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

by B. J. Beach

  The two brothers hugged and back-slapped before standing at arm’s length and looking with undisguised joy and relief into each other’s flushed faces.

  Clies’ mouth quivered as he gave Corlin a soft punch on the shoulder. “Silly bugger! What you crying for?”

  Corlin sniffed. “So, I suppose your eyes are wet ‘cos you’ve got a cold.”

  The two men gave each other another quick hug, then turned and with a loud cheer, waved up at Otty. After making certain that Clies was unharmed and that the excitement of the reunion had died down, Earl Jouan stepped forward, and after a quiet word to both men, and accompanied by Karryl and the Grollart Ragar, took Clies down to the barracks to ask him some questions.

  Corlin looked over the battlement at Otty who had stepped out of the moat and, with a wistful expression was looking over into the bailey from the edge of the water-logged meadow. Assured that they were in no danger, the entire population of the castle had come out from their refuge in the keep to gaze, some in horror, and some in amazement, at the giant who stood beyond the west wall. D’ta also had her gaze fixed on Otty and seemed to be studying him intently.

  The minstrel limped over to her and leaned on the wall of the rampart. “What will happen to him now? Will he ever be his normal size again?”

  D’ta lowered her gaze and smiled as though the answer should have been obvious. “He will be returned to the place to which the magic of the clock took and transformed him. There his size will not be a problem as he will be considered simply average. As for his being normal size again, that would only be possible if the clock were to be recovered and its power used correctly.”

  Corlin looked dejected. “Oh well. I s’pose that’s for the best. He couldn’t really go back to Redmire like that, could he?”

  D’ta shook her head. “Not at all. He may not be completely happy for a while until he has settled, but at least he will be safe. The Megamen are peace-loving farmers, and Otty will fit right in to their world, I’m sure.”

  Corlin’s eyes widened as a sudden thought struck him. “How will he get there? I pitched the clock into the moat!”

  The goddess gave him a stern look, but there was a twinkle in her amethyst eyes. “Who are you standing here talking to, Corlin?”

  The minstrel looked perplexed. “But I thought you said you couldn’t do anything!”

  D’ta raised a slender finger. “Aah! But I know someone who can.”

  At that moment a thunderous boom reverberated round the castle and the crowd of spectators scattered like disturbed ants. Apparently tired of being stared and pointed at, Otty had stomped back into the moat, sending another wave of dirty water rushing up the western meadows. With his arm through the top of the battlements, Otty waggled a tree-trunk of a finger at Corlin. Not certain what the giant man wanted, Corlin reached up and ran his hand along the warm coarse skin. He smiled up at Otty, but his insides were in knots. He had only known this farmer from Redmire for a few weeks, but they had been through a lot together, and Corlin knew that this was a friendship that was soon to come to an end.

  Knowing that the giant of a man would hardly feel it, Corlin gave the thick finger a hefty double slap in a gesture of farewell and good luck. Otty’s warm breath gusted over the minstrel as he leaned forward and uttered a slow, low rumble. Stepping back, Corlin raised a hand high in acknowledgment of Otty’s “Goodbye Corlin.”

  The water in the moat sloshed and gurgled as Otty stepped out, over the massive coping stones and onto the meadow. A half dozen strides took him to the centre of the torn and mangled ground so recently occupied by Treevers’ army. Turning to face the castle, Otty raised one mighty arm in a final gesture of farewell. His long red-brown hair caught the morning sun, and as he turned and strode off into the distance, it seemed as though his head was on fire.

  Sergeant Ryman stood his men down, leading them in a quick march to the keep from where the mouth-watering aromas of breakfast were drifting across into the bailey. The few remaining onlookers drifted away back to the duties and chores, leaving Corlin alone on the walkway with D’ta. They stood watching Otty through the battlements until he was no more than a grey indefinable shape on the horizon.

  D’ta held out a slender hand. “This must be goodbye, Corlin Bentfoot. It is unlikely we shall meet again, but you may rest assured that no harm will come to Otty.”

