Bronze Magic (Book 1) (5 page)

The shorter man drew up the trapdoor and as they all clattered down
the ladder, Tomas explained, “There’s a slight slope to the floor. That’s
why it’s so hard to push the stone away. But we can pull the stone back
over the trap door from within the cellar. All that is left are a few rub
marks. And we make sure there are rub marks beside many of the fallen
rocks so that this one doesn’t stand out. It’s worked so far.”
“Hmph. Very ingenious. I saw those marks while I was pacing
around waiting for you. I vaguely wondered what they were but to
be honest with you, my powers of concentration aren’t up to much at
the moment.”
As soon as all people and bags were at the bottom of the ladder, the
trapdoor was closed behind them and the two men pulled hard on the
rope until it was hanging straight down and they knew that the stone was
back in place. It was pitch dark in the cellar.
A thought suddenly occurred to the prince. “And how do we get back
out of the trapdoor? How do you move that stone away from down here?”
The shorter man chuckled in the dark. “We don’t, Your Highness. We
can’t move the stone from down here.”
Something in the quality of the silence that followed, let them know
that Tarkyn did not like being toyed with. After waiting in vain for
him to ask the obvious question, the voice continued, this time more
carefully courteous, “There is a series of small rooms beyond this one,
Your Highness, and from the last of them, a small grating leads down
onto the mudflats of the river. Only Morayne and Charkon are small
enough to climb through the gap. So, later, when all is clear, they will go
back up and release us.”
“But surely that stone is too heavy for them to move on their own?”
“It just takes longer to move, Sire,” came Morayne’s voice, “with only
two lots of magic to move it. But we can do it.”
“And do we intend to sit in pitch darkness all afternoon?”
“No, Sire. But it is not safe to strike a light in here in case any glimmer
of it shines up through the cracks. If you will allow us, we will guide you
through into the next room and there we can be less cautious.”
“Thank you. I do not think I could endure hours of this.” But when
a hand landed gently on his back to guide him, he still flinched at the
unaccustomed touch.
Ignoring his reaction, Tomas said from beside him, “This way,
Your Highness. Just be warned. There is step upwards in a minute,”
as he used his hand to guide the prince through a doorway into the
next room.
Suddenly, they heard shouting and the sounds of heavy boots on the
wooden flooring above them. Tarkyn and the thieves froze where they
were. As the footsteps milled around straight above them, Tarkyn felt the
thief ’s hand on his back give him a reassuring pat. Once he had quelled
his initial affront at Tomas’ over-familiarity, Tarkyn found the gesture
surprisingly comforting.
After a few fraught minutes, as the footsteps gradually diminished and
the thieves and Tarkyn resumed their manoeuvres in the dark into the
adjoining room. Once the door had closed behind them, Tarkyn waited
for a light to appear but instead he heard the sound of scrabbling and
quiet cursing. With a slight smile, he intoned,
Lumaya,
and a soft ball of
light appeared in his hand. “Will this help?”
“Oh, thanks very much, Sire,” said the shorter man. “You’re pretty
handy with your magic, aren’t you? Ah, here we are. I couldn’t find the
flint in the dark. It must have been knocked off the shelf as we came
through.”
Once the lamp was lit, there was a moment of awkwardness while
the family realised that the only place to sit was on the floor. And none
of them could sit down while the prince stood. In a flash of inspiration,
Charkon emptied the contents of his bag and lay it out on the floor,
“Perhaps you would like to sit here, Your Highness. Then your clothes
will not get too dirty.”
“Thank you,” said Tarkyn gravely, not actually as concerned as they
feared. “Perhaps you would all like to be seated too, if we have a long
wait ahead of us.”
Not being totally clear on court etiquette, each of them gave a short
bow before sitting down on the ground around him.
“And now, Your Highness,” the old grandmother’s eyes were shining
with excitement as she began to unpack her bag, “we have brought food
and drink such as you have never seen before.”
“Actually, old Ma,” said Tomas dryly, “he probably has. It’s us who
haven’t.”
