by Dave Duncan
“So, little man, you have answered our call! It took you long enough. Where were you?”
“On my way back to Nottingham, sir.”
The sage wiped his quill and laid it down, while regarding Eadig with a sinister interest. How much did he know? While gloating last night, he had told Neil and Piers how he had found a cantor’s cape in Eadig’s pack, so the pretense of being a page wasn’t going to work this time. Corneille folded his hands on his paunch.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know where the others had gone. I got lost following you last night, and when I asked around, no one knew anything about them. I slept in the hall with the pages, and this morning I went looking for my master in the town and couldn’t find him. So I decided to walk home.”
The villain smiled even more widely than before, as if he was enjoying plucking wings off this helpless fly he had caught. “You smell of horse, Eadig.”
“I rode all day yesterday.”
Corneille stood his pen in the inkwell and stood up. “You are a vicious little liar. Come here.” He took up the lantern that still stood on the table, lit it with Fiat ignis, and pointed to the trap door. “Down you go.”
Did they know yet that he had been down there last night or didn’t they?
Eadig said, “Why? What’s down there?”
“You’ll see. You’re an adept, so you know I can make you do what I say.”
That wasn’t quite true unless he had a release spell prepared, but he was a lot bigger, and Eadig had no realistic alternative. Corneille could grab him and throw him down that hole if he wanted. Eadig turned around and went down into utter darkness.
He went backward, like descending a ladder, and stepped aside at the bottom. Phew! There was a disgusting stink in the cellar that hadn’t been there yesterday. Corneille followed him with the lantern, facing forward, and blocking off the daylight from the trap as he descended.
When the cantor was two steps from the floor, Eadig pointed at his eyes, and shouted, “Mori Vermes!”
Durwin had said it would feel like hot vinegar, and certainly Corneille screamed loud enough. Clutching his eyes, he dropped the lantern, lost his footing, and came down with a blasphemous oath, a graceful swan dive into the flagstones. The lantern smashed and all went dark Eadig jumped over him and flew up the ladder faster than a swallow in fly time. He slammed the trap shut—there was no bolt, unfortunately, but Corneille would need a few minutes to pull himself together after that fall.
The outside door stood wide open but the door to the other room offered an alternative. It was still ajar, so its warding would not be active. Eadig slammed the outer door loudly and shot in through the other, then looked around quickly for a place to hide.
This room was obviously the real sanctum, furnished with a desk, several large chests, and high shelves laden with jars and bottles. It was more luxurious than any such study Eadig had seen in Helmdon, with weavings on the floor, tapestries on the walls, three high-backed chairs with fat cushions on them, and a bed whose drapes hung open to show that there was no one in it at present. A man could hide in that, but it was too obviously the place to look for him. So Eadig just stood behind the door, where he wouldn’t be seen unless Corneille came right inside.
Then he waited. And waited.
There came a crash as the trap was thrown open. Peering through the slit between the door hinges, Eadig watched the adept emerge from the trap and come limping in his direction. He had a bloody nose, and bloodstains on his cape. He looked madder than a wild boar with tusk ache.
He did not peer into the other room, or even pull the door closed as he went by. He left the building and shut the outer door.
Now what? Eadig had escaped for a while, but someone— either Quentin or Corneille—would be coming back there to sleep tonight, or torture someone, or both. It was also a long time since the dinner that Lovise had prepared. She was quite a piece, that one. No wonder Durwin turned into a simpering owl every time he looked at her.
He decided he must first check on the prisoners downstairs. The trap was still open. Come to think of it, the cellar had been strangely quiet. He would have expected Piers and Neil to cheer when Corneille fell.
Not daring to shout, because the window shutters were open and he might be heard by people outside the building, Eadig went down. Phew! The stench made his eyes water. The place smelled like Hell’s privy.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
No answer.
In a moment his eyes adjusted enough to show him the ruins of the lantern. He extracted the candle. Fiat ignis . . . Flame burned up to show that the cellar was empty. No Neil, no Piers, no Francois.
