The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 9

As soon as he had re-oriented himself in the quiet of the tailor’s shop, Tarkyn crossed to the door and turned the handle. The handle turned, but the door did not give when he pulled or pushed it.

“Blast. It’s locked, of course. And no doubt the tailor has the key on his person.” Tarkyn threw his hands up, “Now what?”

After a few moments of frustration, it occurred to him that there might be another exit. Sure enough, a sturdy wooden door, bolted on the inside, led into a back alley. Tarkyn cautiously drew back the bolt, opened the door and peered out into the darkness. This established little more than the fact that no one was standing beside the door waiting to pounce on him. Taking his chances he slipped out into the alleyway, pulled the door behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust. The alley was in deep shadow; the buildings too high to admit the moonlight and no streetlamp nearby to cast away the darkness. He stood with his back to the door, listening. Off to his left, he could faintly hear the noise of the crowd gathered at the remains of the Great Hall. With his hand trailing against the alley wall for guidance, he headed to his right.

He crept along until the alley intersected a small road. Here he took a left and then a right hand turn into another alley that led him all the time further from the sounds of the crowds and away from the centre of the city. This was, in fact, the sum total of his plan at this stage; to reach the edge of the city and from there, to get well away from houses and people. Without having thought it through, Tarkyn had a vague idea that the further from Tormadell he went, the less likely people would be to recognise him or to have heard what had happened tonight.

He moved quickly and quietly through the dark streets, pulling back into the shadows to wait each time he heard a noise or saw any signs of movement. But very few people were out and about in the depth of the night so he was able to make good time. Twice a small band of soldiers marched past down a cobbled street, but the alleys provided plenty of cover at night and Tarkyn was able to draw back into doorways and remain unobserved until they passed.

At times, his nose screwed up at the smells of urine and refuse that wafted at him through the darkness. Once, he tripped over a pile of rubbish and his foot clanged loudly against a metal drum. An upstairs window opened abruptly and the tousled head of a middle aged woman popped out, “Who’s down there making all that noise?”

Another window opened and a raucous voice demanded, “What’s going on? Who’s sneaking around my back gate?”

Tarkyn stood still in the shadows, scarcely breathing. Suddenly a cat broke cover and, with a bloodcurdling yowl, tore off down the alleyway.

“Oh! b****y cats! I might have known,” The owner of the first voice slammed the window down in disgust and retreated. The second window banged shut in answer.

Tarkyn waited, hunkered down beside the metal drum, until he was sure that all was quiet again. A lot of cats in Tormadell, he thought, before feeling his way carefully past the offending metal drum and resuming his journey.

By the time he had neared the edge of town, he found he was moving more surely and realised that the first faint touch of dawn was showing him the details of the buildings around him and the cobbles beneath his feet. He noticed with distaste the grime ground into the walls of three storey dwellings, gates hanging askew and rotting food scraps strewn carelessly into the alley. Everywhere around him were signs of poverty and decay. Anyone who lived there would have seen that, in fact, some of the buildings were well kept; clean and recently painted. But Tarkyn, overwhelmed by his first sight of the poorer quarters of town, was horrified.

His next disquieting discovery was that many people rose a lot earlier than he did. Even on mornings when he made an extraordinary effort to rise early to go hunting, he still left his bed well after sunrise. He was aware that his servants had to be up before him but he had somehow assumed that their early rising was peculiar to their profession. Yet out here in the town, many people were appearing on the streets well before the sun had risen.

And with the brightening light, Tarkyn was in real danger. The safety of his dark back alleys was being stripped from him minute by minute. At any time, someone could give him a second look and recognise him. And his travelling cloak, beautifully tailored from fine russet-dyed wool and embroidered with silver thread, although workaday by his standards, stood out like a beacon of excellence among the clothes of tradesmen.

For the time being, he could think of nothing to do but keep his hood up, his head down and walk on, looking for somewhere to lie low as he went. As a strategy, this was destined for failure.

He had not gone two blocks before he became aware that someone was quietly following him. As he passed a side alley he caught a glimpse of a slight, ragged figure running parallel with his course in the next alley along and another creeping up through the shadows towards him. When a larger figure appeared in the mouth of the alley ahead of him, Tarkyn gave up all hope of passing undetected, backed himself up against the side wall and waited.

