The woodfolk rose to their feet and began to disperse. A few of them looked uncertainly at the prince as though they would have spoken with him but he gave them no encouragement so they too melted into the night’s festivities.
Tarkyn turned glazed eyes slowly to look at Stormaway. “How could I ever have forgotten that?” he said shakily.
Stormaway put a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Tarkyn, my friend’s son, you were so young you would not have understood what you were saying, let alone remembered it. No one has been there to remind you. Your father died within the year and I was banished from court by your brothers.”
“So now what?” asked Tarkyn. “Am I now condemned to live within the confines of this forest, my fate entwined with people who hate me? I might have been better off in prison.”
Stormaway took care not to roll his eyes. “My lord, I am aware that you, no less than the woodfolk, were given no choice about entering into this pact. However, you overstate the case. I think you will find that not everyone resents you with the same ferocity as Tree Wind.”
Tarkyn ran a hand through his hair. “I have seen no sign of any friendship. Ancient Oak is the only person I have conversed with and he was doing it out of obligation.”
“You have only been here for one day,” the wizard pointed out gently. “Give them and yourself a chance to get to know each other.”
“I feel as if I’ve been drafted into the role of an unwelcome conqueror who has magic at his back instead of an army.”
“I am afraid, Sire, that you have summed up the situation quite succinctly.” said Stormaway in the same matter-of-fact voice that Tarkyn had seen in Tree Wind’s memory, “And now, you are going to have to rise to the occasion and learn to live with it.” The wizard turned to leave but stopped when he saw Tarkyn’s mutinous face. “Now listen to me, my lord. Did you like what you saw of your father in Tree Wind’s memory?”
Tarkyn glowered at him. “Yes, I did. I loved him and I have always missed him.” His throat ached with the effort of not shedding tears.
“And did you like everything he did?” pressed Stormaway.
The young prince’s eyes flashed in instant defence of his father but then his shoulders sagged and he conceded, “No. Not everything. If he had been more patient and tactful, the woodfolk could have given their allegiance with much less ill-feeling and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Your Highness, I too loved your father. I served him to the end of his days just as I will serve you to the end of mine. But he had a tempestuous nature which sometimes marred his actions.” Stormaway shook his head slowly from side to side. “From what I have seen, you are very much your father’s son. Learn from him. Take from him wholeheartedly what you admire and learn to manage the rest.”
Tarkyn gave a short derisive laugh. “Pull myself together, in other words.”
The wizard smiled. “Basically, yes. These people have just unwillingly sworn their lives to you. They have every right to feel resentful. The least you can do is deign to speak to them and treat them with courtesy.”
“Stars above, Stormaway! I don’t know how my father put up with you.”
The wizard actually grinned. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it was a struggle for both of us.” He clapped his new charge on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some of that fine wine and a plate of venison.”
For better or for worse, Tarkyn’s future had found him.
8
Tarkyn took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked over to the nearest group of woodfolk who were standing with drinks in their hands, waiting for the venison to be carved. As he approached, he saw two of them exchange glances.
At a nudge from Waterstone, Autumn Leaves held up a large flagon. “Would you like a refill, Your Highness?”
Tarkyn blinked. None of them bowed or even inclined their heads in respect as he walked up to them. “Thank you. I would. Your wines are very good.” He glanced sideways to share his surprise with Stormaway only to find that the wily old wizard had melted from his side. He gave a rueful grimace. “Hmm. I seem to have misplaced my wizard.”
A woodwoman smiled at him, “He’s as slippery as a snake, that Stormaway. Disappears for weeks at a time. Then suddenly, one day, he will just stroll in and help himself to a cup of tea as though he’d never been away. I am Creaking Bough.”
Tarkyn inclined his head in acknowledgement, “Pleased to meet you. I hope you will forgive me if I take a few days to remember all your names. I am meeting so many of you all at once. But I promise you, I will do my best.”
