The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (47 page)

Bean raised his eyebrows, “You’re right, String. He is looking after the other one’s interests.” He took the rabbits from String and placed them carefully over the fire. Then he glanced at Danton and smiled,  “Don’t worry. We’re not interested in who you are, in terms of doing anything about it. But we do like to pass the time working out riddles. So, excuse us if we continue to figure out who you are. Think of it as a pre-dinner game.”

“You know,” said String suddenly, “Our mystery man was surprised we didn’t know who he was. That means he is either famous or notorious.”

“Or both,” said Tarkyn with a smile.

Bean put up his hands, “No, don’t tell us. We’ll work it out.” He screwed up his face in thought, “You know String, there is something about him that rings a bell but I’m sure I’ve never met him before.”

“How long have you been out of circulation up there in the mountains?” asked Danton.

“Six, eight months,” said Bean. “Why? Missed something, have we?”

Danton gave the ghost of a laugh, “Just a bit.”

String scratched his head. “Hmm. What could have happened in the last six months?” He snapped his fingers, “I know. The Harvest Tournament.” He smiled triumphantly at Tarkyn, “And you’re good. So maybe you won the Harvest Tournament. That would explain why you thought we might know who you are.”

Bean grimaced, “Trouble is, we don’t know who won the Harvest Tournament.”

Tarkyn laughed and waved out his shield again, “You’re doing well. I don’t know how much further you’re going to get, though.”

“Hmph, I think you might be right,” Bean turned to Danton, “Go on then, give us a hint. What’s your full name?”

Danton glanced at Tarkyn for approval before saying, “Danton Patronell, Lord of Satchmore.”

String threw his hands up, “Blast it! Too easy! That’s given the game away entirely.”

Bean nodded sagely, “Yes, I’m afraid so. A lord’s not going to protect anyone but Royalty. And obviously he’s not one of the twins because each wouldn’t trust the other one out of his sight for this long… and wrong colouring.”

“So you must be the youngest prince, Prince Tarkyn. That’s why he rang a bell. It’s his colouring; black hair with golden eyes. I’ve heard about it,” concluded String. He nudged his companion sharply in the ribs and they both rose stiffly to their feet and, rather awkwardly, bowed low.

“Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. “Please be seated again, if that is your wish.”

The trappers promptly sat down but an air of constraint had settled over them and they kept their focus firmly on the cooking rabbits.

After a few minutes of silence, Tarkyn stood up and walked over to the mouth of the cave to peer out into the driving rain. As the trappers made to stand, he waved a hand, “No. Don’t get up. I wouldn’t want our lunch burnt because you lost concentration.”

They glanced at him and then at each other.

The stockier one leant over and murmured to String, “Is he being funny or is he really worried about his lunch?”

Tarkyn ignored them as he put his hand out into the rain, “Oh dear! Anyone out in that is going to be very wet.”

The two trappers glanced at each other again before Bean said kindly, “Don’t worry too much about your friends, Your Highness. They are experts at dealing with the elements. I bet they’ve found somewhere else nice and dry.”

The prince spun around with a frown on his face. “I beg your pardon?”

String frowned furiously at Bean, “Bean means that if you happened to have any friends nearby, they would, of course, be skilful or they wouldn’t be in the service of a prince. Isn’t that right, Bean?”

Bean cleared his throat, “Just exactly what I meant.”

Tarkyn looked across at Danton then came in and sat down. He picked a twig off one of the logs in the woodpile and began to break bits off the end. “Your logic wasn’t right, you know,” he said, carefully diverting the conversation. “I didn’t expect to be known for having won the Harvest Tournament.”

“No, obviously not,” said Bean, thawing a little. “You’ve been well known all your life, haven’t you? Yes, that was a bit of a red herring, wasn’t it?” His eyes narrowed as he thought, “Hmm, still a puzzle here, now I come to think of it, isn’t there String?”

String nodded, “Yes. No doubt about it. Very interesting.” He nudged his companion, “Still, not sure that it’s seemly to carry on with our guessing game. Might save it for later.”

