In The Prince's Secret Service - 4. The Relic

Durber seemed especially dour when he arrived at the Wooden Troll for his morning mug of ale, and surprised the publican when he asked for tea, instead. He took the mug to the table where Patrick and Alan were sitting with Thom, finishing a late breakfast. Last night had been a particularly rocky one. Thom had cried most of the night, and neither Alan nor Patrick had slept well.

“Something’s bothering you, I think,” Alan said when Durber sat down.

Durber looked around, started to whisper, and then said, “Everyone will know soon enough. Another caravan was attacked. West of here. They were coming from Almay. Very rich. The mines in those mountains yield gold, silver, and lead. But what’s worse, there were seven clerics in the caravan, and they were carrying an important relic to Arcadia for safekeeping. Almay has been attacked a couple of times in the past few months, and they were more afraid of the relic being stolen than they were of an attack on a well-armed and guarded caravan.

“The word on the street is that it was an ancient and powerful relic, and that is made of gold and studded with flawless diamonds. There are rumors that it was more than that…that it was also a powerful magical thing, and that it may be as old as the Age, but I think that’s a lot of nonsense.”

After Durber left, Alan raised the subject of another trip to the cavern. “Look at the map. The brigands who attacked that caravan are probably the same ones who held Thom. It makes sense. I think we should make another visit to that cavern…the brigands’ side of it…and see if we can’t find that relic.”

“I don’t think that falls within our commission from you-know-who,” Patrick said.

“No. I don’t think it does, either. But Durber said that the raid was open knowledge. We’re not violating a confidence. And, somehow, it feels like something we ought to do. Besides, it’ll be a lot more fun than scaring wild turkeys in that old fortress!”

“Thom, we cannot take you with us; we cannot put you in danger, and it will be a dangerous trip. Durber has agreed to look in on you. You need not fear your father, either. He’s over being angry with you, you know.” Patrick didn’t know what else to say.

Alan hugged the boy, “You behave yourself, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

The two tweens strode down the street. Thom broke into silent tears. He ran to the room and locked himself in.

“Did we do the right thing, leaving Thom?” Alan asked.

“I hope we did,” Patrick replied. “He’s got to stand by himself sometime. We have undertaken a commission that will take us from Fortmain and we have an obligation in Thom. There must be a way to balance those two things.”

Alan and Patrick lay hidden in the brush outside the cavern entrance. It was still three hours until dawn, but they could hear noise—metal clashing, men yelling, horses whinnying—inside the cavern. “I hope this means that they’re on the way somewhere, rather than just returned,” Patrick whispered.

“Likely so,” Alan replied, “They’ll ride out over familiar territory before first light and travel over new ground during the daylight. Shhh…”

Alan was right. The mouth of the cavern erupted with mounted men, whooping and laughing, and tossing wooden mugs back over their shoulders as they rode out by twos and threes. Alan counted fifteen before the line seemed to end.

“We should have asked Thom how many there were,” he whispered. “Do you think he would have been able to tell us?”

“Not likely,” Patrick answered. “But still, we should have asked.”

They waited for nearly a half-hour, but no more riders left the cave, and they heard no noise from within. It was time to make their move.

The boys crouched and tried to keep in the shadows as they crept into the cave. The way was illuminated by scattered torches and an occasional oil lamp.

*****

While Patrick watched the door, Alan went from figure to sleeping figure, shaking them awake. “You must come with us, and quickly,” Alan said softly. “There are brigands sleeping not far away, and we must leave before they wake up. We have your relic…and more. Please hurry.”

Alan took the lead, striking through the woods on the most direct line to Fortmain. There would be some rocky stretches as they crossed the roots of the mountain. That would help confuse the trail, should they be followed, but it would also tax the clerics. Patrick was in the rear, carrying Alan’s longbow, and hoping that he’d not have to use it. One of the clerics carried the relic; the others grumbled at the water bags that they had been instructed—no, ordered—to carry. “Yes, there are streams, but we may not be by one when we need water,” Alan explained, but they didn’t want to accept his explanation.

Alan and Patrick had debated removing other treasure from the cavern, and settled on carrying a small bag of gems and one of perhaps 50 guineas in gold. “Durber will know what to do with it,” Patrick had whispered.

