Bronze Magic (Book 1) (31 page)

“I think I can live with that. I put up with a lot worse from your father,
after all.” The wizard transferred his attention to the woodfolk. “What
is keeping them? They should have reached some decision by now.” He
leant over and gave Waterstone a firm jab in the ribs.
“Ow.” The woodman flicked back into focus.“You could have just
asked. I’m not oblivious to my surroundings, you know.”
“Sorry,” said Stormaway, but Tarkyn suspected he was passing on a
bit of the pain he had suffered himself. “Don’t know much about mind
talking, you know.”
“Let me demonstrate,” offered Waterstone dryly. In a normal
conversational voice, he addressed the two woodfolk, “Thunder Storm,
Summer Rain. Leave them for now. Let’s discuss it with Tarkyn and
Stormaway.” As soon as the woodfolk’s attention was back with them, he
began, “Getting away is not the problem. We can be ready to leave within
an hour, although we will have to travel through the treetops so that our
scent can’t be followed.”
“The problem is making sure that we keep our existence secret,” rumbled
Thunder Storm. “We need to cover up the fact that we have killed the
wolves. So we have to create another explanation for the wolves’ deaths.”
“And we can’t leave the corpses and simulate any sort of a fight,” said
Summer Rain, as she added more water to the kettle from a hessian bag,
“because we have cleaned, skinned and dismembered the wolves. So we’ll
have to conceal the skeletons and innards that we haven’t used. And we
can’t just bury them at the site, because any wolves following will sniff
them out.”
“Throw them in the river?” suggested Tarkyn.
Waterstone
grimaced.
“That
would
prevent
them
from
being
sniffed out but if I lost a trail, first place I’d look would be in the
river. Can’t hide them in the trees either, because the scent would be
carried downwind.”
“We’ll have to take them with us then,” said Stormaway decisively.
Seeing the sceptical looks on the woodfolk’s faces, he added, “At least
some of the way. So there’s a break in the trail.”
“He’s got a point,” Summer Rain conceded. “But the carcasses are so
heavy and there are so many of them. We would have to carry several
loads each, over a considerable distance, to break the trail.”
“But the scent of their deaths will still be all around the riverbanks,
won’t they?” asked Tarkyn. “Perhaps we could set it up to look as though
travellers or bandits had killed them?” He tried to remember the details
of the heron’s flight but failed. “Is there a road anywhere nearby that
travellers could have come from?”
Thunder Storm frowned. “Yes. That’s a possibility. There is a road about
four miles to the south. But travellers wouldn’t neatly dissect a wolf ’s
carcass for future use. So we would still have to conceal their remains and
account for their disappearance.” He smiled at the prince, “Travellers
don’t seem to eat wolf unless they’re starving.”
“Oh really?” said Tarkyn, trying to sound surprised.
Stormaway huffed thoughtfully, “A small switch from each carcass
would need to be dragged to lay a false trail to the road. The switches
could then be levitated straight upwards from a position close to cart
tracks and carried through the treetops to be buried them somewhere
else. Then if the trail to the road is followed, the trackers will think that
the wolves’ bodies were carried away in a cart out of the forest.”
“We will also have to create evidence of sorcerers being at the river and
travelling between the road and the river,” Waterstone added, as he pulled
a branch from the woodpile and fed it into the fire, “No one will believe
that the wolves all died, then dragged themselves off to the road to load
themselves onto the back of a cart.”
“Very droll,” said Stormaway dryly. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed as he
began to scheme. “What oddments does anyone have that come from
villagers or travellers? We need some scraps of cloth or buttons. Anything
really... except the remnants of the prince’s clothing, obviously. Then
we can salt the ground near the river with evidence of a fight between
travellers and the wolves. Combine that with our trail to the road and we
should create a convincing story.”
Waterstone considered it from all angles before replying, “Yes. I think
that might work. And we can hide the bulk of the carcasses nearer to
hand.” He finished placing another piece of wood on the fire and settling
the kettle more firmly in the coals. Then he brushed his hands and stood
up, before going into a short mind conference. Once he had re-focussed,
he nodded briskly, “Agreed. It’s not perfect. It will require a lot of work to
cart the carcasses through the trees and to bury them. And it’s going to be
hard to cover up such a large excavation, but it will have to do.”
