Prince of Hazel and Oak (Shadowmagic Book 2)

by John Lenahan

  ‘When Cialtie attained the Oak Throne he came back to the Banshee shores. Although the Old Turlow did not like it, he welcomed him as one should the Head of the House of Duir, but when your uncle proclaimed that he wanted the new army of Duir to be made up entirely of Banshees, the Old Turlow said no. “Banshees defend the far shore, they are not mercenaries.” Cialtie countered that all of the shores of The Land are the shores of Duir. The Old Turlow put his foot down, but the temptation was too great. Cialtie offered gold and a good life in Castle Duir. Many of my people joined him. The embarrassment of their desertion caused the Old Turlow to sail out to sea in shame. That is the sad truth of how my tenure as The Turlow began.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I kept my word to the Old Turlow. I did not meet with Cialtie but I also did not forbid any of my clan from joining his army. After all he did hold the Oak Rune. If the Chamber of Runes deemed him worthy, who was I to disagree? Of course, now, it is easy to see that the Old Turlow had been right. Cialtie did not deserve the throne and too much Banshee blood was needlessly spilled in his name. If I had known then what I know now …’ He shook his head. ‘That thinking is the path to madness.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain the Reedland Banshees.’

  ‘The causes of war vary but the effects are almost always the same. One effect is that some men of war never tire of the fight. I suspect the Banshees who live in that unholy swamp are of that ilk. That is why I came to help Dahy. If I cannot find my renegades in the Reedlands, at least I can help defend the Hazellands from another attack.’

  ‘So why are you here and not there?’

  ‘Little did I suppose that when I came to the Hazellands that I would meet a royal woman as strong and fair as Princess Essa.’

  ‘Yeah, lucky you,’ I said, drinking the last of my now cold tea.

  ‘I am very fortunate indeed. You said, Conor, that you wanted to ask me a question; now I have one that I have always wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Once you had her, why in The Land would you have let Essa go?’

  I toyed with the idea of grabbing a flaming log from the fire and clocking him with it. I even imagined the spectacular shower of sparks as he went down. Instead I answered his question with a question. ‘Do you remember what you asked me at the beginning of this conversation?’ When he looked confused I answered for him. ‘You asked if you could help me with my moral dilemma. Would you like to know what my dilemma was?’

  Turlow shrugged.

  ‘I was debating whether it was OK to like you or not.’

  ‘And what conclusion did you reach?’

  ‘I’d gotten as far as deciding that I don’t like you.’

  ‘And you were wondering if that is OK?’

  ‘Basically,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Conor, I don’t like you very much either.’

  ‘You don’t?’ I said enthusiastically. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  Turlow smiled and shook his head. ‘You are a strange man, Prince of Oak. Go to your tent, I will take your watch.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘There is no sleep in my near future – go.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but don’t think this will make me like you any better.’

  ‘Good night, Conor,’ Turlow said with that exasperated tone that I usually reserve for my friends and relatives. It didn’t sound right coming from him.

  I dreamt that night that the two Brownies climbed down from the tree wearing army uniforms. Then uniformed Brownies dropped from every tree, as far as the eye could see. They converged into ranks until a huge Brownie army marched towards me from all directions. Just as they were about to overwhelm me someone pointed to the sky and we all looked up.

  I opened my eyes to see Brendan looming over me in the tent. It was still dark outside.

  ‘What’s up?’ I croaked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  So I did.

  Tuan and Yogi offered to share a horse and give Yogi’s mount for the Brownies to ride. They declined the offer. I figured that since our guides were on foot that it would be a slow travel day – wrong. These guys were speedy. They moved so fast I felt like an old English fox hunter. It was actually hard to keep up. Mostly because the trails they chose were made for runners, not riders. I spent the whole day getting whipped in the face by alder branches that I suspected enjoyed it.