“No, we will not stop. Those men may be brigands and thieves, but not all of them are stupid, and there may be one who is smart enough to follow us,” Alan ordered, and the clerics grudgingly followed.

Alan dropped back to walk with Patrick, ordering the clerics to “Keep walking… straight toward that mountain peak.”

“I think we’re being followed,” he whispered. “Give me my bow.”

Alan handed Patrick his sword and took his bow. Alan scampered up the rocks beside the game trail they’d been following. Patrick cringed at the thought of leaving his friend, but knew the wisdom of Alan’s plan. He slung Alan’s oversized sword over his shoulder, and gestured for the clerics to follow him.

An hour later, Alan came loping up. He had a grim smile on his face. “There was only one, apparently scouting, and not sure we were on this path. He was blazing trees as he came. I stood and made sure he saw me…and the arrow that took his life.” The boy paused, swallowed, and continued. “I waited, but saw and heard no one else. I dragged his body off the trail, and blazed two trees on a line leading into a gully that probably runs all the way to Elvenhold! If they’re following us, perhaps they’ll take that path.”

The group was not challenged when they reached the western gate of Fortmain at mid-day. Alan led the way to the main temple, reaching it just as the Sext services were over. As the few congregants filed out, Alan spoke to the cleric, “Here is the relic you were expecting from Almay. Four of your brothers were killed; these three survived.”

The startled cleric took a moment to gather his wits, then said, “I am Caulden; on behalf of the Temple, I thank you. Who are you? How did you come to find these men? What reward would you have?”

Patrick and Alan had discussed this, and Patrick summarized their wishes. “The only reward we ask is that you, and these men, not speak of us or our part in this event.”

Caulden paused, incredulous. “I don’t know what to think…of course; of course…you have my word. I will speak for these men, as well, and put them under oath. Thank you…” He addressed empty air as Patrick and Alan departed the Temple by a side door.

Durber was alone in his office when the boys arrived. Patrick related their adventure, concluding with, “So you see, we know the gems and gold belong to someone else…they certainly doesn’t belong to those brigands. We brought only what we felt we could safely carry. There’s more there, but nothing, I think, as valuable.”

“Thank you for bringing this to me,” Durber said. “The law says that in a case like this the finder is entitled to a portion of what is recovered, and you should get that, I think. On the other hand, that isn’t something that I can do…it must be adjudicated by someone in the government…and there’s no one in Fortmain who I would trust…they’d steal it as fast as would the brigands. As to whose it is? Well, those brigands have been operating for years. These gems, in particular, are likely from caravans from all over this part of the country…and south of here where they’re still mining stuff like that. I just don’t know.

“Here’s my suggestion. I will send the gems and a tally of the gold to our mutual master. In a letter sent by another route…for safety…I’ll explain the situation. We’ll ask him what should be done. How’s that?”

Patrick and Alan looked at one another. Then Patrick said, “Yes. A good plan. Thank you, Master Durber.”

“Now,” Durber said, “It’s about time to pay you and provide some expense money…What’s wrong?”

Patrick and Alan had also discussed this. “We’ve received fair pay for what little we’ve done, and until we do something worthwhile, we don’t wish to be paid more, but thank you, anyway.”

Durber was stunned, but agreed. As soon as the boys left, he wrote a letter to Cadfael.

It was past compline when Patrick and Alan, exhausted, arrive at the Wooden Troll. The door was locked; the time was past curfew. Alan pounded on the door. “Albert had better let us in before the city watch gets here,” he muttered.

The door opened. It was not Albert, the publican, but Thom. The boy threw himself into Alan’s arms sobbing. His words were broken as he gasped, “I thought I’d never see you again! I thought I’d never see you!”

Alan carried the boy inside and Patrick closed and barred the door. The commotion had wakened Albert, who stepped from the kitchen, were he slept, into the common room. “Boy’s been upset since you left,” he said, and returned to the kitchen.

That night, as on many nights before, Patrick and Alan held Thom while the boy cried himself to sleep. Tonight, however, it seemed that the boy’s sobs did not rack his body so much as they had in the past.

The next morning, Patrick again convened a meeting around the table in their room. “Thom, we promise never to leave you alone, again, until you ask it.” Alan said.

