The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 20

The prince suffered no ill effects from his over-exertion and for the next three days, the sorcerer and the woodfolk worked hard on repairing the damage caused by Waterstone’s rage. By the afternoon of the fourth day, most of the repair work that could be done had been completed. Tarkyn was sitting under a tree directing two shafts of power up into the last group of trees that they had decided was worth working on.

Suddenly, a booming voice rang out from behind him, “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Tarkyn jumped and both branches juddered out of place, unbalancing Waterstone and Autumn Leaves in two separate trees.

“Tarkyn!” yelped Waterstone, “Help!”

Ignoring the intrusive presence behind him, the sorcerer refocused his will and steadied both woodmen in their respective trees. Then he maintained steady shafts of power to hold the boughs in place until they were secured, despite the reproachful voice behind him that grew in intensity as it insisted on knowing what had happened to his sense of consequence. Once the branches and the woodmen were safe, the sorcerer released his power and without looking around, said politely, “Good afternoon, Stormaway. I am sorry. I was concentrating. Could you repeat that, please?”

The wizard stomped around, to stand glaring down at the young prince. “Where is your sense of propriety?” he demanded. “A prince of the realm is not a gardener. A person of your consequence does not lower himself to working on manual tasks in the company of common woodfolk.”

The prince hauled himself up from the ground until he stood looking down at the wizard from his superior height, his amber eyes blazing. There was a long silence. When Tarkyn finally spoke, his voice was pitched low and was shaking with anger. But the anger in his voice was nothing compared to the blast of rage that silently hit Stormaway’s mind. “I believe you forget yourself. It is not I but you who have forgotten my consequence. I will spend my time as I choose, with whom I choose. You may offer me advice but you may not dictate to me and above all, you may not insult these people.”

The wizard stared back up at him for a moment. Then his stance relaxed and he bowed low, hand on heart. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I am pleased to see that you have not forgotten your status completely.”

The prince merely raised his eyebrows as he sent an image of his staff to Sparrow. When it arrived, Tarkyn broke eye contact with Stormaway to look down at Sparrow. He smiled and thanked her as he took hold of his staff and leant heavily on it. “Come,” he invited the wizard, “Let us get settled at tonight’s firesite. You must need some food and drink after your journey.” Tarkyn noticed that the woodfolk had melted away into the surrounding woods. He sent out an image of a firesite coupled with a feeling of uncertainty to Waterstone and received back an image of a nearby clearing. “This way,” he said as he altered the direction of his steps. As they walked, the prince commented, “I believe I have to thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”

“A pleasure, Your Highness, a pleasure. Come on. I’ll tell you all about it.

Once they were comfortably seated at the firesite, wine in hand and food on its way, Stormaway began his story.

“By the time the sorcerers returned to collect you, I was waiting nearby in the forest, making a lot of noise to entice them to chase me.”

“How did they think I had managed to free my hands?”

Stormaway shrugged, “I don’t think they did, at that stage.” He took a sip of wine and gave a satisfied sigh before continuing.

Tarkyn frowned, “Weren’t you worried they would capture you instead?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows. “Have you so little faith in me?”

“I hardly know you,” retorted the prince tartly.

“Hmph. Well, be that as it may, I was never in any danger. I didn’t let them get anywhere near close enough to attack me. I just let them catch tantalizing glimpses of me running off through the trees, long black hair streaming out behind me!”

Tarkyn put his head on one side. “Go on, then. Show me how you do the hair!”

It wasn’t just the hair. Right before his eyes, Stormaway’s body slimmed down; his face grew longer, his cheekbones higher and his hair long and black. His eyebrows blackened and swept upwards in pronounced arch. His eyes became yellower but were still greenish and nothing like Tarkyn’s extraordinary amber ones. Overall, however, there was a clear resemblance that would certainly have passed muster from a distance, even more so from the back view.

The prince laughed, “That’s pretty good!”

“I can do better if I spend longer on it. I can even improve the eye colour but no one I have ever met other than you and your father have those amazing amber eyes, and I just don’t seem to be able to replicate them.” The glamour faded and the wizard’s real form re-emerged. He took another sip of wine. “Ah, that’s better. Can’t really relax when I’m maintaining a disguise.”

The sorcerer nodded slowly as he absorbed this information then asked, “So what happened after you left the forest?”

Stormaway settled down to telling the story of his escapades with the bounty hunters.

The prince’s smiles of appreciation did not reach his eyes. He was too busy trying to gauge the calibre of this disingenuous wizard. When there was finally a gap in the wizard’s flow, Tarkyn asked, “But didn’t all this take place over two weeks ago? Where have you been since then?”

“I kept leading them further away until we reached the northwest coast. A false trail to the docks led them to believe you had left the country. So they gave up the chase.”

The younger man frowned “That won’t bring them back through the forest, will it?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t put in all that effort otherwise. No. They will travel back home, which is well to the north of the forest edge.” He regarded Tarkyn thoughtfully. “Outsiders don’t usually venture into these woods unless they are in large groups or have a particular reason for doing so. Those who live near the woods know that many who have ventured in have failed to come out.”

Tarkyn looked at him sceptically. “But I thought it was very rare for woodfolk to need to kill outsiders. They’re so good at staying hidden that the need rarely arises.”