In all, there were five of them; two tough-looking men, an even tougher-looking old woman and two scrawny teenagers; a boy of about fourteen and a girl of thirteen. They closed in on him slowly until they stood just beyond arm’s length in a semi-circle around him.

The silence lengthened but none of them made a move towards him. Eventually Tarkyn, never good at waiting, cleared his throat and asked, “May I help you?”

The taller man guffawed, “Oh, that’s a good one. Can he help us?” He turned to his companions, “What do you think? Can he help us?” Suddenly he turned back to the prince and snarled, revealing yellowed, jagged teeth, “Of course you can b****y help us. You’re rich. We’re poor. We want your money.”

It dawned on Tarkyn that they would not believe him if he told them that he had none. So instead he said, “I can imagine you might. You certainly look to be in need of a good meal and decent clothes. Perhaps we could come to some arrangement.”

“Perhaps we could.” The old woman’s mouth stretched into a sneer as she drew a long knife from within her skirts. “We can agree to let you live, if you agree to give us your money.”

His would-be attackers saw a slight smile appear within the hood’s shadow. “That was not quite the arrangement I had in mind.”

The smile unnerved them. Suddenly the boy asked, “Where’s your sword? Someone like you usually has a sword.”

The smile broadened. “I only use my sword for show. I find it a clumsy weapon and have no need of it to defend myself.”

“Hmp. Dad uses magic to fight too, you know. So don’t think you’re safe.”

Although the thieves were unaware of it, Tarkyn did not want to use his shield or his attacking power. His magic’s colour was unique and would give away his identity as surely as his physical appearance would. He inclined his head, “Thank you for warning me, young man. And what about the rest of you?”

“Shut yer face, you stupid lad!” The shorter man cuffed the boy across the back of the head before snarling at Tarkyn, “Don’t think we’re going to tell you what magic we each have. We’re not. You don’t need to know about us. All you need to know is that we all carry knives and know how to use them.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. This looks to be a rough area. I can imagine you might need to defend yourselves.”

The two men looked baffled as their attempts to intimidate Tarkyn were met with frustration. The old woman sighed in irritation, and snapped, “Idiots! Don’t stand there talking. Get his purse.”

As the thieves surged forward, Tarkyn waved his hand and incanted, “Shturrum.”

They froze where they stood. Tarkyn then bodily lifted the girl to hold her against him, facing outwards. With a flourish he produced his hunting knife and, with the eyes of his victims following his every move, placed the knife carefully against her throat. He could feel the coarse material of her dress, stiffened with dirt, beneath his hand as he waved his fingers to release his spell. He had not mistaken the thieves’ closeness. With the girl in his power, the rest of the family backed off.

“Now, about that arrangement we were discussing…”

Half an hour later found them in a disused, partly demolished warehouse, down near the river. Tarkyn noted the pitiful rags and scrounged implements of their belongings piled against a wall. Threadbare blankets were strewn in cleared patches in the rubble. They were not very clever thieves, he decided.

Tarkyn still held the girl in front of him. With his face in the shadow of his hood and the knife at the girl’s throat, his tall, cloaked figure exuded menace. The other four thieves stood around him, taut and wary, waiting for the slightest opportunity to recover their kin.

“And now that we are safely out of view, we can talk.” Tarkyn studied their thin, sullen faces. “You seem to have a lean, hungry look about you. Perhaps you need to eat first.”

“We was just off to pinch something from the baker’s when we spotted you, prime for the picking…at least that’s what we thought.” The boy scuffed his foot in the dust. His shoe was coming apart at the seams and the sole was hanging off at the front.

“I see. Perhaps I can do something about that.” Tarkyn glanced at the old woman. “Now, I wish to make you a proposition. Although at the moment, I hold the balance of power, I do not hold all the knowledge and so I will listen if you raise objections. Do you understand?”

“Some of us are not as stupid as others,” said the old woman acerbically. “State your terms.”

“I need something sold for me. In return, I will give you one half of its value. Unless I am much mistaken, even that will set you up for life.”

The old woman folded her arms, “And why would you pay us when you don’t need to?”

He looked around at their squalid living conditions. “Because I am not a thief and will pay you for your services. Besides, you are right. You are poor and need the money.”

“And if we agree to do this, will you let my granddaughter go unharmed?”

