Bronze Magic (Book 1) (35 page)

Before the wizard could change his mind, Tarkyn placed his left hand
on Stormaway’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The wizard felt strength
pouring into him so fast that it made him gasp. As quickly as it started,
the sensation stopped. Tarkyn opened his eyes and said casually, “There.
That should help.”
Stormaway stared at him. “The combined efforts of twenty woodfolk
and me didn’t produce anything like that life force.”
Tarkyn smiled strangely, “You’re dealing with the strength of the forest
now. You can’t compare the life force of twenty woodfolk and a wizard to
the strength of an ancient oak and the forest guardian.”
Waterstone felt his stomach turn over. This Tarkyn was not the person
he had spent the last week with. This Tarkyn was stronger, more sure
of himself, less compromising and infinitely more powerful. Maybe the
prince was just revelling in being well again, but Waterstone didn’t think
that was all there was to it. In his connection with the ancient oak tree,
Tarkyn had actually taken on the persona of the guardian of the forest.
The woodman gradually became aware of a gentle wave of amused
reassurance wafting around his mind. He glanced at his green friend
to discover that he was being watched with raised eyebrows and an
understanding smile.
Waterstone scowled at him, “Don’t tell me you have added mindreading to your ever-increasing list of skills.”
Tarkyn shook his head. “Who needs mind-reading when dealing with
a face as expressive as yours?” He stood up. “Come on my friend. We
have work to do. When all is done we will talk, but meanwhile be assured
that although I may have changed, I have not forgotten our friendship.”
He walked over to the cooking fire and requested in a clear, carrying
voice. “Would everyone gather together here, please,”
If the woodfolk were surprised at the unexpected assurance in his voice,
they did not show it, but simply did as he asked. When they had gathered
around him, their forest guardian said, “I hope I have not disrupted your
plans too much. However, there are a few things I need to clear up.
Firstly, who will be tracking the wolves’ spoor back to their source? We
need to know where they originate from, don’t we?” Following nods of
agreement, he continued, “Secondly, are we still setting off to find Falling
Rain? My opinion is that we should not leave him to face this threat
alone. And thirdly, I think that if there is a significant, unidentified threat
to us, all woodfolk need to be together to protect each other.”
Tarkyn looked around the group of woodfolk before him. “So. Any
comments? Opinions? I’m assuming you will need to discuss it with
the main body of woodfolk. However, fear or dislike of me will not be
sufficient reason for them not to join us.”
Autumn Leaves cut in at this point. “We can’t gather together for too
long. A large group is too conspicuous and too hard to keep hidden.”
“We can make sure we stay within easy reach of each other,” suggested
Thunder Storm.
The prince nodded decisively. “That will have to do then. At least until
we know what is threatening us. Agreed?” When he had their consent,
he continued, “Meanwhile I will head back up to the site of the wolf
fight. Now that I do not have to struggle against cracked ribs, I am quite
capable of walking to the road with the full load of wolf remains.” He
paused, “I presume you have used minimal pieces of each wolf to provide
the scents for the trail?”
The woodfolk nodded, mesmerised. The aloofness and formality that
attached to Tarkyn in his role as imposed liege lord had disappeared.
His linking with the oak had transformed his view of himself. Now he
accepted the authority that came from being their guardian of the forest.
From Tarkyn’s point of view, the oath was no longer the driving force
behind his relationship with the woodfolk. Although he still abhorred
the fact that the woodfolk were effectively held in thrall by it, he now
felt that he had a different, legitimate, untainted basis for his authority.
It restored in him his natural assurance as a leader of men that he had
been bred for.
Then a soft rhythmic voice asked “My lord, are you able to find out, as
you did before, when the next attack may arrive?” Tarkyn looked around.
Lapping Water’s soft green eyes met his gaze nervously but with quiet
determination.
Tarkyn suddenly became very aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing
his shirt and that he was an unwholesome green. His newly found
confidence threatened to desert him. He blinked and smiled wryly. “I
can try. I have not yet been able to instigate a mind link with a bird or
animal. Up until now, it has always been the creature who has contacted
me. When I get to the river, I will spend a few minutes trying to link with
the eagle or may be the heron. I will do what I can.”
