The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 13

Dusk was gathering as four woodfolk strode into the clearing, carrying a long twisty branch, from which hung a slain deer.

Ancient Oak nodded at them, “There’ll be some fine spit roasted venison tonight.” The woodman had spoken very little, and seemed at a loss to know what to talk about most of the time. Tarkyn suspected that the task of entertaining him had fallen to this particular woodman because of his injured arm. Ancient Oak turned to the prince, and spoke formally, “Tonight we will honour your arrival among us, Your Highness. We have long awaited the day when you would come to claim your own.”

The four hunters handed the deer over to a waiting group of woodfolk who immediately set to skinning and cleaning the carcass. Meanwhile others were tidying the clearing, gathering firewood and setting the fire.

If the prince was disturbed by the woodman’s cold tone, he gave no indication. “I am honoured by your kindness, Ancient Oak,” he replied with equal formality. He was seated on the ground next to the woodman, his back leaning against a tree. “Tell me, are your homes nearby? I cannot see them.”

“They are all around us, my lord, scattered through the nearby woodland, although the untutored eye cannot distinguish them.” Did the prince discern a note of derision in the woodman’s voice? “Each dwelling is constructed within a thicket of shrubbery. Branches from the growing plants are woven into a small dome that is lined with grasses and mud to make it waterproof.”

“I see, or rather I don’t see because, as you so rightly point out, I am untutored in your ways.”

“That is how I injured my arm,” said Ancient Oak, in a sudden burst of confidence.

“I beg your pardon?”

“One of the saplings we were using to build a shelter was not secured properly and flicked back into my arm.” He gave the prince a shy smile, “It’s not broken, you know. Only bruised. But if I don’t have it in a sling, I might forget and climb into a tree and then find my arm unable to support me when I need it.”

“You climb trees a bit, do you?”

Ancient Oak smiled at the prince’s lack of knowledge, “All our lookouts are stationed up in trees. We spend nearly as much time in trees as on the ground, especially if there is a potential danger.”

“Interesting.” Tarkyn was watching another group of woodfolk prepare vegetables to be roasted in the fire. “And I suppose you can quickly obliterate all of this, should the need arise?”

Ancient Oak nodded, “Yes. The lookouts will warn us of any outsiders’ approach. We can pack away the food and put out the fire, then scatter leaves and forest debris to disguise our presence within minutes. By the time outsiders arrived here, they could walk across this clearing and never know we had been here.”

Tarkyn studied his companion. Ancient Oak was not old, as might have been expected. He was named purely for the qualities of his voice. Tarkyn was beginning to be able to differentiate the woodfolk from each other. At first, the similarity in their stature, dress, hair and eye colour had made them all appear alike to him. However, as they became more familiar, he could discern differences in hair length, shade and style and in facial shape and expression. Ancient Oak was young but more fully grown into manhood than Tarkyn. He wore his hair straight and shoulder length and sported a small goatee. Now that Tarkyn knew him better, he couldn’t imagine how he had ever been unable to tell him from the others.

“So when will your leader present himself… or herself to me?” asked the prince. “I would have expected to be introduced by now.”

Ancient Oak raised his eyebrows. “But Your Highness, did we not make it clear? We have had no leader until now.”

“Don’t play games with me, Ancient Oak. You know what I mean. Who organizes the lookouts and the arms practice? Who adjudicates arguments? I haven’t been here. There must be someone who leads you….and why have they not presented themselves to me?”

Ancient Oak looked distinctly uncomfortable at Tarkyn’s sharp tone. “We don’t have leaders. Different people tend to direct different activities depending on the knowledge and skills needed…” He trailed off.

The prince merely waited, keeping his eyes fixed on the woodman’s face. Ancient Oak was watching, with slightly unfocused eyes, the woodfolk hanging garlands of flowers in the trees around the clearing. Finally, he glanced at Tarkyn. “Your Highness, there is no-one to dispute your claim, if that’s what’s concerning you. We have known for years that you would one day come to claim our fealty.”

“Yet despite this,” said Tarkyn dryly, “my arrival has been greeted with hostility, not welcome.”

