The Enchanter General 02 - Trial by Treason

by Dave Duncan

  But then Lovise, who was watching in the doorway, began to sing. Ruffian’s ears swiveled. He steadied visibly, and in a few minutes she was out there, stroking his neck and he was calmer than any millpond. Had it been physically possible, I believe he would have curled up on her lap and purred like a kitten. Eadig listened intently to the words and melody, and gradually joined in. Grinning, then, he swung back up into the saddle and Ruffian barely seemed to notice. After a few minutes, I opened the gate and stood clear. Ruffian happily pranced out into the street and set off downhill, still entranced by Eadig’s singing.

  “It’s a lullaby,” Lovise explained. “Works well on colicky babies.”

  chapter 16

  we restored what order we could to the yard, and I sent Lars off to the cooper with money to buy a new water butt—not that it could be properly filled until the winter rains, but water could be purchased from the water cart. The rest of us went back indoors to consider our attack on the evildoers.

  This was when I wished Sir Neil had warned me that our mission might encounter treason. Back at Helmdon I had maledictions that would call down pain, nausea, blindness, impotence, and delusions on their subjects. The only one I had brought with me produced massive confusion, but its wording made me doubt that it would work at a distance or last very long. Those are not the sort of spells one tries out on people.

  The normally unused grimoire that Harald brought down from his attic contained a curse that was longer, older, and fiercer. It was also less specific, calling for mistakes, misfortune, and misadventure. Since these are as common in the world as fleas, they are easily summoned, and with some luck on our side, the conspirators might not even realize for a while that their misfortunes had been sent. If so they would be slower to retaliate. Also, our spell might even prevent their spells from working correctly, which would be a big gain for us. So we agreed to use the horrible thing. To chant it would be a breach of the sages’ oath I had sworn, but I felt no guilt doing so in self-defense— Corneille and his gang had started the violence.

  I easily located two trip wires in it, and with great difficulty convinced Harald that it was necessary to remove them. We made fair copies of the parts and, with Elvire’s help, a list of our chosen victims: Quentin of Lepuix; Corneille Boterel, Walter of Froyle, Tancred de Umfraville, and Henri Morlaix.

  “Eadig mentioned a giant who seems to be in their pay or under their control,” I said.

  “Odell,” Elvire said. “I know who he meant. He’s known as Odell Little. There are a couple of other Odells in the castle.”

  But Odell seemed to be more a victim than a conspirator, so we omitted him from our bane. Harald, Lovise, and I went into the sanctum, closed the door, and launched our counterattack on Corneille’s treasonous coven. We felt acceptance every time, although not strongly in the case of Henri Morlaix. His house was farthest away, Harald said.

  I was left with a soiled feeling I had never known before.

  When we rejoined Elvire and Lars in the kitchen, we had to discuss what we did next, but it was obvious that Lovise and I should go to the castle to see if we could restore the constable to health. If we could, then he should be able to rally the garrison and bring back the rule of law. Moreover, Elvire was anxious to report to Nicholaa, who would be worrying. The sun was already in the west, and vespers could not be far off.

  Lars supplied a tunic and hose that he had outgrown a year ago, and with those I dressed as a porter. Lovise had no trouble making herself look like a servant, since that was exactly what she was most of the time. In my eyes she looked just as attractive in worn old rags as she did dressed as a lady enchanter, beauty being always in the eye of the beholder. I lightened my pack by removing all the parchments that seemed irrelevant, but I left my cape in there, and added a white one that Lovise brought. Then I stuffed a robe in to pad it out so it looked more like a man’s load. I slung it on my back and we were ready to go.

  Almost ready to go. I made a quiet visit to the privy—now back where it should be—and quietly chanted the Fiat ignis. That is a release spell, which needs renewing every few days. It is more a handy tool than a weapon, but setting a man’s shirt on fire will usually distract him.

