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

by B. J. Beach

  He looked around, checking the road in each direction. He knew Megan wouldn’t stray, but if any traveller happened to come along, he knew that his gimalin would almost certainly disappear from his saddle. With the instrument under his arm, he gave Megan a few soft words and a reassuring pat, before starting back down the dry slope towards the forest’s edge. Increasingly aware that the forest was as sensitive to him as he was to it, he had decided not to be furtive but to share his quest with whatever entity, malign or otherwise, had made this forest its domain. Although it took a supreme effort to quell the rising urge to turn and run, the ultimate purpose of his quest kept him focussed. With a confidence that he found difficult to maintain, he approached one of the two massive trees which stood sentinel at the access to the forest’s shadowed realm. Removing the cloth which wrapped the gimalin, he held the instrument with both hands and lifted it high into the air, like an offering to some ancient, feared and little-known deity.

  He took a deep breath to stop his voice from trembling. “I am Corlin. This is my gimalin. I’ll leave it here, for safety.”

  As he re-wrapped it and crouched at the base of the tree, the whispering changed, its dry strangled rustle becoming softer, saying two words over and over. “Cor...lin, gim...a...lin, Cor...lin, gim...a...lin, Corlin, Corlin, gimalin, gimalin.”

  The minstrel smiled as he rested it against the buttress-like base of the huge tree and pulled some dry stalks over to camouflage it. He turned to look at Megan grazing at the top of the rise. For a brief moment his heart skipped a beat at the sight of a shadowy figure standing beside her, but when he blinked and looked again, there was no-one there and Megan was unperturbed. Dismissing it as a trick of sunlight and cloud, Corlin turned away and moved forward into the Whispering Forest.

  The noise was incessant, a constant breathy accompaniment to the patches of sunlight which struggled but failed to reach the deep shadows beneath the trees. The air was dry, unseasonably warm, and carried a barely discernible taint of the acrid odour Corlin had encountered earlier. Something snapped under his foot, his unbalanced gait making it impossible for him to tread quietly over the carpet of dry leaves and fallen twigs and branches. Afraid that the sound might have disturbed something best left to sleep, he paused and listened. Hearing nothing but the constant whispering he took a deep breath and moved forward as quickly and carefully as his bent foot would allow, the dim light just enough for him to find a route between the trees. Every few minutes he would stop and look about in the sparse undergrowth for a fallen branch he could use as a staff, but everything he found was either too small or too dry and brittle.

  He was leaning against a particularly tall and well-branched tree when a brief and furtive rustle made him turn slowly and look behind him. Not daring to move he stared in disbelieving horror at the creature emerging from the concealment of the leaf litter. The gaze that met his own drained the blood from his face and put the strength of his sphincter in severe jeopardy. From near the top of a curved, horse-like head, a pair of round, close-set multi-faceted eyes stared unblinking from above a long tapering proboscis, while pincer-like jaws worked in a furious mime of mastication below a pair of waving searching palps. Lifting his feet carefully and keeping one hand on the tree for support, Corlin took a step backwards. Six multi-jointed legs covered in thick bristling hairs brought the long dark brown body skittering towards him. In rapid succession, one-two-three and pause, light footsteps pattered on dry leaves. The air around him became redolent with a stench like rotting meat, as the huge insect half-raised shimmering wings in a posture of threat.

  “Climb!. Hurry!”

  The voice was deep and ponderous, but its note of urgency was unmistakeable. Corlin’s groping hands located an overhanging branch, and he hauled himself off the ground.

  “Climb higher; into my leaves.”

  Not wanting to believe what he was hearing, but needing to escape from this horror which threatened to end his quest prematurely, Corlin felt his way from bough to bough, pausing occasionally to listen. From the tree’s trunk below, the sound of scrabbling urged him upward, high into the broad canopy. He peered down through the branches. The round, unblinking eyes glinted back at him as something slammed against his twisted foot and wrapped itself round his ankle. With a startled yell, he pressed himself against the trunk and kicked out. He heard something snap, and the pressure on his ankle eased.

