He nodded at the Grollart. “Let them go, Ragar.”

The Grollart’s lips twisted in a humourless grin, and he lifted the flute to his mouth. Corlin heard nothing, but as if they had received a command, the Fade-lizards began to move. There was little time to think, and scarcely room in which to avoid being over-run by the flowing tide of glistening silvery-blue bodies as they surged across the bailey and scaled the walls. The sea of lizards seemed endless, pouring through the entrance from the direction of the keep, filling the air with their stink, the strange sticky patter of claw-tipped sucker-toed feet and the impatient and incessant chatter of thousands of flesh-ripping teeth.

Watching the creatures seething shoulder to shoulder and snout to tail over the walk-way and ramparts, and flowing like a living waterfall down the outer walls to the ground below, Corlin gasped “Where are they coming from?”

Ragar pulled him to one side as a huge lizard headed straight for him, blind to everything but its objective. “In the fortress of Throngholme, about a hundred or so of these creatures dwell. That is why no-one will venture there. The rest of them have travelled many miles through the Grollart tunnels to join up with them beneath the castle.”

With the last of the horde on the ramparts, their visibility suddenly sloughed off like a skin, with only the occasional glassy glint or streak of icy blue to act as a hint of their presence to whatever or whomsoever they encountered. Not even their eye-watering stink would betray them. That too had faded. Corlin peered over the wall but could see nothing. His face contorted with distress and fear, he turned, and grasped Ragar by the shoulders.

He began to shake him, his voice rising until it almost reached screaming pitch. “What are they going to do? My brother could be out there! Those lizards are going to kill them all, aren’t they?”

With a grip like a vice, the Grollart held Corlin’s wrists and calmly pulled his hands away. “There will be no killing, unless it is necessary. Your brother will be quite safe. The creatures have a collective mind. They will recognise your kin if he is there.”

Ahead of his small troop of cavalry, Jouan rode across the bailey. After barking a few orders he dismounted, while the troop clattered through the entrance to the keep and out of sight. The earl strode across the yard and bounded up the nearest stairway, taking the narrow stone steps two at time.

He glared at Corlin and Ragar. “Whatever it is with you two, forget it. If the Fade-lizards don’t...”

Whatever he was about to say was lost in the next few moments. Almost as if the gods were unable to contain their curiosity any longer, the dark clouds which blanketed the sky split like a curtain pulled aside. Through the ever widening gap a slim, silvery crescent of moon grudgingly cast its cold white light over the scene beyond the castle walls. Almost a mile away, Lord Treevers’ army milled about, corralled like cattle inside a swiftly circling cordon of semi-visible Fade-lizards, in places five bodies wide. From inside the continually moving barrier, swarms of arrows hissed and hummed into the air, only to clatter harmlessly against the castle walls, or plunge into the dark water of the moat. Screams and yells carried up on the night breeze to the men on the ramparts.

Jouan risked a peek over the battlement then called down to Ragar. “I wonder whether that’s the sound of fear or fury.”

The Grollart’s reply was drowned by the clattering thunder of booted feet echoing round the high walls as the recently arrived troopers, crossbows held at safety, pounded across the bailey and up onto the ramparts. For a few moments all that could be heard was the efficient sound of ratchets winding and the heavy click of bolts being loaded into slides.

Crouched against the rampart just in case one of Treevers’ bowmen should get lucky, Ragar grinned at Jouan who had dropped down beside him. “D’you think they’ll be daft enough to keep it up until they’ve got no arrows left?”

The earl looked over at Corlin, crouched a few feet away but within earshot. He gave the grim-faced minstrel an encouraging grin but said nothing, simply shook his head. Keeping low, and dodging crouching bowmen, he ran along the rampart to where Karryl stood looking out towards Treevers’ encircled army.

Jouan tugged the Mage Prime’s sleeve. “Get down! You’re making yourself a target!”

Karryl gave a wry smile. “Only if I was down by the moat. Those arrows going into the water are real. The ones hitting the walls are simply very clever illusions, probably intended to lower the morale of your men.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe and rocked on his heels. “I’m trying to locate his magician. Whoever he is, his touch is not one with which I’m familiar.”

Jouan stood up and followed Karryl’s gaze. “How can you make anybody out at that distance?”

The magician gave the earl a boyish grin. “I do have certain advantages.”

Jouan looked intrigued. “Can you recognise anybody?”

Karryl nodded. “Lord Treevers is sitting his horse at the rear of his troops, and there’s a tall, rather harassed looking character standing beside him, waving his hands about. I think it’s a fair assumption that he is Treevers’ magician, but it looks as if the presence of the Fade-lizards is affecting him in some way. There’s a lot of hacking and slashing with swords and halberds at the creatures, but it seems to be having no effect. There’s also a justifiably terrified man with a rope around his neck, tethered to Treevers’ saddle; very interesting.”

While the two men were assessing the opposition, Corlin had crept up beside them. They both looked round as he urged “Never mind them! Can you see my brother?”

Karryl reached out, placed one hand on Corlin’s shoulder and pointed into the distance with the other. “I can endow this spell for only a minute or so. Tell me if you see him.”