“I do not see why knowing about something for years should make it any more welcome,” retorted the woodman.

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “You have a bit to learn about being a liegeman, Ancient Oak. That is not how you speak to your lord.”

The woodman’s cheeks tinged with colour, not with embarrassment as Tarkyn first assumed, but with anger. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I had not realised that dishonesty would be a requirement of serving you.”

Tarkyn was completely taken aback. No one spoke to him like that. And yet, he found himself in a quandary. He did not want dishonesty from his liegemen and women. He had never enjoyed the guiles of court, so why recreate them here? On the other hand, he would not countenance impertinence.

“Ancient Oak, I expect the highest standards of courtesy and honesty both from my liegemen and women, and from myself. This does not necessarily mean that I will rub unpleasant truths into people’s faces. Perhaps you could also learn to avoid that practice.”

Ancient Oak’s mouth tightened but he gave no response. Again, his eyes lost focus.

The prince frowned and looked away quickly. Watching the preparations for the feast, he mulled over its significance. The woodfolk had agreed not to use mindpower on him. So if it wasn’t that, what was it? The woodfolk may have declared their intention of trusting Tarkyn, but he was a long way from trusting them in return.

Suddenly, Autumn Leaves and Tree Wind appeared on either side of them.

“Go on, Ancient Oak,” said Autumn Leaves, waving his hand. “You’re needed to help mind the children. Creaking Bough needs a break.”

Tarkyn frowned as the woodman left without his dismissal, but decided that he could not spend the entire afternoon berating him. And although he had not seen Ancient Oak gesture, he was fairly sure that the arrival of the two woodfolk was not coincidental.

“Had enough of enduring my company, has he?”

A glint in Autumn Leaves’ eye acknowledged the prince’s acuity. He smiled, “We try to be fair in apportioning onerous tasks, my lord.”

“And exactly how did you two turn up so fortuitously?”

“Sire, since you value honesty, I will tell you.” Tarkyn frowned with a suspicion that was confirmed by Autumn Leaves’ next words. “Ancient Oak relayed your conversation to us and asked us to come.”

“How dare he share with others his private conversation with me?”

Autumn Leaves shrugged disarmingly, “Sire, we all do it. We speak with our minds as much as with our mouths.”

“Perhaps you do, but I do not appreciate having an unseen audience to my conversations.”

A tense glance passed between the two woodfolk. At a slight nod from Autumn Leaves, Tree Wind cleared her throat and said in her sighing voice, “Your Highness, would you be kind enough to walk with me awhile? We have some time before the food is ready and the moon is not due to rise for another hour.”

Tarkyn stood up and inclined his head, “It would be my pleasure, Tree Wind.”

The prince and the woodwoman walked away from the bustle of the clearing into the quiet gloom of the forest.

Tarkyn murmured, “Lumaya ” under his breath. Slowly a gentle radiance spread around them, allowing them to find their way beneath the huge overhanging trees. “You must let me know, Tree Wind, if the light may endanger us, and I will extinguish it.”

The woodwoman nodded but said nothing. Tarkyn glanced at her set face and wondered why she had offered to walk with him if she felt so ill at ease in his company. Finally, he said, “It seemed to me that there was a point in time this morning when my fate held by a thread. I would like to thank you for resisting the impulse to kill me.”

Tree Wind pushed a strand of hair back from her face and forced herself to look him in the eye. “I apologize for reacting so hastily. I understand from Stormaway that it is a heinous crime to attack a member of the Royal Family.” There was no vestige of warmth in her soft voice. “Besides, in hindsight, it was not warranted by your actions.”

Tarkyn looked at her quizzically. “No, but at the time, you thought it was. You thought I was placing a spell on you. Why did you not kill me? I could feel it. Every fibre in you wanted to plunge that arrow further into me and yet you held.”

“If I had been able to kill you with impunity and save us all from the future that lies ahead of us, I would have done so. But if you remember, Stormaway reminded us that only he could make the final decision. And only if you were totally corrupt, would the binding spell not take hold. If we had killed you and you were true, we would all have perished.” The woodwoman drew herself up. “In the end, the forest saved you.”