“Thank you,” said Lapping Water with a gentle, uncertain smile.
Tarkyn felt that perhaps his new strength wasn’t going to last as long as
he thought. His knees seemed to have gone a bit wobbly. With an effort,
he tore his gaze away from Lapping Water. “Stormaway, I would still like
you to walk to the road with me, even if I carry all the wolf scents. Two
sets of tracks will be more believable than one.”
“Your wish is my command, Sire,” replied the wizard with a heavy
touch of irony.
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said dryly.
“However, I will give you the choice because I know you are tired.”
The prince returned his attention to the woodfolk. “So, if there are no
further comments, I’m off. Someone needs to come with me, but only if
Stormaway doesn’t. I’ll need some directions from the river to the road.”
There was a general clamour of offers. Their forest guardian smiled
to himself and said, “You sort it out among yourselves. And don’t forget
to water in my poplars. I’m heading off. Give me an hour. I’ll meet you
down at the river.” He rose gently into the air and then glided off through
the trees in the general direction of his favourite spot by the river.
hen Tarkyn reached the site of the battle against the wolves, there
was little sign of the carnage that had been there earlier. Under a
shady tree, there was a neat pile of black and grey switches, tied
together at one end, presumably trimmed from the skins of the wolves.
Tarkyn looked around carefully and spotted a small torn piece of brightly
coloured fabric caught in the low branches of a spiky bush - definitely
not from woodfolk clothing. Further scrutiny discovered a small spray
of blonde human hair tangled in the branches of a hawthorn. Tarkyn
wondered, with a frisson of dismay, where the woodfolk had procured it.
Very subtle,
he decided,
not the scattering of belongings I was anticipating.
You have to be looking carefully to find them but if someone is tracing
the wolves, they will be looking everywhere for clues. Clever people, these
woodfolk. Still, I suppose they are masters of tracking.
Tarkyn sat down against a rock near the river and watched the water
rolling over stones and spreading out to flow peacefully downstream. He
could feel the roughness of the rock slightly scratchy against his bare
back. Tarkyn shivered as the biting autumn wind played over his bare
skin but he drank in the sensations, still so pleased to have survived. He
took a deep pain-free breath and relaxed back, relieved to have some time
away from everyone’s attention. The novice guardian of the forest slowly
opened up his mind to his surroundings to see if some creature would
make contact with him. As he relaxed his boundaries, a kaleidoscope of
images flooded into his mind. He could see the woodlands from above,
from within, from ground level, from the treetops all at once, and all
superimposed over each other. He dragged his mind back from the edge
of chaos and closed its boundaries with a snap.
Tarkyn let out a long breath. “Whoa. That was excessive. Now
everything’s trying to talk to me at once.” He shook his head to clear it
and looked around him. “I need something specific to focus on.”
As he watched, a swallow skimmed over the water near him twisting
and swooping to catch the midges that were hanging there. Tarkyn focused
narrowly on the swallow and sent a query about wolves. The swallow
flicked past him and then suddenly the sorcerer was seeing the world
through the swallow’s eyes. The little bird soared up into the treetops
and swooped and swung its way through the air until she was above the
woodlands. Tarkyn could feel his stomach struggling to keep up with the
rapid changes of direction. He tightened his stomach muscles against the
sudden lifts and dives that seemed to be a natural part of the little bird’s
flying pattern. The sorcerer sent an image of the direction from which
the wolves had come and the swallow banked sickeningly and flew swiftly
westward, bobbing and swooping as she went to catch any insect she
spotted on the way past. The woodland spread out below as the swallow
climbed higher. Every now and then she swooped down and back up in
an arc that made Tarkyn’s stomach lurch. Tarkyn gradually became aware
that the swallow knew what effect these acrobatics were having on him
and was playing with him.
“Very funny,” he murmured through gritted teeth as, once more, the
swallow took a joyous dive.
