by B. J. Beach
He gestured towards Artheg’s blue tabard with its embroidered insignia. “It is a long time since I have seen the colours and arms of Tregwald.” He frowned. “But these are the arms of the old Duke, Ergwyn. What has occurred to justify their continued use?”
Artheg took a deep breath as he sat down again. “Tregwald has a new duke who...”
His voice tight with indignation Duke Alexander interrupted “A usurper! By what right does he claim the title?”
Artheg held up a hand to check the duke’s outburst, and shook his head. “Not a usurper sire. The new Duke Tregwald has blood right. He is Ergwyn’s nephew, Jouan. Until the death of the old duke, Jouan was in disfavour with his uncle, and chose to serve as a trooper in his castle rather than be banished.”
Alexander’s brow furrowed as he thought about this news for a few moments. Eventually he stood up and looked down at Artheg. “So, I suppose he is now begging and borrowing to keep that crumbling pile standing?”
The Tregwald trooper’s eyes glinted with determination as he shook his head. His words came out in a rush, as if, now that he had the opportunity, he wanted to tell all as fast as possible. “No, sire. Beats me how he did it, but the castle is mostly repaired and has nearly all the troops and workers it had in the old days when my da was a retainer there. The problem now is that someone has got word to Jouan that Lord Treevers is planning to ride up from the WestLands with his army, and lay claim to Tregwald. Four nights ago, Jouan sent me to sneak out the back of the castle through the marshes, just in case Lord Treevers had spies watching the castle, and then along the river. I’ve got a cousin who’s a boatman, so he brought me past Throngholme to the coast, and paid for a ferryman to bring me across the estuary. I walked from there sire.”
He slipped his hand inside his tabard, fumbled for a moment as if struggling with a fastening, and pulled out a flat vellum packet bearing a large red wax seal. “Jouan ordered me to hand this to you sire. He said that everything you need to know is inside.”
Alexander took the packet and tapped it against the back of his hand. “So, why did he not request aid from Throngholme? After all, it is much closer than we are.”
Artheg blanched and swallowed hard. “You must have heard the stories about those who dwell there, sire. No man has passed through Throngholme’s gates in centuries.”
The duke’s smile was thin and humourless. “Beings who can build a fifty yard deep curtain wall would be an asset in any man’s army, however terrifying they may be, but enough of them for now. Get yourself something to eat, and rest.” He tapped the vellum packet. “I have matters to deal with.”
His brass-tipped cane striking a rapid cadence on the flagstones, the duke hurried from the common room. As the door slammed behind him, Artheg stood up and made his way over to the troopers gathered round the glowing brazier at the far end of the room. Between bites of coarse wheaten bread and hard cheese, washed down with a tankard of small beer, he told them his story.
47 - A Difference of Opinion
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 t
urning, 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.
48 - Conversation with a Traitor
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-h
idden 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.”
