The Wizard's Curse (Book 2)

by Jenny Ealey

  There was an arrested silence.

  “Do you think so? Do you mean that literally?” asked Tarkyn. “Is it not the general nastiness you find in people everywhere?”

  Waterstone’s eyes narrowed, “You are coming very close to being offensive, Tarkyn. When have you seen behaviour like that among us?”

  Tarkyn threw his hands up in apology, “I beg your pardon. I have not. But don’t people everywhere have a dark side?”

  “Not that dark,” stated Autumn Leaves flatly. “There’s a difference between being angry and being malicious. Anyway, even if I concede that we do have a dark side, we do not have to act on it. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? We keep it in check, just as you do.”

  “And that’s another thing,” said Rainstorm in a complete non sequitor, “Why weren’t they subject to the oath as the forestals are?”

  Tarkyn shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe because they didn’t acknowledge, as your people did, that they were part of one people.”

  “But they did. Remember? Dry Berry said they carefully didn’t help their kin to betray the oath. And once they swore fealty to you, why didn’t it convert to the sorcerous oath, in that case?”

  “Maybe it has,” suggested Running Feet.

  Tarkyn shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. There was no sorcery in the air at the end of the oathtaking. I certainly hope not, anyway. I really don’t want the forest beholden to their honour; even more so if there is something amiss with them.”

  “Maybe we are too far away from where the spell was first cast,” suggested Danton.

  “That’s possible,” conceded Tarkyn.

  “Or perhaps the sorcery of the oath does not accept corrupted woodfolk, just as it would not have accepted you, if you were corrupt.” Autumn Leaves sat up carefully and dusted himself off, “Does anyone have a drink?”

  Several hands offered leather flasks of water.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Waterstone. “I think it was Stormaway who determined Tarkyn’s integrity and invoked the oath, not the sorcery in the oath itself.”

  Tarkyn looked quizzically at Rainstorm, “So, to sum up, we have no idea. Since Stormaway was responsible for casting the spell, he is the only person who really knows.” He shrugged, “And he’s not here.”

  Chapter 37

  Suddenly a lightning fast flurry of activity erupted around Tarkyn and Danton. Next thing they knew, they were on their own and Tarkyn’s mind was filled with an intense image of himself with his shield around him

  “Shield!” Tarkyn ordered peremptorily as he raised his own.

  Instantly, Danton surrounded himself with an aqua haze. He glanced at Tarkyn but did nothing more, merely waiting for further instructions.

  A few moments later, two very rough, scruffy individuals dodged in through the rain and stood sloughing off the worst of the water. They were dressed in roughly sewn furs plastered with mud and their shoulder length hair was wet and bedraggled. Their long straggly beards hung in soggy rats’ tails. A strong smell of stale sweat and wet animal fur filled the small cave.

  “Morning,” said the taller one, swinging his rucksack onto the floor. “Don’t mind if we share your fire, do you? It’s absolutely tipping it down out there.”

  “Yeah, throwing it down,” agreed the shorter one.

  Tarkyn waved his arm around the fire and the dry cave, “Please. Help yourselves,” he replied urbanely as he wondered where the woodfolk were hiding and if they were getting drenched.

  “Thanks very much.”

  They approached the fire, rubbing their hands together and squatting down in front of it. For a few minutes no one spoke. Gradually, the strangers’ wet furs began to steam as the fire warmed them up. Once they had begun to thaw, the two interlopers transferred their attention to Tarkyn and Danton.

  The taller one nudged the shorter, fatter one and said in a quiet voice, “Hey, Bean, these two have put their shields up. Are they expecting trouble, do you think? Maybe we should put ours up as well.”

  The shorter one sighed and flicked up a soft burgundy shield over the two of them. “I hate bloody shields. Means I can’t relax properly.” He looked across at Tarkyn, “So what’s the problem? Wolves? Bears? Marauders?”

  Tarkyn and Danton looked at each other, before the prince replied with a slight smile, “You. We have our shields up, against you.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the shorter one calmly. Then he caught his companion’s eye and spluttered with laughter. The two grinned steadfastly at the fire for a few moments but were unable to repress the whoops of laughter that welled up. As they laughed, the burgundy shield wavered and disappeared.

