Bronze Magic (Book 1) Page 34

  If Raging Water expected this to wipe the smile off Tarkyn’s face, he was sadly mistaken.

  Tarkyn gave a crack of laughter. “No it’s not. Your sense of honour saved me. Nothing else. You didn’t confer a favour on me. You were forced into a corner by your own principles.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” exclaimed Raging Water, incensed.

  There was a fraught silence. Tarkyn became aware that everyone was watching their interchange. Tarkyn took a deep breath to control his immediate outrage and then spoke in a low calming voice, “I beg your pardon for offending you, Raging Water. However, whether you have sworn the oath or not, I am still a prince of the realm and a forest guardian. And I have the right to speak to whomever I like, however I like!” Seeing Raging Water’s face suffuse with anger, Tarkyn waved a placatory hand, “But I do not choose knowingly to offend or upset you… and so I offer you my apology.”

  Raging Water’s eyes narrowed as he considered the prince’s words. “You’re pretty precious about your status, aren’t you?” Gradually a little smile began to play around his mouth. “I accept your apology, young man. If you think you are that important, I suspect that in your eyes, you are making quite a concession.”

  “Cutting, Raging Water, very cutting.” Tarkyn shook his head, a smile on his face.“If I were merely vainglorious, I might take offence at your provocation…But as it is, I will simply assure you that although I am, as you so accurately point out, cognisant of my status, I have no wish to abuse my position.” He gave a shallow courtly bow. “And let me assure you that I respect your words and have taken them to heart.”

  Raging Water waved his hand irritably, “Oh for goodness sakes! Now he’s bowing. Someone take him away and feed him before he drives me to distraction.”

  Rainstorm appeared out of nowhere with a big grin on his face and dragged Tarkyn off to partake of their marvellous trout. When they were settled with a portion of their trout that had been baked slowly in the coals, Tarkyn asked, “And what are you looking so pleased about?”

  Rainstorm chortled, “You winding up Grandpa like that. Even I rarely make him as angry as all that.” He speared a piece of trout and waved it about as he talked. “It’s a very good sign, you know. He only gets mad at people he likes. He mutters behind the backs of people he has no respect for.”

  “He’s kind, isn’t he? Gruff but kind. My father was like that, from what I remember of him.”

  “Who? King Markazon?”

  Tarkyn nodded and said dryly, “Yes. The dreaded King Markazon,”

  “Hmm.” Rainstorm lapsed into silence as he picked his way carefully through the bones of the trout.

  Eventually Tarkyn could no longer contain himself and asked, “Hmm?”

  Rainstorm shrugged, “I was just thinking that your father and my grandfather are very alike, according to you, and yet their reputations and their places in history are so different.”

  “Not just according to Tarkyn.” Waterstone casually sat down next to Rainstorm with his own plate. “I worked with Markazon when he helped our people through the illness. Tarkyn’s right. He was tough but he was also kind in some circumstances.” He smiled disarmingly. “Very good trout, boys.”

  Tarkyn’s eyebrows flickered at the form of address but he gave Waterstone a genuine smile. “I’m very proud of it. It’s the first trout I have ever caught.”

  “We will make a woo… forester of you yet.” Waterstone grimaced at his faux pas.

  “Yes,” said Tarkyn heartily. “That’s what I’ll become. Not a forestal or a woodman, of course, but a forester. Good term, Waterstone. Perfect description for an outsider living in the woods.”

  “Ah sorry, Tarkyn.” Waterstone ran his hand across his eyes. “This is hard for all of us. You don’t have to pretend you’re all right, if you’re not. In fact, please don’t.”

  Tarkyn realised that Rainstorm had mysteriously disappeared. “He’s developing tact, that boy,” he muttered to himself. As he returned his attention to Waterstone, the need for revenge warred inside him against his understanding of the woodman’s predicament. As he remembered everything Waterstone had done for him, rationality won by a slim margin. “Autumn Leaves is a very good advocate. He champions your cause against me over and over again. He produced all sorts of hypothetical arguments but in the end, all he ever needed to say was that you were under oath. I know you are people of honour and that you could not break your avowed commitment to your people.” He gave a little shrug, “So. There it is. The beginning and the end of it. Nothing else needs to be said.”

