Bronze Magic (Book 1) (4 page)

Then he said, “You did well to do as I asked.” The father looked, if
anything, more stricken, until Tarkyn added gently, “I would not be so
cruel as to force a man to bring his son to his own execution.”
Relief washed over the father. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you.”
Tarkyn considered them, kneeling before him, “It is not just your son
who has transgressed against me. You know, don’t you, that all your lives
should be forfeit. But because you did not know who I was, I will not
exact that punishment. Equally, for reasons I will explain later, I will not
turn you over to the city watch.”
“See? He’s a fine young prince, he is,” cackled the grandmother, an
hysterical edge of relief in her laughter. “He’s kind, this one. That’s why
he’s the best loved of the royal brothers.”
Tarkyn was startled, but after a moment’s reflection, smiled wryly to
himself. Even if that were true yesterday, it won’t be today.
“Here grandmother. Let me help you up.” As he put out his hand
and drew the old woman to her feet, he could see that, much as
she tried to hide it, it was a struggle for her to get herself up off her
stiff knees.
“Thank you, Sire.” She cocked a sharp eye at her sons, “You two could
learn some manners from His Highness here.”
The taller man grunted, still on his knees, “You don’t have to kneel for
us in the first place.”
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows and the man muttered an apology and
subsided into silence. “The rest of you may also rise.” He turned to the
girl and offered her his hand, “And I am sorry that I treated you so poorly.
It is not my usual practice to intimidate young ladies. I hope you were
not too afraid. I would never have hurt you.”
The teenager blushed at being called a young lady then nodded
casually, “Yeah, I didn’t think you would, Your Highness.” In response to
Tarkyn’s evident surprise, she explained, “You were not very rough, you
know. And half the time you forgot to hold the knife against my throat.
Your hand kept dropping. And even when you did, you did it gently.”
“Hmm. Well, I must say it is not a skill I wish to develop.” Tarkyn
shuddered inwardly at the experience of violence that lay behind her
casually uttered words. He sat down on the large block of stone and
crossed his ankles, “So now that you know who I am, we may need to
renegotiate our terms.”
The grandmother bowed, “Of course, Your Highness. You have only to
request it, and it shall be done.”
“Blast!” muttered the shorter man to his brother, “I thought we was
onto a bit of a winner here.”
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “I beg your pardon?”
The shorter man pulled his forelock, “Beg pardon, Your Highness.” He
glanced sideways and murmured, “Sharp ears.”
“Very sharp,” said Tarkyn, “And I would appreciate it if you would
refrain from making little asides in my presence.” He waited for them
to absorb this. Several glances passed between them but when they
refrained from speaking, he nodded, “Good. And now, to return to our
negotiation. I will not renege on our previous agreement. You will still
receive one half of the value of this,” here he held up the diamond pin,
“on delivery to me of the money and receipt.” He gave a faint smile, “So
you may still make your profit.”
“You are a true man of honour, Your Highness,” said the taller man,
still grateful for his son’s life.
“Of course I am. And despite your profession, I expect you to be men
and women of honour also, in your dealings with me.”
The taller man’s chest swelled with pride, but the grandmother
glanced contemptuously at her son. She had heard token words like
these before.
Tarkyn crossed his arms. “And now there is something I need to tell
you before you venture forth on my behalf. You may be seated while
you listen.” He waited until they settled themselves on various tumbled
chunks of masonry. Now that the time had come to tell them, Tarkyn
was almost unable to continue. After a moment, he drew a deep breath
and began, “Yesterday, during the Harvest Tournament, a shaft of my
power went wide and hit a spectator stand. The stand was knocked awry
but no one was hurt. In fact, after the initial panic, everyone climbed
back onto it to watch the rest of our match. But…” He took another
deep breath, “But the king brought me up on charges, because of it.”
Tarkyn stood up and began to pace back and forth, ignoring the little
intakes of breath that he had heard. After a few moments he turned
to his small audience and said, “And I did not accept his judgement.
I threw up my shield and after that…well… after that, everything went
a bit haywire and most of the Royal Guardsmen were killed and the
Great Hall opposite the Palace was completely destroyed,” he finished in
a rush, grimacing.
