The Wizard's Curse (Book 2)

by Jenny Ealey

  As Tarkyn approached, the packhorse was pulling back on her reins and rolling her eyes in fear at the unexpected noise and light that had erupted around her. Without conscious effort, the forest guardian sent a wave of reassurance that quietened her. His focus was on the family who as one, went down on one knee, hand on heart and bowed their heads when they saw him.

  Tarkyn was not impressed. “Stand up. Don’t toy with me. Why are you offering me obeisance if I have been branded as a rogue sorcerer? As I understand it, you no longer owe me your allegiance.”

  “We would beg for mercy, my lord.”

  “You do not need my mercy,” he said flatly.

  “Then why have you have imprisoned us with your shield?” The man glanced fearfully at his wife and then straightened his shoulders and looked directly at the prince. “If you must kill someone, Your Highness, take me and spare my family. We have done you no wrong. Please let us live.”

  Tarkyn sighed. “You have no need to fear me. I have no intention of hurting any of you. If I remove the shield, do I have your guarantee that you will not try to harm me?”

  The man was shocked, “Your Highness, I wouldn’t dream of it. Of course, none of us would...” A thought struck him and he turned to his teenage son whose set mouth and narrowed eyes boded ill for the prince. “Markel, do I have your word?”

  A long silence greeted this request.

  “Or would you rather die at the prince’s hand?”

  Before the boy could respond, Tarkyn intervened, “Now, just a minute. I did not say I would hurt anyone, let alone kill them if they did not make that guarantee. Fight your own battles with your son. Don’t use me.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. I truly thought that would be the consequence of non-compliance.”

  Tarkyn gave a weary wave of his hand and dissipated his shield, “The shield was never meant to imprison you. It was to protect you from the brigands who were secreted by the side of the road waiting to attack you. Did you not see the arrows?”

  The man shook his head and looked uncertainly at his wife before answering, “No, my lord. All I saw was two flashes of bronze light before we were engulfed in your shield.”

  “I don’t believe you,” stated the rebellious teenager.

  Surprisingly, Tarkyn smiled at him. “Do you know,” he said, “one of my best friends is someone like you? I hope you have the perceptiveness that he has. It goes a long way towards excusing his belligerence. Otherwise, I’m afraid, I will find your rudeness inexcusable.” He looked at the parents, “And do you believe me?”

  “Of course we do, Your Highness,” said the woman placatingly.

  Tarkyn’s eyebrows flicked together. “Madam, whatever you do in your dealings with me, do not lie and do not humour me. I know my reputation. I will understand if you fear me or doubt me but you will get very short shrift, should you be dishonest with me.” He paused, “Do I make myself clear?” He stared at her for long seconds, giving himself time to transmit a visual message to Waterstone, before saying, “Come. It is unreasonable to expect you to believe me. I will show you.”

  He led them off the road to a small clearing where the two brigands who had fired the arrows were now lying unconscious, their weapons a short distance away from them.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” said the fat woman, grunting at the effort of bowing low. She had to straighten and catch her breath before she added, “Instead of doubting you, we should be thanking you for saving our lives.”

  Tarkyn frowned. “I did not show you the brigands to elicit your gratitude. But I knew my shield had given away my presence and I didn’t want you to misinterpret my actions, as in fact you did. My reputation is damaged enough, without you assuming that I am out to harm you.”

  Just as they were about to turn back onto the road, the son placed his hand on his mother’s arm to hold her back. “Wait a minute. There is another bandit lying over there,” said the teenager, pushing his way around the bushes. Then he spotted the other bandits sprawled unconscious among the trees at regular intervals along the road. His eyes widened, “Oh my stars! Mum, Dad, look at this. He’s killed eight of them.”

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “I think you will find they are only unconscious.”

  The teenager shrugged, “Dead. Unconscious. That’s not the point. The point is you’ve overcome eight bandits on your own, Your Highness. And they weren’t even in a group. I don’t know of any magic that can attack in several places at once.” He whistled, “That’s amazing!”

