Bronze Magic (Book 1) (52 page)

The healer frowned. “You should not leave a wet bandage on. Your
wound could fester beneath it.”
“No thanks. I’ll take my chances. I’ll make sure I dry it out thoroughly
by the fire.”
As she turned to leave, her arm brushed against Waterstone’s and
Tarkyn saw him wince. A dawning suspicion entered the prince’s mind.
Twenty minutes later, Tarkyn said casually to Waterstone, “Could you
come and have a quick look at something for me?”
As soon as they were away from prying eyes and ears, Tarkyn turned to
him and said, “Come on. Take the bandage off.”
“I would prefer not to,” replied Waterstone steadily.
“Come on,” urged Tarkyn, “Take it off.”
Waterstone’s eyes narrowed. “Is that an order?”
“Oh stop being silly. Of course it’s not an order. You can be a stubborn
old goat if you want to, but I know what I will see when you take it off,
so you might as well.”
Reluctantly, Waterstone unwound the bandage from his arm. The last
layers were stuck to the wound with seeping blood and puss.
“Stars above, Waterstone, your arm is a mess.” Tarkyn peered closely at
the wound to check that his suspicions were right. “Rubbing dirt into a
wound can cause infection, you know.”
The woodman turned a dull red.
Tarkyn smiled broadly at him. “Lapping Water told me that, when she
caught me doing the same thing yesterday morning.”
Waterstone’s tight face relaxed into a grin. “Did you do it too?”
Tarkyn nodded, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “Yes, but the oak has
healed mine. Luckily, after all that effort, I still have a scar, and a green
one, at that.” He studied Waterstone’s arm. “Come on, my friend. I think
I need to give your arm some help with healing.”
Seeing Waterstone frown, he added hastily, “Don’t worry. I won’t take
the dirt out but I do think we need to get rid of some of that infection,
don’t you? We might need your right arm in the days to come.” As
Waterstone still hesitated, Tarkyn explained, “All I will do is send you
some
esse
. It’s up to you to direct it as you will.”
The woodman nodded reluctantly and complied. When the infection
had been eased, Tarkyn said, “Wait here. I’ll ask Lapping Water to procure
us another bandage. We must maintain your disguise, after all.”
A few minutes later, Lapping Water returned with the prince.
“Put out your arm,” she instructed the woodman. As she carefully
wrapped the bandage around his arm, she said, smiling, “I think you
should have a nice clean raised scar at the end of all this. Congratulations.”
Waterstone looked anxiously at her. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
Lapping Water raised her eyebrows. “His Highness had to put up with
having his arm unwrapped in full view of everyone. Why shouldn’t you?”
Waterstone looked even more anxious. “But no one knew why his arm
was like that. They all think it was just the oak tree.”
“Ah yes, but he didn’t know it was going to look like that and he was
prepared to endure the teasing.”
Tarkyn directed a small frown at her. “But only because I couldn’t
think of a way out of it fast enough. I didn’t even want Waterstone to
know, let alone anyone else.” He grinned at his friend. “And I have only
told him now because I couldn’t let him suffer the embarrassment alone.”
Lapping Water let her gaze travel slowly from one to the other, as though
considering the matter. Then she smiled. “Don’t be silly, Waterstone. Of
course I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She added in a sugary voice, “I think
it’s so sweet that you want to keep a memento. No wonder you’re such
good friends: You’re each as sentimental as the other.” She laughed at the
pained expressions on their faces.
Waterstone grimaced and said acerbically, “I think just a third person
knowing gives plenty of opportunity for teasing without opening it up
to a wider audience.”
Lapping Water shook her head, smiling. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop
now. Shall we go and see if there’s some food ready yet?”
When they returned to the gathering around the fire, discussions were
in full swing about making sure they were in contact with all woodfolk
and trying to work out who could be missing. A great deal of it was
mind talking, but Tarkyn did not ask to be updated or included and was
content to sit quietly among the animated woodfolk. Now and again,
someone would try to draw him into the conversation but he kept his
responses minimal.
After a while, Autumn Leaves came over and sat down next to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
Tarkyn nodded. “A bit drained, but fine otherwise.”
Autumn Leaves frowned at him, “You’re not in a huff, are you?”
