Bronze Magic (Book 1) (7 page)

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?”
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?”
The wizard inclined his head but made no further comment.
“Please be seated.” Tarkyn smiled. “I have always thought Stormaway
Treemaster to be such an excellent name. I wish I had one so colourful.”
“Do you?”
Tarkyn drew his cloak around himself against the cooling night air.
“Any name but my own would be better right now.”
For the first time, the forest wizard returned his gaze levelly and said
with unexpected sympathy, “I imagine it would be.” He leaned forward
and poked the fire again, “Even if you weren’t sharing my fire, I wouldn’t
attempt to turn you in. You are far too dangerous.”
Tarkyn gave a short mirthless laugh. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
“It certainly does. But I suspect the tales of your misdeeds may have
been vastly exaggerated.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what they are, but I can’t imagine
that they are much worse than the reality.”
“But regardless of the rumours,” continued the wizard, “the strength
and skill required to win the Harvest Tournament is indisputable.”
A genuine smile lit the prince’s face. “Thank you. I had almost forgotten
that achievement in the turmoil that followed.”
Stormaway stirred the fire then asked in a completely different tone of
voice, gentle and firm, “Would you like to tell me about it?”
After a minute’s silence, he looked up to see Tarkyn staring at him,
considering his decision. The wizard, who seemed to have grown in assurance,
said, “Take your time deciding. We have all night if we need it.” His eyes fell
to the fire once more as he continued, “If you trust me not, so be it. Perhaps
the truth is worse than the rumours, but I doubt it. But knowing who you
are, places you in as much danger as anything you could say.”
Tarkyn eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you would not betray me?”
The wizard frowned impatiently, “I won’t. I’m saying that I need no
further information to betray you, should I choose to do so. Therefore,
you can tell me your story without fear of further consequence.”
Tarkyn re-evaluated his impression of the wizard. The man before him,
who had seemed shifty and shiftless, now exuded natural authority. “I’ve
been watching you, Stormaway. You’re like a chameleon. The person I sat
down with, is not who I see before me now.”
“We must all wear disguises in the face of potential danger, Sire.”
“And you would consider a lone stranger to be a potential danger?”
The wizard spread his hands disarmingly. “Often, Your Highness. But
in your case, absolutely.”
“I hope you realise that I intend you no harm,” said Tarkyn quietly.
Suddenly, he hit his hand on his thigh in irritation. “Blast it! I am not
used to being treated as such a pariah.”
Stormaway smiled condescendingly. “Might I suggest that you are not
used to being without a bevy of toadeaters and sycophants?”
The prince glared at him, “You would not say that of me, if we were
at court.”
“My point exactly.”
“That is not what I meant,” retorted Tarkyn hotly. The air around him
shimmered with anger. Then suddenly, he gave a short laugh. “You’re
deliberately goading me, aren’t you?” He looked at the unremarkable,
tatty figure before him with dawning respect. “Despite what you say, you
must be pretty sure of yourself to take that risk.”
“Oh, I get by,” replied the wizard airily. “So, will you deign to tell me
your story?”
The prince stood up and towered over him for a moment, clearly
annoyed. But then he merely turned and walked over to the woodpile.
Between gathering dry branches into his arms, he looked over his
shoulder and said, “I don’t know you well enough yet to know what I
think of you, but you seem to have formed a very poor opinion of me.”
He brought the branches across and fed them into the fire before he sat
down again.
The wizard watched and waited.
“Not only that,” continued Tarkyn as he brushed the wood dust off
his hands, “Having said that I could take my time deciding whether to
tell you what happened, you are now trying to goad me into it...Why?”
The question hung on the night air for what seemed a long time.
Then Stormaway leaned forward to adjust a burning branch and replied
gravely, “Because I would trust you, my lord.”
Tarkyn was taken aback. After giving it some thought, he said slowly,
“And I would value your trust, should I earn it. You say the rumours are
bad but you may think the reality is little better. Still, I will tell you what
happened and you must judge for yourself.”
He settled himself against the tree, drew his long legs up and rested his
arms on his knees. Then he began.
“As you no doubt know, I have twin older brothers. One of them
is king; the other would like to be. Kosar and Jarand have grown up
in fierce competition with each other and their common ambition to
assume the monarchy has overshadowed all other loyalties.”
The wizard frowned, “You have not been brought up in a moral
household since your father died, then.”
Tarkyn threw an impatient glance at the wizard, “Stormaway, don’t
judge my worth too hastily – and when you do, judge me on my own
merits, not on my family’s.”
As Stormaway gave a short nod, Tarkyn continued, “The Harvest
Festival was when it all went wrong.” He shifted his weight a little as he
grimaced at the memories, “I think it might be about here that my tale
will part company with the rumours...During the final bout, my shaft of
power went slightly off target and damaged one of the wooden spectator
stands. People jumped off in a panic as the stand sagged to one side but
as soon as they could see it wasn’t going to collapse, they came back and
sat down to watch the rest of the tournament.”
“That’s it?” demanded Stormaway.
Tarkyn gave a lop-sided smile. “The damage to the spectator stand is
the only incident of any note that occurred during the tournament. More
happened later of course, but I will come to that.
“Unfortunately, as you know, I won the whole tournament. I say
unfortunately, because I gather it made my brothers realise how strong my
magic had become and that I now have… or had, a following among the
people. From what they said afterwards, they seem to have thought I might
mount a challenge for the throne.” The prince shook his head in bewilderment,
“But just because I possibly could, doesn’t mean that I would. The thought
never entered my mind. I want nothing to do with the throne. All my life,
I have watched the misery and anxiety caused by the manoeuvrings around
the monarchy. I find even the peripheral intrigue of being the king’s brother
enough to manage. I have never had any wish to become the focal point.”
Tarkyn ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “They didn’t even ask
me my intentions.” He lapsed into silence, staring moodily into the fire.
After a few minutes he stirred himself enough to glance up at Stormaway
with a wry grimace, “Still, I suppose they wouldn’t have believed me
anyway, once the idea was planted in their heads.”
Not wishing to stand up this time Tarkyn, with a flick of his wrist and
a muttered “
Liefka,
” floated another branch onto the fire and when the
branch was settled, he continued his story.
“For the first time in who knows how long, they acted in concert
instead of vying with each other. They had me arrested late at night when
no one was there to raise objections. I don’t know if you can understand
how embarrassing it is to be arrested by Palace Guards whom you have
known all your life?” He shrugged, “Hard for them, hard for me.”
He waved a dismissive hand, “Anyway, because of the incident at the
tournament, Kosar sentenced me to foreswear my power for four years,
on pain of imprisonment.”
“What?” demanded Stormaway, incensed. “For misdirecting one
blast in a tournament? If they were worried about it, they should have
organised boundary shields.”
Tarkyn shrugged. “That’s what I said, but I realise now it was never
about that. The twins just wanted me disarmed and that was their excuse.”
“So what did you do?”
“I couldn’t let them take my magic. It would have been like...I don’t
know... losing my arm, being blinded, having my heart ripped out of me.”
Stormaway nodded sympathetically. “Totally barbaric, even to
consider it.”
“So I defied the king and threw up my shield...” He trailed off and
glanced uncertainly at Stormaway before clearing his throat, “Hmm.
This may be the point where the rumours have a greater basis in truth...”
“Go on, Sire,” said the wizard gently, “I don’t have to agree with
everything you’ve done, to be able to trust you.”
The prince grimaced, “I’m not sure how far that holds…. However...
Basically, things spun out of control. I think perhaps the intensity of
my emotions altered my shield’s composition. Instead of blocking, it
reflected.