  Tarkyn smiled at their antics but asked Danton in an undertone, “I’ll leave it to you to judge. Are they simply trying to put us off our guard or are they genuine?”

  “I would say,” responded Danton, carefully using neither name nor title, “that if you find it easy to maintain your shield, then you should continue to do so. You have nothing to lose but a slight loss of face for appearing overly cautious. The other way, you stand to lose everything if you are wrong.”

  So the two of them just sat there watching until their two uninvited guests had laughed themselves to a standstill. Eventually the taller one wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a couple of deep breaths, “That’s better. Nothing like a good laugh, I always say.” He looked across at the prince and his companion, “Shields still up, I see. Fair enough. You don’t know us, after all. Can’t be too careful these days, I suppose.” He rummaged around in his knapsack and produced a brace of dead rabbits with a flourish, “Here we are. We’ll just skin these and we’ll have the makings of a good hot lunch. You gentlemen are welcome to join us, if you would like to. We’ll be using your lovely fire, after all, so it’s the least we can do.”

  Tarkyn inclined his head, “That would be most kind of you.”

  The taller one’s eyes narrowed, “You’re a courtly sort of gent, aren’t you? No wonder you get nervous when a couple of rednecks like us thrust ourselves upon you. Not used to being out and about, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Actually,” replied Tarkyn, “I have become used to being out and about, as you call it, but I am not so used to sharing my firesite with strangers.”

  “Is that so?” said the taller one slowly, “Your firesite, you say? Now that’s an interesting expression, isn’t it? Myself, I would say campfire or cooking fire, but not firesite.”

  The shorter one studied the prince, “He’s quite tall, though, isn’t he?”

  The taller one nodded, “Yes. Too tall, I’d say. Colour’s all wrong, too. The other one’s closer in height but again, the colouring is wrong.”

  Tarkyn frowned, “And what would you be talking about?”

  The two interlopers looked at each other, then the taller one shrugged disarmingly and replied, “Nothing at all. Just your unusual vocabulary. Must just come from a different area. Local dialect, I expect.”

  After a fractional pause, Tarkyn asked, “Would you mind introducing yourselves? I would like to know with whom I am sharing my fire.”

  Danton smiled slightly at the way Tarkyn reverted to being formal when he was unsure of the people he was with and wondered how the prince would introduce himself in return.

  The taller man produced a rather crooked-toothed smile, “No problem. Might make you feel easier if we all get to know each other a bit. Not that I’m pressuring you to take your shield down. You leave it up until you’re good and ready. Better safe than sorry out in these parts, if you ask me… well, in any parts, if it comes to that.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, my name’s String and this is my mate, Bean.” He chuckled, “Broadbean, of course.”

  “Oh really?” said Danton dryly.

  String waved his hand dismissively. “Well, we had real names once. Bean’s real name is Benson and mine’s Stevoran but we stopped using them a long time ago.” He shrugged, “Anyway, as you’ve probably wo
rked out, we’re trappers. Live up in the mountains most of the year. Come down into the lower country about now before the weather really closes over. Stay down until the spring.” Before Tarkyn could speak, he put his hand up, “Now, don’t go thinking you have to tell us who you are. Obviously, it’s a worry for you or you wouldn’t be so cautious. If you’re on the run or whatever, that’s none of our business. You get all manner of strange folk up here. So feel free to keep it to yourselves. As long as you don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you.”

  Tarkyn smiled gently, “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  “No,” said String firmly, “Don’t really care that much either, to be honest.”

  “What if I were a rogue sorcerer?” asked Tarkyn.

  “Well, we’d be stuffed then, wouldn’t we?” said Bean calmly, as he held the skinned rabbits out in the rain to wash them down, “Because, between you and me and your quiet mate over there, I’m bloody useless at keeping my shield up for more than two minutes at a time. I lose concentration.” He shrugged, “Anyway, the stinking shield warns animals that we’re around and they all go to ground. So it does more harm than good most of the time.”

