Waterstone passed the exhausted sorcerer a drink. “Why didn’t you tell us you were tiring? I didn’t realise you would be tired, just sitting there sending up shafts of light.”
Tarkyn blinked owlishly up at him, almost drunk with tiredness. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been lifting tree branches and holding them up in the air all day.”
“Doesn’t the magic do that for you?”
“Yes and no. But where do you think the power comes from?”
“Oh dear,” said Waterstone, “We’ve made another wrong assumption about your magic, haven’t we?”
“I believe we have tired you excessively, Your Highness,” rumbled Thunder Storm.
“You look like a corpse,” observed Autumn Leaves, with his characteristic lack of tact. “Do you have enough strength to walk?”
Tarkyn leant his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe in a while.” He opened his eyes and gave a tired smile. “At least we’ve repaired a lot of trees, haven’t we? I’m sorry I can’t keep going but I’m afraid that’s the end of the road for me today.”
A gentle chorus of forest sounds let him know that they were all pleased with what had been done and reassured him that they were all tired too and ready to stop for the day anyway. With a satisfied sigh, the overtaxed young sorcerer drifted off to sleep.
Tarkyn woke to find himself in the dark, still leaning against the tree. In that moment of disorientation between sleep and wakefulness, his mind jolted with alarm as the memory of the last time he had awakened out in the open in the forest flooded through him.
“Whoa,” said Waterstone as he received a wave of Tarkyn’s reaction, “It’s all right. We’re all here. We haven’t left you on your own this time.”
As Tarkyn became wider awake, he realised that a fire was crackling cheerfully a short distance away and there was a lovely aroma of roasting meat wafting through the air. He hauled himself up and wandered over to join the woodfolk sitting at the fire.
He turned a perplexed face to Waterstone. “Where are all the others? There were many more people here when I first arrived in the forest.”
“We don’t usually congregate in such large numbers,” explained the woodman. “We were all gathered for your welcoming feast. But aside from that, most of the gatherer woodfolk have gone up to the east of the forest to harvest the blackberries. The harvesters are collecting the last of the summer flowers and will soon move further north for the sweet chestnuts and hazelnuts. And the rest of the wanderers could be anywhere by now, gathering information and taking wares from one group to the next as they go.”
Tarkyn took a few moments to absorb this then asked, “But aren’t there blackberries here? My shelter is in the middle of a big patch of them. Why aren’t the harvesters still here?”
Waterstone nodded. “The best crops are in particular areas. So the harvesters and gatherers tend to move around with the seasons to gather the best harvests.”
Autumn Leaves brought him a cup of wine. The prince thanked him and asked, “So how many of you have stayed here?”
“There are twenty of us still here, my lord,” replied Autumn Leaves. “Ten men, six women and four children.”
“And on what basis did you people choose to stay rather than go with the others?”
The woodfolk all looked at each other, then eyes went out of focus as they conferred mentally with each other. Tarkyn picked up a feeling of embarrassment but no explanation.
“Well?”
“Well… ” said Waterstone, clearing his throat, “It was done on a voluntary basis. Basically, those of us who were least frightened or least resentful of you stayed to look after you and protect you.”
Tarkyn picked up a wave of consternation rolling around the campsite in the wake of Waterstone’s words. The sorcerer raised his eyebrows and swung his eyes slowly around the group. “Don’t worry. I know where I stand with you people, particularly after talking with Waterstone earlier about your experience of sorcerers. I can appreciate what a courageous decision it was to stay anywhere near me. I don’t think my behaviour on the first day in the woods did anything to improve matters. I can only say that I am not usually in the habit of throwing my weight around as I did that day.”
Unexpectedly, Thunder Storm came to his support. “Prince Tarkyn was very careful with his use of power yesterday when there was a need to calm Waterstone.”
“No one was fearful today when you were using your power, at least not once we became used to it,” added Grass Wind.
There was a lull in the conversation as the roasted meat was taken off the fire and thick slices were handed around with small, soft loaves of warm bread.
After a period of silent concentration on eating, the prince looked around the group thoughtfully then asked, “So what would you do next time if another group of sorcerer bounty hunters threatened me? What can you do against sorcerers’ shields?”
“You’d probably know the answer to that better than us.” Waterstone pointed out. “What can we do?”
The sorcerer shrugged. “Not much with bows and arrows, and you can’t break through their shields and grab them.” He paused while he thought about it. “A shield takes power and focus. Most sorcerers can’t maintain them for long, if at all. Those who can would eventually run out of power but possibly not for a long time. It’s not as hard to maintain a shield as it is to lift tree branches, for instance. If you could hold the sorcerers somehow until they went to sleep, they would be vulnerable. We can’t maintain our shields while we’re asleep.”
“What about using nets or misleading them so they can’t find their way out of the forest until they tire?” asked Rustling Leaves.
“Yes. That would work.” Tarkyn frowned. “But what would you do with them once they were asleep? If you kill them, mightn’t someone come looking for them?”
“For that very reason, killing them would be the last resort,” said Waterstone. “Keeping you hidden is the simplest solution. It works for us. We may need to teach you some of our camouflaging techniques. How are you at climbing trees?”
