Bronze Magic (Book 1) (11 page)

As one, the woodfolk sank reluctantly to their knees. To Tarkyn’s surprise,
Stormaway also turned and knelt before him as he led the oath-taking.
“On behalf of the forests of Eskuzor, the creatures of the woods, the birds of
the air and the fish in the streams, I give my solemn vow to honour, serve and
protect you, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor, until the end of my days. I
give this oath in the knowledge that the woodlands and all who live in them
depend on my good faith.”
“Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. “And in return, I make my pledge
to you.”
Guided by some force within him, the prince produced a bronze pillar
of flame in the palm of his hand and focused on its brilliance. For a
moment, he wondered whether he would know what to say but then he
felt the words he had spoken as a child emerge from deep within him. As
soon as he began to speak, the oath took over and the words poured forth
without conscious volition.
“I, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of the Forests of Eskuzor, give my solemn vow
that I will fulfil my obligations and responsibilities as your liege lord and will
protect the woodfolk and the forests of Eskuzor. Your just cause will be my cause
and your fate will be my fate. This is the covenant bequeathed to me by my
father, Markazon Tamadil, 48th King of Eskuzor.”
As the last words faded away, the bronze flame shot skyward and
disappeared. Sparks spiralled upward from the fire as Stormaway brought
down his staff with a sound like thunder. A shock wave of air blew
outward from the centre of the clearing and the ground beneath them
shuddered. In the quiet that followed, the first silver rays from the rising
moon washed over the clearing.
Tarkyn stood there, stunned. Nothing had prepared him to expect the
level of commitment he had just given to a people he hardly knew. He
collected himself enough to say, “People of the Woodlands, you may rise.
The venison smells as though it is nearly cooked. Please, resume your
festivities.”
The woodfolk rose to their feet and began to disperse. A few of them
looked uncertainly at the prince as though they would have spoken with
him but he gave them no encouragement so they too melted into the
night’s festivities.
Tarkyn turned glazed eyes slowly to look at Stormaway. “How could I
ever have forgotten that?” he said shakily.
Stormaway put a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Tarkyn,
my friend’s son, you were so young you would not have understood
what you were saying, let alone remembered it. No one has been there
to remind you. Your father died within the year and I was banished from
court by your brothers.”
“So now what?” asked Tarkyn. “Am I now condemned to live within
the confines of this forest, my fate entwined with people who hate me? I
might have been better off in prison.”
Stormaway took care not to roll his eyes. “My lord, I am aware that
you, no less than the woodfolk, were given no choice about entering into
this pact. However, you overstate the case. I think you will find that not
everyone resents you with the same ferocity as Tree Wind.”
Tarkyn ran a hand through his hair. “I have seen no sign of any
friendship. Ancient Oak is the only person I have conversed with and he
was doing it out of obligation.”
“You have only been here for one day,” the wizard pointed out gently.
“Give them and yourself a chance to get to know each other.”
“I feel as if I’ve been drafted into the role of an unwelcome conqueror
who has magic at his back instead of an army.”
“I am afraid, Sire, that you have summed up the situation quite
succinctly.” said Stormaway in the same matter-of-fact voice that
Tarkyn had seen in Tree Wind’s memory, “And now, you are going
to have to rise to the occasion and learn to live with it.” The wizard
turned to leave but stopped when he saw Tarkyn’s mutinous face. “Now
listen to me, my lord. Did you like what you saw of your father in Tree
Wind’s memory?”
Tarkyn glowered at him. “Yes, I did. I loved him and I have always
missed him.” His throat ached with the effort of not shedding tears.
“And did you like everything he did?” pressed Stormaway.
The young prince’s eyes flashed in instant defence of his father but
then his shoulders sagged and he conceded, “No. Not everything. If he
had been more patient and tactful, the woodfolk could have given their
allegiance with much less ill-feeling and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Your Highness, I too loved your father. I served him to the end of his
days just as I will serve you to the end of mine. But he had a tempestuous
nature which sometimes marred his actions.” Stormaway shook his head
slowly from side to side. “From what I have seen, you are very much your
father’s son. Learn from him. Take from him wholeheartedly what you
admire and learn to manage the rest.”