Patrick nodded, and continued the narrative. “We have things we must do. We have to go back to the cavern where we found you; we have to use our skills to earn a livelihood. All this will put you and us in danger. That means that you must learn to defend yourself, to use a sword, a dagger, and a bow. Will you let us teach you?”

The boy nodded, his face solemn. He had felt the force with which Alan had promised not to leave him, and he dimly understood the commitment that the two tweens had made.

*****

Thom had fallen asleep. Alan held Patrick, and whispered to him. “Patrick, do you know that I’d never killed before five days ago? Do you know that the brigand in the red vest was the first person I’d killed? I killed three men in that cavern; I killed one more with bow and arrow during our escape. I’m not sure I like me any more.”

Patrick pulled his friend close. “Yes. I knew. The first time a person kills another person it leaves a mark on him. I did not see such a mark on you when I examined you the first day we met. I didn’t think anything of it, then. After all, a young gentleman of Arcadia doesn’t have much reason to kill.”

Patrick looked at Alan. “The mark is there, now. Any halfway mage or cleric will be able to see it, if they look. But there’s more than that mark. There’s a pure golden glow that is you.”

After a pause, Patrick continued, “When I look at you, I see the pure glow. I see the boy that I love, who protected me and defended the Light when he killed. I’ve not killed—yet. But I know that I will. I’ve seen patients die at Master William’s, so I’ve seen death, but I’ve never seen it the way you did.”

Alan’s sleep was untroubled.

When Durber left the Wooden Troll after breakfast the next morning, he carried with him a letter to Cadfael, sealed with both wax and magic. Patrick had read it to him before sealing it.

P to C,

Things have become more complicated in the past week. A and I guessed that the brigands who attacked the caravan from Almay were those operating out of the cavern from which we brought T. We went there and saw a large party leaving, apparently on another raid. We entered the cavern and found three surviving clerics and the relic they had been carrying. In our defense and theirs we were forced to kill four of the brigands. The clerics and relic were escorted to the Temple in Fortmain. The Senior of the Temple agreed that our names and participation would be kept secret.

We didn’t realize the obligation we were taking on when we brought T into our lives. We left him in Fortmain, at his father’s and with D to keep an eye on him while we were gone; he was extremely upset to have been left alone, and we have promised not to do so again until he wishes it. In order to continue our work, it will be necessary to train him to defend himself; that training has begun. Fortunately, A is a master of the weapons that will be critical for T to learn. The boy seems eager to learn, and has attached himself to A.

We may have reached an impasse with regard to the fortress. As I wrote earlier, the corridor that led to T had many rooms, all of which were empty. We found no more secret doors, nor doors that had been walled in…and we used both magical and mundane tools. There may be other hidden doors, and we should make at least one more visit, but will likely defer that until you have had a chance to think on the matter. We remain in your service, and await instructions.

“Do you know the spell that keeps practice swords from cutting?” Alan asked Patrick.

“No. I never saw that spell done…it may be a secret of the Smith’s Guild,” Patrick answered. “It was always what’s his name, the smith, who brought the swords into the armory at Edo’s school.”

“Balthar,” Alan replied. “You’re probably right; at the court it was the smith, too, who brought the weapons to the armory before practice. Well, Thom,” he continued, addressing the boy, “I guess we’ll have to use real swords, and be extra careful.”

Alan had purchased two used long swords from a second-hand shop, and carefully dulled the blades and points, but still, he worried. They should be okay for drills through level three or four, he thought. After that, I just don’t know.

In the warm spring morning, the boys had stripped to loincloths. Patrick and Alan preferred bare feet in the uncertain ground of the inn’s courtyard. The boy, Thom wore boots—not the ones from the Stoltz farm, but a new pair that Alan had bought for him. Each of the boys had bound his hair: Patrick with a strip of green cloth; Alan—and Thom in imitation of Alan—with a leather thong.

“Patrick and I will demonstrate each drill. We’ll go all the way through, and then we’ll go a few moves at a time. You watch me, and copy what I do, when I say,” Alan instructed Thom. “First, stand like you see me stand…and hold your sword as I hold mine…okay, that’s good. Now, watch first drill.”

Alan counted in place of the drum that would have accompanied the drill at a school or competition, “One…two…three…” and on through the twenty-five movements of the first section of the first drill.