The sorcerer smiled, and incanting “Mayareeza Mureva,” rose gently into the air and drifted into the nearest tree. “Not bad,” he said, grinning down at them.
“Good. That’s sorted then,” continued Waterstone with a completely straight face. “So now we have to deal with your hair…” He broke off and stood looking up at the sorcerer with his hands on his hips, laughing. “Get down from there before you fall down. You’re too tired to go mucking about in trees tonight.”
Tarkyn floated gracefully back down, staggering slightly as he landed. “Whoops! You may be right, at that.”
Waterstone grabbed his arm to steady him. “I think you’ve had about enough for your third day out of bed. Why don’t we help you back to your shelter now, to save us having to carry you later?”
Tarkyn smiled tiredly down at him and nodded.
14
The prince suffered no ill effects from his over-exertion and for the next three days, the sorcerer and the woodfolk worked hard on repairing the damage caused by Waterstone’s rage. By the afternoon of the fourth day, most of the repair work that could be done had been completed. Tarkyn was sitting under a tree directing two shafts of power up into the last group of trees that they had decided was worth working on.
Suddenly, a booming voice rang out from behind him, “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Tarkyn jumped and both branches juddered out of place, unbalancing Waterstone and Autumn Leaves in two separate trees.
“Tarkyn!” yelped Waterstone, “Help!”
Ignoring the intrusive presence behind him, the sorcerer refocused his will and steadied both woodmen in their respective trees. Then he maintained steady shafts of power to hold the boughs in place until they were secured, despite the reproachful voice behind him that grew in intensity as it insisted on knowing what had happened to his sense of consequence. Once the bran
ches and the woodmen were safe, the sorcerer released his power and without looking around, said politely, “Good afternoon, Stormaway. I am sorry. I was concentrating. Could you repeat that, please?”
The wizard stomped around, to stand glaring down at the young prince. “Where is your sense of propriety?” he demanded. “A prince of the realm is not a gardener. A person of your consequence does not lower himself to working on manual tasks in the company of common woodfolk.”
The prince hauled himself up from the ground until he stood looking down at the wizard from his superior height, his amber eyes blazing. There was a long silence. When Tarkyn finally spoke, his voice was pitched low and was shaking with anger. But the anger in his voice was nothing compared to the blast of rage that silently hit Stormaway’s mind. “I believe you forget yourself. It is not I but you who have forgotten my consequence. I will spend my time as I choose, with whom I choose. You may offer me advice but you may not dictate to me and above all, you may not insult these people.”
The wizard stared back up at him for a moment. Then his stance relaxed and he bowed low, hand on heart. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I am pleased to see that you have not forgotten your status completely.”
The prince merely raised his eyebrows as he sent an image of his staff to Sparrow. When it arrived, Tarkyn broke eye contact with Stormaway to look down at Sparrow. He smiled and thanked her as he took hold of his staff and leant heavily on it. “Come,” he invited the wizard, “Let us get settled at tonight’s firesite. You must need some food and drink after your journey.” Tarkyn noticed that the woodfolk had melted away into the surrounding woods. He sent out an image of a firesite coupled with a feeling of uncertainty to Waterstone and received back an image of a nearby clearing. “This way,” he said as he altered the direction of his steps. As they walked, the prince commented, “I believe I have to thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”
“A pleasure, Your Highness, a pleasure. Come on. I’ll tell you all about it.
Once they were comfortably seated at the firesite, wine in hand and food on its way, Stormaway began his story.
“By the time the sorcerers returned to collect you, I was waiting nearby in the forest, making a lot of noise to entice them to chase me.”
“How did they think I had managed to free my hands?”
Stormaway shrugged, “I don’t think they did, at that stage.” He took a sip of wine and gave a satisfied sigh before continuing.
Tarkyn frowned, “Weren’t you worried they would capture you instead?”
The wizard raised his eyebrows. “Have you so little faith in me?”
“I hardly know you,” retorted the prince tartly.
“Hmph. Well, be that as it may, I was never in any danger. I didn’t let them get anywhere near close enough to attack me. I just let them catch tantalizing glimpses of me running off through the trees, long black hair streaming out behind me!”
Tarkyn put his head on one side. “Go on, then. Show me how you do the hair!”
It wasn’t just the hair. Right before his eyes, Stormaway’s body slimmed down; his face grew longer, his cheekbones higher and his hair long and black. His eyebrows blackened and swept upwards in pronounced arch. His eyes became yellower but were still greenish and nothing like Tarkyn’s extraordinary amber ones. Overall, however, there was a clear resemblance that would certainly have passed muster from a distance, even more so from the back view.
The prince laughed, “That’s pretty good!”
“I can do better if I spend longer on it. I can even improve the eye colour but no one I have ever met other than you and your father have those amazing amber eyes, and I just don’t seem to be able to replicate them.” The glamour faded and the wizard’s real form re-emerged. He took another sip of wine. “Ah, that’s better. Can’t really relax when I’m maintaining a disguise.”
The sorcerer nodded slowly as he absorbed this information then asked, “So what happened after you left the forest?”
Stormaway settled down to telling the story of his escapades with the bounty hunters.
