The Sorcerer's Oath Collection

Chapter 19

The next morning, Sparrow and Waterstone came in together with the prince’s breakfast.

“Good morning, you two. Are you better now, Sparrow?”

“Morning, Tarkyn. Yes, I’m better. Are you?”

Before he could answer, Waterstone’s voice cut in sharply. “I beg your pardon, young lady. What did you just say?”

Sparrow thought back and repeated faithfully, “Morning Tarkyn. Yes, I’m better. Are you?”

“Sparrow, you do not call a prince just by his first name,” scolded her father.

“But I did yesterday and you didn’t say anything.”

“Hmph. I may not have noticed at the time, but I’m noticing now.”

The prince in question coughed apologetically, “My fault, I’m afraid. I introduced myself to Sparrow as Tarkyn”

“I see,” said Waterstone, although he was clearly at a loss about what to do next.

The prince smiled, seeing his dilemma. “You may also call me Tarkyn, if you would like to. Maybe not on formal occasions, but the rest of the time. It seems a bit pointless to keep using titles so far from court.”

Waterstone frowned. “I’ll think about it. I might forget who you are, if I stop using your title.”

“I doubt it, especially after yesterday. Besides, I stand out like a sore thumb amongst you woodfolk. I can’t see you ever forgetting who I am.”

Sparrow, who was waiting impatiently for this conversation to end, asked her question again. “So, are you better?”

“Sorry, young one. I guess I’m getting better but I still have my arm strapped up…”

Sparrow waved a dismissive hand. “Not that better. You know - feel better.”

Tarkyn flicked a discomforted glance at Waterstone then looked back at Sparrow in some confusion. Sparrow frowned at him reprovingly. “You should feel better. I cried all your tears for you.”

Light dawned. “Oh no, Sparrow. Oh, stars above! You should never have had to deal with that.” Tarkyn shot an apprehensive look at Waterstone to find the woodman watching silently, his mouth set in a grim line.

Sparrow shrugged and smiled, “Maybe it was easier for me. I’m still young.”

Tarkyn thought about the enormity of his reaction to seeing his brothers. “No, Sparrow. It is not the job of a child to bear an adult’s burden for them.” Despite that, he realised that the big knot in his stomach had nearly disappeared. “But you know, I think you’re right. I do feel better, as in feel better.”

“And I feel better because when I was crying for you, I started crying for me.”

“You did? Why?”

“Because I lost my mum.”

Tarkyn glanced up over Sparrow’s head and briefly met Waterstone’s eyes before returning his attention to Sparrow. “That is sad. I bet you miss her.” When Sparrow nodded, the prince added, “I lost my dad too, you know, when I was your age.”

“And now you’ve lost your brothers and your mum and everyone else and that’s why you were sad.”

“Hmm. Yes.” Tarkyn sent a wry grimace in the woodman’s direction. “Neatly put, Sparrow.”

The little girl hopped up and sat on the bed with her feet dangling over the edge. Once she was settled, Tarkyn put his arm around her. Sparrow smiled sunnily, “See Dad. Tarkyn and I are friends.”

Waterstone ruffled her hair. “You don’t know what an achievement that is, young Sparrow.”

After a while, it became apparent that Tarkyn had no hands left with which to eat his breakfast. So Sparrow was shooed off to play and Waterstone waited with him until he had finished.

There was an air of constraint around the woodman and his previous confident style in his dealings with the prince was conspicuously absent. He did not use the prince’s title but neither did he call him by name. “I think your strapping is coming off today,” he said neutrally. “Once you have both arms free, we can get you into a new set of clothes. Your own clothes were badly torn by your fall through the oak tree.”

Even as he finished speaking, an older woodwoman entered the shelter. She nodded her head and said in a soft shushing voice, “Good morning, Your Highness. It is pleasing to see that you are looking better. It was uncertain for a while whether you would recover at all and whether you would have your wits, if you did. I don’t know if you remember me, I am Summer Rain.”

