Bronze Magic (Book 1) Read online

  Waterstone stared off into the fire. “There were about two hundred of us at your welcoming feast. Usually we work together in groups of somewhere between forty and eighty, depending on what we are doing.”

  Tarkyn did a quick calculation. “So there must be three or four other groups.”

  The woodman kept his eyes firmly on the fire, “Mm. Yes. Something like that.”

  For the first time since Tarkyn had known him, Waterstone was being evasive. The prince didn’t challenge him but frowned in thought trying to work out what the woodman was avoiding telling him. What is most important to Waterstone?… Sparrow? Tarkyn looked down at her and stroked her hair again. Yes, but not relevant to this conversation.He glanced sideways at the woodman’s profile. Usually, Waterstone caught his eye but this time he kept his gaze steadfastly forward. Tarkyn thought back over the conversation, word for word. Two hundred on the first night but somehow my calculations aren’t right and Waterstone doesn’t want to tell me what’s wrong with them. What does he care about so much that he won’t be straight with me? Suddenly he knew.

  “How many woodfolk were present when my father made them swear the oath?” asked the prince slowly.

  Finally, Waterstone dragged his eyes away from the fire to face him. “About one hundred and sixty.”

  “Oh no!” breathed the prince. “That means I forced forty more woodfolk to swear the oath who had avoided it before. Blast it! I wish I had known.” He looked at Waterstone. “Not you though. You were there the first time, weren’t you?”

  Waterstone nodded and looked morosely back into the fire.

  “Where’s Stormaway?” asked Tarkyn suddenly.

  The woodman glanced around the firesite and spotted the wizard on the other side of the clearing. “Over there,” he replied shortly.

  “Good.” He returned his attention to the woodman and regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You’re struggling, aren’t you?” asked Tarkyn. Then he shrugged, “Well, maybe you’re not. Maybe your loyalties are totally clear to you. Maybe I’m just hoping you’re struggling.”

  “Of course I’m bloody struggling,” snapped Waterstone. “I’m always bloody struggling around you. If it’s not for one reason, it’s for another.”

  “I know. I think we both agree I’m hard work.” Tarkyn seemed completely unmoved by the woodman’s outburst. He gave a crooked smile. “Let me put you out of your misery and save you having to betray, or consider betraying, your fellow woodfolk. There are many more woodfolk, aren’t there, than I have ever met?”

  Waterstone let out a long breath and, after a moment, nodded. “Does Stormaway know this?” asked the prince.

  The woodman’s eyes flickered in alarm. “No.”

  Now Tarkyn did become annoyed, “Oh Stars above, Waterstone, don’t look like that! Have you learnt nothing about me in the time you’ve known me?”

  Waterstone had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Knee jerk reaction.”

  “Let us agree to keep Stormaway out of this. If I ever meet with these other woodfolk, I’ll do it on my own terms, not his.” Tarkyn was struggling to keep his unruly feelings in check. He glanced sideways at Waterstone and said, “I’m sorry. Can you take Sparrow? I can’t sit here any longer. I need some time on my own to think.”

  When Sparrow had been safely transferred over into Waterstone’s arms, Tarkyn stood up and stretched, forcing himself not to rush. “When’s this food coming?” he asked irascibly.

  “Here you are,” said Thunder Storm, appearing at just the right moment and handing him a bowl full of rich stew.

  “Wolf?”

  Thunder Storm beamed, “Nothing but the best.”

  Tarkyn managed to return his smile and thank him. Then he took his stew and headed off into the quiet of the trees. Once he was beyond the circle of firelight, the reaction set in. His mind was overwhelmed with trying to re-think every incident and conversation and agreement in view of this new information. He blundered through the woods, barely aware of where he was going until he found a comfortable tree to prop himself against that was shielded from view and surrounded by soft moss. He sat down and concentrated on eating his meal to still his raging thoughts. When he had finished, he leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, closed his eyes and began to re-assess everything.