The prince’s smiles of appreciation did not reach his eyes. He was too busy trying to gauge the calibre of this disingenuous wizard. When there was finally a gap in the wizard’s flow, Tarkyn asked, “But didn’t all this take place over two weeks ago? Where have you been since then?”
“I kept leading them further away until we reached the northwest coast. A false trail to the docks led them to believe you had left the country. So they gave up the chase.”
The younger man frowned “That won’t bring them back through the forest, will it?”
The wizard raised his eyebrows. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t put in all that effort otherwise. No. They will travel back home, which is well to the north of the forest edge.” He regarded Tarkyn thoughtfully. “Outsiders don’t usually venture into these woods unless they are in large groups or have a particular reason for doing so. Those who live near the woods know that many who have ventured in have failed to come out.”
Tarkyn looked at him sceptically. “But I thought it was very rare for woodfolk to need to kill outsiders. They’re so good at staying hidden that the need rarely arises.”
Stormaway swept his arm around in a semicircle. “These woods are not as benign as you may think. Many people lose their way and die from cold or lack of food in the depths of the forest. In some parts of the forest, there are savage wolves and dark creatures of the night that attack without warning. Besides these, there are refugees from justice.”
“Not unlike myself,” quipped the prince.
“Very unlike yourself,” returned the wizard repressively, “Renegades who, as I was going to say, skulk in the woods and prey on unwary travellers.”
“Oh dear,” said Tarkyn, rolling his eyes. “Yet another bunch of reprehensible sorcerers that have helped to form the woodfolk’s less than favourable impression of us.”
Stormaway frowned. “What about the travellers? Most of them would be perfectly well-behaved sorcerers.”
The prince shrugged. “True enough. Maybe the woodfolk have only seen them using magic to defend themselves against the renegades you spoke of.”
“That doesn’t make them bad,” protested the wizard.
The sorcerer shook his head smiling. “I know it doesn’t. It’s just that Waterstone was shocked that magic could be used for something productive. So it made me think about how sorcerers appeared from the woodfolk’s point of view.” In answer to the wizard’s raised, interrogative eyebrow, he answered, “Generally, not very well at all. Waterstone thought that magic was just used as a weapon. No one realised that sorcerers’ magic could be used for anything else.” Tarkyn grimaced, “It’s been quite salutary, becoming aware of the woodfolk’s impressions of us.”
The wizard frowned. “I can’t help deploring the lack of respect for your person that seems to have developed in my absence.”
The prince raised his eyebrows with a hint of disdain. “Are you implying that respect and honesty are mutually exclusive?”
“You will not intimidate me that easily, young man,” chuckled the old wizard. “It depends very much on how the honesty is delivered, wouldn’t you agree?”
Tarkyn nodded shortly, thinking back to what he had said to Ancient Oak. “It was said courteously, Stormaway. We just became aware that we had different impressions of sorcerers.”
Stormaway shook his head dolefully. “I should not have left you so long alone and vulnerable with these woodfolk.”
“Why not?” demanded the prince, “There is the oath to protect me and they have looked after me well.”
“Ah, Your Highness,” The old wizard shook his head sagely, “You don’t realise how people can take advantage of you. When you are alone and injured, as you have been, your emotions are rawer and your need for support is so much higher.” He smiled condescendingly. “You know so little of the intricacies of personal influence within circles of power.”
The prince stared at him. “What utter rot! I have spent the whole nineteen years of my life living and breathing those intricacies. You haven’t even been at court for the last eleven years!” But despite his protests, Tarkyn could feel the seed of doubt implanted by Stormaway’s words beginning to fester as he remembered that he was, in fact, not particularly good at discerning duplicity.
As dusk fell, the woodfolk reappeared to set the fire and gather together food for the evening’s meal. The camaraderie that had developed over the last three days had been replaced by formal courtesy. Although he noted it, Tarkyn did not try to rekindle the earlier congeniality. He could see that the woodfolk had backed off as his father’s faithful retainer assumed his place at the prince’s side. Tarkyn suspected that the wary woodfolk would watch his interchanges with the wizard and take their time to gauge where they fitted into the new regime that Stormaway had brought back with him.
Waterstone was uncharacteristically quiet all evening and excused himself early, on the pretext of putting Sparrow to bed. However, unlike other evenings, he did not return.
While the woodfolk listened or talked amongst themselves, Stormaway spent the evening enquiring after various people he had known and encouraging the prince to tell him about his recent life at court. Now, as the prince talked about his companions and their exploits, he found himself re-evaluating every chance remark and gesture his friends and acquaintances had made. “Why am I being so hard on my old friends?” he wondered. “I wasn’t betrayed by them. None of them even had the chance to choose whether or not to support me.”
Then Stormaway’s voice broke in on his ruminations. “I am not just asking these questions for my own entertainment, Your Highness. It helps all of us,” Here he swept his arm around the gathering, “to know something of your associates if we are to serve and protect you.” He paused and prodded at the fire with a stick, clearly uncertain how to continue. As he stared into the flames, he said awkwardly, “So. There is something I think you should know”.
Bronze Magic Page 16