Bronze Magic (Book 1) (10 page)

With a start, Tarkyn recognised Stormaway Treemaster, resplendent in
his green court dress, stronger and more confident in the vision than the
wizard he had met recently.

King Markazon’s hawk-like gaze sweeps across us. He dismounts
and indicates that we should assist the little boy and our stricken
companion down from their mounts. Although he sanctions releasing
Falling Rain’s bonds, no one is clear whether the woodman has been
bound in captivity or merely kept tied for his safety. Falling Rain
collapses when he is set upon the ground and has to be supported
to a comfortable spot against an old oak. No one has yet spoken and the
air is filled with mistrust and foreboding. No one has ever before come
into our woodland home. The wizard watches warily from horseback
then, when all are settled, dismounts and joins the king and the rest of
us seated around the firesite. Food and drink are brought forth for our
guests.By previous agreement, it falls to me to greet our visitors.

“Welcome to our forest, Your Majesty. We are honoured by your presence
among us. My name is Tree Wind.”
The king’s frown is forbidding. “I thank you for your welcome. However,
you labour under a misapprehension. These are my forests and you live here
at my discretion.” He glares around the circle at our ashen faces. “I have not
been pleased to discover a whole community of people who have never sworn
allegiance to the Crown.”
A stricken silence greets this pronouncement. Then one of our number
breaks the silence.
“But Your Majesty, you cannot rule a people you cannot find. My name is
Autumn Leaves.”
All eyes turn to glare at the speaker of such provocative words. We glance
nervously at each other around the firesite, acutely aware that Autumn Leaves’
words are ill-chosen. Surprisingly, no explosion of wrath follows. Perhaps noting
our reaction, the king merely waves an impatient hand and declares calmly,
“All that is at an end. Now that the illness of Falling Rain has betrayed your
presence, your unnatural, treasonous independence is at an end.”
We are filled with dread at what that may mean but before we can respond,
Stormaway cuts in smoothly but respectfully, “However, we understand that
many of your people are near death from this sickness and we have come
bearing medicines that will heal them. Beyond the forest edge, this malady is
common enough and easily cured but because you woodfolk have never been
exposed to it, you have no resistance to it or knowledge of the cure.”
“I am concerned for Falling Rain. Should he not be put to bed?” I ask.
The wizard produces a small packet of herbs from an inner pocket and
hands it to the nearest woodman.
“Here. Make a tisane from these. Hopefully, now he is back amongst you, that
will revive him. The journey has tired him excessively as I feared it might. But for
some reason, he did not respond to my treatment while he was within the palace.
I believe he may need to be within the forest to recover.”
“So, you will help us, but the cost of this help is the loss of our independence? A
high price indeed,” observed a scratchy voice. “I am Running Feet.”
“Without our intercession,” interjects the king, “You would all be dead
within the month. Being independently dead seems quite pointless to me.”
“However, being independently alive does not,” I retort, but my sighing
voice robs my words of rudeness. “You could choose to save us but leave us as
we have always been, elusive and not answerable to anyone.”
The king glowers at me but speaks mildly, “My Lady, I cannot countenance
having people within my realm who have not acknowledged me as their
rightful ruler. And you cannot expect my support unless I, as your liege lord,
accept responsibility for you.”
Tarkyn experienced a strange sensation of thoughts and impressions
travelling
back
and
forth
between
the
woodfolk
around
the
circle. Because the sensation was alien to him, he couldn’t grasp the
content clearly but could only be aware, through Tree Wind’s vision,
that it was happening.
After an appreciable pause in the proceedings, a burbling voice takes up the
negotiations. “Sire, our need is dire and so we may be forced to accede to your
conditions. However, two things concern us. Firstly, what would you demand
from us as your subjects? I am Waterstone.”
The king glances impatiently at his wizard, but then draws a breath and
answers with a stern calm. “My demands are not excessive. I require your
loyalty and your obedience, should I need it. I wish you to continue to care
for these vast forests. In time of conflict, which I hope will never arise; I will
require your service either at arms or in gathering intelligence.”
Again Tarkyn experienced the sensation of thoughts racing between
the minds around the fire.
“These conditions do not seem unreasonable,” states Waterstone on our
behalf.
“I should think not. I have not even demanded a tithe from you.” The
king’s amber eyes sweep around the circle. “And your other concern?”Before
we can answer, Markazon notices his son seated next to him and smooths his
tousled hair. He leans over and whispers sotto voce, “Not long now. Bear up.”
