The wizard shook his head wearily. “No, Tarkyn. You must preserve your strength. There is still a lot to do and a long way to go.”
Tarkyn considered him for a moment. Finally he said, “Stormaway, your skill and care saved my life. I assure you I have energy to spare. Please let me repay you just a little by giving you a bit of my life force.” He gave a wry smile, “It might help to get rid of some of this green!” He shrugged, “Besides which, now that I know about it, I can replenish my strength from any large tree if I need to. The advantage of being a forest guardian… Come on,” he urged, “let me do this for you.”
“Oh my word, young man. It is tiring just being near you at the moment. Maybe you do need to get rid of some of that excess energy,” he conceded grudgingly.
Before the wizard could change his mind, Tarkyn placed his left hand on Stormaway’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The wizard felt strength pouring into him so fast that it made him gasp. As quickly as it started, the sensation stopped. Tarkyn opened his eyes and said casually, “There. That should help.”
Stormaway stared at him. “The combined efforts of twenty woodfolk and me didn’t produce anything like that life force.”
Tarkyn smiled strangely, “You’re dealing with the strength of the forest now. You can’t compare the life force of twenty woodfolk and a wizard to the strength of an ancient oak and the forest guardian.”
Waterstone felt his stomach turn over. This Tarkyn was not the person he had spent the last week with. This Tarkyn was stronger, more sure of himself, less compromising and infinitely more powerful. Maybe the prince was just revelling in being well again, but Waterstone didn’t think that was all there was to it. In his connection with the ancient oak tree, Tarkyn had actually taken on the persona of the guardian of the forest.
The woodman gradually became aware of a gentle wave of amused reassurance wafting around his mind. He glanced at his green friend to discover that he was being watched with raised eyebrows and an understanding smile.
Waterstone scowled at him, “Don’t tell me you have added mind-reading to your ever-increasing list of skills.”
Tarkyn shook his head. “Who needs mind-reading when dealing with a face as expressive as yours?” He stood up. “Come on, my friend. We have work to do. When all is done we will talk, but meanwhile be assured that although I may have changed, I have not forgotten our friendship.” He walked over to the cooking fire and requested in a clear, carrying voice. “Would everyone gather together here, please?”
If the woodfolk were surprised at the unexpected assurance in his voice they did not show it, but simply did as he asked. When they had gathered around him, their forest guardian said, “I hope I have not disrupted your plans too much. However, there are a few things I need to clear up. Firstly, who will be tracking the wolves’ spoor back to their source? We need to know where they originate from, don’t we?” Following nods of agreement, he continued, “Secondly, are we still setting off to find Falling Rain? My opinion is that we should not leave him to face this threat alone. And thirdly, I think that if there is a significant, unidentified threat to us, all woodfolk need to be together to protect each other.”
Tarkyn looked around the group of woodfolk before him. “So. Any comments? Opinions? I’m assuming you will need to discuss it with the main body of woodfolk. However, fear or dislike of me will not be sufficient reason for them not to join us.”
Autumn Leaves cut in at this point. “We can’t gather together for too long. A large group is too conspicuous and too hard to keep hidden.”
“We can make sure we stay within easy reach of each other,” suggested Thunder Storm.
The prince nodded decisively. “That will have to do then. At least until we know what is threatening us. Agreed?” When he had their consent, he continued, “Meanwhile I will head back up to the site of the wolf fight. Now that I do not have to struggle against cracked ribs, I am quite capable of walking to the road with the full load of wolf remains.” He paused, “I presume you have used minimal pieces of each wolf to provide the scents for the trail?”
The woodfolk nodded, mesmerised. The aloofness and formality that attached to Tarkyn in his role as imposed liege lord had disappeared. His linking with the oak had transformed his view of himself. Now he accepted the authority that came from being their guardian of the forest. From Tarkyn’s point of view, the oath was no longer the driving force behind his relationship with the woodfolk. Although he still abhorred the fact that the woodfolk were effectively held in thrall by it, he now felt that he had a different, legitimate, untainted basis for his authority. It restored in him his natural assurance as a leader of men that he had been bred for.