Stormaway swept his arm around in a semicircle. “These woods are not as benign as you may think. Many people lose their way and die from cold or lack of food in the depths of the forest. In some parts of the forest, there are savage wolves and dark creatures of the night that attack without warning. Besides these, there are refugees from justice.”

“Not unlike myself,” quipped the prince.

“Very unlike yourself,” returned the wizard repressively, “Renegades who, as I was going to say, skulk in the woods and prey on unwary travellers.”

“Oh dear,” said Tarkyn, rolling his eyes. “Yet another bunch of reprehensible sorcerers that have helped to form the woodfolk’s less than favourable impression of us.”

Stormaway frowned. “What about the travellers? Most of them would be perfectly well-behaved sorcerers.”

The prince shrugged. “True enough. Maybe the woodfolk have only seen them using magic to defend themselves against the renegades you spoke of.”

“That doesn’t make them bad,” protested the wizard.

The sorcerer shook his head smiling. “I know it doesn’t. It’s just that Waterstone was shocked that magic could be used for something productive. So it made me think about how sorcerers appeared from the woodfolk’s point of view.” In answer to the wizard’s raised, interrogative eyebrow, he answered, “Generally, not very well at all. Waterstone thought that magic was just used as a weapon. No one realised that sorcerers’ magic could be used for anything else.” Tarkyn grimaced, “It’s been quite salutary, becoming aware of the woodfolk’s impressions of us.”

The wizard frowned. “I can’t help deploring the lack of respect for your person that seems to have developed in my absence.”

The prince raised his eyebrows with a hint of disdain. “Are you implying that respect and honesty are mutually exclusive?”

“You will not intimidate me that easily, young man,” chuckled the old wizard. “It depends very much on how the honesty is delivered, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tarkyn nodded shortly, thinking back to what he had said to Ancient Oak. “It was said courteously, Stormaway. We just became aware that we had different impressions of sorcerers.”

Stormaway shook his head dolefully. “I should not have left you so long alone and vulnerable with these woodfolk.”

“Why not?” demanded the prince, “There is the oath to protect me and they have looked after me well.”

“Ah, Your Highness,” The old wizard shook his head sagely, “You don’t realise how people can take advantage of you. When you are alone and injured, as you have been, your emotions are rawer and your need for support is so much higher.” He smiled condescendingly. “You know so little of the intricacies of personal influence within circles of power.”

The prince stared at him. “What utter rot! I have spent the whole nineteen years of my life living and breathing those intricacies. You haven’t even been at court for the last eleven years!” But despite his protests, Tarkyn could feel the seed of doubt implanted by Stormaway’s words beginning to fester as he remembered that he was, in fact, not particularly good at discerning duplicity.

As dusk fell, the woodfolk reappeared to set the fire and gather together food for the evening’s meal. The camaraderie that had developed over the last three days had been replaced by formal courtesy. Although he noted it, Tarkyn did not try to rekindle the earlier congeniality. He could see that the woodfolk had backed off as his father’s faithful retainer assumed his place at the prince’s side. Tarkyn suspected that the wary woodfolk would watch his interchanges with the wizard and take their time to gauge where they fitted into the new regime that Stormaway had brought back with him.

Waterstone was uncharacteristically quiet all evening and excused himself early, on the pretext of putting Sparrow to bed. However, unlike other evenings, he did not return.

While the woodfolk listened or talked amongst themselves, Stormaway spent the evening enquiring after various people he had known and encouraging the prince to tell him about his recent life at court. Now, as the prince talked about his companions and their exploits, he found himself re-evaluating every chance remark and gesture his friends and acquaintances had made. “Why am I being so hard on my old friends?” he wondered. “I wasn’t betrayed by them. None of them even had the chance to choose whether or not to support me.”

Then Stormaway’s voice broke in on his ruminations. “I am not just asking these questions for my own entertainment, Your Highness. It helps all of us,” Here he swept his arm around the gathering, “to know something of your associates if we are to serve and protect you.” He paused and prodded at the fire with a stick, clearly uncertain how to continue. As he stared into the flames, he said awkwardly, “So. There is something I think you should know”.

A stillness settled on the clearing.

“Yes?” Tarkyn’s voice seemed unnaturally loud.

Stormaway flicked a glance at him before seeking the refuge of staring into the flames. “The two bounty hunters who kept out of sight were your friends, Andoran and Sargon.” The wizard cleared his throat. “I noticed you mentioned them a few times. They seem to have been regular companions of yours, from what you were saying.”

The young prince felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. All his doubts clicked into place as he realised that some part of him must have recognised his unseen captors. There was an awkward silence while Tarkyn mustered his thoughts and resources to say, “They were not among my closest friends but you’re right. I did spend quite a bit of time with them, one way and another. I defeated both of them in the tournament. They always did like any excuse for an adventure. I knew there were times when they were thoughtless pranksters but I never knew they were cruel.” He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice, “No doubt they thought it might be a good bit of sport. At the same time they could gain favour with one or both of my brothers since they have now lost their route of influence through me. In fact they were probably very angry that my exile had ruined the value of their carefully nurtured friendship with me.” Tarkyn turned bleak eyes towards the wizard who was still gazing studiously into the fire. “You see, Stormaway, this is not the first time that apparent friendships have winked out of existence when these so-called friends have realised that they would not get the influence they craved, through me.” Tarkyn managed to raise a half smile as he hauled himself to his feet. “Anyway, the good thing about it is that it keeps me from having too high an opinion of myself. With all that power I wield, it would never do to be blindly arrogant as well, would it?… And now, if you’ll excuse me, I will take a short walk to ease my stiffness before retiring.”