  All those times I thought they were mind talking with the group of woodfolk I had met, they had actually been talking to many more. Every one of the woodfolk around me, probably even Sparrow, knew that there were other woodfolk that I hadn’t been told about. I am in the middle of a huge tacit conspiracy against me. And what would happen if I met one of the woodfolk not bound by the oath? These people would have all the resentment but none of the restrictions provided by the oath. Would they kill me as an outsider to protect the secret of their existence? Would they kill me to rescue their kindred from the oath? Not if oathbound woodfolk were present because the threat to the forest’s wellbeing would guarantee my protection, but probably they would otherwise. And what difference does it make to these unknown woodfolk that I am this forest guardian of theirs? Would that stop them from attacking me?

  And what does this all mean for my relationship with the woodfolk I thought I knew and was beginning to trust? And where does it leave my friendship with Waterstone? Nowhere, was his immediate reaction. After a few minutes of further thought, he decided his immediate reaction was correct. How could Waterstone have been so confident about concealing this information when I scanned his memory? Obvious, really. He knew I wouldn’t know woodfolk well enough to notice if I saw different woodfolk in the memories from the ones I had met. As it turned out, the issue didn’t even arise.

  And the agreement I thought I had with the woodfolk here tonight - so much for sharing vital information. It slipped their minds, did it, that they were discussing everything I said with a whole host of other people I knew nothing about.

  A tidal wave of anger and desolation burst forth from the sorcerer and rolled off through the woods. Its passage was marked by ruffled feathers, grunts of discomfort from a passing badger, and starts of fright from various, completely innocent night creatures in the woods. As it reached the campsite, every waking person rocked back in their seats, their eyes widening in apprehension. But even though he was also swamped by the wave, Stormaway alone did not understand its cause.

  Twenty minutes later, unaware that his untamed feelings had once more betrayed him, Tarkyn walked out of the woods and sat down with an appearance of equanimity at the firesite.

  “So,” he said urbanely, “As I remember it, I interrupted the discussion we were having about the owl’s image of the hunters. I think the main issue, as far as I can understand it, seems to centre around the fact that somehow they seem to know that woodfolk exist and that they are looking specifically for you. I am sure that will be concerning you. Any ideas how that may have happened?”

  A prolonged, strained silence greeted the prince’s words. Stormaway frowned at the lack of reaction, “Perhaps everyone is too tired to discuss it tonight. Maybe we’ll do better after a good night’s rest.”

  The prince produced a courtly smile. “I’m sure you’re right. I should have realised everyone would be too tired this evening. Have shelters been constructed or are we sleeping outside tonight?”

  “Of course shelters are ready,” growled Stormaway, now becoming seriously unnerved by the silence of the woodfolk. “Yours is over there.”

  The prince raised his eyebrows. “Is it? Thank you to whoever prepared my shelter when you are clearly still so exhausted. Well, I will bid you goodnight. To be frank, the conversation at the moment is less than stimulating. I will see you all in the morning.” So saying, Tarkyn rose to his feet and left the stunned woodfolk to the rest of their evening.

  There was no way that Tarkyn was going to be able to sleep. He was wound up like a taut bow, rage simmering just below the surface. He had tried, successfully he thought, to maintain a front of friendly courtesy but the ef
fort had been extreme. He couldn’t possibly keep it up for long, certainly not day after day for the rest of his life. He tossed and turned, trying to find a way out.

  I can’t just leave them, much as I want to. I have sworn that blasted oath to them. Their fate is my fate. Their cause is mine. What a bloody one way street that is, he thought bitterly. But I can’t stay. I just cannot do it.

  Inspiration struck him in the early hours of the morning. He rose quietly and crept away from the campsite. Spotting the lookout just before the lookout spotted him, he muttered “Shturrum!” without any compunction. Tarkyn caught Grass Wind as she fell paralysed from the tree. “When I release this spell, I forbid you to let anyone know I’m gone, at least until you are directly asked. Is that clear?” The prince did not waste time on courtesy. “Do not try to follow me and do not try to dissuade me. Do you understand?” He released the spell.

