Bronze Magic (Book 1) (28 page)

” and a beam of bronze light
shot up to hold the weight of the bough. If the wizard deplored such
familiarity, he refrained from saying so. He was gazing intently at the
branch that was being revealed beneath Waterstone’s hands. As the
binding was removed, both wizard and woodman stared in wonder at the
smooth, unscarred branch that appeared before them. Tarkyn was too
busy concentrating to realise what was happening, as Waterstone asked,
“Can you reduce your support gradually?”
Tarkyn thought about it and grimaced, “I don’t think so. It’s all or
nothing. Perhaps you can hold it for a moment and let go gradually
yourself. Then I’ll take the weight again when you’re ready.”
The woodman nodded and placed his arms around the place where the
join had been. “Right. Let go.” Waterstone gingerly reduced his support
of the bough. Nothing happened. The branch stayed in place and was
able to take its own weight. “Can you two come up here?”
“I’m getting too old for this,” grumbled Stormaway. Nevertheless,
wizard and sorcerer rose from the ground and hung in midair to inspect
the branch.
Tarkyn stared at the unbroken bark of the healed bough. “These trees
have healed quickly, haven’t they, Waterstone? I would have thought they
would take a lot longer than this to heal.”
The woodman nodded slowly. “They should take much longer than
this. Several weeks at least….and even then, they would always bear a
scar of some sort.”
“Hmm,” said the wizard thoughtfully, “Interesting. - Waterstone,
would you mind if we looked at another mended branch?” he asked
politely. The woodman flicked a suspicious glance at Tarkyn who blinked
but otherwise remained deadpan.
It was the same with every branch they inspected. Beneath the
wrappings, there was no sign of damage at all. When they were all back
standing on the ground, Stormaway asked, “Have any other strange
things been happening?”
Waterstone scratched his head. “Obviously, the wolves are strange.
It is unusual to have even one coming this far to the east of the forest,
but first two arrived more or less together then today, two days later,
another fourteen attacked us. If it hadn’t been for Tarkyn’s warning….”
The woodman looked decidedly embarrassed, the prince was pleased
to note.
Stormaway shook his head, clearly perturbed. “I don’t like the sound
of all this. Something is wrong.” A thought struck him. “I am shocked
that the woodfolk allowed you into a position, Your Highness, where you
were the first to see the wolves. They cannot be protecting you properly.
It is not funny.” He added in response to a ripple of dry amusement that
pushed against him.
Tarkyn smiled at him. “Stormaway, I am pleased you are looking after
my interests but I was not in the first line of fire. In fact, I had more than
the woodfolk looking after me. In the latest incident, I was assisted by
an eagle. The time before, I believe it was an owl,” said Tarkyn casually,
grinning hugely by this time at the stunned look of amazement on the
wizard’s face. He exchanged grins with Waterstone while the poor wizard
struggled to get his head around it all.
“Explain to me,” demanded Stormaway. “What do you mean; you
were assisted by an owl?”
As Tarkyn explained, Stormaway’s eyes widened, then a deeply satisfied
smile spread across his face. “Marvellous!” he exclaimed. “That I should
live to see this in my own lifetime. I saw the portents all those years ago
but until now, I didn’t really believe they could be true.”
Tarkyn stared at the wizard as though he had gone mad, but Waterstone
reacted quite differently. The woodman became very still and then, as the
wizard watched, pieces fell into place and realisation dawned. Waterstone
turned to regard Tarkyn with a strange mixture of suspicion and wonder
on his face that the prince found very unnerving.
“What? What are you looking at?” demanded Tarkyn.
Ignoring him completely, the wizard kept his eyes on Waterstone.
“You know it’s true, don’t you?”
The woodman gave his head a little shake. “But Stormaway, can’t all
sorcerers do this type of mind linking?”
“No. None that I am aware of…and I did train many sorcerers, the king
among them. That’s why they’re such a pushover for mind control” He raised
his eyebrows at the woodman. “You are aware, I presume, that our young
sorcerer here was able to withstand Tree Wind’s attempt at mind control?”
“Yes. She wasn’t pleased, was she?” Waterstone smiled reminiscently. “I
don’t think any of us was too pleased about it at the time, to be honest,”
he added with a wry smile at Tarkyn.
