by Jenny Ealey
The thickset balding sergeant stood up and frowned as he surveyed the group of trussed men. “This is what happened to the perimeter guards; they’ve all been knocked out somehow. Very strange. No obvious wounds. And no one has been killed, just temporarily disabled.”
“Obviously it’s bandits of some kind, sir. The last lot were after the horses. I don’t know what they wanted this time, but I suppose they just stole whatever they could get their hands on.”
The sergeant shook his head. “Very strange bandits - to leave them trussed up like this. Why didn’t these bandits just kill them or leave them lying unconscious while they made their escape? Why leave them neatly tied up by the side of the road?”
“Because, my good sir,” said Stormaway, appearing unnoticed in their midst, “These men are themselves bandits. Some upright citizens captured them and left them for your justice.”
Stormaway was dressed in a heavy padded jerkin and laced leggings with a sumptuous green cloak flung over his shoulders. His hair was mid brown, shoulder length and slicked back. All in all, he had the appearance of a wealthy merchant and was quite unrecognisable as the diffident tailor who had entered the encampment a week ago. This was just as well because when the officer looked at him, Stormaway realised that he was Sergeant Torgan, the gruff friendly guard Danton and he had met on their first day in the encampment.
“What utter nonsense!” declared the sergeant. “These men are fellow soldiers.”
“And how do you explain their dress then?” asked Stormaway with a superior smirk.
Sergeant Torgan frowned but continued gamely, “I can only presume they have been doing undercover work for us, trying to flush out the brigands who have been hounding travellers along this part of the road.”
“Indeed? And does undercover work include attacking a defenceless family?”
The sergeant looked uncertainly at his men then back at Stormaway. He frowned, “What foundation do you have for your accusations, sir?”
Stormaway waved an elegant hand, “Why, I witnessed it with my own eyes. These men were firing arrows at a hapless family as they travelled along the road here.”
Sergeant Torgan straightened up and put his hands on his hips, “Sir, if that is the case, where is the injured family? And where are the arrows?”
“The family have continued on their way unharmed after tying up their attackers. The arrows were burned in mid-air.” The wizard peered around. “You may find some traces of ash, if you look carefully.”
One of the soldiers looked up at him and said disdainfully, “You’re barking mad, you are. What are you talking about? Who’s going to be able to intercept an arrow in mid-flight?”
The wizard rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Let me think. Someone who has very good reflexes. Perhaps the type of person who could win a Harvest Tournament.”
In the tree above him, Tarkyn frowned and leaned over to whisper in Autumn Leaves’ ear, “What is he up to?”
The heavy woodman shrugged and whispered back, “He didn’t bother telling anyone.”
Stormaway wandered over to the spot where arrows had sped towards the travellers and bent down. He gestured to the officer, “Come here. You see? Short, thin lines of ash. How do you explain that?”
Despite appearances, Sergeant Torgan was reasonably astute. He frowned at Stormaway, “So, are you telling me that you have seen the Rogue Prince?”
Stormaway hesitated, “Not directly, but I did see streaks of bronze light that intercepted the arrows. Then the traveller family were encased in a bronze shield for a few minutes until the attack ceased.”
“But who disarmed the brigands then?”
The wizard straightened up. “I will let you draw your own conclusions.”
“Are you telling me that the prince was responsible for disarming these men? All eight of them?” demanded the sergeant.
Stormaway gave a slight smile, reflecting that even if he didn’t do it himself, Tarkyn was indeed responsible for it. “Yes. I think you will find that was the case.”
“But if he is a rogue sorcerer, why didn’t he just kill them… and the family for that matter?”
Stormaway appeared to consider the matter carefully. “Perhaps we may have to conclude that he is not as black as he’s been painted.” He paused, “Just out of interest, have any of these men had anything stolen from them?”
