Bronze Magic (Book 1) Read online

  “So, you will help us, but the cost of this help is the loss of our independence? A high price indeed,” observed a scratchy voice. “I am Running Feet.”

  “Without our intercession,” interjects the king, “You would all be dead within the month. Being independently dead seems quite pointless to me.”

  “However, being independently alive does not,” I retort, but my sighing voice robs my words of rudeness. “You could choose to save us but leave us as we have always been, elusive and not answerable to anyone.”

  The king glowers at me but speaks mildly, “My Lady, I cannot countenance having people within my realm who have not acknowledged me as their rightful ruler. And you cannot expect my support unless I, as your liege lord, accept responsibility for you.”

  Tarkyn experienced a strange sensation of thoughts and impressions travelling back and forth between the woodfolk around the circle. Because the sensation was alien to him, he couldn’t grasp the content clearly but could only be aware, through Tree Wind’s vision, that it was happening.

  After an appreciable pause in the proceedings, a burbling voice takes up the negotiations. “Sire, our need is dire and so we may be forced to accede to your conditions. However, two things concern us. Firstly, what would you demand from us as your subjects? I am Waterstone.”

  The king glances impatiently at his wizard, but then draws a breath and answers with a stern calm. “My demands are not excessive. I require your loyalty and your obedience, should I need it. I wish you to continue to care for these vast forests. In time of conflict, which I hope will never arise; I will require your service either at arms or in gathering intelligence.”

  Again Tarkyn experienced the sensation of thoughts racing between the minds around the fire.

  “These conditions do not seem unreasonable,” states Waterstone on our behalf.

  “I should think not. I have not even demanded a tithe from you.” The king’s amber eyes sweep around the circle. “And your other concern?”Before we can answer, Markazon notices his son seated next to him and smooths his tousled hair. He leans over and whispers sotto voce, “Not long now. Bear up.” In a quick change of role, the father becomes the king as he straightens up and raises his eyebrows. “Go on. I’m waiting.”

  Waterstone clears his throat nervously. “Your Majesty, we have heard you are a just monarch, firm but fair.” The king inclines his head in acknowledgement. “If we swear an oath of fealty to you, does that bind us to all future kings?”

  Our uncertainty and unhappiness with this is apparent without words. Before any of us can raise an objection, the king lifts his hand.

  “Obviously, I will not be here at the crowning of the next king to make sure you transfer your oath. However...” The king breaks off and looks at the wizard who looks pointedly at the little boy who is now leaning against his father.

  “Sire, you must.”

  The king takes a deep breath and begins again. “However, much as it pains me, I can understand your reservations. There are some uncertain portents regarding the future King Kosar and his brother Jarand, particularly in relation to young Tarkyn here. Since I will not be here, I would protect Tarkyn’s future as best I can, from beyond the grave, so to speak.” After his momentary show of vulnerability, King Markazon draws himself up and sends his harsh glare across us all. “So, to ensure that two generations of my family have your fealty, I will require you to swear the oath of fealty to both my son Tarkyn and me. In return for this, I will apprise no-one else of your existence and I will save your people from this sickness.”

  After another period of mental communion, Waterstone presents our view, “We have one more reservation. Prince Tarkyn is still very young and has not yet passed through the trials of childhood and adolescence. Although unlikely, Your Majesty, it is possible that by the time he reaches manhood, he may have become embittered or cruel or even unbalanced. Swearing a lifetime of service to an unformed child is too uncertain.”

  The king stands up abruptly, sending the little boy falling sideways as the shoulder he has been leaning against disappears.

  “Enough!” roars the king. “I have been patient and I have negotiated when I could simply have enforced my will. You will give me your oath and you will give Tarkyn your oath. I have placed my shield around this clearing so you cannot melt away into the forest and choose to die unaided. I have had enough of this charade. This is my kingdom and I will be obeyed.”

