A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (25 page)

The magician cackled again, but something else was making demands on Corlin’s attention. The lizards were becoming visible of their own accord, as if they had understood. A number of them had climbed up to cling to the walls or upside down on the roof of the corridor, leaving Corlin a clear path to the top of the stairway.

As he headed out into the clear night air, Malchevolus shrieked “They won’t let you back in! Your quest is doomed to failure!”

Corlin hesitated, and then walked on. He would take his chance.

His bladder blissfully empty, and his lungs and mouth clear of the astringent fumes, if only for a while, Corlin steeled himself to re-enter the chamber and attempt to discover where the clock was hidden. He turned around to find that two of the lizards had followed him out and were waiting just beyond the top stair.

A short burst of words was loosed into his mind.
“He must not be freed. To do so would be mistake.”

No longer un-nerved by mind-speech, Corlin clenched his fists in what he immediately realised was a pointless gesture. “I have to. I need him to show me where he has hidden the clock!”

There was a long pause, and Corlin heard a sound like the one he had heard earlier, voices murmuring but not saying words. Then it dawned on him; it was the lizards, and this was their own way of communicating. He was hearing lizard language.

The voice that entered his mind had a different tone to the first, like someone smiling and talking at the same time.
“We know where it is hidden. Do you have the pieces that go with it?”

Corlin also smiled. “I have one of them. The other is in safe keeping, far from here.”

He winced as a noise like a tiny muffled explosion sounded inside his head, then all went quiet. All he could hear was the whistling of the wind through the surrounding mountain peaks. Stepping past the two lizards, he re-entered the corridor. It was only marginally warmer, but it was at least out of the wind. The lizards in the corridor, and in the chamber where Malchevolus was imprisoned, were all still very visible and all facing outwards.

The smiling voice entered his mind again
. “If you will show us the piece you have, we will reveal the hiding place.”

Corlin smelled a double-cross, and ran through in his mind how it would probably work.

The lizard sounded regretful.
“The unaided manipulation of rock is no longer within our power. Such skills as our forebears possessed have died out over many generations. Now we are reduced to no more than excavating, making holes and tunnels in which we can live and breed.”

Corlin was incredulous. “You mean it really
was
the gimalin that was moving the rock around?”

“And us too. The music enables us to work the rock.”

Corlin looked down the corridor, but Malchevolus’s eyes were closed, the mouth no longer twisted but slack and drooling.

The lizard went on.
“The only way we could free him ourselves would be to chew the rock from around him, and that would be pointless. Now, please show us the piece you have brought.”

Knowing that there was little likelihood of him getting any further without actually showing it to them, Corlin retrieved the cloth-wrapped section of clock-frame from his inside pocket.

He pulled the cloth to one side, and held the frame in front of one of the lizards. “How can you tell what this is? You’re blind, aren’t you?”

In answer to his question, both lizards flicked out long narrow blue tongues. With uncanny accuracy they located the frame in Corlin’s hand and ran their tongues over the surface of the metal, sensing its shape and texture.

Apparently satisfied, the tongues were withdrawn into the round, tooth-infested mouths.
“Now we will show you where the object of your quest is hidden.”

In perfect synchrony, every lizard turned to face Malchevolus, who still seemed to be oblivious to what was happening in front of him. The two communicating lizards scurried forward and moved to the rear of the massive chunk of rock in which the ancient magician was embedded. Corlin hurried after them and bent down to peer at the spot indicated by the waving gestures of their blunt snouts. The first lizard that had spoken loosed another burst of words.

It reminded Corlin of a stick being dragged at speed along a picket fence.
“You may have to play so that we can seal him in again. It would seem he has lost his mind.”

Corlin had no intention of falling for that. “Not one note comes from this gimalin until the clock is in my hands.”

This time, the smiling voice spoke.
“And then?”

“Then, we shall see.”

The first lizard sounded positively insulted. With its mouth clamped to a spot a few inches above the floor, it snapped
“As you wish. Shall we proceed?”

