A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (31 page)

Corlin tensed and gasped as the spell took effect and the distant army zoomed into focus. Frantic with the awareness of the limited time he had, his eyes searched the hundreds of faces until he recognised Lord Treevers.

He also recognised the tethered man. “That’s the stable-hand that went missing with Otty, but I don’t see Otty or Clies. Blood and thunder! Where are they?”

The spell expired and Corlin closed his eyes for a few moments in an effort to recapture images of the faces he had seen.

Defeated, he turned an anguished gaze on Karryl. “Treevers has always had his own army, but where did all those others come from? We’ll never find Clies amongst that lot!”

Jouan looked over Corlin’s shoulder, and his lip curled. “Most likely he paid for them, coerced them or even threatened them. I doubt that many of them followed willingly.”

He turned to the Grollart, who had moved along to join them and seemed to be fascinated by the illusory arrows clattering into the wall and dissolving into the air. “What do you think Ragar? Shall we test their mettle?”

The Grollart’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open and he staggered against the rampart, an arrow solid and undeniably real protruding from the front of his jacket. At least one of Treevers’ archers had found his range. With an ‘Ooof!’ of shocked surprise, Ragar grasped the shaft, reached inside his jacket with his free hand and jiggled the head of the arrow through his layers of clothing.

His long moustaches drooped even further as he handed the arrow to Jouan. “Whew! That was too close for comfort.” He risked a peek over the rampart. “I think your suggestion was perfectly timed. It’s about time we did something before Lord Treevers and his assembled rabble get too confident.”

He slipped his hand inside his torn jacket and produced the flute. Jouan nodded at his sergeant who was watching him intently, waiting for the order. The rapid staccato click of crossbows being cocked put Corlin’s teeth on edge. The Grollart put the flute to his lips and began to play.

Vision enhanced, Karryl stood in full view as he watched the scene unfold. Spurred on by the short, erratic and tuneless bursts of seemingly random notes from Ragar’s flute, the Fade-lizards had ceased their circling and were now herding Treevers and his army directly towards the castle. Those closest to the creatures continued their assault on the semi-visible silver-blue bodies, but to no avail. The lizards were pushing the entire army slowly but inexorably forward.

Jouan reached out to give the magician’s robe a tug, only to snatch his hand back again as it came into contact with an inflexible and invisible barrier.

Karryl looked down at his crouching companions. “If you can bring yourselves to remain in one place I can shield each of you. Then you can all stand up and see for yourselves.”

Before any of them could reply, a volley of arrows whistled through the air, rebounded off Karryl’s shielding and tumbled, their feathered flights whirring, into the moat below.

The sergeant called across to Jouan. “Return sire?”

Holding up a hand in restraint, the earl shook his head. “Save your bolts sergeant. They’ll soon be close enough to choose your target.”

A mirthless grin of anticipation twisting his mouth, the soldier settled his crossbow into his shoulder, checked his sights and waited. Spread out along the ramparts, the rest of the troop followed suit, in some cases even down to the grin.

With plenty of volume and not much finesse on the part of his magician, Lord Treevers’ voice boomed into the castle.

The hastily cast spell made him sound as if he was at the bottom of a well. “I underestimated you, Earl Jouan. I urge you not to do the same with me.”

The voice enhancement spell wavered and most of Treevers’ next words sank into the well. “Bring ... Otty...clock...dies.” The spell recovered, and the last phrase rolled out like thunder. “You have until one hour after sunrise.”

Panic burned in Corlin’s eyes, his face a mask of despair as he gripped Ragar’s arm. “Stop! Stop playing! He’s going to kill Clies and Otty!”

The Grollart sounded one more long high-pitched note before lowering the flute and tucking it back inside his jacket.

Karryl frowned at the distraught minstrel. “What do you think you heard, Master Bentfoot? All you heard were some disjointed words which could have a number of connotations. I, however, fortunately for you, was able to make more sense of it, so please, take control of your emotions for a few moments.”

