The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (56 page)

Tarkyn frowned, “I’m not sure that I like where this is going.”

Stormaway ignored him and kept speaking, “So. The forest guardian has a unique connection with the forest and can draw power from it.” Now he looked at Tarkyn, “He can also draw forth from the forest all the elements that were once a person and bring them back together into one place. For a short time, you can resurrect Pipeless. Long enough for him to revoke his curse.”

There was a horrified silence. Slowly all eyes turned to a white-faced Tarkyn. “But that is necromancy, Stormaway,” he breathed. “I have  always been told that necromancy is evil and produces excessive, ungovernable power.”

Stormaway chuckled, “Don’t believe everything you’re told, Tarkyn. No one can actually use necromancy although many have tried. It’s just a wizard’s tale spread to raise wizards’ mystique among sorcerers.”

“Oh.” The young sorcerer looked a little embarrassed, but after a moment his brow furrowed, “But you just finished telling us that this had been done before.”

“Yes, but only by a forest guardian, not by your run-of-the mill wizards or sorcerers who would have been the ones spreading the dire tales of necromancy.”

Tarkyn glanced around the faces of the woodfolk before asking, “And if I agree to attempt this, what control will I have over Pipeless when he appears? And what powers will he have? Will he be more powerful than he was in life?”

“You will have no control over him, except to release your hold on his elements and dissipate him again. He will have the same powers he had in life, possibly less because not all of him will be there.”

“So he could strike out at us,” said Waterstone.

Stormaway nodded, “Yes, he could. That is what happened last time this was attempted. So we will need to make sure that everyone is shielded.”

Dry Berry huffed, “How do you know your shields will work against the powers of a shade?”

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “Stormaway?”

The old wizard grimaced, “We have so little knowledge about this, but I don’t think his power will have changed. He will still be who he was. And I can’t see how he could gather more power when he has been quiescent for so long. He hasn’t been an entity for seven years. How then, could he have become more powerful?”

“What if his parts bring some of the forest’s power with them when he reassembles?” asked Rainstorm.

Stormaway glanced at him, “That’s possible, I suppose. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Tarkyn considered it and shook his head, “
I
kno
w
the forest.” Interestingly, this statement was true even though in many ways the woodfolk knew it much better than he did. “It has great power but it is not available to just anyone. As you know, the forest protects  its own. I don’t think it would allow its power to leech into someone so uncertain.”

“And what mood will this shade be in?” asked Dry Berry. “Will he still be as vengeful as he was at the end of his life? Or will he have mellowed over time?”

Stormaway shook his head, “I don’t know. I can’t see that he would have had time to reflect and mellow because he has been dead, not lying around thinking. My best guess is that he will return as he left, angry and vengeful.”

“Oh good,” said Tarkyn in a small voice. “So, that’s something to look forward to.”

Ancient Oak smiled at him and patted him on the arm, “Never mind. You’ve had practice in dealing with his son. Maybe that will hold you in good stead.”

Tarkyn sent him a wry glance, “Slight difference in size, power and experience.”

“But you’ll do it though, won’t you?” Ancient Oak grinned at him, confident of the answer.

A slow smile dawned on Tarkyn’s tense face as he let out a long sigh, “If that is what you all wish me to do, then I will.”

Chapter
45

The moon was riding high in the black sky, occasional thin clouds scudding over its face. The wind had died down but a restless breeze wafted across the side of the mountain sending icy threads of air winding among the gathered woodfolk. An aqua haze surrounded the main body of the woodfolk emanating from Danton who was sitting a little to one side, with Sparrow next to him, to make sure he stayed focussed.

In front of the assembled woodfolk stood Midnight, within a horseshoe of String and Bean, Waterstone, Ancient Oak, Rainstorm and Lapping Water. Stormaway stood with them, keeping them safe within his bright green shield.

Everyone was faced towards Tarkyn, watching as he sat with his eyes closed and his hand pressed against the trunk of a gnarled old yew tree that had been bent over and twisted by years of withstanding prevailing winds and gales. Because he was drawing the essence of Pipeless up through the tree, he couldn’t break contact with it by raising his shield. So he alone was unprotected and because of this, despite emphatic protests, he had refused all offers of support and assistance.

