by Jenny Ealey
Tarkyn sighed and retired into the gloom of the derelict warehouse to sit dispiritedly against a wall. He pulled his hood up and tried to doze, knowing he had slept little last night and would have to travel again tonight. But he was too much on edge and every slight sound from outside jerked him back to wakefulness. After a while, he gave up and renewed his prowling.
Finally, when the sun was near its zenith, the taller man slipped quietly into the warehouse. He gestured for Tarkyn to be quiet and to follow him to a dark recess at the rear of the building. He shrugged a heavy bag off his shoulder before bowing briefly to the prince.
“Where have you been?” hissed Tarkyn. “And where are the others?”
“Your Highness, soldiers are everywhere. We had to travel far across town in case someone wondered where we got your pin. Then we split up and are all coming back by different routes making sure we’re not followed. Your life wouldn’t be worth a small tasty sausage out there at the moment.” He glanced sympathetically at the prince. “You’re worth just as much dead as alive to the king, and most people want you dead.”
Although he had known this would happen, still Tarkyn’s stomach knotted. “And how much is the reward?” he managed to ask casually.
The taller man’s mouth quirked in a half smile, “I don’t rightly know, Sire. Town criers came through earlier this morning and they’ll be posting up notices this afternoon. But rumours are flying so hard and fast that it’s difficult to tell what the town criers actually said.”
“What is your name?” Tarkyn, suddenly aware of this man as more than just one member of a thieving family.
“Tomas, Sire.”
“And so, Tomas, were you tempted?”
“Tempted? No Sire. Honour amongst thieves, so to speak. Not that you’re a thief, Your Highness – I didn’t mean that. But you are firmly on the wrong side of the law now, just as we are, and under our protection. Besides,” Tomas gave an embarrassed shrug, “the chance even to meet you, let alone talk to you and do you a service is beyond my wildest dreams. In my whole lifetime, I have never come within a hundred yards of anyone in your family and even then it was only a glimpse at a parade.”
Tarkyn was saved from responding to this by the advent of Morayne followed at discrete intervals by the rest of the family. The grandmother was last to arrive. Like the others, she dropped a heavy bag on the floor before bowing to Tarkyn. “Your Highness, there are soldiers at the top of the road conducting a door to door search. We must hide you.” In a complete change of voice, she said sharply, “Come on you lot! We’ll have to go down in the cellar. Move that stone.”
Then, to Tarkyn’s intense interest, the five of them trained their variously coloured beams of magic on a large stone block, slowly pushing it sideways. When he realised what they were doing, he joined his bronze beam to theirs. Immediately, the stone moved noticeably more easily.
“It’s true, innit?” observed the shorter man, “His magic is strong.”
Tomas snorted, “Of course it is. He won the tournament, didn’t he?”
“Nothing to do with it,” snapped the grandmother. “The whole Royal Family’s magic has been strong for generations. Well known.”
“I am right here,” said Tarkyn, with a clear note of annoyance, “should you wish to speak to me rather than about me.”
Tomas flashed him a smile, as he continued to train his orange beam on the slowly moving stone. “We’re used to talking about you, not to you, Your Highness. It’s hard to change the habits of a lifetime.”
A reluctant, answering smile broke through the prince’s reserves as he remembered their previous conversation. “Make the most of it, Tomas. Talk to me while you can.” A shout and the sound of running feet further up the road made Tarkyn start in alarm. “Where do you want this blasted stone?” he demanded.
“Another foot should do it.”
Tarkyn focused and sent a pulse of power at the heavy stone, thrusting it away from him the required distance along the floor. A trap door now came into sight that had been hidden beneath it. There was a rope attached to the middle of the underside of the stone that fed along a narrow channel cut into the wood of the trapdoor and from there down a hole into the cavity below.
The shorter man drew up the trapdoor and as they all clattered down the ladder, Tomas explained, “There’s a slight slope to the floor. That’s why it’s so hard to push the stone away. But we can pull the stone back over the trap door from within the cellar. All that is left are a few rub marks. And we make sure there are rub marks beside many of the fallen rocks so that this one doesn’t stand out. It’s worked so far.”