The venison and roasted vegetables filled the clearing with glorious aromas as the food was served onto large pieces of bark lined with plaited vines.
“At last. Food’s ready,” said Autumn Leaves. “You wait here and I’ll bring you over a plateful.”
Tarkyn watched in bemusement as the woodfolk moved in to help themselves without serving him first, or waiting for him to be ready to eat before they started themselves. A few minutes later, Autumn Leaves returned with two filled plates. He handed one to Tarkyn and kept one for himself.
“Come on then, Your Highness. You may sit with us if you like.”
Waterstone had already sat down with his meal on his lap. “Look,” he said, patting a mossy patch next to him on a log. “I’ve saved you a spot.”
“Thank you.” Tarkyn sat down, looking a little dazed. He had never been treated so casually in his life. And yet he could tell that they were not being deliberately disrespectful. In fact, he thought they were making an effort to include him and make him feel at ease.
After a wry glance at his friend, Waterstone smiled at the prince, “Autumn Leaves is trying to make up for his previous misdeed.”
Privately reeling that Autumn Leaves wasn’t simply serving him out of duty, Tarkyn asked as lightly as he could manage, “And what misdeed was that?”
“Sending you off with Tree Wind on your own.”
“I see.” Tarkyn’s gaze slid along to watch Autumn Leaves eating his meal. “It was indeed unpleasant, but I did need to see her memories. So that I knew what you all knew.”
Waterstone waved his hand, “I agree. You did. Still, any one of us could have shown you, perhaps more kindly, or supported you when you saw hers.”
Tarkyn frowned, unconvinced, “Surely you all relished the opportunity to wreak a small revenge. I cannot imagine that any of you feel well disposed towards me after what I saw.”
Just as Waterstone was about to reply, Autumn Leaves cut in, “I believe you said that you did not want unpleasant truths rubbed in people’s faces, so I will not comment on that. But I do offer you my apology. However we may feel about you and the situation, you are alone, one among many.” The woodman stopped to consider for a minute, “Even if I were as strong as you, I cannot imagine that I would feel comfortable if I found myself surrounded by sorcerers.” He gave a slight smile, “So it was not kind of me, and I apologise.”
“Thank you. Although it is not perhaps as strange for me to be one among many, as it would be for you. ”
“But Your Highness, you have been with your own kind until now,” protested Creaking Bough.
“It is clear, both from your words and your actions, that you do not understand the enormous gulf that lies between sorcerers and the Royal Family. I do not consider commoners or even lords to be my peers. My family has ruled Eskuzor for over a thousand years. Our heritage sets us apart. When I enter a room, no one continues to behave as they did before I arrived. So it happens frequently that I am one among many.”
“That sounds very lonely, my lord,” said Creaking Bough.
Tarkyn raised an eyebrow and gave a faintly derisive smile, “It is merely the expected order of things, Creaking Bough. It is neither good nor bad. It just is.”
Despite his words, he did feel more isolated than he ever had before. These people were alien to him. He knew nothing of their customs, way of life or attitudes, and they were no
t behaving as he was used to. His gaze travelled around the clearing. He could see that despite their disregard for protocol, they were still keeping a weather eye on him while they ate.
As he suppressed a sigh, an owl swooped in a low arc over their heads and up into an oak tree to land high above Tarkyn. Although not unheard of, an owl flying through the firelight was enough to cause a ripple of comment through the woodfolk. Tarkyn smiled slightly, pleased to share a moment of common interest with them.
“Do you know much of birds, my lord?” asked Waterstone.
“Enough to know that owls generally keep away from light. He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” Tarkyn pointed upward, “Look. He’s still there. Right above me.”
Autumn Leaves squinted upwards. “As far as I know, you can’t tell the sex of a tawny owl by its appearance.”
“He’s a male,” said Tarkyn with quiet confidence. At their looks of surprise, he added, “I saw him earlier, before I returned to the clearing.” He shrugged, “Besides, I just know he is.”