Tarkyn stopped walking to look at her. “It did?”

“Don’t you remember the wind that sprang up? The swirling leaves?”

Tarkyn thought back and nodded slowly.

“Our oath to you is bound in sorcery to the welfare of the forest and therefore to our own welfare. The effects of the binding spell had already begun to work. Because I was threatening you and your claim was just, the binding spell was threatening the forest.” She continued impatiently, “It is not yet autumn. No leaves should have been falling. Fey whirlwinds do not spring up in the middle of the forest.”

The young man raised his eyebrows. “No, I suppose they don’t.” Tarkyn frowned in an effort of memory, “So when did you swear this spellbound oath to me?”

“Twelve years ago, my lord. My people and I made a solemn vow to your father that we would protect you and recognize you as our liege, should you return to the forest.”

Tarkyn brow cleared. He looked around the overhanging trees of the surrounding woodlands. “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” he said slowly. “I vaguely remember coming into the woods for a long ceremony of some sort. A long time ago, when I was very young. It is one of the last vague memories of my father.”

Tree Wind considered Tarkyn for a moment then offered, as though the idea had only just occurred to her, “If you wish, I can show you. You will need to look deeply into my eyes so that I can share my memory with you.”

She must have known that Tarkyn would be wary of her mindpower but she did not offer any reassurance. He thought it unlikely that she would try to control his mind again and he felt reasonably sure that, if necessary, he could resist as he had before. So, after a slight hesitation, the prince agreed. Nevertheless, it took a leap of faith to look into her eyes.

“So, stand relaxed and focus deeply into my eyes,” instructed Tree Wind calmly. “Now let your mind drift and allow the images to form. You will not lose your own self-awareness. You will simply gain the awareness of my images and feelings.”

The night is bitterly cold. I can feel my legs stiffening up. We have been warned of their arrival at the forest edge half an hour ago and we have been waiting in readiness. I can hear the jangle of harnesses as they draw near: now the quiet thudding of horses’ hooves on the forest floor. Three riders emerge from the gloom. A large burly man with black hair and beard mounted on a strong black horse. He is wearing deep burnt orange robes and cloak, richly embroidered in silver thread. Behind him on a grey pony sits a much smaller, slighter, beardless replica of the first, white-faced and swaying with fatigue. There is a shimmering light around them, possibly a shield of some sort. The third rider is Falling Rain, one of our number, who has been missing for over a week. He is slumped over the neck of his pony with his wrists tied to the pommel of the saddle. Outrage ripples through those of us waiting. Many people notch arrows ready to attack as a fourth rider appears.

With a start, Tarkyn recognised Stormaway Treemaster, resplendent in his green court dress, stronger and more confident in the vision than the wizard he had met recently.

King Markazon’s hawk-like gaze sweeps across us. He dismounts and indicates that we should assist the little boy and our stricken companion down from their mounts. Although he sanctions releasing Falling Rain’s bonds, no one is clear whether the woodman has been bound in captivity or merely kept tied for his safety. Falling Rain collapses when he is set upon the ground and has to be supported to a comfortable spot against an old oak. No one has yet spoken and the air is filled with mistrust and foreboding. No one has ever before come into our woodland home. The wizard watches warily from horseback then, when all are settled, dismounts and joins the king and the rest of us seated around the firesite. Food and drink are brought forth for our guests. By previous agreement, it falls to me to greet our visitors.

“Welcome to our forest, Your Majesty. We are honoured by your presence among us. My name is Tree Wind.”

The king’s frown is forbidding. “I thank you for your welcome. However, you labour under a misapprehension. These are my forests and you live here at my discretion.” He glares around the circle at our ashen faces. “I have not been pleased to discover a whole community of people who have never sworn allegiance to the Crown.”

A stricken silence greets this pronouncement. Then one of our number breaks the silence.

“But Your Majesty, you cannot rule a people you cannot find. My name is Autumn Leaves.”

