by Dave Duncan
“Sirs, I am amazed by your courage, both of you.”
“Just doing our duty. I am ashamed of my weakness in telling him your master’s name. There’s food in this basket, but I don’t know how to share it with you in the dark.”
“Wait a moment.” Eadig felt his way cautiously around the walls to the stairway, which he found by banging his right shin on the first step. He climbed up on hands and knees. The trap had been left open, probably for ventilation, and he fumbled around upstairs until he located the lantern. He brought it back down to the cellar before he spoke the Fiat ignis to light it.
The brothers crossed themselves at this demonstration of magic, but did not protest. The gate was locked, so Eadig had no way of getting close to them, but Neil threw him a loaf, which hit the bars and fell. He pulled it through to his side. It tasted wonderful.
“Have you a safe place to hide overnight?” the knight asked between mouthfuls. He must be starving, also.
“I think so, sir. But I’m worried that I’ll be caught going out the gate in the morning.”
“I can’t advise you. You are being sorely tested and are doing marvelously well for a boy of your years. Durwin told us you were almost seventeen. Is that right??”
“Yes.” And you don’t need to tell me I don’t look it.
“Seventeen going on thirty! I will praise your courage to the king, I promise.”
Eadig refrained from saying that he would rather take the cash. After such a day and despite the horrors of the last hour, he suddenly found that his eyes would barely stay open. It was time to head back to the woodpile and sleep.
chapter 13
as one so often does after a restless night, I fell into a deep sleep just before dawn. I managed to ignore the town roosters’ wake-up calls, but not the heavy footsteps above me, in the garret. They went downstairs. Then up again, and down again, and by that time I was fully awake. As I dressed, I was annoyed to hear Harald chanting in the sanctum below me, so he was back in business. No doubt he felt a responsibility to his patients, and perhaps resented being indebted to me, but when the enemy learned that he was again operational, they would be certain that someone had taken the curse off him. Damnatio!
At some point in my midnight brooding, I had realized that I had let Eadig keep his pack when he went off to masquerade as a page. Of course he had his adept’s cape in there, so if the conspirators pried in the visitors’ baggage, the cape and the cat would both be out of the bag. Perfidy, connivance, and conspiracy were not included in the Helmdon curriculum!
I went downstairs. A man and two women were waiting in the tiny hallway to consult the enchanter; they looked at me with unconcealed curiosity. I was a stranger, walked with a cane, and of course they had enjoyed a good view of my iron boot as I descended.
Lovise was in the kitchen, looking fresh as midsummer dew and busily preparing dinner. She greeted me with a glorious smile. Her brother was at work in the yard and we exchanged blessings as I went by him on my way to the privy. Back indoors, Lovise offered me an excellent breakfast of beer, fresh bread, butter, and honey.
“So what happens today . . . Durwin?”
I wished I knew. My rendezvous with Sir Neil was set for the following morning, but I strongly suspected that he would not attend, and for me to do so would be to stick my head in a noose. My wisest course of action would be to jump on Ruffian’s back and ride back to Nottingham and dump the problem on Sir Vernon Cheadle. That would mean deserting Neil, Piers, and Eadig, which I knew I could never do. I might not have a belted knight’s absurdly inflated sense of honor, but that did not mean I had none.
Besides, I suspected that Sir Vernon Cheadle had even less head jelly than Neil d’Airelle.
“This morning, if I may, I would like to read through your father’s grimoire to see if it contains any spells that might be useful in the present circumstances.”
“A sort of Drop dead! type of spell?”
Oh, that smile!
“Dead might be hard to justify, but a Sleep for a week! one would fit the bill nicely.”
There was such a spell in one of my grimoires back in Helmdon. I had not brought it.
“I’ll see if Father will agree,” she said doubtfully, and whipped off her apron so she would be respectable enough to squeeze through the group of patients waiting outside in the corridor. There were enough of them now to spill out of the front door into the street. I realized that Harald might be doing quite well out of the current upheaval. If all the other healers in Lincoln had been replaced by strangers, it would be only human nature for the citizens to switch their custom to him in protest.