  We broke for lunch and offered food to our guides. They might not be willing to share information with us but they had no problem packing away our food. I guess if you run as fast as a horse for four hours, you are entitled to eat like one. These guys each wolfed down what three of us would have had at a feast. I made sure I didn’t reach for any food at the same time as one of them for fear of losing a finger.

  I said this to Essa, who I noticed chose to sit next to me at lunch, and she laughed so hard she almost spat out what she was eating. I may not have the Turd-low’s good looks or kingly crown but I can make that girl laugh. That’s gotta count for something, right?

  That afternoon the trail became wider and less whack-a-face but instead of going faster the Brownies slowed down to almost a jog. I couldn’t figure out if these guys had burned themselves out on their morning sprint or if they had been running deliberately fast so that our faces were lacerated for the amusement of the alder trees. Araf, who is normally not the suspicious type, had a different take on it. He got the impression that the Brownies were deliberately slowing us down but he couldn’t say why.

  Late in the afternoon the Brownies halted for ‘tea’. Essa forcefully pointed out that we do not halt for tea but even her menacing glare, a look that has withered many a determined man, could not dissuade Dell and his yet unnamed sidekick from plopping themselves down in the frozen dirt and demanding food.

  ‘Don’t they feed you in Brownieville?’ Brendan asked.

  Dell ignored him and the other one’s mouth was too full to talk.

  Brendan casually pulled me aside during our afternoon tea. ‘You had a long chat with Turlow last night.’

  ‘Are you spying on me? I’m surprised I didn’t find you waiting up in the tent saying, “And what time do you call this?”’

  ‘I don’t have to spy on you, Conor. All I have to do is ask you a question – you’re a crappy liar.’

  ‘Thanks … I think.’

  ‘So what did you two talk about?’

  ‘Well, if you must know, he talked about how my Uncle Cialtie had mucked up his life. I hate to say it but I’m starting to think that maybe Turlow isn’t such a bad guy. I mean he’s still a pompous jerk but maybe I should cut him a little slack.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Brendan said thoughtfully.

  ‘What da ya mean maybe? You told me you liked the guy.’

  ‘I did until he lied to me today.’

  ‘What? Did he say he liked your shirt? Because you are right, that would be a lie.’

  After an appropriately dirty look, Brendan said, ‘I didn’t sleep well last night. Those Brownies bother me.’

  ‘Yeah, I wasn’t too pleased with the thought of them up in the trees myself.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that,’ Brendan said. He flexed his fingers into and out of a fist. It was the thing he did when he was trying to figure something out. ‘It’s like when I’m in an interrogation room and there is something I am missing but I don’t know what. That’s what it’s like when the Brownies are around.’

  ‘Well, if you suspect them of stealing something you’re probably right. But what’s this got to do with Turd-low?’

  ‘I got up last night to relieve myself and saw Turlow talking to that Brownie fellow. When they saw me the Brownie scooted back into the tree – fast – and Turlow looked mighty guilty when he walked back to the fire.’

  ‘What do you think they were talking about?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. When I mentioned it to Turlow after lu
nch, he denied it. When I pointed out to him that I saw the two of them together, he suddenly remembered and said that Dell had just come down from the trees to relieve himself and he only passed a casual greeting with him.’

  ‘It sounds like there were a lot of weak bladders roaming around last night. How do you know he’s not telling you the truth?’

  ‘I don’t really,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s just that … something isn’t right here and I’m not going to sleep well until I figure it out.’

  Chapter Twen

  ty-Seven

  King Bwika

  After their afternoon tea, the Brownies resumed the lead – this time at a walk. Yogi once again offered them his mount but they declined and continued like it was a Sunday stroll in the park. At dusk they announced that it was time to break for dinner. Essa freaked out on them but they ignored her and started a fire. When Essa refused to give them any of our food they opened their packs and cooked their own. Everyone else resigned themselves to the Brownies’ erratic schedule and dismounted. Finally Essa did too and we began to make camp while the Brownies ate their dinner – which they didn’t share.

  We were just ready to start cooking our food when Dell said, ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Now?’ Essa shrieked.

