The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (62 page)

Waterstone patted Midnight on the head to thank him then sprang into action, “Autumn Leaves, Running Feet, all of you sorcerers, gather as many people as you can find. Tarkyn has disappeared. He sent out a brief wave of distress or alarm, I’m not sure which, that only Midnight seems to have picked up. The lookouts have lost sight of him but can show us where they last saw him. I can’t contact him so I think he’s unconscious.”

“Probably fallen. Unless a mountain lion has got him but he would have fought back, if it had been one of them,” said Bean phlegmatically.

“Of course, if he’s unconscious, one of them could get him now,” added String ruminatively, sending frissons of fear down the spines of his listeners.

Chapter
51

Down on the rocky ledge, Tarkyn gradually became aware of something soft and damp rhythmically stroking his face. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself gazing into the grey eyes of a silver fox. The fox froze. Tarkyn sent him a wave of reassurance and after a moment, the fox resumed his licking. Tarkyn closed his eyes and let the fox’s gentle tongue soothe his aching face while he tried to figure out where he was.

At first, he thought he had fallen asleep again and wondered why his head and body were hurting and where the fox had come from. He wasn’t in his shelter or beside the stream. Then he remembered heading up the rocky path. He frowned in bewilderment. He must have fallen over and hit his head. Slowly he opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto one elbow. The fox stopped licking and sat down beside him, staring into his eyes. After sending him a query, Tarkyn began to stroke him, as he thought about where he was. The path seemed different. He didn’t remember the cliff on his left that towered above him and the tumble of rocks on his right also seemed unfamiliar. He shrugged, deciding that he had probably just not noticed, lost as he had been in his thoughts.

He lay down again while he decided what to do. Should he keep heading on up the path or should he return to the woodfolk? Realising that he was now feeling worse than ever, aching all over and still desperately tired, he decided that he had better return. Tarkyn was no longer angry with them. He realised now that his reaction had stemmed mainly from fatigue. He felt himself drifting off again but as the hand stroking the fox gradually stilled, the silver fox licked him a couple of times and then nudged him gently with his muzzle. Tarkyn tried pushing him away but the fox was insistent. Tarkyn sighed, dragged himself back to consciousness and sat up. The fox sat expectantly beside him. With a wry smile, Tarkyn resumed his stroking.

After a while, he gave the fox a final pat and stood up. He was surprised to find that he was still feeling quite shaken. Tarkyn brushed down the front of his shirt and leggings, noting a few rubbed patches and a couple of small tears but his mind couldn’t be bothered with trying to figure out these anomalies. Instead, he straightened and turned to head back down the path. Again he was surprised, this time to find that the path was less distinct than he remembered it and actually involved climbing over a succession of boulders to make his way back down. He shook his head slightly to clear it, which hurt. He was too groggy to remember that he could heal himself. Even if he had, it was uncertain whether he would have had sufficient energy to focus properly anyway.

Tarkyn carefully negotiated his way over a succession of boulders that rapidly carried him lower down the mountain, with the fox leaping from boulder to boulder at his side. After a few minutes, he stopped for a rest. His breath was coming in gasps and his head was spinning unpleasantly. The fox sat next to him, whined and licked his hand. Tarkyn summoned a smile and gave him a couple of perfunctory pats. He looked back up to where he had come from and realised that he had made considerable progress in a short time. It hadn’t taken him long to walk up the path and felt that he should be back in sight of the woodfolk in another couple of minutes. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off onto the next boulder and on down the mountain on what he expected to be the final leg.

Several minutes later, Tarkyn stopped again, the rocks having led him deep into a gully and down to a steep mossy mountain stream. The fox sat down quietly beside him and waited. Tarkyn wondered whether this was the same stream that he had laid beside this morning. It didn’t look like it but it might be different further along. He felt sure he should have reached the firesite by now. He decided to follow the stream down, carefully quelling his growing sense of panic; ruing his terrible sense of direction.