“You must have studied birds a good deal to know the difference between the genders, particularly if we can’t tell,” said Waterstone with a note of scepticism. “Unusual in a town dweller.”
“No, I hate to disillusion you, but I haven’t.” Tarkyn’s eyes twinkled, “But despite that, you will find that our owl is male.” For the first time, they saw a chink in his courteous formality. His smile broadened, “And there is no way you can disprove it, short of following him for weeks and waiting for him not to lay an egg.”
This drew reluctant smiles from the woodfolk who were not quite sure how to take him. Above him, the owl ruffled his feathers and settled down.
“Your Highness, what is it about our actions that makes you say we don’t understand the gulf between you and other sorcerers?” asked Waterstone suddenly. “After all, we have never met any sorcerers, other than you and your father… and I suppose, Stormaway. He, I believe, is a type of sorcerer.”
“In that case, it is not surprising that you don’t understand.” Tarkyn knew the woodman was waiting for further explanation. He also knew that he did not want to get into a wrangle about expected behaviour after the trauma of the oath-giving they had just been through. “Waterstone, we have time ahead of us. Tonight, the oath is raw in everyone’s minds. My expectations of your behaviour are clearly not aligned with your own, at the moment. But now is not the time to remedy that.” When he saw Waterstone about to protest, he raised his hand and said firmly, “No. I will not discuss this tonight. I am well aware that no one is intending me any disrespect. If I had thought otherwise, presumably the forest would have let you know.”
The three woodfolk retreated into tense silence. When he had finished eating, Autumn Leaves quietly gathered up everyone’s plates and took them over to woodfolk who were waiting to clear away. While he was exchanging a few words with them, Waterstone explained in a subdued voice, “Normally, each woodman would attend to his own utensils.”
Tarkyn’s eyes narrowed, “But tonight they are doing yours in exchange for you keeping me entertained. Is that right?”
Waterstone shifted uncomfortably, “It is not quite so blatant as that. It is more that that is their contribution towards serving you.” The woodman glanced anxiously at the nearby trees.
“I see. I can accept that.”
Waterstone let out a small sigh of relief. Around the fire, more woodfolk were watching the prince and exchanging anxious glances. There was a building undercurrent of tension.
As Autumn Leaves returned, Tarkyn snapped, “Will you please keep private conversations with me private?” He waved his arm around the clearing, “Now look! Everyone is waiting to see what I will say next.”
For a moment the heavy woodman glared at him, resentment smouldering in his eyes. “What do you expect?” he snapped back. “Of course they want to know what you’re going to demand of us.”
The prince’s face stiffened with shock.
Autumn Leaves took a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but everyone is clamouring to hear what you have been saying to us. I said as little as I could.” He sat down, unknowingly offending Tarkyn even further by not waiting for permission. He added firmly, “I do not think you appreciate how frightened we are for our forests. How can we keep them secure if we don’t even know how to act to meet your expectations?”
Tarkyn eyed him, deciding whether to reprimand him for his presumptuous attitude. Finally, he reminded himself of his decision to make allowances tonight. “Very well. I will speak once more on this subject. I will not stand up and make an announcement but this time, I give you permission to convey my words to all other interested parties. That will then be the end of it for tonight. Is that clear?”
Autumn Leaves glanced at Waterstone as he nodded, “Yes, Your Highness. Quite clear.”
Tarkyn then spoke quietly so only those close to him could hear, but he paused every few sentences to give Autumn Leaves time to transmit his message to everyone watching. “Perhaps you were not listening, but I have just sworn an oath to protect your forests. As you will come to realise, I am a man of my word. I will not try to ambush you, nor punish you or your forests, for expectations of which you are unaware. When I have decided what I expect of you, I will make sure you know. Only then will I insist on compliance.”
