Bronze Magic (Book 1) (37 page)

A prolonged, strained silence greeted the prince’s words. Stormaway
frowned at the lack of reaction, “Perhaps everyone is too tired to discuss
it tonight. Maybe we’ll do better after a good night’s rest.”
The prince produced a courtly smile. “I’m sure you’re right. I should
have realised everyone would be too tired this evening. Have shelters
been constructed or are we sleeping outside tonight?”
“Of course shelters are ready,” growled Stormaway, now becoming
seriously unnerved by the silence of the woodfolk. “Yours is over there.”
The prince raised his eyebrows. “Is it? Thank you to whoever prepared
my shelter when you are clearly still so exhausted. Well, I will bid you
goodnight. To be frank, the conversation at the moment is less than
stimulating. I will see you all in the morning.” So saying, Tarkyn rose to
his feet and left the stunned woodfolk to the rest of their evening.
There was no way that Tarkyn was going to be able to sleep. He was
wound up like a taut bow, rage simmering just below the surface. He had
tried, successfully he thought, to maintain a front of friendly courtesy
but the effort had been extreme. He couldn’t possibly keep it up for long,
certainly not day after day for the rest of his life. He tossed and turned,
trying to find a way out.
I can’t just leave them, much as I want to. I have sworn that blasted oath to
them. Their fate is my fate. Their cause is mine. What a bloody one way street
that is,
he thought bitterly.
But I can’t stay. I just cannot do it.
Inspiration struck him in the early hours of the morning. He rose
quietly and crept away from the campsite. Spotting the lookout just
before the lookout spotted him, he muttered “Shturrum!” without any
compunction. Tarkyn caught Grass Wind as she fell paralysed from the
tree. “When I release this spell, I forbid you to let anyone know I’m
gone, at least until you are directly asked. Is that clear?” The prince did
not waste time on courtesy. “Do not try to follow me and do not try to
dissuade me. Do you understand?” He released the spell.
“My lord,” whispered Grass Wind, “Take care. My thoughts will be
with you.”
Tarkyn recoiled as if bitten. He shook his head to clear it, unable to
reconcile her intended kindness with his knowledge of her duplicity.
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the woods. Once
he was beyond the scope of the other lookouts, he levitated himself and
travelled above the forest so that he couldn’t be tracked by anyone wishing
to follow him. The moon shone intermittently between scudding grey
clouds. The sharp autumn wind was stronger and colder without the trees
to provide shelter from it.
When he was an hour away from the campsite, he returned to the
forest floor and sat with his back against a tree while he sent out his mind
to find the tawny owl he knew. He pictured the occasion under the pine
when he had first met the owl, then sent a request for it to make contact.
After a short wait, he found his mind scanning the forest floor looking for
rodents. The sorcerer sent an image of the woodfolk he knew with him
shaking his head then a vaguer image of woodfolk with a query. It wasn’t
very clear as communication went but it was the best he could think of.
Tarkyn’s mind took off and flew low through the forest until it came
to a firesite he had never seen before. Tarkyn sent a message indicating
himself, then the place. A sense of ruffling feathers came to him and he
realised that the owl was not keen to come and fetch him. The sorcerer
persevered with his request and eventually the owl conceded. Tarkyn sent
a wave of gratitude.
A good half hour passed before the owl arrived. He alighted in the
branch above Tarkyn and sat glaring down at him, ruffling his feathers,
clearly in a huff. Tarkyn wished he had some titbits of wolf to give him.
The owl sank his head down into his shoulders and closed his eyes. Tarkyn
waited patiently. After a short nap, the owl blinked, shook himself and
took off without further warning. The sorcerer scrambled to his feet and
levitated himself to follow. Half an hour later, as they drew near their
destination, Tarkyn sent the owl a query about lookouts. In response,
the owl took them both above the height of the trees, curved around and
dipped slightly above and behind a still figure positioned high in a horse
chestnut tree. Tarkyn sent out his thanks to the owl and began his descent
behind the lookout into the middle of the firesite.
o one was yet stirring. The sorcerer debated with himself about
whether to erect his shield. It would be safer but it would also be
regarded as a sign of hostility. On balance, he decided to take his
chances unprotected, and settled himself to wait beside the cold remains
of their last night’s fire, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself to fend
off the dank chill of pre-dawn.