Then a soft rhythmic voice asked “My lord, are you able to find out, as you did before, when the next attack may arrive?” Tarkyn looked around. Lapping Water’s soft green eyes met his gaze nervously but with quiet determination.
Tarkyn suddenly became very aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing his shirt and that he was an unwholesome green. His newly found confidence threatened to desert him. He blinked and smiled wryly. “I can try. I have not yet been able to instigate a mind link with a bird or animal. Up until now, it has always been the creature who has contacted me. When I get to the river, I will spend a few minutes trying to link with the eagle or maybe the heron. I will do what I can.”
“Thank you,” said Lapping Water with a gentle, uncertain smile.
Tarkyn felt that perhaps his new strength wasn’t going to last as long as he thought. His knees seemed to have gone a bit wobbly. With an effort, he tore his gaze away from Lapping Water. “Stormaway, I would still like you to walk to the road with me, even if I carry all the wolf scents. Two sets of tracks will be more believable than one.”
“Your wish is my command, Sire,” replied the wizard with a heavy touch of irony.
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said dryly. “However, I will give you the choice because I know you are tired.” The prince returned his attention to the woodfolk. “So, if there are no further comments, I’m off. Someone needs to come with me, but only if Stormaway doesn’t. I’ll need some directions from the river to the road.”
There was a general clamour of offers. Their forest guardian smiled to himself and said, “You sort it out among yourselves. And don’t forget to water in my poplars. I’m heading off. Give me an hour. I’ll meet you down at the river.” He rose gently into the air and then glided off through the trees in the general direction of his favourite spot by the river.
23
When Tarkyn reached the site of the battle against the wolves, there was little sign of the carnage that had been there earlier. Under a shady tree, there was a neat pile of black and grey switches, tied together at one end, presumably trimmed from the skins of the wolves. Tarkyn looked around carefully and spotted a small torn piece of brightly coloured fabric caught in the low branches of a spiky bush - definitely not from woodfolk clothing. Further scrutiny discovered a small spray of blonde human hair tangled in the branches of a hawthorn. Tarkyn wondered, with a frisson of dismay, where the woodfolk had procured it.
Very subtle, he decided, not the scattering of belongings I was anticipating. You have to be looking carefully to find them but if someone is tracing the wolves, they will be looking everywhere for clues. Clever people, these woodfolk. Still, I suppose they are masters of tracking.
Tarkyn sat down against a rock near the river and watched the water rolling over stones and spreading out to flow peacefully downstream. He could feel the roughness of the rock being slightly scratchy against his bare back. Tarkyn shivered as the biting autumn wind played over his bare skin but he drank in the sensations, still so pleased to have survived. He took a deep, pain-free breath and relaxed back, relieved to have some time away from everyone’s attention. The novice guardian of the forest slowly opened up his mind to his surroundings to see if some creature would make contact with him. As he relaxed his boundaries, a
kaleidoscope of images flooded into his mind. He could see the woodlands from above, from within, from ground level, from the treetops all at once, and all superimposed over each other. He dragged his mind back from the edge of chaos and closed its boundaries with a snap.
Tarkyn let out a long breath. “Whoa. That was excessive. Now everything’s trying to talk to me at once.” He shook his head to clear it and looked around him. “I need something specific to focus on.”
As he watched, a swallow skimmed over the water near him twisting and swooping to catch the midges that were hanging there. Tarkyn focused narrowly on the swallow and sent a query about wolves. The swallow flicked past him and then suddenly the sorcerer was seeing the world through the swallow’s eyes. The little bird soared up into the treetops and swooped and swung its way through the air until she was above the woodlands. Tarkyn could feel his stomach struggling to keep up with the rapid changes of direction. He tightened his stomach muscles against the sudden lifts and dives that seemed to be a natural part of the little bird’s flying pattern. The sorcerer sent an image of the direction from which the wolves had come and the swallow banked sickeningly and flew swiftly westward, bobbing and swooping as she went to catch any insect she spotted on the way past. The woodland spread out below as the swallow climbed higher. Every now and then she swooped down and back up in an arc that made Tarkyn’s stomach lurch. Tarkyn gradually became aware that the swallow knew what effect these acrobatics were having on him and was playing with him.