“Hmph. Very ingenious. I saw those marks while I was pacing around waiting for you. I vaguely wondered what they were but to be honest with you, my powers of concentration aren’t up to much at the moment.”
As soon as all people and bags were at the bottom of the ladder, the trapdoor was closed behind them and the two men pulled hard on the rope until it was hanging straight down and they knew that the stone was back in place. It was pitch dark in the cellar.
A thought suddenly occurred to the prince. “And how do we get back out of the trapdoor? How do you move that stone away from down here?”
The shorter man chuckled in the dark. “We don’t, Your Highness. We can’t move the stone from down here.”
Something in the quality of the silence that followed, let them know that Tarkyn did not like being toyed with. After waiting in vain for him to ask the obvious question, the voice continued, this time more carefully courteous, “There is a series of small rooms beyond this one, Your Highness, and from the last of them, a small grating leads down onto the mudflats of the river. Only Morayne and Charkon are small enough to climb through the gap. So, later, when all is clear, they will go back up and release us.”
“But surely that stone is too heavy for them to move on their own?”
“It just takes longer to move, Sire,” came Morayne’s voice, “with only two lots of magic to move it. But we can do it.”
“And do we intend to sit in pitch darkness all afternoon?”
“No, Sire. But it is not safe to strike a light in here in case any glimmer of it shines up through the cracks. If you will allow us, we will guide you through into the next room and there we can be less cautious.”
“Thank you. I do not think I could endure hours of this.” But when a hand landed gently on his back to guide him, he still flinched at the unaccustomed touch.
Ignoring his reaction, Tomas said from beside him, “This way, Your Highness. Just be warned. There is step upwards in a minute,” as he used his hand to guide the prince through a doorway into the next room.
Suddenly, they heard shouting and the sounds of heavy boots on the wooden flooring above them. Tarkyn and the thieves froze where they were. As the footsteps milled around straight above them, Tarkyn felt the thief ’s hand on his back give him a reassuring pat. Once he had quelled his initial affront at Tomas’ over-familiarity, Tarkyn found the gesture surprisingly comforting.
After a few fraught minutes, as the footsteps gradually diminished and the thieves and Tarkyn resumed their manoeuvres in the dark into the adjoining room. Once the door had closed behind them, Tarkyn waited for a light to appear but instead he heard the sound of scrabbling and quiet cursing. With a slight smile, he intoned, Lumaya, and a soft ball of light appeared in his hand. “Will this help?”
“Oh, thanks very much, Sire,” said the shorter man. “You’re pretty handy with your magic, aren’t you? Ah, here we are. I couldn’t find the flint in the dark. It must have been knocked off the shelf as we came through.”
Once the lamp was lit, there was a moment of awkwardness while the family realised that the only place to sit was on the floor. And none of them could sit down while the prince stood. In a flash of inspiration, Charkon emptied the contents of his bag and lay it out on the floor, “Perhaps you would like to sit here, Your Highness. Then your clothes will not get too dirty.”
“Thank you,” said Tarkyn gravely, not actually as concerned as they feared. “Perhaps you would all like to be seated too, if we have a long wait ahead of us.”
Not being totally clear on court etiquette, each of them gave a short bow before sitting down on the ground around him.
“And now, Your Highness,” the old grandmother’s eyes were shining with excitement as she began to unpack her bag, “we have brought food and drink such as you have never seen before.”
“Actually, old Ma,” said Tomas dryly, “he probably has. It’s us who haven’t.”
The grandmother waved away his objection as she produced a large square of bleached linen. “And look! I even bought a cloth to put it all on.”
From every bag came pies, meats, fruit, breads and cakes, yellow butter and soft white cheeses. Bottles of wine, ale, milk and fruit juice were distributed around the little room and then, when all was set before them, the family heaved a collective sigh of contentment and sat back, looking expectantly at the prince.
Tarkyn smiled, “It is indeed a magnificent spread. Shall we?”
