Pilgrimage (5 page)

“Hello?” Griffith asked, turning the door knob. Just as he started to pull, the door swung out of his hands, throwing him back. In another instant he was thrown off his feet as though he'd been hit by a bus. Griffith landed on the bed, knocking the bags and map onto the floor. The blankets twisted and snaked around his limbs, pulling them close to his body. The bedding wrapped around him like a cocoon and fastened tight, binding him in place.

A short, stout man, bald and tan, like a brick wearing a beige tweed jacket, stepped through the door. He turned to Roland. Roland didn't think. He immediately picked up the closest heavy object - A chair - and hurled it at the intruder. The man in the tweed lifted his hands. The wooden chair shattered on some unseen barrier. Roland charged. He took two steps before something hit him, hit him hard. Then he slammed into the wall. Invisible hands threw him to the ground. Roland tried to push himself up. The air above pushed down with all the weight of a Mack Truck, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He turned his head enough to see the man in tweed. The man motioned his hand in a rapid succession of finger gestures. Then bed sheets and blankets leapt from the other bed and wrapped around him, cutting off his vision. Roland felt the weight lift off him and he tried to stand. The blankets tightened, forcing him down again and pressing his arms against his chest.

From inside his flannel prison Roland heard talking. The voice was barely audible, coming from outside the room. Then something hit the ground with a thud. He heard the sounds of something dragging and then he felt himself being pulled along the ground. The ground was soft at first, then cold and then rough. Something pressed against the blankets and Roland heard an animal sniffing at him. Somebody shouted:

“Get away from that, mongrel!” The animal fled. Nothing happened for a long time and then he heard a car engine. Something that didn't feel at all like hands lifted him, then dropped him again. The floor was now vibrating and he could hear the humming of an engine close by. That only lasted a few minutes, then the sound of the engine ceased and something started dragging him again. Through the fabric of his bindings, he could see shadows cast against bright lights. Somebody walked in front of him but he couldn't see anybody holding the blankets. Roland counted the self-moving blanket prison one of the
least
unusual things he'd seen recently but that didn't lessen the building sense of dread. Things were probably going to get a whole lot stranger the moment he was let out.

When the dragging stopped he heard voices again. One was the same voice he'd heard back at the motel - Undoubtedly the man in in the tweed jacket. He spat every word like talking pissed him off.

“There were two of them. The big one fought but he wasn't any trouble.”

“Release the other one.” This voice commanded with a deep, booming, authority. The kind of voice God would have on a bad day. Roland heard shuffling and then the commanding voice came again: “Tell me your name.”

“My name is Griffith. Can I ask–” Griffith's voice sounded clear, free of any blankets.

“No you may not! I am Lord Pentdragon of Guyra. High Sorcerer of the Northern Tablelands. You have violated the laws of the realm.”

“Nice to meet you. Which laws did I break?” Roland heard the sound of something whipping through the air and Griffith cried out in pain.

“No talking.” The man in tweed ordered.

“You have violated the Law of Proclamation, under which all sorcerers who enter my domain must make themselves known to me. You have violated the Law of Tribute, under which all sorcerers wishing to pass safely through my domain must make a suitable offering of gifts. Finally, you have violated the Law of Licensing, under which none may practice their magic without my official consent.”

“Wait, I didn't even know...” A whipping sound again.. “Ow! Stop that!”

“Now, release the other one so that he may face his crimes.” The blankets began to twist and move again. They ensnared Roland's wrists and knotted themselves tight. Others bound his ankles. When he was secure, actual hands pulled him to his feet. Sheets wrapped themselves several times around his eyes and then all his bindings snaked together into a long chain, keeping him still and helpless.

“What is your name?” Lord Pentdragon asked.

“Fuck off.” Roland felt something hard strike him across his back. He gritted his teeth and muffled the pain-filled grunts in his throat.

“I will ask you one more time. What is your name?”

“Roland.” Roland flinched.

“Roland. Fortunately for you, there is no law against insolence other than the laws of common courtesy. None the less, you are charged with violating the Law of Proclamation, the Law of Tribute and the Law of Licensing. Do you understand?”

“I heard you explain it already. But you're wrong.” Roland braced for impact.

“Hold.” The voice commanded. The strike never came. Roland heard footsteps on stone tiles. “Do you not understand? I am Lord Pentdragon, High Sorcerer of the Northern Tablelands. You are in my domain and you are my prisoner. You have nothing to be so confident about.”

“Your laws don't apply to me.” Roland answered. He could feel somebody standing almost toe-to-toe with him. He stood as straight as his chains would allow.

“The laws of my realm apply to all sorcerers who enter it.”

“Who said I'm a sorcerer?” Roland smiled a smug, triumphant smile.

“Roland, I don't think you're helping.” Griffith said.

“Not a sorcerer? Do you swear it?” Pentdragon asked.

“A few days ago, I didn't even know they existed,” Roland said.

“I understand.” There was a smirk in Pentdragon's tone. Roland heard footsteps again as Pentdragon moved away. A brief quiet ensued.

“Very well.” Pentdragon went on. “Griffith, you are also charged with violating the Law of Secrecy, under which no sorcerer may reveal our ways and the secrets of magic to a mortal. For violating four of our most sacred laws, the punishment is death. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

“I can think of a few things,” Roland offered. The long overdue strike came this time. The blow came down eagerly, striking Roland's legs and dropping him to his knees.

“Your time for speaking has ended, Roland.” Pentdragon's voice had an echo that filled the whole room. “If you have anything to say, Griffith, speak now.”

