A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (11 page)

They had been walking for about half an hour. Corlin was feeling more like a mole every minute, but he took some comfort from the even surface of the tunnel floor which made walking easier for him. Otty had reason to be less appreciative. There was one major drawback to walking single file behind a horse in a narrow tunnel, and Otty stepped in it. To his credit and Corlin’s relief, after the first long and heartfelt curse which easily matched the dropping for ripeness, Otty didn’t complain.

He said very little until Corlin announced “I can see light.”

His companion’s reply was simply “Thank the gods for that!”

The minstrel’s tone was cautious as he brought Megan to a halt and murmured over his shoulder “I wouldn’t be too hasty doing that. The light’s coming towards us.”

Otty stepped forward to peer round Corlin’s shoulder. “I suppose you’ve noticed that there’s no-one carrying that light?”

The two men watched the glowing ball, about the size of a child’s fist, float in front of them at shoulder height. Casting very little shadow, its soft pale yellow light showed them the floor and grey rough-hewn tunnel walls for about three paces ahead. There was nothing else to see. The light floated a short distance away, bobbed a little, then floated back towards them.

Corlin whispered “I think it wants us to follow it.”

Otty sighed. “Well, I suppose it would be preferable to standing here watching it until it has a hissy fit.” He gave Corlin a nudge. “Go on; lead on.”

They had moved forward no more than a couple of paces when a short shrill whistle sounded, the noise seeming to come from all around them. More lights appeared, floating close to the tunnel’s roof, and the two men found themselves surrounded. Their arms were gripped firmly in strong hard hands as their horses were led off down the tunnel. Too surprised and amazed to struggle or even protest, they let themselves be propelled after their horses, hardly able to look where they were going, so fascinated were they by the appearance of their captors.

Stocky, swarthy and padding along on bare feet, the dozen or so well-muscled men were like nothing that either of them had seen before. Dressed in animal skin jerkins, home-spun woollen shirts and calf-length soft leather trousers, their long dark hair worn in a single braid, not one of them was over four feet tall. As they pushed and pulled the two men along the tunnel, every so often one of their captors would look up, revealing a high forehead and intelligent bright blue eyes. They didn’t speak to Corlin or Otty, just exchanged the occasional hoarse-voiced comment among themselves in a language which sounded somehow familiar to Corlin, but which he couldn’t quite place.

The initial fears aroused by their swift and sudden capture had abated considerably and Corlin was beginning to grudgingly accept the situation in which he found himself. His estimations of these short strong men also went up a notch or two when one of them said a few sharp words to the others and pointed at Corlin’s left foot. They all stopped, let go of his arms and took it in turns to look at the minstrel’s twisted foot in its curiously crafted boot. After a brief conversation they all changed places, most of them now on Corlin’s left side, but still keeping very close to him. He turned slightly and looked behind him. A few paces back, Otty’s captors had also freed his arms and were waiting patiently for things to get moving again.

Aware that he might be taking a risk, Corlin raised an eyebrow and gestured at Otty with a nod of his head. “Are you all right?”

The stocky man grinned and nodded as he rubbed an arm. “I thought Grollarts were just a folk-tale.”

One of the short men poked him in the thigh and growled something. Otty’s indignant “Ow!” rang down the tunnel as Corlin found himself being shoved forward again, this time allowed to walk unhindered. A few paces further on the two men were pushed together and, surrounded by their captors, they stood facing a blank wall. To Corlin’s eyes it appeared to be melting, the rock’s dark face swirling and cascading towards the floor. The short passageway they were prodded along opened out into a large circular cavern, barely high enough for Corlin to stand up straight, although Otty had no such problem. In the centre of the cavern, a heavy and ornately carved dark wood chair stood raised on a low plinth. One of Corlin’s captors ran forward, bowed to the character seated on the chair, leaned and murmured in his ear, before standing to one side of what was obviously some kind of throne.