In a few moments Lovise returned, struggling with the massive grimoire. I jumped up to help her. The patients out in the hall would all die of curiosity before her father could treat them.
We cleared one end of the great table, and I settled down to my task. About a third of the spells were in either Norse or Danish, and most of the rest in the old tongue, with very few in Latin. I think there was only one in French. The great majority dealt with healing and were useless for my current needs, although I promised myself I would make copies of a couple that I had not met before.
The back door flew open; Lars arrived; the back door slammed.
“Tha’s a great wee beast you got out there, Durwin,” he said, grinning as usual. “I had to punch his nose a couple of times, but we’re good friends now.”
“Then you’re a fine horseman. Ruffian is very choosy about people.” But no doubt Lars was a very good puncher.
He guessed at once what I was doing—visiting enchanters are always eager to exchange spells. “We have another book upstairs in the attic,” he said. “Chants that Father never uses. I don’ know if any of them work.”
Da-dum-da-dum-da . . . Now what?
“There are ways of making them work. I’d very much like to— Oh, Lord, preserve me! I have to go.”
I had been summoned. Had it happened a few minutes later or sooner, this tale would probably never have been told. I was already reaching for my cane, but Lovise guessed instantly what was happening.
“Lars, hold him!” She moved to the grimoire and began heaving the leather pages around to find the Abi maledictum that had cured her father.
I tried to reach the door and Lars’s thick arms wrapped me up like the hoops on a barrel. I struggled of course, not because the urgency was already so great but because I knew how bad it would become if I did not answer the call very soon. “Let me go!”
“Won’t, sir.”
“Lars, you take the responses,” Lovise said.
As he moved us both around to where he could read the spell, I tried to hit him with my cane. His reaction was to squeeze me until I thought my eyes would pop. Da-dum-da-dum-da-dum ...
Lovise sang the versicles, remembering to omit the trip wire word I had scored out. Lars cheerfully sang the responses in a lusty baritone, while effortlessly avoiding my efforts to kick him with my iron-shod boot. I shouted and cursed. The others chanted louder to drown me out. I began to panic as the spell bit. I must go, go, go! Then it stopped and I went limp.
Lars set me down and said, “All right now, Your Wisdom?”
“All right indeed,” I said, “and my heartfelt thanks to both of you for a brilliant rescue. That was a very close call.”
“Just what is going on in here?” Harald demanded, peering in the door.
“All right now, sir,” I said. “I was summoned, that’s all, and your children’s lightning-fast response has saved me.”
He was smart enough to see all the horrible implications, but he said nothing more, just shut the door and went back to tending his patients. Quite likely he was wishing that the summoning had succeeded and taken me out of his life. But I had to face the fact that Sage Quentin or whoever else was behind the treason had learned my name. Had one of the d’Airelle brothers been gullible enough to tell him voluntarily? Eadig certainly would not have done so. The incident proved beyond
doubt that Quentin was prepared to use foul means to gain his ends, and he knew about me. The battle was on, and the odds were at least five to one against me.
I sat down wearily and told Lars I would love to see the unused grimoire upstairs. He shot off to look for it.
“Will they try again?” Lovise asked.
“Not right away. They would have felt the acceptance, so now they’re waiting for me to arrive. And even if they do try again, you know how often spells refuse to work a second time. But it’s possible. Tell me about the bishop.”
Of the three men of power in Lincoln, the constable was either senile or cursed, the sheriff was out of town, so the bishop was the only possible ally left, improbable as he might be.
Lovise said, “Robert de Chesney. He’s a fine old gentleman, much in the royal favor. He often acts as a judge in the king’s courts.”
“Did he attend the council in Northampton, two years ago, do you know?”
“Indeed he did. It’s said that he tried to persuade Archbishop Becket to compromise, but of course he wouldn’t.”
