Bronze Magic (Book 1) Page 18

  Tarkyn broke contact. “On my oath, Waterstone! You’re more calculating than I am.”

  The woodsman rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I would say analytical, not calculating. I was, after all, trying to work out what the future held for us all.” His voice sounded tired and despondent.

  The prince frowned in concern. “Are you all right? Do you want to continue at another time?”

  Again Waterstone stared at him then dropped his eyes. He sighed. “No. I couldn’t do this again. Not like this, being judged. It’s now or never. I just hope you don’t end up trusting me but disliking me.” He took a long pull on his wine with a hand that trembled, then closed his eyes to gather his resources. When he was ready, he opened them and looked once more at Tarkyn.

  Tarkyn thought hard. He realised that more than one extra memory might push the woodman too far. He would like to know Waterstone’s reaction to his display of temper when he had frozen the woodfolk and threatened them all but he decided on balance that he would gain more from seeing the woodman’s memory of the time when Tarkyn was injured.

  “Very well, one more only. Your memories of being with me from when I translocated up into the oak tree.”

  There is a sound like rushing air above us. We look up and see Prince Tarkyn suddenly appear way up in the boughs of the tree. My stomach lurches with horror knowing that he will fall and there is nothing we can do to prevent it. He hits branches on the way down with a series of sickening thuds. I cannot imagine that he will survive. I fear for his survival but even more for what his death will mean to the forest. When he lands, he is deathly pale and barely breathing. I cut his bonds and organise a litter. Summer Rain attends him. She gently feels around his chest and places some strapping around his side. She manipulates his shoulder back into place and straps it.It is probably just as well that he is not conscious for this part. Summer Rain leaves instructions for his care and moves on to attend to the others who have been wounded by his fall. There is a delay in moving the prince while a larger shelter is constructed to house him. We are all anxious and realise that we have been forced to taken on a bigger responsibility than we had expected.

  Many memories of coming to check on the prince and talking to people around him blur into one general theme. The predominant feeling moves from fear for the forest and the life of the prince, to compassion for his suffering.

  I watch him grimace with pain after he gags trying to eat and I sit with him as he thrashes around in the night, reliving horrors of bounty hunters and his arraignment before his brothers. I start talking to him to calm his distress. As he hovers in some twilight world between waking and sleeping, I gradually tell him everything about me and about the woodfolk. I feel I have let him into my world and trusted him with things I have needed to say but have never said to another. Then he awakens fully and the reality of who he is opens a yawning gap between us. I am jolted by his mistrust and realise that my imagined friendship with him is all in my mind and not in his.

  Suddenly, Tarkyn found himself back at the river at night. Waterstone had closed his eyes to break contact. Before Tarkyn could re-orient himself, Waterstone scrambled to his feet with an uncharacteristic lack of grace and disappeared into the trees. The prince was left sitting alone, shaken by the depth of feeling in Waterstone’s memory and wondering what to do next. He did not have long to wait.

  Twenty minutes later, Autumn Leaves came trundling down the track and plonked himself down near the prince. “Evening, Your Highness.”

  “Good evening,” replied Tarkyn uncertainly.

  Autumn Leaves stared earnestly at the sorcerer. “Now I know you’re a high and mighty sorcerer and you can burn me to a crisp or throw me about or whatever takes your fancy, but I’ll risk all that to protect my friends.”

  The sorcerer in question looked blankly at him and said faintly, “I applaud your courage.” When there was no further response, he asked, “Which of your friends needs protecting?” although he felt sure he knew the answer.

  The solid woodman eyed him belligerently. “You know perfectly well I mean Waterstone. I don’t know what spells you’ve magicked on him but he’s a total wreck. He looks, I don’t know, wounded, like a whipped cur…even though there’s not a mark on him that I can see. His hands are shaking so badly I had to pour the wine down his throat myself. So what do you have to say for yourself?”