  “Stand quite still. She cannot easily reach you. My branches are too thick and close, and my old leaves too dense for her body to get through without tearing her wings.”

  Corlin swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the experience of apparently conversing with a tree.”What is it?”

  “She is Reduia, queen of Assassin Bugs. You have encroached on her territory, and she is hungry. She devoured her last victim when my leaves were still tiny buds, but it seems that your size is making her cautious.”

  Sweat broke out on Corlin’s forehead and his hands felt slick against the branch he was gripping. His voice shook. “How long will I be stuck here? And who are you?”

  The tree rumbled. “You may call me Quex. I am king of this forest. The duration of your stay in my branches depends on you. Reduia will outstay you, however long you wait.”

  Corlin didn’t have time to consider his next move. It was decided for him, as Reduia’s searching palps found his other foot. He kicked out, making contact with something soft and yielding. Ignoring the huge bug’s squeals of rage, he pulled himself up onto the branch above, and swung his body round to the far side of the massive tree. His feet found the reassuring solidity of a thick, strong bough, and he crouched on it, surveying his surroundings while he waited for his shredded nerves to settle. Although the sun was now low in the sky and the light was fading, the darkness was not yet absolute, and he could make out dense black shapes of close-ranked trees silhouetted against the dark grey murk

  Something rustled beside him. Not waiting to see what it was, he trusted to fate, took a deep breath and jumped. A couple of low, leafy branches broke his fall, and he let himself drop feet first into the carpet of leaf-litter piled round Quex’s broad base. Before he had chance to take even one step, a sharp acidic odour assaulted his nostrils, and he was slammed to the ground, his thigh pierced by white-hot pain. His frantic hands clasped around his leg, his screams of agony sheared through the rapidly descending gloom. This time, the darkness was absolute.

  * * *

  He woke with streams of fiery torment coursing through his veins. A steady throbbing jabbed at his thigh, like a hot knife being thrust repeatedly into his flesh. He was also flat on his back, and bouncing up and down to the accompaniment of a constant rustling and twittering which was almost deafening. He shook his head to try and clear it, but the noise continued all around him. Something was digging into his midriff. He groped along his waistline, his fingers tracing two thin strands of strong cord. Bracing himself on his elbows, Corlin tried to sit up. As soon as he shifted, all noise and movement stopped.

  The voice was clipped and high-pitched, with a nasal twang. “Good. You’re awake. Keep still, while we remove your bonds.”

  Too terrified, and in too much discomfort to argue, Corlin lay motionless as a number of hard, prickly things touched his bare arms. It was all he could do to stop himself screaming. He heard a couple of short, metallic snapping sounds, and the cords slithered from round his waist. Whatever was underneath him moved, and Corlin reached down to steady himself. His hands made contact with a hard surface, cold and smooth. He sat upright, eyes wide open, straining to see. All he could make out in the near darkness was the solid unmistakeable shape of a tree. Waving his hands about, he found only empty air.

  His voice quavered, seeming loud in the warm, dark silence.”Who are you?”

  A short ripple of clicks, like teeth chattering, surrounded him. The high-pitched voice spoke again. “If not for us, you’d already be dead. Arana won’t cross paths with me and my troops. She knows better.”

  St
ill not convinced he wasn’t going to be killed and probably eaten, Corlin tried to steady his jangling nerves. “Your troops? Who, or what, are you?”

  “My name is Frix. Me and my boys make sure there’s no trouble in the forest. When you dropped out of the big oak, you almost flattened one of my rear-guards. He bit you in self-defence.”Another ripple of clicks carried through the darkness. Frix continued. “Then Reduia came hot-footing round the tree, and started spitting poison, so a couple of my boys whisked you out of the way. The rest of us held off old hairy-legs until you’d been carried clear. You were out cold, so we tied you on so you wouldn’t fall off.”

  Deciding that if he was going to be killed, these whatever-they-were would have done it by now, Corlin released a sigh of relief. “So, can you help me get to the heart of the forest?”