There was also no doubt that the one seated on it was the leader or chieftain. Presence flowed from him like a magical vapour. A thick drooping moustache vied for territory with long bushy side-whiskers adorning a weathered face. An appreciable number of small furry animals had given their short lives to become part of the cloak, decorated with discs of what looked suspiciously like gold, which hung from his shoulders to his knees, and unlike his troops, their chief was wearing sturdy calf-length boots.

Deep blue eyes shone with suppressed humour. “So, what do you think of us, Master Bentfoot?”

Unlike the voices of his troops, the chief’s was deep and mellow, and he spoke Corlin’s tongue without any trace of accent. Not having the benefit of anything to sit or lean on, Corlin shifted his weight to his good leg and returned the gaze, but without the humour. The minstrel had already determined that these, whatever they were, would not get anything out of him until he had been given a plausible explanation.

His mouth twisted in a derisive grimace. “If I told you that, you might not like it. Tell us who you are and what you want with us and I might revise my opinion.”

The expression in the other’s eyes hardened a little. Without taking his eyes off Corlin’s face, the chieftain beckoned to someone far over to his left. A brief shuffling scraping sound preceded the arrival of one of the small men carrying a four-legged stool crudely carved from a piece of tree-trunk.

This was placed beside Corlin and the chief gestured towards it. “Rest yourself, Master Bentfoot.”

Corlin jerked a thumb at Otty standing quietly beside him. “What about Otty. Doesn’t he deserve a seat too?”

The chief rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, folded his hands and leaned forward. “Your companion was not invited. I would be interested to know how he came to be here. But first, you would know who we are. As your friend correctly guessed, we are indeed what you call Grollarts, and I am Browd, their chieftain. This place is merely a temporary refuge which we use only when the need arises. Now the need has arisen for the first time in many generations, and we would know the reason why there are two of you.”

Otty broke his silence. “All in good time. To be quite honest, my patience is wearing a bit thin. Tell us why we’ve been dragged in here, and then I’ll tell you as much as I’ve been told myself, which isn’t a lot.” He turned to Corlin. “Go on. Sit yourself down. I’ll stay on my feet. I might get a sudden urge to move quickly.”

The chief leaned back in his chair, the humour returning to his eyes as he regarded the two men. “That will not be necessary Master Otty. Your friend is here because he is meant to be. Without our intervention he would find the continuance of his quest exceedingly difficult, if not impossible.”

Perched on the crude stool, Corlin thought for a moment. “So, you called the horses?”

Browd smiled. “We had to.” He gave Otty an indulgent nod. “Even with ‘horse sense’ your animals wouldn’t have found the rock face unaided. They would have gone wherever you led them.”

Corlin scratched at his itchy three-day old stubble, secretly a little envious of Browd’s impressive facial adornments. “Fine; but why
are
we here?”

The Grollart chieftain leaned forward and poked a finger towards Corlin for emphasis. “
You
are here because you have something for us. Without it we cannot give you the means to continue in safety.”

The two men exchanged knowing glances and Otty gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Corlin picked it up but wondered if Browd had. If his troops had untied the bundles behind Megan’s saddle, then the Grollart chieftain already knew exactly what Corlin carried.

He said as much to Browd, who smiled and shook his head. “We are already aware of your quest, but the thing you seek, of which you have already recovered part, is of no interest to us. We are charged with sending you as far as we can with our protection, but your quest will surely fail unless you trade something that you have for an item which is in our possession.”

Corlin was beginning to feel a little exasperated. “But you know what we have, which is very little apart from my gimalin and that other thing. Neither of us has much in the way of food or money.”

Browd made a dismissive gesture. “What you do have is a problem in the shape of your companion.” He turned a stern gaze on Otty. “So, what ulterior motive would Master Grumas have for sending you along, eh?”

Corlin stared at Otty. “Grumas
sent
you? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you’d just happened to meet him on the road!”

The stunned silence which followed was broken by Browd. “Friend Otty didn’t know he had been sent, did you?”

Otty shook his head and looked thoroughly confused. “Who’s this Grumas? I’ve never heard of him.”

Corlin cocked his head, a half smile on his mouth as he looked up at Otty. “Remember the old man with the straggly beard? That was Grumas, Duke Tregwald’s magician.”