  Lars wistfully wished us luck, I warned Harald to be wary of reprisals by the conspirators, and we set off up the hill. Elvire strode along in front, of course, and we followed as her attendants. We went up to the cathedral’s west door—the only part of the old church that was to survive the earthquake—and that is only a small distance from the drawbridge at the castle’s eastern gate. The guards all knew Lady Nicholaa’s principal servant and were much too busy admiring Lovise to notice me.

  Da-dum-da-dum-da-dum- . . . It was quiet and slow, a gentle caution, not an urgent alarm.

  Any first-time visitor must be impressed by the size of Lincoln Castle, for a small town could fit easily within its curtain wall. Elvire led us straight to the constable’s private quarters in the Lucy Tower, and there we found Nicholaa in her private parlor, a cosy little room with a glazed window overlooking the inner courtyard. She was seated on a padded chair, embroidering, while a clerk on a stool read out a list of accounts for her to approve or disapprove. The clerk was dismissed and introductions made.

  I was astonished at how young Nicholaa was—nubile but only just. As Lovise had already told me, her ancestors had been constables of the castle for a hundred years and she had no brothers, so it was natural that she should be in command while her father was indisposed. She could not hold a candle to Lovise in looks, but she did have astonishing poise and confidence for her age. Her youth and gender must have helped Sage Quentin bypass her authority, and yet they might aid us, if the conspirators underestimated her enough.

  Once I had been presented, I explained the situation. I told her that I had sent Eadig with a letter to Sir Vernon, and hoped that he would report the problem to the justiciar himself. “He may not, of course. Belted knights have a strong disinclination to appeal to anyone for help, so I shall not be surprised if he charges in here tomorrow with his army to rescue Sir Neil.”

  “I will make him welcome, Sage,” she said at once. “I only hope that the coven, as you call them, do not wreak further evil in the meantime.”

  “Corneille has probably sent word for his helpers to assemble here tonight. You could order the guards not to admit the town healers.”

  She was seated and I was standing, but her frown made me feel suddenly small and stupid. “Quentin and Corneille will hear of it. Then they will simply have my father overrule me. My father is totally in Quentin’s power and does not know what he is doing, Sage.”

  She did not add that the Satanists might work some evil spells on her also, but that was obvious. Although I appreciated her predicament, I needed her help too urgently to give way.

  “Please understand the stakes here, my lady. Quentin has painted a pentagram on the floor of the sanctum. That means that he uses, or intends to use, the worst sort of demonic black magic. For that he needs five chanters: himself, Corneille, and the three new healers from the town. With them he will be able to enchant Sir Neil and his squire into believing anything or doing anything that he tells them.”

  That startled her, as well it might. She looked for support to Elvire, but the older woman merely shrugged. Then she added, “From what the adept said, they have already enslaved Sergeantat-arms Odell.”

  “I don’t know if they used their pentagram to do that,” I admitted. “If they did, they would have had to make him stay still while they chanted at him, which sounds unlikely from what I hear about his size. If they didn’t, then they would have been limited to a two-man incantation, and their hold on him will be temporary, and weaker. He probably wouldn’t commit murder for them, for example.”

  “Have you evidence on what they plan?”

  “Nothing I could lay before the sheriff’s court. But the king was sufficiently impressed by Sir Courtney’s letter to send men all the way from Brittany to investi
gate, and my own arts warned me that we would encounter high treason. Rebellion may not be exactly the form it will take, but it seems the most likely.”

  “William of Addington holds the gates today?” Nicholaa asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Elvira said.

  “And he will know the healers by sight?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They might have special postern passes to enter after curfew, because I saw Healer Tancred here last night.”

  “I signed no passes!”

  “But your seal or signature could be forged,” I said.

  Nicholaa’s eyes flashed. “Go and tell William that they are not to be admitted today or tonight under any circumstances, by my father’s order.”

  Elvire bowed her head in acknowledgment and departed without sparing me a glance. I felt I had won a significant victory. If our maledictions did not hinder the coven’s assembly, then this must at least delay it: the pentagram would not work without five chanters.