  The sorcerer’s face had stiffened with shock. “Autumn Leaves, I promise you, I have not used my magic on him. It is his magic, not mine, that has led to this.”

  The woodman glared at the sorcerer scornfully. “I am surprised that you would try to dodge your responsibility for this. You must know we do not have any magic.”

  “Oh yes, you do,” Tarkyn gave a slight smile. “It’s just so natural to you that you don’t think of it as magic. You mind talk and use mindpower to control people and you can let people see your memories. I suspect you have other magic that helps you disappear into the woods but I’m not sure about that yet.”

  Autumn Leaves continued to stare at the sorcerer as he absorbed this information. “Hmph,” he said at last, “but none of this tells me what has happened to my friend.”

  Tarkyn hesitated. Somehow he felt he might be betraying Waterstone’s confidence if he told Autumn Leaves what had happened. He was beginning to think that Autumn Leaves would not approve of Waterstone’s actions. The prince was prepared to deal with Autumn Leave’s disapproval but he didn’t want to put Waterstone in that position, especially now.

  Tarkyn drew a deep breath, “If I tell you, I don’t want you to remonstrate with Waterstone for what he has chosen to do. You can say what you like to me but not to Waterstone unless we agree it together.” He paused, “Do I have your agreement?”

  Autumn Leaves narrowed his eyes as he considered his options, then nodded. “I can’t imagine that I would want to get angry with Waterstone anyway.”

  The prince kept his eyes on the woodman. “Waterstone allowed me to see some of his memories.”

  The woodman shrugged. “So? I’ve often done that to pass on information. I can’t see a problem with that.”

  “Waterstone allowed me to choose which memories. He gave me free rein to see whatever I asked for.”

  Autumn Leaves froze. The sorcerer could see him imagining what it would be like to have his memories unprotected by his own choice. He gave a low whistle. “For pity’s sake, I hope you at least negotiated it with him, gave him some kind of veto.”

  The prince shook his head, “No negotiation. Purely my decision.”

  Autumn Leaves blinked. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve been trawling his memory ever since those wolves were killed, are you?”

  Watching the anger gathering in the woodman’s eyes, Tarkyn winced inwardly as he nodded. “He wanted to prove to me that I could trust him.”

  The storm broke. Autumn Leaves did not rage as Waterstone would have done. Instead he slated the prince carefully with biting scorn. “So you have violated a man’s innermost privacy, cast aside the layers of protection that keep him strong, and safe against the world. And how long did you subject him to this flaying of his soul? Three hours? I can understand that you might need a gesture of good faith to earn your trust – but three hours? You either have no imagination or you’re an utter bastard or both.”

  The prince sat white-faced as the woodman slammed home to him what he had done. “Oh no! Oh, for pity’s sake,” he breathed as he bowed his head beneath his hands, “I think I’m both.” He lifted his head to look the woodman resolutely in the eye, “I knew he was finding it difficult. I suggested postponing but I never offered to finish it even when he started to worry that I wouldn’t like him.”

  Autumn Leaves snorted derisively. “I’m not surprised he was worried. Now you’ve seen parts of him that should never have been seen by anyone else.” He scowled at the prince. “I don’t much care whether he has earned your trust. Personally, I think the cost was way too high. But you h
ad better make sure you earn his trust.”

  Tarkyn looked away towards the river but its silver beauty brought him no comfort. “I fear I have already betrayed his trust by abusing the gift he offered me.” He put his forehead in his hands. “Oh Waterstone, I’m so sorry.” After a moment, he raised his head with an air of decision. “Can you send a message to him for me? I can only send feelings and images and I need to send him some words.”

  “I believe you said that we would agree together what is said to Waterstone?” Autumn Leaves raised his eyebrows. “I presume that still stands?”

