The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (52 page)

Although the men tensed waiting to hear their fate, they could deal better with the prince’s natural manner than his previous dreadful, silky courtesy.

“We will leave your hands tied but other than that, you are free to go. You must not attempt to free yourselves until you reach the encampment. You will be monitored all the way back. If you attempt to untie your hands, you will be knocked out again and re-bound. We will not allow you to reunite with the rest of your party or with your horses. I will send a short letter with you to reiterate my position.”

The two sorcerers frowned. “Is that it?” asked Mandron. “No whippings? No beating? No breaking of bones?”

Tarkyn gave a slight smile, “I did think vaguely of breaking your right arms to incapacitate you for a month or so, but I think you will find this difficult enough. It is a long way back to the encampment and walking with your hands tied behind your back is not easy, especially through thick forest. Then there are the logistics of eating and hygiene to consider.” He shook his head, “No, I don’t think you will find this easy at all but you will be whole and alive when you reach the other end.”

The two men’s faces lit up, “Thank you, my lord,” they said in chorus.

Tarkyn gave a grunt of laughter, “I don’t think you’ll be thanking me by this time tomorrow. Danton, give them another drink while I organise this letter. Then they and we can be on our way.”

Chapter
42

“Where is Midnight?”

Everyone was packed and on the move, tracks and signs of the firesite removed, an operation considerably trickier in muddy conditions. They were travelling at ground level once more, having decided that the threat of Journeyman and his sorcerers had been contained. But still there was no sign of Midnight.

Tarkyn’s question hung in the late afternoon air, charged with the beginnings of real alarm. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked around. A silent conference provided no new information. 

Tarkyn threw his hands up, “We can’t leave without him. Where has that little rascal got to? Who saw him last?”

“I last saw him when he plaited my beard,” offered Bean.

“That was hours ago, well at least three hours ago,” replied Tarkyn. “Anyone else?”

Danton walked up to Tarkyn and put a steadying hand on the prince’s arm, “Use your mind. Look for his mind. Even if he doesn’t respond to your call, you should be able to find him.”

Tarkyn pulled himself together, took a deep breath and centred himself. He placed his hand on Danton’s shoulder before closing his eyes and sending his mind roaming out through the forest. Nothing. He sent his mind higher, up into the mountains until he was sure he was further than Midnight could have run, but still he detected no sign of the little boy’s mind. He jerked back into his present surroundings.

“Stormaway, Danton, Waterstone, Autumn Leaves, String and Bean and anyone else who can spare the time, we have to work this out. Help me. Why can’t I find his mind?”

They pulled off into a fall of rocks beside the path to sit and talk.

“He’s either unconscious or asleep,” replied Waterstone shortly.

Tarkyn’s eyes widened with shock. He glanced around to see who might be listening, “You don’t think… How can we tell if the mountainfolk are holding to their oath?”

“It’s difficult,” Autumn Leaves pulled out a long stem of grass and began to suck on the end of it as he thought. After a few moments, he said, “If we ask them where Midnight is, we might be able to work out who is not responding and keeping their minds closed off. What do you think, Waterstone?”

“Possibly. But I don’t think we know them well enough to remember everyone. We would need to enlist some help.”

“I think I trust Dry Berry,” said Tarkyn. “What do you think?”

“First tell me about this curse,” said Stormaway. “It may have a bearing on what is happening.”

String and Bean looked at each other before Bean replied, “As Midnight’s father died, he muttered some words.” He shrugged “Neither of us understood them but we have tried our best to remember them.”

Stormaway nodded his head impatiently, “Yes, yes, I know all that. Come on. Out with it man! What were the words?”

Bean glanced at String, took a deep breath and recited,
“
Choidayarorshara. Rorsharatayahagarztayadorisolzormatar
a
.”

Stormaway looked grim but made no immediate response

After a minute or two, String asked, “So, do you know what it means?”

The wizard waved his hand impatiently, “Yes, of course I do. Give me time to think!”

After a couple of minutes, Stormaway stood up abruptly and turned to walk away, muttering, “It’s no good. I will need to confer with my books.”

“Stormaway,” said Tarkyn more sharply than he intended, “Before you go, tell us what it means.”

“Tarkyn, time is of the essence for your little Midnight and the mountainfolk.” He sighed, “But I can see you cannot contain yourselves. The words mean, ‘This child will breed resentment. From resentment will spring hatred. And hatred will slowly destroy the souls, integrity, spirit something like that, of the people of this child’s mother.’”  He glanced around at the stunned faces, “Do nothing until I return.” With that, he whirled around and strode off to consult his books.

“Summer Rain was right,” said Autumn Leaves slowly, “There is an evil loose among the mountainfolk.”

“And it has been festering slowly for seven years,” added Waterstone.

“I wonder if the process sped up once Midnight was forced to reside with them fulltime?” mused Danton.

Tarkyn groaned, “On my life, I hope killing Midnight is not the way to lift the curse. I don’t think I could bear that.”

“What if his one death would save hundreds of mountainfolk?” asked Waterstone.

Tarkyn stared at him, then slowly shook his head, “No. No, I couldn’t do it. I know a prince should make hard decisions to preserve the welfare of his people, but I couldn’t do it to him. I would have to find another way, even if it meant taking Midnight far away.”

“Even if it meant abandoning your oath to protect us?”

Tarkyn stood up and began to pace up and down, “I begin to see how invidious this curse is. Whatever I answer, I stand condemned. Either I would betray my oath to you and sanction the destruction of hundreds of your
,
ou
r
kin, or I would be prepared to kill an innocent, abused child.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t do this to me, Waterstone.”

“I think we had better just sit tight without any further discussion until Stormaway comes back,” said Bean.

