Bronze Magic (Book 1) (13 page)

The tatty man finished his beer thoughtfully and followed the path
of the bounty hunters down to the docks. From within the shadow of
a huge stack of cargo waiting to be loaded, Stormaway watched the two
lords vent their frustration on their hapless guide as the scruffy little ship
disappeared into the middle distance. Finally, they turned on their heels,
leaving the guide in a huddle on the dockside. As they passed within feet
of the wizard, he could hear them still muttering angrily. Once he was
sure that they had given up the chase, Stormaway heaved a sigh of relief
and turned his footsteps to his waiting horse and the long trip back to
his liege.
he world seemed to rush at him and then recede through a sea of
pain. Sometimes he tried to move but something was restraining
him and he couldn’t summon enough strength to resist it. Each
breath sent a searing pain up his back. From time to time, gentle arms
lifted his head and some sort of thin broth was poured between his lips.
Tarkyn dreaded these times because he could not control his swallowing
and would end up coughing. Then as the pain became excruciating, he
would collapse back gasping for breath and drift back into oblivion.
As the days and nights passed, his awareness of the world gradually
expanded beyond the pain. He realised his movement was restricted by
a strap that held his right arm close to his chest. He became aware of
people coming and going, talking quietly. There was one woodman in
particular who spent many hours sitting quietly beside him, but Tarkyn
had no desire even to acknowledge him. He could not summon enough
energy to engage in a game of courtesy with an unwilling liegeman.
Tarkyn’s body slowly recovered but his spirit sank deeper into isolation.
He had spent all his life surrounded by friends and liegemen, ostensibly
well-liked. He questioned every past image. Would he have been so
popular, had he not been the king’s son? Obviously not. But how far
did that go? And now none of those friends, even if they had remained
true to him, was available to him now. He relived over and over again his
mistreatment at the hands of the bounty hunters. It wasn’t the physical
pain that had disturbed him. It was the experience of being regarded
as nothing more than a commodity. Nothing in his life, not even his
arraignment, had prepared him for being treated with such malice and
contempt.
Sometimes in the night, Tarkyn would hear the sound of running
water and realise that a woodman was talking quietly to him. The sound
was soothing and gradually, as his strength returned, he began to take in
the stories the woodman was telling him – old stories of the history of the
woodfolk, mythical legends and newer stories of the day-to-day events
that were taking place outside the shelter. The woodman did not seem to
require any response from the ailing young man.
Finally, Tarkyn asked, “Are you the healer?”
“No, my lord. I’m not. With food, water and rest, your body is healing
itself now.”
“Are you guarding over me?”
“No, my lord. Others outside are keeping watch.”
There was a long pause. Then the prince said, “Nothing in that
wretched oath compels you to sit here hour after hour.”
“No, Sire. But not all actions are governed by oaths and people don’t
act only under compulsion.”
Tarkyn turned dark, haunted eyes to regard the woodman. The man
was older than he, strongly built with a square jaw and firm mouth but
kind eyes “Then why are you here?” Tarkyn croaked, his voice dry from
lack of use.
“I am here because I choose to be.”
“Oh.” Tarkyn closed his eyes while he thought about this. A few minutes
later, he asked snakily, without reopening his eyes, “I suppose you feel sorry
for me? Are you one of those do-gooders looking for a pet project?”
A rippling laugh greeted this sally. “I think you must be feeling better.
You’re getting tetchy.”
Tarkyn opened his eyes and glared at the woodman.
“And in answer to your question,” continued the woodman mildly,
“yes. I do feel sorry for you. I would feel sorry for anyone who had been
bashed around as much as you have been – severe concussion, at least
three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, multiple bruising….”
Tarkyn waved a feeble hand to tell him to desist.
The woodman smiled and kept burbling, “And I like to think that I am
reasonably kind, although do-gooder might be an exaggeration.”
Tarkyn waved his hand again and mumbled, “All right, all right. You’ve
made your point.”
He closed his eyes again and took a few slow deep breaths. When he
had recovered, he looked once more at the woodman.