With permission granted, the feasting began. There were no plates or cutlery. Everyone used their knives to cut portions or spread butter on hunks of bread and held their food in their fingers.
When the first frenzy had passed, and they were sitting around drinking and picking occasionally at the remnants, the family turned their attention to other items in their bags. Under the grandmother’s strict directions, they had all been allowed to buy one personal item each on their way back, partly for the joy of it and partly to give themselves time to check that they weren’t being followed. These items were now paraded before Tarkyn and each other. The boy had a fine new pair of boots and the girl had bought a warm, hand-woven shawl. Tomas and Gillis had bought shirts and the old grandmother held up a smart black jacket that contrasted noticeably with the worn material of her present garb.
There was a lull after this and Tarkyn spotted members of the family exchanging surreptitious glances as they reached for a bottle or more food. He had a fair idea that they were waiting for him to ask for his money but he refused to accommodate them. He was determined that he would not show the slightest doubt in their honour.
Eventually, the grandmother gave a deep sigh and shook her head, smiling, “Oh, Your Highness, your patience and courtesy are beyond belief.”
“I am not renowned for my patience actually,” said Tarkyn dryly, “only in some situations.”
From one of the bags that was still fuller than the others, she produced a well-filled rucksack. She handed it to Tarkyn saying, “This is from all of us. It is a sturdier, more practical bag than the one you carry and we have filled it with supplies for your journey. Your money is in an inside pocket.”
A rush of feeling threatened his equanimity as he realised that once he left them, he would encounter no one well disposed towards him. He swallowed before replying, “Thank you. I did not expect such kindness.”
“You have a hard road ahead of you, my lord,” said Tomas. “We have just done what we could to ease your passage.”
n eerie silver glow on the eastern horizon signalled the imminent rise of the moon as Tarkyn and the family of thieves parted company on the edge of town. In the gloom of the pre-moon night, Tarkyn could just make out the track ahead skirting the cornfields close to the bank of the river.
Tomas’s last words to him were, “And Sire, at your first opportunity you should find somewhere safe to hide the rest of your valuables.” The thief smiled at Tarkyn’s look of surprise. “You are not good at dissembling, my lord. It was obvious you had more in your pocket than your diamond pin. Don’t keep it all on you. If you get rolled, you don’t want to lose everything.” He bowed, “It was a privilege to spend this time with you, my lord. We will never forget it. Fare well.”
“Fare you well also. I, too, will not forget you,” Tarkyn replied as, with a final wave, he hitched his rucksack and strode resolutely into his future.
The thieves had offered to procure a horse for him but after some discussion, he and they had felt that he would be more obvious mounted and would be forced to keep more to the roads. By foot, he would be slower but better able to hide. Since he had no particular destination, his speed of travel was less important than remaining hidden.
Tarkyn walked steadily through the night, keeping the river on his left as Gillis had suggested. But the trouble with following the river was that its waters attracted home dwellers and provided transport for barges and sailboats. Several times, he had to detour though the fields to avoid homesteads and twice he came around a bend in the river to be confronted by a small river port, complete with garrisoned soldiers.
The second time, he walked within ten feet of two sentries. The first he knew of them was a tense voice to his right, asking, “Did you hear that? Hoy! Is anybody there? Stand and show yourself.”
Tarkyn froze and edged slowly back into the shadow of the thicket from which he had just emerged. Just as he heard the sentry start towards him to investigate, a small deer brushed past and crashed its way through the undergrowth, out into the open in the direction of the sentry. As the sentry started in surprise, the deer zig-zagged past him, back into the cover of the trees and out of sight.
Another voice laughed, “Huh. So much for your prowler.”
Soon after this, the moon deserted him, hiding behind a heavy bank of clouds that came in from the south. He couldn’t use his lumaya spell to light his way for fear of drawing attention to himself. So he walked slowly, straining his eyes to see where the path led him and occasionally tripping over unseen tree roots or rises in the path. After a couple of hours of excruciating concentration, he gave up and found a log to sit against near the riverbank.