Tarkyn shook his head regretfully. “Not until you have delivered all of the money to me with a receipt from the buyer. And in addition, I will need to be safely out of town before I let her go. I don’t want you sneaking up on me again as soon as my back is turned.”

The old woman glanced a query at the two men and received brief nods in return. “Yeah, we agree.” She spat on the ground, “Don’t have much choice, do we? What do you want sold?”

“Just a minute,” Tarkyn stood up, transferred his knife to his right hand, and held the tip of it against the girl’s ribs so that he could free up his left hand to feel in his pocket and rummage through the leather purse. After considerable fumbling through larger pieces, his hand finally closed on a small diamond pin that he used to hold his necktie in place.

As he withdrew his hand from his pocket, the girl took her chance on his divided attention. She yanked herself to her left and around, driving her right arm back towards him. A small knife flashed in her hand. All Tarkyn could do in time to avoid the knife was to let her go and jump backwards out of range. At the same time the two men came at him from either side, the grandmother closed in beside the girl and the boy circled around to come at him from the back. With the thieves so spread around him, Tarkyn could not use his freezing spell on all of them. The girl swivelled into a crouch, her eyes filled with hatred, ready to s***h up at him. No use now, thought Tarkyn, to tell her that I would not have harmed her.

Then, as Tarkyn stood balanced on the balls of his feet, preparing for the inevitable attack, the fire died in her eyes and she sank to kneel on one knee. Slowly, she turned her knife and presented the hilt.

“Your Highness, forgive me,” she whispered. “I would never have attacked, if I’d known it was you.”

The grandmother put her hands to her mouth and gasped before she too sank to her knees. The two men, a little slower on the uptake, sent puzzled glances at the two women before turning to stare at him. Then they too knelt before him.

Belatedly, Tarkyn realised that his hood had fallen down as he had jumped backwards. “Oh blast,” he murmured to himself, unmoved by their obeisance, “This was not my intention at all.”

Neither the prince nor the thieves found it at all strange that they who defied the law on one hand, could still revere the royal family on the other. But now Tarkyn was in a real dilemma. Obviously the family knew nothing about the events at the Great Hall, but as soon as they ventured forth into the market place, they would hear. While he pondered what to do, a slight sound from behind made him spin around just as the boy’s arm whipped forward. Tarkyn ducked, even as the men shouted, “No. Stop!” and a knife whistled over his head to lodge in a wooden upright, only inches to one side of the women.

“No. You stupid boy!” yelled his father, desperation in his voice. “Don’t you know your own prince? Get down on your knees and beg his forgiveness.”

Dawning understanding of what he had just done brought horror to the son’s eyes as his gaze swung wildly from father to prince. Knowing he had just committed a hanging offence, he turned on his heel and bolted.

Tarkyn was not sure that a clear command would penetrate the boy’s panic so he murmured “Shturrum,” and dropped the boy in his tracks. “Bring him to me,” he said quietly.

“Please, Your Highness,” pleaded the father, “He was behind you. He didn’t realise who you were.”

“I said, ‘Bring him to me,’” repeated Tarkyn evenly.

It occurred to none of them that, at five to one, the odds were still stacked well in the thieves’ favour. Centuries of rule by the Tamadil family had elevated its members to almost omnipotent status in the minds of the common people. Tarkyn removed his spell and waited until the man and his son were knelt before him. Tears rolled down the boy’s face, leaving pale streaks on his dirty face while beside him, the father’s face was a mask of misery. For the longest minute of their lives, the prince looked down on them silently.

Then he said, “You did well to do as I asked.” The father looked, if anything, more stricken, until Tarkyn added gently, “I would not be so cruel as to force a man to bring his son to his own execution.”

Relief washed over the father. “Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you.”

Tarkyn considered them, kneeling before him, “It is not just your son who has transgressed against me. You know, don’t you, that all your lives should be forfeit. But because you did not know who I was, I will not exact that punishment. Equally, for reasons I will explain later, I will not turn you over to the city watch.”

“See? He’s a fine young prince, he is,” cackled the grandmother, a hysterical edge of relief in her laughter. “He’s kind, this one. That’s why he’s the best loved of the royal brothers.”

Tarkyn was startled, but after a moment’s reflection, smiled wryly to himself. Even if that were true yesterday, it won’t be today.