  “Hmph.” Tarkyn grimaced, aware that he had trapped himself into taking credit for someone else’s efforts but unable to see how to avoid it.

  “What are you intending to do with them, Sire, when they wake up? Or are you going to kill them?” asked the father.

  Despite what he’d said to Waterstone, Tarkyn felt that being seen as a cold-blooded executioner was not something he wished to add to his already dread reputation. “No. Perhaps if you could assist me in tying them up, we can leave them by the roadside for soldiers to find them.”

  “Certainly, Sire. I am sure we can find enough twine in our baggage.” The man addressed his son. “Markel, you bring all the bandits over here,” he said, indicating a shady spot under a tree on the roadside, “And Caris, you get the twine.”

  With a muttered incantation, Markel levitated the limp bandits one at a time to the place indicated by his father. By the time he had them all in place, his mother and sisters had returned with twine and between them, the family had the bandits trussed up within a few minutes. The young girls seemed quite phlegmatic about assisting in tying up the unconscious men.

  While the family attended to the brigands, Tarkyn walked over to the packhorse and stroked her gently along her neck. He sent her a query and in return received an image of a stone wedged in her hoof. Tarkyn lifted each of her hooves in turn until he discovered the stone dug deeply into her left rear hoof.

  “Markel. Come over here for a minute,” Tarkyn requested quietly.

  Once Markel had straightened up and walked over to the prince, Tarkyn showed him the stone wedged in the horse’s hoof, “Next time your horse is unwilling, look for the cause. You have dragged this animal for miles with this stone digging into her hoof. Treat her well and she will serve you well. Treat her badly and she will let you down. Do you have a knife or sharp stick to dig this out with?”

  Markel produced the hunting knife he wore on his hip and proceeded to remove the stone without comment. When he had finished, he ran his hand down the horse’s leg and said gently to her, “Sorry old girl. I should have realised something was wrong.” Tarkyn received a wave of relief and thanks from the horse while Markel flicked a glance at him, “Thank you, Sire. I’ll look after her better. I guess we were all tired and I just thought she was sick of the journey.”

  By this time, the rest of the family had finished trussing up the brigands. They stood up, dusted down their hands and faced the waiting prince.

  “Your Highness.”

  Takyn nodded. “You may introduce yourself to me.”

  The father too fave a slight bow before saying “This Caris, my wife, Markel my son, Posy and Mayla, my daughters. My name is Tomasett.”

  If Tarkyn was impatient to be on his way, he hid it well and replied, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Where are you travelling to?”

  “Sire, I am a miller in the village of South Heading, which lies twenty miles south of Tormadell. We have been visiting some distant relatives and are now returning home.”

  “I see. And were you aware that this area is renowned for bandit attacks? It would be better for you and your family to be well away from here before dark.” He considered Markel and his parents. “Can any of you raise a shield and keep it up?”

  They looked at each other.

  “We can all do it, but not for long. We tend to get distracted and lose concentration,” said Caris.

  “Well, do the best you can. Take it in turns. Remind each o
ther to concentrate; whatever works, but keep a shield around your family until you’re well away from here. Understood?”

  The father bowed deeply. “Yes, my lord. I thank you for your concern for our safety. Your will is our command.”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness,” interrupted Markel, “Is it true that there is a price on your head?”

  Tarkyn’s eyes narrowed but he answered almost conversationally, “I have heard that there is. However I think you will find it difficult to overcome me if you’re thinking of taking me captive.”

  The belligerent son frowned and shook his head slightly at the prince’s response, “No, Your Highness, even if I thought I could, I would not. I would not be so churlish as to repay your protection of us by betraying you.” He hesitated. “No. I was going to ask what you did that outlawed you.”

  Tomasett cut across him, with a fearful glance at the prince. “Markel. Mind your manners. You are speaking to a prince. You can’t just ask whatever you want to.”

