The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (46 page)

“Stop whingeing, Autumn Leaves,” said Rainstorm with mock severity, “I’ll have you know Thunder Storm paid dearly for knocking you out.”

Thunder Storm smiled, “Yes. You had a little warrior championing your cause.”

Autumn Leaves frowned and then put his hand up to feel his newly healed wound. “Hmm. That feels a little tender but not like the earlier pain.” He returned his attention to the conversation, “What are you talking about? What warrior?”

Tarkyn answered from the corner of the cave where he had been trying, with indifferent success, to explain to Midnight the need to keep his mind open. “This young menace here threw poor Thunder Storm onto his back then sat on top of him and pounded him, until Rainstorm dragged him off.”

Autumn Leaves laughed, “What? That little thing? That’s pathetic, Thunder Storm!”

“Thanks. Your sympathy is overwhelming.” He glanced over and smiled at Midnight, “But I’ll tell you this. I would rather have him on my side than against me. He didn’t hesitate. He was fast, accurate and aggressive in your defence.”

“You’re not telling me he really kept you pinned down?” Autumn Leaves looked perplexed.

Thunder Storm grunted with laughter, “No, of course I’m not. I was just caught unawares. Rainstorm had hauled him off before I had time to react. But he had grabbed my slingshot, thrown it away from me and shoved me onto my back before I knew what was happening. If I hadn’t been crouching, he couldn’t have, of course, but maybe he would have done something different then.”

“It’s just as well we explained what was happening before Summer Rain made her incision. He might have knocked her hand with the knife in it when it was close to Autumn Leaves’ eye,” said Waterstone.

Tarkyn looked at Midnight and shook his head, “Oh dear. We will have to be very careful that we tell him what’s happening.”

“Still, he’s not the nasty piece of work that Sighing Wind said he was, is he?” Rainstorm smiled across at Midnight who scowled, knowing he was being talked about.

“Which is all credit to him,” said Summer Rain, “considering the treatment he has obviously endured.”

When Autumn Leaves looked confused, Waterstone went out of focus to explain.

“Perhaps he is a nasty piece of work to the mountainfolk,” suggested Lapping Water. “He certainly doesn’t like them.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Summer Rain sternly, “Someone has been beating him. Either they maltreated him or allowed his mother to.” She shook her head, “There is some evil loose among these mountainfolk.”

There was an arrested silence.

“Do you think so? Do you mean that literally?” asked Tarkyn. “Is it not the general nastiness you find in people everywhere?”

Waterstone’s eyes narrowed, “You are coming very close to being offensive, Tarkyn. When have you seen behaviour like that among us?”

Tarkyn threw his hands up in apology, “I beg your pardon. I have not. But don’t people everywhere have a dark side?”

“Not that dark,” stated Autumn Leaves flatly. “There’s a difference between being angry and being malicious. Anyway, even if I concede that we do have a dark side, we do not have to act on it. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? We keep it in check, just as you do.”

“And that’s another thing,” said Rainstorm in a complete non sequitor, “Why weren’t they subject to the oath as the forestals are?”

Tarkyn shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe because they didn’t acknowledge, as your people did, that they were part of one people.”

“But they did. Remember? Dry Berry said they carefully didn’t help their kin to betray the oath. And once they swore fealty to you, why didn’t it convert to the sorcerous oath, in that case?”

“Maybe it has,” suggested Running Feet.

Tarkyn shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. There was no sorcery in the air at the end of the oathtaking. I certainly hope not, anyway. I really don’t want the forest beholden to their honour; even more so if there is something amiss with them.”

“Maybe we are too far away from where the spell was first cast,” suggested Danton.

“That’s possible,” conceded Tarkyn.

“Or perhaps the sorcery of the oath does not accept corrupted woodfolk, just as it would not have accepted you, if you were corrupt.” Autumn Leaves sat up carefully and dusted himself off, “Does anyone have a drink?”

Several hands offered leather flasks of water.