Tarkyn gave a short derisive laugh. “Pull myself together, in other words.”
The wizard smiled. “Basically, yes. These people have just unwillingly
sworn their lives to you. They have every right to feel resentful. The least
you can do is deign to speak to them and treat them with courtesy.”
“Stars above, Stormaway! I don’t know how my father put up
with you.”
The wizard actually grinned. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it was
a struggle for both of us.” He clapped his new charge on the shoulder.
“Come on. Let’s get some of that fine wine and a plate of venison.”
For better or for worse, Tarkyn’s future had found him.
arkyn took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked over
to the nearest group of woodfolk who were standing with drinks in
their hands, waiting for the venison to be carved. As he approached,
he saw two of them exchange glances.
At a nudge from Waterstone, Autumn Leaves held up a large flagon.
“Would you like a refill, Your Highness?”
Tarkyn blinked. None of them bowed or even inclined their heads in
respect, as he walked up to them. “Thank you. I would. Your wines are
very good.” He glanced sideways to share his surprise with Stormaway
only to find that the wily old wizard had melted from his side. He gave a
rueful grimace. “Hmm. I seem to have misplaced my wizard.”
A woodwoman smiled at him, “He’s as slippery as a snake, that
Stormaway. Disappears for weeks at a time. Then suddenly, one day, he
will just stroll in and help himself to a cup of tea as though he’d never
been away. I am Creaking Bough.”
Tarkyn inclined his head in acknowledgement, “Pleased to meet you. I
hope you will forgive me if I take a few days to remember all your names.
I am meeting so many of you all at once. But I promise you, I will do
my best.”
The venison and roasted vegetables filled the clearing with glorious
aromas as the food was served onto large pieces of bark lined with
plaited vines.
“At last. Food’s ready,” said Autumn Leaves. “You wait here and I’ll
bring you over a plateful.”
Tarkyn watched in bemusement as the woodfolk moved in to help
themselves without serving him first, or waiting for him to be ready to
eat, before they started themselves. A few minutes later, Autumn Leaves
returned with two filled plates. He handed one to Tarkyn and kept one
for himself.
“Come on then, Your Highness. You may sit with us if you like.”
Waterstone had already sat down with his meal on his lap. “Look,” he
said, patting a mossy patch next to him on a log. “I’ve saved you a spot.”
“Thank you.” Tarkyn sat down, looking a little dazed. He had never
been treated so casually in his life. And yet he could tell that they were
not being deliberately disrespectful. In fact, he thought they were making
an effort to include him and make him feel at ease.
After a wry glance at his friend, Waterstone smiled at the prince,
“Autumn Leaves is trying to make up for his previous misdeed.”
Privately reeling that Autumn Leaves wasn’t simply serving him out
of duty, Tarkyn asked as lightly as he could manage, “And what misdeed
was that?”
“Sending you off with Tree Wind on your own.”
“I see.” Tarkyn’s gaze slid along to watch Autumn Leaves eating his
meal. “It was indeed unpleasant, but I did need to see her memories. So
that I knew what you all knew.”
Waterstone waved his hand, “I agree. You did. Still, any one of us could
have shown you, perhaps more kindly, or supported you when you saw hers.”
Tarkyn frowned, unconvinced, “Surely you all relished the opportunity
to wreak a small revenge. I cannot imagine that any of you feel well
disposed towards me after what I saw.”
Just as Waterstone was about to reply, Autumn Leaves cut in, “I believe
you said that you did not want unpleasant truths rubbed in people’s
faces, so I will not comment on that. But I do offer you my apology.
However we may feel about you and the situation, you are alone, one
among many.” The woodman stopped to consider for a minute, “Even if
I were as strong as you, I cannot imagine that I would feel comfortable
if I found myself surrounded by sorcerers.” He gave a slight smile, “So it
was not kind of me, and I apologise.”
“Thank you. Although it is not perhaps as strange for me to be one
among many, as it would be for you. ”
“But, Your Highness, you have been with your own kind until now,”
protested Creaking Bough.
