Some of the tension seeped out of Waterstone.
Rainstorm glanced at the older woodman before drawing a wobbly circle then standing back to look at it. “But you hate being under this oath, don’t you?” Waterstone nodded briefly. “And so does Tarkyn. What he saw in Tree Wind’s memories horrified him almost as much as it had horrified us. Right from the start, he has known how much we resented the oath and him. Yet even if he wanted to, he couldn’t walk away from it.”
North Wind had gingerly lifted himself up onto his elbows while he listened. “But he could have isolated himself within the forest.”
“Don’t worry. He’s thought of that.” Waterstone shrugged, “But he is vowed to protect us as we are to protect him. Anyway, it’s no life for a young man to be totally isolated. This isn’t just a few weeks or months we’re talking about here. It’s his whole life.”
Rainstorm frowned, “I hadn’t really thought about all that. It must have been hard for him to have had all of you hating him at the start.”
“It was and it still is.” Waterstone sighed, “And you and I haven’t made it any easier for him with our recent reactions. And he knows he is going to have to face that in scores of other woodfolk as they realise they have come under the oath.” Waterstone took a couple of paces then swung back around, hands on hips, “You know, the thing I detest most about the oath is that it muddies my friendship with Tarkyn. If I protect him or help him out of friendship, how does he know it’s not just because of the oath?”
Rainstorm smiled, “Don’t worry. He knows. You wouldn’t be as nice about it if it were because of the oath.”
Waterstone gave a short laugh, “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. You’re probably right.” He took his arms down from his hips and grimaced, “But the other thing that happens is my resentment wells up and I hurt him when he’s just trying to have a normal conversation with me.”
“But surely he understands…” began Rainstorm.
“Yes and no,” Waterstone’s words unknowingly echoed Danton’s; “In his head, Tarkyn understands. Stormaway warned him to make allowances for resentment. But in his heart, he takes it personally. You can see him struggling to deal with it.” He looked from one to the other of them. “In the end, he’s just a young man not much older than you. You might think you have the world against you at times, Rainstorm, but Tarkyn really does. At least, he did. I think he has managed to get a lot of people on side as they have come to know him. But as North Wind has so ably demonstrated, he still has a long way to go. I wouldn’t be Tarkyn, for all the trees in the forest.”
Rainstorm shook his head in sympathy, “No, it must be tough, fielding all that resentment… and now there’s going to be more.”
“I feel bad now,” stammered North Wind.
“Good,” replied Waterstone shortly.
“I don’t mean physically. I feel bad because you think I’ve betrayed Tarkyn. When I said his loss would be our gain, I was thinking about the forest’s safety and the woodfolk’s independence. Tarkyn’s existence places them both in jeopardy. It’s the concept of him that I was talking about, not the man himself.” He eyed Waterstone nervously, “Do you understand?”
Waterstone let out a pent up breath. “Yes, I do understand. Even Tarkyn himself gets confused about that. But do you understand that the concept and the man are inseparable? If you betray one, you betray the other. Tarkyn doesn’t like it. You may not like it, but that’s the way it is. To support him as a person, at the very least you have to accept him for what he is, even if you don’t like it.”
“If you go around saying his loss would be our gain, you’ll inflame people against him again,” put in Rainstorm. “We’re stuck with him. He’s stuck with us. You know from talking to him that he’s doing his level best to make the situation as bearable as possible for everyone. We might as well just get on with it and support him.”
Waterstone raised his eyebrows, “You never cease to amaze me, Rainstorm.”
“Get used to it, old man. Something Tarkyn said to me made me realise that what I think is okay. I just need to figure out how to say it, so people will listen to me.”
Waterstone gave a wry smile. “I’m not sure that calling me old man is going to get me on side.”
Rainstorm chuckled. “You love it really. Anyway, you’re twice our ages.”
“That does not make me old.”
The young woodman grinned unrepentantly, “It does from where I’m sitting. Twenty is old. Thirty five is positively decrepit.”
A short time later Tarkyn, sitting in the shade of an old oak while having a break from reconnoitring, watched the trio talking amongst themselves as they returned from creating the targets. He knew that Rainstorm and the oath would have been the centre of their discussion. The three woodmen parted company and North Wind headed over in his general direction. As he came nearer, Tarkyn saw his cut lip and the beginnings of bruising on his jaw.
Tarkyn called out to him, “North Wind. What have you done to yourself? Do you want me to fix your lip?”
North Wind, who was feeling guilty and that he had more or less earned his sore face, replied shortly, “No thanks. I can look after myself.”
“I’m sure you can.” In one short phrase, Tarkyn’s friendliness faded to constraint.
North Wind veered off and passed him without another word. Tarkyn watched his retreating back and wondered what the three of them had been saying. After the unexplained change in atmosphere this morning, North Wind’s response to him made his stomach tighten. He grunted and, giving himself a small mental shake, returned to his view of the encampment through the crow’s eyes. The first sight that met his eyes was Andoran and Sargon.
49
Danton’s face went white with shock and his mouth thinned. Stormaway became more self-effacing than ever. Andoran and Sargon’s faces broke into smiles.
