Bronze Magic (Book 1) (3 page)

“Blast. It’s locked, of course. And no doubt the tailor has the key on
his person.” Tarkyn threw his hands up, “Now what?”
After a few moments of frustration, it occurred to him that there
might be another exit. Sure enough, a sturdy wooden door, bolted on
the inside, led into a back alley. Tarkyn cautiously drew back the bolt,
opened the door and peered out into the darkness. This established little
more than the fact that no one was standing beside the door waiting to
pounce on him. Taking his chances, he slipped out into the alleyway,
pulled the door to behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust. The alley
was in deep shadow; the buildings too high to admit the moonlight and
no streetlamp nearby to cast away the darkness. He stood with his back
to the door, listening. Off to his left, he could faintly hear the noise of the
crowd gathered at the remains of the Great Hall. With his hand trailing
against the alley wall for guidance, he headed to his right.
He crept along until the alley intersected a small road. Here he took
a left and then a right hand turn into another alley that led him all the
time further from the sounds of the crowds and hence away from the
centre of the city. This was, in fact, the sum total of his plan at this
stage; to reach the edge of the city and from there, to get well away
from houses and people. Without having thought it through, Tarkyn
had a vague idea that the further from Tormadell he went, the less
likely people would be to recognise him or to have heard what had
happened tonight.
He moved quickly and quietly through the dark streets, pulling back
into the shadows to wait, each time he heard a noise or saw any signs of
movement. But very few people were out and about in the depth of the
night so he was able to make good time. Twice a small band of soldiers
marched past down a cobbled street but the alleys provided plenty of
cover at night and Tarkyn was able to draw back into doorways and
remain unobserved until they passed.
At times, his nose screwed up at the smells of urine and refuse that
wafted at him through the darkness. Once, he tripped over a pile of
rubbish and his foot clanged loudly against a metal drum. An upstairs
window opened abruptly and the tousled head of a middled aged woman
popped out, “Who’s down there making all that noise?”
Another window opened and a raucous voice demanded, “What’s
going on? Who’s sneaking around my back gate?”
Tarkyn stood still in the shadows, scarcely breathing. Suddenly a cat
broke cover and, with a bloodcurdling yowl, tore off down the alleyway.
“Oh! Bloody cats! I might have known,” The owner of the first voice
slammed the window down in disgust and retreated. The second window
banged shut in answer.
Tarkyn waited, hunkered down beside the metal drum, until he was
sure that all was quiet again.
A lot of cats in Tormadell
, he thought, before
feeling his way carefully past the offending metal drum and resuming his
journey.
By the time he had neared the edge of town, he found he was moving
more surely and realised that the first faint touch of dawn was showing him
the details of the buildings around him and the cobbles beneath his feet.
He noticed with distaste the grime ground into the walls of three storey
dwellings, gates hanging askew and rotting food scraps strewn carelessly
into the alley. Everywhere around him were signs of poverty and decay.
Anyone who lived there, would have seen that, in fact, some of the buildings
were well kept; clean, and recently painted. But Tarkyn, overwhelmed by
his first sight of the poorer quarters of town, was horrified.
His next disquieting discovery was that many people rose a lot earlier
than he did. Even on mornings when he made an extraordinary effort
to rise early to go hunting, he still left his bed well after sunrise. He was
aware that his servants had to be up before him but he had somehow
assumed that their early rising was peculiar to their profession. Yet out
here in the town, many people were appearing on the streets well before
the sun had risen.
And with the brightening light, Tarkyn was in real danger. The safety
of his dark back alleys was being stripped from him minute by minute.
At any time, someone could give him a second look and recognise
him. And his travelling cloak, beautifully tailored from fine russetdyed wool and embroidered with silver thread, although workaday by
his standards, stood out like a beacon of excellence among the clothes
of tradesmen.
For the time being, he could think of nothing to do but keep his hood
up, his head down and walk on, looking for somewhere to lie low as he
went. As a strategy, this was destined for failure.
