The Bard, page 32
“I was just about to go and wake you,” Ria said as she approached. “Food will be here shortly. We plan to head off as soon as we have eaten.”
Sam sat down next to Patrick, who looked terrible. He sat slumped on a bench, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. His clothes were rumpled and he had obviously not changed since he had awoken.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, keeping her voice low. He winced anyway.
“Not good,” he replied. Ale was brought to the table and he grabbed a mug, quickly pouring the contents down his throat. It seemed to revive him a little and his posture improved slightly. Then the food arrived and the smell hit him. He ran to the nearest tree and was violently sick.
“Wonderful,” Sam said sarcastically. “Just what I need to hear before I eat.”
Patrick stayed behind the tree until all of the food had been consumed and the dirty dishes removed.
“You must have taken quite a beating,” Dal remarked when he ventured back to the table. “You look awful.”
“Every muscle in my body aches,” he replied. Ria looked closely at his face. It was swollen and bruised and tender to the touch, as she discovered when she gently stroked his cheek.
“It does not appear to be too bad,” she announced, taking his chin in her hand and moving his head from side to side. “But I am no expert. Anyone else?”
“I know basic first aid,” Sam announced. As nobody had any idea what she was talking about, it was decided that she should examine him. She could feel no broken bones anywhere on his body; she quite enjoyed feeling him all over but decided to keep that to herself. Some quick tests showed that his vision was not impaired and, other than being severely hung over, he seemed to be fit and well. Nosmas volunteered to try to fix his face, but he refused the offer.
“Playing the martyr does not suit you,” Ria quipped. Patrick ignored her and walked over to his horse. As soon as he was on its back, nausea set in and he quickly slid off.
“I think I will ride in the wagon for a while,” he announced, jumping into the seat beside Seth and Dal.
“Great,” Seth muttered under his breath. There was still a hint of green in his pallor and Seth did not want to have to clean vomit off the wagon.
“Get in the back,” Dal instructed. “Try to get some more sleep. There is plenty of room next to Hawk’s coffin.”
Everyone held their breath, wondering how Patrick would react to seeing Ellen’s coffin gone. His eyes fell on the space where it should have been and he paused. Then he shrugged his shoulders, lay down, covered himself with his cloak and was soon asleep.
“That went better than expected,” Ria observed.
“Let’s hope Hawk reacts as well,” Sam said, though not optimistically.
They had not travelled far when the lid on the coffin moved and Hawk jumped out. The sun had only just set so none of the group had been expecting him to awaken so soon. Sam did not have time to prepare herself before the vampire spotted the empty space in the wagon and rounded on her.
“What happened?” The pain in his voice brought tears to her eyes.
“We didn’t get to her in time,” she said gently.
Hawk did not say a word, he just stared at her. Then he suddenly took to the air and was gone.
“Do not worry,” Oak said softly, patting her hand when his horse was close enough to hers. “He will be back.”
She nodded her head, though she did not really agree with his statement. She hoped he was right, but part of her believed she would never see the vampire again.
Chapter 29
“I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Sam said.
Ria laughed riley. “Of course he will, he is male after all.” She then stopped smiling. “I do not think he will do anything to endanger his life though.”
When Patrick awoke once more, he was feeling no better. His nausea returned as soon as he sat up and his head was pounding. The movement of the wagon was not helping so he asked Seth to stop long enough for him to get out without falling over. He looked at his horse in apprehension and decided that he would walk for a while. However, he only managed to take two steps before his legs gave way.
Ria and Sam rode over to where he was laying sprawled on the ground. “Should we leave him here?” Ria asked with faked sincerity.
“Be nice,” Sam chided. “He’s suffering.” She looked down at Patrick and somehow managed not to grin. “Horses are highly intelligent animals you know. All you have to do is speak nicely to them and they will walk gently. You just need to hold on and your horse will not let you fall.”
“Which is more than can be said for his legs,” Ria murmured.
Between them, they eventually managed to persuade Patrick to get on his horse, which gave Sam a despairing look. It whinnied and she had to suppress a giggle.
Hawk returned well before sunrise and went straight to his coffin, not speaking to anyone. They were all seated by a camp fire, having stopped to feed and water themselves and the horses. Sam sighed and began to rise, but Patrick shooed her back down. “Let me,” he said.
He walked up to the wagon and pulled away the coffin lid. The sun was yet to rise so it was perfectly safe, but Hawk swore at him anyway.
“I thought you would want to die,” Patrick said casually. “After all, you are responsible for Ellen’s death.”
Hawk stopped his swearing and sat up, staring at Patrick in shock. He knew Patrick blamed him, but had not expected him to be so direct about it. He did not know what to say.
“The way I see it, you have two choices,” Patrick continued, certain that he had Hawk’s undivided attention. “You can continue to wallow in self-pity, in which case you are of no use to any of us and we might as well leave you and your coffin behind, or you can put it behind you and get on with the quest. It is up to you.”
Hawk frowned. “You do not want me dead?” he asked in confusion.