Tarkyn walked away from the gentle light of the fire into the gloom of the forest, heading down to the river. He did not choose to use his sorcery to give himself light and so had to pause every few yards to allow his eyes to adjust. He heard a spate of talking break out soon after he left. From what he could tell, the woodfolk were reproaching the wizard and Stormaway was having to defend himself. In the darkness, despite himself, Tarkyn smiled.

When he reached the river, the moon had just cleared the top of the trees and had turned the river into a ribbon of silver. His whole being felt jarred by the betrayal of his erstwhile friends and their brutal treatment of him. More than this, Tarkyn’s faith in his own perceptions had once more been undermined.

He sat on a rock at the river’s edge and let the peace of the forest wash over him. After a while, he became aware of an otter working its way busily upstream, ducking into side pockets and sliding up and over small rocks. When it noticed Tarkyn, it did a double take then flicked out of sight under the far bank. A few minutes later its head gingerly re-emerged and it watched Tarkyn for several seconds before disappearing again. After several repeats of this performance, it glided slowly across the river and emerged right beside Tarkyn to shake itself off at his feet. Tarkyn smiled but other than that, did not dare move a muscle.

He remembered the mind linking and worked on sending out waves of friendship. The otter stared up at him and Tarkyn realised he was receiving curiosity, wariness and a dawning hint of trust.

Am I just reading this from its body language or is this animal actually sending me messages? wondered the prince.

This uncertainty was rewarded by a clear wave of irritation and a view of the river from where the otter was standing. Tarkyn raised his eyebrows in amusement, and sent ruefulness and an invitation, which the otter accepted by scuttling up the rock to sit next to him. The sorcerer visualised a tentative image of patting, and received consent. So he reached out slowly and started to stroke the otter in slow, gentle movements. The otter was cold and wet under his hand and not particularly enjoyable to stroke but the wonder of being able to pat a wild otter more than made up for it.

Suddenly the otter flicked back into the water. Almost simultaneously, Tarkyn heard the thrum of a bowstring and saw an arrow streak past his face. Even as he threw up a shield and dived for cover, he heard a dull thwack and a strangled snarl as the arrow found its mark. Gasping in pain from his abused ribs, he emerged to find himself face to face with a huge black wolf, its teeth bared and its dulling, yellow eyes staring into his. Waterstone was calmly removing the arrow that stuck out of its neck.

Fear made the prince angry. “Why didn’t you warn me?” he demanded.

Waterstone shrugged. “Didn’t want to warn the wolf.”

“Couldn’t have that, could we?” returned Tarkyn sarcastically. “And you didn’t feel the need to kill it before it sprang at me?”

Waterstone grinned, “Not really. Anyway, I’m not even sure it was springing at you. I got a clearer shot at it once it came out from the trees. If I’d told you it was coming, the wolf would have known it was being watched”

“Hmph.” Tarkyn digested this, not sure how keen he was on being used as bait. He flicked out his shield and ran a hand over his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit shaken. Thank you for saving me.”

A certain dryness in the look the woodsman sent him reminded the prince that Waterstone had no choice but to protect him. Tarkyn smiled ruefully and said, “Nothing’s easy, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” replied Waterstone shortly, “And I hope you know that I did not kill that wolf because of the oath.”

Tarkyn smiled, “Well, obviously not. You were just protecting the otter, weren’t you?”

Waterstone shook his head and smothered a smile as he walked down the few steps to the river. As the woodman crouched at the water’s edge, rinsing his arrow tip, Tarkyn suddenly became aware of an unnatural stillness around them and received an image from a viewpoint within the overhanging branches. A dark shape, slinking low and dangerous, was closing in on Waterstone from the other side.

“Stay down,” ordered Tarkyn sharply. As the wolf emerged from the trees, the sorcerer yelled, “Fierspa!” and threw a blast of power at it. The wolf recoiled howling in shock and pain but regrouped and sprang at the crouching woodman, who whirled to face it, knife in hand. Another wild streak of fire slammed it to the ground and this time it didn’t move.

Waterstone sprang to his feet, knife at the ready and stood staring down at the smoking wolf. “Stars above! That was careless. The lookouts spotted the first wolf coming this way but I assumed it was alone.” He shook his head, “It is unusual to see this type of timber wolf so far east. Usually they are either sole travellers or in packs. Not this time, apparently. The lookouts must have missed this one while they were watching the other.”

The sorcerer frowned. “I thought I was warned by a lookout. Isn’t there one up in the overhanging trees over there?” he asked, pointing to the patch of forest the wolf had come from. Just then, a large tawny owl took off from the trees in that area and swooped down over him before heading off across the river to hunt. The sorcerer picked up a wave of approval as it flew past.

Waterstone turned puzzled eyes on the prince. “There are no lookouts this close to us. What warned you?”