All eyes turn to glare at the speaker of such provocative words. We glance nervously at each other around the firesite, acutely aware that Autumn Leaves’ words are ill-chosen. Surprisingly, no explosion of wrath follows. Perhaps noting our reaction, the king merely waves an impatient hand and declares calmly, “All that is at an end. Now that the illness of Falling Rain has betrayed your presence, your unnatural, treasonous independence is at an end.”

We are filled with dread at what that may mean but before we can respond, Stormaway cuts in smoothly but respectfully, “However, we understand that many of your people are near death from this sickness and we have come bearing medicines that will heal them. Beyond the forest edge this malady is common enough and easily cured, but because you woodfolk have never been exposed to it, you have no resistance to it or knowledge of the cure.”

“I am concerned for Falling Rain. Should he not be put to bed?” I ask.

The wizard produces a small packet of herbs from an inner pocket and hands it to the nearest woodman.

“Here. Make a tisane from these. Hopefully, now he is back amongst you, this will revive him. The journey has tired him excessively as I feared it might. But for some reason, he did not respond to my treatment while he was within the palace. I believe he may need to be within the forest to recover.”

“So, you will help us, but the cost of this help is the loss of our independence? A high price indeed,” observed a scratchy voice. “I am Running Feet.”

“Without our intercession,” interjects the king, “You would all be dead within the month. Being independently dead seems quite pointless to me.”

“However, being independently alive does not,” I retort, but my sighing voice robs my words of rudeness. “You could choose to save us but leave us as we have always been, elusive and not answerable to anyone.”

The king glowers at me but speaks mildly, “My Lady, I cannot countenance having people within my realm who have not acknowledged me as their rightful ruler. And you cannot expect my support unless I, as your liege lord, accept responsibility for you.”

Tarkyn experienced a strange sensation of thoughts and impressions travelling back and forth between the woodfolk around the circle. Because the sensation was alien to him, he couldn’t grasp the content clearly but could only be aware, through Tree Wind’s vision, that it was happening.

After an appreciable pause in the proceedings, a burbling voice takes up the negotiations. “Sire, our need is dire and so we may be forced to accede to your conditions. However, two things concern us. Firstly, what would you demand from us as your subjects? I am Waterstone.”

The king glances impatiently at his wizard, but then draws a breath and answers with a stern calm. “My demands are not excessive. I require your loyalty and your obedience, should I need it. I wish you to continue to care for these vast forests. In time of conflict, which I hope will never arise, I will require your service either at arms or in gathering intelligence.”

Again Tarkyn experienced the sensation of thoughts racing between the minds around the fire.

“These conditions do not seem unreasonable,” states Waterstone on our behalf.

“I should think not. I have not even demanded a tithe from you.” The king’s amber eyes sweep around the circle. “And your other concern?” Before we can answer, Markazon notices his son seated next to him and smooths his tousled hair. He leans over and whispers sotto voce, “Not long now. Bear up.” In a quick change of role, the father becomes the king as he straightens up and raises his eyebrows. “Go on. I’m waiting.”

Waterstone clears his throat nervously. “Your Majesty, we have heard you are a just monarch, firm but fair.” The king inclines his head in acknowledgement. “If we swear an oath of fealty to you, does that bind us to all future kings?”

Our uncertainty and unhappiness with this is apparent without words. Before any of us can raise an objection, the king lifts his hand.

“Obviously, I will not be here at the crowning of the next king to make sure you transfer your oath. However…” The king breaks off and looks at the wizard who looks pointedly at the little boy who is now leaning against his father.

“Sire, you must.”

The king takes a deep breath and begins again. “However, much as it pains me, I can understand your reservations. There are some uncertain portents regarding the future King Kosar and his brother Jarand, particularly in relation to young Tarkyn here. Since I will not be here, I would protect Tarkyn’s future as best I can, from beyond the grave, so to speak.” After his momentary show of vulnerability, King Markazon draws himself up and sends his harsh glare across us all. “So, to ensure that two generations of my family have your fealty, I will require you to swear the oath of fealty to both my son Tarkyn and me. In return for this, I will apprise no-one else of your existence and I will save your people from this sickness.”