  As Corlin’s fingers brushed hers, the amethyst-eyed goddess vanished, leaving behind a delicate trace of honeysuckle and spring blossoms. Corlin stood lost in thought for a few moments before making his way down the steps, wondering how the blood and thunder he was going to tell Otty’s father what had happened to his only son.

  56 - Back at ‘The Red Dog’

  It was evening when Corlin rode into Redmire. His behind was sore, his leg ached and he was hungry. Ned the landlord had drawn the curtains but, through a chink, a shaft of inviting golden light shone from the window of ‘The Red Dog.’ Corlin clambered from the saddle and stretched tired and cramped muscles before leading Megan under the arch and into the inn’s stable-yard.

  A figure stepped forward into the circle of light shed by the single lantern. “Good evening sir. Will you be taking lodging?”

  Corlin handed Megan’s reins over to the ostler, the same man who had tended her on his first arrival at this inn. For a brief moment, the minstrel felt as if he had gone back in time and the whole thing was about to start all over again. The reassuring tangibility of his staff and gimalin as he unhitched them from Megan’s saddle was enough to dispel the disturbing thought.

  He fumbled in his inside pocket, pulled out a half-silver and dropped it into the ostler’s hand. “A day or two, hopefully; maybe a little longer.”

  The man nodded his thanks as he looked Megan over then peered at Corlin. “I reckons we’ve ‘ad the pleasure of your company before sir.” He nodded at the gimalin slung over Corlin’s shoulder. “You be the minstrel what was ‘ere a few days afore Duke Ergwyn died.”

  Corlin gave a tight smile and nodded. “You’re right, and if I have time I’ll attempt to write a ballad about it, but right now I need something in my stomach and a good night’s sleep in a proper bed.”

  The ostler chuckled. “Well, you and your mare here ‘ave come to the right place. No doubt Ned’ll be glad to see you. ‘E still talks about your playin’ an’ singin’.” He gave an assertive nod. “That ‘e does.”

  While Megan was led off to a stall, Corlin made his way round to the front of the inn, relieved to find that the staff which Cadomar had made for him still seemed to have the power to lighten his steps. He pushed open the door and stood blinking for a moment in the sudden brightness while once more he shook off the uncomfortable feeling that everything was happening again. This time, however, it was very different. The tall man bending to make up the fire stood upright and looked to see who had opened the door.

  With a wide grin on his long face he strode across the room and grabbed Corlin by the arm. “Well, I’m blessed!” He called out across the room for his half dozen customers to hear. “Look who’s here! It’s Master Bentfoot, the minstrel!”

  A little taken aback by the Ned’s effusive welcome, although the reaction of his customers was noticeably cooler, Corlin chuckled. “Thanks Ned. It’s good to be back.” He looked round the bar-room. “Where’s Hobb?”

  Ned grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “I bought a proper cage like you asked, and kept him in the bar for a day or two. Then my brother comes in and takes a fancy to ‘im, so now ‘es livin’ down the road a mile or so with ‘is family. Love ‘im to bits, they do.”

  Corlin hadn’t even expected the bird to be alive, so was secretly pleased that someone had given it a good home. He decided he wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to claim him back, if at all, although he had sometimes missed his antics, even as now he missed Luma, who had inexplicably switched his loyalty to Earl Jouan and refused to leave the hustle and bustle of Castle Tregwald.

  No sooner h
ad Corlin been settled by the fire, his gimalin placed with care on an empty table, and a tankard of ale pushed into his hand than the kitchen door clattered and Molly came scurrying in, her round face aglow. Corlin barely had time to grab his staff before she had scowled at Ned, clicked her tongue in disapproval and without a word was shepherding the minstrel and his tankard of ale across the room and into the kitchen.

  Her eyes twinkling, she pulled out Ned’s comfortable carver chair. “There you are Corlin. You sit there and we’ll get some food inside you.” She jerked her head in the direction of the bar-room. “T’would never occur to Ned that you’d probably be hungry. He’d already got his mind set on you entertaining his customers.”

  Dishes and cutlery clattered, and in only a few moments Molly was putting a generously filled plate of rabbit stew and boiled potatoes in front of him.