As the first pale rays of the sun filtered through the glowing golden
autumn leaves, the first woodman emerged. The man was middle aged
and scruffy after a night’s sleep. He wandered about collecting sticks and
branches to get the fire started. As he brought them over to the firesite, he
finally noticed Tarkyn sitting there, waiting. The woodman dropped the
sticks with a loud clatter. His eyes went briefly out of focus and within
seconds the clearing had filled with belligerent, wary woodfolk; many
with raised bows in their hands, arrows notched. Through all of this,
Tarkyn didn’t move a muscle. When everyone had gathered around him,
he stood up very slowly and took his hands slowly out from within his
cloak.
“Who are you?” demanded a young woodman rudely.
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “But surely you know.” He let his amber
eyes travel around them all and sketched a shallow bow. “I am Tarkyn
Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor and of these forests, also known as guardian
of the forest.”
“And also known as rogue sorcerer,” added the belligerent youth.
The prince grimaced, “Yes. I had forgotten that one.”
“We are under no obligation to you,” growled the first man he had
seen. There was a tiny pause, “I am Falling Branch and we people are
known as the forestals.”
“I am aware that you are under no obligation to me, Falling Branch.”
“Who betrayed us?”
“No one has betrayed you. Waterstone made a slightly evasive reply to
one of my questions that alerted me to your existence.” The prince drew
himself up. “They betrayed my trust but they have not betrayed yours. I
found my own way here,” he added.
“So you have come to force us into taking your oath, have you?”
Tarkyn looked around at them all with a slight smile. “And how would
I do that?”
The woodfolk looked at each other then a woodwoman replied, “With
your sorcery. I am Sun Shower”
The sorcerer frowned, “I did not create the sorcery of the oath.”
“We have heard what you did to the other woodfolk,” she persisted.
Tarkyn crossed his arms. “And have you heard that I hurt anyone?”
There were reluctant shakes of heads.
“I don’t think I could force you into taking that oath” said the sorcerer
thoughtfully, “but I wouldn’t want to, even if I could.”
Murmurs of surprise and disbelief emerged from the crowd.
“What do you want with us then, that you come sneaking into our
firesite like a thief in the night?” demanded Falling Branch.
The prince wrinkled his nose in distaste, “Hardly like a thief. A thief
would not wait quietly for you all to get up and speak with him.” He
wrapped his cloak back around himself and shivered. “No. I have come
here to allow you the opportunity to kill me if you must, or to come
to some sort of working arrangement with me, otherwise.” He looked
around calmly at the boggling faces. “One of the first things Autumn
Leaves said to me was that anyone who saw the woodfolk did not leave
the forest alive. That group of woodfolk has not been able to kill me
because of the oath. But you people have no such impediment. I have
come here alone so no oathbound woodfolk is forced to protect me.” He
swung his arms wide, flinging his cloak open. “So here I am. Do with me
as you will.”
He saw them go out of focus. “Might I suggest that you make your
own decisions? If you confer with the oathbound woodfolk, they will
have to try to persuade you to spare me. So, for more honest opinions,
ask the rest of you.”
Sun Shower looked at him strangely, “Do you want to die?”
The prince shrugged. “Frankly, at this stage in my life, that’s a rather
moot point. I don’t think I care very much one way or the other.”
“Why shouldn’t we kill you?”
Tarkyn smiled faintly. “Two reasons. Firstly, if I am truly a guardian of
the forest, you will need me to protect you from whatever danger threatens
you. Secondly, there may be repercussions to the forest for the oathbound
woodfolk failing to protect me – I hope not. I tried to make it virtually
impossible for them to protect me in order to minimise that risk.”
“And why do you think we would kill you?”
“Again two reasons.” The prince’s voice was completely dispassionate.
“Firstly because I’m an outsider who has seen you woodfolk and secondly,
and I would have thought more importantly, to release your fellow
woodfolk from the oath.”