“I don’t know about that,” said Waterstone. “I think it was Stormaway who determined Tarkyn’s integrity and invoked the oath, not the sorcery in the oath itself.”

Tarkyn looked quizzically at Rainstorm, “So, to sum up, we have no idea. Since Stormaway was responsible for casting the spell, he is the only person who really knows.” He shrugged, “And he’s not here.”

Chapter
37

Suddenly a lightning fast flurry of activity erupted around Tarkyn and Danton. Next thing they knew, they were on their own and Tarkyn’s mind was filled with an intense image of himself with his shield around him

“Shield!” Tarkyn ordered peremptorily as he raised his own.

Instantly, Danton surrounded himself with an aqua haze. He glanced at Tarkyn but did nothing more, merely waiting for further instructions.

A few moments later, two very rough, scruffy individuals dodged in through the rain and stood sloughing off the worst of the water. They were dressed in roughly sewn furs plastered with mud and their shoulder length hair was wet and bedraggled. Their long straggly beards hung in soggy rats’ tails. A strong smell of stale sweat and wet animal fur filled the small cave.

“Morning,” said the taller one, swinging his rucksack onto the floor. “Don’t mind if we share your fire, do you? It’s absolutely tipping it down out there.”

“Yeah, throwing it down,” agreed the shorter one.

Tarkyn waved his arm around the fire and the dry cave, “Please. Help yourselves,” he replied urbanely as he wondered where the woodfolk were hiding and if they were getting drenched.

“Thanks very much.”

They approached the fire, rubbing their hands together and squatting down in front of it. For a few minutes no one spoke. Gradually, the strangers’ wet furs began to steam as the fire warmed them up. Once they had begun to thaw, the two interlopers transferred their attention to Tarkyn and Danton.

The taller one nudged the shorter, fatter one and said in a quiet voice, “Hey, Bean, these two have put their shields up. Are they expecting trouble, do you think? Maybe we should put ours up as well.”

The shorter one sighed and flicked up a soft burgundy shield over the two of them. “I hate bloody shields. Means I can’t relax properly.” He looked across at Tarkyn, “So what’s the problem? Wolves? Bears? Marauders?”

Tarkyn and Danton looked at each other, before the prince replied with a slight smile, “You. We have our shields up, against you.”

“Oh, I see,” said the shorter one calmly. Then he caught his companion’s eye and spluttered with laughter. The two grinned steadfastly at the fire for a few moments but were unable to repress the whoops of laughter that welled up. As they laughed, the burgundy shield wavered and disappeared.

Tarkyn smiled at their antics but asked Danton in an undertone, “I’ll leave it to you to judge. Are they simply trying to put us off our guard or are they genuine?”

“I would say,” responded Danton, carefully using neither name nor title, “that if you find it easy to maintain your shield, then you should continue to do so. You have nothing to lose but a slight loss of face for appearing overly cautious. The other way, you stand to lose everything if you are wrong.”

So the two of them just sat there watching until their two uninvited guests had laughed themselves to a standstill. Eventually the taller one wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a couple of deep breaths, “That’s better. Nothing like a good laugh, I always say.” He looked across at the prince and his companion, “Shields still up, I see. Fair enough. You don’t know us, after all. Can’t be too careful these days, I suppose.” He rummaged around in his knapsack and produced a brace of dead rabbits with a flourish, “Here we are. We’ll just skin these and we’ll have the makings of a good hot lunch. You gentlemen are welcome to join us, if you would like to. We’ll be using your lovely fire, after all, so it’s the least we can do.”

Tarkyn inclined his head, “That would be most kind of you.”

The taller one’s eyes narrowed, “You’re a courtly sort of gent, aren’t you? No wonder you get nervous when a couple of rednecks like us thrust ourselves upon you. Not used to being out and about, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Actually,” replied Tarkyn, “I have become used to being out and about, as you call it, but I am not so used to sharing my firesite with strangers.”

“Is that so?” said the taller one slowly, “Your firesite, you say? Now that’s an interesting expression, isn’t it? Myself, I would say campfire or cooking fire, but not firesite.”