In a quick change of role, the father becomes the king as he straightens up and
raises his eyebrows. “Go on. I’m waiting.”
Waterstone clears his throat nervously. “Your Majesty, we have heard
you are a just monarch, firm but fair.” The king inclines his head in
acknowledgement. “If we swear an oath of fealty to you, does that bind us to
all future kings?”
Our uncertainty and unhappiness with this is apparent without words.
Before any of us can raise an objection, the king lifts his hand.
“Obviously, I will not be here at the crowning of the next king to make
sure you transfer your oath. However...” The king breaks off and looks at the
wizard who looks pointedly at the little boy who is now leaning against his
father.
“Sire, you must.”
The king takes a deep breath and begins again. “However, much as it pains
me, I can understand your reservations. There are some uncertain portents
regarding the future King Kosar and his brother Jarand, particularly in relation
to young Tarkyn here. Since I will not be here, I would protect Tarkyn’s future
as best I can, from beyond the grave, so to speak.” After his momentary show of
vulnerability, King Markazon draws himself up and sends his harsh glare across
us all. “So, to ensure that two generations of my family have your fealty, I will
require you to swear the oath of fealty to both my son Tarkyn and me. In return
for this, I will apprise no-one else of your existence and I will save your people
from this sickness.”
After another period of mental communion, Waterstone presents our
view, “We have one more reservation. Prince Tarkyn is still very young and
has not yet passed through the trials of childhood and adolescence. Although
unlikely, Your Majesty, it is possible that by the time he reaches manhood,
he may have become embittered or cruel or even unbalanced. Swearing a
lifetime of service to an unformed child is too uncertain.”
The king stands up abruptly, sending the little boy falling sideways as the
shoulder he has been leaning against disappears.
“Enough!” roars the king. “I have been patient and I have negotiated when
I could simply have enforced my will. You will give me your oath and you will
give Tarkyn your oath. I have placed my shield around this clearing so you
cannot melt away into the forest and choose to die unaided. I have had enough
of this charade. This is my kingdom and I will be obeyed.”
A horrified silence ensues. No one moves. Then Stormaway Treemaster
speaks in a matter-of-fact voice as though the conversation were proceeding as
before. “Perhaps a slight modification can satisfy all parties.”
“What?” snapped the king.
“When Prince Tarkyn first enters in these forests as a grown man, I will
undertake to evaluate his worthiness to be their liege lord.”
Markazon barks, “He is worthy because he is my son.”
Stormaway holds the king’s gaze for a notable pause. “Just so, Your
Majesty.”The wizard looks down at his hands, “And yet should the unthinkable
happen, I know you would not wish any people of your realm to be bound
to evil.”
The king looks at his tired son and gently strokes his hair. Tarkyn turns his
head to look up at his father and smiles at him sleepily. The king raises his
eyes and says, “Because I have faith in Tarkyn, I will concede this point. But
be warned! The oaths you swear to me and my son will be bound in sorcery
to the welfare of the forest.”
Despite his concession, the air sizzles with resentment. Running Feet’s
scratchy voice speaks for us. “Since you have already removed our freedom
and our right to choose our own fate, we must inform you that we will be
making these oaths under duress.”
“Of course you will be. But that won’t make your oaths any less
binding.” The king tosses off the contents of his goblet. “You are out of
touch with the ways of the outside world. Although it does not generally
arise in times of peace, the basic premise safeguarding the monarchy is
“Submit or die.” Treason has always been punishable by death. In your
case, I would not have to order your executions. You will simply die from
sickness if you do not swear fealty. And in the future, if you betray your
oath to my son, it will not be you but your forest that will die. Perhaps
you may think that is too lenient,” he says dryly, “but unless I am much
mistaken, the death of your forest would destroy your souls.”
Tarkyn closed his eyes and pulled himself out of Tree Wind’s memory.
“Enough. I have seen enough,” he said thickly. “More than enough.”
He opened his eyes to find Tree Wind regarding him with longnurtured loathing etched in every line of her face. In an instant, the
expression was gone but Tarkyn knew he had not been mistaken. The
prince thought of trying to explain his father to Tree Wind but, watching
her closed face, he realised there was no chink in her resentment. He
would be wasting his time.
He managed to find his voice again and to speak with a quiet assurance
he did not feel. “Thank you for sharing your memory. I believe you have
made your point quite clearly. I can see now why you are so unhappy
about being bound into my service. I think I will take a walk before
dinner. You may leave and return to your people.”