  Waterstone looked sideways at the prince, trying to gauge the innuendo beneath the words. “Yes, it does.”

  “No,” said Tarkyn firmly. “I accept that your friendship is genuine but also that it has limitations. And you and I will have to live with that, just as we live with so much about the oath that is distasteful.” He glanced briefly at Waterstone before looking away. “Obviously, from now on, we will both be aware of the distance in our relationship whereas before, only you were.”

  Waterstone threw his plate down with a clatter. “No Tarkyn. It was not like that.”

  Tarkyn looked at his friend with some sympathy. “Yes it was, Waterstone. You just assumed that woodfolk business was exclusively between you people. And you were right. It was and still is. I will not insist on intruding. When you want my assistance as forest guardian, no doubt you will decide among yourselves what I need to know. Hopefully, you will not inadvertently exclude me from any vital information.”

  “That sounds very lonely, Tarkyn.”

  Tarkyn bit his lip. After a few moments he said, “For a woodman, used to sharing every thought, that may be lonely. But I was brought up to stand apart. For a while, I nearly escaped my heritage. But it was an illusion, and now my heritage has come back to haunt me.” He gave a wistful smile, “We are what we are, Waterstone. You are a woodman and I am an exiled sorcerer prince, an outsider among you, made more welcome than I could have dared to hope.”

  Waterstone grimaced, “Stop being so bloody noble about it. I think I would prefer anger from you, rather than this stoic acceptance.”

  Tarkyn gave a grunt of laughter. “I’ll admit I did consider raging at you but Raging Water saved you. He said you did your best under the circumstances and I believe you did. So,” he shrugged, “what else can I do but accept the situation?” He slapped Waterstone on the knee. “Come on. Cheer up. From your point of view, you are in a less invidious position than before, because now you don’t have to conceal the fact that you woodfolk harbour secrets between you. Just tell me and I won’t ask any further.” And because Tarkyn had years of court training behind him, he almost convinced Waterstone that all was well.

  But as the week wore on, and various woodfolk new to Tarkyn arrived, the change in the prince became apparent. As soon as he knew of an impending arrival, he would absent himself, going off for long solitary walks, albeit overseen by a discreet lookout, or retiring to his shelter. He made no attempt to meet these new woodfolk and would not allow anyone to speak to him about them, reasoning that the woodfolk were under oath not to reveal the presence of their kin.

  “But you already know of their presence,” protested Waterstone on the third day, catching up with him as he headed off once more into the woods. “Stop being such a martyr. You are making everyone feel uncomfortable. Don’t make the situation worse than it is. There will be times when we confer on our own but we have agreed that you, as forest guardian, should be able to meet these people. Besides, the fact that you have vowed to protect us, and that you already know of woodfolk presence, means that the rules apply differently to you.”

  “As and when the mood takes you,” retorted Tarkyn, making no attempt to slow his pace.

  “No. As and when we get full agreement from all woodfolk.” Waterstone grabbed the prince’s arm. “Tarkyn. Stop.”

  Tarkyn stopped and swung around to confront Waterstone. “What?”

&n
bsp; “Despite your best intentions of accepting the situation, your actions are reeking of anger… Has it occurred to you that if I had broken my woodfolk covenant and told you about the existence of other woodfolk, I could have been exiled?”

  Tarkyn stared at him. Several times, the prince went to say something but didn’t. Finally, he simply turned on his heel and headed back to the firesite. As they emerged from the shadow of the trees, he said, “You just make bloody sure, Waterstone, that you don’t ever take that risk. I need you. Sparrow needs you. We all need you. And I can tell you from experience that exile is … ” Tarkyn hesitated, realising that his exile coincided with his life among woodfolk, “… exile is not easy,” he finished lamely.

  “No. So I gather.” Waterstone patted Tarkyn on the back. “Come on. Come and meet those who have arrived so far.”