Fascinated, Corlin leaned on his staff and watched for a while as the lizards set about their work. The sound of hundreds of teeth scraping and grinding rock put his own teeth on edge, and he was hard pressed not to retch as, at regular intervals, the lizards disgorged grey dollops of slime-slathered mortar-like mud onto the floor around them. He soon discovered however, that the acrid stench rising from their squirming bodies seemed to increase proportionately to the amount of effort they were expending. Eyes watering, and with a really nasty taste in his mouth, he was forced to leave them to it and make his way outside.

He sat just below the top step, pulled his coat closer round him, drew up his knees and rested his chin on his folded arms. The wind had veered, and a warm stream of air from the south shared the sky with a low-riding half moon. Looking out over the lower peaks and crags, a jumbled patchwork of moonlit shapes and shadows, he began to wrestle with a problem that refused to go away. Whichever way he looked at it, there seemed to be no simple answer. Could he live with the knowledge that he had left Malchevolus to a living death? On the other hand, what unimaginable damage would be done by releasing him from his stone prison and letting him loose on the world? The Fade-lizards were right. The ancient magician was undeniably insane, and as such he could be unspeakably dangerous. Even so, no-one deserved to draw their last breath while locked in a massive chunk of rock. To Corlin, a simple unworldly farmer and now travelling minstrel, the problem seemed insurmountable. With his coat collar pulled up round his ears, he began to consider his options.

Harsh dawn light filtered through his closed eyelids. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and made a grab for his staff. Chilled and stiffened joints protested as he struggled to his feet, stretched and stumbled over the step into the corridor. Green light still radiated from the walls, but there was no curve of an invisible body to reflect its glow. The Fade-lizards had gone. Corlin crept towards the granite prison, the thump of his staff on the rock floor sounding far too loud. He squinted into the gloom of the tiny cavern.

The sour burn of bile filled his throat as he stared for a moment in shocked disgust before turning away from the horror that met his eyes. No longer having any power to manipulate rock, the lizards had employed whatever skills and resources still remained to them. The slimy mud they had vomited out whilst chewing rock was now plastered over Malchevolus’s face and protruding hand, and had set solid. The work was rough and brutal. One single great gobbet had been stuffed into the slack and gaping mouth, while a broad uneven swath had been spread, without any attempt at finesse, across his eyes and nostrils. The lizards had suffocated him.

Struggling to keep his emotions in check, Corlin reached out and placed the palm of his trembling hand against the cruel tomb. Not even considering whether or not the ancient magician deserved it, the minstrel sang a hymn to D’ta for the dead. It was only as the last note faded into the shadows that he noticed; on a pile of dry grey rock-dust scattered with chips of diamond, was Malchevolus’s clock. He stared down at it, total despair threatening to sink him to his knees, as anticipation and hope fled hand in hand. Even in the green-hued gloom there was no mistaking what his eyes and brain were struggling to believe. Untarnished by time and its incarceration within the rock, the mechanism, once a unique and consummate example of the clock-maker’s art, now lay in a confusion of dismantled components. Corlin could only wonder who or what was responsible. The lizards had gone, and Malchevolus was dead.

A deep, smooth baritone voice flowed into his mind.
“Now that you have retrieved the clock, we must hurry. I will return you to the valley and your animals, and then my task is done.”

Drained, chilled to the bone and close to tears, Corlin hobbled out into the morning light.

Wings at half spread to capture the morning sun’s meagre warmth, Lamak was perched on a small outcrop just above the angle in the stairway. His fierce, carmine-eyed gaze watched Corlin, shoulders hunched with dejection, make his slow and uneven way down.

The minstrel shielded his eyes with his hand as he peered up at the huge bird. “This hasn’t gone well at all.”

Lamak sat with his head cocked to one side as Corlin leaned on his staff and gave him the bare bones of what had happened. The Lammergeyer looked up in the direction of the Fellgate and appeared to be thinking for a few moments before returning his gaze to Corlin’s begrimed and stubbly face.

He leaned down towards Corlin.
“Has it occurred to you that the power of the clock may have died with its maker?”

Corlin also thought for a moment before glaring up at him. “No, it hadn’t, but it’s a chance I don’t want to take. I shall have to find someone who can put all the bits back together.”