The shorter one studied the prince, “He’s quite tall, though, isn’t he?”

The taller one nodded, “Yes. Too tall, I’d say. Colour’s all wrong, too. The other one’s closer in height but again, the colouring is wrong.”

Tarkyn frowned, “And what would you be talking about?”

The two interlopers looked at each other, then the taller one shrugged disarmingly and replied, “Nothing at all. Just your unusual vocabulary. Must just come from a different area. Local dialect, I expect.”

After a fractional pause, Tarkyn asked, “Would you mind introducing yourselves? I would like to know with whom I am sharing my fire.”

Danton smiled slightly at the way Tarkyn reverted to being formal when he was unsure of the people he was with and wondered how the prince would introduce himself in return.

The taller man produced a rather crooked-toothed smile, “No problem. Might make you feel easier if we all get to know each other a bit. Not that I’m pressuring you to take your shield down. You leave it up until you’re good and ready. Better safe than sorry out in these parts, if you ask me… well, in any parts, if it comes to that.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, my name’s String and this is my mate, Bean.” He chuckled, “Broadbean, of course.”

“Oh really?” said Danton dryly.

String waved his hand dismissively. “Well, we had real names once. Bean’s real name is Benson and mine’s Stevoran but we stopped using them a long time ago.” He shrugged, “Anyway, as you’ve probably worked out, we’re trappers. Live up in the mountains most of the year. Come down into the lower country about now before the weather really closes over. Stay down until the spring.” Before Tarkyn could speak, he put his hand up, “Now, don’t go thinking you have to tell us who you are. Obviously, it’s a worry for you or you wouldn’t be so cautious. If you’re on the run or whatever, that’s none of our business. You get all manner of strange folk up here. So feel free to keep it to yourselves. As long as you don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you.”

Tarkyn smiled gently, “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No,” said String firmly, “Don’t really care that much either, to  be honest.”

“What if I were a rogue sorcerer?” asked Tarkyn.

“Well, we’d be stuffed then, wouldn’t we?” said Bean calmly, as he held the skinned rabbits out in the rain to wash them down, “Because, between you and me and your quiet mate over there, I’m bloody useless at keeping my shield up for more than two minutes at a time. I lose concentration.” He shrugged, “Anyway, the stinking shield warns animals that we’re around and they all go to ground. So it does more harm than good most of the time.”

Tarkyn smiled and waved his shield away.

Immediately, Bean threw a thin blast of burgundy power at him. Faster than thought, Tarkyn intercepted it head-on with his own power ray and simultaneously re-activated his shield.

Bean relaxed back and smiled, “Very good. You’re fast and, unless I’m much mistaken, you performed two spells at once. That is very impressive. Did you see that, String?”

Within his bronze haze, Tarkyn put his hands on his hips. “So, what was that all about?”

“Don’t mind Bean here. He’s just playing. He wanted to see how wet you really were.” String gave a grunt of laughter, “Not very, as it turns out. But not a rogue either. You didn’t use more power than you needed to.” He nodded at Danton, “Your friend here wasn’t much help to you, was he? With his shield up, there wasn’t much he could do for you,  was there?”

Danton turned red with chagrin and immediately dropped his shield.

“Danton, don’t let them wind you up. You will be no use to me dead.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” said String to Bean, “This fellow Danton is prepared to lay down his life for our mystery man here.” While he was speaking, String was calmly skewering the rabbits onto a long thin branch and pushing up a couple of wooden forks into the dirt on either end of the fire to hang the rabbits between. “So young Danton, who could be so special that you would risk your life without question for him? Your master? No. Despite your reticence, you don’t strike me as a servant. In fact, you don’t look a subservient sort of a character at all. More used to command than being commanded. And earlier on, our mystery man deferred to your judgement. Body guard? Minder?  What do you think, Bean?”

Before Bean could reply, Danton said, “I thought you didn’t care who we are. If that is the case, why all the conjecture?”