A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (27 page)

Corlin stood for a while with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, staring at the keep’s heavy, closed and barred gate. As he wondered what to do for the best, it began to rain. Soon he would have damp clothes to go with his dampened spirits. Realising he had left his staff leaning on the wall of the troops’ common room, he was just wondering whether he could sneak in and fetch it, when the door swung open and Duke Alexander hurried out. His limping gait exaggerated by his haste, he made a dismissive gesture to the housecarls, and without speaking to or even acknowledging Corlin, clicked and clattered his way across the wet stones of the keep, and into the South tower.

With little to do and nothing definite planned for the immediate future, Corlin was about to head for the common room and retrieve his staff when his full attention was grabbed and held fast. In front of the closed and barred West Gate of the castle a shimmering blue shape resolved itself into the very solid form of the magician Cadomar. Almost before the two sentries could take a step forward, with a brief gesture he had locked each man in a moment of time. Slowly raising both hands palm upwards, the magician lifted the massive wooden restraining beam out of its brackets, moved it aside and lowered it to the ground.

Alexander’s housecarls were halfway across the keep as the magician stepped back, watching intently as the wide double gates swung open considerably faster than normal. Another wave of his hand brought the housecarls to a slow walk, six pairs of eyes narrowed with suspicion as Karryl led a horse and its rider through the gates and into the keep. Restored by a flick of Cadomar’s hand to normal time, the sentries closed and barred the gate, although Corlin could see that they were having trouble coming to grips with what had just happened. As Karryl moved towards him across the keep, the minstrel hunched his shoulders and gritted his teeth. It was raining steadily, he was cold and wet, and the last person he wanted to see was Jacca, even if he was, as he seemed to be, simply a breathing statue.

Sparing the magicians and their captive no more than a glance, Corlin slipped behind the watchful housecarls and across the keep towards the common room. About to turn the latch-ring, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Cadomar’s voice murmured in his ear. “Do you not wish to hear what Jacca may have to tell us?”

Corlin turned, aggrieved resignation etched on his face. “Honestly, Cadomar, I’ve had enough of Jacca. Right now I wouldn’t care if he knew where to find the Golden Tree.”

The magician chuckled. “If there truly is such a marvel as the Golden Tree and he does know, he may well tell us shortly, along with various other gems of information, including possibly, how to remove the warding which has so far prevented us from retrieving the other half of the clock’s frame.”

Corlin gave a derisive grunt. “Huh. Well, I’m going in here to get my staff, and have a chat with Artheg. Let me know if Jacca tells you anything useful.”

Cadomar frowned. “Artheg? Who is he?”

Corlin’s expression turned grim. “He’s a soldier, turned messenger; struggled in from Tregwald less than an hour ago. Duke Alexander sent me out of the common-room before I could find out anything, but he’s just gone haring back to his rooms, so I reckon something’s afoot.”

The magician’s expression mirrored the minstrel’s. Without making any further comment he almost ran across the keep towards the North tower, where Karryl had tethered Jacca’s horse and was dragging the helpless man out of the saddle. The door to the tower opened like a dark hungry mouth, and with Jacca suspended between them, the two magicians hurried inside. As Corlin watched, the door swung shut and seconds later a light appeared in a tiny ground floor window. Putting the whole tedious mob of magicians from his mind, he waited until the housecarls had returned to their quarters in the West tower, before slipping into the troops’ common room, intending to find out what he could from Artheg. To Corlin’s mind it was a simple, uncomplicated plan, but even that was destined to be thwarted. He had just seated himself on the wooden bench beside Artheg and reminded the trooper where they had met, when the door flew open.

His bland expression revealing nothing, Kethyn the manservant glanced round the room, caught sight of Corlin and called across to him. “Duke Alexander requests that you join him in his sitting room, Master Bentfoot.”

Corlin sighed inwardly. Rolling his eyes, he gave Artheg a companionable thump on the shoulder, limped across the room, gathered up his staff and followed Kethyn across the rain-drenched keep and into the South tower. He was not happy. The arrival of Artheg, added to the activities of Cadomar and Karryl, did not bode well. For the duke to summon him, regardless of how politely, could only mean more delays and setbacks.

