The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 29

When Tarkyn reached the site of the battle against the wolves, there was little sign of the c*****e 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 being 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.

“I’m impressed, Stormaway,” came a voice out of the trees on the southern side of the road. “Unless I was expecting to be tricked, I would be convinced by your creation… and I am considered to be one of our best trackers.” Creaking Bough smiled at them. “Let’s go. We have to get those remains buried and set up camp before nightfall. We estimate from your images, Tarkyn, that the riders will be arriving at the riverside in less than an hour, around dusk.”