  Tarkyn smiled and waved his shield away.

  Immediately, Bean threw a thin blast of burgundy power at him. Faster than thought, Tarkyn intercepted it head-on with his own power ray and simultaneously re-activated his shield.

  Bean relaxed back and smiled, “Very good. You’re fast and, unless I’m much mistaken, you performed two spells at once. That is very impressive. Did you see that, String?”

  Within his bronze haze, Tarkyn put his hands on his hips. “So, what was that all about?”

  “Don’t mind Bean here. He’s just playing. He wanted to see how wet you really were.” String gave a grunt of laughter, “Not very, as it turns out. But not a rogue either. You didn’t use more power than you needed to.” He nodded at Danton, “Your friend here wasn’t much help to you, was he? With his shield up, there wasn’t much he could do for you, was there?”

  Danton turned red with chagrin and immediately dropped his shield.

  “Danton, don’t let them wind you up. You will be no use to me dead.”

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” said String to Bean, “This fellow Danton is prepared to lay down his life for our mystery man here.” While he was speaking, String was calmly skewering the rabbits onto a long thin branch and pushing up a couple of wooden forks into the dirt on either end of the fire to hang the rabbits between. “So young Danton, who could be so special that you would risk your life without question for him? Your master? No. Despite your reticence, you don’t strike me as a servant. In fact, you don’t look a subservient sort of a character at all. More used to command than being commanded. And earlier on, our mystery man deferred to your judgement. Body guard? Minder? What do you think, Bean?”

  Before Bean could reply, Danton said, “I thought you didn’t care who we are. If that is the case, why all the conjecture?”

  Bean raised his eyebrows, “You’re right, String. He is looking after the other one’s interests.” He took the rabbits from String and placed them carefully over the fire. Then he glanced at Danton and smiled, “Don’t worry. We’re not interested in who you are, in terms of doing anything about it. But we do like to pass the time working out riddles. So, excuse us if we continue to figure out who you are. Think of it as a pre-dinner game.”

  “You know,” said String suddenly, “Our mystery man was surprised we didn’t know who he was. That means he is either famous or notorious.”

  “Or both,” said Tarkyn with a smile.

  Bean put up his hands, “No, don’t tell us. We’ll work it out.” He screwed up his face in thought, “You know String, there is something about him that rings a bell but I’m sure I’ve never met him before.”

  “How long have you been out of circulation up there in the mountains?” asked Danton.

  “Six, eight months,” said Bean. “Why? Missed something, have we?”

  Danton gave the ghost of a laugh, “Just a bit.”

  String scratched his head. “Hmm. What could have happened in the last six months?” He snapped his fingers, “I know. The Harvest Tournament.” He smiled triumphantly at Tarkyn, “And you’re good. So maybe you won the Harvest Tournament. That would explain why you thought we might know who you are.”

  Bean grimaced, “Trouble is, we don’t know who won the Harvest Tournament.”

  Tarkyn laughed and waved out his shield again, “You’re doing well. I don’t know how much further you’re going to get, though.”

  “Hmph, I think you might be right,” Bean turned to Danton, “Go on then, give us a hint. What’s your full name?”

  Danton glanced at Tarkyn for approval before saying, “Danton Patronell, Lord of Satchmore.”

  String threw his hands up, “Blast it! Too easy! That’s given the game away entirely.”

  Bean nodded sagely, “Yes, I’m afraid so. A lord’s not going to protect anyone but Royalty. And obviously he’s not one of the twins because each wouldn’t trust the other one out of his sight for this long… and wrong colouring.”

  “So you must be the youngest prince, Prince Tarkyn. That’s why he rang a bell. It’s his colouring; black hair with golden eyes. I’ve heard about it,” concluded String. He nudged his companion sharply in the ribs and they both rose stiffly to their feet and, rather awkwardly, bowed low.

  “Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. “Please be seated again, if that is your wish.”

  The trappers promptly sat down but an air of constraint had settled over them and they kept their focus firmly on the cooking rabbits.