“I think I can help with disguising the burial site,” said Tarkyn
diffidently. “I could plant a stand of saplings over it.”
“And we can both add our fire power to the excavation,” put in
Stormaway. “And of course, levitate the wolf switches at the road.” He
rolled his eyes at Tarkyn. “You realise what this means, Sire? You and I
will have to walk to the road laying the false trail. We are the only ones
who have the right type of scent, big enough feet and the right sort of
boots to make the tracks. Blast it! I don’t want to have to walk all the way
to the road but I can’t see any alternative.”
Thunder Storm raised an objection. “But mightn’t they recognise
Tarkyn’s scent?”
“If they do, they will already know he is here somewhere from the
scent around the river.” said the wizard. “It will be better, in that case, to
lay his trail to the road and out of the forest anyway.”
The prince leant forward and adjusted a branch that was threatening
to roll out of the fire, “Besides, it is much more important to conceal
woodfolk’s presence.”
“Not if the cost is your safety. Then we wouldn’t have a forest to hide
in anyway.” Waterstone felt a flicker of hurt wander past his mind. He
reached across and patted the prince on the knee. “Don’t get confused. I
can care about you and the forest all at once, you know.”
A ripple of embarrassment hit the woodman as Tarkyn muttered, “My
blasted feelings! I wish they would keep to themselves.”
The woodman smiled and looked from the wizard to the sorcerer. “So.
Are you two prepared to walk to the road, dragging the wolves’ scent?
Tarkyn, are you recovered enough to walk that far at the moment?”
Tarkyn glanced sideways at Summer Rain who was still in discussion
with other woodfolk and gave a crooked smile. “I’ll have to be. To be
honest, I will find it hard, I think. But the hardest part will be enduring
Summer Rain’s disapproval.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Waterstone shrugged. “Unless someone
comes up with an alternative, she will support you to succeed.”
Summer Rain came back into focus and nodded. “But you and
Stormaway must save your strength for the things that only you can
do. Don’t push yourself too hard. You would be too heavy for us to
carry.”
Tarkyn stared at her for moment, thinking that finally she had cracked
a joke. But no. She was, as usual, completely serious. The sorcerer flicked
a glance at Waterstone and blinked.
Waterstone smothered a smile but he did not allow himself to become
distracted. “We have decided on a suitable patch for burying the remains
about half a mile to the north. If you both follow me, I’ll show you where
to start excavating.”
With that, the woodman swung himself lightly into the nearest tree
and headed off up into the higher boughs of the tree.
aterstone ran lithely up one long branch until it began to bend under
his weight, then jumped down and across into the next tree. From
there, he climbed up higher again to repeat the manoeuvre to land in
the tree after that. Sorcerer and wizard incanted, “
Maya Reeza Mureva!”
and rose gracefully to drift along beside the woodman. Stormaway sighed
and rolled his eyes. “I’m getting too old for this, you know,” he said in an
aside to the prince.
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “That’s what you said yesterday but you
don’t seem to have suffered any ill effects.”
“That’s what I always say, but no-one listens to me,” responded the
wizard mournfully.
“Maybe that’s because you never stay anywhere long enough for people
to care,” suggested the prince kindly.
“What rubbish! We all care about him, as much as one can care for a
slippery, devious, bigoted chameleon.” Waterstone broke off for a moment as
he launched himself into the next tree. Once he had landed and recovered his
balance, he added, between breaths, “Maybe it’s because he loves melodrama.
He’s not that old, you know. Unfit perhaps. It’s not his age that’s the problem.”
Stormaway glared at the woodman. “As you can see,” he said to the
prince, “respect is a sadly rare commodity among these folk.”
Tarkyn thought about all the conversations about respect he had had
with Waterstone, Autumn Leaves and Stormaway and found himself so
overwhelmed with possible responses to the wizard’s throwaway remark
that he couldn’t respond at all. He resorted to diversionary tactics. “How
much further is it?” he asked.
Waterstone pointed ahead. “It’s over that next rise. There’s a rocky
clearing on a gentle slope not far from the river. It needs to be somewhere
that won’t be washed away if there is heavy rain.”