The grandmother waved away his objection as she produced a large
square of bleached linen. “And look! I even bought a cloth to put it all on.”
From every bag came pies, meats, fruit, breads and cakes, yellow butter
and soft white cheeses. Bottles of wine, ale, milk and fruit juice were
distributed around the little room and then, when all was set before
them, the family heaved a collective sigh of contentment and sat back,
looking expectantly at the prince.
Tarkyn smiled, “It is indeed a magnificent spread. Shall we?”
With permission granted, the feasting began. There were no plates or
cutlery. Everyone used their knives to cut portions or spread butter on
hunks of bread and held their food in their fingers.
When the first frenzy had passed, and they were sitting around drinking
and picking occasionally at the remnants, the family turned their attention
to other items in their bags. Under the grandmother’s strict directions, they
had all been allowed to buy one personal item each on their way back,
partly for the joy of it and partly to give themselves time to check that they
weren’t being followed. These items were now paraded before Tarkyn and
each other. The boy had a fine new pair of boots and the girl had bought a
warm, hand-woven shawl. Tomas and Gillis had bought shirts and the old
grandmother held up a smart black jacket that contrasted noticeably with
the worn material of her present garb.
There was a lull after this and Tarkyn spotted members of the family
exchanging surreptitious glances as they reached for a bottle or more
food. He had a fair idea that they were waiting for him to ask for his
money but he refused to accommodate them. He was determined that he
would not show the slightest doubt in their honour.
Eventually, the grandmother gave a deep sigh and shook her head,
smiling, “Oh, Your Highness, your patience and courtesy are beyond
belief.”
“I am not renowned for my patience actually,” said Tarkyn dryly, “only
in some situations.”
From one of the bags that was still fuller than the others, she produced
a well-filled rucksack. She handed it to Tarkyn saying, “This is from all
of us. It is a sturdier, more practical bag than the one you carry and we
have filled it with supplies for your journey. Your money is in an inside
pocket.”
A rush of feeling threatened his equanimity as he realised that once
he left them, he would encounter no one well disposed towards him. He
swallowed before replying, “Thank you. I did not expect such kindness.”
“You have a hard road ahead of you, my lord,” said Tomas. “We have
just done what we could to ease your passage.”
n eerie silver glow on the eastern horizon signalled the imminent rise
of the moon as Tarkyn and the family of thieves parted company on
the edge of town. In the gloom of the pre-moon night, Tarkyn could
just make out the track ahead skirting the cornfields close to the bank of
the river.
Tomas’s last words to him were, “And Sire, at your first opportunity
you should find somewhere safe to hide the rest of your valuables.” The
thief smiled at Tarkyn’s look of surprise. “You are not good at dissembling,
my lord. It was obvious you had more in your pocket than your diamond
pin. Don’t keep it all on you. If you get rolled, you don’t want to lose
everything.” He bowed, “It was a privilege to spend this time with you,
my lord. We will never forget it. Fare well.”
“Fare you well also. I, too, will not forget you,” Tarkyn replied as, with
a final wave, he hitched his rucksack and strode resolutely into his future.
The thieves had offered to procure a horse for him but after some
discussion, he and they had felt that he would be more obvious mounted
and would be forced to keep more to the roads. By foot, he would be
slower but better able to hide. Since he had no particular destination, his
speed of travel was less important than remaining hidden.
Tarkyn walked steadily through the night, keeping the river on his
left as Gillis had suggested. But the trouble with following the river
was that its waters attracted home dwellers and provided transport for
barges and sailboats. Several times, he had to detour though the fields
to avoid homesteads and twice he came around a bend in the river to be
confronted by a small river port, complete with garrisoned soldiers.
The second time, he walked within ten feet of two sentries. The first he
knew of them was a tense voice to his right, asking, “Did you hear that?
Hoy! Is anybody there? Stand and show yourself.”
Tarkyn froze and edged slowly back into the shadow of the thicket
from which he had just emerged. Just as he heard the sentry start towards
him to investigate, a small deer brushed past and crashed its way through
the undergrowth, out into the open in the direction of the sentry. As the
sentry started in surprise, the deer zig-zagged past him, back into the
cover of the trees and out of sight.
