Bronze Magic (Book 1) Read online

  Perfect, he thought, Impossible, but perfect. Tarkyn shrugged and grinned to himself. He had nothing to lose. He was a man without a future. He would attempt the impossible.

  It was not reaching the nest that was the problem. He and many other of the stronger sorcerers could levitate, not necessarily a hundred feet, but enough to rise from one foothold to the next. It was running the gamut of the eagles that made it so tricky. And if he was busy levitating, Tarkyn could not raise his shield or fire a beam of power at the eagle to defend himself. Besides, killing the eagle would defeat the whole purpose of hiding his valuables behind its nest.

  Tarkyn settled down on a wet rock to eat while he watched the eagle’s nest. It was hard to see exactly what was happening but from time to time, he saw the head of a large golden eagle jutting over the top of the nest. Judging by the way it kept shifting its position, he was fairly sure that there must be an insistent chick beneath it. He wondered why the eagle didn’t take off straight away to hunt until he remembered that it would be waiting for the air to heat up.

  It was still early morning and the air was cool and fresh. Tarkyn decided that he might as well find himself somewhere in the undergrowth to doze until the warming air created the thermal currents the eagle was waiting for.

  The sound of voices woke him a little before noon, dragging him up out of the depths of a sound sleep. For a few moments, he lay groggy and disoriented, trying to remember where he was and why. He gave his head a shake and rubbed his eyes, glad that he was safely out of view behind a curtain of overhanging branches. He listened carefully for a few minutes and caught enough snatches of conversation to decide that the voices belonged to a group of sightseers, out on a walk to view the spectacle of the falls. Not as dangerous as soldiers, but still able to report a sighting of the renegade prince on their return, even if they chose not to tackle him themselves.

  Tarkyn was just about to let himself doze off again until they left, when it occurred to him that he might snore and alert them to his presence. So, instead, he spent the next half an hour, jerking himself awake every time he felt himself nodding off.

  Luckily, the dampness underfoot and the spray in the air were a little too uncomfortable for the day trippers to stay long. But just as he was about to emerge, he heard more voices coming up the track from the bottom of the falls.

  Oh Blast, thought Tarkyn, I’ve trapped myself, right in the middle of the local attraction. He thought back to the last large village he had passed. It would have been about two hours from the bottom of the falls. So it was reasonable to assume that the last day trippers would leave the top of the falls at least three hours before dark. Tarkyn heaved a sigh and resigned himself to a long wait.

  Inactivity was not natural to him and by the time the last voices had died away down the side of the valley, most of his supplies had been drunk and eaten, out of pure boredom. By the time Tarkyn could crawl out of his hiding place, he felt damp through to his bones. The sun was heading towards the horizon but once he was away from the overhang of the trees, there was still a sting of heat in the air. Without further ado, Tarkyn hitched his pack firmly on his back and walked to the bottom of the cliff to plan out his route. The cliff was not completely sheer. In fact, an experienced climber could probably have scaled it without ropes. However, Tarkyn planned to climb where he could, and levitate to the next ledge whenever he got stuck.

  This plan worked well, but he had underestimated the height of the cliff and the difficulty of the climb. When he was only half way up, the eagle had swooped back onto its nest. Tarkyn pressed himself in against the rock face and waited motionlessly while it fed a large rat to its insistent fledgling before taking off again. After a few minutes, Tarkyn cautiously resumed his ascent but by the time he was sitting on a ledge just below and some thirty feet short of the eagle’s nest, he was running out of both time and energy.

  Here, he could hear the incessant squawking of the eagle chick. He could see the eagle far above him, circling in a thermal that brought it out over the ravine and then sent it out of sight over the top of the cliff. Each time it disappeared from sight, he scrambled a few feet closer to its nest, and froze each time the eagle’s path brought it back into the open sky above him. At last, he was within ten feet of the nest. Now that he was close to it, Tarkyn could see that the ledge on which it rested was wider and deeper than it had appeared from below and there would be room for him to stand on it while he found a secure place for his leather pouch. The eagles had chosen well. The cliff face was completely smooth in every direction around the ledge, so Tarkyn would have to levitate himself across the last stretch.