  “Of course it does. I need you to help me repair this mess, Autumn Leaves. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just took a lot of convincing. But in my need to have someone to trust, I forgot to look after him.” He thought carefully how to phrase what he wanted to say. Although he hadn’t told Autumn Leaves, he felt sure that the very last part of the memories he had seen were the main cause of Waterstone’s distress. “Will you tell him that he has earned my trust beyond any doubt and that there is no aspect I saw that I disliked? He is welcome to the poor opinions he has had of me and they come as no surprise. – And tell him that, in my mind, he is one of the best, truest people I have ever known and I am proud to be his friend.” He cocked his head to one side. “And that I am sorry….Will you agree to send that? Will it help or should I just go and talk to him?”

  Autumn Leaves shook his head decisively. “He wouldn’t let you anywhere near him at the moment. He’s too raw. I will send your message as long as you really mean it and are not just saying it to make him feel better.”

  The prince stared at him. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t dream of saying something like that if I didn’t mean it. I could easily find something tactful but less emphatic to say if I needed to.”

  The woodman’s eyes lost focus for several seconds.

  “That took a while,” commented Tarkyn.

  “I replayed the whole conversation from where you said you needed my help right up to where you said you could think of something less emphatic to say.” The woodman smiled for the first time since he arrived. “Pictures and sound.”

  The sorcerer raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you could replay whole scenes. I thought you could only send events as they happened.”

  “No. You can send old memories too, if you want to. Helpful if someone needs directions to somewhere you have been before.”

  “I suppose so.” A silence fell. Then Tarkyn asked, “Do you think Waterstone will respond to the message?”

  The woodman shook his head. “I doubt it. Not tonight anyway. Give him time. He almost has to re-assemble himself, I’d say.” For a solid man, Autumn Leaves rose nimbly to his feet. “Anyway, I’d better go back and see how he is.” He gave a little smile. “Thank you for not burning me to a crisp.”

  The sorcerer waved a dismissive hand and returned a rueful smile. “A pleasure. Thank you for coming to sort it out with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  For a long while, Tarkyn sat there thinking through all that had happened that day; repairing the trees with the woodfolk, Stormaway’s arrival and disapproval, learning of his friends’ treachery, Waterstone’s sacrifice and now, Autumn Leaves intervention. He was glad Stormaway hadn’t seen the interaction with Autumn Leaves.

  These woodfolk weren’t used to being ruled. They had no ruling class of their own and no experience of royalty. Even with the threat of the oath and his power hanging over them, they still confronted him and let him know when they weren’t pleased. It wasn’t just Waterstone who showed his anger, as it turned out. He thought back and realised he had probably been too harsh with Thunder Storm. Passing judgement on the prince’s actions seemed to be as natural as breathing for all of them.

  They were courteous to him – when they weren’t angry with him, he added wryly – but when he thought about it, they were just as courteous to each other. The only real difference was the use of his title. They had given him a bigger shelter because of his size but it was not grander and he suspected that he had been waited on only because he was ill.

  Now Stormaway had blustered back in, throwing around expectations of both his and the woodfolk’s behaviour. Despite the justification that Stormaway had given for enquiring into activities at court, Tarkyn was fairly sure that the wizard’s main motivation had been to impress the woodfolk and set him, the prince, apart from them. That being the case, it had probably been a tactical error to speak about Andoran and Sargon since their treachery had tarnished the mystique of court life Stormaway was trying to build up.

  Tarkyn thought about the servants, the grand banquets and balls, the exquisite furnishings and clothes he had left behind. He thought about the ordinary everyday artisans and workers he had barely brushed up against and the nobles and courtiers who had been his constant companions. With a smile, he thought about his thieving family and wondered how they had spent the money.

  He remembered that he had told the woodfolk on the first night that he would make clear his expectations. In theory, the prince could demand that he should be treated with greater respect, be waited on hand and foot as he was used to. In theory, he could insist that the woodfolk lowered their eyes, bowed in his presence and performed all the obsequities that he had taken for granted in his past life. In reality, he knew he could not.

  On the other hand, although he did not dislike the unaccustomed familiarity of the woodfolk, the prince did not think he could ever accept simply being on equal terms with them, as they were with each other. And there were many tasks he had no intention of ever doing himself.