Before long, he was far enough down the mountain to be back in the thick of the pine forest. At last he heard voices and was just about to emerge from the trees, when he realised that the people in the clearing were sorcerers, not woodfolk.

Tarkyn drew back and stood quietly in the shadows studying them, just feet away. He looked around and realised the silver fox had disappeared. A sturdy middle-aged man was sitting against a tree sharpening his sword. His face was lined with sorrow, and his hands were rough from heavy toil. When he raised vivid blue eyes to respond to someone’s question, it was clear that he was the group’s leader. Two other men, both slightly younger but with a distinctive family resemblance, were moving about the clearing setting up bedding for the night. A woman sat beside the fire stirring a large pot while another sat against a tree, babe in arms. Two young teenagers, a boy and a girl, chased each other in between and around everyone, their laughter clearly trying the adults’ patience. Their clothing was well made and of good, but not exceptional, quality. Tarkyn judged that they were probably reasonably well-to-do farmers or artisans.

Just as Tarkyn was pondering this unexpected development, the teenage girl catapulted out of the clearing, hotly pursued by the boy, and cannoned straight into the prince. The girl shrieked in fright and the boy skidded to a halt and shouted at the prince to unhand her.

Tarkyn spread his arms wide disarmingly and said quietly, “I am not holding her. If anything, she attacked me.”

Hearing the commotion, all but the woman holding the baby rushed out to defend their young. Confronted by a bevy of belligerent sorcerers and mindful of his promise to Waterstone, Tarkyn flicked up his shield.

As soon as the leader saw the shield’s colour, he leant in closer and stared, frowning, at Tarkyn.

“Stars above!” he exclaimed. “It’s the prince. Come on, you lot! Show some respect. On your knees before His Royal Highness.”

Without hesitation, every last one of them dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, hands on hearts. Tarkyn stood gazing down on them, a smile playing around his lips. It was a pleasant change to be given his due without question. With a sigh, he acknowledged to himself that it was probably based on a misapprehension. 

After a moment, he said, “Before we go any further, may I ask whether you are aware of the events that occurred during and immediately after this year’s Harvest Tournament?”

Without presuming to look up, the group’s leader replied, “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And yet I feel no fear emanating from you. Are you not concerned for your safety to be in such close proximity to a rogue sorcerer?”

Eyes still firmly on the ground, the sorcerer replied, “No Sire. I admit I am a little nervous but that is solely because I am unaccustomed to being in the presence of royalty, Your Highness.”

“I see.” Tarkyn shrugged and smiled, although none but the mother left in the clearing saw it, “Actually, I don’t see at all but we will discuss this further. You may rise.”

The seven sorcerers straightened up and stood waiting silently.

“I would like to know with whom I am dealing. So, you may introduce yourselves to me,” said the prince formally.

Their leader inclined his head briefly, “I am Trey, Your Highness.” He waved his hand in the direction of each person as he introduced them, “This is my wife Raitei, my son Lokley and daughter, Lorin. These are my twin brothers, Varga and Vaska. And over there with Baby Bo is Varga’s wife and Raitei’s sister, Raikel.”

“Thank you. I gather you know who I am.”

The teenaged boy began to shake his head but received a surreptitious cuff from one of his uncles. Tarkyn raised his hand slightly to quell Varga and spoke to the boy, “I beg your pardon, young man. I obviously assumed too much. I am Prince Tarkyn, youngest brother of the king and Lord of these Forests.”

Lokley’s eyes dilated and he sank back down onto one knee.

The prince smiled, “No, Lokley. You do not need to bow to me again. Once is enough for the time being. But thank you for the gesture.” Feeling that he could not just walk away and that anyway, he didn’t know where to go, Tarkyn waved his hand towards the clearing, “May I join you around your fire?”

Trey gave a shallow bow and replied, “It would be an honour, my lord.”

There was some confusion as the sorcerers realised they were between Tarkyn and the clearing and didn’t like to precede him. After a bit of manoeuvring, they fell back to either side to let him through first.