The sergeant nodded to his men who searched the unconscious prisoners. It soon became clear that the brigands were still carrying their money folders and wearing rings of value and other jewellery. By the end of the search, the soldiers-cum-brigands were beginning to come around. As they shook their heads and wished they hadn’t, they caught each other’s eyes and looks of alarm passed between them.
“Ah,” said Stormaway congenially, “I believe our friends are waking up. Perhaps you could ask them to explain why they find themselves in this predicament, if you don’t believe me.”
The brigands scowled at him but held their peace.
“Come on boys,” cajoled Torgan, “I can imagine why you’re in those filthy clothes but I’m struggling to understand how you managed to get yourselves tied up.” Not letting them know what Stormaway had said, he asked, “Would one of you like to offer me an explanation? I’m all ears.”
The disguised solders pressed their lips firmly together and all looked to the one among them called Consar, who appeared to be their leader. Consar glanced at his companions and shook his head slightly, perhaps warning them to be quiet, perhaps just clearing it. “I have no idea what happened.” He took a deep breath and launched into fantasy. “We were shadowing a gang of brigands through the woods on the north side of the road.” He shrugged, “That’s the last thing I remember.” After a moment he added, “Maybe there were more gang members behind us that we weren’t aware of. I don’t know.”
Sergeant Torgan frowned. “I would like to believe you, but surely a gang of brigands would simply kill you if they caught you spying on them. Why would they leave you tied up?”
Consar looked uneasy but shrugged, “Perhaps they figured that if we were captured, our soldiers would think that brigands had been at least partially eradicated from the area and leave them alone. If they’d just killed us and left us in the woods, our soldiers wouldn’t have known about the reduced numbers of brigands.”
“This, of course, assumes they didn’t realise you were really soldiers yourselves.” The officer thought for a minute then nodded, “That sounds reasonable.” He swung around to confront Stormaway, “Much more likely than arrows being intercepted in mid-air. Give me one good reason why I should believe you above my fellow soldiers.”
“If a rival gang wanted it known that these brigands had been eliminated, why wouldn’t they just kill them, strip them of their valuables and leave their bodies to be found by the side of the road?”
“Because,” answered Consar triumphantly, “Then you’d know there were other brigands who had killed us.”
The sergeant shook his head regretfully. “No. That doesn’t hold water at all. Because, having been left alive, you’ve just told us that there are other brigands in the area.” He scratched his head then indicated Stormaway with his thumb, “And what does this man hope to gain by coming up with such a bizarre story?”
“What is his story?” asked Consar with a definite sneer.
“That the Rogue Prince intercepted your arrows and shielded the travelling family from your attack.”
A look of comprehension appeared on Consar’s face before he could stop it. “Oh. Is that what happened? His magic is bronze, isn’t it? That must be what the bronze flashes were. And that’s how that family suddenly shielded themselves? He was doing it for them.” The bound man’s face blanched, “Oh my stars! We’re lucky to be alive.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows snapped together. “I’m not sure that you will continue to think so. So are you confirming what this gentleman has told me?”
The bound soldiers glowered at Consar. There wa
s an appreciable pause during which it was obvious that Consar’s mind was working furiously. Finally he said, “It is true about the bronze magic but I think this poor addled prince has misinterpreted what we were doing. Obviously he didn’t realise that we were shadowing another gang and mistook our intentions.”
Stormaway’s face suffused with anger and he made a sudden movement towards the bound man that was barred by the officer’s arm. Sergeant Torgan raised his eyebrows. “Do I detect a certain strength of feeling for this prince, sir?”
Stormaway drew a quick breath and recovered himself. “No. It is not that. I simply object to being treated as a fool. How could anyone have the knowledge of tactics and the speed of reflexes required to win the Harvest Tournament but then mistake their protagonists’ intentions? The whole concept is laughable.”