“Maybe the silence. Maybe I caught a flash of its eye.” Tarkyn wondered about the owl but didn’t feel sure enough to mention it. He shrugged. “Maybe I saw a shadow moving. I don’t know.”

The woodman considered him silently for several moments. “I guess it’s my turn to thank you,” he said quietly. “I might have to revise my opinion of sorcerers. You’re definitely becoming an asset. Thank you.”

“A pleasure.” Tarkyn smiled as he walked over to join Waterstone in looking down at the singed carcass. “That wolf took a lot of stopping, though. That power blast would have knocked most men or beasts unconscious with a direct hit like that. Are there likely to be any more?”

“I would hope not, but I think we’ll put on extra lookouts until morning.” Waterstone’s eyes lost focus as he relayed this message. When the woodman’s eyes cleared, he returned to the river’s edge and crouched down again, arrow in hand.

“So what brings you down here?” the prince asked. “I thought you were going to bed.”

Waterstone looked at Tarkyn over his shoulder before calmly returning his attention to cleaning his arrow. “I did go back to be with Sparrow for a while and I decided to stay there. I didn’t want the wizard focusing on me as a potential rival for your attention. He needs a bit of time to piss on his tree.”

“Me being the tree, I presume?”

Waterstone smiled, “I’m afraid so” He turned back to the river to give his arrow a final shake to clear it of excess water and walked up to sit near Tarkyn. “Autumn Leaves mind told me about the identity of the bounty hunters. When you left to walk down here, we thought I should come down and see how you were. I hadn’t decided whether or not to intrude on your solitude to talk to you, but events made the decision for me.” Waterstone saw the prince thinking this through and added, “To forestall any suspicions you might have about Autumn Leaves’ motives, I might point out that he has no expectation that I would tell you of his concern.” The woodman grimaced, “In fact, I don’t think he would be very pleased to find out that I had told you.”

“I had already figured that out, actually.” The prince grinned sheepishly

The woodman shook his head ruefully. “I knew it. You can’t take anything at face value. You have to analyse everyone’s actions to the last detail.”

Tarkyn snorted derisively. “Do you blame me? Especially tonight, after what Stormaway told me. Andoran and Sargon have been amongst my circle of friends for years. They may not have been my closest friends and I may not have liked everything they did, but I would never have expected this of them.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And yet no matter how hard I try to second-guess people’s motives and protect myself, look what happens.”

Waterstone shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t blame you. The longer I know you, the more I understand why you do it.” He shrugged, “I just think it’s a shame that those stinking sorcerers have jaundiced your view of people so much.”

The princes raised his eyebrows, “And are woodfolk so far above reproach, then?”

“Of course they’re not, though I think they’re better. All right. I’ll retract that. It’s not sorcerers or woodfolk. It’s the power that corrupts the people around you.”

“That’s a refreshing point of view, Waterstone,” remarked Tarkyn caustically. “It is generally held to be the power wielder who is corrupted by the power.”

Waterstone eyed him thoughtfully. “Considering your family, I would have to say there’s a lot of truth in that. However, power does not corrupt everyone within its sphere and therein lies your hope. Except for your deep-seated and let’s face it, justifiable paranoia, I think your integrity remains remarkably unscathed by the power you wield and there will be people around you whose integrity overrides the lure of power.” Waterstone picked up a stone and threw it forcefully into the river. “Your problem is finding out who they are.”

The prince stared out silently across the river. He was quiet for so long that Waterstone nudged him to see if he had gone to sleep. Tarkyn came out of his reverie with a start. “Ow! Don’t forget the ribs!” He rubbed his side. “I was thinking back over all the times I spent with Andoran and Sargon, trying to find the clues that should have alerted me. People are so good at prevaricating. Either that, or I’m easily fooled.” He swung haunted eyes around to regard the woodman. “I feel as though I’m walking in quicksand. Each step is sucking me in deeper and deeper until finally I’ll have nothing solid left to hang onto.”

Waterstone knew it would be pointless to reassure Tarkyn of his friendship. He cursed the invidious people who had so often betrayed the young man’s trust. Overwhelmed with frustration, the woodman leapt to his feet and started pacing back and forth. Finally, he stopped and stood staring down at the prince, his hands on his hips. “There must be some way to test people, to decipher their motives.” He paced up and down a few more times, then came back to stand over the prince, completely oblivious to the breach of etiquette he was committing. “What about the mind linking? You’ve never had that at your disposal before. What do you pick up? Images and feelings? Could you use that to check someone’s motives?”

Tarkyn focused on Waterstone for a minute, then shook his head. “I don’t know. All I can pick up from you is exasperation and frustration. The thinking component is missing. So I can’t know from mind linking whether you’re frustrated out of care for me or because you can’t get me to trust you so that you can use me.” Seeing Waterstone’s quick frown, Tarkyn hastened to add, “I’m not saying that’s what I think. I’m just showing you the limitations.”

The woodman stared at him for a minute before resuming his pacing. The next time he stopped, he asked, “But it could be useful in some situations, couldn’t it? You might discern nervousness or feelings of guilt, for instance?”

Tarkyn nodded. “Yes. I can imagine times when it could be quite revealing.”