  “My lord,” whispered Grass Wind, “Take care. My thoughts will be with you.”

  Tarkyn recoiled as if bitten. He shook his head to clear it, unable to reconcile her intended kindness with his knowledge of her duplicity. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the woods. Once he was beyond the scope of the other lookouts, he levitated himself and travelled above the forest so that he couldn’t be tracked by anyone wishing to follow him. The moon shone intermittently between scudding grey clouds. The sharp autumn wind was stronger and colder without the trees to provide shelter from it.

  When he was an hour away from the campsite, he returned to the forest floor and sat with his back against a tree while he sent out his mind to find the tawny owl he knew. He pictured the occasion under the pine when he had first met the owl, then sent a request for it to make contact. After a short wait, he found his mind scanning the forest floor looking for rodents. The sorcerer sent an image of the woodfolk he knew with him shaking his head then a vaguer image of woodfolk with a query. It wasn’t very clear as communication went but it was the best he could think of. Tarkyn’s mind took off and flew low through the forest until it came to a firesite he had never seen before. Tarkyn sent a message indicating himself, then the place. A sense of ruffling feathers came to him and he realised that the owl was not keen to come and fetch him. The sorcerer persevered with his request and eventually the owl conceded. Tarkyn sent a wave of gratitude.

  A good half hour passed before the owl arrived. He alighted in the branch above Tarkyn and sat glaring down at him, ruffling his feathers, clearly in a huff. Tarkyn wished he had some titbits of wolf to give him. The owl sank his head down into his shoulders and closed his eyes. Tarkyn waited patiently. After a short nap, the owl blinked, shook himself and took off without further warning. The sorcerer scrambled to his feet and levitated himself to follow. Half an hour later, as they drew near their destination, Tarkyn sent the owl a query about lookouts. In response, the owl took them both above the height of the trees, curved around and dipped slightly above and behind a still figure positioned high in a horse chestnut tree. Tarkyn sent out his thanks to the owl and began his descent behind the lookout into the middle of the firesite.

  o one was yet stirring. The sorcerer debated with himself about whether to erect his shield. It would be safer but it would also be regarded as a sign of hostility. On balance, he decided to take his chances unprotected, and settled himself to wait beside the cold remains of their last night’s fire, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself to fend off the dank chill of pre-dawn.

  As the first pale rays of the sun filtered through the glowing golden autumn leaves, the first woodman emerged. The man was middle aged and scruffy after a night’s sleep. He wandered about collecting sticks and branches to get the fire started. As he brought them over to the firesite, he finally noticed Tarkyn sitting there, waiting. The woodman dropped the sticks with a loud clatter. His eyes went briefly out of focus and within seconds the clearing had filled with belligerent, wary woodfolk; many with raised bows in their hands, arrows notched. Through all of this, Tarkyn didn’t move a muscle. When everyone had gathered around him, he stood up very slowly and took his hands slowly out from within his cloak.

  “Who are you?” demanded a young woodman rudely.

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “But surely you know.” He let his amber eyes travel around them all and sketched a shallow bow. “I am Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor and of these forests, also known as guardian of the forest.”

  “And also known as rogue sorcerer,” added the belligerent youth.

  The prince grimaced, “Yes. I had forgotten that one.”

  “We are under no obligation to you,” growled the first man he had seen. There was a tiny pause, “I am Falling Branch and we people are known as the forestals.”

  “I am aware that you are under no obligation to me, Falling Branch.”

  “Who betrayed us?”

  “No one has betrayed you. Waterstone made a slightly evasive reply to one of my questions that alerted me to your existence.” The prince drew himself up. “They betrayed my trust but they have not betrayed yours. I found my own way here,” he added.

  “So you have come to force us into taking your oath, have you?”

  Tarkyn looked around at them all with a slight smile. “And how would I do that?”

  The woodfolk looked at each other then a woodwoman replied, “With your sorcery. I am Sun Shower”

  The sorcerer frowned, “I did not create the sorcery of the oath.” “We have heard what you did to the other woodfolk,” she persisted. Tarkyn crossed his arms. “And have you heard that I hurt anyone?” There were reluctant shakes of heads.