  “Tell us why you’re here first. Humans are rare in here, and they don’t usually last long.”

  A cold shiver took one slow step at a time down Corlin’s spine. A sudden and painful spasm in his thigh reminded him of the potential power surrounding him.

  His behind was beginning to go numb, and he wriggled into a more comfortable position. “I’m on a quest. I’ve been told that something lies hidden in the heart of this forest. If I can find it and take it back to a certain lord of the WestLands, he will free my brother from slavery.”

  Frix clicked and hissed. He sounded closer than he had before. “Thought you’d be brave, collect your prize and get out, did you?”

  “Something like that. Then I realised something big was behind me, and it was gaining. I didn’t know what it was, but I soon found out that hiding behind a tree wasn’t going to be any use.”

  “Good job you ran into Quex. There’s only as many trees as I’ve got legs, who can communicate.”

  Corlin opened his eyes wide in an effort to see at least some familiar shape or a spark of light. He could see nothing. He felt disorientated, and not a little apprehensive.

  He turned his head, and spoke in the general direction of the voice, which seemed to be coming from below and to his right. “Is there some way I can see you?”

  A brief burst of rustling and clicking filled the air, stopping as abruptly as it started. Seconds later, Corlin heard a noise like a thousand dry leaves blowing in a light breeze. As the sounds faded, a tiny spot of phosphorescent green light pierced the darkness. A second later another sprang to life, followed by others in rapid succession, until Corlin was encircled by a chain of pulsing green lights. They began to expand, casting their spectral glow ever wider. Corlin gasped as long slender antennae waved at him from huge triangular heads. Long, narrow-waisted bodies, each covered in a dark red-brown carapace, gleamed and glinted, disappearing into shadow as the light began to dim. Soon, all were once again enveloped in darkness. Impressed, Corlin gave the tough, smooth surface beneath him an appreciative pat. The giant ant flicked back its antennae, and brushed his arm.

  Frix’s nasal voice cut through Corlin’s thoughts. “Right. Now you’ve seen us, let’s get going. Reduia is following, and she’d make a grab for you if we let her get close enough.”

  Hard, strong limbs lifted Corlin off the back of his mount, and lowered him to the ground. “Now you’ll really have to run. Me and my boys can shift when we have to.”

  Corlin’s heart missed a beat. “Suppose I stumble or go the wrong way? In case you hadn’t noticed I have a bent foot. Running is something I don’t do successfully”

  A chorus of rasping clicks sounded from all around, and he felt something prod his back. Frix’s voice came from behind him. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you on the right path.” Hundreds of feet began pattering over leaves, and Frix gave him a gentle shove.”Now, run!”

  Corlin ran, his uneven hobbling gait pushing him forward into the darkness. Whenever he tripped or stumbled, he found himself pinned between moving walls of giant ant bodies, supporting him until he found his feet again. The hours passed, and still the army surged through the forest’s gathering night. Everything in their path, living or dead, was trampled underfoot. Corlin began to weaken. His limbs ached, and his thigh still burned with the effect of the ant-soldier’s bite. He staggered, and tried to call to Frix, but could only manage a feeble croak. Armoured bodies pressed against him, lifting him above the soft, uneven forest floor. With no strength left to resist, he felt his body being tilted forward, his arms and legs gripped and spread. His face met a cold hard surface. Gripping the edge of the carapace below the neck, he relaxed into the rhythm of being carried along face down on a giant ant’s back.

  Enraged screams and spitting hisses jolted him out of his slumber. The ant army had stopped marching, but were not at a standstill. Corlin clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut out the din of clicking, hissing and rustling which swirled over and around him.

  Frix’s voice cut through his frantic thoughts. “Stay where you are.”