As soon as he sat down, the clouds whimsically disappeared, revealing a moonlit stretch of water spread before him. He glanced around, seeing the path ahead winding off to his right, clearly visible at last. With a wry smile, he decided to take a chance on the clouds staying away and settled down to investigate the contents of the rucksack. With a piece of game pie in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other, he looked out over the dark waters of the river and finally let his mind drift unfettered over the events of the last two days.
He still felt breathless with shock every time he thought of his brothers’ betrayal. Being straightforward himself, Tarkyn had never come to terms with duplicity in others. And if his brothers could discard him like that, what about his friends? Were any of them true to him or had they just been using him for their own ends? He shook his head as he thought about it. He had no idea.
Then his mind turned to the guardsmen. How quickly their lifelong respect for him had turned to enmity, as the king willed it. He remembered the hatred and dawning fear in their eyes as their attempts to hurt, kill or capture him had been frustrated by his shield.
Tarkyn looked down at the moonlight glinting on his signet ring, carved amber embedded in bronze. It had been his father’s ring, fashioned for him to blend his eye colour and the colour of his magic. When he was younger, Tarkyn had been a reflection of the late king’s colouring but in the eleven years since he had died, Tarkyn had carried the black hair, the amber eyes and bronze magic alone. Staring down at the ring his father had left him, his resolve hardened. Whatever happened to him, he would not forsake his heritage. He hoped his father would have understood that Tarkyn had not betrayed the Tamadil line by refusing to bow to Kosar’s decree, but that a Tamadil monarch had betrayed him.
He gave his head a slight shake and took another bite of pie, stamping firmly down on the feelings that threatened to well up. There was no point in dwelling on them. He had survived and escaped. That was the best he could ask for. These people were in his past. Now he must look to his future.
Tarkyn studied the dull gold of lamplight in a cottage window on the other side of the river and wondered what life was like for the poor farmers in that cottage, as they ate their evening meal
and prepared for bed. As he watched, a man came out of the side door of the cottage and the leashed dogs sent up a chorus of welcome as he crossed to a shed and disappeared from sight.
Tarkyn took another bite of pie and tried to envisage his own future. But try as he might, nothing came to him. Everything he was and everything he knew lay in ruins behind him. He spent another few minutes while he finished his food, trying to come to terms with the black void ahead of him. He was not cast down by it. It was his past, not his future that upset him. In fact, there was a spark of excitement in him at the prospect of the complete unknown that lay before him.
Tarkyn stood up, brushed his hands and stowed the rest of the ale in his pack.
“Well, I know I am going away from Tormadell and I think I must also leave this river. It is too populated,” he said to himself. “Other than that, I will let my future come to me. Each time I reach a fork in the road, I will follow the road I like the look of, the road with heart. And I will let my heart lead me into my future.” This idea was so absurdly whimsical that it brought a smile to his lips, but at least it gave him a basis for deciding on his route.
Before he left the river’s course, mindful of Tomas’ advice, he wanted to find somewhere to hide the bulk of his valuables. Just after dawn, the path narrowed and became difficult to negotiate, as it wound its way over and around tumbled rocks at the side of a narrow pass. Ahead, Tarkyn could see the path disappearing up into the damp undergrowth beside a series of waterfalls. Spray filled the air and obscured his views of immense cliffs that towered on either side of the waterfalls as the valley narrowed to a deep ravine. In those cliffs, he decided, he would find his hiding place.
It took him over an hour of solid climbing to reach the top of the cataract. The path he had been following ended there. Before him, the river filled the ravine from cliff to cliff. Tarkyn’s only choices were to turn back or to climb. He studied the cliff face on his right, looking for some likely cranny in which to hide his leather bag. Then, a little distance along the right hand cliff, a hundred feet up but nowhere near the top, he spotted an eagle’s nest perched on a small ledge. Sorcerers respected eagles, both for their strength and beauty; no one would dream of attempting to invade their nests. If Tarkyn could secrete his valuables there, no one would find them.