  “I don’t think I could force you into taking that oath” said the sorcerer thoughtfully, “but I wouldn’t want to, even if I could.”

  Murmurs of surprise and disbelief emerged from the crowd.

  “What do you want with us then, that you come sneaking into our firesite like a thief in the night?” demanded Falling Branch.

  The prince wrinkled his nose in distaste, “Hardly like a thief. A thief would not wait quietly for you all to get up and speak with him.” He wrapped his cloak back around himself and shivered. “No. I have come here to allow you the opportunity to kill me if you must, or to come to some sort of working arrangement with me, otherwise.” He looked around calmly at the boggling faces. “One of the first things Autumn Leaves said to me was that anyone who saw the woodfolk did not leave the forest alive. That group of woodfolk has not been able to kill me because of the oath. But you people have no such impediment. I have come here alone so no oathbound woodfolk is forced to protect me.” He swung his arms wide, flinging his cloak open. “So here I am. Do with me as you will.”

  He saw them go out of focus. “Might I suggest that you make your own decisions? If you confer with the oathbound woodfolk, they will have to try to persuade you to spare me. So, for more honest opinions, ask the rest of you.”

  Sun Shower looked at him strangely, “Do you want to die?”

  The prince shrugged. “Frankly, at this stage in my life, that’s a rather moot point. I don’t think I care very much one way or the other.”

  “Why shouldn’t we kill you?”

  Tarkyn smiled faintly. “Two reasons. Firstly, if I am truly a guardian of the forest, you will need me to protect you from whatever danger threatens you. Secondly, there may be repercussions to the forest for the oathbound woodfolk failing to protect me – I hope not. I tried to make it virtually impossible for them to protect me in order to minimise that risk.”

  “And why do you think we would kill you?”

  “Again two reasons.” The prince’s voice was completely dispassionate. “Firstly because I’m an outsider who has seen you woodfolk and secondly, and I would have thought more importantly, to release your fellow woodfolk from the oath.”

  Falling Branch raised his eyebrows. “You’re a pretty cool customer. You’re being remarkably forthright for someone in your position.”

  Tarkyn shook his head. “Not really. You have to r
emember I put myself in this position. There’s no point in entering the lion’s den and then trying to wriggle back out of it. If I live long enough for you to get to know me, you will learn that I am, as Waterstone puts it, blindingly honest.” Just mentioning Waterstone made Tarkyn’s stomach turn over.

  “Can you prove that you’re a guardian of the forest?” demanded the belligerent young man.

  “I beg your pardon,” said the prince urbanely, “I don’t believe I know your name.”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  The prince looked around enquiringly. “Is this young man special in some way? Am I mistaken in thinking it is common courtesy for woodfolk to give their name the first time they speak to someone new?”

  Falling Branch cleared his throat. “No. That is correct.”

  “I see,” said the prince and waited.

  As the silence threatened to become awkward, the young man finally rolled his eyes and said grudgingly, “I am Rainstorm.”

  As though nothing untoward had passed between them, Tarkyn said mildly, “You would probably know better than I, Rainstorm, what characteristics you would expect in a forest guardian. I presume you have been sent images by the other woodfolk. What further proof do you require?”

  The young woodman seemed startled at being taken seriously. He frowned as he thought. “I don’t know. I just want to see it for myself. Hmm, I suppose the legends talk of a mystical being that comes among us” He looked Tarkyn up and down. “Well, your eyes are a bit strange and your hair’s very long and dark, but other than that you don’t look very mystical to me.”

  The sorcerer smiled approvingly, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  The young man tilted his head to one side as he considered, “You’re supposed to have great magical powers…”

  “Yes. Well, I am a sorcerer and a powerful one at that, so I more or less qualify on that front.”

  “Well, go on then. Show us,” demanded Rainstorm.

  “What would you like to see?”

  “I dunno. You’re the sorcerer, not me.”