“Yeah, true. I think that’s the best idea,” put in String. “You never know, maybe this curse becomes stronger once it is revealed. Maybe it’s already affecting you.”

“Anyway, Sire,” added Bean, “I don’t see why you have to be stuck with the hard decisions. From what we saw before, you woodfolk make most of your own decisions. Why dump this one on His Highness?”

“Because from what Tarkyn just said, he would override our decision on this. And we couldn’t allow any mountainfolk to decide,” saidWaterstone firmly, “They already want Midnight dead because he’s half sorcerer.”

“Yeah, but that’s probably the curse talking, don’t you think?”  asked String.

“Possibly,” Waterstone paused. “In fact, probably, now I come to think of it. All the more reason not to consult them. Judging by their recent actions against Tarkyn and the rest of us, I would say they are well on the way to being corrupted, some more than others.”

Danton followed Autumn Leaves’ suit and pulled up a tall stem of grass to suck on. “I wonder if the damage can be reversed or only halted?” He turned his gaze on Waterstone, “Then you would be faced with the dilemma of whether to kill off your corrupt kin if they continued to pose a threat to everyone else. And how would you decide who was so corrupted that they should die and who was tainted but manageable? Interesting, don’t you think?”

Much to everyone’s surprise, a smile dawned slowly on Waterstone’s face. “Danton, you are so loyal I can’t imagine how we ever doubted you. And clever. You have placed me beautifully on the horns of a hypothetical dilemma just like the one facing Tarkyn. Well done! I can only sit back and admire your cunning and devotion, and concede that we are all in a difficult position.” He leant over to Tarkyn and patted him on the knee, “In future, no more forcing people to make impossible choices. We will work through this together and support each other to protect what matters to them as best we can.”

Tarkyn breathed a sigh of relief and gave a slight smile, “Thanks.” Suddenly, the prince was just a nineteen-year old with too much on  his shoulders.

String and Bean looked at each other. Then Bean said, “Must be my turn to make the tea, if we’re going to be here for a little while. Any chance of a small fire?”

Before anyone could answer, Tarkyn and the woodfolk’s minds were assailed by an overwhelming cry for help. But not from Midnight. From Blizzard. As one, despite Stormaway’s stricture, they jumped to their feet and headed off towards its source.

“Follow us,” said Waterstone briefly over his shoulder to the other three sorcerers. Even as he ran, the woodman went briefly out of focus to send a message via other woodfolk to Stormaway.

They raced up the mountain path, all thought of covering their tracks forgotten. As they neared a copse off to the left hand side, they could hear the sounds of angry shouting emanating from among the trees. They swung off the path and came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a small clearing within the copse.

A shocking sight met their eyes.

At one end of the clearing, lashed upright to a thin sycamore was Midnight, head lolling forward, hands dragged behind him and secured at the back of the tree. At first glance, it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or unconscious. Ranged in front of him, were twenty or thirty angry woodfolk, yelling at each other. A furious debate was raging among them. Now and again, one of them would break from the pack towards Midnight, only to be restrained by others. Blizzard was in the midst of it, shouting with the others, but a look of relief passed over his face when he spotted Tarkyn and his group at the edge of the clearing.

Before Tarkyn could act, a strong message came through from Stormaway to refrain from interfering. When Waterstone relayed this, the prince’s face tightened.

“How can I leave him there?” he demanded hotly. “They might kill him if they haven’t already.”

“Think straight,” said Waterstone firmly. “If he were dead, they wouldn’t still be trying to attack him. Just be ready to protect him if any of them breaks away from that group.”

Suddenly, a tattered, wild-eyed woodwoman, clothed in an assortment of furs, sprang into the clearing and threw herself in front of Midnight. She whirled to confront the raging woodfolk, and stood braced for action, knives in both hands, sending forth such a torrent of mental abuse and derision that everyone was shocked into silence.

Then she broke into audible speech, “How dare you attack my son? I left him with you to look after him, secure in the belief that woodfolk look after their own. What has happened to you? What has he done that is so terrible that you would do this to him?”

After an uncomfortable silence, a voice spoke up from within the pack, “He is an abomination. He is half sorcerer.”

For a moment, Hail faltered but then she lifted her head high and looked the speaker straight in the eye. “Yes, for my shame, he is. And I have punished him for it often enough myself. But that was why I left him with you. To protect him from me. I couldn’t see him without seeing the cruelty of his father, but you people didn’t have to bear that burden. I trusted you with him and look what you have done.”

“And how does it happen that you suddenly turn up out of the blue now, so full of concern, having abandoned your son for months without seeing him?” sneered another voice.

“Dry Berry called for me,” she replied shortly. After a moment she added more gently, “And now that you all know, I have come to face my past and your judgement.”

At that, murmuring broke out, which quickly swelled into another heated altercation. Waterstone threw a restraining glance at Tarkyn but saw that he was standing arms crossed, a forbidding expression on his face but with no obvious intention of interceding.

The shouting grew louder. Suddenly, punches were thrown and a brawl broke out among the mountainfolk.

Still Tarkyn stood there unmoving. But slowly, the air inside the clearing seemed to soften and people threw their punches with less vigour. Gradually they fell apart from each other and straightened up, raising their heads high and falling silent. Then they turned to face the prince, some shame-faced at first, but all squaring their shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. For a moment, Waterstone thought they meant to attack him. But Tarkyn met their gaze unflinchingly. Then very slowly, without uncrossing his arms, he lifted one hand to place it on his heart.

Almost as though waking from a trance, people blinked and gave their heads a slight shake. A few placed their hands on their hearts in response but gestures like that were not natural to woodfolk, so most just set about making amends with their neighbours and apologizing to Hail. When she felt sufficiently safe, she asked String and Bean to come forward to cut Midnight free, continuing to keep her eye on the uncertain mountainfolk.