Alexander was standing, arms folded, looking out of the window into the darkness. He continued to do so as Corlin entered the room and quietly side-stepped towards the blazing log fire. He felt sure he would soon start to steam, but he felt equally sure that that would be the least of his worries.

The duke spoke without turning, the stress of the current situation making his accent more pronounced. “I have grave news for you, Corlin Bentfoot, and before you say anything, or come to any decision, I would ask that you hear me out.” He turned and fixed a determined gaze on the minstrel. “Do you agree?”

Finding the heat from the fire was getting a bit too much, Corlin moved away a pace, and leaned on his staff. He nodded his agreement, adding “Only if I can ask questions afterwards.”

Duke Alexander glared at him. “When I have finished, hopefully you will have no need to. All will be made clear. Do you understand?”

Knowing that the success of his quest now hung on remaining in the duke’s good books, Corlin suppressed the urge to return the glare. Instead, he played his humility card.

He lowered his gaze and nodded again. “Yes sire, I understand.”

Seeming satisfied with that, Alexander indicated that Corlin should come and stand beside him. The minstrel peered out into the darkness, but could see only his own reflection, distorted by rivulets of rain trickling down the glass. He waited for the duke to speak.

The next thing Alexander said shook Corlin to his very bones. “Your brother Clies is no longer Lord Treevers’ slave, at least not in the way you understand it. He has been forced to serve in Treevers’ army, under pain of death. That same army is being mustered to march on Castle Tregwald.” Corlin opened his mouth to speak but Alexander held up a hand. “This may not be as dire a situation as first appears. Artheg tells me that you are acquainted with the new Duke Tregwald, a nephew it seems, of the old Duke Ergwyn.”

Corlin frowned for a moment before realising that Alexander was waiting for him to say something. “I didn’t know he
had
a nephew. The only people I met there, apart from the old duke, were his magician Grumas, and a trooper named Jouan.”

The Duke of Tallard gave an emphatic nod. “And that trooper is now, according to Artheg, the new Duke Tregwald.” He held up his hand again as Corlin’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “From what I have read in the letter which he sent with Artheg, Earl Jouan seems to have a very firm grip on what could have been a difficult situation.”

Corlin interrupted. “But the place was a wreck! Not only that, the old duke said he had no money and the few folks that chose to remain at the castle were living almost hand to mouth.”

Alexander gave a derisory chuckle. “Since he assumed the title, Duke Jouan has apparently transformed the place, according to Artheg. It turns out that the old duke was a lazy skinflint. Not only that, his near obsession with the curse of the clock and the power of the gimalin had turned his mind.”

Corlin grunted. “It went completely when I played the gimalin. He taunted me with the name of the clock’s maker, and Grumas had to get me and Jouan out of there a bit sharpish.” He frowned at the Duke. “Anyway, what’s that got to do with my brother?”

Alexander gave him a long look. “I was coming to that. Many of the tenants of my lands and holdings are also trained soldiers. Messengers have already been sent out to call them to arms, and we shall march to Tregwald and join with Duke Jouan in defence of his castle and lands. I want you to be part of that army in the hope that you can locate your brother and bring him out without having to resort to waking the curse of the clock.”

Corlin shook his head. “It’s not a curse sire.”

The duke’s chin jutted with indignation. “What are you saying, that it’s not a curse? It has
always
been understood to be a curse!”

Corlin shook his head again. “There’s something written on the first part of the frame, something like ‘whoever fulfils me will also be complete’. It doesn’t sound like a curse to me.”

From a shadowed corner at the far side of the room, Cadomar’s voice agreed. “Indeed it is not.”

In a moment of irritation, Duke Alexander struck the floor with the tip of his cane. “Blast it, Cadomar! Why can’t you come in through the door like everyone else?”