“Oh good. So you’ve remembered I exist then,” responded Tarkyn
sarcastically. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why were you
looking at me in that strange way? You know something I don’t and I
would appreciate being included.”
Waterstone gave him a cheeky grin that went a long way towards
making the prince’s blood boil. “At least you know we’re not mind
talking. Stormaway’s mind is a closed book.”
As a sharp wave of annoyance hit him, Waterstone added quickly,
“Sorry. It’s a bit like that owl you didn’t tell me about. I’m struggling to
believe what Stormaway is proposing and I don’t want to say anything
until I’m sure.”
The prince’s eyes flashed. “I am quite happy to hear theories.
Stormaway, I insist you tell me what this is about.” A jab of anger hit the
wizard’s mind.
“For heavens’ sake, Tarkyn,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “I will tell
you. Exercise some control.”
“I am.” answered the prince flatly.
“Sire,” The wizard wandered over to a nearby log. “I suggest we sit
down. This could take some time.” He waited until Tarkyn was seated
before sitting down himself. Then he began. “For you to understand, I
will have to tell you one of the old tales of woodfolk lore.” He paused as
he gathered his thoughts. “There is a legend that has passed down through
generations of woodfolk of a mystical being who appears among the
woodfolk in times of great need. This being, sometimes male, sometimes
female, possesses powers far beyond those of any woodfolk and is given
the name of…”
“Guardian of the forest” said the prince slowly, glancing at the
woodman. “You see? I remember some of what you told me.”
“So you know this story?” asked the wizard.
Tarkyn shrugged apologetically, “Actually I only have a vague
recollection of it. Waterstone did tell me but I only remember that there
was a wondrous being with mystical powers that emerges, what? every
four or five hundred years.”
“Yes,” replied the wizard, “There is no set time but that seems to be
roughly how often one will appear. Not every generation of woodfolk has
seen a guardian but the legend is passed down for safekeeping in the lore
of the woodfolk so that when he or she appears among them, they will
recognise and remember. The appearance of a guardian of the forest is
greeted with both fear and rejoicing; fear because his or her coming is a
portent of great strife; rejoicing, because the forest guardian has come to
stand beside them in their time of need.”
“I do remember most of this.” The prince absent-mindedly picked
off another green shoot that had started to grow on his staff. “So are
you seeing signs that this marvellous being may be coming among the
woodfolk again?” He thought about it for a moment. “The wolves? The
trees growing back more quickly….What else?”
“Tarkyn, look at me.” The wizard’s voice grew tense with suppressed
excitement. “Among the powers possessed by a guardian of the forest
are the ability to commune with the creatures of the woodlands and the
ability to heal and foster growth.”
Tarkyn stared at him as the significance of his words hit him, and
then turned to stare at Waterstone. “Oh, Stars Above! You two have
completely lost the plot,” he said, revolted by the whole concept. “I am
not some marvellous, mystical being. I am simply a sorcerer – perhaps
more powerful than most, but still just a sorcerer.”
Tarkyn stood up and started pacing up and down in agitation. “And
I have not just appeared miraculously among you. I have been forced
upon you by the oath. Not only that, I walked for five days to get here
from Tormadell then walked into the forest in plain view of everyone, in
the company of this devious, delusional hedge-dweller here.” He smiled
faintly. “Although I did appear above you when I translocated with the
acorn.”
He stopped to look down on them, hands on hips, his eyebrows raised
in derision. “And I may have been met with fear, but certainly not with
any rejoicing that I’ve noticed.” He scowled at them, “Is that enough for
you? Can you stop looking at me as though I’m some kind of freak now?”
The woodman and the wizard exchanged glances and shook their
heads. Waterstone smiled fondly up at him. “Tarkyn,” he said quietly. “I
think you have to give a legend a bit of poetic licence. Over the years, the
logistics of how the guardians appeared would have become irrelevant.
The tale has blurred each arrival into one description. And anyway, it
doesn’t say ‘miraculously’. It just says ‘appeared.’
Tarkyn looked askance at him then bent down to pick up his staff.
He started to pick a green shoot off it then, realising what he was doing,
threw it down in disgust.