Tarkyn leant back against the wall of the cave and waved a hand, “No. Please continue, if you would like to. It is most entertaining.”

“I think I agree with them that it is not seemly, my lord,” said Danton repressively.

“And yet, Danton,” Tarkyn spoke lightly but there was no mistaking the underlying edge, “I think I would rather hear whatever they conjecture, than leave them to reach their conclusions behind my back.”

Bean and String looked at each other and a small nod passed between them. “Your Highness,” said Bean, speaking for them both, “What we said before still holds true. That you are here with only Lord Danton as your retinue is none of our business. Neither are the friends you choose to keep. We keep well away from Tormadell and the affairs of the realm.”

String turned the rabbits over and prodded one of them with his hunting knife. Then he looked up and met the prince’s amber eyes, “You do not need to hear our conjecture to satisfy yourself that you are safe. We are no threat to you.”

Bean shrugged, “I can see why you’re worried, though. Price on your head, branded a rogue sorcerer, exiled by your brothers,” he said casually. “They really are a pair of bastards, those two.”

Danton threw his shield up around Tarkyn and himself, “You lied to us,” he hissed, “You’ve known all along who we are.”

Bean waved his hand disparagingly, “Oh, put your shield away, you feisty lad! I just told you; we’re not planning to hurt you.” He nodded at the prince, “Mind you, not sure that we could, even if we wanted to, but that’s bye the bye.” He began to rummage through his rucksack, “Go on, String. You explain while I get a plate out.”

String settled himself with his hands linked loosely across his knees, “Your Highness, you brought the idea of a rogue sorcerer into the conversation, not us. Pretty rare things, rogues. Not something you’d normally think of. Obviously you’re on the run. So, I would say you’ve been branded a rogue.” He picked up a stick and stirred the coals under the rabbits, “From your little display earlier, we have already established that you are not a rogue.”

Bean picked up the thread, “So that can only mean you’ve been set up.” He gave a slow smile, “You know, it was probably a tactical error on your part to win that tournament. We are talking pathalogically jealous brothers here.” He shrugged, “Still, what is obvious to everyone else isn’t always obvious to those involved. Anyway, if you’re on the run as a rogue, you’re bound to have a price on your head and the only person who could sanction a price on your head would be the King.” He swept his hand in a flourish and bowed from where he was sitting. “So you see, we do not need to have known who you were earlier, at all.”

Tarkyn laughed, “I think the mountain air must be good for your brains. You are a fine pair of thinkers.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Bean, smiling. “We do have a lot of time to practise, you know. I think that helps.”

Tarkyn glanced at Danton. “Enough, I think,” he murmured quietly.

Without a word, Danton extinguished his shield.

“And you were saying about my friends?” continued Tarkyn pleasantly.

This time the look that passed between Bean and String was quite blatant. After some hesitation, Bean said, “I like your clothes. They’re good for camouflage, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are,” replied Tarkyn steadily, his eyes never leaving Bean’s face.

“Do you know,” said String conversationally, “I have never been able to find a shop that sells clothes exactly like that.”

Danton smiled patronisingly, “But then, you have never been to Tormadell, have you?”

Bean raised his eyebrows, “You know, String, that’s a very good point. I bet there are shops everywhere in Tormadell selling clothes like that. I understand muted brown tones are all the rage at court.”

“No, actually they are not,” replied Danton without missing a beat. “These are more for your country wear.”

Bean smiled at String, “You have to give it to him; he’s good.”

Tarkyn smiled appreciatively, “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

Bean and String’s attention returned to the rabbits for a few minutes. They pushed each rabbit towards its own end of the long stick. Bean then cut the long stick in half while String held the two cool ends. Once he had lowered the hotter ends onto the plate and they were sure String had a firm grip, Bean wrapped a rather grubby rag around the other hotter end of one stick to hold it and then cut the stick in half again, leaving half a rabbit on each section. He handed the skewered meat over to Tarkyn and Danton before repeating the process with the other rabbit.