  Corlin gave a little frown as he picked up his fork. “Were you expecting me?”

  The landlady folded her plump arms over her generous bosom and gave the minstrel a warm smile. “Bless you, no. It’s almost Ned’s dinner-time, but I always makes extra, just in case. He’ll be here in a minute or two and then you two men can have a good natter while I goes an’ gets your room ready.” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Has Otty come back with you by any chance?”

  Corlin paused, a forkful halfway to his mouth, and decided that the less he said for now, the better. “Er...no. Otty won’t be back for a while.”

  At that moment Ned ambled into the kitchen, the expression on his face making it quite clear that he had heard.

  He sat down on a straight-backed chair opposite Corlin and folded his arms. “Why’s that then? Somethin’ happened to ‘im?”

  His mouth full of rabbit stew, Corlin shook his head and frowned.

  Molly came to his rescue. “Leave him to finish his dinner Ned, and you get stuck into yours. You can talk after.” She called back from the doorway. “Who’s looking after the bar?”

  Ned waved his fork. “Jenna. She’ll be alright ‘til I get back. There’s only a few in.”

  Corlin looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Jenna?”

  Ned smiled. “Jenna is my niece. She turned twenty-one while you were away, so she can come in and do the odd stint behind the bar if I’m busy.” To Corlin’s surprise he gave him a broad wink. “You could do worse.”

  Leaving Corlin with food for thought to add to his dinner, nothing further was said until the two men had cleared their plates, and Ned had filled and lit his pipe. Corlin felt himself tense, as he waited for the questioning to start.

  To his surprise Ned gave him a knowing look through a cloud of aromatic blue smoke, and smiled. “I guess you’ve had a long ride. You’ll be too tired to be giving us a song tonight, eh?”

  To hide his relief, Corlin took a swig of his ale before replying. “A long ride but uneventful; still tiring though, all those hours in the saddle. Tomorrow night I’ll make a much better job of it. Tonight all I want to do is sleep.”

  The question he had managed to avoid at the start of dinner duly came. “So, can we expect Otty later?”

  Corlin finished his ale, stood up and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll give you the full story tomorrow sometime. All I can tell you for now is that he’s alive and safe, and so is my brother Clies.”

  It was obvious that Ned didn’t want to let it rest, but once again Corlin was saved by Molly, who came bustling back into the kitchen. “You’ve got the room you had last time, and I’ve taken your gimalin up too. Now, you go up, sleep well and don’t worry about a thing.” She gave him a look that said she would stand no argument. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  As Corlin made his slow way up the wooden staircase, Ned looked up at Molly, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown. “I’ve got a feeling that we ain’t going to like what he’s got to tell us.”

  Molly nodded but said nothing.

  57 - Always Start with a Good Breakfast

  The three day ride from Tregwald to Redmire had given Corlin time to think. Not everything was clear in his mind, and he frequently found himself struggling to remember small details, some of which he felt certain would prove to be of importance at some time in the not too distant future. He kept going over and over the events of the past few weeks, but his thoughts kept returning to Clies’ decision to remain at Castle Tregwald. Now that his brother was a free man again, Corlin had hoped that somehow, even though they no longer had a holding, they could have stayed together a while longer. Earl Jouan had tried his best to persuade Corlin to return from Redmire and join the community at the castle, once he had done what he felt was his duty to Otty, but the minstrel had declined. He had given no specific reason, knowing that the true reason he had would probably not be understood.

  Hands folded behind his head, Corlin wriggled down into the comfort of his bed and gazed up at the low, beamed ceiling. Sounds of voices and occasional laughter drifted up from the bar, and he found himself wishing he could go down and find Otty sprawled across one of the big wooden settles. He began to rehearse in his mind what he was going to say to Otty’s father, a man he had never met, and about whom Otty had said very little. He fell asleep imagining the scene in the kitchen next morning when he intended to ask Ned to accompany him to the Stockman’s farm.

  * * *

  Molly poked her head round the kitchen door as Corlin crept down the hallway, just before sunrise. He gave her an apologetic smile as he whispered “I tried to be as quiet as I could.”