After another period of mental communion, Waterstone presents our view, “We have one more reservation. Prince Tarkyn is still very young and has not yet passed through the trials of childhood and adolescence. Although unlikely, Your Majesty, it is possible that by the time he reaches manhood, he may have become embittered or cruel or even unbalanced. Swearing a lifetime of service to an unformed child is too uncertain.”

The king stands up abruptly, sending the little boy falling sideways as the shoulder he has been leaning against disappears.

“Enough!” roars the king. “I have been patient and I have negotiated when I could simply have enforced my will. You will give me your oath and you will give Tarkyn your oath. I have placed my shield around this clearing so you cannot melt away into the forest and choose to die unaided. I have had enough of this charade. This is my kingdom and I will be obeyed.”

A horrified silence ensues. No one moves. Then Stormaway Treemaster speaks in a matter-of-fact voice as though the conversation were proceeding as before. “Perhaps a slight modification can satisfy all parties.”

“What?” snapped the king.

“When Prince Tarkyn first enters in these forests as a grown man, I will undertake to evaluate his worthiness to be their liege lord.”

Markazon barks, “He is worthy because he is my son.”

Stormaway holds the king’s gaze for a notable pause. “Just so, Your Majesty.” The wizard looks down at his hands, “And yet should the unthinkable happen, I know you would not wish any people of your realm to be bound to evil.”

The king looks at his tired son and gently strokes his hair. Tarkyn turns his head to look up at his father and smiles at him sleepily. The king raises his eyes and says, “Because I have faith in Tarkyn, I will concede this point. But be warned! The oaths you swear to me and my son will be bound in sorcery to the welfare of the forest.”

Despite his concession, the air sizzles with resentment. Running Feet’s scratchy voice speaks for us. “Since you have already removed our freedom and our right to choose our own fate, we must inform you that we will be making these oaths under duress.”

“Of course you will be. But that won’t make your oaths any less binding.” The king tosses off the contents of his goblet. “You are out of touch with the ways of the outside world. Although it does not generally arise in times of peace, the basic premise safeguarding the monarchy is “Submit or die.” Treason has always been punishable by death. In your case, I would not have to order your executions. You will simply die from sickness if you do not swear fealty. And in the future, if you betray your oath to my son, it will not be you but your forest that will die. Perhaps you may think that is too lenient,” he says dryly, “but unless I am much mistaken, the death of your forest would destroy your souls.”

Tarkyn closed his eyes and pulled himself out of Tree Wind’s memory. “Enough. I have seen enough,” he said thickly. “More than enough.”

He opened his eyes to find Tree Wind regarding him with long-nurtured loathing etched in every line of her face. In an instant the expression was gone but Tarkyn knew he had not been mistaken. The prince thought of trying to explain his father to Tree Wind but, watching her closed face, he realised there was no c***k in her resentment. He would be wasting his time.

He managed to find his voice again and to speak with a quiet assurance he did not feel. “Thank you for sharing your memory. I believe you have made your point quite clearly. I can see now why you are so unhappy about being bound into my service. I think I will take a walk before dinner. You may leave and return to your people.”

Once he was rid of her, Tarkyn blundered into the comforting darkness of the forest. He crawled into the heart of a huge overhanging pine tree and threw himself down on the soft bed of pine needles. He extinguished his light and felt the velvety blackness pressing on him. A seething roil of images and emotions swirled round and round inside his head.

In turns, Tarkyn wept for the loss of his father all over again then railed against him for the impetuous nature that had turned the woodfolk against them both. In the end, when his emotion was spent, he was left with the implacable hatred in Tree Winds’ eyes. He sat up shivering and drew his cloak around him.

“What am I going to do?” he whispered into the darkness. “I’m locked in a forest with a horde of people who detest me.”

He thought about all he had lost and of what lay ahead of him and felt desolation wash over him. Eventually, a rustling in the branches above him caught his attention. Curiosity and the need for self-preservation dragged him up out of his pit of despair.

“Lumaya!” he murmured and by the gentle corona of conjured light, he spotted a tawny owl staring unblinkingly down at him. They regarded each other for several seconds. Then the owl scratched under his wing with his beak, and ruffled his feathers. Tarkyn felt a gentle surge of reassurance. He heaved a huge sigh and said with quiet resolve, “You’re right. Life must go on and I must face these people.” So saying, he pushed his way between the pine’s branches and back onto the forest path.