After several more minutes of swooping dives and climbs, Tarkyn
was feeling decidedly queasy. Just as well I’m already green, he thought
grimly... saves me the trouble of going green around the gills now.
Just when he was thinking that he would have to pull out and leave the
swallow to her teasing, Tarkyn spotted a faint cloud of dust rising above
the height of the trees in the distance. The sorcerer directed the swallow
towards it. With cheerful good grace, the little bird swooped and flitted
her way towards the dust cloud. As the swallow drew closer, Tarkyn could
see, not the wolves he expected, but flashes of sunlight reflecting off the
harnesses of a large group of horsemen riding hard. A lone wolf flitted
ahead of them leading them towards the river. The next attack was not
six hours away as the woodfolk had expected. These horsemen were less
than two hours away.
The sorcerer sent a quick sense of appreciation and pulled out of the
swallow’s mind. He nearly vomited as he returned suddenly into his
nauseated body, but a couple of deep breaths restored his equilibrium.
As soon as he was re-oriented, Tarkyn searched out Waterstone’s mind
and sent a clear image of the last part of the swallow’s journey above
the trees.
Half a mile away next to a new stand of poplars, Waterstone suddenly
reeled, lost his balance and fell over as the swallow’s images sent his mind
swooping and diving across the top of the forest.
“Blast it, Tarkyn,” he exclaimed, even though the prince couldn’t hear
him. “A bit of warning would have been nice.”
Despite the urgency of the situation, Tarkyn chuckled quietly to
himself, knowing exactly what havoc the image would be causing the
woodman. When he had given Waterstone time to pick himself up, he
sent a spurious wave of sympathy then a query about Stormaway. Once
he knew that the wizard was coming to join him, Tarkyn sent a directive
that the woodfolk should skirt around the area of the wolf fight and meet
him nearer the road.
A few minutes later, Stormaway appeared drifting through the air
between the trees. He alighted neatly and presented Tarkyn with his
freshly washed shirt. “One shirt, washed in a forest stream and dried over
a wood fire,” he said with a small, courtly bow. “You may need this too,”
he added, handing Tarkyn a long, light brown cloak.”
The prince stood up and smiled his thanks. “What? No wolf cloak?”
“No. It takes longer than a couple of days to cure the skins.”
“Well, I would rather wait and not stink of wolf,” said Tarkyn, as he
put on his shirt. “I’m glad you’re here. We have to move fast.” He flung
the cloak around his shoulders. “There is a large group of horsemen
heading this way. I’d say we have only an hour and a half safely, perhaps
a bit longer but not much.”
Stormaway raised his eyebrows. “And you know this how?”
“Swallow,” replied the forest guardian briefly. “Let’s grab those switches
and be on our way.”
Forty minutes later, the wizard and the sorcerer stood beside the road
through the forest. They had scuffled around the clearing and had left
many heavy footprints at every point along the way. The wolf remains
had been artistically dragged along the ground and against bushes and
tree trunks on the way past to emulate carrying a large load. Now they
were inspecting the road surface for signs of cartwheel tracks.
Stormaway squatted down and studied the gravel surface. “There are
a few sets of tracks going through,” he reported. “These ones here are the
most recent, earlier today sometime, I think. We just need to deepen them
a little at the point where we would supposedly be loading the wolves into
the cart. Cartwheels leave slightly deeper impressions when they have been
left standing in any one place for a while and the wind tends to build up
sand and dirt into a small ridge against the side of the wheel.” He looked up
into the gently waving branches of the trees. “There has been a sharp wind
all day today so there would be quite a build up on the windward side of
the tracks. Right!” said the wizard as he began some delicate sand sculpture
along the edge of the wheel track, “I’ll sort the wheel tracks while you make
some boot prints back and forth behind where the cart would have stopped
and then down one side as though you are walking around to get into it.
Then levitate yourself and the wolf remains straight up and out of here. I’ll
do the same and be right behind you.”
The sun, low in the sky, cast strange long shadows down the road. The
wizard and the sorcerer hung in the air, trailing pieces of fur, giving their
handiwork a final inspection.