The prince raised his eyebrows and looked at the woodman in some
surprise. “No. Why do you ask?”
Autumn Leaves shrugged, “You’re so quiet, that’s all.”
“I am trying to be unobtrusive,” explained the prince, with a wry
smile. “I think I’ve had more than my fair share of centre stage over the
last few days. I’ve said all I needed to say. It’s up to everyone else now.”
“And is everyone keeping you in the picture?”
“Not as much as we all agreed, but it’s not just the home guard here.
None of the others was part of the agreement we made.” Tarkyn shrugged.
“I can’t be bothered going through all of that again. It was hard enough
the first time.”
“Do you want me to do something about it?” asked Autumn Leaves.
Tarkyn smiled tiredly. “No, not tonight. Let’s just enjoy one evening
without having to manoeuvre our way through people’s antipathy. They
will have forgotten their gratitude tomorrow and be ready to find new
reasons for disliking me. So let’s make the most of this hiatus while we can.”
“You are in a huff,” accused Autumn Leaves.
The prince shook his head. “No, I’m not. I just know crowd
mentality…. especially a crowd laced with people who hate the oath
and therefore me.” He looked at Autumn Leaves. “I almost wonder if
Stormaway is right to keep the oath tied to the forest’s welfare.”
The woodman’s eyes widened in shock.
“I’m not casting aspersions on woodfolk honour, but how true to an
oath can people be if their thoughts are constantly warped by resentment?”
Tarkyn continued, disregarding the woodman’s reaction. “Surely they
would begin to rationalise small transgressions and then become more
and more convinced that what they are doing is good enough. Even
with the forest’s welfare at stake, some people have lost sight of what is
expected.”
The prince became aware of woodman’s shuttered face. “Oh Autumn
Leaves, please don’t take offence. I don’t mean any of this for the home
guard. But you know, I think I, or we, made a big mistake letting all the
other oathbound woodfolk keep away from me. They have built me up
into a big ogre in their minds.” Tarkyn pulled at his dry but matted hair,
trying to ease out the worst of the tangles. “And at the moment, if the
oath were disarmed, I would be in more danger from them than I ever
was from the oathless woodfolk.”
Autumn Leaves was silent for a while as he mulled this over. Finally he
said, obviously feeling uncomfortable, “I don’t know what to say, really.
You might be right. If the oath has made some of these people hate you,
it would only take one of them to break it and you could be in danger.”
He heaved a sigh. “And even though, as a people, we are honourable, you
can’t guarantee everyone’s behaviour.”
Tarkyn smiled in understanding. “You may find this hard to believe
but we sorcerers also consider ourselves to be honourable - and look at
the treachery that abounds in the society I have come from.”
Autumn Leaves could not prevent a sceptical expression from crossing
his face.
Tarkyn gave a short derisive laugh. “You see what I’m battling against.
It’s not just me personally. Woodfolk have a pretty low opinion of
sorcerers generally.” Tarkyn regarded the woodman thoughtfully. “I can
see you share that opinion but you might like to consider where my own
sense of honour came from.”
Autumn Leaves nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you had to learn it
from somewhere. And it wasn’t from us because you came into the forest
with it.” The woodman shifted his position against the log. “Ah, but
perhaps you are the exception from your society while the traitor would
be the exception in ours.”
Tarkyn could feel generations of royal heritage rearing up inside him
in outrage at such a suggestion. His eyes glittered in the firelight. His
voice was flat with suppressed anger when he said, “I think we have taken
this discussion far enough. We must agree to disagree on how despicable
my heritage is.”
Autumn Leaves’ head shot up from his contemplation of the fire. “Oh
dear, I’ve offended you now, haven’t I?”
“Would you like it if I said you were the only trustworthy woodman?
That all these people around us were untrustworthy and dishonourable?
I think not.”
The woodman returned the prince’s outraged stare steadily. “No, I would
not. On the other hand, I can’t point to one of them that has turned on
me or cast me out in the way that some of your closest friends and family
have done to you.” Seeing Tarkyn’s stricken face, Autumn Leaves added
hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I should not have thrown that up in your face.”