  The landlady chuckled and gave him a knowing wink. “Your bedroom door creaks.” She opened the kitchen door a little further. “Do you want to come in? I’ll make you some breakfast, unless you were going to do something important.”

  Corlin shook his head. “Just going to check on Megan, that’s all.”

  Molly beckoned him in, standing back as he sidled awkwardly past her. “She’ll be fine. Dickon is a good man. He won’t see a horse badly done by.”

  Corlin looked around, appreciating the homeliness of the cosy lamp-lit kitchen, with its large scrubbed table, and the rack of pots and pans reflecting the glow from the half-open door of the sturdy iron cooking range.

  He pulled out one of the straight-backed chairs and sat down. “Will Ned be in shortly?”

  Molly chuckled as she began to bustle about the kitchen. “Bless me, no! He’s already away to the river. ‘Tis Sun Day tomorrow, so today he goes fishing. He’ll be back about noon.”

  Seeing his original plan go flying out the window, Corlin, who also liked to go fishing, added a few observations of his own, but when the topic was exhausted the conversation turned to various aspects of life in and around Redmire. Inevitably the game of Barrel-ball eventually came up, just as Molly put a plate of bacon, sausage, mushrooms and fried potatoes, and a large mug of tea in front of him.

  She sat down opposite him and folded her arms. “Otty played a great game of Barrel-ball. You saw him play, didn’t you?”

  His mouth too full of bacon and potato to reply, Corlin nodded. Seeing that the minstrel was unable and also probably disinclined to answer, Molly stood up and crossed to the deep brown-glazed sink where she began to prepare vegetables, humming quietly to herself as she worked. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder to see if Corlin had finished his breakfast.

  At last he put down his knife and fork and pushed his plate to one side. “That was fit for a king. Thanks Molly.”

  She bustled over to the table and collected his plate, pausing for a moment as if something had just occurred to her. “Ned was quite disappointed when he found that Otty hadn’t come back with you.”

  Corlin picked up his tea and sipped quietly, smiling to himself round the rim of the mug. He knew where this was going, and he also knew it was unavoidable. Molly’s seemingly innocuous remark was her way of giving him an opportunity to tell his story. Later, like the dutiful wife she was, she would pass everything Corlin had told her on to Ned. From past
experience, Corlin knew that there was a good chance this could lead to distortion and misunderstandings.

  He finished his tea and stood up. “Will Otty’s da come to the inn if I send a message?”

  His question quite clearly took Molly by surprise, and she leaned against the sink, her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “We-e-ell; he has been here a few times of late. Maybe he will if he thinks it’s important enough.”

  Corlin’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Oh he will, I’m sure. Do you know anybody that would go?”

  Molly nodded and waved a hand in the direction of the stable-yard. “Dickon will know. He’s up and about. Shall I fetch him for you?”

  “No, I’ll go. You stay here and finish doing those veggies.”

  Before Molly could say anything further, Corlin was at the door. He turned with his hand on the latch and grinned back at her. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the whole story. Not right now though.”

  He closed the door behind him and headed for the stables. Megan blew in his face by way of welcome as he gave her muzzle an affectionate pat. “Good morning lovely girl. Now, where might I find Dickon?”

  The ostler’s voice drifted in through the half open door. “I be here sir. Was you wantin’ summat?”

  The two men met in the doorway, the ostler looking eager to please, probably anticipating the weight of another half silver in his pocket, the minstrel’s expression earnest and hopeful.

  Corlin looked towards the entrance. “How far is it to Otty’s father’s farm?”

  The ostler scratched his balding head as he thought for a moment. “No more than about three miles. Was you wantin’ to know the way?”

  The minstrel thought for a moment or two, then nodded. “If you would. I was going to ask you to find someone to take a message, but on second thoughts it might be better if I went myself.”

  The directions that Dickon gave him seemed straightforward enough, and Corlin doubted that he’d have any problems finding the Stockman’s farm. It also occurred to him that as the route would take him near the river for part of the way, he might just happen to see Ned. A few minutes conversation about fishing would help to take his mind off the potential repercussions of his unwelcome but necessary task.