  He waited until the eagle circled out of sight then made his move. He glided the short distance across the gap, to land in a crouch next to the eagle chick. The chick immediately addressed its complaints to him, at double the volume. Before he could even straighten, the sun was blotted out by huge wings as a second eagle came at him from behind, its fearsome talons spread before it. Tarkyn threw up his shield, instinctively cowering back against the cliff face as the enormous bird swooped in to land straddling its chick defensively, its hooked beak only inches from Tarkyn’s face.

  Oh no! Of course there are two of them. I should have known that.Tarkyn lowered his arms and slowly uncurled himself. He leant, still crouching, against the back of the ledge, and raised his own amber his eyes to look directly through the bronze haze of his shield into the hard amber eyes of the eagle. Tarkyn was by no means safe, even within his shield. If the eagle forced him off the edge of the ledge, he doubted whether he could wave away his shield and then incant his levitation spell as he plummeted downwards, in time to avoid smashing onto the rocks below. And when the time came to leave the eagle’s ledge, he would have to drop his shield before he could levitate. No, not safe at all.

  Slowly, Tarkyn removed the pack from his back and set it down in front of him. Without taking his eyes off the eagle, he felt around inside until his hand closed on the last of his game pie. He brought it out slowly and raised the edge of his shield so that he could push the offering towards the eagle. The eagle tilted her head so that she could see what Tarkyn had laid before it. Then she shrieked her derision at him.

  With no conscious effort at all, Tarkyn found himself slammed hard against the cliff face as the sound assaulted him. But despite this, he kept his eyes firmly locked on the eagle’s. At the smell of food, the chick’s cries became even more plaintive as it struggled beneath its parent to reposition itself and stretch out far enough to reach the pie. The eagle gave it an impatient nudge back with her beak but the chick was not to be denied. After several frustrated attempts to quell her chick, the eagle flapped into the small space between Tarkyn and her nest so that she could reach the piece of pie.

  Pastry was not the easiest substance for an eagle’s hooked beak to grapple with and it took several attempts before most of the pie had disappeared down the chick’s throat. During the whole procedure, she alternated her baleful stare between the food and Tarkyn. Overall, Tarkyn felt that his gift had probably antagonised the eagle more than pacified her.

  Minutes later, the male eagle landed on the nest and, ignoring Tarkyn, used beak and talons to rip apart a large crow and feed it, piece by piece to the squawking chick. At last the chick’s cries subsided and Tarkyn felt his nerves settle slightly as silence descended. But now he had two huge birds glaring at him from inches away and the ledge had become extremely crowded. Slowly he stood up so that he was taking up less space. As he rose to his feet, he saw a deep recess at waist height. With a very slow wave, he changed his shield from a dome to a curved wall in front of him. Then he reached into his pocket, drew out the leather pouch and, keeping his eyes all the time locked with the eagles’, pushed the leather pouch deep into the crevice with his right hand. All was going well until his hand flinched back from a sharp piece of rock.

  At the sudden movement, pandemonium broke out. Both eagles spread their wings and battered at the outside of his sh
ield, shrieking and snaking their heads towards him, their beaks and talons hooking onto the bronze hazy barrier. In the background, the chick squawked in alarm. Breathing hard, Tarkyn resisted the urge to back away. Bringing to bear the natural arrogance of his heritage, Tarkyn outfaced everything the eagles threw at him. He would not let them drive him from the ledge. He brought his hand slowly down to his side and forced himself to stand motionless before them, keeping his eyes on theirs.

  Gradually, as their aggression had no effect on the intruder, the eagles quietened and after ruffling their feathers into place, reverted to glaring at him. Slowly, more slowly than he had ever done it before, Tarkyn faded his shield away. After a minute, the female jabbed her head forward and used the rounded part of her hooked beak to push Tarkyn in the chest.