“Here, grandmother. Let me help you up.” As he put out his hand and drew the old woman to her feet, he could see that, much as she tried to hide it, it was a struggle for her to get herself up off her stiff knees.

“Thank you, Sire.” She c****d a sharp eye at her sons, “You two could learn some manners from His Highness here.”

The taller man grunted, still on his knees, “You don’t have to kneel for us in the first place.”

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows and the man muttered an apology and subsided into silence. “The rest of you may also rise.” He turned to the girl and offered her his hand, “And I am sorry that I treated you so poorly. It is not my usual practice to intimidate young ladies. I hope you were not too afraid. I would never have hurt you.”

The teenager blushed at being called a young lady then nodded casually, “Yeah, I didn’t think you would, Your Highness.” In response to Tarkyn’s evident surprise, she explained, “You were not very rough, you know. And half the time you forgot to hold the knife against my throat. Your hand kept dropping. And even when you did, you did it gently.”

“Hmm. Well, I must say it is not a skill I wish to develop.” Tarkyn shuddered inwardly at the experience of violence that lay behind her casually uttered words. He sat down on the large block of stone and crossed his ankles, “So now that you know who I am, we may need to renegotiate our terms.”

The grandmother bowed, “Of course, Your Highness. You have only to request it, and it shall be done.”

“Blast!” muttered the shorter man to his brother, “I thought we was onto a bit of a winner here.”

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “I beg your pardon?”

The shorter man pulled his forelock, “Beg pardon, Your Highness.” He glanced sideways and murmured, “Sharp ears.”

“Very sharp,” said Tarkyn, “And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making little asides in my presence.” He waited for them to absorb this. Several glances passed between them but when they refrained from speaking, he nodded, “Good. And now, to return to our negotiation. I will not renege on our previous agreement. You will still receive one half of the value of this,” here he held up the diamond pin, “on delivery to me of the money and receipt.” He gave a faint smile, “So you may still make your profit.”

“You are a true man of honour, Your Highness,” said the taller man, still grateful for his son’s life.

“Of course I am. And despite your profession, I expect you to be men and women of honour also, in your dealings with me.”

The taller man’s chest swelled with pride, but the grandmother glanced contemptuously at her son. She had heard token words like these before.

Tarkyn crossed his arms. “And now there is something I need to tell you before you venture forth on my behalf. You may be seated while you listen.” He waited until they settled themselves on various tumbled chunks of masonry. Now that the time had come to tell them, Tarkyn was almost unable to continue. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and began, “Yesterday, during the Harvest Tournament, a shaft of my power went wide and hit a spectator stand. The stand was knocked awry but no one was hurt. In fact, after the initial panic, everyone climbed back onto it to watch the rest of our match. But…” He took another deep breath, “But the king brought me up on charges, because of it.”

Tarkyn stood up and began to pace back and forth, ignoring the little intakes of breath that he had heard. After a few moments he turned to his small audience and said, “And I did not accept his judgement. I threw up my shield and after that…well… after that, everything went a bit haywire and most of the Royal Guardsmen were killed and the Great Hall opposite the Palace was completely destroyed,” he finished in a rush, grimacing.

Five pairs of round eyes stared at him from slack faces.

“You defied the king?” the taller man breathed. “In public?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So that was why you were alone and kept your hood up,” said the boy, pleased that a puzzle had been explained for him.

Tarkyn nodded.

“And the Great Hall has been destroyed?” asked the shorter man, eyes wide with astonishment. “What? You mean, gone? Completely gone?”

Unconsciously, Tarkyn wrapped his cloak around himself against the onslaught of their reactions. “Pretty much. There is only a big pile of rubble left.”

“You must have put up one almighty struggle,” said the shorter man, in some awe. “And killing all the king’s guards too. Wow! That is some feat.”

Tarkyn frowned. “No. It wasn’t like that.” He hunched deeper into his cloak “All I did was raise my shield. But something went wrong with it, and instead of blocking, it reflected back their own weapons at them… and at the walls. I didn’t intentionally kill anyone.”

“I’d hate to see you try, then,” quipped the shorter man, who did not count sensitivity among his virtues.

“Yes, you would,” said Tarkyn coldly.