He had not gone two blocks before he became aware that someone
was quietly following him. As he passed a side alley, he caught a glimpse
of a slight, ragged figure running parallel with his course in the next alley
along and another creeping up through the shadows towards him. When
a larger figure appeared in the mouth of the alley ahead of him, Tarkyn
gave up all hope of passing undetected, backed himself up against the
side wall and waited.
In all, there were five of them; two tough-looking men, an even
tougher-looking old woman and two scrawny teenagers; a boy of
about fourteen and a girl of thirteen. They closed in on him slowly
until they stood just beyond arm’s length in a semi-circle around him.
The silence lengthened but none of them made a move towards him.
Eventually Tarkyn, never good at waiting, cleared his throat and asked,
“May I help you?”
The taller man guffawed, “Oh, that’s good one. Can he help us?”
He turned to his companions, “What do you think? Can he help us?”
Suddenly he turned back to the prince and snarled, revealing yellowed,
jagged teeth, “Of course you can bloody help us. You’re rich. We’re poor.
We want your money.”
It dawned on Tarkyn that they would not believe him if he told them
that he had none. So instead he said, “I can imagine you might. You
certainly look to be in need of a good meal and decent clothes. Perhaps
we could come to some arrangement.”
“Perhaps we could.” The old woman’s mouth stretched into a sneer as
she drew a long knife from within her skirts. “We can agree to let you
live, if you agree to give us your money.”
His would-be attackers saw a slight smile appear within the hood’s
shadow. “That was not quite the arrangement I had in mind.”
The smile unnerved them. Suddenly the boy asked, “Where’s your
sword? Someone like you usually has a sword.”
The smile broadened. “I only use my sword for show. I find it a clumsy
weapon and have no need of it to defend myself.”
“Hmp. Dad uses magic to fight too, you know. So don’t think
you’re safe.”
Although the thieves were unaware of it, Tarkyn did not want to use
his shield or his attacking power. His magic’s colour was unique and
would give away his identity as surely as his physical appearance would.
He inclined his head, “Thank you for warning me, young man. And what
about the rest of you?”
“Shut yer face, you stupid lad!” The shorter man cuffed the boy across the
back of the head before snarling at Tarkyn, “Don’t think we’re going to tell
you what magic we each have. We’re not. You don’t need to know about us.
All you need to know is that we all carry knives and know how to use them.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. This looks to be a rough area. I can imagine you
might need to defend yourselves.”
The two men looked baffled as their attempts to intimidate Tarkyn
met with frustration. The old woman sighed in irritation, and snapped,
“Idiots! Don’t stand there talking. Get his purse.”
As the thieves surged forward, Tarkyn waved his hand and incanted,
“
Shturrum.
”
They froze where they stood. Tarkyn then bodily lifted the girl to
hold her against him, facing outwards. With a flourish, he produced his
hunting knife and, with the eyes of his victims following his every move,
placed the knife carefully against her throat. He could feel the coarse
material of her dress, stiffened with dirt, beneath his hand as he waved
his fingers to release his spell. He had not mistaken the thieves’ closeness.
With the girl in his power, the rest of the family backed off.
“Now, about that arrangement we were discussing...”
Half an hour later found them in a disused, partly demolished
warehouse, down near the river. Tarkyn noted the pitiful rags and
scrounged implements of their belongings piled against a wall. Threadbare
blankets were strewn in cleared patches in the rubble. They were not very
clever thieves, he decided.
Tarkyn still held the girl in front of him. With his face in the shadow
of his hood and the knife at the girl’s throat, his tall cloaked figure exuded
menace. The other four thieves stood around him, taut and wary, waiting
for the slightest opportunity to recover their kin.
“And now that we are safely out of view, we can talk.” Tarkyn studied
their thin, sullen faces. “You seem to have a lean hungry look about you.
Perhaps you need to eat first.”
“We was just off to pinch something from the baker’s when we spotted
you, prime for the picking...at least that’s what we thought.” The boy
scuffed his foot in the dust. His shoe was coming apart at the seams and
the sole was hanging off at the front.
“I see. Perhaps I can do something about that.” Tarkyn glanced at the
old woman. “Now, I wish to make you a proposition. Although at the
moment, I hold the balance of power, I do not hold all the knowledge
and so I will listen if you raise objections. Do you understand?”
