Pilgrimage (6 page)

The man in tweed walked Roland back to Pentdragon, who announced his presence with as much noise and authority as he could force into one word.

“Roland!” He shouted, then quieted his tone. “You are now to be tested for potential to join the world of sorcerers. Before you begin, you must answer these questions honestly. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Roland answered.

“Are you prepared?”

“Sure.”

“Very well. Roland, do you believe the magical workings of sorcerers to be true?”

“What?”

“Do you believe the magical workings of sorcerers to be true?”

“Oh.” Roland paused. “What?”

“Do you believe in magic?” Pentdragon asked, a little less patient.

“Oh. Yeah, whatever.”

“For the sake of expediency I shall keep the rest of the questions simple enough for you to understand.”

“Great. Next question.”

“Do you believe that magic still exists today?”

“I've seen it so I guess that means I do.”

Roland heard Pentdragon sigh before asking “Do you believe that humans can use magic and cast spells?”

“Aren't these all the same question?” Roland asked. He shifted in his bindings, testing their strength. No luck. They held tight.

“What is your answer?” Pentdragon demanded.

“Yes. The answer is yes.”

“Roland, do you believe you can use magic?”

“I don't know. I've never tried. Isn't that what you're trying to find out?”

“This is a yes or no question, Roland. Do you believe you have that power?”

“The answer is I don't know. I might. I don't know how it works.”

“Yes or no?” Pentdragon pressed.

“I was always told please is a magic word and when I say please people usually do things for me so I guess I can do that magic.” Roland offered an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. That might get him the stick again but so worth it. He wished he could see the look on Pentdragon's face.

“I am growing impatient!” Pentdragon shouted. “Remember, your life hangs in the balance. Answer the question.”

“Uh-oh, someone forgot to say the magic word.” Roland sung.

“Do not try me, Roland!” Pentdragon boomed. The whole room shook like it had been hit with a wrecking ball.

Roland felt sweat sticking the flannel blanket to his face. He'd pushed Pentdragon too hard – as good as he was, Roland couldn't fight with both arms tied behind his back. He just might have underestimated his captor.

“Okay, okay.” Roland said as inoffensively as he could manage. ”I've never done magic; I don't know how to cast a spell, so no. No, I don't believe I can.”

“Very well. So ends the test of your magical potential. You have failed and will not be taken as an apprentice.”

“That's it?”

“We're done. A man who does not believe he has power, has no power. This realm has no use for you. You will go back to your cell and await your execution.”

“My cell? You mean the pantry?” Roland couldn't help himself. “Can I help myself to a last meal?”

“Begone!” A sound like the crackling of electricity followed Pentdragon's shout. Roland felt a hand grab him quickly and start pulling.

“Now you're both definitely going to die.” The man in tweed said when they were through the first door. “I hope it was worth it.”

“You know your Lord is an ass, don't you?”

“Stop talking.”

“Or what, you'll kill me?”

Two doors later and Roland was back in the pantry. His bindings fell away again. Griffith stood watching him in anxious anticipation. Roland wiped the sweat off his brow. He hadn't done much to help their situation, but at least annoying Pentdragon had been fun.

“How'd it go?” Griffith asked.

“I suppose it could have gone better.”

Chapter 5

Amongst the tinned vegetables and instant noodles in the pantry, Roland and Griffith found a bag of chips and a packet of tortillas and helped themselves to a last meal.

“Either we die or we get to keep walking,” Roland said. “Either way, why waste a free meal?” Griffith didn't argue. He didn't want to make a habit of theft but Pentdragon owed them a little hospitality.

“What do you think will happen?” Griffith asked.

“He'll probably decide to kill us.”

“Doesn't that worry you?”

“No. It's like you said, he's just some guy. A sorcerer sure, maybe even a powerful one. But if he decides he wants to kill us, we'll just let ourselves out.”

“What if he kills us first?”

“Ha! A guy like Pentdragon is going to want to turn the whole thing into a ceremony. He'll probably invite everyone he knows to come and watch.”

“Are you sure?” Griffith asked.

“I'd bet my life on it. Just you wait and see.” Reassured by Roland, Griffith visibly relaxed. Roland only had a mild interest in whatever Pentdragon had planned. He didn't plan on being around to see.

Less than an hour after Roland's return, the door swung open and the brick in the tweed jacket, staff still in hand, presented a freshly printed scroll in the other. He unrolled the paper, cleared his throat dramatically, and spoke:

“Roland and Griffith, you have been found guilty of breaching our most sacred laws. Although Lord Pentdragon is both merciful and wise, you have shown yourselves to be unrepentant and unworthy of his favour. You are hereby sentenced to death by decapitation at ten o'clock on this night. The expedition of your sentence is more charity than you deserve. Your execution is to be witnessed by Lord Pentdragon's loyal and plentiful subjects. May your deaths serve as a reminder to all who would break our sacred laws.” At the end of the note, the man in tweed unceremoniously stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket. “Also, if you try to escape, I'm allowed to beat you both senseless.” The brick raised his left hand, showing them both a large, jewelled ring. “This will tell me if anybody tries to use any kind of magic, so don't even think about trying to get out that way.” He closed the door before Roland or Griffith could say anything. They waited a moment in silence and then Griffith turned to his companion and asked:

“So, do you have an escape plan?”

“Do you know how long we have?” From where he stood, Roland took stock of their situation, running his eyes over every item in the pantry.

“No. I don't have a watch.”