“Now, Thom, I’m going to count three or four movements at a time; Patrick and I will do them. They I’ll say go, and you are to do them. Okay?”

Thom nodded his understanding.

Alan began, “One…two…three…go.” Thom executed the three movements flawlessly.

“…four…five…six…go,” Alan continued. Again, Thom executed the three movements without hesitation but with a great deal of grace.

“…seven…eight…nine…ten…go,” said Alan. In an exact copy of Alan’s moves, Thom swung his sword against an imaginary adversary. Alan was not unaware of the skill the boy was showing, and continued, “…eleven …twelve …thirteen …fourteen …fifteen …sixteen …seventeen …eighteen …nineteen …twenty …twenty-one …twenty-two …twenty-three … twenty-four …twenty-five…go.” Again Thom copied the movements without error.

“Thom, have you done this before?” Alan asked.

“No, truly I haven’t,” the boy said, “But it did feel…I don’t know…good…like a cool stream flowing around rocks…like a reed bending in the wind…it just felt…right, somehow.”

Alan shook his head. “You’re a natural, Thom. Let’s try it with a partner. I’ll spar with you, and Patrick will count.”

With Patrick counting, Alan took Thom through the first level drill slowly, then faster and faster. Each time, Thom performed flawlessly. Before the week had passed, Thom had demonstrated proficiency at first level. By the end of the month, Thom had performed sword drills through second level, with considerable skill, and was learning third. Alan shook his head in amazement.

Durber’s morning mug of ale at the Wooden Troll brought with it a letter from Cadfael and one from the Guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild, in Arcadia. The Guildmaster’s letter was terse, to-the-point.

Masters Paul and Martin,

I and my colleagues in the Merchants’ Guild of Arcadia are much appreciative of your recent recovery of property thought lost. We have received assurances from your Master, Cadfael, that you are honorable. The total value recovered is a few pennies over 530 guineas. The Guild, with the gracious permission of Prince Auric’s Chancellor, has awarded you the customary finders fee of 10%.

Cadfael’s letter, magically sealed, was more informative.

My young friends,

I was delighted when I received the package and letter from D. Your service has been brought to the attention of our senior patron, who remembers you both, and sends his greetings and thanks, as well.

“Does he mean the prince,” Alan asked.

“He must,” Patrick answered. “Who else knows both of us?”

“My father, for one,” Alan said. “But it’s not he. And it’s not Edo or Master William. It’s the prince, for sure.”

Paul and Martin are, of course, fictional names I had to create for you on the spur of the moment. Paul for Patrick was easy; blast me, but I couldn’t come up with an A, so Alan became Martin. Please remember these names, as you are known by them within the Merchants’ Guild.

The Guild was suspicious, thinking that you were brigands who had stolen from their comrades, or that you had kept other treasure for yourselves. I assured them of your honor, and pointed out gently how stupid it would be for thieves to send the obviously most valuable things—the gems—and keep less valuable things. They brought in a Sembler, and I was concerned for a while, but it turned out that the bare truth was sufficient.

Your finders’ fee was deposited with me, and will be paid to you at your request by Durber.

“Ten percent of 530 guineas?” Patrick was astonished.

“Two hundred twenty three crowns, two shillings, thruppence,” Alan said.

“And you said I was the practical one,” Patrick said.

Cadfael’s letter continued:

I agree with your recommendation to make another visit to the fortress. Perhaps after you’ve trained the boy to a degree commensurate with the risk, you would make a final inspection to close the books on this one.

Although this particular task may soon be completed, there remains the continuing task of recruiting at your discretion, and the disposition of the scarab. Your plan to consult with the librarian appears sound; however, only you can adequately assess the risk. I will support your decision in this matter.

*****

Patrick was a welcome guest at the library of the College of Magic. The old mage who was the librarian and his two compères seemed to enjoy Patrick’s company, and encouraged his exploration of their collection. On this day, Patrick was pleased to see that only the librarian was present.

Patrick discussed the man’s current project: the exegesis of an old book on the philosophy of magic. The librarian served tea, and asked Patrick what books he might wish to explore.