Once he was rid of her, Tarkyn blundered into the comforting darkness
of the forest. He crawled into the heart of a huge overhanging pine tree
and threw himself down on the soft bed of pine needles. He extinguished
his light and felt the velvety blackness pressing on him. A seething roil of
images and emotions swirled round and round inside his head.
In turns, Tarkyn wept for the loss of his father all over again then railed
against him for the impetuous nature that had turned the woodfolk
against them both. In the end, when his emotion was spent, he was left
with the implacable hatred in Tree Winds’ eyes. He sat up shivering and
drew his cloak around him.
“What am I going to do?” he whispered into the darkness. “I’m locked
in a forest with a horde of people who detest me.”
He thought about all he had lost and of what lay ahead of him and felt
desolation wash over him. Eventually, a rustling in the branches above
him caught his attention. Curiosity and the need for self-preservation
dragged him up out of his pit of despair.
“
Lumaya!
” he murmured and by the gentle corona of conjured light, he
spotted a tawny owl staring unblinkingly down at him. They regarded each
other for several seconds. Then the owl scratched under his wing with his
beak, and ruffled his feathers. Tarkyn felt a gentle surge of reassurance. He
heaved a huge sigh and said with quiet resolve, “You’re right. Life must go
on and I must face these people.” So saying, he pushed his way between the
pine’s branches and back onto the forest path.
As he neared the clearing, Tarkyn could hear the sounds of revelry. “I
can see they are celebrating already,” he said dryly to himself. “Perhaps
Tree Wind has convinced them that I will stay away from them... Maybe
I will, but not until we all know where we stand.”
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into the
clearing, his heart hammering in his chest. It was every bit as bad as he
had anticipated. A sudden hush fell. Only the crackling of the fire broke
the silence. Hundreds of pairs of expressionless eyes turned to look at him.
“Good evening,” he said quietly to everyone and no one in particular.
“Don’t let me interrupt your festivities.”
A small child holding a goblet of wine responded to a gentle shove in
the back and came forward to offer it to the prince. Tarkyn inclined his
head and accepted the drink.
“Thank you, young one,” he said gravely.
He sipped the wine and commented on its quality. Still no one else
spoke. Tarkyn resisted the temptation to feel foolish, clenched his teeth
and walked slowly through the circle to the other end of the clearing.
Woodfolk parted silently to let him through. When he reached his chosen
vantage point, he turned and swept his gaze around the waiting throng.
“Since I have your attention,” he began with a touch of irony, “I
will take this opportunity to thank you for providing this welcoming
feast. I am honoured by your hospitality....” Still no one spoke. Tarkyn
could almost feel their antipathy pulsing against him. “As some of you
may know, Tree Wind was kind enough to share her memory of my
father’s visit to you over a decade ago.” He took a sip from his goblet.
“And I believe, as a consequence of that meeting, that you were all
required to swear an oath of fealty to both my father and myself? Is
that correct?”
Several heads nodded slowly, either uncertain or unwilling.
“It is a long time since my father was here. Memories fade and new
children have been born. I also have changed. The child to whom you
gave your oath is, in many ways, not the person you see before you today.
As Tree Wind has already inadvertently demonstrated, the consequences
of breaking the oath would be dire.” He saw several heads turn to look at
Tree Wind. “So, now that I have returned, I believe that the oath must
be renewed.”
The moon had still not appeared, but a silver glow lit the eastern
horizon. He saw a few people at the rear moving. “I do this to protect
you. Because of the danger to your forests, it is important that all of you
are made to remember your oath before the moon rises and the spell takes
full effect.”
Angry mutterings greeted this pronouncement until Tarkyn raised his
hand.
“I am aware that you resent the oath and resent me. But believe me;
I equally resent being forced to abide in this forest against my will. This
covenant between us was none of my making and it is not within my gift
to remove it. However...”
Whatever else Tarkyn had been going to say was lost, as the voice
of Stormaway Treemaster rang forth at its most theatrical, as he moved
forward to stand beside the prince, “However, I have judged Prince
Tarkyn fit to rule and events today have confirmed my decision. Prince
Tarkyn’s integrity has galvanised the binding spell of the oath. The forest
itself, just as bound as you are by the oath, has already acted to protect
your prince and your actions have already endangered it.” He swept his
arm in an arc. “So kneel before your prince and give him your oath.”