As he neared the clearing, Tarkyn could hear the sounds of revelry. “I can see they are celebrating already,” he said dryly to himself. “Perhaps Tree Wind has convinced them that I will stay away from them… Maybe I will, but not until we all know where we stand.”

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into the clearing, his heart hammering in his chest. It was every bit as bad as he had anticipated. A sudden hush fell. Only the crackling of the fire broke the silence. Hundreds of pairs of expressionless eyes turned to look at him.

“Good evening,” he said quietly to everyone and no one in particular. “Don’t let me interrupt your festivities.”

A small child holding a goblet of wine responded to a gentle shove in the back and came forward to offer it to the prince. Tarkyn inclined his head and accepted the drink.

“Thank you, young one,” he said gravely.

He sipped the wine and commented on its quality. Still no one else spoke. Tarkyn resisted the temptation to feel foolish, clenched his teeth and walked slowly through the circle to the other end of the clearing. Woodfolk parted silently to let him through. When he reached his chosen vantage point, he turned and swept his gaze around the waiting throng.

“Since I have your attention,” he began with a touch of irony, “I will take this opportunity to thank you for providing this welcoming feast. I am honoured by your hospitality…” Still no one spoke. Tarkyn could almost feel their antipathy pulsing against him. “As some of you may know, Tree Wind was kind enough to share her memory of my father’s visit to you over a decade ago.” He took a sip from his goblet. “And I believe, as a consequence of that meeting, that you were all required to swear an oath of fealty to both my father and myself? Is that correct?”

Several heads nodded slowly, either uncertain or unwilling.

“It is a long time since my father was here. Memories fade and new children have been born. I also have changed. The child to whom you gave your oath is, in many ways, not the person you see before you today. As Tree Wind has already inadvertently demonstrated, the consequences of breaking the oath would be dire.” He saw several heads turn to look at Tree Wind. “So, now that I have returned, I believe that the oath must be renewed.”

The moon had still not appeared, but a silver glow lit the eastern horizon. He saw a few people at the rear moving. “I do this to protect you. Because of the danger to your forests, it is important that all of you are made to remember your oath before the moon rises and the spell takes full effect.”

Angry mutterings greeted this pronouncement until Tarkyn raised his hand.

“I am aware that you resent the oath and resent me. But believe me; I equally resent being forced to abide in this forest against my will. This covenant between us was none of my making and it is not within my gift to remove it. However…”

Whatever else Tarkyn had been going to say was lost, as the voice of Stormaway Treemaster rang forth at its most theatrical, as he moved forward to stand beside the prince, “However, I have judged Prince Tarkyn fit to rule and events today have confirmed my decision. Prince Tarkyn’s integrity has galvanised the binding spell of the oath. The forest itself, just as bound as you are by the oath, has already acted to protect your prince and your actions have already endangered it.” He swept his arm in an arc. “So kneel before your prince and give him your oath.”

As one, the woodfolk sank reluctantly to their knees. To Tarkyn’s surprise, Stormaway also turned and knelt before him as he led the oath-taking.

“On behalf of the forests of Eskuzor, the creatures

“On behalf of the forests of Eskuzor, the creaturesof the woods, the birds of the air and the fish in the streams, I give my solemn vow to honour, serve and protect you, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor, until the end of my days. I give this oath in the knowledge that the woodlands and all who live in them depend on my good faith.”

of the woods, the birds of the air and the fish in the streams, I give my solemn vow to honour, serve and protect you, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of Eskuzor, until the end of my days. I give this oath in the knowledge that the woodlands and all who live in them depend on my good faith.”“Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. “And in return, I make my pledge to you.”

Guided by some force within him, the prince produced a bronze pillar of flame in the palm of his hand and focused on its brilliance. For a moment he wondered whether he would know what to say, but then he felt the words he had spoken as a child emerge from deep within him. As soon as he began to speak, the oath took over and the words poured forth without conscious volition.