  Tarkyn kept rigidly still. Then slowly, keeping his eyes trained on theirs, he placed his hand over his heart and gave these lords of the air a small bow, as the acknowledgement of one equal to another. He doubted that they had any idea what he meant by it, but it felt the right thing to do, to pay them homage and to thank them for protecting his valuables. They cocked their heads at him, as though studying the gesture. Suddenly with a parting shriek, the female took off and with a few strong wingbeats, rose swiftly on the air to become a silhouette against the sky. The male stepped into the nest and settled himself on top of the chick, muffling its cries.

  Tarkyn could hardly believe his eyes. Returning stare for stare with the remaining eagle, he muttered under his breath, “Ma liefka” and rose gently into the air. The eagle stayed where he was and let Tarkyn go.

  When at last Tarkyn had levitated and clambered his way to the top of the cliff, he stretched himself out on the grass and found that he was trembling, whether from exertion or reaction he wasn’t sure. He was still dazed by his escape. He reflected ruefully that even for a man with no future, his venture into the eagle’s domain had been foolhardy. ver the next few days, Tarkyn skirted villages and farmsteads, losing all idea of where he was heading. Twice he waylaid a small child to ask him to buy something for him from the village shop in exchange for a small fee, but these villages were so small that everyone knew everyone’s business, and both times he had had to run for his life as suspicious villagers had come looking for the stranger. By the fourth day, he was living mainly on berries and some apples he had found in an old gnarled tree by the side of the road. His big frame demanded more than this and his stomach growled constantly as he walked along mile after mile of dirt roads.

  It was nearing sunset on the fifth day away from Tormadell when he sat down by the side of the road to rest before finding somewhere safe to spend the night. Up ahead of him, Tarkyn could see the beginnings of a forest and he hoped that it might provide him with some respite from the constant tension he had endured since leaving Tormadell.

  He was tired and dispirited after days of living on his nerves. He had travelled fast, avoiding villages and farmhouses, shying away from contact with people. He was becoming very weary of detouring around the slightest signs of humanity and starting at every sudden sound. After days of unaccustomesd solitude, he was sick to death of his own company and was beginning to think that his unknown future would be slow starvation if he could find nothing better than berries and apples to eat. Heaving a disconsolate sigh, Tarkyn put his hood up and dozed for a while in the shadows of an old oak.

  When he awoke, an old man was sitting beside him. Tarkyn retreated further into his hood and glanced around to check whether the old man was alone. He seemed to be.

  “Good evening,” said Tarkyn warily.

  The scruffy, old man seemed to be completely relaxed, “Good evening, young man. I was wondering, if you are going my way, whether you might like some company for a while, going into yonder forest? I have been travelling alone for some time and would appreciate a bit of company. Besides, the forest always feels safer when there is more than one person travelling through it, if you know what I mean.”

  Tarkyn studied him for a minute, trying to discern any guile in his voice. Then he realised that the old man could have captured him while he slept, had he known who he was.

  “I don’t suppose,” ventured Tarkyn hopefully, “that you’re any good at hunting or trapping, are you?”

  The old man snorted, “Of course I am. Lived in these parts for years.” He peered at Tarkyn, “Hmph. Can’t see your face but your voice sounds a bit strained. After a feed, are you? Well, I think I can help with that. Got a good plump rabbit in my bag, all ready for dinner. Glad to share it, in exchange for the protection of your company.”

  “Agreed,” Tarkyn stood and held his hand out to help up the old man. Together, they walked along the dusty road towards the forest.

  Long before they reached the treeline, the heat from the waning sun made life inside Tarkyn’s hood uncomfortably warm. He was not particularly practised at withstanding discomfort and so, readying himself in case the old man attacked, Tarkyn threw caution to the winds and dropped his hood. At first the old man didn’t even look at him but when he did happen to glance around, he showed no sign of recognition. For several minutes longer, Tarkyn stayed on tenterhooks, waiting for a surprise attack from the old man, but gradually, as nothing happened, he relaxed his guard.