Falling Branch raised his eyebrows. “You’re a pretty cool customer.
You’re being remarkably forthright for someone in your position.”
Tarkyn shook his head. “Not really. You have to remember I put
myself in this position. There’s no point in entering the lion’s den
and then trying to wriggle back out of it. If I live long enough for
you to get to know me, you will learn that I am, as Waterstone puts
it, blindingly honest.” Just mentioning Waterstone made Tarkyn’s
stomach turn over.
“Can you prove that you’re a guardian of the forest?” demanded the
belligerent young man.
“I beg your pardon,” said the prince urbanely, “I don’t believe I know
your name.”
“I didn’t give it.”
The prince looked around enquiringly. “Is this young man special
in some way? Am I mistaken in thinking it is common courtesy for
woodfolk to give their name the first time they speak to someone new?”
Falling Branch cleared his throat. “No. That is correct.”
“I see,” said the prince and waited.
As the silence threatened to become awkward, the young man finally
rolled his eyes and said grudgingly, “I am Rainstorm.”
As though nothing untoward had passed between them, Tarkyn said
mildly, “You would probably know better than I, Rainstorm, what
characteristics you would expect in a forest guardian. I presume you have
been sent images by the other woodfolk. What further proof do you
require?”
The young woodman seemed startled at being taken seriously. He
frowned as he thought. “I don’t know. I just want to see it for myself.
Hmm, I suppose the legends talk of a mystical being that comes among
us” He looked Tarkyn up and down. “Well, your eyes are a bit strange
and your hair’s very long and dark, but other than that you don’t look
very mystical to me.”
The sorcerer smiled approvingly, “I couldn’t agree more.”
The young man tilted his head to one side as he considered, “You’re
supposed to have great magical powers…”
“Yes. Well, I am a sorcerer and a powerful one at that, so I more or less
qualify on that front.”
“Well, go on then. Show us,” demanded Rainstorm.
“What would you like to see?”
“I dunno. You’re the sorcerer, not me.”
Tarkyn considered for a moment. “Very well. I will blast a small branch
off that elm over there and then transport it over here. Then it will be
ready for my next little demonstration.” He looked around, particularly
at those with strung bows and asked, “Are we agreed?”
When he had received a general consensus, the sorcerer sent a harsh
bronze beam of power against the base of one of the elm’s branches. The
branch broke off with a loud crack and fell to the ground. Tarkyn could
hear the soft menacing sounds of bows being pulled tighter. “Is everybody
all right so far? I don’t want an arrow in the neck because someone is
getting too edgy. If I’m going to die, I would rather it were for a better
reason than that.” Murmuring, “
Liefka
,” he gently lifted the branch on a
softer beam of bronze and floated it through the air to land just in front
of him. He looked at the young woodman. “Anything else?”
Rainstorm had had time to think this time. “Well, go on then. Make
it grow.”
The guardian of the forest squatted down and forced a hole in the ground
with a sharp stick. Then he placed the damaged end of the elm branch into
the hole and closed his eyes. He drew gently on his
esse
and channelled it
into the branch. Beneath his hands, he could feel the sap swell and small
leaves twisting up out of the stem and opening up. He opened his eyes and
held the branch for a few more moments until it was firmly established.
Once he was sure it was secure, he smiled contentedly at his creation and
stood up. His smile faded as he remembered where he was.
He sighed and looked once more at the young man. Rainstorm had
forgotten him and was staring in amazement at the new little elm.
Sun Shower spoke instead, “Can you show us how you communicate
with animals?”
Tarkyn shook his head decisively. “Not directly. I will not ask forest
creatures to perform for you. I can share the image of my journey here if
you like, but we will all need to sit down.” He paused. “I don’t suppose
we could have a short break while you get the fire lit. You’re all looking
very cold and I would love a cup of tea if you happen to be making one.
I’ve been up all night.” He ran a tired hand through his hair and suddenly
found himself up close and personal with six arrows virtually touching
him. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” he snapped irritably, “If I were going to
hurt you, I could have killed you all when I first arrived. You were all
fast asleep and I sat out here for well over an hour before anyone stirred.”