“I do have something to say. I'm not a great or strong sorcerer. I still have a lot to learn about a lot of things. Where I come from is very different. There were a few other sorcerers including my master and my brother. We didn't have any lords or special sorcerer laws. If you are a king, then you must have a kingdom and if you have a kingdom then there must be lots of you here. You must have a whole society of sorcerers beneath you. I couldn't possibly know what it's like for you.

“But I do know this: In any society ruled by laws, even the lowest, most inexperienced judge can deal out death. But when they do, it's only the highest rulers that have the wisdom and the power to deal out mercy. We have broken your laws, but we're not criminals. We're just travellers passing through. Another day or so and we would have been gone and you wouldn't have even known we'd been here. So tell me, Lord Pentdragon, in your wisdom, are we so important and our crimes so big that we need to die? Or shall we leave here and tell everybody we meet that Lord Pentdragon, High Sorcerer of the Northern Tablelands, ruler of everything in Guyra and beyond, is a wise and merciful king?”

“Are you finished?” Pentdragon asked.

“I think so. Yeah, that's all.”

“Take him and put him in a cell. You will await my decision, Griffith.” There was no sound from Griffith. Only the sounds of a door opening and people walking. As far as Roland could tell, Griffith had been taken away.

Roland listened to the door close and waited for Pentdragon to talk. There was no way he could come up with a speech as good as Griffith's and the last time he tried to talk his way out, he only made things worse. But at least he was immune. They couldn't expect a non-sorcerer to obey sorcerer laws. Once they let him go, he could work on a way of getting Griffith out. He hadn't expected to be earning his money quite so hard, quite so early – but shit happens.

“Roland,” Pentdragon said. “there is no law in my domain that you are subject to. However, you have been shown the secrets of our world, which is forbidden. The only mortals allowed to know the many hidden truths of reality are those that are to be apprenticed. Therefore, you will be tested. If you pass, you will be allowed to live and learn magic as a sorcerer. If you fail the test, there is no choice but to have you put to death to protect our way of life. Understand that we cannot allow the world to know the secret of our ways and our existence.”

Roland heard the door open and somebody approached him from behind. The bindings on his legs began to twist and slide again, pulling him around.

“These are our laws and they affect us all. You will be held until the test is prepared.” Pentdragon added, as Roland was forced to walk. The sheets stayed around his eyes and the blankets only loosened to pull his legs through each step. Roland had long since lost all sense of direction but he could hear doors creak open and closed. He counted three doors before he stopped. Then at last the blankets and sheets went limp and fell to the ground in a heap around his feet.

Finally able to see, Roland took note of his surroundings. The room he had been left in was small and only wide enough for one man to stand in comfortably. Behind him was a door, the long walls beside him were lined by shelves stacked with long-life milk, canned food, bags of rice and flour. Griffith was standing at the far end of the room grinning like a fool. He had an open packet of biscuits and held them out in offering. Roland took one and bit into it. Through his crunches he asked:

“What are you so happy about? Your speech was good but we're not free, yet.”

“You thought it was good, huh? Thanks. I think that's the first time you've actually said something nice.”

“Well, that's the first time you've done something that wasn't stupid.” Roland put the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and took another.

“Yeah, I was a public speaking champion in high school. Although, to be honest, I took most of my best lines out of movies. Anyway, that's not why I'm smiling.”

“Then why?” Roland asked.

“Look around you.” Griffith gestured to the shelves. “Does this look like a prison cell?”

“No. Obviously it's a pantry.”

“Right. Pentdragon has locked us in a pantry. This isn't a castle or a secret lair or anything like that. This is just some guy's house. I tried to cast a spell but Pentdragon's got some way of knowing when magic is being used. As soon as I started, that brick in the brown jacket came in and started on me again with a stick. But when he did I saw what was outside. I saw it again when he brought you in. There's nothing beyond that door but a kitchen.”

“A kitchen?” Roland looked over his shoulder at the door.

“Not even a very nice one. There was a window too, but I didn't really get a chance to look. You know, because of the whole being beaten thing. But a window is still a way out and a kitchen isn't exactly a dungeon.”

“I get it.” Roland cut in. “Did you know you talk a lot?”

“Huh?” Griffith asked as if he'd only just noticed Roland standing there.

“Forget it.” Roland sighed. “Okay, so we know this is just some guy's house but how does that help?”

“I don't know. But I'm sure it does.”

“Uh-huh...”

“We'll work something out. What did Pentdragon say to you?” Griffith asked.

Roland filled him in on what he missed. While talking, they helped themselves to more food, biding their time until opportunity presented itself.

Chapter 4

Griffith crushed the biscuit packet and tossed it into the corner.

“So he plans to kill us both? He's insane.”

“That's about the long and short of it. Unless I pass his test. Then it’s just you who dies.” Roland confirmed.

Griffith sighed. “I guess it really is easy for a sorcerer to let the power go to his head.”

“You think?” Roland asked sarcastically. “Who would have thought that knowing the secret truths of reality and having complete dominance of time and space could give somebody an ego problem? But look, don't sweat it, kid. A pantry isn't exactly prison. This bastard Pentdragon has got his head so far up his arse, we'll have broken out and be long gone before he notices.”

Before Griffith could comment, the sound of the door being unlocked interrupted their conversation. The burly man in tweed entered. He raised his hand and, once again, the motel bedding scattered on the floor sprang to life and bound and blindfolded Roland.

“It's time.” The man in tweed said.

“Back in a moment,” Roland said to Griffith, stifling a laugh. He let the enchanted bedding drag him away, out of the pantry and through the kitchen. The whole situation struck him as ridiculous. Pentdragon probably only wanted him blind-folded so he could keep up the illusion of a wrathful king. But king of the castle, he wasn't. He was just some guy in an old house. He wasn't scary, he was pathetic. There were no dungeons or chains. Some king. He probably didn't even have a crown.