  Tarkyn waved a hand. “Let him speak. I will answer him.” He drew a breath. “I am not a rogue sorcerer, even though I have been branded one. I have not lost my senses nor am I out of control.” He gave a wry smile. “Of course, I would say that. Truly mad people don’t realise they’re mad, do they? However, I did kill several palace guards. At least six, I think. I’m not sure.” He sighed, “It was not intentional. Something went wrong with my shield and caused it to reflect back the shafts of power they were aiming at me. Then the ricocheting shafts brought down the Great Hall.”

  Caris frowned, “But my lord, why were they aiming at you in the first place? Hadn’t you already wiped out a whole stand of spectators at the Harvest Tournament?”

  Tarkyn went still. After a moment, he shook his head slightly. “No, Caris, I hadn’t. A shaft of my power hit the bottom of a stand and made it sag a little. Everyone jumped off but no one was even hurt, let alone killed.”

  Caris’ eyes narrowed but she said nothing further.

  Tarkyn folded his arms. “You may believe me or not as you choose. There is nothing I can do about it. And whether or not I am guilty is of little relevance. My brothers wanted me disarmed and no longer a threat to them as they saw it, in which they have succeeded. I am no longer a factor in the politics at court.”

  “And were you a threat to the king, Your Highness?” asked the boy.

  “No, Markel. I was always loyal to both of my brothers.”

  “And are you still?”

  Tarkyn shook his head regretfully. “No. They have lost me, just as I have lost them.”

  “So will you challenge them and bring civil war, Your Highness?” asked Tomasett.

  Tarkyn looked around himself. “Do you see me at the head of an army?”

  “What is now and what may be are not at all the same, Your Highness,” replied the miller with an unexpected flash of acumen. “Begging your pardon, but you have not answered my question.”

  Tarkyn glanced over at the bandits to check that they were all still unconscious. None of them was yet moving. He brought his gaze back to meet Tomasett’s clear blue eyes. “Tomasett, provided the king keeps his people well, there will be no challenge from me. I would only ever feel compelled to act if the people of Eskuzor were suffering. For myself, I am content to be away from Tormadell.”

  Tomasett raised his eyebrows. “Interesting response, my lord.”

  The prince gave a slight smile, “Is it?” Suddenly Tarkyn’s head went up. Even as he received a warning from the lookouts, Tarkyn heard the first faint sounds of another group of people approaching from the west. “I must go,” he said, already moving. “I suggest you also get on your way as quickly as you can. I don’t think you will want the little ones around to witness the soldiers arresting those bandits. The soldiers’ roughness could well frighten them.”

  “And will you be all right, my lord?” asked Tomasett. “Do you lack for anything that we could give you?”

  Tarkyn hesitated at the edge of the road, “It would be a kindness in you if you did not mention to any soldiers that you have seen me but I would not ask you to persevere in protecting me, should they threaten you.”

  “It would be an honour, Your Highness, to protect you in whatever way we can,” replied the miller bowing. “If you should ever need somewhere to stay for a while, you will always be welcome at the South Heading Mill.”

  “Thank you, Tomasett,” Tarkyn turned to look at Caris and raised his eyebrows, “However, I’m not sure that your wife would feel too happy with that. Unless I much mistake the case, she does not share your faith in me.”

  The sturdy woman folded her arms and glowered at him. “Your Highness, it is rare for folks like us to have truck with people like you and so, I am not good at gauging your merit. But I am not ungrateful. I do know that my family and I owe you our lives and so you are welcome if you come our way, whatever you may have done in the past.”

  Tarkyn eyes twinkled, “Thank you, Caris. That is most magnanimous of you.” The sounds of approaching horses had become louder. “I must go. Travel safely.” With that, he turned and threaded his way lithely between the trees, soon lost to their sight in the density of the undergrowth.

  As the little family resumed its journey, Caris said “Well, that’s something to tell our friends. Fancy meeting the Rogue Prince… and living to tell the tale.” She turned to her son, “Markel, put your shield around us for the next little while and then I’ll take over.”

  “He didn’t seem so bad, did he?” observed her husband.

  Caris was thoughtful. “No. No, he didn’t. But you have to ask yourself why he is hanging around an area known for its bandits.”