Now what? Eadig was stunned. He blew out the candle, put it back where he had found it, then scrambled up the stairs to get out of the horrible stink.
He could not imagine where Neil and Piers had gone. They couldn’t have been rescued, or Corneille would not be at liberty. If Corneille was at large, Quentin must be also, so the evil folk were still effective rulers of the castle. To fall into their hands again would not be advisable under present circumstances.
What to do? Eadig might go in search of Lady Nicholaa, but he could hardly hope to reach the Lucy tower and walk into her bedroom unchallenged. She might also be a prisoner by now, and even if she weren’t, he mustn’t lead the traitors to her and let them guess that she’s already helped him once. Durwin it must be, and most likely Durwin was still at the Larson house. If he wasn’t, Eadig had no idea where to start looking for him. That was the safest place to head for. From force of habit, he closed the door to the inner sanctum; he had been taught that such places should never be left open and unattended. He also closed the outer door, for the same reason. The sun had set already.
He could claim Ruffian and hope that the guards wouldn’t question him going out, since they had let him in, but he almost certainly couldn’t reach Sir Vernon before sunset, and he had destroyed Durwin’s letter. So it might be smarter to head over to the west gate and hope that the traitors wouldn’t look for him there? He might have a long walk because he’d have to go all the way around the castle, and probably all the way down to the bottom of the hill and back up again, but the important thing was to escape out of the castle. He headed west, zigzagging between buildings.
Da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da . . .
Oh, saints! It was starting again. What an idiot he was not to see that of course they only had to summon him again. A summoning, at least the one he was familiar with, was a very short, simple, single-voice chant. He would walk right up to Horrible Corneille, who probably smash his face in for what Eadig had done to him with Mori Vermes. It was hopeless.
Or maybe not! He had suffered the summoning for an hour or so the last time. Maybe if he could retrieve Ruffian and gallop down to the Larsen house, Durwin would be able to take the compulsion off him. He spun around and began to sprint back eastward. With luck the same men would still be on duty at the paddock by the gate, who would not waste time with questions.
No such luck, the man at the gate was not the boy who had taken Ruffian.
“My horse, please. Stallion called Ruffian.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Eadig son of Edwin.”
The man nodded as if this information confirmed his worst suspicions. “That accurst troublemaker! We had to put him in a stall.” He pointed to the stable. “At the far end.”
Eadig ran. The stable was dark, full of horse smells and noises. Then he realized that he wanted to go in here, wanted to go to the far end . . . The man who loomed up in front of him had a black beard. He said something that Eadig did not catch. It was probably Endormirez! or something similar, the trigger word for the Release spell that put him to sleep instantly.
chapter 18
the solar seemed bright and welcoming after the gloomy anteroom. There was no one there, and Nicholaa went straight across to a drape and pushed it aside. Lovise and I followed her into the bedchamber
beyond.
One wall of the room was built of massive masonry, the outlines of the blocks showing through a cover of plaster. Its three windows were mere arrow slits, so this was part of the keep’s defenses, although at present being used as pleasant living quarters. Another wall faced inward, so it had a large window, like the solar’s. The chamber was pleasantly cool on a hot summer evening, but had no fireplace, so it would be cold in winter. On the bed lay an elderly man, his eyes closed, the sheet over his chest barely moving. His hair and beard were snowy white and needed combing; his face was the color of dead grass. Nicholaa went to the chair beside him.
“Father? Father! . . .” And so on, but there was no response at all. She looked up at me in despair. “He’s worse!” she whispered.
I nodded and took her place. I felt his forehead, but if there was a spell there, it was so faint that I could not trust myself not to be imagining it. If this were a normal sickness, I would not expect him to last a week. I gestured for Lovise to try, which clearly surprised Nicholaa.
Lovise laid her hand on the constable’s forehead and then nodded. “Very faint, but I think so.”