“Now, stop it, Gillis. I beg your pardon for my son’s behaviour, Your Highness. He never has known when to stop.” The old woman sent a scalding glance at her errant son before beginning to talk to the prince in a soothing voice, almost as though she were calming a wild animal. “Hmm. I expect those guards’ deaths must have been quite shocking for you. You probably knew some of them personally. And you know, I had you down as a pretty harmless sort of a character.”

Tarkyn’s eyes gleamed in appreciation of her tactics as he replied, “You can never know what a man might do when he is desperate. But you are right. I am a pretty harmless sort of a character. It saddens me that those guardsmen lost their lives.” He gave a rueful smile, “And I could not have hurt your granddaughter.”

With a conscious effort Tarkyn pushed his cloak back and sat down, spreading his hands wide. “So there you have it.” It went against all his instincts and upbringing to present himself for comment to anyone but the king. But he had never been in such an invidious position before and could think of nothing else to do, if he wanted their help.

The taller man gave a small chuckle, “You’re in one b****y great pickle then, aren’t you, my lord?”

The shorter one whistled, “And you thought we were bad. We’re just petty thieves. But you, Your Highness! You’ve committed high treason, and destroyed a whole public building… Well, they’ll say you did, whether you did or not. You’re in a league of your own.”

“And you’re no master criminal, that’s for sure,” cackled the old grandmother. “You’ve cut the ground from under your feet, good and proper. Now we know you won’t hurt Morayne and probably not any of the rest of us either. You’re too much of a gentleman, Your Highness. Not wise to have told us that.”

The prince considered her, unsure whether she spoke a warning or a threat. After a moment he shrugged and gave her a faint smile, “I have placed my fate in your hands and my faith in your honour. Was that so unwise?”

She stared at him, stunned. And as she thought about it, she realised that what he said was true. He was no longer using force. And hard upon that came the realization that no one outside the family, let alone a prince, had ever even conceived that she might be honourable, let alone staked his or her life on it.

“You really have, haven’t you?” A slow smile appeared on her sharp, wrinkled face. The grandmother put hand on her heart and bowed. “No, Your Highness, that was not unwise. You do us great honour and we will live up to your faith in us.”

A short time later, Tarkyn heard her berating her tribe as they left, “Now, not a word to anyone. Do you understand? I know this is the biggest news we’ve ever had but we can’t tell people. Not anyone. Got it?”

There then followed a long, tedious wait. Tarkyn prowled the inside perimeter of the warehouse, then paced back and forth across the floor until he felt he knew every stone and scrap of rubbish intimately. He tested the rear doors and found that they were all locked. The only way out was through the gaping front door at the front of the building. If his thieving family brought back the city guard, he was trapped.

He considered using a blast of magic to destroy a lock in a back door but he hesitated to betray his uncertainty in their honour. Sooner or later they, and in particular the old grandmother, would notice what he had done.

After two hours, his nerves were worn thin with apprehension. He crossed to the front door for the umpteenth time and peered out from within the shadows. Always there were people within his line of sight, carrying goods down to the river docks or hurrying about their business. And everywhere he could see animated knots of people standing and talking in the morning sunshine, arms waving in graphic description. Even from a distance, it was clear that last night’s events were dominating the town.

Tarkyn sighed and retired into the gloom of the derelict warehouse to sit dispiritedly against a wall. He pulled his hood up and tried to doze, knowing he had slept little last night and would have to travel again tonight. But he was too much on edge and every slight sound from outside jerked him back to wakefulness. After a while, he gave up and renewed his prowling.

Finally, when the sun was near its zenith, the taller man slipped quietly into the warehouse. He gestured for Tarkyn to be quiet and to follow him to a dark recess at the rear of the building. He shrugged a heavy bag off his shoulder before bowing briefly to the prince.

“Where have you been?” hissed Tarkyn. “And where are the others?”

“Your Highness, soldiers are everywhere. We had to travel far across town in case someone wondered where we got your pin. Then we split up and are all coming back by different routes, making sure we’re not followed. Your life wouldn’t be worth a small tasty sausage out there at the moment.” He glanced sympathetically at the prince. “You’re worth just as much dead as alive to the king, and most people want you dead.”

Although he had known this would happen, still Tarkyn’s stomach knotted. “And how much is the reward?” he managed to ask casually.