Lamak sounded almost complacent.
“That should not be too difficult, especially if you take it to Vellethen.”

The minstrel gave a wry grimace. “All right, clever bird; perhaps you can tell me how I’m supposed to carry it?
It’s not just the pieces. I’ll have to bring the rock-dust they’re lying in as well, in case some tiny parts have got buried in it.”

A long silence followed, and Corlin rummaged in coat pockets, eventually producing a crumpled package which yielded a small piece of hard cheese and a short length of dried sausage.

He had just finished devouring this bounty when Lamak broke the silence.
“What is that you have on your head?”

In an automatic response Corlin reached up. “It’s a hat, for goodness sake!”

Without saying anything further, Lamak reached down and grasped the brim of the hat in his hooked beak.

He pulled it off Corlin’s head and dangled it in front of his startled face.
“It is now an empty hat. Is it waterproof?”

The minstrel forced a smile as he eased the leather hat from Lamak’s beak. “Yes, it is waterproof, and you really
are
a clever bird.”

With a new fire kindled in his belly, Corlin looked at the hat as if he had never seen it before, grinned and headed back into Fellgate.

He kept his eyes down, focussing his gaze on the pile of diamond sprinkled rock-dust which pillowed the dismantled clock. With his back to the sickening tomb, he set about picking up the dozens of wheels, cogs and pins, and a number of variously sized rectangular plates with grooves and slots. Working as fast as he could, but taking care not to miss anything, he gathered the pieces one by one and dropped them into his hat. As he worked he found it increasingly more difficult to shake off the feeling that he was being watched, and to resist the urge to turn round. Not prepared to risk leaving even the tiniest piece behind, reluctantly he scooped up the heavy rock-dust and poured it into the hat. Using the chin-cord, he pulled the hat together into something resembling a bag, and lifted it off the floor. It was much heavier than he had anticipated, and the weight made his gait even more unbalanced as he hurried out of the Fellgate and down the stairway to where Lamak waited.

Corlin hefted the hat-come-bag. “This is pretty heavy. I dunno how long the hat will hold out.”

The Lammergeyer seemed unconcerned.
“When you are back in the valley, maybe you will think of something more suitable.” He lowered his head and eyed Corlin. “As you are now so laden, I think it would be better if you were to ride on my back. I will carry your staff in my talons.”

Corlin agreed that it would definitely be preferable, and minutes later they were soaring away from Fellgate, over the lesser peaks and crags, and down towards the valley. During the flight, Corlin had time to think, mainly because he had his eyes closed tight, and by the time they arrived beside the stream, a plan had formed in his mind. Megan trotted up to him, tossing her head in greeting, Luma bounding along beside her. The minstrel made a fuss of them both with equal enthusiasm, before unfastening one of the saddlebags.

He called across to Lamak who was quenching his thirst at the stream. “I’m going to empty the hat into another bag. There’s one here somewhere.”

Lamak’s reply held a note of warning.
“Do it very carefully. The loss of just one tiny piece may have dire consequences.”

Corlin chuckled. “Don’t worry; you’re going to help me.”

He rummaged around until he found the tough linen bag which had once held walnuts. The remaining silver coins it now contained he slipped into an inside pocket.

Obviously feeling that his dignity was being jeopardised, Lamak grasped the top of the bag in his beak while Corlin held the neck wide open. With his wings outspread to act as a windbreak, the Lammergeyer kept up a continuous stream of un-necessary advice as the precious contents of the hat were being transferred. When Corlin was sure that every speck of dust was safe, he wound a length of twine round the neck of the bag and tied it tight. With a remarkable turn of speed which belied his size, Lamak snatched the bag from Corlin’s hand, transferred it into the vice-like grip of his talons and powered into the air.

Corlin was furious. He shook his fists at the rapidly departing bird “What d’you think you’re doing? Where are you going?”

The reply was a cryptic
“Wait here. Everything will turn out satisfactorily.”