“Hmm.” Tarkyn digested this then asked, “Not too rocky, I hope, or
the trees won’t grow. Are we going to have to keep off the ground while
we do this excavation?”
The woodman landed neatly on the bough of a large horse chestnut,
then shook his head. “I don’t think so. The site is a good half mile from
where the wolves were killed and in the opposite direction from the trail
we will lay to the road.” He considered as he stepped around the trunk of
the tree and pulled himself lightly up onto a higher branch. “Maybe we’ll
throw some water over the area when we’ve finished, to wash away your
scent and footprints, just to make sure.”
“Good idea,” said Tarkyn. “That will also help the saplings to establish
themselves.”
“Hmm. For someone who has never been a farmer or a gardener, you
seem to know a lot about plants all of a sudden.”
The prince looked a little startled. “I suppose I could have learnt it
from the gardeners,” he said slowly, then shook his head. “No. I didn’t
really talk to the gardeners much. I was more interested in chatting to
groomsmen and men at arms.” He grinned, “Perhaps being the guardian
of the forest comes with knowledge as well as power.”
“Perhaps the knowledge is part of the power,” suggested the wizard, as
they topped the rise and looked down a gently sloping, heavily wooded
gully.
Slightly ahead of them, Waterstone had now swung down out of the
trees and was inspecting the ground in front of them. He stood in a small
clearing, next to a low pile of tumbled rocks. The grass was sparse in this
particular spot and the ground was strewn with small pebbles.
“That’s not a cairn, is it?” asked Stormaway, frowning at the rocks.
The woodman stood with his hands on his hips, studying the rocks.
He bent over and pulled a couple of the rocks aside. “Not that I know of.
I might just check.”
After a couple of minutes out of focus, he reported that no one knew
of any reason that a cairn should be there. “It must just be a natural
grouping of rocks, I suppose.” He sounded doubtful. “Well, why don’t
we keep away from it just in case it is marking something for someone?”
He pointed to a space on the other side of the clearing. “We can dig our
hole over there.”
“And where is your shovel?” demanded Stormaway. “You don’t expect
us to do it all, I hope.”
“Of course. I thought I’d just sit back and watch.” Stormaway’s face
darkened but before he could explode, Watertone said calmly, “Shovels
are coming with the first load of carcases.”
“So I assumed,” said Tarkyn dryly.
The wizard glowered at them but Waterstone returned his gaze,
completely unmoved, a cheeky grin hovering around his mouth.
“Bloody cocky woodmen.” grumbled Stormaway, as he turned away.
“Stormaway,” said Tarkyn, “do you have any suggestions as to how we
might tackle this – other than just blasting the ground with power?”
Waterstone intervened hastily. “You don’t want to send the soil too far
away. We’ll need most of it to refill the hole.”
Stormaway raised his eyebrows, “Obviously. We are not complete
idiots, you know.”
Since Tarkyn wouldn’t have thought twice about where the soil ended
up, he nodded then shook his head in agreement, a smile lurking in his
eyes as they met Waterstone’s across the back of the wizard.
If Stormaway was aware of his antics, he gave no sign. “If we aim our
power beams across each other’s and then moved them both in clockwise
direction, the power rays should wrap themselves around each other. Since
our individual power rays will have a different frequency of vibration,
this should set up a dissonance and gradually destabilise the soil in that
area, turning it from a sol to a gel; a similar effect to an earthquake. Then
the loosened soil can be removed with very little effort.”
“You see,” said Tarkyn to Waterstone, “how much I need to learn.
I didn’t even realise our power rays vibrated, let alone at different
frequencies.”
The wizard shook his head solemnly, “Shocking. Truly shocking, that
your magical education has been so limited.”
“For once I agree with you,” said the woodman, “I think Tarkyn has
been sorely neglected over the years since his father died.”
Not wishing to add more fuel to their fire, Tarkyn kept a close
guard over his feelings and said brusquely, “If you two have finished
commiserating over me, do you think we could get on with it? How big
do you want this hole?”
Waterstone shot him a glance but said nothing and turned his attention
to the question. “If we don’t want foxes or other animals digging the
carcases straight up again, it will have to be at least six feet deep, and I’d
say about seven feet in diameter.” He looked at Stormaway. “What do
you think? Does that sound about right?”