“Does he have conscious moments, my lady?” I knew that he had been capable of speech when Eadig saw him just the previous day.
“Yes. Usually he does. He did yesterday, but I don’t think I have ever seen him as bad as this.”
I wondered if Sage Quentin had done more damage during his brief visit, but did not say so. If he was as skilled an enchanter as I thought he was, he would be able to raise or lower Lord Richard’s condition like a flag on a pole. Now the scoundrel wanted the constable firmly out of action, so he was moribund.
“If his affliction is natural, my lady, I can think of no potion or incantation that will benefit him. But Lovise and I both suspect that he may have been cursed, and in that case we can chant an antiphon that may do him some good. It cannot do any harm, so with your permission, I should like to try it.”
She studied me in silence for a moment. She could not be certain that I was not in league with the traitors. “And if his ailment is natural, what are his chances?”
“Less than a week.” That was an optimistic estimate.
Lovise said, “I know my father would not even try to treat a patient so grievously smitten in the way of nature.”
Nicholaa nodded. “You may proceed, then.”
I bowed, admiring her courage, for that was no easy decision she had made. I opened my pack to find the two capes and copies of the Abi maledictum.
“Cantor Larson,” I said, “I suggest one small change. Let us assume that the evildoers have cursed him more than once, and amend the maledictum to the plural, maledicta.”
Lovise nodded, and we began. I skipped over the superfluous nemo. A few versicles later I felt acceptance, saw Lovise smiling, and then we were done. We looked expectantly at our patient. He took longer to react than Harald had the previous day, for this situation was graver. I had almost decided that the enchantment had failed us when his eyelids flickered and then opened.
Nicholaa gasped as if she had been holding her breath the whole time. “Father?”
Lord Richard blinked a few times. “Nicholaa?” His voice was barely a whisper, but his words were those of a man in full possession of his faculties. “Who are these people?”
“Friends sent by God, Father.”
“Whatever they just did, tell them to do it again.”
Startled, Lovise and I looked at each other. Obviously the decision must be mine, and I had never heard of repeating a spell that had worked. It probably would do no good at all, but I could not see how it would do any harm.
“As you wish, my lord.”
I hummed a note, Lovise nodded, and we began again. If I felt acceptance, it was very faint, but perhaps the mere sound of the chanting raised our patient’s spirits, for this time his eyes opened fully, and he said clearly, “Thank you.”
Nicholaa practically threw herself onto the bed to kiss him. Lovise and I tactfully withdrew to the solar and closed the drape. Hearing voices outside, I opened the door, and found that three men-at-arms had joined the two Toms in the anteroom. I was relieved to see them, but they regarded me with grave suspicion.
“The constable is much better already,” I said. “I expect he will have some orders for you in a few minutes.” Rarely have I seen frowns blossom into smiles so dramatically. “And if Sage Quentin or Adept Corneille should appear, do not let them in.
In fact, you should arrest them. And if you do, be sure to gag them as quickly as possible so they have no chance to lay curses on you.”
Rewarded with a chorus of, “Ayes,” I closed the door again.
I returned our scrolls to my pack, but retained my cape, for the hardest part of the day was about to begin. I regarded Lovise with misgivings.
“I think you should go back home. I’ll ask Lady Nicholaa to give you an escort.” Seeing her jaw clench, I added, “We cursed every other healer in town. Your father must be swamped with new patients.”
Her eye glinted blue fire. “And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to attempt to rescue Neil, Piers and Francois. I can open the warded doors without a cantor, and the castle men-at-arms will do all the rough stuff for me. Much as I appreciate your help so far, love, I don’t think I—”
“And if Neil and the others have been cursed? If the man Francois is too injured to move? Then you will need a cantor. And when did I give you permission to call me your love?”
I moved closer and gripped her shoulders. “When you bewitched me. When we have done with the traitors, Lovise, will you marry me?” I’m not sure I had intended to say that, and she did look startled.
“We met just yesterday!”