Never mind Becket, but the rest of this sounded promising! When the king left Northampton, he had gone to Barton, where he had granted audience to a certain pegleg Saxon adept, and then sworn him in as his own man, much to the annoyance of Enchanter General Aubrey de Fours. If Bishop de Chesney had been present that day, he would certainly remember me. He would grant me a hearing, at least.
Lovise had guessed why I was asking. “He’s not in town just now. The king sent him north on some legal matter. He wasn’t in the cathedral last Sunday.”
Another road blocked! Quentin had prepared his battlefield well. I could believe that the bishop’s absence was genuine, but the sheriff could have been enchanted to take himself out of the way, and the constable had been removed permanently. I was alone, one against five.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Lars returning, it was his father, who gave me a cold look and said, “There is a lady here asking for you, Durwin of Helmdon.”
chapter 14
morning was proclaimed in the castle by roosters, trumpets, and drums, each worse than the other. The cathedral bell joined in, outdoing them all. Eadig knew he must have slept at times, but it had been a very long night. He was frozen, stiff as the logs he was lying on, also dying of thirst and hunger. Neil and Piers had been horribly tortured and threatened with worse magic to come. Durwin was also in danger and might not know it yet. Francois was wounded, possibly dead by now. And yet one peach-faced cantor had so far eluded the devil worshipers’ best efforts to catch him; he felt quite proud of that. Although he had a generally low opinion of Neil d’Airelle’s intelligence, he would never doubt his courage, and the knight’s praise of Eadig’s had been gratifying.
Soon people went chattering by, men and women both. Eadig decided the gates must be open by now, so he might as well try to sneak out now as later. He still had the money Durwin had given him, and there must be somewhere in the town he could buy a roast ox on a stick.
He clambered down to the ground and tried to brush off the bark and twigs he had acquired in the night. Then he stepped out into the roadway, which was only a path between buildings, and had to decide which way to go. To his left was the door with the pentacle on it, so he turned around and saw the cathedral towers over the rooftops. Taking that as an omen, he went that way.
In a few minutes the barbican came into view ahead of him. This was the east gate, opening straight into the town. More people were coming in than going out, but there were guards with pikes there, eyeing the traffic.
He could practically hear Sage Quentin’s orders: Look out for an undersized brat of about fourteen with very blond hair, snub nose, and really gross freckles. Do not let him get away!
A hand grabbed his arm and he jumped, almost pissing himself. A grizzled old man said, “Don’t let them see you. Come with me.”
Eadig kicked his ankle and tried to pull free.
The old fellow showed a random collection of yellow teeth but did not let go. “I’m trying to help you!”
“Who sent you?” Come to think of it, the Tambour drum hadn’t warned him of danger.
“Not that Quentin shit-head, bet your soul on it.”
“I am sorry I kicked you, sir,” Eadig said politely. “Please forgive me.” His arm was released.
“I’ve known worse.”
The man didn’t look like an angel, but help from anyone at all would be welcome. Sending a silent prayer of thanks winging upward, Eadig let his guide lead him through the maze. It was soon obvious that they were heading back to the Lucy Tower he had visited yesterday. That meant that they had to climb that long staircase, up the side of the mound, and he felt very conspicuous doing that. If the sorcerers were still looking for him, there he was. No one started a hue and cry, though, and the drums did not return. Once inside the keep, he was completely lost, but his guide knew where he was going, and in a moment he stopped and rapped on a door.
It was opened at once by a tall, intimidating woman. She said, “That looks like the lad Tom described. Were you followed, Basile?”
“Don’t believe so, mistress.”
“Very well. Go and tell the others you found him.” She looked at . . . She looked down at Eadig. “Your name, lad?”
“Um . . . Ereonberht of Nottingham, my lady.”
“You sound unsure,” she said majestically. “And I’m not a lady, I’m Elvire, her mistress of the robes. Come in.”