  A horrified silence ensues. No one moves. Then Stormaway Treemaster speaks in a matter-of-fact voice as though the conversation were proceeding as before. “Perhaps a slight modification can satisfy all parties.”

  “What?” snapped the king.

  “When Prince Tarkyn first enters in these forests as a grown man, I will undertake to evaluate his worthiness to be their liege lord.”

  Markazon barks, “He is worthy because he is my son.”

  Stormaway holds the king’s gaze for a notable pause. “Just so, Your Majesty.”The wizard looks down at his hands, “And yet should the unthinkable happen, I know you would not wish any people of your realm to be bound to evil.”

  The king looks at his tired son and gently strokes his hair. Tarkyn turns his head to look up at his father and smiles at him sleepily. The king raises his eyes and says, “Because I have faith in Tarkyn, I will concede this point. But be warned! The oaths you swear to me and my son will be bound in sorcery to the welfare of the forest.”

  Despite his concession, the air sizzles with resentment. Running Feet’s scratchy voice speaks for us. “Since you have already removed our freedom and our right to choose our own fate, we must inform you that we will be making these oaths under duress.”

  “Of course you will be. But that won’t make your oaths any less binding.” The king tosses off the contents of his goblet. “You are out of touch with the ways of the outside world. Although it does not generally arise in times of peace, the basic premise safeguarding the monarchy is “Submit or die.” Treason has always been punishable by death. In your case, I would not have to order your executions. You will simply die from sickness if you do not swear fealty. And in the future, if you betray your oath to my son, it will not be you but your forest that will die. Perhaps you may think that is too lenient,” he says dryly, “but unless I am much mistaken, the death of your forest would destroy your souls.”

  Tarkyn closed his eyes and pulled himself out of Tree Wind’s memory. “Enough. I have seen enough,” he said thickly. “More than enough.”

  He opened his eyes to find Tree Wind regarding him with longnurtured loathing etched in every line of her face. In an instant, the expression was gone but Tarkyn knew he had not been mistaken. The prince thought of trying to explain his father to Tree Wind but, watching her closed face, he realised there was no chink in her resentment. He would be wasting his time.

  He managed to find his voice again and to speak with a quiet assurance he did not feel. “Thank you for sharing your memory. I believe you have made your point quite clearly. I can see now why you are so unhappy about being bound into my service. I think I will take a walk before dinner. You may leave and return to your people.”

  Once he was rid of her, Tarkyn blundered into the comforting darkness of the forest. He crawled into the heart of a huge overhanging pine tree and threw himself down on the soft bed of pine needles. He extinguished his light and felt the velvety blackness pressing on him. A seething roil of images and emotions swirled round and round inside his head.

  In turns, Tarkyn wept for the loss of his father all over again then railed against him for the impetuous nature that had turned the woodfolk against them both. In the end, when his emotion was spent, he was left with the implacable hatred in Tree Winds’ eyes. He sat up shivering and drew his cloak around him.

  “What am I going to do?” he whispered into the darkness. “I’m locked in a forest with a horde of people who detest me.”

  He thought about all he had lost and of what lay ahead of him
and felt desolation wash over him. Eventually, a rustling in the branches above him caught his attention. Curiosity and the need for self-preservation dragged him up out of his pit of despair.

  “Lumaya!” he murmured and by the gentle corona of conjured light, he spotted a tawny owl staring unblinkingly down at him. They regarded each other for several seconds. Then the owl scratched under his wing with his beak, and ruffled his feathers. Tarkyn felt a gentle surge of reassurance. He heaved a huge sigh and said with quiet resolve, “You’re right. Life must go on and I must face these people.” So saying, he pushed his way between the pine’s branches and back onto the forest path.

  As he neared the clearing, Tarkyn could hear the sounds of revelry. “I can see they are celebrating already,” he said dryly to himself. “Perhaps Tree Wind has convinced them that I will stay away from them... Maybe I will, but not until we all know where we stand.”