Otty’s shoulders drooped. “Oh! Terrific! He just said that I wasn’t needed to help da with the sheep, all bossy like, and that I wasn’t to let Corlin out of my sight.”

The Grollart chieftain sighed and looked from one to the other as if they’d been caught scrumping apples. “Have you told your friend nothing, Master Bentfoot?”

It was Corlin’s turn to shrug. “Only about the reason for my quest. I thought he’d just come along for a bit of adventuring. We only met a few days ago.”

Browd’s eyebrows met in a deep frown. “Grumas is well known to us, and has been for many centuries. It seems to me as though he has placed Otty under some kind of compulsion spell which I suspect has a far more sinister purpose than simply to be your protector and companion.”

Otty’s eyes widened with alarm. “I’m under a spell? How do I get it undone?”

The Grollart chieftain shook his head. “Such a thing is currently beyond our powers; but I don’t think its purpose will be activated until Master Bentfoot nears the end of his quest.” He paused and gave Corlin a meaningful look. “And that will not be achieved until certain items are exchanged.”

The minstrel sprang to his feet and glared at Browd. “I’ve already told you. We have nothing that you don’t already know about, and you said you weren’t interested in any of it.”

Browd leaned back in his chair and gestured to Corlin to sit down. “Now, think Master Bentfoot. Have you been given anything since you first set out on your quest?”

Corlin looked at the chieftain as if he thought it was a silly question. “Of course I have. An old man who sounded as if he was from the Highlands gave me the gimalin, I’ve been given money for playing it, and food for my journey. Oh, and Willem at the inn in Tregwald gave me a knife. That’s all.”

Otty gave the minstrel’s shoulder a prod. “What about the nuts in the forest? I’ve got a few left.”

As if something had suddenly occurred to him, Corlin’s face brightened and he grinned up at Otty. “That’s it!”

His friend looked baffled. “Nuts?”

The minstrel chuckled and reached inside his tunic to the concealed pocket. He fished about and brought out a few coppers, a couple of neatly wound gimalin strings, a spare bootlace and the white pebble which the giant ant Frix had dropped into his palm just before he died.

He looked up at Browd and nodded. The chieftain held out his hand and Corlin dropped the pebble into it. The thick moustache wrapped itself round a smile of grim satisfaction as the Grollart chief stood up. He beckoned to the two men. “Follow me.”

They emerged from the tunnel into a wide sheltered clearing and bright mid-afternoon sunshine. A few paces away their horses, which had been grazing lush spring grass, looked up and tossed their heads in welcome.

Corlin turned and raised an eyebrow in query at Browd. “Where are we? This isn’t where we came in, is it?”

The Grollart chieftain shook his head. “No. You are now at the edge of the Dreaming Wood, to the south of Dunmoor.

Otty frowned, a glint of suspicion in his grey eyes as he looked around him. “That’s not possible. We’ve never walked that far!”

Browd gave the doubter an indulgent smile. “Indeed not. There is no road from Dunmoor to here, as much superstition surrounds the Dreaming Wood. Had you gone alone through the tunnel you would have been walking forever, but the Grollarts possess certain skills which we used to help you on your way.”

As the two men tried to get their minds round that, he pointed towards the far side of the clearing. “Just beyond there you will find a path. Stay on it and you will come to a road which leads eventually to the coast road. Follow it to your right until you come to the river. Go over the crossing then bear west. That coast road will take you to the city of Tallard.”

His interest now focussed on checking Egg’s hooves, Otty’s voice was muffled by his jerkin. “How far is that, ‘cos we haven’t got much in the way of food.”

He had hardly finished speaking when a couple of Grollarts carrying a pair of saddlebags between them emerged from the entrance. Their short stature belied their strength as they strode across the clearing and placed their burden on the ground at Otty’s feet.

Browd gestured towards it. “That should keep you both well supplied. Now Master Otty, I would have a quiet word with Master Bentfoot regarding his quest.”