  “What? You don’t think the prince has taken up with brigands, do you? After all, why would he foil their attack on us, if that were the case? He’s probably on his way to somewhere else, the same as we are.”

  “Maybe he’s keeping himself busy by protecting travellers from bandits. That’s what he did for us,” suggested Markel. However, unlike Tarkyn, as soon as he began to talk, his shield faded. So this remark was greeted with urgent reminders to concentrate on maintaining his shield.

  As they plodded off around the curve in the road, the first horses appeared over the brow of the hill to the west.

  Chapter 12

  As soon as Tarkyn was out of sight of the road, Waterstone appeared at his side.

  “I think we’re too late to question those brigands. A group of soldiers is approaching from the west… probably from the encampment.”

  Tarkyn grimaced, “Yes, I thought that might happen but I couldn’t really see what else I could do. I was a bit worried the brigands might come round while the family was still there. At least they were neutralised once they were tied up.” He looked at the woodman, “Thanks Waterstone, for your help.”

  Waterstone clapped him on the back and said philosophically, “I guess it was only fair that we helped you to save some sorcerers. You helped us to save woodfolk from the encampment, after all.”

  “I don’t know how successful I was in improving my reputation. At least they listened.” Tarkyn gave a wry grin, “But now they think I can knock out eight people in different locations all at once.”

  “Yes, I saw that. And I saw you squirming when you took the credit for it too.”

  Tarkyn gave a short laugh. “Yes, very embarrassing. Especially when I knew the people from whom I was stealing the credit, were watching.”

  Waterstone smiled. “Come on. Let’s find ourselves a vantage point so we can watch the soldiers collect the brigands. We can forget about crossing the road until they’ve gone anyway. So we might as well keep ourselves entertained.”

  “Where’s Sparrow?” asked Tarkyn suddenly.

  Waterstone frowned. “With Thunderstorm and Creaking Bough and their two kids. Why do you ask?”

  Tarkyn shrugged and looked a little sheepish. “I just remembered telling her I would keep her safe when big men on horseback were around. I don�
�t want her to think I’ve let her down.”

  “Well, we can’t have Sparrow with us while we’re watching the soldiers. It might upset her. So it’s one or the other. Either go and be with her, or watch the soldiers taking the bandits away.”

  “Maybe you can ask her how she is and whether she needs us?” suggested Tarkyn.

  Waterstone shook his head a little. “I know how she is. If I thought for a minute she was feeling unsafe with Thunder Storm and Creaking Bough, I’d be with her now.”

  Tarkyn nodded, but even though he said nothing further he still looked uncertain.

  “All right.Fine.”Waterstone rolled his eyes, “Far be it from me to get in the way of a concerned uncle. I’ll ask her and tell her you’re worrying about her. Good enough?”

  Tarkyn’s face relaxed into a smile, “Thanks.”

  Waterstone went out of focus for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he had a wry smile on his face. “You were right. And so was I. She feels perfectly safe but was feeling put out that you hadn’t checked. She’s fine now. She’s in the middle of some complicated game with other two and is quite happy where she is.”

  Tarkyn sent her an image of himself with a wave of friendship and reassurance and received back a little ripple of thanks. He smiled at Waterstone, “Good. Now that’s settled, let’s go.”

  By the time they had joined Autumn Leaves and Tree Wind in a good vantage point in an overhanging pine tree, the soldiers had already dismounted and were bent over the trussed up brigands. As they turned the prostrate men over and saw their faces, the soldiers looked in consternation at each other.

  “What are they doing here?” asked a tough, burly sergeant.

  The soldier beside him shook his head. “I have no idea, sir. How could they have got themselves tied up like this?”

  In the tree above them, Tarkyn and the woodfolk exchanged perplexed glances.

  Now that their attention had been drawn to it, they could see that the men’s rags covered up uniforms like those of the encampment guards.

  A thin sharp-faced soldier was bending over another brigand, “Sir, here’s Consar. It must be his patrol. He’s out cold.”