He watched the great bird until he was no more than a speck beyond the Grollarts’ mountain. Fully aware that it was unsuitable behaviour for a grown man, nevertheless he stomped off to the cave to sulk, because right now that was just the way he felt.

A couple of hours later, his stomach full of spit-roasted Jack-rabbit thanks to Luma’s hunting skills, Corlin was just falling into a pleasant doze by his campfire, when the sound of voices drifted in. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed his staff and looked out of the cave-mouth into the rose and gold glow of a glorious sunset. Two familiar robed figures raised their hands in greeting as they hurried towards him.

Corlin relaxed and smiled a welcome as Bardeen called out “Lamak showed us where to find you.”

Karryl added “How quickly can you be ready to move?”

As the younger magician stepped into the cave, Bardeen turned aside and grasped Megan’s reins. Caught a little off guard, Corlin stared at the dying fire as he collected his thoughts.

He gestured towards the darkening valley. “Luma’s out there somewhere. I just have to call him in, douse the fire, and then I’ll be ready.” He frowned at Karryl. “Where are we going?”

The magician smiled as he gazed at the fire and watched its glow dwindle to a pile of grey ash. “That is up to you. Jacca, whoever he may be, seems to have disappeared.”

Corlin interrupted. “You know he’s not who we thought he was?”

Karryl frowned and nodded. “Yes. Lamak gave us all the salient details. It’s quite possible that Jacca is waiting for you to return with the clock...” He raised a hand to forestall Corlin’s question. “...which is quite safe, and will soon be worked on in a place Jacca will never find it.”

The minstrel made his way to the mouth of the cave and gave a long piercing double whistle, his brow furrowing as he waited for Luma to come bounding in.

He turned to Karryl. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

The magician checked options on his fingers. “One; you can return to Vellethen with us, and wait until the clock is reassembled. Two; return to Duke Alexander at Castle Tallard where hopefully they will have located the other half of the clock-frame; or, three, you can return to the Grollarts, gather up your friend Otty and wait for us here. You will be quite safe.”

The enthusiastic arrival of Luma gave Corlin chance to delay his decision, and he made a great fuss of the dog while he mulled the options over in his mind. He knew he had had enough of caves and rocks and mountains to last him a life-time, and the more he thought about it, the more the idea of good food and a comfortable bed appealed.

He looked up at Karryl and then across at Bardeen who was waiting by the cave’s entrance. “I think I’ll go back to Castle Tallard, but...” he frowned as something occurred to him “...what about Otty? How much longer will he be shut away with the Grollarts if I do?”

Bardeen chuckled. “Don’t worry about Otty. Master Karryl will translocate you most of the way to Tallard, and I will contact Crang, arrange to collect Otty and take him to Vellethen. He will be out of harm’s way there, as we’re not certain whether the enchantment still binds him.”

Karryl stepped outside and looked back at Corlin. “If it does, then we shall have enough time, I think, to locate the seat of the enchantment and discover its purpose. So, are you ready?”

The minstrel nodded, took Megan’s reins from Bardeen and clambered into the saddle. He looked down at Bardeen. “Jacca told Otty that he’d removed the enchantment, and considering the circumstances, he could have done.”

Bardeen looked intrigued. “What circumstances were those?”

As succinctly as he could, Corlin told the two magicians about his finding Otty imprisoned in the cottage, and also the little he knew about the events leading up to it.

Karryl shook his head in despair. “Jacca certainly is someone evil, and I doubt he would have taken the trouble to remove an enchantment if his only intention was to leave Otty to die. There would be no point, but we shall see.”

He turned to Bardeen and nodded. “I’ll meet you in Vellethen.”

The older magician raised his hand in acknowledgement and looked up at Corlin. “Take care, Master Bentfoot. We’ll meet again, no doubt.”

His outline shimmered and with a soft ‘puh’ of displaced air, and a swirl of blue and silver motes, he vanished.

Corlin grinned down at Karryl. “Is that what we’ll look like in a minute?”

The magician stooped down and lifted a rather surprised Luma onto the front of Corlin’s saddle. “Most likely.” He placed the palm of his hand flat against Megan’s neck. “Shall we go?”