The taller man’s mouth quirked in a half smile, “I don’t rightly know, Sire. Town criers came through earlier this morning and they’ll be posting up notices this afternoon. But rumours are flying so hard and fast that it’s difficult to tell what the town criers actually said.”

“What is your name?” Tarkyn was suddenly aware of this man as more than just one member of a thieving family.

“Tomas, Sire.”

“And so, Tomas, were you tempted?”

“Tempted? No Sire. Honour amongst thieves, so to speak. Not that you’re a thief, Your Highness – I didn’t mean that. But you are firmly on the wrong side of the law now, just as we are, and under our protection. Besides,” Tomas gave an embarrassed shrug, “the chance even to meet you, let alone talk to you and do you a service is beyond my wildest dreams. In my whole lifetime, I have never come within a hundred yards of anyone in your family and even then it was only a glimpse at a parade.”

Tarkyn was saved from responding to this by the advent of Morayne, followed at discrete intervals by the rest of the family. The grandmother was last to arrive. Like the others, she dropped a heavy bag on the floor before bowing to Tarkyn. “Your Highness, there are soldiers at the top of the road conducting a door to door search. We must hide you.” In a complete change of voice, she said sharply, “Come on you lot! We’ll have to go down in the cellar. Move that stone.”

Then, to Tarkyn’s intense interest, the five of them trained their variously coloured beams of magic on a large stone block, slowly pushing it sideways. When he realised what they were doing, he joined his bronze beam to theirs. Immediately, the stone moved noticeably more easily.

“It’s true, innit?” observed the shorter man, “His magic is strong.”

Tomas snorted, “Of course it is. He won the tournament, didn’t he?”

“Nothing to do with it,” snapped the grandmother. “The whole Royal Family’s magic has been strong for generations. Well known.”

“I am right here,” said Tarkyn, with a clear note of annoyance, “should you wish to speak to me rather than about me.”

Tomas flashed him a smile as he continued to train his orange beam on the slowly moving stone. “We’re used to talking about you, not to you, Your Highness. It’s hard to change the habits of a lifetime.”

A reluctant, answering smile broke through the prince’s reserves as he remembered their previous conversation. “Make the most of it, Tomas. Talk to me while you can.” A shout and the sound of running feet further up the road made Tarkyn start in alarm. “Where do you want this blasted stone?” he demanded.

“Another foot should do it.”

Tarkyn focused and sent a pulse of power at the heavy stone, thrusting it away from him the required distance along the floor. A trapdoor now came into sight that had been hidden beneath it. There was a rope attached to the middle of the underside of the stone that fed along a narrow channel cut into the wood of the trapdoor and from there down a hole into the cavity below.

The shorter man drew up the trapdoor and as they all clattered down the ladder, Tomas explained, “There’s a slight slope to the floor. That’s why it’s so hard to push the stone away. But we can pull the stone back over the trap door from within the cellar. All that is left are a few rub marks. And we make sure there are rub marks beside many of the fallen rocks so that this one doesn’t stand out. It’s worked so far.”

“Hmph. Very ingenious. I saw those marks while I was pacing around waiting for you. I vaguely wondered what they were but to be honest with you, my powers of concentration aren’t up to much at the moment.”

As soon as all people and bags were at the bottom of the ladder, the trapdoor was closed behind them and the two men pulled hard on the rope until it was hanging straight down and they knew that the stone was back in place. It was pitch dark in the cellar.

A thought suddenly occurred to the prince. “And how do we get back out of the trapdoor? How do you move that stone away from down here?”

The shorter man chuckled in the dark. “We don’t, Your Highness. We can’t move the stone from down here.”

Something in the quality of the silence that followed let them know that Tarkyn did not like being toyed with. After waiting in vain for him to ask the obvious question, the voice continued, this time more carefully courteous, “There is a series of small rooms beyond this one, Your Highness, and from the last of them, a small grating leads down onto the mudflats of the river. Only Morayne and Charkon are small enough to climb through the gap. So, later, when all is clear, they will go back up and release us.”

“But surely that stone is too heavy for them to move on their own?”

“It just takes longer to move, Sire,” came Morayne’s voice, “with only two lots of magic to move it. But we can do it.”

“And do we intend to sit in pitch darkness all afternoon?”

“No, Sire. But it is not safe to strike a light in here in case any glimmer of it shines up through the cracks. If you will allow us, we will guide you through into the next room and there we can be less cautious.”