Sergeant Torgan looked long and hard at Stormaway then transferred his gaze to look long and hard at his prisoners. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I am not a judge but I think these boys, at the very least, have some explaining to do. I will take them back to the encampment and deliver them to my commanding officer, Captain Guerion. Perhaps their commanding officer will be able to shed some light on their activities. He usually patrols with them but is unwell at the moment. That’s why Consar here is in charge.”
A glimmer of suspicion that quickly coalesced into certainty crossed Stormaway’s face. “And who is their commanding officer?”
“Captain Andoran. Perhaps you know of him. I believe he has quite a reputation in Tormadell.”
Stormaway gave a slight smile. “I have heard a little of him. I am sorry to hear he is unwell. Nothing serious, I hope?”
The officer shook his head. “Just some sort of unpleasant irritation. He’s covered in a nasty red rash. I’m sure he’ll be better in a few days.” He thought for a moment. “I’m tempted to retrieve that travelling family and hear their side of the story. But at this stage, there does not seem to be any dispute that the prince acted in good faith to protect them. And they obviously did not see what was happening off the road if they were taken unawares anyway. So we are left with the dilemma of whether the prince was accurate in his interpretation of what he saw and obviously he won’t be coming forward to testify.” Sergeant Torgan frowned. “Which way did you say the Rogue Prince went? I suppose we should be trying to track him down.”
“Yes,” responded Stormaway dryly. “That would be a just reward for protecting people, wouldn’t it?”
Torgan’s eyes narrowed. “I was right. You do have some sympathy for this outlaw. Are you refusing to tell me which way he went?”
Stormaway spread his hands placatingly. “No. Not at all. I’ll leave you to live with your own conscience. Since I didn’t actually see him, I can’t be sure but all the activity came from the north of the road. So I’m assuming he headed back up north somewhere.”
The sergeant nodded. “Yes. That fits with other reports we’ve had. I don’t know what he’s up to, but the centre of his activities does seem to be to the north of here.” He looked sternly at the wizard. “He burnt down a whole section of forest, you know. Wanton destruction. I’ve lived near the forests all my life and it pains me to see the forest damaged like that. So you see, I don’t feel a lot of sympathy for him, even if he does do the odd bit of good here and there.”
Just as Stormaway was trying to find a way to counter the sergeant’s misunderstanding, they were interrupted by a diffident ahem from the side. They looked around to find a diminutive soldier listening earnestly and clearing his throat.
“Yes, Drummock? What is it?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. But I was on the patrol that investigated the reports of the fire in the forest. We couldn’t get close enough to see everything because the horses took fright but I am certain the bronze magic appeared in the sky well after the fire had been started. When we investigated the next day, we found an almost perfect circle of burnt out forest.” The small man gave a twinkly smile. “I think you are maligning our Rogue Prince, sir. I don’t think he started the fire. I think he put it out.”
Although this was not actually what had happened, it was near enough for Stormaway.
The sergeant frowned and said severely, “Drummock, I hope you would not be anything less than zealous in your pursuit of a known criminal.”
“I didn’t say that sir. I was merely supplying you with more accurate facts.”
Torgan relented, “Thank you Drummock. If I pursue a man, I like to do it for the right reasons.”
Stormaway raised his eyebrows. “And what, may I ask, are the right reasons?”
Torgan frowned, “Where have you been, man? Haven’t you heard what happened?”
“I have heard many different versions of the same set of circumstances. So I am interested to hear your version.”
“Sir, as a soldier, I go by the official version, of course.”
“Which is…?”
“That Prince Tarkyn ran amok in the Harvest Tournament, destroyed a whole stand and killed many of the spectators. Then he ran rampage in the Great Hall, killed every guard he could reach and brought the hall down around them before fleeing.”
“Hmm. Have you ever wondered how he could have won the Harvest Festival tournament if he killed off most of the spectators halfway through the competition? A very forgiving judging committee, wouldn’t you say?”