Five pairs of round eyes stared at him from slack faces.
“You defied the king?” the taller man breathed. “In public?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So that was why you were alone and kept your hood up,” said the boy,
pleased that a puzzle had been explained for him.
Tarkyn nodded.
“And the Great Hall has been destroyed?” asked the shorter man, eyes
wide with astonishment. “What? You mean, gone? Completely gone?”
Unconsciously, Tarkyn wrapped his cloak around himself against the
onslaught of their reactions. “Pretty much. There is only a big pile of rubble
left.”
“You must have put up one almighty struggle,” said the shorter
man, in some awe. “And killing all the king’s guards too. Wow! That is
some feat.”
Tarkyn frowned. “No. It wasn’t like that.” He hunched deeper into his
cloak “All I did was raise my shield. But something went wrong with it,
and instead of blocking, it reflected back their own weapons at them...
and at the walls. I didn’t intentionally kill anyone.”
“I’d hate to see you try, then,” quipped the shorter man, who did not
count sensitivity among his virtues.
“Yes, you would,” said Tarkyn coldly.
“Now, stop it, Gillis. I beg your pardon for my son’s behaviour, Your
Highness. He never has known when to stop.” The old woman sent a
scalding glance at her errant son before beginning to talk to the prince in a
soothing voice, almost as though she were calming a wild animal.“Hmm.
I expect those guards’ deaths must have been quite shocking for you. You
probably knew some of them personally. And you know, I had you down
as a pretty harmless sort of a character.”
Tarkyn’s eyes gleamed in appreciation of her tactics as he replied, “You
can never know what a man might do when he is desperate. But you are
right. I am a pretty harmless sort of a character. It saddens me that those
guardsmen lost their lives.” He gave a rueful smile, “And I could not have
hurt your granddaughter.”
With a conscious effort, Tarkyn pushed his cloak back and sat down,
spreading his hands wide. “So there you have it.” It went against all his
instincts and upbringing to present himself for comment to anyone but
the king. But he had never been in such an invidious position before and
could think of nothing else to do, if he wanted their help.
The taller man gave a small chuckle, “You’re in one bloody great pickle
then, aren’t you, my lord?”
The shorter one whistled, “And you thought we were bad. We’re just
petty thieves. But you, Your Highness! You’ve committed high treason,
and destroyed a whole public building… Well, they’ll say you did,
whether you did or not. You’re in a league of your own.”
“And you’re no master criminal, that’s for sure,” cackled the old
grandmother. “You’ve cut the ground from under your feet, good and
proper. Now we know you won’t hurt Morayne and probably not any of
the rest of us either. You’re too much of a gentleman, Your Highness. Not
wise to have told us that.”
The prince considered her, unsure whether she spoke a warning or a
threat. After a moment he shrugged and gave her a faint smile, “I have
placed my fate in your hands and my faith in your honour. Was that
so unwise?”
She stared at him, stunned. And as she thought about it, she realised
that what he said was true. He was no longer using force. And hard
upon that, came the realization that no one outside the family, let alone a
prince, had ever even conceived that she might be honourable, let alone
staked his or her life on it.
“You really have, haven’t you?” A slow smile appeared on her sharp,
wrinkled face. The grandmother put hand on her heart and bowed. “No,
Your Highness, that was not unwise. You do us great honour and we will
live up to your faith in us.”
A short time later, Tarkyn heard her berating her tribe as they left,
“Now, not a word to anyone. Do you understand? I know this is the
biggest news we’ve ever had but we can’t tell people. Not anyone. Got it?”
Then followed a long tedious wait. Tarkyn prowled the inside perimeter
of the warehouse, then paced back and forth across the floor until he felt
he knew every stone and scrap of rubbish intimately. He tested the rear
doors and found that they were all locked. The only way out was through
the gaping front door at the front of the building. If his thieving family
brought back the city guard, he was trapped.
He considered using a blast of magic to destroy a lock in a back door
but he hesitated to betray his uncertainty in their honour. Sooner or
later they, and in particular the old grandmother, would notice what
he had done.