  Once they were well inside the forest, the old man made a fire for them and set about skinning the rabbit. Tarkyn watched this operation carefully, realising that he might have to learn how to do this himself in the coming days.

  “I think I could stalk and kill an animal,” said Tarkyn. “I have hunted before. But I have never prepared an animal for eating.” He grimaced, “I can’t say it appeals to me all that much.”

  The old man glanced up at him, his green eyes strangely piercing. “And where have you been, my young buck, that you have hunted, but not had to do the dirty work?”

  Tarkyn cursed his unruly mouth. “I come from the city and have only been on organised hunts.”

  The old man grunted, and returned his attention to the rabbit. “You may find stalking animals more difficult without beaters to flush them out and gamesmen to track them down in the first place.”

  “Yes, I think I may.” The prince was beginning to realise that life was lot harder than he had expected.

  As the evening progressed, his spirits seemed to sink even further, despite his first good meal for a couple of days. The prince and the old man were seated on the ground, leaning against forest trees, the remains of cooked rabbit lying on a piece of bark near the fire.

  After days of solitude, Tarkyn began to talk, “I don’t know where I’m going, you know. I have lost myself, my way of life and everything that has mattered to me until now. All the roads ahead of me lead nowhere.” He smiled with a touch of embarrassment, “I decided that, at each intersection, I would follow the road that felt best, the one with heart.” He shrugged, “But I’m finding that is easier said, than done. Sometimes, none of them feels good.”

  The man across the fire from him maintained a companionable silence, prodding idly at the coals with a long stick.

  Somehow encouraged by this, Tarkyn continued, “It has not been in my nature to be so feckless. In fact, it has come upon me quite suddenly. Last week, my life was laid out ahead of me by the expectations of the c... those around me. But this week...this week, I am cut loose by circumstance and running hard from those very people who held me so closely before.” He gave a mirthless grunt of laughter.“Strange, isn’t it?”

  His companion directed one quick calculating glance at him before letting his gaze drop back to the fire. “Woman trouble?” he asked sympathetically.

  Tarkyn gave a slight smile, “No.”

  “If it’s not woman trouble and you’re on the run, I’d say you might have a price on your head.” The man’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “Do you?” he asked slowly.

  The prince’s eyes narrowed. Incurably honest, he replied, “Yes, I do. I don’t know how much, but I do. Why? Thinking of turning a quick profit?�
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  The old man looked up at him and shrugged, “To be honest with you, it would depend on what you’d done.”

  “And on what grounds would you base your decision? If the crime were sufficiently dire, would you feel honour-bound to bring me in, but for a lesser crime you would show mercy?” His voice hardened, “Or perhaps, it’s the other way around? If I seemed relatively harmless then it would be safe to take me in for a quick profit, but you would not risk it if my crimes suggested that I might be dangerous?”

  The older man shifted uncomfortably. “Stars above, young man! No need to get so touchy! I am not planning to turn in someone I am sharing my fire with. I was talking generally, not specifically.”

  “I beg your pardon. It did not come across that way,” said Tarkyn stiffly.

  “You’re a courtly sort of a character, aren’t you, my young buck?” The old man leaned forward and pushed a stick further into the fire. “So,” he asked casually, “Are you going to trust me with your name?”

  There was a long pause. The old man kept his eyes trained on the fire as the minutes ticked by.

  “My name is Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor.”

  Without a word, the old man rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “It is an honour, Your Highness.”

  Tarkyn looked up at him and inclined his head in acknowledgement, “And may I ask who you are?”

  “Certainly, Sire. I am Stormaway Treemaster, Wizard of the Forest.”

  The prince raised his eyebrows. “Are you indeed? I have heard of you, Stormaway Treemaster.” His eyebrows came together in a slight frown. “You were at court, were you not, in the service of my father?”