Once they were settled with their food, Tarkyn said, “You know, I would be very careful, if I were you, about jumping to any conclusions. Sometimes it can be quite unhealthy to know or see too much.”

Bean and String glanced at each other. With a mouth full of rabbit, Bean mumbled to his friend, “We should have shut up. We go all these years without breathing a word. Bloody curiosity. That’s the trouble.”

“And why has curiosity not led to you into a discussion with other sorcerers before now?” asked Tarkyn.

“You know, Your Highness,” replied Bean, pausing to spit a piece of bone into the fire, “I think my answer to that might require me to jump to one of those conclusions you were talking about. So if you don’t mind, I won’t answer.”

“Personally,” said Danton, entering the conversation for the first time in a long while, “I think this has gone too far already to be allowed to drop.”

“And how do you propose to resolve it without placing these two gentlemen in danger?”

Danton shrugged, “They are already in danger. It is more whether we can bring them through safely without compromising ourselves.”

Bean and String looked at each other and rolled their eyes, “Oh shit!” exclaimed Bean.

“I agree,” said String fervently.

“My friend Danton is right, I’m afraid.” Tarkyn leant forward and tossed the remains of his rabbit on the fire. He sighed, “In all conscience, I cannot let you walk out of here until I know what you know.”

“Blast it! Blast it! Blast it!” exclaimed String, suddenly working himself up into frenzy. “We’re stuffed now. We should never have come in here. He’s going to kill us. They always do. Why were we so stupid? Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!”

Bean thumped his friend on the back, “Stop it! Calm down. We’re not dead yet. We’ve thought our way out of tight corners before. Just settle down.” Bean rolled his eyes at the prince. “Sorry about this. He’s a bit of a panic merchant at times.”

“String, look at me,” Tarkyn’s voice was firm and sure, and cut across the tall man’s panic. “I have no wish to kill you nor to see you die.” He gave a slight smile, “That would be poor thanks for such a tasty lunch. But I very much fear it is already out of my hands.”

String stared at the prince and gulped, “If they know we know, we’re dead. We’ve seen it before, you know.”

“Who are they that you fear?” asked Tarkyn.

Bean narrowed his eyes, “If you don’t know, I’m not about to tell you.” He hesitated, and added as an afterthought, “begging your pardon, my lord.”

Tarkyn glanced at his liegeman, “Danton, we seem to be at an impasse.”

“Tricky. We are under oath, and these men are in fear of their lives.”

Bean’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be under oath? Why have they not killed you?”

“Who?” asked Danton.

“Oh, the bloody woodfolk of course. You know who we’re talking about.” The stockier trapper hunched his grubby furs around himself, “I can’t be bothered with all these shenanigans. You obviously know about them and for some reason, are immune. We, of course, are not.” He glanced at his companion who was gobbling at him and said impatiently, “Oh stop it, String.  These men aren’t woodfolk themselves. With any luck, they won’t feel the necessity to kill us.”

Tarkyn grimaced, “You are not quite right in your conjecture there. You are right about Danton but I’m afraid I am, in fact, woodfolk.”

Bean stared at him in astonishment, “Well, shave my head and call me boulder! That’s amazing. I’ve never seen any woodfolk before who didn’t have light brown hair and green eyes.” He nudged String and added quietly, “I think now might be a good time to panic, if you’re going to. We are well and truly stuffed.”

Chapter
38

Tarkyn couldn’t help smiling, “Bean, why don’t you come straight out with it and tell us what you know. Then we’ll work out what to do about it.”

Bean glanced at his friend then took a deep breath and turned resolutely to the prince. “We’ve been up in these mountains on and off for the last forty years. What we don’t know about these mountains isn’t worth knowing. They’re good, these woodfolk. They’re fast and vigilant and they have some trick of blending in that is beyond the ability of wizards and sorcerers. It’s not that we’re quicker or cleverer than they are.  It’s just that we have been around so long that sooner or later they were going to be caught out by us.” He paused, “String, stop looking like a scared rabbit. Get the billy out and make us some tea.” He gave a wry smile, “After all, it might be our last cup.”