“Mine is back at the motel. We should go back there before we leave town.” Roland rapped his knuckles on the door and called out: “Hey, how long do we have?”

“Just under two hours.” The tweed-suited man called back.

“Plenty of time.” Roland nodded. “Pentdragon's subjects won't even start arriving for another hour at least. That means we should be clear to get out and make a run for it.”

“All right. But how do we get past the guard? He's got that stick and he's a sorcerer.”

“That's true but there's got to be a way to defeat magic, isn't there? Can't you magic him back or something?”

“I don't really know any spells for fighting people. I think he and Pentdragon are better sorcerers than me, anyway. Whatever I do, they can probably just counter it.”

“Once again your magic is completely useless.” Roland sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. Even though Griffith continued to prove how useless he could be, Roland could at least see where they stood and could think about getting out before Pentdragon decided to make them into political statements. “Okay, kid, you
must
know something. This is your area of expertise. How do you defeat a sorcerer? How do you fight magic?”

“Well, I guess if you could stop him from focusing on casting a spell then you'd just have to deal with that stick. But how are you going to do that? Tickle him?”

“That could work.” A thought struck Roland and he grinned a bright-eyed grin. “But I think I have something else that'll work just as well.”

“But we still have to get through the door.”

“No we don't. Okay, I know exactly what we're going to do. Are you ready?”

“No! I have no idea what's going on or what is about to happen!”

“That's fine. Just do as I say and follow me. Can you manage that?” Roland waited for confirmation but all he got was a long stare from Griffith. He looked like a junkie begging for a confidence fix. “Griffith, can you manage that?” Roland repeated, doing his best not to shout.

“All right.” Griffith nodded slowly. “I trust you. What do you need me to do?”

“Cast a spell.”

“What spell?”

Roland took a can from the shelf. “Open this.” Griffith's anxious expression changed to one of confusion. He looked at the can in Roland's hand and then back to Roland.

“Beans?”

“You can do that, can't you?”

“Just open it?”

“Open the can and follow my lead. Okay?”

“Okay” Griffith nodded, closed his eyes and began to work the spell. A second later, Roland heard the bolt shift and the tumblers in the lock click.

“Quickly!” Roland glanced over his shoulder at the turning door handle

Griffith didn't answer.

“Get it open or we're screwed!” A crack appeared in the door frame.

“I was worried I wouldn't get to do this,” The man in tweed said.

“Shit, too late.” Roland spun around. He lifted his leg and kicked the door. The flimsy door jammed against something heavy and rattled back and forth. Roland kicked it again. This time it knocked the man in tweed clean off his feet and slammed against the kitchen wall.

“Done!” Griffith exclaimed. Roland swept up the can and launched it out the door. The brick in tweed sat up just in time to get a face full of cold beans and gravy.

“What the hell!” The Brick wiped the mess off his face, dumbfounded and furious. Roland charged and kicked. The brick's jaw cracked and his head hit the floor.

“Is he all right?” Griffith asked from the pantry when everything was still.

“You tell me.” Roland didn't wait and relieved the unconscious sorcerer of his jewelled ring and staff. “These will come in handy.” Griffith came out and knelt by the body. He began prodding at the neck. “Anything broken?”

“I don't know. How do I check?”

“Wouldn't have a clue.”

The kitchen they found themselves standing in was a rectangular room with benches and cupboards on one side and a sink on the other, bookended by shining silver appliances. The decor was right out of the 1970s and it hadn't aged well. The cupboard doors looked as if they'd fall off in a strong breeze. Years of messy cooking had stained the linoleum floor. Roland gave the room a momentary look and then slammed the only door closed.

“No lock.” He said. “I guess we better get out of here.”

“How?”

“This way.” A row of windows lined the wall above the benches opposite the door. Roland raised his staff and began smashing until he'd made a clean exit, then he wiped the broken glass away with a dish cloth.

“Someone's coming. They must have heard you.” Griffith said. Roland stopped moving and listened. Griffith was right. He could hear talking and footsteps.

“Let's go, then.” He climbed onto the bench and took a long look out the window. His limbs froze. A cool breeze began to whip at his hair. Roland heard the door handle move. The noise snapped him back into focus. He dropped back from the bench and flung his body against the door.

“What are you doing!” Griffith shouted in surprise. Roland sunk to the ground and pushed against the door. He answered:

“We're in the air.”

“What?”

“We're in the air!” Somebody tried to force the door open. Roland strained against them. “Help me! We need a new plan.”

Griffith gave him a long, confused stare before getting to his feet and looking out the window. The sky was dark. He couldn't see anything around the house. Then he looked down. Somewhere in the shadows below, probably fifteen metres or so by his guess, Griffith saw a lamp hanging over a dirt road. In that dim illumination he could see that between the house and the ground there was nothing but empty air. Griffith traced the road with his eyes as far as he could before it faded into the darkness. Far off, in the distance below them, he could see more twinkling lights and what looked like car headlights. Griffith leapt back from the window and rested his weight against the door, beside Roland.

“Let me in!” Somebody shouted from the other side.

“Go fuck yourself!” Roland answered.

“We're in the air.” Griffith sighed the words more than he spoke them.

“Yeah, we are. And it's only a matter of time before one of these guys has the bright idea to just melt the door with magic or something.”

“What do we do now?” Griffith asked. Roland could hear the panic rising in his voice. He had that pleading, junkie look again. Roland wanted to smack him but he didn't dare take his weight off the door.

“Unless there's a ladder in that pantry, I don't know. It's all on you, kid.”