“Of course not. Nobody here thinks you are responsible for Ellen, except you. Between us, Kavern’s King and myself killed her. You just postponed her death for a while. Now go hunt and let me know your decision when you return.” With that, he jumped out of the wagon and walked away, leaving Hawk to stare at his retreating back.
Hawk did as he was bidden and soared into the clear night sky, returning a short while later carrying the bloodless body of a creature that reminded Sam of a small sheep. “Anyone hungry?” he asked as he threw it on the ground next to the fire.
Sam jumped up and threw herself into his arms. “Take it easy,” he whispered softly in her ear. “You should not be jumping around in your condition.”
“Are you okay?” she asked as he lowered her back to the ground.
He nodded. “Patrick talked some sense into me and made me realise I was being an idiot.”
“At least he has some use at the moment,” Ria muttered, looking across at Patrick, who was drinking from a wine bottle. “Other than getting drunk that is.”
The journey across Emvale was long and wearisome, with nothing exciting happening to break the tedium of the journey. Patrick continued to consume more alcohol than food, replenishing his supplies at every opportunity. Each member of the party took it in turns to talk to him, but he refused to listen to anyone, claiming the only way he could get any sleep was to drink himself into unconsciousness. As a result, he was constantly drunk or hung over, making him irritable and generally unpleasant to be around. It got to the stage where Nosmas threatened to abandon him unless he snapped out of it, but his only response was to point out that they would never be able to get to his island without him.
“Hopefully Tor will be able to do something,” Seth said one evening as they sat around a camp fire, eating the roasted flesh of a large wild bird that Hawk had caught.
“Let me try,” Sam said. She was the only member of the party who had not yet taken Patrick aside. She gathered up the dirty plates and cookware and took them down to the river for cleaning, asking Patrick to help her. He knew full well why she requested his assistance, but went along anyway.
As they worked, she told him about her life before she was removed from her own world. He already knew most of it, but this time she went into great detail about how much she had loved her fiancé and how devastated she had been when he died. Her despair was then doubled when she miscarried his child. Patrick listened, not interrupting her until she finished her story.
“As you see,” she finished. “I have gone through far worse than you, but forced myself to continue living. The pain never goes away, but it does become bearable.”
“Nothing personal,” he replied. “But you really have no idea what you are talking about. You only have to live with your loss for a few years, whereas I have to live with mine for ever. I need a drink,” he continued, walking back to the campsite in search of a wine bottle he had not already emptied.
A few hours later, they reached a fork in the road. “Which way?” Oak asked.
Patrick pointed to the left. “But we had best find somewhere reasonably comfortable to spend the rest of the night.”
“Why?” Nosmas asked.
“We cross to my island shortly and it is always best to do that in daylight.”
“That sounds ominous,” Ria whispered to Oak, who nodded his silent agreement.
Just around a bend in the road they found a flat area large enough to accommodate all of the group, their horses and the wagon. It was far enough from the road that passing travellers would not disturb them and the nearby trees protected them from wind. Of all of the places they had made camp since leaving Janton, it was the least unpleasant. Nobody was tired, so they lit a small fire and sat around it talking. Patrick sat by himself, staring out into the trees. They had run out of wine and Seth had refused to hand over his last remaining bottle of brandy, so for the first time since Ellen’s death, Patrick was remaining sober.
“Get some sleep,” Patrick’s voice suddenly rang out in a commanding tone. “Tomorrow will be a long day.” Without waiting to see if he was being obeyed, he lay down on the ground, pulled his cloak tight around him, and closed his eyes.
“I will keep watch,” Hawk volunteered. Nobody argued and they all found patches of ground to sleep on.
“Do you mind if I make use of your coffin again?” Sam asked him. He smiled at her; it had been a while since she had slept there. Since getting together with Brin, she had preferred the elf’s arms to keep her warm instead of the wooden sides of the coffin, and he saw it as a good sign that she was seeking comfort there once more.
Just before the sun’s first morning rays hit the clearing, Hawk gently shook Sam awake and swapped places with her. Making sure the lid was securely in place before leaving the wagon, she made her way towards Patrick. He was already awake and sat up when he heard her approaching footsteps.
“We should eat before we head off,” he said, deflecting whatever she was about to say to him. He suspected she was going to ask how he was feeling, something he did not wish to talk about. He wanted alcohol and he wanted it badly, but there would be none available until he reached his home.
They ate a hurried breakfast and were soon mounted once more. The sun was still relatively low in the sky when the trail they were following veered sharply to the left. Patrick ignored it and continued forwards. In front of them, Sam could see the sea and, as they drew closer, a small island in the distance. They were quite high up and it appeared as though they were going to walk straight off a cliff.
“Will the way down be too steep for the wagon?” Oak asked in concern.
“We are not going down,” Patrick replied cryptically.
When he was so close to the cliff edge he could easily fall, he dismounted and instructed the others to do the same. Moving aside a small gorse bush, a bell attached to a wooden post came into view.