  After a few minutes of silence, Tarkyn stood up and walked over to the mouth of the cave to peer out into the driving rain. As the trappers made to stand, he waved a hand, “No. Don’t get up. I wouldn’t want our lunch burnt because you lost concentration.”

  They glanced at him and then at each other.

  The stockier one leant over and murmured to String, “Is he being funny or is he really worried about his lunch?”

  Tarkyn ignored them as he put his hand out into the rain, “Oh dear! Anyone out in that is going to be very wet.”

  The two trappers glanced at each other again before Bean said kindly, “Don’t worry too much about your friends, Your Highness. They are experts at dealing with the elements. I bet they’ve found somewhere else nice and dry.”

  The prince spun around with a frown on his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  String frowned furiously at Bean, “Bean means that if you happened to have any friends nearby, they would, of course, be skilful or they wouldn’t be in the service of a prince. Isn’t that right, Bean?”

  Bean cleared his throat, “Just exactly what I meant.”

  Tarkyn looked across at Danton then came in and sat down. He picked a twig off one of the logs in the woodpile and began to break bits off the end. “Your logic wasn’t right, you know,” he said, carefully diverting the conversation. “I didn’t expect to be known for having won the Harvest Tournament.”

  “No, obviously not,” said Bean, thawing a little. “You’ve been well known all your life, haven’t you? Yes, that was a bit of a red herring, wasn’t it?” His eyes narrowed as he thought, “Hmm, still a puzzle here, now I come to think of it, isn’t there String?”

  String nodded, “Yes. No doubt about it. Very interesting.” He nudged his companion, “Still, not sure that it’s seemly to carry on with our guessing game. Might save it for later.”

  Tarkyn leant back against the wall of the cave and waved a hand, “No. Please continue, if you would like to. It is most entertaining.”

  “I think I agree with them that it is not seemly, my lord,” said Danton repressively.

  “And yet, Danton,” Tarkyn spoke lightly but there was no mistaking the underlying edge, “I think I would rather hear whatever they conjecture, than leave them to reach their conclusions behind my back.”

  Bean and String l
ooked at each other and a small nod passed between them. “Your Highness,” said Bean, speaking for them both, “What we said before still holds true. That you are here with only Lord Danton as your retinue is none of our business. Neither are the friends you choose to keep. We keep well away from Tormadell and the affairs of the realm.”

  String turned the rabbits over and prodded one of them with his hunting knife. Then he looked up and met the prince’s amber eyes, “You do not need to hear our conjecture to satisfy yourself that you are safe. We are no threat to you.”

  Bean shrugged, “I can see why you’re worried, though. Price on your head, branded a rogue sorcerer, exiled by your brothers,” he said casually. “They really are a pair of bastards, those two.”

  Danton threw his shield up around Tarkyn and himself, “You lied to us,” he hissed, “You’ve known all along who we are.”

  Bean waved his hand disparagingly, “Oh, put your shield away, you feisty lad! I just told you; we’re not planning to hurt you.” He nodded at the prince, “Mind you, not sure that we could, even if we wanted to, but that’s bye the bye.” He began to rummage through his rucksack, “Go on, String. You explain while I get a plate out.”

  String settled himself with his hands linked loosely across his knees, “Your Highness, you brought the idea of a rogue sorcerer into the conversation, not us. Pretty rare things, rogues. Not something you’d normally think of. Obviously you’re on the run. So, I would say you’ve been branded a rogue.” He picked up a stick and stirred the coals under the rabbits, “From your little display earlier, we have already established that you are not a rogue.”

  Bean picked up the thread, “So that can only mean you’ve been set up.” He gave a slow smile, “You know, it was probably a tactical error on your part to win that tournament. We are talking pathalogically jealous brothers here.” He shrugged, “Still, what is obvious to everyone else isn’t always obvious to those involved. Anyway, if you’re on the run as a rogue, you’re bound to have a price on your head and the only person who could sanction a price on your head would be the King.” He swept his hand in a flourish and bowed from where he was sitting. “So you see, we do not need to have known who you were earlier, at all.”