  ‘Of course,’ the Brownie said. ‘Fearn Keep is just a short way down this path.’

  ‘Then why did we just break for dinner?’ Essa asked in a tone that made me step out of her way.

  ‘Because it was dinner time,’ the Brownie said, not realising just how close to death he was.

  We all walked on foot in pitch blackness for no more than fifteen minutes before we saw the first glimmer of light from Fearn Keep. I’d like to be able to describe what the Brownie castle looked like but I never really got a good look at it from the outside. There were lights in a dozen or so windows over what seemed like a vast structure but other than that nothing was visible. It was like a blackout street in London during the Blitz. As I got closer I saw that many windows were in fact blacked out with dark draperies that were only faintly outlined by the light within. Welcoming it was not.

  Sentries popped out of the blackness like answers on a magic 8-ball. We were expected but I didn’t get the feeling we were wanted.

  Across an old-fashioned drawbridge over what I imagined to be an alligator-filled moat, we entered the castle. Dell and what’s-his-name left us without as much as a ‘Bye bye’. The sentries escorted us to four sparse rooms.

  No one came to greet us that night. Turlow and Essa each took a separate room, forcing Brendan and me to share a bed. Yogi agreed to sleep in bear form on the floor in Tuan’s room. I’m glad it wasn’t in my room. I’d hate to think what would happen if I woke up in the night and stepped on his paw. We all met before we went to bed and tried to decide if something was amiss or if this was standard Brownie hospitality.

  ‘Our Brownie guides deliberately slowed us down today,’ Araf said. ‘I believe they didn’t want us to see Fearn Keep in the daylight.’

  ‘OK, but why?’

  ‘I didn’t say I had all of the answers,’ Araf replied.

  ‘What do you think, Turlow?’ Brendan asked.

  ‘I too think this greeting is strange but apparently strange is the way of the Brownie. I say we sleep on it and see what the morrow brings.’

  Back in the room I asked Brendan what his uber-cop senses deduced from Turlow’s answer. ‘Either he is a good liar,’ he said, ‘or he doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘So, nothing then.’

  Brendan conceded my point with a nod.

  I dreamt that night Cialtie was talking to the invisible man. I strained to hear what they were saying but, as in the way of dreams, I couldn’t quite make it out. I awoke wondering what I had done to my ego to make myself the invisible man. I worried that my dream was a prediction and I would soon be face to face with my murdering uncle.

  We found breakfast outside our doors – water and a couple of apples. Even though apples in The Land are practically my favourite things to eat, it wasn’t like the Brownies knocked themselves out organising a menu.

  After our hearty meal, Brendan suggested that we take a stroll outside to test Araf’s theory. Sure enough an armed guard at the end of our corridor informed us that we had to wait in our rooms for information about an audience with the King. I said I understood but just wanted a quick nip of fresh air, but apparently nips or strolls were out of the question.

  As we walked back to our room Brendan said, ‘I’m feeling less like a guest and more like an inmate.’

  About a half an hour later Essa came back fuming after an attempt to get past the guards. ‘I am going to personally make sure that these people never get a drop of wine from the House of Muhn ever again.’ That was a fate she hadn’t even bestowed on me – and I’d dumped her.

  After a lunch of, you guessed it, apples and water, a guard arrived and informed us that the King would grant us an audience in two hours. Essa was fit to burst. Actually, everybody was pretty peeved, including me. And you know me, I don’t like all of the special royal treatment, but these guys were rude on any scale.

  Brendan sidled up next to me and whispered in my ear. ‘Do you notice that Turlow is taking this in his stride?’

  I hadn’t, but now that he mentioned it, Turlow didn’t look put out at all. Now, I don’t know T Turlow very well but he doesn’t seem to me to be like the kind of royal who lets a snub slide, but there he was sitting with an ‘oh well’ look on his face.