“Hmph” Waterstone set off on his pacing again. Then he stopped abruptly, looking out over the river. He stood there for several seconds before turning slowly to face the prince.

“What if you could search through a person’s memories? Through all their impressions and feelings?”

“Tree Wind showed me some of her memory,” said Tarkyn slowly. “It certainly revealed her antipathy, although it was only a short segment.” He frowned. “She could equally have shown me a bland, unrevealing memory if she had chosen to be duplicitous. I can see two difficulties with that idea. I don’t have whole lifetime to spend viewing someone else’s lifetime of memories and it is very intrusive. I could not demand it of anyone.”

The woodman came back and sat down opposite the prince. “Memories don’t use up real time and many similar memories tend to compress into one impression with the changes in attitudes overlaying them. Even so, you’re right. A whole lifetime of memories would take too long.” He paused while he thought it through, “So, what if the person gave his permission freely and you chose which segments to view?”

Tarkyn did not pretend to misunderstand the woodman. He eyed Waterstone. “I couldn’t ask it of you.”

“But would it convince you?”

The young prince studied the woodman for a long time, as he searched for possible loopholes. He turned his head look out across the silvery river. Finally, he returned his gaze to Waterstone. “Yes. It would.”

Waterstone took a deep breath, let it out, then said formally, “Then I freely give you access to whatever of my memories that you wish to view.”

“But if I do this, it will be difficult for you, won’t it?”

“Yes. It will. I am placing great faith in you to allow you to do it. But it will be even more difficult to keep living with your continual mistrust. You have no notion how hard it is not to feel hurt, each time there’s an indication that you don’t trust me.”

“Oh Waterstone, I am so sorry!” Tarkyn ran his hands through his hair. “And I wish I could say that your offer alone were enough.”

Waterstone gave a sad smile. “But I know it is not and I knew, when I offered, that it would not be. Sooner or later, the suspicion would cross your mind that I might have banked on you not taking up my offer.”

Tarkyn grimaced. “Stars above! I am hard work, aren’t I? I don’t think my company is very good for you. You’re starting to learn my warped thinking patterns.” He took a deep breath and looked the woodman. “Very well. I accept your offer. When?”

Waterstone’s eyes went slightly out of focus for a few seconds as he checked with the lookouts. He re-focused and said, “Now. If I have to wait, I’ll get too nervous.”

Tarkyn frowned, “Are you sure about this?”

The woodman nodded shortly. “Come on. Just get on with it. When and what do you want to see first?”

The prince didn’t hesitate. “My father’s visit to the forest.”

“All of it?”

“From just after the oath is given.”

“Right. Relax and look into my eyes.”

The king’s and the little prince’s final words die away. The king stands glowering over us as we kneel before him. My stomach feels tight and sick. We all stare at this tyrant who has come among us. No one can think of anything to say.

Suddenly, the king’s whole demeanour changes. He smiles benignly around him and rubs his hands together.

“Good!” he exclaims, “Now that is settled, we had better get started on helping you people to recover.” He stands up from the table. “Stormaway! Get your herbs, medicines, whatever. Quickly, man! We have work to do.”

The king raises his eyebrows until I realise that he is waiting to be shown where to go. I lead him to the nearest shelter. He has to duck to enter, and then the restricted height forces him to kneel down at the bedside of a sick woodwoman. He looks at me. “Her name?”

“Cracking Branch, Your Majesty.”

“Hmph. How long have you been ill, Cracking Branch?”

“About four days, Your Majesty.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“I don’t have any strength left and my head and limbs are all aching.”

In a surprisingly gentle voice, the king says, “Let me assure you that help is on its way.” He looks over his shoulder towards the entrance and frowns ferociously. “Where is that dratted wizard? Ah, Stormaway. Took your time, man. Now, what are we doing for these folk?”

Stormaway produces a quantity of various herbs and hands them to me. “Can you boil some water and make a strong tea with these, please? We also need flannels or rags and bowls of cold water to bathe people’s foreheads to reduce the fever.”

I emerge from the shelter to be surrounded by wide-eyed woodfolk. I ignore their questions and organise the wizard’s requirements.

After this, Tarkyn experienced a blur of memories, all similar, with the king visiting every sick person, reassuring them in his bluff manner, and ensuring that they received treatment. Tarkyn could feel Waterstone’s attitude to the king gradually shifting from horror and distress to reluctant respect and admiration as the king persevered through the night and deep into the next day without a break. Then the memory became clear again.

The king enters a shelter to kneel at the bedside of a young woodwoman with gentle green eyes and a musical voice, my wife.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. I am Skylark.”

“Good morning Skylark. How long have you been ill?”

“Not as long as many others. Only three days but it is very wearying.”

The king takes her hand. “Well, I hope you will recover soon with this fine tea that young Waterstone has summoned up for you.”

I smile at her and give her the tea. The king looks from one to the other of us and raises his eyebrows. “You know each other, I gather.”

We both grin and chorus, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Hmph, well, Skylark. You should be proud of this young man. He has worked with me through the night to bring aid to those of you who are sick.”

Skylark smiles and says, “I am.”

I leave the shelter with her voice ringing in my ears.

Tarkyn pulled out of the memory and gave Waterstone time to recover. The woodman had tears in his eyes as the prince smiled mistily at him. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you to remember Skylark.”