Corlin showed no sign of doing any such thing, pounding his bare fists on the rampart wall in frustration. He could not even pretend to understand this situation which seemed to be intent on overwhelming him. He had no knowledge of war or battle tactics, but such things were now, it seemed, conspiring against him to make it impossible for him to finally accomplish his quest. All he wanted to do was get the blasted clock to Treevers and have Clies safely back with him. Was that so much to ask?

In calm measured tones the Mage Prime continued his analysis of Treevers’ apparent threat. After a few moments, some of the words penetrated the chaos in Corlin’s mind.

Hands resting on the wall, he looked back over his shoulder at Karryl. “Did you say he’s not going to kill them?”

The magician gently gripped Corlin’s shoulder. “From what I understand, that is not his intention. He does however intend to kill the stable-hand if the clock is not handed over. It would seem that Otty has made off with it and only the stable-hand was captured. Treevers made no mention of your brother Clies. The word you most likely heard was ‘dies’.”

As though a great weight had suddenly been taken off his shoulders, Corlin felt calm and quite prepared to deal with whatever the situation presented. He suspected that Karryl may have had something to do with it, but for now, he welcomed the respite.

He jerked his thumb in the direction of Treevers’ army. “Could he be down there somewhere?” Another thought struck him and his eyes widened. “Otty was smart enough to steal the clock, and stay out of the hands of Treevers’ men. Maybe he was smart enough to rescue Clies too.” A new optimism flooded through him and his eyes brightened. “Perhaps they’re together somewhere.”

His heart racing with new hope, he leaned on the rampart and peered out. The lizards had become totally motionless, but now there was barely two hundred yards of grass and rough ground between the forefront of Treevers’ army and the icy waters of the castle moat. Hemmed in by hundreds of impervious Fade-lizards, the antagonistic Lord and his army were going nowhere. A few hotheads, yelling and brandishing swords tried to break out into open ground, only to be shepherded back into containment by scuttling lizards with very sharp teeth.

A profound silence settled over everything and everybody, Lord Treevers apparently prepared to play a waiting game, while three men and a Grollart paced the walkway searching their minds for a solution. About half an hour into the uncomfortable truce, the Mage Prime calmly announced that he had located Clies.

Corlin was delighted and stunned at the same time. “How did you manage that? You’ve never met him! Where is he? Can we rescue him?”

Karryl smiled as he held up a restraining hand. “One thing at a time! Curb your excitement and I will answer your questions.” He pointed at Corlin. “The fact that I have
you
here made it comparatively easy, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I simply built as many of your characteristics as I could into a locating spell, and had a search around.”

Puzzled, the minstrel frowned. “But didn’t you just find me?”

Karryl chuckled. “Quite frequently, but by adding things or taking them away, changing the recipe if you like, I eventually found him.”

Corlin clenched his fists and glared at the magician. “So, where
is
he?”

The magician looked over the rampart. “He is standing near the rear, not far from Treevers. He has been fitted out with helm and half armour making him difficult to distinguish from so many others.” His expression darkened as he looked at Corlin, Jouan and Ragar in turn. “Unfortunately, and also like many of the others, he is under some kind of compulsion spell, although it does seem rather weak and poorly constructed.”

The tone of Jouan’s question hinted at the foreboding he felt. “And that means what?”

Corlin provided the reply, his voice ominously subdued. “It means that when Treevers gives an order, Clies and the others obey without question. If Treevers launches an assault, my brother will probably be killed without even knowing why.”

Thrusting his hands into his pockets he turned away and, shoulders hunched in dejection, leaned against the rampart. Ragar moved up beside Karryl. Taking his arm the Grollart steered him further along the walkway until they were out of earshot. Suspicion mounting, Corlin watched as the two engaged in an earnest and low-voiced conversation. Occasionally Karryl nodded or shook his head, sometimes giving a wry smile or frowning as something Ragar said seemed to puzzle him. After a few minutes Mage Prime and Grollart seemed to reach agreement, swiftly turning and hurrying back along the walkway.