Giving Otty no chance to reply, the Grollart chieftain took Corlin to one side. Turning to face the tunnel entrance, he kept his voice low as he pressed something into the minstrel’s hand. “Keep this safe. A time will come when you will need it. If you lose it, your quest will lead you into great danger, and may even fail. From here on your success will depend on your own decisions and resourcefulness. 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.”

Corlin looked at the object which Browd had given him. It seemed to be a coin, a little larger than a penny, but twice as thick and crafted from two differently coloured metals. Both sides bore unfamiliar symbols picked out in silver against the gold-coloured metal.

The minstrel turned it over a couple of times before slipping it into his inside pocket. “Is this what I gave you the white pebble for? That doesn’t seem a fair exchange.”

Browd’s moustache made a comical curve over his wide grin. “I guessed you didn’t know what you had. Who gave it to you?”

A soft sadness drifted into Corlin’s eyes. “A giant ant named Frix dropped it into my hand seconds before he died.”

The Grollart chief briefly gripped Corlin’s shoulder. “Frix and his colony have been our allies for generations. It grieves me to hear of his death.” He hung his head for a moment as if in remembrance. When he spoke again his voice was barely more than a whisper. “The white pebble he gave you is a raw diamond. A very fair exchange, don’t you think? Now, look, Otty is mounted and ready for the off.” He raised his hand and called out “Fare well, and we wish you success.”

Before Corlin could reply, Browd had vanished and the lichen-blotched grey rock face bore no sign of the tunnel entrance. His mind a jumble of unconnected thoughts, Corlin said nothing as he mounted. Steering Megan to the far side of the clearing he began searching for the path. Otty saw it first and wordlessly pointed to a narrow, barely visible line wandering through clumps of winter-brown bracken, stands of dogwood and grey head-high banks of last summer’s hogweed.

The horses pushed their way through, and they had ridden about a mile before Otty spoke, his tone sullenly suspicious. “Where d’you reckon they got all this food from? There’s enough in these bags to keep us going for a week!”

Corlin eased Megan closer, secretly enjoying his companion’s inability or refusal, he wasn’t sure which, to accept anything out of the ordinary. “Well, they knew we were coming, so they probably had it brought in from somewhere.” He smiled to himself as he decided to wind Otty up a bit. “Of course, it might all be magical, conjured out of the air. Who knows what we’ll find when we stop to eat.”

Otty’s snort of mild disgust only served to widen Corlin’s smile. The stocky man twisted round in his saddle, caught the minstrel’s teasing grin and snorted again. “So, are we done with all that blasted magic now?”

Corlin chuckled. “I should think so; for a while at least. Hopefully, things should be pretty uneventful until we reach Tallard.”

The scrub began to thin out and soon the two travellers were sitting their mounts and gazing with some trepidation at a vast treeless prairie, its extremity lost on a hazy horizon. There was no sign of a road, or even that there had ever been one.

Otty’s face was thunderous. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that bloody Grollart! Now what? And why are we going to this Tallard place anyway?”

The minstrel nodded towards their left where the setting sun was draping the sky with banners of crimson, orange and yellow. “We go that way. Browd said we have to go west after we cross the river, so we might as well head that way now and hope we hit the coast road. As for why we’re going to Tallard, I’ve no idea at the moment.”

His companion appeared to be not listening, as he squinted into the distance across to his right. He pointed. “What’s that?”

Corlin shielded his eyes with his hand and looked in the direction Otty was pointing. After a moment or two he grinned. “That, my friend, is a head with a hat on it, and it appears to be miraculously sliding across the ground.” He kneed Megan forward. “Shall we investigate?”

Side by side they trotted towards the head in the hat, which continued to glide steadily across the grassland. After a few minutes Corlin reined in, signalling to Otty to do the same. “I do believe there are a body and a horse below that hat.”

Otty pursed his lips. “Mmm. So there’s a good chance there’s a road under the horse.”

Satisfaction and relief bloomed together on Corlin’s face. “Good. Let’s walk quietly down and stay behind that lone traveller. We’re downwind, so he probably won’t even hear us.”