“There’s a different reason for this visit,” Patrick said. “Recently, I came across a talisman of some sort that I believe has some residual magical energy. I didn’t bring it into the city, because it might have been detected. Would you like to walk with Alan and me to the place we hid it? It’s about two miles outside the south gate.”

The old librarian was clearly excited by the prospect. Excusing himself, he soon returned carrying a walking stick and wearing a baldric from which a leather satchel hung. “Lunch,” he said. “Enough for three. I told the others we were going to search for herbs. We should bring some back, of course.”

Alan led Patrick and the librarian off the path less than a mile from town.

“I must get out more often,” the librarian said, “I didn’t realize we’d gone two miles.”

“In truth,” Alan said, “we haven’t. I didn’t want to lead someone who might see us directly to the hiding place. This way, in the woods, I have a better chance of finding out if we’re being followed.”

He’s sure to think we’re smugglers, now, Patrick thought, smiling inwardly at the old man’s obvious delight.

“You’re right, of course,” the librarian said. “It does have a magical residue, and yet, I sense that it is very ancient. Is this a conundrum?” Even in the forest on a spring afternoon, the librarian was foremost a teacher.

“I see two answers,” Patrick said. “Either the carving is ancient, and the magic was imbued recently, or the carving and the magic are both ancient and the magic is held in the stone by means with which we are unfamiliar.”

“There is, of course, another possibility, is there not?” the librarian asked.

“You mean the magic’s old and the carving is new?” Alan…who had no interest in magic, but who was fascinated by puzzles…asked.

“Yes, that is possible. And one more possibility,” the librarian suggested.

“The carving’s got something to do with the magic!” Alan said.

“Of course!” Patrick exclaimed. “I should have thought about that. Alan, you’re brilliant.”

“It was just a riddle,” the boy said, pleased with his friend’s praise.

“Look at the lines on the wings, if you will,” the librarian said to Patrick.

“They lead places I’d rather not follow,” Patrick said after examining them. “There’s pain, first in my eyes, as if I were trying to turn them too far to one side. Then in my head.”

“Yes,” the librarian said. “I think we’d better return this to its hiding place, and go back to the library. Don’t forget the herbs.”

With Patrick’s concurrence, the librarian had invited his compères, the two other men with whom Patrick was familiar, to join the discussions. Alan had returned to the inn where he would continue Thom’s training. Patrick joined the three mages in a small room, which—he noticed—the librarian sealed carefully.

“Patrick, would you describe the amulet?” he asked.

“An oval, jade stone that has been carved lightly to look like a scarab. By lightly, I mean that other than the rounding of the edges, the markings are not deep. The wing cases are covered with a network of lines that are very un-beetle-like, and which hurt my eyes and my brain if I try to follow them. The amulet is about three inches long, two inches wide, and a half-inch thick. The jade is a dark, dark green, and is more murky than translucent. I feel that it is slightly Evil, but I can’t quite say how or why.”

“I can add nothing to the physical description,” the librarian said. “In addition to an aura of mild Evil, I sense great age—not just the age of the stone, either.”

The two others questioned Patrick and the librarian minutely. One of the men retrieved a book from a shelf behind him, and leafed through it. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed. Putting the book on the table in front of Patrick, he asked, “Would you look at these lines?”

Patrick did as he was bid. “Same feeling, only not as strong. What are they? I can’t read this language. I don’t even recognize the letters.”

The letters were described to Patrick as cuneiform, or wedge-shaped. “Of course, that’s merely descriptive,” the librarian said. “We’ve been able to translate it only because we have two copies of the same book, one written in these characters and one in Old Elvish. Fortunately, the language behind the cuneiform letters is also Old Elvish…rather than a translation, it’s a transliteration.”

“The lines,” added another of the men, “are called Magic Traps. When incised on jade, which has its own unique, magical properties, these lines can gather magic and imbue the stone with magical energy. It would take a trained mage to release the magic, and the amount that the stone could hold would likely be quite small. Frankly, I don’t see the practical application.”

Patrick, mindful that he had agreed to send magical items to Cadfael, questioned the danger of possessing or being close to the amulet. The consensus was that if was neither strong nor Evil enough to harm anyone who had not already turned to Evil. Patrick resolved to hide it deeply inside a basket of cloth, and ship it to Arcadia.