As he thanked them and walked between them into the clearing, still within his shield, the woman with the babe in arms began to gather her feet under her to stand up. “No, please stay where you are. Your baby looks settled and we would not like to disturb him, both for his sake and ours.” The prince gave a slight smile before turning to speak to the others, “Shall we be seated?”

“Would you like some refreshment, Your Highness?” asked Trey. “We can offer you a cup of tea or a bowl of our stew if you are willing to wait awhile.”

“A cup of tea would be most welcome,” replied Tarkyn, sitting himself carefully against a log. Despite his care, his head still jolted and he frowned in pain. For a moment, his shield wavered, but he took a steadying breath and refocused enough to reinforce it.

Lokley peered at him, “You have hurt yourself, my lord. You have blood down the side of your face and a bruise on your temple.”

Tarkyn raised his hand to his temple and gingerly felt the lump that had formed there. He brought his fingers down, sticky with blood and wiped them on the grass. “Not too bad, I think. I fell over,” he explained shortly.

“That’s quite a bump from just falling over,” commented Varga slowly.

Varga, a thick-set stolid character, found himself being drilled by a pair of intense amber eyes.

“Do you doubt me?” asked Tarkyn quietly.

Varga replied, choosing his words carefully, “Your Highness, from your reaction, I do not doubt that is what you believe. However, from my experience, I would say you were either hit hard or fell from some high place. It is hard to imagine that bruising to be the result of a simple fall.”

Tarkyn looked thoughtful, “Is that so?” When Varga went to speak again, the prince waved him to silence, “Just a moment. Let me think.” After a few minutes, he said slowly, “I was walking along a path up the mountain. I was very tired from events yesterday and deep in thought. I missed my footing and fell… I remember now. I rolled down a slope…” He looked up, “Oh. That’s why I couldn’t find my way back. I slid over a drop and landed on the rocky ledge below. I’d forgotten that.” He waved a hand, “I’m a bit foggy at the moment, to be honest.”

“How big a drop, my lord?” asked Varga.

“Hmm, hard to say. Maybe fifteen, twenty feet. Quite a way, now I think about it. No wonder my head is hurting.” He smiled ruefully, “I didn’t realise until now that I wasn’t still on the same path.” He ran his hand through his hair. “How am I ever going to find my way back to them? I am completely lost.”

“Perhaps they will find you,” suggested Vaska, from the other side of the clearing.

Unexpectedly, Tarkyn grinned, “They will certainly be trying to. I came down the mountain over tumbled rocks, though. So I think even they will have trouble following my trail.”

“Perhaps when you have recovered, we can help you to retrace your steps,” suggested Trey.

Suddenly, Tarkyn was viewing the campsite from above, through the boughs of a pine tree. His mind swooped into the clearing then climbed steeply until it was clear of the trees and viewing the forest from above. He could see the side of the mountain towering above him as he winged his way up towards its higher slopes.

Then the connection was cut and he found himself back in the clearing leaning against the log, his shield gone and Vaska leaning over him, staring into his face. Before thought, Tarkyn flicked his shield back up and watched Vaska’s face tighten as he withdrew, clearly discomforted by Tarkyn’s mistrust.

“Your pardon for coming too close to you, Your Highness,” said  the sorcerer stiffly. “For a moment, you seemed to lose consciousness and I was checking whether you were all right. I did not mean to alarm you.”

“Thank you for your concern, Vaska. I was merely pre-occupied for a few moments.”

Vaska frowned, “How do you know I’m Vaska? I was on the other side of the clearing when you closed your eyes.”

Tarkyn smiled, “You forget. I have twin brothers myself. I am used to seeing the differences.” Without even looking at Varga, Tarkyn said, “You are a little slighter, your hair is more bleached by the sun and the laughter lines are more noticeable around your eyes than Varga’s.”

“Very good, Your Highness. Not many people can tell us apart.” Vaska exchanged a grin with Varga, “We won’t be able to play tricks on this one, will we Varga?”

“Vaska, you forget yourself,” came Trey’s voice in reproof.