“Oh for heaven’s sake. Can’t you see? I’m not mystical,” Tarkyn raised
his hands and twinkled his fingers to demonstrate what he was not. “And
I don’t have mystical powers. I’ve just been trying to mind talk like the
woodfolk and it has gone a bit awry.”
The wizard shook his head. “No, it hasn’t gone awry. You have
unearthed unique powers within yourself. No other sorcerer has them.
No one else on Eskuzor, wizard, sorcerer or woodfolk, has them.”
A hint of panic flickered at the back of the sorcerer’s eyes. He looked
wildly around, like a cornered animal. “I can’t handle all this,” he said
imploringly. “I’m only just coming to terms with being exiled, trapped
in a forest, hated by an entire nation of people…. actually two nations of
people, if you count the sorcerers as well.” He ran his hand through his
hair in distress. “Finally, I start to find a basis for living with the woodfolk
with some degree of acceptance and now you’re trying to tell me I’m
some kind of mystical being from one of their legends.” He sank down
onto a log, closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands.
No one spoke. After a while, a feeling of warm reassurance pushed at
the edges of Tarkyn’s mind. He felt something nudging against his knee.
Being used to having dogs, he put his hand down unthinkingly to pat it.
Then, as he remembered where he was, his hand stopped in mid-pat and
he looked down to see the broad, striped face of a badger looking calmly
up at him. As his eyebrows snapped together, the badger shied away from
him. Tarkyn sighed and sent a wave of contrition to the badger who
eyed him uncertainly for a moment before returning within the sorcerer’s
reach. He stroked the badger gently for a few minutes, focusing on the
feel of her coarse hair under his fingers as he grappled with his confusion.
He had an idea. “Maybe it’s the oath. You woodfolk did swear it on
behalf of the woodland creatures, didn’t you? Maybe they’re protecting
me because of that.”
Surprisingly, it was the wizard who replied. He shook his head firmly
and said, “No, Your Highness. Woodfolk have no authority to speak for the
forest creatures. Those words simply meant that by obeying the oath, the
woodfolk would be acting to protect the forests and the creatures within
them. Besides, it doesn’t explain the regeneration of the trees and the staff.”
The sorcerer ran his hands through his long hair. “This is crazy. Anyway,
call me what you will, it won’t change who I am.”
“Now there is a fraught statement, if ever I heard one,” commented
Waterstone. “Would you still be the same if you were no longer called
Prince of Eskuzor?”
Tarkyn stared at him for several seconds. “To be honest,” he said at
last, “I am struggling to imagine what that would be like. I don’t know.
It is not just a title. It is a role that comes with huge expectations of
myself and everyone around me; expectations which, I might add, are
shifting like quicksand beneath my feet at the moment.” The prince felt
the badger nudge him again. “Sorry,” he said distractedly and began to
pat her again.
Waterstone watched him quizzically.
Tarkyn sighed. “Don’t tell me. I can see where this is going already.”
He saw them both watching him expectantly and tried a last ditch stand.
“I can’t be a guardian of the forest.I am sure a guardian would have to be
old and wise with grey hair and long flowing beard. I am just an untried,
callow youth. You said so yourself,” he added with a tinge of resentment,
glancing at Waterstone.
Stormaway looked profoundly shocked, but the woodman laughed.
“I didn’t quite say that, but you are certainly inexperienced in the ways
of the woodlands.” Waterstone gave another chortle as he echoed the
prince’s own words, “You may not be the best at everything and you may
not shine in all situations…. and you are certainly not old and grey,”
suddenly he became serious, “but against all the odds, you are wise.”
The wizard and the sorcerer both stared at the woodman. Tarkyn’s
cheeks burned with embarrassment. Despite all the flattery he had
received over the years, he did not know how to respond to such a
profound compliment.
“And,” continued Waterstone quietly, sliding in under his guard,
“amazingly, you are a guardian of the forest.”
After a few moments, Tarkyn picked up his staff and watched as small
green shoots pushed their way out of the wood. As an experiment, he
focused his will on the staff and found that he could accelerate the speed
of growth. He gave a small private smile and looked up to find the other
two watching him. He shrugged self-consciously, “Just seeing what I can
do.”