“I, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of the Forests of Eskuzor, give my solemn vow that I will fulfil my obligations and responsibilities as your liege lord and will protect the woodfolk and the forests of Eskuzor. Your just cause will be my cause and your fate will be my fate. This is the covenant bequeathed to me by my father, Markazon Tamadil, 48th King of Eskuzor.”

“I, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of the Forests of Eskuzor, give my solemn vow that I will fulfil my obligations and responsibilities as your liege lord and will protect the woodfolk and the forests of Eskuzor. Your just cause will be my cause and your fate will be my fate. This is the covenant bequeathed to me by my father, Markazon Tamadil, 48th King of Eskuzor.”As the last words faded away, the bronze flame shot skyward and disappeared. Sparks spiralled upward from the fire as Stormaway brought down his staff with a sound like thunder. A shock wave of air blew outward from the centre of the clearing and the ground beneath them shuddered. In the quiet that followed, the first silver rays from the rising moon washed over the clearing.

Tarkyn stood there, stunned. Nothing had prepared him to expect the level of commitment he had just given to a people he hardly knew. He collected himself enough to say, “People of the Woodlands, you may rise. The venison smells as though it is nearly cooked. Please, resume your festivities.”

The woodfolk rose to their feet and began to disperse. A few of them looked uncertainly at the prince as though they would have spoken with him but he gave them no encouragement so they too melted into the night’s festivities.

Tarkyn turned glazed eyes slowly to look at Stormaway. “How could I ever have forgotten that?” he said shakily.

Stormaway put a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Tarkyn, my friend’s son, you were so young you would not have understood what you were saying, let alone remembered it. No one has been there to remind you. Your father died within the year and I was banished from court by your brothers.”

“So now what?” asked Tarkyn. “Am I now condemned to live within the confines of this forest, my fate entwined with people who hate me? I might have been better off in prison.”

Stormaway took care not to roll his eyes. “My lord, I am aware that you, no less than the woodfolk, were given no choice about entering into this pact. However, you overstate the case. I think you will find that not everyone resents you with the same ferocity as Tree Wind.”

Tarkyn ran a hand through his hair. “I have seen no sign of any friendship. Ancient Oak is the only person I have conversed with and he was doing it out of obligation.”

“You have only been here for one day,” the wizard pointed out gently. “Give them and yourself a chance to get to know each other.”

“I feel as if I’ve been drafted into the role of an unwelcome conqueror who has magic at his back instead of an army.”

“I am afraid, Sire, that you have summed up the situation quite succinctly.” said Stormaway in the same matter-of-fact voice that Tarkyn had seen in Tree Wind’s memory, “And now, you are going to have to rise to the occasion and learn to live with it.” The wizard turned to leave but stopped when he saw Tarkyn’s mutinous face. “Now listen to me, my lord. Did you like what you saw of your father in Tree Wind’s memory?”

Tarkyn glowered at him. “Yes, I did. I loved him and I have always missed him.” His throat ached with the effort of not shedding tears.

“And did you like everything he did?” pressed Stormaway.

The young prince’s eyes flashed in instant defence of his father but then his shoulders sagged and he conceded, “No. Not everything. If he had been more patient and tactful, the woodfolk could have given their allegiance with much less ill-feeling and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Your Highness, I too loved your father. I served him to the end of his days just as I will serve you to the end of mine. But he had a tempestuous nature which sometimes marred his actions.” Stormaway shook his head slowly from side to side. “From what I have seen, you are very much your father’s son. Learn from him. Take from him wholeheartedly what you admire and learn to manage the rest.”

Tarkyn gave a short derisive laugh. “Pull myself together, in other words.”

The wizard smiled. “Basically, yes. These people have just unwillingly sworn their lives to you. They have every right to feel resentful. The least you can do is deign to speak to them and treat them with courtesy.”

“Stars above, Stormaway! I don’t know how my father put up with you.”

The wizard actually grinned. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it was a struggle for both of us.” He clapped his new charge on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some of that fine wine and a plate of venison.”

For better or for worse, Tarkyn’s future had found him.