“It is, but no worse than all the other times I remember her.”

Tarkyn sniffed, “It is also hard for me, seeing my father like that. It’s clearer than any memories I have of him.”

Waterstone c****d his head to one side. “I suppose it would be. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Tarkyn gave a small smile. “It’s one of the reasons I drank so much at the feast that first night. I’d just seen my father in Tree Wind’s memory and even though he must seem ruthless and bombastic to you, I still miss him.”

“He was ruthless and bombastic, as you put it, but he was also dedicated and passionate and true to his word that he would care for our people,” replied the woodman. He walked down to the water’s edge and splashed water on his face and hair. Then he returned and unloaded an earthen bottle and two cups from his knapsack. “I’ve just remembered. I brought provisions with me in case I decided to sit and talk with you.” He poured golden liquid into a cup and offered it to the prince. “Wine?”

Tarkyn accepted it and took a long draught. “Thanks. This is quite a torrid process, isn’t it?”

Waterstone looked at him for a moment, then dropped his eyes to his cup. “Yes, it is.” He took a deep breath and looked up. “Where next?”

“When you first saw me a couple of weeks ago.”

The prince caught a flicker of hesitation but Waterstone closed his eyes, composed himself then looked unwaveringly into Tarkyn’s eyes, “All right. But I warn you, you may not like some of this. Look deeply and relax.”

It is a soft sunny afternoon. We are posted in the trees near the eastern edge of the forest awaiting the arrival of this renegade prince whom we may have to serve. We have heard dire tales of his misdeeds and we are hopeful that he will not survive Stormaway’s testing. He appears around a bend in the road, walking in the company of Stormaway and talking. This prince is very tall; his hair is black like a raven and very long. He glances up into the trees and I see his father’s face and electrifying eyes. Yet despite his bulk, his demeanour is not intimidating as he bends slightly so that he can hear what the wizard has to say.

An impression of mental discussion reached Tarkyn but no words. He pulled out of the memory and instructed, “Now, that same evening from where I try to leave and you woodfolk stop me.”

This time, the memory was images with a running thought commentary.

We have taken an irrevocable step in revealing ourselves. Either he will die or he will rule us. His shield will not save him against Stormaway’s and our combined forces. Even though I know which way Stormaway’s judgement will go, my heart sinks as I hear the words, “He has passed my final test.” We make a desperate plea to Stormaway to postpone the final sealing of the binding spell. We have to be sure, before we are forced to accept this young inexperienced sorcerer as our liege lord: we who do not even have leaders among ourselves. I am almost old enough to be his father. Suddenly, he waves his arm. My heart leaps in fear and I flick into the cover of the trees. Silly young man looks surprised that we have vanished. What does he expect? The wizard is not getting things all his own way, for a change. This prince is nobody’s fool. Stormaway’s attempt to force his hand by threatening to make him leave the forest fails signally. The young man calls his bluff immediately. Stormaway is right. He is arrogant and easily angered but so far, only when he’s challenged. He has a better sense of humour than Stormaway and he is smarter and better at manipulating people than his father. Therefore, possibly more dangerous.

Tarkyn broke contact. “On my oath, Waterstone! You’re more calculating than I am.”

The woodsman rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I would say analytical, not calculating. I was, after all, trying to work out what the future held for us all.” His voice sounded tired and despondent.

The prince frowned in concern. “Are you all right? Do you want to continue at another time?”

Again Waterstone stared at him then dropped his eyes. He sighed. “No. I couldn’t do this again. Not like this, being judged. It’s now or never. I just hope you don’t end up trusting me but disliking me.” He took a long pull on his wine with a hand that trembled, then closed his eyes to gather his resources. When he was ready, he opened them and looked once more at Tarkyn.

Tarkyn thought hard. He realised that more than one extra memory might push the woodman too far. He would like to know Waterstone’s reaction to his display of temper when he had frozen the woodfolk and threatened them all but he decided on balance that he would gain more from seeing the woodman’s memory of the time when Tarkyn was injured.

“Very well, one more only. Your memories of being with me from when I translocated up into the oak tree.”

There is a sound like rushing air above us. We look up and see Prince Tarkyn suddenly appear way up in the boughs of the tree. My stomach lurches with horror knowing that he will fall and there is nothing we can do to prevent it. He hits branches on the way down with a series of sickening thuds. I cannot imagine that he will survive. I fear for his survival but even more for what his death will mean to the forest. When he lands, he is deathly pale and barely breathing. I cut his bonds and organise a litter. Summer Rain attends him. She gently feels around his chest and places some strapping around his side. She manipulates his shoulder back into place and straps it. It is probably just as well that he is not conscious for this part. Summer Rain leaves instructions for his care and moves on to attend to the others who have been wounded by his fall. There is a delay in moving the prince while a larger shelter is constructed to house him. We are all anxious and realise that we have been forced to taken on a bigger responsibility than we had expected.

Many memories of coming to check on the prince and talking to people around him blur into one general theme. The predominant feeling moves from fear for the forest and the life of the prince, to compassion for his suffering.