  “I am grateful, my lady. I have two further requests. First, with your permission, I should like to examine your father to see if his disablement is natural or not.”

  Nicholaa was on her feet in a flash. “I will take you to him, although I warn you that even I am not always allowed in to see him. As his healer, Sage Quentin can forbid visitors.”

  “I brought my sage’s cape, my lady. Perhaps if I dressed the part?”

  “If I can’t get you in then no one can,” she said firmly. “The guards likely do not know what a green cape signifies, and I had rather that Corneille and Quentin not learn of your presence in the castle yet.”

  “Wise advice, if you will not mind my attending your father without it.”

  “And what is the second thing?”

  “You must have some men you do trust?” I knew she had, because she had managed to intercept Eadig on his way out that morning. “If you could round up four or five as an escort, ma’am, then as soon as I have visited your father, I should like you to accompany me to this jail that Corneille uses, so we can release Sir Neil and his squire.”

  “The jail is now a sanctum. It is warded.”

  “I can deal with wards. Even my cantor got in last night.”

  “And I do not know where the keys are.”

  “I can deal with locks, also, ma’am.”

  For the first time she smiled at me. “You are just the sort of avenging angel I have been praying for, Sage Durwin. Elvire, see if you can find Master-at-arms de Grasse, or one of the men we set to find the boy this morning. Come this way, Sage.”

  Lovise and I followed. As I expected from Eadig’s story, Nicholaa led us to the solar, the highest point within the Lucy Tower. I braced myself for my usual struggle with a spiral staircase, but none appeared. My climb was easy, although I am slow on any stairs. Just before I reached the top and the room Eadig had described, I heard stools being pushed back, then Nicholaa’s voice

  “How is he, Tom?”

  “A shade better than this morning, I think, ma’am, but still not as good as yesterday. He refused any nourishment at noon.”

  I emerged and saw the father-and-son team that Eadig had met the previous day, the two Tom-son-of-Toms. A glance at their chessboard told me that whoever was playing black was by far the better player—unless white had spotted him his queen to start with.

  “And who is with him just now?” Nicholaa asked quietly.

  The elder Tom said, “No one right now, ma’am. The sage looked in ’bout an hour ago. Didn’t stay long.”

  “Good.” She sounded relieved. “I would prefer that we not be disturbed, even by the sage.” She tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for a answer. Lovise and I followed her in.

  I suspected that the two Toms, however eager to please Nicholaa they might be, would not have much success in keeping Sage Quentin out if he appeared.

  chapter 17

  despite his display of temper in the Larsons’ yard, Ruffian was a lot less sprightly than usual. Even after Eadig had ridden him out of the town and given him his head, he did not roar off like a whirlwind along the highway as was his custom. This was his fourth day on the road, and even he must be feeling in need of a holiday. Eadig’s own horse, poor old Bon Appétit, had been practically crawling on her knees, begging for mercy by the time she reached Lincoln yesterday.

  It was another fine day for a ride, a little cooler than before, and Eadig was confident that he would reach Nottingham before curfew if nothing happened to delay him. The roads were almost empty, because the farmers would have delivered their produce and not yet have left for home.

  He was still annoyed at being relegated to the job of messenger boy. He had done wonderfully well as a spy last night, and again this morning by finding Durwin and reporting what he had seen. Durwin had admitted all that and praised him highly. But he had also insisted that Eadig could best serve now by getting the word out to stuffy, hedge-faced Sir Vernon. Durwin was always fair and almost always right. He was undoubtedly right this time. True, but irksome.

  Once the king heard the news, Sage Quentin’s goose would be thoroughly cooked, but how long was that going to take? At least two weeks, maybe a month, to pass the news, and at least as long for the royal orders to get back here. By that time the enchanters might have jumped on their broomsticks and vanished, their evil deeds done.

  Flying broomsticks would be really handy things . . . . maybe he could invent them when he was a licensed sage.