  He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into the clearing, his heart hammering in his chest. It was every bit as bad as he had anticipated. A sudden hush fell. Only the crackling of the fire broke the silence. Hundreds of pairs of expressionless eyes turned to look at him.

  “Good evening,” he said quietly to everyone and no one in particular. “Don’t let me interrupt your festivities.”

  A small child holding a goblet of wine responded to a gentle shove in the back and came forward to offer it to the prince. Tarkyn inclined his head and accepted the drink.

  “Thank you, young one,” he said gravely.

  He sipped the wine and commented on its quality. Still no one else spoke. Tarkyn resisted the temptation to feel foolish, clenched his teeth and walked slowly through the circle to the other end of the clearing. Woodfolk parted silently to let him through. When he reached his chosen vantage point, he turned and swept his gaze around the waiting throng.

  “Since I have your attention,” he began with a touch of irony, “I will take this opportunity to thank you for providing this welcoming feast. I am honoured by your hospitality....” Still no one spoke. Tarkyn could almost feel their antipathy pulsing against him. “As some of you may know, Tree Wind was kind enough to share her memory of my father’s visit to you over a decade ago.” He took a sip from his goblet. “And I believe, as a consequence of that meeting, that you were all required to swear an oath of fealty to both my father and myself? Is that correct?”

  Several heads nodded slowly, either uncertain or unwilling.

  “It is a long time since my father was here. Memories fade and new children have been born. I also have changed. The child to whom you gave your oath is, in many ways, not the person you see before you today. As Tree Wind has already inadvertently demonstrated, the consequences of breaking the oath would be dire.” He saw several heads turn to look at Tree Wind. “So, now that I have returned, I believe that the oath must be renewed.”

  The moon had still not appeared, but a silver glow lit the eastern horizon. He saw a few people at the rear moving. “I do this to protect you. Because of the danger to your forests, it is important that all of you are made to remember your oath before the moon rises and the spell takes full effect.”

  Angry mutterings greeted this pronouncement until Tarkyn raised his hand.

  “I am aware that you resent the oath and resent me. But believe me; I equally resent being forced to abide in this forest against my will. This covenant between us was none of my making and it is not within my gift to remove it. However...”

  Whatever else Tarkyn had been going to say was lost, as the voice of Stormaway Treemaster rang forth at its most theatrical, as he moved forward to stand beside the prince, “However, I have judged Prince Tarkyn fit to rule and events today have confirmed my decision. Prince Tarkyn’s integrity has galvanised the binding spell of the oath. The forest itself, just as bound as you are by the oath, has already acted to protect your prince and your actions have already endangered it.” He swept his arm in an arc. “So kneel before your prince and give him your oath.”

  As one, the woodfolk sank reluctantly to their knees. To Tarkyn’s surprise, Stormaway also turned and knelt before him as he led the oath-taking.

  “On behalf of the forests of Eskuzor, the creatures of the woods, the birds of the air and the fish in the streams, I give my solemn vow to honour, serve and protect you, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor, until the end of my days. I give this oath in the knowledge that the woodlands and all who live in them depend on my good faith.”

  “Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. “And in return, I make my pledge to you.”

  Guided by some force within him, the prince produced a bronze pillar of flame in the palm of his hand and focused on its brilliance. For a moment, he wondered whether he would know what to say but then he felt the words he had spoken as a child emerge from deep within him. As soon as he began to speak, the oath took over and the words poured forth without conscious volition.

  “I, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of the Forests of Eskuzor, give my solemn vow that I will fulfil my obligations and responsibilities as your liege lord and will protect the woodfolk and the forests of Eskuzor. Your just cause will be my cause and your fate will be my fate. This is the covenant bequeathed to me by my father, Markazon Tamadil, 48th King of Eskuzor.”

  As the last words faded away, the bronze flame shot skyward and disappeared. Sparks spiralled upward from the fire as Stormaway brought down his staff with a sound like thunder. A shock wave of air blew outward from the centre of the clearing and the ground beneath them shuddered. In the quiet that followed, the first silver rays from the rising moon washed over the clearing.