Seemingly unperturbed, the magician stepped forward into the light. “That would have taken too long sire. There have been some developments. Jacca is singing like a blackbird, but refuses to divulge the means to remove the warding until he has seen the rest of the clock.”

Corlin turned, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “He’s going to have to wait a while then, because the innards are being worked on in some secret place, and the other piece of the frame is still in my saddlebags.”

Duke Alexander leaned forward, his hands folded over the head of his cane, his expression dark. “Get as much as you can out of him, then keep him locked up on short rations. Master Bentfoot rides with my army shortly, in an endeavour to free his brother without resort to the clock. It is my belief that once that contraption is assembled it will prove nothing but trouble.”

Corlin scowled as he looked first at Cadomar and then at the duke. “Excuse me, but aren’t we losing sight of something here?”

The duke cocked his head to one side, regarding Corlin as if the minstrel was an idiot. “And what would that be?”

Corlin tapped one forefinger against the other for emphasis. “Lord Treevers wants that clock. When he’s got it, he’ll more than likely have everything he wants because of it, and then he’ll free my brother Clies.”

Duke Alexander’s face turned thunderous. “Of course he’ll have everything, including the power to over-run Castle Tregwald! You’re not thinking! From now until my army is ready to move, you are confined to troops’ quarters, and don’t think that because you are a civilian you do not have to obey. I have tried to be reasonable and have already said that your brother can probably be freed without handing over the clock.”

Corlin opened his mouth to protest but the duke held up a restraining hand. “Enough on this matter! For now the clock is of no further concern. You are dismissed, both of you!”

Before Corlin could say anything, Cadomar had grasped his arm, and the two men were standing on the far side of the keep, under the shadow of the East wall.

The minstrel was shaking with fury. “Another second and I would’ve hit him!”

Cadomar kept his voice low as he gripped Corlin’s shoulder. “I know, but it would only have made things far worse. Now, listen carefully. The clock is assembled, and can be brought here fairly quickly. Can you sneak into the stables and retrieve the first part of the frame and bring it to the gaol-house?”

Corlin grinned and nodded. “No problem.” He turned and thrust his staff into Cadomar’s hand. “This’ll get in the way. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Ducking low and using the shadows for cover, Corlin moved one slow uneven step at a time, until he was in the warm safety of Megan’s stall. His saddle and saddlebags were draped over a wooden saddle-stand just to the rear. He held his hand briefly over Megan’s nose to prevent her from giving him her usual whicker of greeting, before stepping across to the saddlebags, and unfastening and lifting the flap of the left-hand one. After rummaging inside for a minute or two, he frowned, thinking he had made a mistake, and opened the right-hand bag. A rummage inside that one produced the same result. The first part of the frame, and the cloth in which it had been wrapped, were gone. His heart raced as he searched both bags again. Everything else was still there. Only the vital piece of the clock-frame was missing.

Corlin tapped on the gaol-house window, slipping quickly inside as Cadomar opened the door. His jaw dropped as he looked across the small stone-walled room and saw the man seated hunched over at the rough wooden table.

The minstrel hissed in Cadomar’s ear. “The bloody thing’s been stolen out of my saddlebag; and where did
he
come from?” He glanced round the room. “And where’s Karryl?”

Cadomar shook his head but said nothing. The man seated at the table was the last person Corlin had expected to see. Not the upright and arrogant figure of a neatly bearded man with a braided leather hatband, but an old shrunken figure in shabby robes, his lined and weathered face half-hidden behind a dirty-white and straggly beard.

Grey eyes shone briefly as Grumas looked up. “Well met again, Master Bentfoot.”

The atmosphere could have been served in slices. Things began to fall into place in Corlin’s mind so fast he wouldn’t have been surprised if they rattled. He pulled a wooden stool from against the wall and sat down opposite Grumas.

With his chin resting on the backs of his folded hands, the minstrel looked the old magician in the eye. “Why did you try to kill me?”

Grumas’ anguish was evident as he rubbed gnarled hands over his care-worn face. “I didn’t. The bolt was simply meant to unhorse you so that I could take the clock. The fact that you hadn’t got it, and that you had the Mage Prime for company, didn’t figure in my plan.”