Otty shook his head and pointed west. “Better if we cut across there and get ahead of him. It’ll be dark soon and I don’t fancy meeting him in the middle of the road.”

The minstrel gave him a sidelong glance. “Or we could go down and join him; safety in numbers and all that.”

In silent agreement they set off at an angle which would bring them onto the road just ahead of the rider. By the time they had reached the top of the low bank which bordered the road and had until now concealed its existence, the rider had seen them. He reined in and drew a very large sword from a scabbard at the side of his saddle.

Corlin held his arms out wide showing his empty hands. “Well met, friend. I am Corlin, a minstrel. This unhappy fellow with me is Otty.”

The sword remained very visible. “Then ride ahead minstrel, and take your friend with you. I neither want nor need company.”

Concealed by the shadow cast by the broad brim of his hat with its band of coloured plaited leather, the rider’s face was unreadable, but Corlin sensed that there was something familiar about him. Raising a hand in acknowledgment and a barely felt respect for the lone traveller, Corlin jerked his head at Otty and they cantered along the top of the roadside bank. About a mile further on it eased to a shallow slope and the two men steered their mounts onto the road. They turned and looked back but the lone horseman was not in sight.

Otty peered ahead into the twilight. “We could do with one of those floating Grollart lights. Suppose we miss the coast road in the dark. We could end up anywhere.”

Corlin chuckled as he urged Megan forward. “I’ll wager that the coast road will be hard to miss, even in the dark.”

An hour later their fears were allayed by the rising of a near full moon into a cloudless star-strewn sky. The road led gradually downwards through small stands of woodland and past sleeping farmsteads. Corlin reckoned it was about midnight when they finally connected with the coast road. In contrast to the stony rutted track they had been following, this road was obviously well used. Wide, and packed hard by the regular passage of carts and wagons heading to and from the coastal cities, it promised the two men a comfortable and easy ride through the miles of open grassland which lay before them. They sat their mounts and studied the road as they munched on savoury pies from the bags that Browd had provided.

Otty spoke round a mouthful of pastry. “Which way did Browd say to go?”

Corlin pointed to the right as he took another bite of his pie. Their hunger satisfied they turned onto the coast road, their long dark shadows preceding them and slowly shortening as the moon rode its own predictable path above their heads. They dozed in the saddle, oblivious to the passage of time and the moon’s scarred face as it sank out of sight. Corlin was first to wake, just as a narrow sliver of dawn light brightened the horizon behind them. He stretched, yawned, rubbed his eyes and looked around.

Then he really woke up. “Whoa!”

His horrified yell brought Otty instantly awake. Reining in hard, the two men stared. To their left, and barely two paces away from where they stood, for yards in each direction it looked as if a some gigantic creature had taken a huge bite out of the ground. Corlin stood up in his stirrups and craned his neck to peer nervously over the crumbling edge. Fifty feet below, and only yards from the bank of a broad, fast-flowing river, the rock and soil that had once formed the bulwark of the road, now lay in a messy scattered jumble. An unpleasant feeling of dizziness and nausea prompted Corlin to sit back in the saddle and ease Megan to a safe distance on the far side of the road.

Otty didn’t even bother to look down at the scene below. He grimaced at Corlin’s white face. “Shall we move on?”

For a few minutes the two men rode in silence, beginning to relax as the road gradually veered away to skirt a massive rocky outcrop before continuing straight and uninteresting, a hundred yards from the cliff edge. As they rode, the wind’s direction changed and they could now clearly hear the river’s roar as it rushed westwards towards the sea.

Riding just ahead, Otty turned in his saddle and called back to Corlin. “How far d’you reckon it is to the river bridge?”

The minstrel pointed to his left. “It looks as if the ground slopes downwards just past that stand of trees, so we should be on it shortly. When we get to the trees let’s stop and stretch our legs, give the horses a rest and have some breakfast.”

Otty raised a thumb in agreement and, urging Egg into a trot, headed for the trees about a quarter mile ahead. Sensing a break and a chance to graze, Megan needed no coaxing from Corlin as she pricked her ears and eagerly followed.