  Tarkyn stood there, stunned. Nothing had prepared him to expect the level of commitment he had just given to a people he hardly knew. He collected himself enough to say, “People of the Woodlands, you may rise. The venison smells as though it is nearly cooked. Please, resume your festivities.”

  The woodfolk rose to their feet and began to disperse. A few of them looked uncertainly at the prince as though they would have spoken with him but he gave them no encouragement so they too melted into the night’s festivities.

  Tarkyn turned glazed eyes slowly to look at Stormaway. “How could I ever have forgotten that?” he said shakily.

  Stormaway put a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Tarkyn, my friend’s son, you were so young you would not have understood what you were saying, let alone remembered it. No one has been there to remind you. Your father died within the year and I was banished from court by your brothers.”

  “So now what?” asked Tarkyn. “Am I now condemned to live within the confines of this forest, my fate entwined with people who hate me? I might have been better off in prison.”

  Stormaway took care not to roll his eyes. “My lord, I am aware that you, no less than the woodfolk, were given no choice about entering into this pact. However, you overstate the case. I think you will find that not everyone resents you with the same ferocity as Tree Wind.”

  Tarkyn ran a hand through his hair. “I have seen no sign of any friendship. Ancient Oak is the only person I have conversed with and he was doing it out of obligation.”

  “You have only been here for one day,” the wizard pointed out gently. “Give them and yourself a chance to get to know each other.”

  “I feel as if I’ve been drafted into the role of an unwelcome conqueror who has magic at his back instead of an army.”

  “I am afraid, Sire, that you have summed up the situation quite succinctly.” said Stormaway in the same matter-of-fact voice that Tarkyn had seen in Tree Wind’s memory, “And now, you are going to have to rise to the occasion and learn to live with it.” The wizard turned to leave but stopped when he saw Tarkyn’s mutinous face. “Now listen to me, my lord. Did you like what you saw of your father in Tree Wind’s memory?”

  Tarkyn glowered at him. “Yes, I did. I loved him and I have always missed him.” His throat ached with the effort of not shedding tears.

  “And did you like eve
rything he did?” pressed Stormaway.

  The young prince’s eyes flashed in instant defence of his father but then his shoulders sagged and he conceded, “No. Not everything. If he had been more patient and tactful, the woodfolk could have given their allegiance with much less ill-feeling and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Your Highness, I too loved your father. I served him to the end of his days just as I will serve you to the end of mine. But he had a tempestuous nature which sometimes marred his actions.” Stormaway shook his head slowly from side to side. “From what I have seen, you are very much your father’s son. Learn from him. Take from him wholeheartedly what you admire and learn to manage the rest.”

  Tarkyn gave a short derisive laugh. “Pull myself together, in other words.”

  The wizard smiled. “Basically, yes. These people have just unwillingly sworn their lives to you. They have every right to feel resentful. The least you can do is deign to speak to them and treat them with courtesy.”

  “Stars above, Stormaway! I don’t know how my father put up with you.”

  The wizard actually grinned. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it was a struggle for both of us.” He clapped his new charge on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some of that fine wine and a plate of venison.”

  For better or for worse, Tarkyn’s future had found him.

  arkyn took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked over to the nearest group of woodfolk who were standing with drinks in their hands, waiting for the venison to be carved. As he approached, he saw two of them exchange glances.

  At a nudge from Waterstone, Autumn Leaves held up a large flagon. “Would you like a refill, Your Highness?”

  Tarkyn blinked. None of them bowed or even inclined their heads in respect, as he walked up to them. “Thank you. I would. Your wines are very good.” He glanced sideways to share his surprise with Stormaway only to find that the wily old wizard had melted from his side. He gave a rueful grimace. “Hmm. I seem to have misplaced my wizard.”