  Another hissing scream pierced the acid-fume-filled air. Ejected from Reduia’s needle-like proboscis, a thin jet of steaming liquid hissed past Corlin’s face, flying droplets splattering over his mouth and nose. Gasping for breath, he frantically wiped it away, almost gagging on the acrid stench. The rustling and scraping of the seething mass of bodies in continuous movement beneath him grew louder, and he felt himself being lifted higher and sideways. He made a grab for a hand-hold as his mount teetered, plunged head downward, and fell on its back. Pinned underneath with only his head and one arm free of the writhing crush, Corlin fought to breathe as unseen things squelched and burst open under the combined weights of himself and his toppled ant-steed. He could feel wetness seeping through his clothing, and wondered if it was his own blood. Hard prickly feet trod on his face, and his eyes began to blur as the combined fumes of the ant defences and Reduia’s attack accumulated in and above a thick layer of leaf-mould. From somewhere above him another scream of fury and frustration tore through the sullied air. Something cold and slimy attached itself to his ear, pulled itself up, and began to crawl across his face. Corlin’s scream rose high, to follow the fading echoes of the other into the perpetual night.

  Little by little, the noise of pitched battle eased, until the only sound was the industrious rustle of moving bodies. Corlin groaned as the weight of the ant’s corpse was lifted off him. With gentle pokes and prods, his body was investigated. He lifted his arm in an effort to push them away, and struck his hand against a cold hard surface.

  Soft feelers tapped his arms and face. “You’re still with us. That’s good. Thought we might have lost you in that ruckus.”

  Corlin sat up and stretched one limb at a time, checking that nothing was actually broken. “What happened?”

  He could feel Frix’s face very close to his own. “Reduia. She got impatient. We sent her scuttling off to lick her wounds. Now, are you badly hurt?”

  Corlin muttered through clenched teeth. “Not really; just a few bruises and twisted muscles.”

  Frix tapped his feelers on Corlin’s face. “No problem. I’ve got a good idea where to find what you’re looking for. It’s not far, and then we’ll see about getting you out of here.”

  15 - Unlikely Allies

  The army of giant ants didn’t mess about. Corlin found himself hoisted onto a broad smooth back, tied securely with fine cords and through the pitch darkness the party headed into the forest. This time there was none of the clicking and high pitched noises which had accompanied them earlier, and Corlin felt the uneven but steady rhythm of the march surprisingly relaxing.

  He woke to complete silence, in a darkness so thick it was only the touch of his own hand on his face that told him that the limb was there. The bonds which had tied him to the ant’s back had been loosened. Taking care not to slide off the smooth rounded carapace, he eased himself upright, stretched and yawned. He strained his ears for any sounds that hinted of something being awake, but the silence was so deep as to be almost oppressive. The Whispering Forest was sleeping. There was nothing he could do but wa
it.

  Something prodded his thigh and instinctively he grabbed the curved edge of the carapace. The sudden movement shook him back to wakefulness, to see dark shadows all around him and the rippling motion of hundreds of ant bodies surging steadily between the trees. The pale light of a cold grey dawn filtered down through the canopy of half-naked branches, and he was able to see his guide and protector properly for the first time.

  The sleek red-gold head and curved mandibles didn’t seem so terrifyingly alien in natural light, and Corlin even managed a smile.

  The giant ant waved his feelers and gave Corlin’s thigh another prod with an angularly articulated and spikily clawed leg. “You and me are going off from the others, along with a couple more who know the way. This thing you’re after has been there longer than I can recall. Its story has been handed down through many generations. So, if you’re ready, let’s get going. You’re going to have to walk I’m afraid, but it’s not far.”

  Corlin slid down off the smooth reddish carapace and felt his feet sink into the leaf-litter. With one hand on Frix’s back to steady his balance, he set off into the forest’s heart to retrieve the first part of Malchevolus’s clock.

  He soon discovered that Frix had been right. Their destination was only yards away. At the centre of a circle of gnarled heavily branched trees that looked as if they had been there for centuries, stood a bark-less storm-snapped trunk pointing like an accusing finger up into the canopy.

  The ant-leader scurried up it, poked and prodded for a while, then turned and peered down into Corlin’s face. “We may need a little help.”