He took a sip of wine. “I am aware that you feel jarred by my arrival and by the commitment you have had to give me. That is why I will not impose any expectations tonight.” He looked around the assembled woodfolk but continued to speak softly, “While I have your attention, thank you for your fine food and wine. Please feel free to come up and speak to me, but do not feel obliged to.”
Little did the woodfolk know, but even this last offer was an enormous concession from a prince who would normally have had everyone presented formally to him in the course of the evening.
Tarkyn watched with interest as several people melted into the forest and the same number swung down out of the trees to take their place. The newcomers helped themselves to food and drink, and two of them wandered over to join the prince.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” said a middle-aged woodwoman whose soft brown hair hung well down her back. “I noticed last night that your face was showing signs of strain. No doubt being on the run is bad for the nerves.” She put her plate down on the log, in order to produce a small phial of dark green liquid. “This should reduce some of your tension, my lord. I am Summer Rain.”
“Thank you.” Tarkyn took the phial from her and held it up to study it in the firelight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw woodfolk exchanging knowing looks. He turned his gaze to confront Autumn Leaves. “Am I being made fun of?” he demanded.
“No Sire,” said Autumn Leaves hastily. “Summer Rain’s tonics are renowned for their efficacy.”
They waited until he had taken out the cork and tossed off the contents before Thunder Storm, who had just joined them, added, “But they taste horrific.”
With his face screwed up from the bitterness of the brew, Tarkyn eyed their grinning faces balefully. Waterstone could see that he was not pleased. “Sire, we are not laughing at you. We are laughing out of fellow feeling. All of us have endured Summer Rain’s tonics.”
Creaking Bough refilled Tarkyn’s goblet and smiled at him, “And thank you for putting our minds at rest, Your Highness. The fact that you even considered our concern gives me the first glimmering of hope.”
When Tarkyn had regained control of his facial muscles, he said kindly, “I believe that no one in my acquaintance or service would tell you that I am a harsh master. I try to be fair. I will always listen, though I will not always agree. Of course, once the issue is decided, I would expect my orders to be obeyed without question. And needless to say, my word is final. But I will listen.” He sipped his wine, blithely unaware that the smile had slowly died on the woodwoman’s face.
Creaking Bough swallowed, and tears started to her eyes. “Oh, Your Highness.
No matter what your expectations, this is going to be so hard.”
Tarkyn, who had thought he was being reassuring, looked at her in some surprise.
“Your Highness, Ancient Oak told you, but you did not take it in,” rumbled Thunder Storm quietly. “Other than the two days when your father was here, no one here has ever taken orders from anyone. Certainly not as a way of life. We are used to deciding for ourselves. Until today, we were all equally in charge of our own lives.”
“No matter how fair you are, or think you are,” said Autumn Leaves, “while you have the final say, you hold our freedom in your hands.”
Tarkyn resisted the urge to retort that that was exactly how it had always been. In Tormadell, he had held the freedom of all his friends, acquaintances and staff in his hands. He could have ordered their imprisonment at any time, on the slimmest of excuses, if he chose. He could see, however, that these woodfolk were genuinely upset and he remembered how it felt when his own freedom had been held in the king’s hands, and Kosar had chosen to crush it. But even though he had hated it, he had accepted Kosar’s right to do it.
No, that was wrong, he realised. He hadn’t accepted it at all. He had rebelled and thrown away his whole life to save his freedom.
Suddenly the prince smiled. “Perhaps you and I are not so very different. I refused to let my brother take my freedom from me. Saying that, until then I would have followed his orders without question.” He shrugged. “However, I can see it is different for you. Strange as it seems to me, you are not used to following orders. But unfortunately for you, your oath has given you all into my service. So, whether you like it or not, and whether I like it or not, you do owe me your obedience, and as your liege, I do have the final say. But I will bear in mind how much it grates with you.” He spread his hands, “That is the best I can do. Even if I decide to relieve you of my presence, it is still my decision, not yours.”
Bronze Magic Page 10