“Very funny,” he murmured through gritted teeth as, once more, the swallow took a joyous dive.
After several more minutes of swooping dives and climbs, Tarkyn was feeling decidedly queasy. Just as well I’m already green, he thought grimly… saves me the trouble of going green around the gills now.
Just when he was thinking that he would have to pull out and leave the swallow to her teasing, Tarkyn spotted a faint cloud of dust rising above the height of the trees in the distance. The sorcerer directed the swallow towards it. With cheerful good grace, the little bird swooped and flitted her way towards the dust cloud. As the swallow drew closer, Tarkyn could see not the wolves he expected, but flashes of sunlight reflecting off the harnesses of a large group of horsemen riding hard. A lone wolf flitted ahead of them leading them towards the river. The next attack was not six hours away as the woodfolk had expected. These horsemen were less than two hours away.
The sorcerer sent a quick sense of appreciation and pulled out of the swallow’s mind. He nearly vomited as he returned suddenly into his nauseated body, but a couple of deep breaths restored his equilibrium. As soon as he was re-oriented, Tarkyn searched out Waterstone’s mind and sent a clear image of the last part of the swallow’s journey above the trees.
Half a mile away next to a new stand of poplars, Waterstone suddenly reeled, lost his balance and fell over as the swallow’s images sent his mind swooping and diving across the top of the forest.
“Blast it, Tarkyn,” he exclaimed, even though the prince couldn’t hear him. “A bit of warning would have been nice.”
Despite the urgency of the situation, Tarkyn chuckled quietly to himself, knowing exactly what havoc the image would be causing the woodman. When he had given Waterstone time to pick himself up, he sent a spurious wave of sympathy then a query about Stormaway. Once he knew that the wizard was coming to join him, Tarkyn sent a directive that the woodfolk should skirt around the area of the wolf fight and meet him nearer the road.
A few minutes later, Stormaway appeared drifting through the air between the trees. He alighted neatly and presented Tarkyn with his freshly washed shirt. “One shirt, washed in a forest stream and dried over a wood fire,” he said with a small, courtly bow. “You may need this too,” he added, handing Tarkyn a long, light brown cloak.”
The prince stood up and smiled his thanks. “What? No wolf cloak?”
“No. It takes longer than a couple of days to cure the skins.”
“Well, I would rather wait and not stink of wolf,” said Tarkyn, as he put on his shirt. “I’m glad you’re here. We have to move fast.” He flung the cloak around his shoulders. “There is a large group of horsemen heading this way. I’d say we have only an hour and a half safely, perhaps a bit longer but not much.”
Stormaway raised his eyebrows. “And you know this how?”
“Swallow,” replied the forest guardian briefly. “Let’s grab those switches and be on our way.”
Forty minutes later, the wizard and the sorcerer stood beside the road through the forest. They had scuffled around the clearing and had left many heavy footprints at every point along the way. The wolf remains had been artistically dragged along the ground and against bushes and tree trunks on the way past to emulate carrying a large load. Now they were inspecting the road surface for signs of cartwheel tracks.
Stormaway squatted down and studied the gravel surface. “There are a few sets of tracks going through,” he reported. “These ones here are the most recent, earlier today sometime, I think. We just need to deepen them a little at the point where we would supposedly be loading the wolves into the cart. Cartwheels leave slightly deeper impressions when they have been left standing in any one place for a while and the wind tends to build up sand and dirt into a small ridge against the side of the wheel.” He looked up into the gently waving branches of the trees. “There has been a sharp wind all day today so there would be quite a build up on the windward side of the tracks. Right!” said the wizard as he began some delicate sand sculpture along the edge of the wheel track, “I’ll sort the wheel tracks while you make some boot prints back and forth behind where the cart would have stopped and then down one side as though you are walking around to get into it. Then levitate yourself and the wolf remains straight up and out of here. I’ll do the same and be right behind you.”