  From then on, Tarkyn allowed himself to be included in the discussions but his participation was characterised by formal courtesy, and the dry humour and exuberance that he had brought to his life among the woodfolk had disappeared. Even so, without conscious intention, the prince became the focal point of ensuing discussions, bringing to them his perspective as a prince and sorcerer, and his potential as a forest guardian.

  With growing concern, Tarkyn listened as wolf attacks were reported from two other groups, and tales of sorcerer unrest, and increasing attacks on travellers and isolated homesteaders were brought in from all parts of the forest with each new arrival.

  n the fifth day after Tarkyn’s confrontation with the forestals, the last of the woodfolk arrived. Tarkyn had been cajoled by Rainstorm into helping him gather firewood after lunch. As they walked between towering chestnut trees, the prince said firmly, “Just don’t come to expect this. I do it because I enjoy your company and it gives me an excuse to get away for a while.”

  Rainstorm grinned, not at all abashed. “Understood, Your Highness.” Just as he reached to break off a dry branch, the young woodman went still for a moment. Then, in response to a distant request, he continued as though nothing had happened.

  Minutes later, a woodman came into view, walking towards them from the direction of the clearing. As he drew nearer, Tarkyn recognised him as Ancient Oak, the woodman who had sat with him on his first day among the woodfolk. Remembering how they had sniped at each other, he understood why Ancient Oak had chosen to leave his vicinity but equally, was surprised to see him now.

  The two woodmen nodded to each other in greeting before Ancient Oak presented himself to Tarkyn. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. I thought I would lend you a hand since the numbers at the firesite have swelled in your absence.”

  “Good afternoon, Ancient Oak. I am pleased to see your arm is no longer in a sling. So the harvesters have arrived, have they?”

  “Yes my lord, and so too have some of our kin from the mountains and others from the forest near Tormadell. Our gathering is now complete.”

  “But are you not tired after your journey? I understand that you people have had to travel some distance.”

  The woodman inclined his head. “That is true, my lord, but some things cannot wait.”

  When Tarkyn looked puzzled, Rainstorm said, “Woodfolk business, I’m afraid, prince.”

  “I see,” Tarkyn replied non-committally. He cracked a long branch over his knee, and placed both pieces neatly on the ground before straightening and looking Ancient Oak in the eye, “I believe I owe you an apology, Ancient Oak.” At the woodman’s look of enquiry, he replied, “As I recall, the last time I saw you, you had just enlisted Tree Wind and Autumn Leaves’ help to escape from my presence after I had berated you about the expected behaviour of a liegeman.” He gave a wry smile. “In view of all I have learnt since, I can imagine that didn’t go down too well with you.”

  Ancient Oak returned his gaze steadily. “No Sire. It was indeed hard to stomach. But I am led to believe that your expectations have mellowed somewhat since you discovered how the oath was imposed.”

  Tarkyn snorted, “Between Tree Wind and you, I was left in no doubt as to how unwelcome I was. But I think you people owe more to Waterstone for any changes in my attitude… and possibly Autumn Leaves.” He smiled wryly, “And Thunder Storm, for that matter, and Sparrow… and all of those who stayed with me.” He cleared his throat and concentrated on breaking another long branch. He glanced up and said gruffly, “Are you going to gather any wood, or do you just plan to stand there staring at me?”

  “Whoops. Sorry.” Ancient Oak hastily addressed himself to the task of collecting smaller pieces into a pile. “It is just that I am stunned by the vision of Rainstorm actually doing something useful.” He promptly ducked as a wad of bark sailed past his left ear.

  Rainstorm scowled at him, “I’ll have you know that it was I who suggested it… And just so you’re clear, Tarkyn is gathering wood purely for the pleasure of my company.” He threw a wicked grin at Tarkyn. “Aren’t you, prince?”

  “Stop bragging. Yes.” He smiled at Ancient Oak. “My attitude has not changed so much that you could expect me to do anything I chose not to. But collecting wood can be quite recreational, when I am in the mood.”

  Ancient Oak paused in what he was doing to scrutinise the prince.

  “What?” demanded Tarkyn.

  Ancient Oak gave his head a little shake and smiled, “Nothing, Your Highness. It is just that since you are both so feisty, it is amazing that you get on at all, let alone choose each other’s company.”