“However,” burbled the woodman before the prince could speak, “I
think it is fair to say that you are my pet project.” Then, with a grin over
his shoulder, the woodman was gone.
For the first time since his accident, Tarkyn thought about something
other than his isolation and misery. The woodman had intrigued him
and he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed to find that he had
become someone’s pet project.
When the woodman returned the following day bearing his breakfast,
Tarkyn was ready for him. Between mouthfuls of porridge, the prince
said, “Now I’m beginning to feel better, I have a lot of questions that
need answering.”
“I thought you might have,” said the woodman warily. “Go on.”
“Can you begin by telling me your name? I think I have met you
before but I’m not sure. My memory is a little hazy.”
“I am Waterstone, my lord.”
The prince smiled faintly. “Yes, I should have known from the sound of
your voice.” After a pause, he asked, “And where is Stormaway? I thought
he would have been in to see me.” Tarkyn tried not to sound plaintive, but
a glance from the woodman told him he had not completely succeeded.
“He should be back soon. He’s been gone more than a fortnight,” said
Waterstone reassuringly.
Tarkyn stared at him. “A fortnight?”
The woodman smiled. “You were badly injured, you know. You
didn’t regain consciousness at all for the first week.” While the prince
mulled this over, Waterstone continued, “The wizard left the forest
with the three sorcerers who captured you on his tail. He had some
plan of leading the bounty hunters off on a false trail.” Waterstone
leant down and picked up the spoon that Tarkyn had just dropped
onto the earthen floor and handed it back without giving a thought
to washing it. The prince accepted it without comment and wiped it
on his sleeve.
“Does he know what he’s doing? I wouldn’t want him or any of you to
be hurt by those bounty hunters.” Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone. “They
were an unpleasant lot,” he added a little too casually.
“Yes, I know. I was shadowing you for a large part of that morning,”
Waterstone took away the breakfast plates and stood looking down at
the prince, “You didn’t once look for us or give any indication to those
bastards that we might be nearby. That wasn’t a bad effort, considering
that you had only just met us.”
The sorcerer smiled self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t need to look to see if
you were around. I knew you must be trying to protect me somehow,
because the forest was calm. Besides which, I am honour bound to
protect you, even as you are to protect me.”
“Anyway, you needn’t fear for the wizard or the woodfolk. Those
sorcerers wouldn’t even have known the woodfolk were there and
Stormaway is a master of disguise. From what I hear, he led them through
the woods and out into a nearby village, looking very much like you from
the back.” The woodman frowned. “They sound as if they were very easily
fooled. Why wouldn’t they have thought of you translocating?”
“People believe what they see.” Tarkyn shrugged awkwardly, using
only one shoulder. “I suppose it didn’t occur to them, if there was a figure
like me running off through the woods. Besides, very few sorcerers can
translocate and I don’t think anyone, other than Stormaway and you
woodfolk, knows that I can do it. Everyone else will have assumed that
I just run away from the Great Hall in the general confusion.” He raised
his eyebrows. “I must say, after my last two inauspicious attempts, I won’t
be rushing to try it again.” He looked quizzically at Waterstone. “On
which topic, who do I have to thank for giving me an acorn from halfway
up a great oak tree?”
Waterstone grimaced, “To be honest, it could have been any one
of us. Someone thought of the idea of giving you something to use to
translocate. So we hunted around under the oak tree, came up with a
selection of good, healthy acorns and chose the best looking one. We
thought you would come back to where we picked the acorn up.”
“And instead, I came back to exact place where the acorn had been
created, halfway up the tree.”
“Yes. As soon as you appeared up there in the tree, it was blindingly
obvious what had happened, but hindsight didn’t stop you from falling.
Actually, several woodfolk are also sporting injuries from that incident,
you know.”
Tarkyn frowned, “No. I didn’t know. So, what happened to them?”
“You fell on them, Your Highness!” replied the woodman shortly. “But
they’ll be all right. One has a wrenched knee; another has a couple of
bruised ribs. I think the rest have pretty much recovered by now.”