I watch him grimace with pain after he gags trying to eat and I sit with him as he thrashes around in the night, reliving horrors of bounty hunters and his arraignment before his brothers. I start talking to him to calm his distress. As he hovers in some twilight world between waking and sleeping, I gradually tell him everything about me and about the woodfolk. I feel I have let him into my world and trusted him with things I have needed to say but have never said to another. Then he awakens fully and the reality of who he is opens a yawning gap between us. I am jolted by his mistrust and realise that my imagined friendship with him is all in my mind and not in his.

Suddenly, Tarkyn found himself back at the river at night. Waterstone had closed his eyes to break contact. Before Tarkyn could re-orient himself, Waterstone scrambled to his feet with an uncharacteristic lack of grace and disappeared into the trees. The prince was left sitting alone, shaken by the depth of feeling in Waterstone’s memory and wondering what to do next. He did not have long to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Autumn Leaves came trundling down the track and plonked himself down near the prince. “Evening, Your Highness.”

“Good evening,” replied Tarkyn uncertainly.

Autumn Leaves stared earnestly at the sorcerer. “Now I know you’re a high and mighty sorcerer and you can burn me to a crisp or throw me about or whatever takes your fancy, but I’ll risk all that to protect my friends.”

The sorcerer in question looked blankly at him and said faintly, “I applaud your courage.” When there was no further response, he asked, “Which of your friends needs protecting?” although he felt sure he knew the answer.

The solid woodman eyed him belligerently. “You know perfectly well I mean Waterstone. I don’t know what spells you’ve magicked on him but he’s a total wreck. He looks, I don’t know, wounded, like a whipped cur…even though there’s not a mark on him that I can see. His hands are shaking so badly I had to pour the wine down his throat myself. So what do you have to say for yourself?”

The sorcerer’s face had stiffened with shock. “Autumn Leaves, I promise you, I have not used my magic on him. It is his magic, not mine, that has led to this.”

The woodman glared at the sorcerer scornfully. “I am surprised that you would try to dodge your responsibility for this. You must know we do not have any magic.”

“Oh yes, you do,” Tarkyn gave a slight smile. “It’s just so natural to you that you don’t think of it as magic. You mind talk and use mindpower to control people and you can let people see your memories. I suspect you have other magic that helps you disappear into the woods but I’m not sure about that yet.”

Autumn Leaves continued to stare at the sorcerer as he absorbed this information. “Hmph,” he said at last, “but none of this tells me what has happened to my friend.”

Tarkyn hesitated. Somehow he felt he might be betraying Waterstone’s confidence if he told Autumn Leaves what had happened. He was beginning to think that Autumn Leaves would not approve of Waterstone’s actions. The prince was prepared to deal with Autumn Leaves’ disapproval but he didn’t want to put Waterstone in that position, especially now.

Tarkyn drew a deep breath, “If I tell you, I don’t want you to remonstrate with Waterstone for what he has chosen to do. You can say what you like to me but not to Waterstone unless we agree it together.” He paused, “Do I have your agreement?”

Autumn Leaves narrowed his eyes as he considered his options, then nodded. “I can’t imagine that I would want to get angry with Waterstone anyway.”

The prince kept his eyes on the woodman. “Waterstone allowed me to see some of his memories.”

The woodman shrugged. “So? I’ve often done that to pass on information. I can’t see a problem with that.”

“Waterstone allowed me to choose which memories. He gave me free rein to see whatever I asked for.”

Autumn Leaves froze. The sorcerer could see him imagining what it would be like to have his memories unprotected by his own choice. He gave a low whistle. “For pity’s sake, I hope you at least negotiated it with him, gave him some kind of veto.”

The prince shook his head, “No negotiation. Purely my decision.”

Autumn Leaves blinked. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve been trawling his memory ever since those wolves were killed, are you?”

Watching the anger gathering in the woodman’s eyes, Tarkyn winced inwardly as he nodded. “He wanted to prove to me that I could trust him.”

The storm broke. Autumn Leaves did not rage as Waterstone would have done. Instead he slated the prince carefully with biting scorn. “So you have violated a man’s innermost privacy, cast aside the layers of protection that keep him strong and safe against the world. And how long did you subject him to this flaying of his soul? Three hours? I can understand that you might need a gesture of good faith to earn your trust – but three hours? You either have no imagination or you’re an utter bastard or both.”

The prince sat white-faced as the woodman slammed home to him what he had done. “Oh no! Oh, for pity’s sake,” he breathed as he bowed his head beneath his hands, “I think I’m both.” He lifted his head to look the woodman resolutely in the eye, “I knew he was finding it difficult. I suggested postponing but I never offered to finish it even when he started to worry that I wouldn’t like him.”

Autumn Leaves snorted derisively. “I’m not surprised he was worried. Now you’ve seen parts of him that should never have been seen by anyone else.” He scowled at the prince. “I don’t much care whether he has earned your trust. Personally, I think the cost was way too high. But you had better make sure you earn his trust.”

Tarkyn looked away towards the river but its silver beauty brought him no comfort. “I fear I have already betrayed his trust by abusing the gift he offered me.” He put his forehead in his hands. “Oh Waterstone, I’m so sorry.” After a moment, he raised his head with an air of decision. “Can you send a message to him for me? I can only send feelings and images and I need to send him some words.”