  Tarkyn was not sure that this had actually been the subject of the woodman’s thoughts but let it slide. “I have found that many woodfolk, you included, speak to me with a forthrightness that I find…hmm… shall we say, unexpected?”

  Ancient Oak returned his attention to collecting small branches. After a few minutes, he said over his shoulder, “I heard about your confrontation with the forestals, Sire. Everyone is talking about it.”

  “Are they?” Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were all discussing wolves, and woodfolk being hunted, and sorcerer attacks.”

  Ancient Oak straightened up and continued as though Tarkyn hadn’t spoken, “It was very kind of you, Sire, to try to release us from the oath.”

  “No, Ancient Oak, it wasn’t an act of kindness. It was an act of desperation. I couldn’t bear the duplicity I had suddenly discovered around me so I took the risk of meeting the oathfree woodfolk to blow apart the conspiracy.”

  “Prince, that is only part of the story,” broke in Rainstorm. “I was there, remember,” He turned to the other woodman. “Tarkyn offered his life to release you all and to make sure that we could stand united against the coming threat.”

  “And do you still feel let down by Waterstone and Autumn Leaves and the rest of them?” asked Ancient Oak.

  Tarkyn frowned, “How do you know so much about this, if you have just arrived?”

  The woodman looked a little puzzled, “I thought Waterstone would have told you by now. I have a particular interest in some of the people you travel with, and keep in closer contact with them than most.”

  “Do you now? Then when you are next mind talking with them, you may report to them that I would never have wished them to risk exile or retribution by compromising your woodfolk code. I should have known an outsider couldn’t just walk into the middle of an established society and be accepted without reservation.” Tarkyn gave a rueful shrug. “They have given me far more than the oath required… And for my part, well, I would not have reacted so strongly if I had cared about them less.”

  “I think they also care about you, Sire,” said Ancient Oak gently.

  Tarkyn glanced at him but did not reply. Instead he wrenched a large branch off a sagging dead tree. “Don’t you two have woodfolk business to attend to?”

  Rainstorm raised his eyebrows at Ancient Oak, who smiled and said, “I think it is almost concluded, Sire.”

  Tarkyn frowned irritably. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I suppose that is a state of affairs I will
have to become inured to. If possible, I would appreciate it if you could deal with your private affairs away from me.”

  Ancient Oak’s smile broadened, “I understand. You do not want unpleasant truths rubbed in your face, if I remember correctly.”

  For a moment, Tarkyn glared at him. Then he broke reluctantly into a smile. “We did get off to bad start, didn’t we? I can’t imagine why you’re not still avoiding me.”

  Ancient Oak hesitated, “I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment, Sire.” He looked uncomfortable, “And I should perhaps warn you that now the gathering is complete, we… er…”

  “Come on. Spit it out,” said Rainstorm. “He’s trying to tell you, prince, that we have a few things to discuss amongst ourselves this afternoon.” hen they returned to the firesite, a silent conference was in full swing. Several newcomers glanced nervously at the sorcerer prince, but so intent were they on their discussions, that no one broke off to speak to him. Even Tree Wind and the harvesters merely nodded in acknowledgement.

  Tarkyn parted company with Rainstorm and Ancient Oak as soon as they had offloaded their wood; they to join their kin while Tarkyn wandered off down to the stream. No one even seemed to register him leaving.

  Tarkyn meandered a little way along the stream, watching moorhens strutting among the reeds and a couple of wood ducks alternately floating downstream on the current then paddling back upstream. The forest guardian was not feeling very communicative so kept his mind closed against any attempts to contact him. When he found a soft grassy patch, he lay down on his stomach with his head propped on his hands, and stared morosely down into the water, watching tiny fish darting in amongst the weeds. Slowly the weak afternoon sun relaxed him and he fell asleep.

  When he awoke, it was dark and cold. Someone had thrown a warm blanket over him but left him to sleep. Tarkyn rolled over and looked up into the sky. Thousands of stars winked down at him and a golden glow near the horizon heralded the rising of the moon.