Patrick walked up to the bell and rang it. It made no sound. “Magic,” Seth explained when it was obvious Patrick was not going to do so. “It has a twin inside the residence that makes the actual sound. Patrick told me about it once.” He paused, in case Patrick wished to speak, but he remained silent, so the young man continued. “Patrick does not go home very often, but keeps a number of servants there so the place is well looked after. One of them will raise the bridge for us shortly.”
“Bridge?” Ria asked.
Seth nodded. “The only way to the island is across a bridge, which gets lowered below sea level so no unauthorised persons can use it.”
“How does anyone on the island know who rang the bell?” Nosmas enquired. “We may be villains.”
Seth could not hide his grin. “You definitely could be,” he said cheekily. “Magic mirror,” he continued, pointing to a round disc just above the bell. “It too has a twin. Whoever answers the bell’s ring can see us and knows Patrick is here.”
“What if he wasn’t?” Sam asked, fascinated.
“If they do not recognise the visitor, they can talk to him, or her, through the mirror.”
“Clever,” Dal murmured. Then a thought struck her. “How wide is this bridge? Will the wagon fit across?”
“I hope so,” her husband replied. The question was answered moments later when a grinding noise could be heard and the water far below them began to ripple. Everyone, except Patrick, stared into the water as the bridge slowly emerged. First metal poles came into view, spaced at regular intervals. They appeared to go all the way to the island, though nobody’s eyesight was strong enough to see that far. They were joined together by chains, thick and black, that swung slowly as they rose. The poles were attached to wooden planks, which formed the bottom of the bridge. Seth looked at them uncertainly.
“Are you sure they will not be rotten,” he asked Patrick in concern. “They have been underwater a long time.” Patrick ignored him and, as soon as the bridge stopped moving, stepped onto it and proceeded to cross.
Nosmas took a tentative step after him. “Preservation spell,” he announced, feeling a familiar tingle as soon as he came into contact with the wood. “That also explains why this metal has not rusted.” He held out his hand to Quartilla, who nervously took it, and they both walked after Patrick. She trusted Nosmas and believed him about the spell, but no spell was infallible and she was worried about falling through half way across.
Seth and Dal returned to the wagon and climbed aboard. “You guys had better go across first,” Seth called out. “Just in case it is not as safe as Patrick believes. I will follow on with the wagon and horses.”
Nobody argued with him. If anything was going to make the bridge collapse, it would be the weight of the wagon and they would all much rather be in front of it than behind.
It was an extremely long bridge and, after a while, Sam had to stop to catch her breath. “I wonder why we don’t just get boats and row across,” she mused, looking down at the water below. It appeared quite calm.
“Rumour has it that these waters are infested with sea monsters that attack anything and everything, including boats,” Oak informed her. “Why do you think we are so high up?”
Sam looked at him in disbelief. “Yeah right,” she said.
“He is telling the truth,” Ria confirmed. “Though all of the stories have come from a friend of a friend of a man I once knew, if you know what I mean.”
“So it could all be bullshit?” Ria and Oak had not heard the expression before but could work out what it meant.
“There is one way to find out,” Ria said and walked back towards the wagon. They were approximately half way across the bridge by now and it had shown no signs of being unstable in any way, so she had no concerns about being near the wagon. It was moving slow enough for her to easily climb into the back and, rummaging through one of the packs, she soon found what she was looking for. She returned brandishing the carcass of the large wild bird they had consumed the night before. Seth had kept it to make soup from, not realising how close they were to their destination. Without saying a word, she threw it over the side.
Three pairs of eyes watched its descent and saw it splash into the water. Instantly the waters churned, reminding Sam of piranha attacks in some of the films she had seen. She could make out fins, scales and teeth, but not much else.
“I guess the rumours are true,” Ria said, stepping away from the edge. She had paled noticeably. Nothing more was said about the experiment, but the three made sure they walked in the centre of the bridge for the remainder of the crossing.
Everyone made it across safely and, as soon as the last of the horses was on dry land, Patrick turned to a nearby stone statue of a dragon. He pushed hard on one of the ears and the bridge began to descend. All eyes watched as it slowly submerged.
“We cannot hang around here all day,” Patrick snapped at them. “Come on. My home is on the other side of the island. If we hurry, we can make it before nightfall.” A roadway, of sorts, stretched ahead of them, and Patrick jumped nimbly onto his horse’s back and instructed the animal to follow it.
“I hope his mood improves soon,” Nosmas grumbled as he helped Quartilla mount up.
The island was not large, but it still took them a while to travel round its edge. Sam wondered why Patrick had not built a road through the middle, but decided not to bother him with such questions until he was more approachable. As they rounded a corner, a building came into view and everyone stopped and stared.
“My god,” Sam exclaimed, looking up at Patrick’s ancestral home. “It’s a real castle.”
It was a large building, built of grey stone. The towers and battlements could have come from any medieval history book Sam had read while at school. The defensive curtain wall was tall and she could just make out walkways running along the top. The distance was still too great to be certain, but she thought she could make out arrow slits.
“Castles are for defence,” she stated. “Why on earth would one be built here?”
Oak shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe Patrick just liked the design,” Ria volunteered. “You should ask him.”