  About halfway to Newark, Eadig paused at a swampy pool so that he could stretch his legs and Ruffian could drink. Something was niggling. Something he had forgotten? Something he should have told Durwin but hadn’t? Something he should turn back to attend to? Of course not, that was ridiculous. And why was that soft tap of warning from the Tambour magic back again? He looked around nervously, but no one or nothing was creeping up on him.

  But when he had mounted again and directed Ruffian back to the road, he felt a compelling urge to head back to Lincoln. Oh, Satan’s claws! He recognized the problem now—he was being summoned.

  Durwin? Had Durwin changed his mind? That wasn’t likely. Some of the Helmdon sages were as jittery as chickens, but never he. The alternative was that Neil and Piers had been tortured some more, until they told Corneille Eadig’s real name. That was much more serious and much more likely. If Eadig abandoned his mission and turned back, then Sir Vernon wouldn’t hear the news. He wouldn’t start wondering until tomorrow evening, because it was only tomorrow morning that Durwin was supposed to meet the others at the cathedral. Even then, Vernon could not set out until dawn on Saturday, and would not arrive until late that day. By then anything might have happened.

  But Eadig had no choice. There was no one there to chant an antiphon, and the itch was growing stronger by the minute. He must either go back to the person who had summoned him, or go insane. And when he went insane he would still go back. He debated for a moment whether he could kick Ruffian into a gallop and hope to escape out of the spell’s range before its grip on him became irresistible. The question answered itself when he realized that he couldn’t force himself even to try.

  He still had Durwin’s letter. If Corneille caught him, he must not get the letter, because it named the Larsons’ house. Putting off his inevitable surrender for a few moments longer, Eadig rode back to the pool, untied the letter, and dropped it in the water. The ink had probably not set well yet, and ought to smear enough that anyone finding it would not be able to read what had been written.

  Then he turned Ruffian again and started his ride back to Lincoln. He would find out who had summoned him when he entered the town and rode up the hill. Either he would turn off to go to the Larson house, or he would continue to the castle at the top.

  The castle it was, the east gate, and by that time the drumming in his head had driven him almost insane. He wanted to scream at it that he knew there was danger ahead but he couldn’t do anything about it. Two enchantments pulling him in opposite directions—and noth
ing he could do to stop the torture except cut his own throat. He was almost glad to see the gate ahead of him and know that at least he would get some relief when he surrendered to the conspirators.

  He crossed the drawbridge and reined in when the guards challenged him, looking with grave suspicion at a peasant boy on what must surely be a knight’s horse. If Eadig were refused entry, he would be in serious trouble, for the summoning really would drive him insane then.

  He slid out of the saddle, staggering slightly from weariness. “Brought a message for Sage Quentin. This fellow’s name is Ruffian. See he’s properly attended.”

  “And your name?” one of the men growled.

  “Eadig son of Edwin.” There was no use pretending to be Ereonberht when he had been summoned by his true name.

  The guard now holding the reins looked to another man, who nodded as if that were the right answer, and said to admit him. A stable hand took charge of Ruffian, and Eadig proceeded on foot into the castle to meet his fate. He was torn between relief that he had been allowed in and mounting terror of what would happen now. The enchanters must be mad enough at him for having escaped them last night. Since then they had somehow learned his real name, and if they also knew how he had witnessed them doing those horrible things to Francois and the d’Airelle brothers, they would be feeling even less well disposed toward him. He could be of no value to them, so they might just kill him out of hand, or turn him into a mindless serf, like Odell.

  His feet led him unerringly through the clutter of buildings to the sanctum. The door with the pentacle stood open, so he need not worry about the warding on it. In the first room, which he thought of as the guard room, the trap door at the far end was open, as before. The door to the other room, the one with the frightening warding spell on it stood ajar. It had been closed on his earlier visits.

  Still wearing an adept’s cape, Satanist Corneille sat at the table, writing with one hand and stroking his beard with the other. He looked up at the visitor and smiled contemptuously. At that moment, the summing compulsion vanished and Eadig was free again. He felt a huge relief, and the drumming faded back to a quiet tapping.