“Some of us are not as stupid as others,” said the old woman acerbically.
“State your terms.”
“I need something sold for me. In return, I will give you one half of
its value. Unless I am much mistaken, even that will set you up for life.”
The old woman folded her arms, “And why would you pay us when
you don’t need to?”
He looked around at their squalid living conditions. “Because I am
not a thief and will pay you for your services. Besides, you are right. You
are poor and need the money.”
“And if we agree to do this, will you let my granddaughter go unharmed?”
Tarkyn shook his head regretfully. “Not until you have delivered all
of the money to me with a receipt from the buyer. And in addition, I
will need to be safely out of town before I let her go. I don’t want you
sneaking up on me again as soon as my back is turned.”
The old woman glanced a query at the two men and received brief
nods in return. “Yeah, we agree.” She spat on the ground, “Don’t have
much choice, do we? What do you want sold?”
“Just a minute,” Tarkyn stood up, transferred his knife to his right
hand, and held the tip of it against the girl’s ribs so that he could free up
his left hand to feel in his pocket and rummage through the leather purse.
After considerable fumbling through larger pieces, his hand finally closed
on a small diamond pin that he used to hold his necktie in place.
As he withdrew his hand from his pocket, the girl took her chance on
his divided attention. She yanked herself to her left and around, driving her
right arm back towards him. A small knife flashed in her hand. All Tarkyn
could do in time to avoid the knife, was let her go and jump backwards
out of range. At the same time, the two men came at him from either side,
the grandmother closed in beside the girl and the boy circled around to
come at him from the back. With the thieves so spread around him, Tarkyn
could not use his freezing spell on all of them. The girl swivelled into a
crouch, her eyes filled with hatred, ready to slash up at him.
No use now,
thought Tarkyn,
to tell her that I would not have harmed her
.
Then, as Tarkyn stood balanced on the balls of his feet, preparing for
the inevitable attack, the fire died in her eyes and she sank to kneel on
one knee. Slowly, she turned her knife and presented the hilt.
“Your Highness, forgive me,” she whispered. “I would never have
attacked, if I’d known it was you.”
The grandmother put her hands to her mouth and gasped before she
too sank to her knees. The two men, a little slower on the uptake sent
puzzled glances at the two women before turning to stare at him. Then
they too knelt before him.
Belatedly, Tarkyn realised that his hood had fallen down as he had
jumped backwards. “Oh blast,” he murmured to himself, unmoved by
their obeisance, “This was not my intention at all.”
Neither the prince nor the thieves found it at all strange that they who
defied the law on one hand, could still revere the royal family on the
other. But now Tarkyn was in a real dilemma. Obviously, the family knew
nothing about the events at the Great Hall, but as soon as they ventured
forth into the market place, they would hear. While he pondered what to
do, a slight sound from behind made him spin around just as the boy’s
arm whipped forward. Tarkyn ducked, even as the men shouted, “No.
Stop!” and a knife whistled over his head to lodge in a wooden upright,
only inches to one side of the women.
“No. You stupid boy!” yelled his father, desperation in his voice. “Don’t you
know your own prince? Get down on your knees and beg his forgiveness.”
Dawning understanding of what he had just done brought horror
to the son’s eyes as his gaze swang wildly from father to prince.
Knowing he had just committed a hanging offence, he turned on his
heel and bolted.
Tarkyn was not sure that a clear command would penetrate the boy’s
panic so he murmured “
Shturrum
,” and dropped the boy in his tracks.
“Bring him to me,” he said quietly.
“Please, Your Highness,” pleaded the father, “He was behind you. He
didn’t realise who you were.”
“I said, ‘Bring him to me,’” repeated Tarkyn evenly.
It occurred to none of them that, at five to one, the odds were still
stacked well in the thieves’ favour. Centuries of rule by the Tamadil family
had elevated its members to almost omnipotent status in the minds of the
common people. Tarkyn removed his spell and waited until the man and
his son were knelt before him. Tears rolled down the boy’s face, leaving
pale streaks on his dirty face while beside him, the father’s face was a
mask of misery. For the longest minute of their lives, the prince looked
down on them silently.