“Thank you. I do not think I could endure hours of this.” But when a hand landed gently on his back to guide him, he still flinched at the unaccustomed touch.

Ignoring his reaction, Tomas said from beside him, “This way, Your Highness. Just be warned. There is step upwards in a minute,” as he used his hand to guide the prince through a doorway into the next room.

Suddenly, they heard shouting and the sounds of heavy boots on the wooden flooring above them. Tarkyn and the thieves froze where they were. As the footsteps milled around straight above them, Tarkyn felt the thief’s hand on his back give him a reassuring pat. Once he had quelled his initial affront at Tomas’ over-familiarity, Tarkyn found the gesture surprisingly comforting.

After a few fraught minutes, the footsteps gradually diminished and the thieves and Tarkyn resumed their manoeuvres in the dark into the adjoining room. Once the door had closed behind them, Tarkyn waited for a light to appear but instead he heard the sound of scrabbling and quiet cursing. With a slight smile, he intoned, Lumaya, and a soft ball of light appeared in his hand. “Will this help?”

“Oh, thanks very much, Sire,” said the shorter man. “You’re pretty handy with your magic, aren’t you? Ah, here we are. I couldn’t find the flint in the dark. It must have been knocked off the shelf as we came through.”

Once the lamp was lit, there was a moment of awkwardness while the family realised that the only place to sit was on the floor. And none of them could sit down while the prince stood. In a flash of inspiration, Charkon emptied the contents of his bag and lay the bag out on the floor, “Perhaps you would like to sit here, Your Highness. Then your clothes will not get too dirty.”

“Thank you,” said Tarkyn gravely, not actually as concerned as they feared. “Perhaps you would all like to be seated too, if we have a long wait ahead of us.”

Not being totally clear on court etiquette, each of them gave a short bow before sitting down on the ground around him.

“And now, Your Highness,” the old grandmother’s eyes were shining with excitement as she began to unpack her bag, “we have brought food and drink such as you have never seen before.”

“Actually, old Ma,” said Tomas dryly, “he probably has. It’s us who haven’t.”

The grandmother waved away his objection as she produced a large square of bleached linen. “And look! I even bought a cloth to put it all on.”

From every bag came pies, meats, fruit, breads and cakes, yellow butter and soft white cheeses. Bottles of wine, ale, milk and fruit juice were distributed around the little room and then, when all was set before them, the family heaved a collective sigh of contentment and sat back, looking expectantly at the prince.

Tarkyn smiled, “It is indeed a magnificent spread. Shall we?”

With permission granted, the feasting began. There were no plates or cutlery. Everyone used their knives to cut portions or spread butter on hunks of bread and held their food in their fingers.

When the first frenzy had passed, and they were sitting around drinking and picking occasionally at the remnants, the family turned their attention to other items in their bags. Under the grandmother’s strict directions, they had all been allowed to buy one personal item each on their way back; partly for the joy of it and partly to give themselves time to check that they weren’t being followed. These items were now paraded before Tarkyn and each other. The boy had a fine new pair of boots and the girl had bought a warm, hand-woven shawl. Tomas and Gillis had bought shirts and the old grandmother held up a smart black jacket that contrasted noticeably with the worn material of her present garb.

There was a lull after this and Tarkyn spotted members of the family exchanging surreptitious glances as they reached for a bottle or more food. He had a fair idea that they were waiting for him to ask for his money, but he refused to accommodate them. He was determined that he would not show the slightest doubt in their honour.

Eventually, the grandmother gave a deep sigh and shook her head, smiling, “Oh, Your Highness, your patience and courtesy are beyond belief.”

“I am not renowned for my patience actually,” said Tarkyn dryly, “only in some situations.”

From one of the bags that was still fuller than the others, she produced a well-filled rucksack. She handed it to Tarkyn saying, “This is from all of us. It is a sturdier, more practical bag than the one you carry and we have filled it with supplies for your journey. Your money is in an inside pocket.”

A rush of feeling threatened his equanimity as he realised that once he left them, he would encounter no one well disposed towards him. He swallowed before replying, “Thank you. I did not expect such kindness.”

“You have a hard road ahead of you, my lord,” said Tomas. “We have just done what we could to ease your passage.”