“Oh, I see. Oh dear. I’m quite heavy when I’m close to the ground, let
alone when I’m thrown from a great height.” The prince closed his eyes for a
few minutes. This much talking required more energy than anything he had
done in the last fortnight. Then his curiosity overcame his exhaustion and he
asked, “And how did I come to be lying unprotected in the middle of that
clearing when the sorcerers found me? I noticed that you had all found time
to cover the signs of your own presence but had left me to my own devices.”
Waterstone stood up and poured a cup full of water from a stone jar
in the corner and brought it over to Tarkyn while he considered what to
say. “It was a series of wrong assumptions and errors on our part and, I
suppose, a lack of preparation. You had slept out in the open the night
before and all had been well. So we didn’t fully appreciate how much
danger you might be in.” He glanced at the prince, “To be honest, we
were all struggling to come to terms with our new status that night and
a lot of wine was consumed in the process. And I’m afraid, because of
that, we did not get around to building a shelter large enough to house
you. So we just hoped for the best. When the lookouts sent warnings that
strangers were approaching, we tried to wake you to get you into hiding
but all our attempts were unsuccessful.”
The prince frowned, “What attempts? I didn’t hear anyone.”
The woodman considered him for a moment. “You may not
remember… Firstly, someone dropped leaves and twigs on you. Then,
when that didn’t work…’”
Light dawned on the prince’s face. “You sent in a cockroach,
didn’t you?”
Waterstone gave a little smile. “So you remember the cockroach then.”
“Now you mention it, I even remember the annoying twigs and leaves.
I just didn’t realise what they signified.” Tarkyn gave a wry grin, “I’m
afraid your wine was stronger than I bargained for, especially combined
with that tonic. I began the day with a terrible headache which events
conspired to make worse by every conceivable means until I was finally
knocked out.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’m afraid my head
is beginning to pound again at the moment.”
“Perhaps that’s enough questions for now.”
The prince nodded slightly but didn’t speak. After a while, the
woodman stood up quietly and left him to rest.
The next morning, the little girl who had given him the wine before
the oath-taking, brought him his bowl of porridge. “My dad says you’re
getting up today. I am Sparrow.”
The prince stopped eating to smile at her. “Hello Sparrow. My name
is Tarkyn.” He took another mouthful of porridge. “Who is your father?
The healer?”
The little girl shook her head vigorously. “No. My dad’s Waterstone.”
She frowned reprovingly at him. “You should know him by now. You’ve
spent enough time with him.”
The prince smiled, “Oh, is that your dad? You’re right. I should know
him by now, but I have been sick and haven’t been listening very well.”
“I get into trouble if I don’t listen.” Sparrow confided.
Tarkyn gave a short laugh then gasped as a pain shot through his chest.
The little girl put down the porridge and frowned with worry. “Are you
all right?”
The prince nodded mutely as he breathed in gently, trying not to move
his damaged ribs.
“I think I’d better get my dad,” said Sparrow nervously and disappeared
outside.
By the time Waterstone arrived, Tarkyn was lying down again.
He opened his eyes when he heard the woodman enter and said, “I’m
sorry if I frightened your daughter. I’m afraid something she said made
me laugh.”
“Oh, I see. That must have hurt. I’ll tell her to stop cracking jokes.”
Tarkyn put up a hand. “Please. Don’t. It hurts too much.”
Waterstone was unrepentant. “It’s going to hurt more when I get
you up.”
“Oh stars above, do I have to? I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Your Highness, your body has been well enough for several days now.
It is your spirit that has been ailing.”
“I see,” said the prince. “Now I know why you’re here. You are a
spiritual healer.”
The woodman rolled his eyes. “No Sire! Can no-one speak to you
unless they have a role to fulfil?”
Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone and then looked away. “Anyone can
speak to me. I just assumed that after having that oath forced on them,
no-one would want to unless they had to.”
“I have already told you that I didn’t have to sit with you all that
time and I didn’t have to talk to you either. Did you think I was lying?”
Waterstone sounded distinctly annoyed.
“I beg your pardon,” the prince said stiffly. “I did not mean to offend
you.” He smiled faintly. “Your daughter told me she gets into trouble if
she doesn’t listen to you. Looks like the same holds true for me too.”