“Danton. Fancy seeing you here!” said Andoran cheerfully, tossing his head to flick his mop of unruly red hair falling out of his eyes. “This is great!” He frowned. “Who’s your friend?” he added less enthusiastically.
Danton had recovered himself sufficiently to produce a friendly smile, “This fellow here is Threadneedle.” He said, inventing freely. “He is a tailor, you know. Met him on the way to the camp here.”
Andoran laughed, “A tailor, eh? With a name like Threadneedle, I never would have guessed.” Andoran sketched an ironic bow, “An honour to meet you, sir. I am Andoran and this is my friend, Sargon.”
Stormaway bowed to them both, “An honour, my lords.” He glanced at Danton. “If you’ll excuse me, sirs, I have a few things to sort out. Perhaps I will see you later.”
“Perhaps,” replied Sargon, his eyebrows slightly raised at the tailor’s temerity.
“Well,” said Andoran, watching Stormaway’s retreating figure. “I don’t think your friend could manage the excitement of three exalted personages all at once. Perhaps one is his limit.”
Danton shook his head, smiling. “I think you may be right.” He turned back to them. “So, how are you both? It is good to see you after all this time. What have you been up to?”
Sargon shrugged. “This and that. We have thrown our lot in with these people for the time being.” He looked down at himself in his grey and blue jacket and dark blue trousers. “The uniforms are a bit of a deterrent but we are managing to overlook them as much as possible. Other than that, they seem a friendly team.”
“So, what are you doing here?” asked Andoran.
Deciding that, as far as possible, honesty was the best policy, Danton replied, “I don’t really know yet. I only arrived here this afternoon.”
“So, were you amongst a group of travellers that was attacked? That’s how most people get here.”
“Is it?” Danton put his head on one side. “No. I just fell in with a column of people and wandered in here with them. I’m actually taking some time out to visit my grandmother down in the southwest. But I’m in no great hurry. So I
thought I’d spend a day or two here.”
Andoran and Sargon lead Danton to a nearby campfire. Andoran found a bottle of wine and poured measures into three glasses as they spoke. He handed Danton a glass as he sat down on a sturdy wooden chair, “That was a bad business with the prince, wasn’t it?” he said, shaking his head.
“Yes, terrible,” replied Danton ambiguously, unsure how to play it.
Sargon leaned forward. “You know, he must have been going off balance for a while and none of us noticed it.” He waved a hand. “I mean, look at the damage he wrought at the tournament.” He shook his head sadly. “And then to attack all those guards in the palace. He killed a couple of my friends, you know. I admit I was surprised. Tarkyn never seemed to be aggressive before.”
Danton frowned thoughtfully, “You did have to be careful of him when he was angry, don’t you think?”
“True,” agreed Andoran. He took a sip of his wine. “I blame his brothers, though.”
Danton raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You do?”
“Oh yes. They should have pulled Tarkyn into line a lot earlier. You can’t have a rogue sorcerer like that running free in society and endangering everyone’s lives. Surely they must have realised, long before it got to that point.”
“Well to be fair to them, I didn’t realise anything was wrong earlier and I probably spent more time with Tarkyn than his brothers did,” said Danton. He shrugged, “Perhaps the strain of all those years of intrigue and being discounted within the family took their toll on him and he finally cracked.”
Sargon leant back in his chair and said disgustedly, “Danton, you are such a soft touch. Stop feeling sorry for him. Tarkyn was a spoilt brat. He had everything any of us could wish for.” He leant forward again, his wavy brown hair swinging forward. His grey eyes met Danton’s and he spoke in an undertone, “More likely heredity, if you ask me. They’re all a bit unstable in that family. Look at his brothers. Rampant jealousy from one and deliberate goading from the other. I ask you, is that any way to run a kingdom?”
Andoran gave a short laugh and waved his glass around, “Still, we can’t complain too much. It does provide opportunities.”
“Hmph. Not with Tarkyn anymore, it doesn’t.” said Danton shortly.
Sargon sighed, “No. Pity about that. We were well placed with him.” Sargon gave Danton a measuring look, “You’re not looking for him, are you?”
“Me?” asked Danton frowning. “What would be the point?”
Andoran shrugged, “The reward, for one thing. Actually that would be the only point, when you think about it. But the reward would definitely be worth it.”
Danton kept his eyes on his wine. “I admit I’ve thought about it. He could be such an arrogant bastard, couldn’t he? It would serve him right.” He looked up at them and grinned, “It could be a final offering he made to us, his loyal followers, if we got the reward for bringing him in.”
“That is a slight contradiction in terms, his loyal followers turning him in,” objected Sargon with a smile. “But he has betrayed us by deserting us. So fair is fair.” He shrugged, “Besides it would be doing a public service, ridding the world of a rogue sorcerer.”
“Surely they would just imprison him, not kill him?” queried Danton.
“I think imprisonment was the sentence after the tournament,” replied Andoran. “No half measures now. They want the prince’s head after the deaths in the Great Hall.”
Danton’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see.”
“That wouldn’t worry you, would it?” Sargon’s eyes had narrowed.