The sun, low in the sky, cast strange long shadows down the road. The wizard and the sorcerer hung in the air, trailing pieces of fur, giving their handiwork a final inspection.
“I’m impressed, Stormaway,” came a voice out of the trees on the southern side of the road. “Unless I was expecting to be tricked, I would be convinced by your creation… and I am considered to be one of our best trackers.” Creaking Bough smiled at them. “Let’s go. We have to get those remains buried and set up camp before nightfall. We estimate from your images, Tarkyn, that the riders will be arriving at the riverside in less than an hour, around dusk.”
V
Betrayal
24
When dusk came, Tarkyn was sitting with his back against an old elm, a little distance away from the others. He had reached out carefully and, after searching specifically for the male tawny owl, had made contact. Now he was looking down on the riverside clearing through the owl’s eyes.
Ten riders stream into the clearing behind the wolf. They are roughly dressed, each carrying knives, axes or staffs. Most have a bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to their saddles. They mill around, fighting to control their excited horses as the wolf sniffs back and forth around the clearing then sits down on his haunches, throws back his head and howls.
One rider snarls something, obviously disliking the wolf’s howling.
A weedy young man snaps out orders and the riders dismount and begin to search the area. The piece of bright material and the blonde hair are quickly found but each is discarded out of hand. The wolf, when he has finished his tribute to his kin, responds to the young man’s call and trots over to him. He sniffs at a piece of brown cloth that the man has tucked into his waist. Then the wolf snuffles back and forth around the clearing again. He finds the trail left by Tarkyn and Stormaway but after zigzagging along it for several yards, returns to the clearing. Suddenly the big wolf starts to bark at the base of one of the trees, lunging at the trunk in an attempt to jump up into the branches.
The young man exclaims in triumph then slaps his thigh in frustration as he looks up into the empty tree. By his facial expressions and his gestures, it i
s clear that he knows his quarry has escaped him but it is equally clear that he is not looking for sorcerers or wizards.
Tarkyn walked back to join the weary woodfolk around the fire. They seemed to be lower on energy than usual. Tarkyn sat on the ground near the fire leaning back against a large log. He feared the image would dispirit them even further. He was right.
A horrified silence hung over the firesite once Tarkyn had relayed the owl’s images. Finally, Stormaway could stand it no more. “Could someone fill me in on what is happening? I don’t pick up images, remember.”
Tarkyn dragged himself out of a reverie to answer, “Ten riders and a wolf are in the riverside clearing, as we speak. They were not interested in our carefully laid trail or in the evidence of travellers that was so neatly planted. There is a young man who seems to be in charge. The wolf was directed to seek out a particular scent, which led him to the base of the tree that the woodfolk must have climbed to leave the clearing. These people, whoever they are, are specifically hunting for the woodfolk.”
“How did the young man direct the wolf to look for woodfolk?” asked the wizard.
“He has a piece of our clothing,” said Waterstone tightly.
Stormaway frowned, “I see. And is there any way you can be tracked from there to here?”
Thunder Storm shook his head slowly. “No. Our scent will be all around that area and where we buried the wolves but we have only just come back down from the trees now.” He looked wearily at the wizard. “It has been a long, hard day travelling everywhere through the treetops but it looks like it was worth it.”
Tarkyn realised with a jolt that he hadn’t considered the effort it would have cost them to climb up into the heights of each tree and jump down into the next one over several miles of woodland. He thought over the events of the day and worked out that they would all have had to travel at least five miles, some further if they had done more than one trip with wolf remains. No wonder they seemed dispirited. They were bone tired.
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