Karryl beckoned to Jouan. “Ragar has a plan to rescue Clies. However, it may prompt Treevers to launch an assault before sunrise. I would ask that you tell your men to hold fast until the rescue has been accomplished.”

While Jouan hurried along the rampart and spoke to each of his men in turn, Corlin pushed himself away from the cold wall and went to stand beside Ragar. The Grollart was studying the half-mile wide meadow, filled almost to capacity with Lord Treevers’ army of assorted regulars and poorly armed conscripts, trapped inside an immovable cordon of semi-visible and potentially deadly Fade-lizards. Corlin followed his gaze for a moment, before turning and looking behind him. His heart sank. A barely perceptible lightening of the sky far out to the East told him that dawn would not be long coming.

He took the liberty of giving Ragar’s arm a nudge. “If you’re going to do something, it had better be soon. It won’t be long before dawn.”

The Grollart nodded in agreement, drew his flute from under his jacket, raised it to his lips, and then lowered it again. He cursed, long, quietly and vehemently. Even in the pre-dawn semi-darkness, Corlin could see the reason for his aggravation. A scuffle had broken out amongst a small contingent of Treevers’ army, a small patch of disruption which threatened to escalate into something far more damaging if not brought under control. With the approaching dawn a light westerly breeze was rising, bringing the sounds of the skirmish and Lord Treevers’ bellowed commands drifting clearly up to the castle.

Ragar grinned, the most evil grin Corlin had seen in a long time, and raised the flute to his lips. As the first long wailing note carried through the air, Corlin clapped his hands over his ears, but found it a pointless exercise. His hands proved little protection against the series of discordant notes and whistles which the Grollart produced, and which were like nothing the minstrel had ever heard. Resigning himself to suffering the pain of the utterly unmusical music, he took his hands away from his ears and looked out over the battlement.

The Fade-lizards were responding to the sounds in a way Corlin would not have thought possible, but in a way he recognised only too well. A number of them were scuttling through the assembled ranks, cutting out the disruptive section of Treevers’ army, like dogs separating a flock of sheep. Despite being hacked at with swords and halberds and having flaming torches thrust down on their backs, they circled, forcing the group to occupy an ever smaller patch of ground. Hemmed in by a dozen or so feisty lizards, the trouble-makers found themselves with only enough room to stand quite still and shoulder to shoulder.

Ragar had stopped playing, but the lizards kept moving, edging sideways, pushing at the men closest to them, so forcing those to push closer to the next man.

Jouan moved up to stand beside him, and Corlin pointed over to the far right. “Something seems to be going on over there too.”

Hands folded inside the sleeves of his robe, Karryl stood behind Corlin and looked over his shoulder. “Unless I’m mistaken, that is roughly the position where I located your brother Clies. It would seem that the lizards have also located him.”

Corlin’s spirits rose immediately, only to be pulled down again by the sight of Lord Treevers galloping towards the spot, his armoured charger knocking unwary soldiers to the ground. Of the tethered and terrified stable-hand there was no sign. Sprinting along beside Treevers, fingers outstretched, his magician haphazardly flung fireballs at the manoeuvring lizards.

Karryl chuckled, raising his voice above the noise of the melée below as the incendiaries fizzled and died. “I don’t know where Treevers found this fellow, but I doubt he’s qualified for the Guild of Magicians.”

The whole army was now in turmoil, pushing and shoving, kicking, punching and stabbing at any lizard within reach. Having once felt revulsion, Corlin was now beginning to feel some kind of admiration and respect for these obviously intelligent reptiles. His true feelings came to the fore when Treevers reared his charger and brought its front hooves down on the nearest lizard’s head. It seemed to Corlin that the very ground shook with the force of the blow. A long low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, and as the seriously injured creature became fully visible and sank to the ground, Corlin silently vowed that somehow he would take revenge on Treevers.

Ragar gave him a nudge on the arm. “Don’t worry about it now.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I think we have a
much
bigger problem to worry about.”