Tarkyn sent his senses travelling down into the gravesite at his feet. He kept in his mind the kinder pictures of Pipeless that Hail had given him. His mind baulked at the images of Pipeless attacking the woodwoman and he could not use them to focus his attention on summoning the dead sorcerer. He merged Hail’s memories of Pipeless with the remaining bones that were still buried in the ground. When he had created a sense of the wizard, body and soul, he merged himself slowly with the forest.

He wished desperately for Waterstone’s hand on his shoulder as he began to lose his sense of self but now he had to deal with his decision to work alone. He took a deep breath to fight down the panic and let himself flow through the yew into the mountain and from there, into the grasses and shrubs on the side of the mountain, and then on down into the woodlands and streams in the foothills below. He lost all sense of the cold night or the people watching him. As he flowed through the woodlands he kept the image of Pipeless strongly in his mind, using it as a magnet to draw any particles of the dead wizard back towards him. Slowly he gathered together everything he could find and drew it gradually back up the mountainside.

As he approached his point of departure, the sense of Pipeless became stronger and more palpable. Tarkyn could feel the tight, withdrawn personality of the man, laced with yearning, hurt and anger all around him. The closer he came to his own body, the more concentrated became the sense of Pipeless, entwined with his own ranging spirit. Before he returned, Tarkyn knew he had to separate himself from what was left of the wizard. He tried to draw on his own sense of himself but he was too dissipated to have a centre left to focus on.

Suddenly, far away, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He vaguely wondered who had overridden his order and whether the forest was endangered. But with the external contact on his body, he was able to find his own essence and disentangle himself from Pipeless. With a sudden rush, Tarkyn catapulted out of the old yew to land in his body in the cold night air, throwing his hands forward as he did so, to thrust Pipeless out of him.

Dropping his arms to his sides, he opened his eyes to find himself confronting a ten foot high wizard, opaque but misty, as though he were slightly out of focus. Below the giant’s ribcage was a horizontal slit where Hail’s knife had driven home. The huge man’s face was contorted with rage and pain. Tarkyn’s heart thumped so much, it felt as if it might jump out of his throat. He scrambled to his feet, keeping his focus on holding the elements of Pipeless together in front of him. With another part of his mind, he threw up his shield, glancing sideways to see whose hand had guided him back. His eyes met those of Bean’s.

“I guess I can endure another tongue-lashing if I have to,” whispered the trapper.

Tarkyn was too dazed to even understand the inference. He returned his attention to the spectre in front of him. The huge wizard’s burning blue eyes glowered down at him, blinking as he tried to work out what had happened. Then his rage reasserted itself and the fearsome wizard flicked his arm, albeit a little clumsily and roared,
“
Fiersp
a
!” A blast of fiery power speared towards Tarkyn.

Despite his shield, Tarkyn flinched and ducked, but the fireball spread harmlessly around the outside of the shield before burning out, leaving the two of them unscathed.

Tarkyn straightened and tried to speak but only produced a dry squeak. He cleared his throat and managed to get out, “Pipeless, I am Tarkyn Tamadil, third son of King Markazon, and your liege lord within the forest.”

The wizard took no notice of what he had said, frowned down at him and roared, “Where did you suddenly spring from? And where is Hail?” His voice sounded deep and breathy, but a clear note of panic underlay his anger. His questions came out slowly as though it was an effort to form the words.

Tarkyn squared his shoulders and spoke more loudly, with a firm assurance that he did not feel, “Pipeless, I tell you again, I am your liege lord. I await your obeisance.”

The wizard scowled furiously, but his bewilderment was dissipating his anger. A frown of confusion appeared on his brow, “Who did you say you were?”

“I am TarkynTamadil, third son of King Markazon.”

Pipeless looked him up and down, “You’re well grown for twelve years old.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Tarkyn couldn’t help smiling, “Nevertheless, I am who I say I am.” He paused then added with a deliberate note of hauteur, “And I am still waiting.”

