Bronze Magic (Book 1) (41 page)

“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?”
“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.
He peered over the top of his blanket at the woodfolk sitting around
the fire. He studied them as they talked and laughed quietly among
themselves. In many ways they looked just like a group of sorcerer troops
gathered after a day’s patrol. A wave of homesickness washed over the
prince. Then he remembered the wary courtesy that sorcerer troops would
have accorded him and laughed softly to himself when he contrasted it
with the memory of Waterstone yelling at him, Ancient Oak snapping
back at him and Autumn Leaves berating him. Despite their oath to him
and their secrets, woodfolk were still less guarded than most sorcerers in
their dealings with him.
Tarkyn sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His mouth twitched
in a half smile as he remembered he had nearly been killed for doing that
in his confrontation with the forestals. He leaned over and scooped up
some water to splash his face. Then he took a deep breath, stood up and
walked into the light of the fire.
A hush fell over the woodfolk. Tarkyn blinked as his eyes became
accustomed to the light. “Good evening,” he said, as he gathered his
thoughts. His amber eyes swept slowly around, studying the assembled
woodfolk. “I believe there are many new arrivals I have not yet met. I
look forward to making your acquaintance. I am Tarkyn Tamadil to those
of you who have not yet met me.” He waved a hand and immediately
wished he hadn’t, as several people blanched in fear and more than a few
ducked for cover. “Don’t let me interrupt you. Does anyone happen to
have a spare glass of wine?”
Tarkyn didn’t really know where to sit. Wherever he chose to sit
would be making a statement. In the end, he walked over to a group of
complete unknowns and sat with them. They eyed him uncertainly and
unconsciously pulled their cloaks in tighter around themselves.
He smiled ruefully at them, “I beg your pardon. I forgot you’d be
frightened of me if you hadn’t met me.” He went to stand up again.
“Would you rather I sat somewhere else?”
A dried up old woman waved a thin, long-fingered hand at him from
inside her cloak. “No. Stay. We did not mean to be unwelcoming. You’re
just a bit unnerving on first sight, you know. I am Ancient Elm.”
“I am pleased to meet you. Where have you come from? Or is that
classified information?”
Ancient Elm frowned at him, “I suspect your navigational skills in the
forest wouldn’t get you to us even if I told you.”
Tarkyn eyes glinted in the firelight, “You may keep your secrets. Now
that I have seen you, I could find an owl or an eagle to guide me to you,
wherever you are.”
The old woodwoman glared at him. “You are not helping your cause
threatening me like that, you know.”
“I was not aware that I had a cause. Besides, I am not threatening you.
I am merely stating a fact.” The sorcerer took a slow sip of wine. “All
right. I apologise. I admit I was feeling a little snaky. I am just becoming
tired of being surrounded by secrets. I have no wish to intimidate you.”
Tarkyn smiled at her disarmingly. “Actually, I seem to spend most of my
life carefully not frightening people.”
Another scrawny old woman piped up, “What’s this oath you made to
the woodfolk then? I am Dried Berry.”
Very apt. Tarkyn looked at her in some surprise. “If you know about
the oath, why don’t you know the contents?”
“Not my business, until now.”