  Three hours later an honour guard showed up and informed us that the King would see us now. Araf respectfully asked if he could be excused from the audience due to a foot injury that he sustained the day before. It was the first I had heard about it.

  ‘Are you OK, big guy? Why didn’t you tell us before?’

  ‘I did not wish to burden the group. It is nothing, Conor. It would simply be uncomfortable for me to stand for a long period. You go ahead.’

  I was worried about my Imp buddy. He had never once complained about anything and I’d seen him get hit in the head with rocks. I was about to speak again, when he gave me a slight shake of the head that stopped the words in my throat. He was up to something and now was not the time to find out what.

  ‘You take it easy, pal,’ I said, patting him on his rock-like arms. ‘Take a load off your feet.’

  We were escorted through a series of damp hallways. Even though I wouldn’t want to live here, I really liked the look of Fearn Keep. It was like a castle from an old black and white horror film. The walls were made of dark, rough stone built into long, not quite straight, corridors. Torchlight threw dancing shadows through periodic archways, making each corner feel like a place where a vampire might pop out.

  We arrived at an open room and were instructed to wait at huge alder wood double doors. On the doors was carved a relief of an alder tree growing on top of a hill that seemed very much like the mound that Castle Duir was built on. A bulky Brownie informed us that we would have to be searched before entering the Hall of the Fearn Throne. Essa by this time was livid and threatened to break any finger that touched her. I pleaded with her to calm down. I pointed out that the last time the Brownies came to Castle Duir I had their luggage searched and this was probably retaliation for that. It took me about five minutes but she finally allowed herself to be frisked. Watching that guy pat her down was one of the tensest moments of my life. Turlow produced and unhooked his Banshee blade and surrendered it without a word. The guard found my throwing blade in my sock. I really had forgotten it was there but the guard didn’t look like he believed me. I handed it to him and asked for a receipt. I got a blank stare worthy of Araf.

  King Bwika’s throne room didn’t disappoint. It was as spooky and as overblown as I expected it to be. There were huge tapestries, long rugs, ranks of soldiers in full armour standing at attention and a built-up platform on which the King sat, looking like a fat little kid, in a huge wooden throne. There were no other chairs. On e
ither side of the King stood a dozen or so advisers.

  We approached slowly on a long red carpet. Even though I am sure it was designed to be intimidating, I had a hard time not snickering. Long before we reached a comfortable conversational distance the King shouted, ‘Prince of Duir.’ I looked around to everybody, grimaced and stepped lively to the fore.

  When I got to the bottom of the dais I bowed a low one and said, ‘My lord, greeting in the name of the House of—’

  ‘You think because you are of Duir you can sneak around my lands at will?’

  ‘Uh, um,’ was all I got out. I know it’s rare for me but I was at a loss for words. What should I do? I was pretty sure that he shouldn’t have been talking to me like that. I wondered if he would respect me if I stood up for myself, or maybe grovelling was the right way to go. I had no problem with grovelling; I really didn’t want to be kicked out of the kingdom, or for that matter executed. I really, really didn’t want to be executed. I decided to go for a good bow and scrape.

  ‘I meant no disrespect, Your Highness, and had no intention to trespass.’ I produced the gold bar. ‘See, I have brought you a tribute and have come on a matter of great import.’

  The little flash of gold broke his concentration for a second. He motioned to someone on his right and a young man came down the steps to take the gold bar. As he got closer I saw it was the King’s youngest son.

  ‘Hi, Jesse,’ I said with a smile.

  Jesse frowned. He had never told his father about the time that he and his brother had snuck close to the Vinelands and robbed me and Fergal in the night. When I caught up with them and got my stuff back, I gave him and his brother the nicknames Frank and Jesse, in honour of the great American outlaws. He took the gold bar from me, all the while trying to avoid eye contact, and showed it to his father. King Bwika eyed the bar, and casually accepted my gift with a flick of the wrist. Jesse handed it to one of the dozen advisers that were standing in the shadows behind the throne and it disappeared inside his robes.