“It is very hard,” After a fraught silence, Tarkyn said carefully, “to keep
believing in myself when I have been constantly surrounded, both as
a sorcerer and as a woodman, by people who would kill me as quickly
as look at me, if they had the chance.” He turned his eyes away to look
into the fire. “It is particularly difficult to come to terms with, when I
know, whether you believe it or not, that both societies are full of good,
honourable people.”
Moments later, Waterstone came wandering over. “Could you come
and have a quick look at something for me?” he asked, echoing Tarkyn’s
earlier words to him.
Tarkyn frowned a little suspiciously but stood up and followed the
woodman into the darkness beyond the firelight and away from the other
woodfolk. Autumn Leaves walked beside him. Waterstone took them to
a small clearing where the strong rays of the moon bathed the ferns and
treetops in a silvery light. They could see their shadows stretching across
the grass and mosses under their feet.
“Come on,” said Waterstone firmly, “Find somewhere to sit. We need
to talk.”
The sorcerer looked from one to the other mutinously. “You relayed
our conversation without telling me.” Tarkyn said to Autumn Leaves.
“Come on,” repeated Waterstone unequivocally, “Sit. I did what
you wanted earlier, even though I didn’t want to. Now you have to do
something for me.”
With ill grace, Tarkyn dropped himself down into a damp bed of moss.
His eyes flashed in the moonlight. “I do not like having my conversations
monitored by others without my knowledge, even if it is you.”
Waterstone came and squatted down in front of him. “Don’t get angry
with us just yet. Autumn Leaves did not relay your conversation to me.
He sent out an urgent request for help just a few minutes ago. So, here I
am.” The woodman twisted around and sat down beside Tarkyn. Autumn
Leaves sat on the other side of him.
Tarkyn folded his arms and waited. He watched the woodmen’s eyes to
check whether they were mind talking but neither of them went out of
focus. After a minute or two of silence, he said flatly, “Well?”
Waterstone gave a slight smile. “Well, nothing. I don’t know why you
need my help but I’m here waiting to give it when you tell me what you
want.”
Tarkyn frowned. “I don’t need any help that I am aware of.” His voice
still sounded resentful.
Autumn Leaves glanced at him then addressed Waterstone. “I’m afraid
my conversation with Tarkyn went badly pear-shaped. First I offended
him. Then I really hurt him by which time I realised I was way out of my
depth. So I asked for your help to pull us back out of deep water before
we drowned.”
Waterstone looked totally confused by the end of this explanation.
He looked at Tarkyn. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?
Because I don’t.”
Tarkyn sent a smouldering glare at Autumn Leaves. “He is possibly
referring to the aspersions he cast on the honour of my heritage.
Alternatively he could be referring to the contrast he drew between the
way people treated him and me – not to my advantage, I can assure you.”
“And still I am in the dark.” said Waterstone patiently. He turned once
more to Autumn Leaves. “Exactly what did Tarkyn say that made you
call for me?”
Autumn Leaves looked uncomfortable at having to repeat the prince’s
conversation. “He said he found it hard to keep believing in himself
when both sorcerers and woodfolk kept wanting to kill him. Something
like that. Especially when he knew that both lots of people were basically
good.”
“The light begins to dawn. But Tarkyn, why would you be feeling like
that tonight, when everyone around you is celebrating what you and
Stormaway achieved today?”
The prince gave a bitter laugh. “Because it is irrelevant. It won’t last.
Tomorrow, the knives will be out once more. It has only lasted as long
as it has, because I have carefully avoided saying anything at all tonight.”
Waterstone’s face tightened with concern. “Tarkyn, would you mind if
Autumn Leaves replayed me your conversation with him? It might save
us all a lot of questions.”
Tarkyn nodded shortly. “Go ahead.” While the woodmen were out
of focus, the sorcerer stared stonily into the middle distance, arms still
folded, as closed off as he could possibly be.
When Waterstone regained focus, he looked at Tarkyn speculatively,
wondering how to breach the citadel. Eventually he said, “I think we
should consider giving Autumn Leaves honorary membership of the
harvesters and gatherers. I have rarely seen a more devious or more
thorough demolition of a person’s honour, culture and worth.”
Tarkyn brought his glowering face around to stare at Waterstone. “I
didn’t need Autumn Leaves to tell me all that. I know what woodfolk
think about sorcerers, thanks to you. Other than that, he just crystallised
what I had been thinking myself.”