Corlin’s lip curled with contempt. “It was you all along, wasn’t it? You’re working for Treevers! He had no intention of releasing Clies, did he? The way you can get around, I’ll bet you kept him informed of everything that was happening, and that clever disguise of yours had everybody fooled, especially me.”

He turned and looked up at Cadomar. “Did you know?”

The magician shook his head. “No. The Mage Prime had just completed a spell to render Jacca’s powers ineffective when the change occurred, rather slowly at first, and quite painful to watch.”

Corlin’s mouth widened in a humourless grin. “So now he’s just an old and useless has-been magician.”

Grumas’ face crumpled with the ignominy of it all. Cadomar moved to stand behind the old man and placed his hands gently on the hunched shoulders. “Not completely useless, as you will soon discover. He has provided us with the spell which is the key to the warding on the clock frame.”

His eyes wide in disbelief, Corlin stared across the table at Cadomar. “A lot of blasted good that’ll do us, unless he knows who’s stolen the first bit.”

Grumas almost whimpered. “If I still had my powers I could do a spell of locating.”

Corlin gave a harsh bark of derision. “Hah!
If
you still had your powers, but you don’t, so Cadomar or Karryl will have to do it.”

It was Corlin’s turn to slump at the table as Cadomar shook his head. “Unless you can provide an image of it, I doubt it will be possible. The two parts of the frame are completely different, not a matching pair as you would expect.”

The moment had arrived for Grumas to redeem himself, in part at least. He held out a brown-spotted and wrinkled hand. “If you can provide materials, I will provide a likeness.” He gave them both a sickly smirk. “I did design it, after all; the frame, that is.
He
built it.”

Cadomar’s expression was inscrutable as he crossed to the tiny window and peered out into the darkness. Seemingly satisfied with what he could or couldn’t see, he held up both hands at shoulder level, palms upwards. The pane of glass turned milky white and began to swirl slowly like drifting fog. The magician reached out, his hand disappearing briefly into the whiteness, before re-emerging with a sheet of creamy vellum held between finger and thumb. He transferred the sheet to his free hand and reached in again, this time bringing forth a quill pen which he also placed in his other hand. Once more his hand entered the swirling milkiness, remaining within it a little longer this time, before producing a small stone ink-bottle. In one swift movement he placed the materials on the table, before turning and passing his hands over the whiteness within the window-frame. In two seconds it had cleared, the glass restored to its original state of flawed yellowness.

He took one of the lanterns from its hook on the wall, adjusted the flame and placed the lantern on the table. “Do your best, Master Grumas. Corlin and I have something to do.” He gave him a bleak smile. “Needless to say, there will be no point in your trying to leave.”

As Cadomar reached for the door latch, Corlin was unable to resist reaching across the table and checking the tangibility of the materials which the magician had conjured out of the air. They all felt very solid and real. He shook his head, scratched it, and followed Cadomar out into the wet and shadowy keep.

He glanced around, fully expecting the housecarls to appear from some place of concealment, but he could see no sign of them. “Where are we going?”

The magician jerked a thumb towards the East gate. “I am going out there.” He turned and pointed at the troops’ common room. “And you are going in there, as ordered. We cannot risk a hue and cry if you go missing.”

As the corners of Corlin’s mouth dropped, Cadomar gave him a broad wink. “That is not to say that it may not happen later. Now, I must disappear.”

With a wave of his hand, that was literally what he did. Corlin gave a wry smile and wandered into the common room, determined to resume his interrupted conversation with Artheg. To his disappointment, the Tregwald trooper was nowhere to be seen. He ambled over to the group of soldiers playing cards near the warmth of the fire. About to deal a fresh hand, one of them looked up and gave a nod of recognition.

Corlin returned the nod. “Any idea where Artheg is?”

The soldier replied while he dealt cards. “Poor sod was knackered, so we packed him off to a bed in the barracks. ‘E’s prob’ly imitatin’ a log right now.”