Sergeant Torgan’s eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “You know, sir, that is very strange, now you mention it. Humph.” He turned to the small soldier waiting beside him. “Drummock, have the men lift these lads to their feet. Keep enough men here to guard them as we walk back to the encampment. The rest can remount and continue our patrol. We’ll lead our horses.” When the soldier was out of earshot, he turned back to Stormaway, “Not proper, you know, discussing the accuracy of official notices in front of the men. No, definitely not. However, sir, I like to think that I am a fair man and I wouldn’t like to be hounding a man based on false information.” He eyed Stormaway sharply. “I believe my first impressions were correct. For some reason you are championing the young prince’s cause. However, I am willing to listen to you awhile if you are willing to walk with us.”
Stormaway bowed his head in acquiescence and fell in beside the sergeant as they walked back along the road to the west. After a short silence, the sergeant spoke again, “So what is your name and business that I may gauge the value of your words?”
Stormaway glanced at him then looked up the road ahead. “My name is StormawayTreemaster.”
Danton, under whom he was passing at this point, nearly fell out of the tree with shock when Stormaway gave his real name.
“And your business, sir?”
“I am a merchant. I buy and sell goods across the country, specialising in fine wines, preserves and jams. I also buy cloth, tools and tableware. So you see, I hear many tales as I travel around.”
“And your interest in the prince?”
Stormaway shot him another glance. “I’m not sure that I’m ready to tell you that. Suffice it to say that I have had a long association with the royal family, closer at some times than others.”
“Are you not concerned that I might drag you back to the encampment to interrogate you on your knowledge of the prince’s whereabouts?”
Stormaway smiled. “No. For two reasons; firstly, it would be pointless because I have already told you as much as I know and secondly, I too can gauge a man and I believe you have more integrity and good judgement than to use unnecessary persuasion.”
Rainstorm, under whom the wizard was now passing, was astonished by the ease with which Stormaway wandered back and forth between truth and fiction, at all times sounding totally sincere.
“Hmph.” The sergeant was slightly non-plussed by the wizard’s vote of confidence. After a moment he asked, “From your understanding of what you’ve heard, is the official version correct? I only ask because if it is incorrect about the tournament, it may well be inaccurate on other w
ays too.”
“I do not like to strain your credulity too much but I think the real events in the Great Hall bear little resemblance to the official version.”
The sergeant frowned. “How would you know that?”
Stormaway shrugged before inventing freely. “I ran into a palace guard up in the north of the country who had been there when it happened. According to him, the prince was fired upon first and he did not actually fire at anyone himself.”
“But there were some guards killed, weren’t there?”
“Oh yes. Several. The guard I met said the prince had been horrified by the whole series of events. The shafts of magic aimed at him by the guards were reflected back by the prince’s shield. That was what killed the guards. That, and the collapse of the building.”
Torgan frowned. “This is a very different story from what I’ve heard. Why would the official version be so wrong?”
“Why would Prince Tarkyn be arraigned on charges of reckless magic when all he had done was slightly damage a spectator stand and hurt no one?” asked Stormaway in return.
Torgan’s eyes narrowed as he turned to regard the wizard. “What you are saying is coming perilously close to treason, my good sir. Do you doubt the king?”
Stormaway shrugged. “As you’ve noted yourself, the facts in the official version do not stand up to scrutiny. I only ask the question. I will leave you to answer it.”
They walked for several minutes in silence while Torgan struggled to come to terms with this new perspective. Eventually, he flicked a shy glance at the wizard and then, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, said, “If you should happen to come across the young prince, which I’m inclined to think you may, tell him I am sorry for his plight. I don’t really know what else to say or do to help him. But I don’t like to think of him running scared if he has done nothing wrong.”
“I don’t think the prince feels he has done nothing wrong. He feels responsible for those guards’ deaths even if he didn’t deliberately attack them. But I will convey your message to him, if I should happen to see him.” Stormaway looked around and checked that the other soldiers were at a safe distance from them. “If you were interested in helping him, there may be one or two things you could do…”