Another voice laughed, “Huh. So much for your prowler.”
Soon after this, the moon deserted him, hiding behind a heavy bank
of clouds that came in from the south. He couldn’t use his lumaya spell
to light his way for fear of drawing attention to himself. So he walked
slowly, straining his eyes to see where the path led him and occasionally
tripping over unseen tree roots or rises in the path. After a couple of
hours of excruciating concentration, he gave up and found a log to sit
against near the riverbank.
As soon as he sat down, the clouds whimsically disappeared, revealing
a moonlit stretch of water spread before him. He glanced around, seeing
the path ahead winding off to his right, clearly visible at last. With a wry
smile, he decided to take a chance on the clouds staying away and settled
down to investigate the contents of the rucksack. With a piece of game
pie in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other, he looked out over the
dark waters of the river and finally let his mind drift unfettered over the
events of the last two days.
He still felt breathless with shock every time he thought of his brothers’
betrayal. Being straightforward himself, Tarkyn had never come to terms
with duplicity in others. And if his brothers could discard him like that,
what about his friends? Were any of them true to him or had they just
been using him for their own ends? He shook his head as he thought
about it. He had no idea.
Then his mind turned to the guardsmen. How quickly their lifelong
respect for him had turned to enmity, as the king willed it. He remembered
the hatred and dawning fear in their eyes as their attempts to hurt, kill or
capture him had been frustrated by his shield.
Tarkyn looked down at the moonlight glinting on his signet ring,
carved amber embedded in bronze. It had been his father’s ring,
fashioned for him to blend his eye colour and the colour of his magic.
When he was younger, Tarkyn had been a reflection of the late king’s
colouring but in the eleven years since he had died, Tarkyn had carried
the black hair, the amber eyes and bronze magic alone. Staring down
at the ring his father had left him, his resolve hardened. Whatever
happened to him, he would not forsake his heritage. He hoped his father
would have understood that Tarkyn had not betrayed the Tamadil line
by refusing to bow to Kosar’s decree, but that a Tamadil monarch had
betrayed him.
He gave his head a slight shake and took another bite of pie, stamping
firmly down on the feelings that threatened to well up. There was no
point in dwelling on them. He had survived and escaped. That was the
best he could ask for. These people were in his past. Now he must look
to his future.
Tarkyn studied the dull gold of lamplight in a cottage window on
the other side of the river and wondered what life was like for the poor
farmers in that cottage, as they ate their evening meal and prepared for
bed. As he watched, a man came out of the side door of the cottage and
the leashed dogs sent up a chorus of welcome as he crossed to a shed and
disappeared from sight.
Tarkyn took another bite of pie and tried to envisage his own future. But
try as he might, nothing came to him. Everything he was and everything
he knew lay in ruins behind him. He spent another few minutes while he
finished his food, trying to come to terms with the black void ahead of
him. He was not cast down by it. It was his past, not his future that upset
him. In fact, there was a spark of excitement in him at the prospect of the
complete unknown that lay before him.
Tarkyn stood up, brushed his hands and stowed the rest of the ale in
his pack.
“Well, I know I am going away from Tormadell and I think I must also
leave this river. It is too populated,” he said to himself. “Other than that, I
will let my future come to me. Each time I reach a fork in the road, I will
follow the road I like the look of, the road with heart. And I will let my
heart lead me into my future.” This idea was so absurdly whimsical that
it brought a smile to his lips, but at least it gave him a basis for deciding
on his route.
Before he left the river’s course, mindful of Tomas’ advice, he wanted
to find somewhere to hide the bulk of his valuables. Just after dawn, the
path narrowed and became difficult to negotiate, as it wound its way
over and around tumbled rocks at the side of a narrow pass. Ahead,
Tarkyn could see the path disappearing up into the damp undergrowth
beside a series of waterfalls. Spray filled the air and obscured his views
of immense cliffs that towered on either side of the waterfalls as the
valley narrowed to a deep ravine. In those cliffs, he decided, he would
find his hiding place.