Danton gave his head a little shake and managed a smile, “No, not at all. I was just surprised, that’s all. I left Tormadell soon after all this happened. So I haven’t kept in touch with developments.”
“So, any idea where he might be?” asked Andoran casually.
Danton ran his eyes around the encampment. “Plenty of people here. Have you asked around? Someone might have seen him.” Thinking back to conversations he had had with Stormaway, he said, “I heard from some people back down the road a bit that the prince had been sighted in the northwest, maybe heading for the coast. Have you heard anything like that?”
Andoran and Sargon glanced at each other. “Yes,” said Andoran. “We heard something like that, but that was a couple of weeks ago. He may well have left the country by now.”
“Oh well,” Danton put a note of disappointment into his voice, “If that’s the case, we’ll never catch him. Not unless he comes back, and I can’t imagine that he would.” He shrugged, “I’m not so desperate to get the bounty that I would travel overseas to trap him.”
“That’s pretty much the same conclusion that we’ve drawn. I just thought you might have heard something different, that’s all.” Andoran poured them all another wine and swept the hand holding the bottle in a wide arc. “So here we are, in the midst of Plan B.”
“And what is Plan B exactly?” asked Danton.
Sargon sipped his wine and looked at Danton. “You may be surprised at this but we are helping people who have been attacked on the road or on their farms by brigands. The king has been so busy antagonising his brother that he has forgotten to look after his subjects. A lot of people are being attacked but there are few brigands being brought to justice. The people you see around you have decided to take the law into their own hands to protect innocent travellers and farmers by fighting against the brigands.”
Danton frowned sceptically, “And who is financing all this? You can’t spend your life on a good cause without food in your belly and money in your pocket.”
“Danton, Danton.” Andoran shook his head sadly, “I’m surprised at you. So mercenary.”
A little smile played around Danton’s mouth. “Come on. Out with it. What’s in it for you two?”
Andoran and Sargon both rocked back with laughter.
“Danton. You should have more faith in your fellow man,” said Sargon, smiling. He shrugged, “Well, as it turns out, the fellow who is financing this caper is paying experienced officers, like ourselves, good money to organise and train up the rabble.”
“Much better pay than the palace offers its guards. You should think about it,” added Andoran.
“And who is this great philanthropist with the finance?”
Andoran and Sargon looked at each other. Andoran shrugged, “We know his name. It’s Davorad, Lord of Stansbeck, but we don’t know him personally. He’s obviously very wealthy but that’s about all we know.”
Sargon grinned, “From our point of view, that’s all we need to know.”
“You do realise, I suppose,” added Andoran laconically, “that Prince Tarkyn’s erstwhile entourage is not exactly flavour of the month back in Tormadell at the moment? So it suits us to be well away for the time being, while feelings calm down and events are forgotten.”
Danton shook his head, “I had no idea. That seems a bit rough; to tar us all with the prince’s brush. After all, we didn’t put him up to any of it.”
“Guilt by association,” said Andoran.
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll stay away a bit longer than I had planned,” mused Danton thoughtfully. “I’ll see. Perhaps I’ll come back here and join you after I’ve been to see my grandmother.”
“That would be great,” enthused Andoran, “Just like old times. Same friends. New location. Couldn’t be better.”
Danton was struggling to keep his smile in place at the complete dismissal of Tarkyn as one of the friends. He put down his glass and stood up, wiping his hand across his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit tired after all this travelling. I might have a bit of a rest before dinner. If you’ll excuse me? I’ll catch up with you later.”
50
As soon as Danton was out of sight and earshot, Stormaway appeared at his side. His eyes were glittering with anger. “Neither with that family we met before nor with Andoran and Sargon have you said a word to support your liege. So your loyalty doesn’t extend as far as standing u
p for the prince when he’s not around to hear you, then? ”
“What on earth are you talking about, Stormaway? Of course it doesn’t. Not if that doesn’t serve his best interests.”
“You could have said something to support him.”
“Yes, I could have. Then I would have had those two watching my every move and making sure I was followed when I left.” Danton turned his intense purple eyes on the wizard. Stormaway reeled back before the depth of implacable hatred in the sorcerer’s stare. The wizard experienced a sense of relief that it wasn’t directed at him. Danton spoke with cutting control. “Instead of ranting at me, you might like to consider how much effort it cost me to produce that little charade when I was nearly beside myself with rage.”
Stormaway let out a breath. “I apologise, Danton. I should have realised how hard it was for you. It is very difficult for both of us to hear Tarkyn being spoken of like that. I’m afraid I misdirected my anger.”
The sorcerer gave short bitter laugh. “Don’t be sorry. I’m becoming used to not being trusted. It’s a salutary lesson for me. You, Tarkyn, the woodfolk, everyone I am loyal to, all mistrust me. And yet people I don’t care about are willing to trust me almost on sight.” He kicked a pebble along the ground. “It’s bloody annoying.”
The wizard smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re such a consummate actor, my boy. I know it’s harder but I’m glad you haven’t turned your acting skills on us and are allowing things to take their course.”
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