A plan began to form in Corlin’s mind, but the click of the door-latch prompted him to drop onto a wooden stool and take a sudden and avid interest in the card game. The door swung open and one of the housecarls stepped inside, rainwater streaming from the broad brim of his cockaded hat. After a cursory glance round, he fixed his gaze on Corlin for a moment or two, nodded as if satisfied, and left again.

One of the soldiers chuckled. “It seems like they want the pleasure of your company a bit longer, minstrel.”

Corlin gave a snort of disgust. “Huh. I wouldn’t mind if they’d fed me and gave me a bed for the night. We were just about to have dinner when Kethyn came in and told the duke about Artheg’s arrival. Now, all of a sudden I’m in his lordship’s army and at a loose end all at the same time!”

The soldier clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah! Well, if you’re one of us then you can have a bed in the barrack block over against the North wall. Go and get your head down. Come daybreak you’ll have so much to do you won’t know which way to turn.”

Corlin thanked him, stood up and headed for the door. He had other plans, and they didn’t involve being part of Duke Alexander’s army.

It was raining steadily, and as he splashed across the puddled keep, Corlin wished he had brought his staff instead of leaving it with Cadomar. As fast as he had made it, the wish changed form and became a plan. Halfway across the keep, Corlin exaggerated his limp, veered left and headed straight for the gaol. To his surprise and relief, the door was neither locked nor warded.

He slipped inside, closed the door and grabbed his staff from against the wall. “Grumas; you helped me in the past, so I’ll appeal to your better nature; that’s if you have one.”

The old man put down his quill and returned Corlin’s gimlet stare. “It’s too late to undo mistakes, but we can change the result of those mistakes. What are you thinking?”

Corlin’s jaw tightened. The old man was shrewd. “What will happen when the clock is assembled?”

Grumas chuckled but there was no humour in the sound. “It will allow the one who assembles it to manipulate both his location and time.” He held up a cautionary finger. “Do not misunderstand. It will happen only for that person, or for anyone who subsequently becomes the owner of the clock and understands it.

Corlin leaned forward and hissed “Why didn’t you tell us that before?”

The old man shook his head and picked up his quill. “The truth was not known to me then. Continued use of the clock eventually turned the maker’s mind and I was forced to take him to a place where he would come to no harm.”

Once again Corlin was overcome with contempt for this scheming magician. “You think packing him off to the Fade-lizards did him any good? They killed him!”

Grumas dipped his quill in the ink and continued to draw. His tone was cold and matter-of-fact. “No. I gave him into the charge of the Grollarts.
They
took him to the Fellgate.
You
allowed him to die.”

Corlin protested. “I had no choice!”

The old man looked up from his drawing and poked an accusing finger towards the minstrel. “You
did
have a choice. The gimalin gave you that choice, but you allowed the Fade-lizards to dissuade you. The clockmaker told you they were sneaky, slippy hidey things. What they did while you slept proved it.”

Corlin’s knuckles showed white as he gripped his staff in an effort to control his fury. “You were there? You could have helped me; you could have helped him, yet you did nothing? You’re unbelievable!”

His impulse to lay about the old man with the heavy end of his staff was thwarted by the door being flung open.

Cadomar stood there, a dark silhouette against the light. His voice low, he beckoned to Corlin. “Quickly now!”

No sooner had the minstrel reached the door than the magician had grasped his arm and Corlin felt the ground slide from under him. Moments later he was swaying against his staff and gasping for breath as he looked back at Castle Tallard’s East wall half a mile distant.

Cadomar chuckled as he reached out to steady him. “I do apologise. It was not as smooth a move as you’re used to but I only had a few seconds in which to act before the stasis spell wore off the housecarls.” He gestured behind Corlin. “Master Karryl has returned with the clock’s workings, all reassembled and ready to be reunited with the frame.”

Corlin turned. From behind the trunk of a massive and ancient oak, a soft glow shone. Minstrel and magician hurried towards it, but Corlin’s haste was prompted only by his need for answers.