Then to everyone’s amazement, the enormous, frightening wizard bowed low. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, for attacking you. The last few minutes have been rather confusing.” When he straightened, his fearsome blue eyes swept around the gathered woodfolk and narrowed, “And who are all these people?”

“Hi Pipeless, you know me,” said Bean casually, “Do you like my beard? Your son did that, you know.”

The wizard’s eyes swivelled down to stare at the trapper. “My son? I have no son.”

“Yes you do,” said Tarkyn, “The world has moved on. Your son is seven years old.”

The deep breathy voice sounded uncertain, “Why has the world moved on? What has happened? Why is everyone so short?”

The prince grimaced, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. The pain in your chest comes from a lethal knife blow dealt you by Hail. You are dead and have been for seven years. I drew you back from within the earth and the woodlands. I can only hold you together for a short time. When I let go, you will flow back into the earth and the trees.”

“And we are not short,” added Stormaway. “I think Tarkyn has not managed to concentrate you completely back to what you were. So you are taking up more space.”

The huge, misty wizard frowned as he tried to remember and to work out what had happened. Slowly, as they watched, his face suffused, not with anger but with shame. He lifted his hands and buried his face in them.

“Why have you brought me back?” came his voice, muffled by his hands, “To stand in judgement on me?”

“No, Hail passed judgement on you long ago,” said Tarkyn calmly, “But if you remember, as you died, you uttered a curse on your son and on all of his mother’s people.”

Pipeless dropped his hands and stared at the prince. After a long unnerving pause, he said, “I did not think. I was hurt and angry. I realise, now you say that I have a son, that I have condemned my own child.” He wiped his hand across his brow, “It was a terrible curse, wasn’t it?” He let out a slow wheezy breath, “And I would not have wanted Hail’s people hurt either. But I died, didn’t I? So I didn’t have time to calm down and retract it.” He looked around. “Are these all Hail’s people?” When Tarkyn nodded, he asked, “And where is my son? Has he suffered?”

Tarkyn pointed to Midnight who was standing between Rainstorm and Lapping Water within Stormaway’s shield. “Yes, he has suffered a great deal. But your friends, String and Bean have stood by him over the years and done what they could and recently, I have met him and will look after him from now on. He is a fine young woodman and a fine young sorcerer. He is deaf but I can exchange mental images with him so he is no longer isolated.” He turned back to the dead wizard, “He is a son to be proud of. And he is willing, despite all they have done to him, to help Hail’s people to break free of your curse.” Tarkyn paused, “But only you can free your son.”

Pipeless stared at Midnight, drinking in every detail of him. Lapping Water’s and Rainstorm’s hands tightened on the little boy’s shoulders as he tensed up under scrutiny. Tarkyn sent him waves of reassurance and smiled at him.

Pipeless glanced uncertainly at Stormaway, “You know you will have to drop your shield if I am to revoke the curse?”

Stormaway in turn glanced at Tarkyn, “Your Highness?”

Tarkyn faced the huge wizard, “Pipeless, look at me.” When he had the dead man’s attention, he continued, “Do I have your word that you will hurt none of these people?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I have nothing left to give you as surety, since my life and honour are already lost but only at the very end was I a violent man. I am glad that you have given me the chance to repair the damage I have wrought.”

As Tarkyn nodded his approval, Stormaway waved away his shield. Immediately, Midnight ran towards the shade with his arms out in front of him. Stormaway moved to intervene but Tarkyn stopped him with a gesture. The huge, misty wizard squatted down. When Midnight reached him and threw his arms around his waist, his father put an awkward arm around the little boy and patted him gingerly on the back. Then he placed his other hand on the boy’s head and intoned,
“
Choidayarorsharanualla. Rorsharatayahagarznuallatayadorisolnuallazormatar
a
.” A soft deep blue flowed from beneath the wizard’s hand, not the red that Tarkyn had imagined, and slowly swirled around Midnight. Then the blue spiral gathered force and spun upwards before flowing through the night air towards the gathered mountainfolk.