Eadig was astonished to find himself beckoned into what was obviously a lady’s bedroom, furnished with a grand curtained bed, wall tapestries and fancy mats on the floorboards. The lady herself was seated on a stool with her back to him, while a maid was brushing out her hair, which was long, black, and shiny. Her gown was a dazzling red color. And she was watching him in a mirror on the wall in front of her. He hastily bowed to her reflection.
“You can go now, Hilda. I’ll do that. And don’t gossip!” Elvire took the brush and shut the door on the hastily departing chamber maid. As she resumed the hair brushing, she said, “This is Ereonberht of Nottingham, my lady.”
“He’s younger than I expected. Welcome, Ereonberht. I am Nicholaa de la Haye, Lord Richard’s daughter, acting as constable during his indisposition.”
Tongue-tied, Eadig bowed again. She was no older than he was, maybe younger—it was hard to tell with girls of that age, they aged so much younger than men did. She was richly dressed and had the poise of a Norman gentlewoman, so that her inspection dismissed him as somewhere on the wrong side of insignificant. She was no great beauty, but that did not matter if her veins held blood of the right color. He could almost hear her wedding bells.
She continued to address his reflection. “You are the boy who arrived in the castle yesterday with a knight and others?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And do you know where they went?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sir Neil and his brother, Squire Piers, are chained up in the sanctum cellar. I saw the sage and his cantor torturing them! Man-at-arms Francois, is badly injured, possibly dead. The last I saw of him, he was still unconscious.”
“What?” Nicholaa spun around and both women stared at Eadig in horror. “Are you certain? Visitors injured and tortured in the castle without orders from my father or the sheriff?”
“Don’t know about the sheriff, ma’am, but your father certainly didn’t give any such orders when he saw us. Francois is hurt, and I heard that he was hit by a big man called Odell.” Nicholaa said, “Well!” emphatically, although she couldn’t mean that anything was well, quite the reverse. She turned back to the mirror. “Pull that stool over where I can see you, and explain how you know all this.”
“I saw it happen, my lady. Not the attack on Francois, but the Sir Neil and his brother being tortured.”
“Sweet mother of Jesus! Then how did you escape?”
“I was hiding. They didn’t know I was there. See, when Sir Neil was taken prisoner,
I escaped, but later I went into the sanctum—”
“The sanctum door is warded,” Lady Nicholaa said with obvious suspicion.
“Not heavily. I could open it. I’m an adept, so I know about these things. My lady, might I have something to drink? Maybe eat, too?” he added hopefully.
From that it wasn’t too hard to let slip that he’d eaten almost nothing yesterday, and Elvire was ordered to send for some food for him. Then he confessed that he wasn’t Ereonberht at all, and told the whole story while eating half a yard of pork sausage. When he finished both story and sausage, he added, “You want me to show you that I can do magic, ma’am?”
“No thank you! I believe that already.” Nicholaa had finished her dressing. She wore her hair unbound, maiden fashion, and she sported an amber necklace that must be worth a fortune. She had turned on her stool to face him again. Her nose was on the long side and her jaw a bit too square, but she was worth looking at and knew it. The tall Elvire was standing with arms folded, watching them both with deep disapproval.
“Adept Eadig,” Nicholaa said, “I am horrified by your story. My father is helpless—but you know that, since you saw him yesterday. If Sheriff Alured were here, I would take you right over to him to make your accusation, and also have you open that sanctum door for him. If what you say is true, he would . . . But the sheriff is in the south, investigating escheats and purprestures, and he has taken most of his men with him. Even old Bishop Robert is away; the king sent him north on some sort of assize.”
Eadig had no idea what escheats and purprestures were and was very vague about assizes, but none of that mattered.
Nicholaa was obviously frightened, which was not surprising. She bit her lip and then said, “Could an enchanter like Quentin have arranged all that? I mean could he have used magic to remove the sheriff and the bishop from the town at the same time?”
“Yes, my lady. I’m sure he could. I don’t think Quentin’s the leader, though. Corneille was giving the orders last night.”
For a moment Lady Nicholaa’s expression suggested that she was planning a very unpleasant execution. “But what is he up to?”