“It is clear, both from your words and your actions, that you do
not understand the enormous gulf that lies between sorcerers and the
Royal Family. I do not consider commoners or even lords to be my
peers. My family has ruled Eskuzor for over a thousand years. Our
heritage sets us apart. When I enter a room, no one continues to
behave as they did before I arrived. So it happens frequently that I am
one among many.”
“That sounds very lonely, my lord,” said Creaking Bough.
Tarkyn raised an eyebrow and gave a faintly derisive smile, “It is merely
the expected order of things, Creaking Bough. It is neither good nor bad.
It just is.”
Despite his words, he did feel more isolated than he ever had before.
These people were alien to him. He knew nothing of their customs,
way of life, or attitudes, and they were not behaving as he was used to.
His gaze travelled around the clearing. He could see that despite their
disregard for protocol, they were still keeping a weather eye on him
while they ate.
As he suppressed a sigh, an owl swooped in a low arc over their heads
and up into an oak tree to land high above Tarkyn. Although not unheard
of, an owl flying through the firelight was enough to cause a ripple of
comment through the woodfolk. Tarkyn smiled slightly, pleased to share
a moment of common interest with them.
“Do you know much of birds, my lord?” asked Waterstone.
“Enough to know that owls generally keep away from light. He’s a
beauty, isn’t he?” Tarkyn pointed upward, “Look. He’s still there. Right
above me.”
Autumn Leaves squinted upwards. “As far as I know, you can’t tell the
sex of a tawny owl by its appearance.”
“He’s a male,” said Tarkyn with quiet confidence. At their looks of
surprise, he added, “I saw him earlier, before I returned to the clearing.”
He shrugged, “Besides, I just know he is.”
“You must have studied birds a good deal to know the difference
between the genders, particularly if we can’t tell,” said Waterstone with a
note of scepticism. “Unusual in a town dweller.”
“No, I hate to disillusion you, but I haven’t.” Tarkyn’s eyes twinkled,
“But despite that, you will find that our owl is male.” For the first time,
they saw a chink in his courteous formality. His smile broadened, “And
there is no way you can disprove it, short of following him for weeks and
waiting for him not to lay an egg.”
This drew reluctant smiles from the woodfolk who were not quite
sure how to take him. Above him, the owl ruffled his feathers and
settled down.
“Your Highness, what is it about our actions that makes you say
we don’t understand the gulf between you and other sorcerers?” asked
Waterstone suddenly. “After all, we have never met any sorcerers, other
than you and your father... and I suppose, Stormaway. He, I believe, is a
type of sorcerer.”
“In that case, it is not surprising that you don’t understand.” Tarkyn
knew the woodman was waiting for further explanation. He also knew
that he did not want to get into a wrangle about expected behaviour after
the trauma of the oath-giving they had just been through. “Waterstone,
we have time ahead of us. Tonight, the oath is raw in everyone’s minds.
My expectations of your behaviour are clearly not aligned with your own,
at the moment. But now is not the time to remedy that.” When he saw
Waterstone about to protest, he raised his hand and said firmly, “No. I
will not discuss this tonight. I am well aware that no one is intending me
any disrespect. If I had thought otherwise, presumably the forest would
have let you know.”
The three woodfolk retreated into tense silence. When he had
finished eating, Autumn Leaves quietly gathered up everyone’s plates
and took them over to woodfolk who were waiting to clear away. While
he was exchanging a few words with them, Waterstone explained in
a subdued voice, “Normally, each woodman would attend to his own
utensils.”
Tarkyn’s eyes narrowed, “But tonight they are doing yours in exchange
for you keeping me entertained. Is that right?”
Waterstone shifted uncomfortably, “It is not quite so blatant as that.
It is more that that is their contribution towards serving you.” The
woodman glanced anxiously at the nearby trees.
“I see. I can accept that.”
Waterstone let out a small sigh of relief. Around the fire, more woodfolk
were watching the prince and exchanging anxious glances. There was a
building undercurrent of tension.
As Autumn Leaves returned, Tarkyn snapped, “Will you please keep
private conversations with me private?” He waved his arm around the
clearing, “Now look! Everyone is waiting to see what I will say next.”
For a moment, the heavy woodman glared at him, resentment
smouldering in his eyes. “What do you expect?” he snapped back.
“Of course they want to know what you’re going to demand of us.”