Bronze Magic

by Jennifer Ealey

  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 middle 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 russet-dyed 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 a 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 were 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 li
fe.”

  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 to 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 swung 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.

  Then he said, “You did well to do as I asked.” The father looked, if anything, more stricken, until Tarkyn added gently, “I would not be so cruel as to force a man to bring his son to his own execution.”

  Relief washed over the father. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you.”

  Tarkyn considered them, kneeling before him, “It is not just your son who has transgressed against me. You know, don’t you, that all your lives should be forfeit. But because you did not know who I was, I will not exact that punishment. Equally, for reasons I will explain later, I will not turn you over to the city watch.”

  “See? He’s a fine young prince, he is,” cackled the grandmother, a hysterical edge of relief in her laughter. “He’s kind, this one. That’s why he’s the best loved of the royal brothers.”

  Tarkyn was startled, but after a moment’s reflection, smiled wryly to himself. Even if that were true yesterday, it won’t be today.

  “Here, grandmother. Let me help you up.” As he put out his hand and drew the old woman to her feet, he could see that, much as she tried to hide it, it was a struggle for her to get herself up off her stiff knees.

  “Thank you, Sire.” She cocked a sharp eye at her sons, “You two could learn some manners from His Highness here.”

  The taller man grunted, still on his knees, “You don’t have to kneel for us in the first place.”

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows and the man muttered an apology and subsided into silence. “The rest of you may also rise.” He turned to the girl and offered her his hand, “And I am sorry that I treated you so poorly. It is not my usual practice to intimidate young ladies. I hope you were not too afraid. I would never have hurt you.”

  The teenager blushed at being called a young lady then nodded casually, “Yeah, I didn’t think you would, Your Highness.” In response to Tarkyn’s evident surprise, she explained, “You were not very rough, you know. And half the time you forgot to hold the knife against my throat. Your hand kept dropping. And even when you did, you did it gently.”

  “Hmm. Well, I must say it is not a skill I wish to develop.” Tarkyn shuddered inwardly at the experience of violence that lay behind her casually uttered words. He sat down on the large block of stone and crossed his ankles, “So now that you know who I am, we may need to renegotiate our terms.”

  The grandmother bowed, “Of course, Your Highness. You have only to request it, and it shall be done.”

  “Blast!” muttered the shorter man to his brother, “I thought we was onto a bit of a winner here.”

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “I beg your pardon?”

  The shorter man pulled his forelock, “Beg pardon, Your Highness.” He glanced sideways and murmured, “Sharp ears.”

  “Very sharp,” said Tarkyn, “And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making little asides in my presence.” He waited for them to absorb this. Several glances passed between them but when they refrained from speaking, he nodded, “Good. And now, to return to our negotiation. I will not renege on our previous agreement. You will still receive one half of the value of this,” here he held up the diamond pin, “on delivery to me of the money and receipt.” He gave a faint smile, “So you may still make your profit.”

  “You are a true man of honour, Your Highness,” said the taller man, still grateful for his son’s life.

  “Of course I am. And despite your profession, I expect you to be men and women of honour also, in your dealings with me.”

  The taller man’s chest swelled with pride, but the grandmother glanced contemptuously at her son. She had heard token words like these before.

  Tarkyn crossed his arms. “And now there is so
mething I need to tell you before you venture forth on my behalf. You may be seated while you listen.” He waited until they settled themselves on various tumbled chunks of masonry. Now that the time had come to tell them, Tarkyn was almost unable to continue. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and began, “Yesterday, during the Harvest Tournament, a shaft of my power went wide and hit a spectator stand. The stand was knocked awry but no one was hurt. In fact, after the initial panic, everyone climbed back onto it to watch the rest of our match. But…” He took another deep breath, “But the king brought me up on charges, because of it.”

  Tarkyn stood up and began to pace back and forth, ignoring the little intakes of breath that he had heard. After a few moments he turned to his small audience and said, “And I did not accept his judgement. I threw up my shield and after that…well… after that, everything went a bit haywire and most of the Royal Guardsmen were killed and the Great Hall opposite the Palace was completely destroyed,” he finished in a rush, grimacing.

  Five pairs of round eyes stared at him from slack faces.

  “You defied the king?” the taller man breathed. “In public?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “So that was why you were alone and kept your hood up,” said the boy, pleased that a puzzle had been explained for him.

  Tarkyn nodded.

  “And the Great Hall has been destroyed?” asked the shorter man, eyes wide with astonishment. “What? You mean, gone? Completely gone?”

  Unconsciously, Tarkyn wrapped his cloak around himself against the onslaught of their reactions. “Pretty much. There is only a big pile of rubble left.”

  “You must have put up one almighty struggle,” said the shorter man, in some awe. “And killing all the king’s guards too. Wow! That is some feat.”

  Tarkyn frowned. “No. It wasn’t like that.” He hunched deeper into his cloak “All I did was raise my shield. But something went wrong with it, and instead of blocking, it reflected back their own weapons at them… and at the walls. I didn’t intentionally kill anyone.”