  In the dark, Tarkyn smiled wryly as he pulled himself stiffly to his feet. It was a little levelling to discover that, after all his discussion with Waterstone, in actual fact he liked and needed his power and would feel too vulnerable without it. Of course, it was his refusal to lose his magical powers that landed him here in the first place but now he had the added, greater power of the oath. Tarkyn was dismayed to realise that, even though the oath was so extreme in its consequences, he was not ready to lose the power it gave him. Without the oath, he knew the woodfolk, with a few possible exceptions, would almost certainly kill him now that he knew of their existence, particularly if he tried to leave. But it wasn’t that. With a mixed sense of shame and excitement, he knew that he liked the power for its own sake. After a lifetime of living in the shadow of his brothers or his father, for the first time he was the indisputable seat of ultimate power. Stars above! he thought, I hope Waterstone hasn’t overestimated me. As he walked stiffly back up the path to his shelter, it crossed his mind that there would be interesting days ahead as he strove to find a balance.

  abBA

  riving rain pounded on the roof of Tarkyn’s shelter all morning. At some point, a plate of bread and soft cheese accompanied by a jug of berry juice was thrust into his tent with a brief“Good Morning,”

  but no one came in. After four days of repairing trees, followed by the discovery of Andoran and Sargon’s duplicity and his run-in with Autumn Leaves, Tarkyn was quite happy to spend the morning in bed.

  When the rain passed, he lay listening to the birdsong around him until the gruff voice of the wizard sounded at the entrance to his shelter.

  “Come on, young Sire. You can’t lie abed all day. Rain’s stopped. Sun’s out...well, most of the time anyway.”

  Tarkyn grumbled to himself, but he was used to being ordered around by familiar retainers, whose lives revolved around his. As soon as he emerged from the bramble patch, Stormaway pounced on him. “I thought you might like to see some little concoctions I am experimenting with.”

  Rubbing his face, Tarkyn looked around at the glistening leaves, damp logs and mud underfoot. The air was lively with the chirruping of small birds, cheerful after the rain. The woodfolk were nowhere in sight.

  As he began to walk towards Stormaway, the wizard said, “Sire, if you wouldn’t mind, stand on stones as much as possible, especially after rain. It
reduces the amount of work required to hide your presence, if strangers should happen by.”

  The prince was grumpy at being woken up, so he snapped, “Stormway, I have a whole nation of people to look after my needs. I am sure they can find the time to disguise my footsteps. After all, I have made few demands on them so far and their service is casual, to say the least.” Nevertheless, from then on, he did try to minimise the trail he left behind him.

  Stormaway led him to an array of small bottles that he had laid out on a tree stump. “Now Sire, stand back a few feet and watch while I have a little dabble with these new potions I picked up on my last trip.”

  He spooned out a small quantity of bright yellow powder from a little packet onto a tiny dish. Then he unstoppered one of the bottles and poured a few drops of magenta liquid onto the powder. At first nothing happened. Then the powder began to fizz and a pungent smell wafted out from the dish.

  Tarkyn coughed and his eyes watered, “Ugh Stormaway. That’s vile. What’s it for?”

  Stormaway grinned, “I don’t know. I’m just playing. But I would say a larger quantity of that could be quite debilitating, wouldn’t you?” He produced a small tattered book and wrote furiously in it. When he had finished, he looked up, “Ready for another one?”

  This time, he mixed silver and white powders together before pouring a thick, light blue liquid over them. Nothing happened. This did not seem to perturb the wizard. He hummed to himself as he worked the powders and liquid into a thick paste. Then he rolled it into a small damp ball and placed it in the palm of his hand.

  “Ready, Your Highness?” With that, he threw it hard onto the ground.

  There was a blinding flash of light and a loud report.

  When the smoke cleared, Tarkyn found himself surrounded by woodfolk, facing the wizard with arrows drawn.