“I believe you said that we would agree together what is said to Waterstone?” Autumn Leaves raised his eyebrows. “I presume that still stands?”

“Of course it does. I need you to help me repair this mess, Autumn Leaves. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just took a lot of convincing. But in my need to have someone to trust, I forgot to look after him.” He thought carefully how to phrase what he wanted to say. Although he hadn’t told Autumn Leaves, he felt sure that the very last part of the memories he had seen were the main cause of Waterstone’s distress. “Will you tell him that he has earned my trust beyond any doubt and that there is no aspect I saw that I disliked? He is welcome to the poor opinions he has had of me and they come as no surprise. – And tell him that, in my mind, he is one of the best, truest people I have ever known and I am proud to be his friend.” He c****d his head to one side. “And that I am sorry….Will you agree to send that? Will it help or should I just go and talk to him?”

Autumn Leaves shook his head decisively. “He wouldn’t let you anywhere near him at the moment. He’s too raw. I will send your message as long as you really mean it and are not just saying it to make him feel better.”

The prince stared at him. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t dream of saying something like that if I didn’t mean it. I could easily find something tactful but less emphatic to say if I needed to.”

The woodman’s eyes lost focus for several seconds.

“That took a while,” commented Tarkyn.

“I replayed the whole conversation from where you said you needed my help right up to where you said you could think of something less emphatic to say.” The woodman smiled for the first time since he arrived. “Pictures and sound.”

The sorcerer raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you could replay whole scenes. I thought you could only send events as they happened.”

“No. You can send old memories too, if you want to. Helpful if someone needs directions to somewhere you have been before.”

“I suppose so.” A silence fell. Then Tarkyn asked, “Do you think Waterstone will respond to the message?”

The woodman shook his head. “I doubt it. Not tonight anyway. Give him time. He almost has to re-assemble himself, I’d say.” For a solid man, Autumn Leaves rose nimbly to his feet. “Anyway, I’d better go back and see how he is.” He gave a little smile. “Thank you for not burning me to a crisp.”

The sorcerer waved a dismissive hand and returned a rueful smile. “A pleasure. Thank you for coming to sort it out with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For a long while, Tarkyn sat there thinking through all that had happened that day; repairing the trees with the woodfolk, Stormaway’s arrival and disapproval, learning of his friends’ treachery, Waterstone’s sacrifice and now, Autumn Leaves intervention. He was glad Stormaway hadn’t seen the interaction with Autumn Leaves.

These woodfolk weren’t used to being ruled. They had no ruling class of their own and no experience of royalty. Even with the threat of the oath and his power hanging over them, they still confronted him and let him know when they weren’t pleased. It wasn’t just Waterstone who showed his anger, as it turned out. He thought back and realised he had probably been too harsh with Thunder Storm. Passing judgement on the prince’s actions seemed to be as natural as breathing for all of them.

They were courteous to him – when they weren’t angry with him, he added wryly – but when he thought about it, they were just as courteous to each other. The only real difference was the use of his title. They had given him a bigger shelter because of his size but it was not grander and he suspected that he had been waited on only because he was ill.

Now Stormaway had blustered back in, throwing around expectations of both his and the woodfolk’s behaviour. Despite the justification that Stormaway had given for enquiring into activities at court, Tarkyn was fairly sure that the wizard’s main motivation had been to impress the woodfolk and set him, the prince, apart from them. That being the case, it had probably been a tactical error to speak about Andoran and Sargon since their treachery had tarnished the mystique of court life Stormaway was trying to build up.

Tarkyn thought about the servants, the grand banquets and balls, the exquisite furnishings and the clothes he had left behind. He thought about the ordinary everyday artisans and workers he had barely brushed up against and the nobles and courtiers who had been his constant companions. With a smile, he thought about his thieving family and wondered how they had spent the money.

He remembered that he had told the woodfolk on the first night that he would make clear his expectations. In theory, the prince could demand that he should be treated with greater respect, be waited on hand and foot as he was used to. In theory, he could insist that the woodfolk lowered their eyes, bowed in his presence and performed all the obsequities that he had taken for granted in his past life. In reality, he knew he could not.

On the other hand, although he did not dislike the unaccustomed familiarity of the woodfolk, the prince did not think he could ever accept simply being on equal terms with them, as they were with each other. And there were many tasks he had no intention of ever doing himself.

In the dark, Tarkyn smiled wryly as he pulled himself stiffly to his feet. It was a little levelling to discover that, after all his discussion with Waterstone, in actual fact he liked and needed his power and would feel too vulnerable without it. Of course, it was his refusal to lose his magical powers that landed him here in the first place but now he had the added, greater power of the oath. Tarkyn was dismayed to realise that, even though the oath was so extreme in its consequences, he was not ready to lose the power it gave him. Without the oath, he knew the woodfolk, with a few possible exceptions, would almost certainly kill him now that he knew of their existence, particularly if he tried to leave. But it wasn’t that. With a mixed sense of shame and excitement, he knew that he liked the power for its own sake. After a lifetime of living in the shadow of his brothers or his father, for the first time he was the indisputable seat of ultimate power. Stars above! he thought. I hope Waterstone hasn’t overestimated me. As he walked stiffly back up the path to his shelter, it crossed his mind that there would be interesting days ahead as he strove to find a balance.