“Yes, but I’ve been very busy.” I kissed her before she could say more.
Our embrace was interrupted by a cough from Nicholaa. We parted and I expect I blushed as red as my newly betrothed beloved. Blushing is the dark side of a fair complexion.
But Nicholaa was far too happy to take offense at our unseemly display. Her father was with her, leaning on her shoulder and barefoot, but gowned. His hair and beard had been hastily combed. Although he looked weak enough to blow away like a seeding dandelion, his eyes were bright and there was purpose in the set of his jaw.
When his daughter had helped him settle in a chair, I bowed.
“My lord.”
“Sage Durwin? I appear to owe you my life.” He spoke softly, but clearly and deliberately.
“I did naught but my duty to the king and my profession, sir.”
He nodded. “And what happens now?” He was smart enough to realize that he must husband his strength, not waste it in ceremonial chitchat.
“There are some of your guards outside, sir. I suggest that you give them orders to arrest Sage Quentin and Adept Corneille, and to liberate the prisoners they have chained up under the sanctum.”
He nodded and glanced at Nicholaa, who could not shake off her delighted grin. She went to the door, peered out, and then opened it wide.
“Master-at-arms de Grasse, Father.”
In walked one of the men I had spoken to shortly before. He was of average height, but broad and deep-chested, with a jaw like an anvil, a piebald beard, and icicle eyes. An ancient white scar ran from the base of his right ear up to his forehead, narrowly missing his eye. Not a man to trifle with, yet at that moment he was smiling. He saluted the constable.
“Captain, go and release the men who are being held prisoner in the sages’ sanctum. Arrest Sage Quentin and Adept Corneille on a charge of treason and lock them up in the new jail.”
“Aye, my lord!”
“This is Sage Durwin. You can trust him. Follow his advice on how to deal with the sorcerers and the hellish arts they have been using, on both me and others. Report back to my daughter . . . And you had better post guards on me until you have those two traitors safely chained up.”
“Aye, my lord!” The cap
tain’s smile was even wider, however incongruous it seemed on such a face.
Lord Richard murmured, “Proceed,” and sagged back in his chair, his duty done.
De Grasse glanced expectantly at me, and then headed for the door.
“I prescribe some nourishing soup and a few days’ rest, my lady,” I said. “Do not let your father overtire himself.”
Nicholaa smiled at me blissfully. “Truly God sent you to us in our hour of need, Sage.”
I was no stranger to gratitude, for I had restored health to many patients, but I knew that I had come very close to disaster in this project. “Even sinners can serve him, my lady, and the glory is His.” And we were not out of the forest yet. Indeed, we were still in the lions’ den.
I bowed, Lovise curtseyed, and we withdrew.
More men-at-arms had arrived, crowding the anteroom. De Grasse looked to me. “I suggest we assemble outside, Sage, and you can instruct us on how to deal with the traitors.”
I nodded, while I recalled Eadig’s description of the sanctum and cellar. “We shall need lanterns, rags to gag the prisoners, also shackles and chains, of course.”
He began to issue orders, designating men to guard the constable. Lovise and I went downstairs, and found our way to the main door and the stairs down to ground level. The solar had still been fairly bright, but down among the shadows, twilight reigned.
Soon de Grasse joined us with half a dozen men, who eyed me suspiciously.
“The constable is recovering from his malady; he has ordered us to arrest Sage Quentin and Adept Corneille. Sage Durwin, here, is going to tell us how to go about it.”
All eyes turned to me, glanced at my cane, my boot, and finally my face. I wished I had my cape with me, although Nicholaa had probably been right when she said that it would mean nothing to such men.
“I was sent here by His Grace King Henry,” I said. “This is Adept Lovise Larson and you can all take your lustful, lecherous eyes off her, because I saw her first. The two traitors, Quentin and Corneille, have captured Sir Neil, the king’s officer, and his squire, also one of his men. They are holding them prisoner in the cellar below the new sanctum, which I believe is known as the old jail.”
