The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 16

"Blast him! He’s gone!”

Fallorick stood staring at the empty space under the tree with his hands on his hips and growled disgustedly, “Oh you stupid bastard! How far do you think you can get with your hands tied behind you? You’ll fall over the first log you come to.” He yelled across at the other two, “My lords, he’s b****y run off. Come on. We’ll have to find him. He can’t have got very far.”

Just as the other two arrived, the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth directed their attention to a figure moving awkwardly away from them through the trees.

“There he goes!” exclaimed Fallorick. “Follow him!”

The three of them plunged through the sharp, dense brush towards the retreating figure. As they came closer, they realised their prisoner had now managed to undo his bonds and was picking up speed. They redoubled their efforts to gain on him but always the figure with the black flowing hair remained the same distance ahead of them.

“You see?” panted one of the lords, as they struggled to keep up. “He’s as fit as a fiddle. You should have hit him harder. Now look what’s happened!”

As the figure neared the edge of the woods, he glanced around quickly and then raced off across the fields towards a village with the bounty hunters in hot pursuit.

Stormaway stayed in disguise until he had run loudly past the village pub of Wooding Deep, making sure people had time to catch sight of him. The wizard kept looking over his far shoulder and puffing loudly so that he made it obvious that he was being chased. In actual fact, he really was beginning to tire at this stage so the puffing was quite genuine. Once people emerged from the pub to see what was happening, he ran on to the other end of the village until a curve in the road took him out of sight. Then he reverted to his own colouring and clothes and doubled back to join the crowds. By the time the bounty hunters had arrived, Stormaway had the villagers convinced that they had seen the prince cutting across the fields towards the next village of Woodland Nearing.

His actions at Wooding Deep were just the first of the wizard’s deceptions. While the sorcerers followed the villagers’ reported sightings of Tarkyn on foot, the wizard procured a horse and reached Woodland Nearing by a circuitous route, left the horse tethered outside the village and played a repeat performance. Over the next six days, he led them through a series of villages way up to the far north west of the country to the seaport of Westsea.

Stormaway left the horse tethered outside the town in a disused barn. Once more he assumed his disguise of long black hair, creating an increased sense of height and hauteur. He kept his eyes averted or shadowed by a hat wherever possible because although they were more yellow than his own, his eyes were by no means the electric amber of Tarkyn’s. He judged he had about three hours’ lead on his pursuers so he took his time finding the docks and seeking out departure times of the vessels moored there. Stormaway entered a seedy dockside pub that rejoiced in the name of the Leaky Barrel. He pulled up a stool to the bar and asked for a beer. The barman, a short stocky man with thinning red hair and a grand moustache, stared suspiciously at him while he complied with his request.

“Not from around these parts, are you?” he asked slowly.

Stormaway kept his eyes on his beer mug as he answered carefully, “I would have thought most people passing through here weren’t from these parts.”

The barman shrugged, “No offence meant, I’m sure. Just making conversation. You planning on hanging around or are you waiting for a ship?”

“Don’t know yet. Haven’t decided.”

The barman leaned in towards him and said quietly, “There are some very nasty rumours circulating at the moment. Now, I’m not saying whether I believe them or not but I’ll tell you for nothing that a young man looking like you would be wise to get on a boat and get out of here as quick as may be.” He hesitated for a minute then added, “And I’d be tucking that long hair of yours inside your collar.”

Stormaway stared fixedly into his beer. “Why would you not give that young man away?”

The barman gave a short grunt of laughter, “Because I always liked the youngest prince and it’s my guess that his brothers are out to discredit him.”

Stormaway risked a quick glance up then returned his gaze to his beer. “And what would you say if I told you that some of those rumours may be true?”

“Oh, there’s no smoke without fire, young sir. I’d say there’d have to be some truth at the bottom of those rumours but I’m not ready to condemn a man out of hand until I hear his own story.”

The barman moved off to serve some other customers but returned as soon as he was free. He leaned in again and said quietly, “There’s a small ship called the Roving Seadog that’s due to sail on the tide. That’s in about two hours’ time. It’s not the flashiest vessel at the docks but if you tell them that Beer Barrel Benson sent you, they’ll take you on.” He leaned even closer and whispered, “But I’d lose that hair, if I were you.”

“Thanks,” said Stormaway gruffly, drank down the rest of his beer and left.

Once outside, the wizard wandered along the street towards the docks, loudly asking directions to the Roving Seadog from several people he passed. He wandered into another pub, the Sailboat on the Sea, and asked loudly for directions in there too. Stormaway saw a few frowns and at least two people slipped quietly out behind him.

The wizard judged it was time to leave. He ducked into an alley and returned to his own shape and size, turning his cloak inside out so that the green lining became the outer surface and then sauntered back out into the street. A group of four soldiers was just entering the Sailboat on the Sea.

Stormaway wandered down to the docks and, when he had located the Roving Seadog, assumed his Tarkyn disguise once more and headed purposefully towards the shabby old trading vessel. He glanced around the dockside. The last of the stores and cargo were being loaded onto the Roving Seadog.

He reached the bottom of the gangway and remarked to one of the dockers, “Good to see she’ll be well stocked. I wouldn’t want to go hungry halfway through the journey now, would I?”

The dockers glanced impatiently at him, clearly thinking his comments inane. Stormaway wandered off, waving over his shoulder, “See you in a while.”

He rounded the corner of a loading shed then let the long black hair shorten and fade back to brown and his eyes resume their natural green. He switched the cloak inside out and his return to Stormaway Treemaster was complete. He sauntered back along the docks and found a sheltered spot from which he could watch the Roving Seadog completing its loading. He waited until the gangway was drawn up then turned away.

At the edge of town, the bounty hunters had arrived. It was immediately apparent that their enthusiasm for each other’s company had worn very thin.

As they trudged heavily along the roadway, one of the lords said to Fallorick, “You’re a hopeless b****y tracker. We’ve been travelling after this elusive character for a week now. We had him in the palm of our hand and you let him get away.” He waved a hand around him. “Now look where we are. A seaport. No prizes for guessing what he’s planning here. And how far ahead of us is he?”

Fallorick cleared his throat nervously, “I’m not sure, my lord. But we must hurry. Let’s see if we can get word of him. I suggest we head straight to the docks.”

A speaking glance passed between the two lords as they grudgingly followed their guide. A few enquiries lead them to the Sailboat on the Sea where there had been a reported sighting of the prince. The three bounty hunters strode into the bar.

Without any preamble, Fallorick demanded, “Has anyone seen the fugitive prince?”

A seedy looking character sitting in the window alcove answered roughly, “Yeah. We seen him. Someone even called the soldiers but they were too late. He was looking for some ship…. I’ve forgotten what it was called.” He looked around. “Anyone remember?”

A tatty individual with wispy light brown hair stammered, “It w-was the R-roving S-Seadog, milords.”

“So, anyone know where this ship is?”

“Try the docks!” yelled a would-be comedian.

Everyone sniggered. The barmaid raised her eyebrows, “If you’re quick, you might just make it.” As the door shut behind them, she turned to the crowd in the bar and said innocently, “Oops. I forgot. Isn’t that the ship that’s sailing at full tide?”

Among the guffaws that greeted this, the tatty individual frowned at her, “Are you a s-supporter of the p-prince then?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied with a significant glance around the bar. “But I don’t like seeing anyone used as currency.”

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 hunch 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.