After two hours, his nerves were worn thin with apprehension. He crossed
to the front door for the umpteenth time and peered out from within the
shadows. Always there were people within his line of sight, carrying goods
down to the river docks or hurrying about their business. And everywhere
he could see animated knots of people standing and talking in the morning
sunshine, arms waving in graphic description. Even from a distance, it was
clear that last night’s events were dominating the town.
Tarkyn sighed and retired into the gloom of the derelict warehouse
to sit dispiritedly against a wall. He pulled his hood up and tried to
doze, knowing he had slept little last night and would have to travel
again tonight. But he was too much on edge and every slight sound from
outside jerked him back to wakefulness. After a while, he gave up and
renewed his prowling.
Finally, when the sun was near its zenith, the taller man slipped quietly
into the warehouse. He gestured for Tarkyn to be quiet and to follow him
to a dark recess at the rear of the building. He shrugged a heavy bag off
his shoulder before bowing briefly to the prince.
“Where have you been?” hissed Tarkyn. “And where are the others?”
“Your Highness, soldiers are everywhere. We had to travel far across
town in case someone wondered where we got your pin. Then we split
up and are all coming back by different routes making sure we’re not
followed. Your life wouldn’t be worth a small tasty sausage out there
at the moment.” He glanced sympathetically at the prince. “You’re
worth just as much dead as alive to the king, and most people want
you dead.”
Although he had known this would happen, still Tarkyn’s stomach
knotted. “And how much is the reward?” he managed to ask casually.
The taller man’s mouth quirked in a half smile, “I don’t rightly know,
Sire. Town criers came through earlier this morning and they’ll be posting
up notices this afternoon. But rumours are flying so hard and fast that it’s
difficult to tell what the town criers actually said.”
“What is your name?” Tarkyn, suddenly aware of this man as more
than just one member of a thieving family.
“Tomas, Sire.”
“And so, Tomas, were you tempted?”
“Tempted? No Sire. Honour amongst thieves, so to speak. Not that
you’re a thief, Your Highness – I didn’t mean that. But you are firmly on
the wrong side of the law now, just as we are, and under our protection.
Besides,” Tomas gave an embarrassed shrug, “the chance even to meet
you, let alone talk to you and do you a service is beyond my wildest
dreams. In my whole lifetime, I have never come within a hundred
yards of anyone in your family and even then it was only a glimpse at
a parade.”
Tarkyn was saved from responding to this by the advent of Morayne
followed at discrete intervals by the rest of the family. The grandmother
was last to arrive. Like the others, she dropped a heavy bag on the floor
before bowing to Tarkyn. “Your Highness, there are soldiers at the top
of the road conducting a door to door search. We must hide you.” In a
complete change of voice, she said sharply, “Come on you lot! We’ll have
to go down in the cellar. Move that stone.”
Then, to Tarkyn’s intense interest, the five of them trained their
variously coloured beams of magic on a large stone block, slowly pushing
it sideways. When he realised what they were doing, he joined his bronze
beam to theirs. Immediately, the stone moved noticeably more easily.
“It’s true, innit?” observed the shorter man, “His magic is strong.”
Tomas snorted, “Of course it is. He won the tournament, didn’t he?”
“Nothing to do with it,” snapped the grandmother. “The whole Royal
Family’s magic has been strong for generations. Well known.”
“I am right here,” said Tarkyn, with a clear note of annoyance, “should
you wish to speak to me rather than about me.”
Tomas flashed him a smile, as he continued to train his orange beam
on the slowly moving stone. “We’re used to talking about you, not to
you, Your Highness. It’s hard to change the habits of a lifetime.”
A reluctant, answering smile broke through the prince’s reserves as he
remembered their previous conversation. “Make the most of it, Tomas.
Talk to me while you can.” A shout and the sound of running feet further
up the road made Tarkyn start in alarm. “Where do you want this blasted
stone?” he demanded.
“Another foot should do it.”
Tarkyn focused and sent a pulse of power at the heavy stone, thrusting
it away from him the required distance along the floor. A trap door
now came into sight that had been hidden beneath it. There was a rope
attached to the middle of the underside of the stone that fed along a
narrow channel cut into the wood of the trapdoor and from there down
a hole into the cavity below.