Tarkyn smiled and inclined his head, “I believe you gave me a tonic on the first night. Am I right in assuming that you are the healer?”

“I do have some knowledge in that area,” came the cool response.

“I thank you for your care. I believe I do have my wits, at least as much as I ever did, although Waterstone may be a better person to attest to that.” When Waterstone merely smiled perfunctorily, Tarkyn gave a mental shrug.

“How are your ribs, my lord?”

“Very sore, especially if I laugh.”

The healer delicately raised her eyebrows. “I would not advise laughing for the time being, if you wish to avoid pain.”

Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone who did not show any reaction. Tarkyn felt his good humour evaporating. The healer seemed to have no sense of humour and Waterstone had become distant. For some reason, the woodfolk seemed to be closing ranks against him. Inevitably, Tarkyn became more aloof in response. He did not reply but waited for the next question.

“And how does your shoulder feel?” asked the soft emotionless voice.

“It is painful if jolted but quite comfortable if it is still,” he replied briefly.

“Your shoulder has had over two weeks tightly strapped in place. I believe it will be safe to take the strapping off now.” The woodwoman, with Waterstone’s assistance, removed the prince’s shirt and then the strapping. The woodman’s eyes widened when he saw the extent of the bruising that was revealed. Even after two weeks of healing, Tarkyn’s back and shoulders were almost totally covered with dark blue almost black bruising, with a greenish tinge around the edges where the bruise was beginning to fade.

“Wolves’ teeth!” exclaimed Waterstone, his voice, for the first time betraying some feeling. “You’re a mess. That walk to the river must have been agonising.”

“Agonising might be too strong a word, but it was difficult,” replied Tarkyn coolly.

“However,” interrupted the healer, “a little exercise will be helpful in reducing stiffness.” She lifted his arm and moved it gently through its range of movement. “How is that?”

Tarkyn flexed it carefully and grimaced, but said, “It is a great relief to be able to move it.”

“As long as you are careful, it should be all right now.” Summer Rain picked up the bandaging and prepared to leave.

“Thank you for all you have done to help me,” said Tarkyn with a smile.

In return, he received a curt nod and no eye contact. His smile faded and his face became stony. Tarkyn struggled to contain a wave of anger that washed through him at her discourtesy. “Summer Rain, although I will make some allowances for your natural resentment of me, I will not brook deliberate rudeness. Do I make myself clear?”

The healer nodded and looked up reluctantly at him, her face set. “Yes, my lord. Your pardon, my lord.”

He took a steadying breath and asked, “Is something amiss, that you did not reply?”

“Yes, my lord. There has been something amiss for more than a decade.”

“Has this oath affected you so badly?” asked Tarkyn.

“No, my lord. Not until your recent arrival. But because the king found us and forced us to foreswear our independence, my brother was exiled.”

“And your brother is…?”

“Falling Rain.”

“Oh, I see,” said Tarkyn slowly as he thought back over Tree Wind’s memories. “But surely his self-betrayal was inadvertent? Didn’t he become so ill that he was found after falling from a tree?”

“That is so, but he should have refused to answer questions. Instead he chose to betray our existence to the king and then show him how to find us.”

“And the most fundamental tenet of woodfolk is that we remain hidden from the outside world,” put in Waterstone. “Our way of life and our safety depends on it.”

Tarkyn began to feel he was fighting a rear guard action for this woodman he had never met. “But as I understand it, had he not brought help, many woodfolk would have died.” He looked at Summer Rain. “You’re a healer. In your opinion, how many would have died if help had not arrived?”

“My lord, the sickness was virulent. More than half of the woodfolk were ill by the time the king and the wizard arrived. As it was, many people died. Without aid, our numbers would have been decimated. We may even have been wiped out completely.”

Tarkyn frowned, “So how could such actions be condemned?”

The healer shrugged, “The woodfolk decided that Falling Rain had betrayed the sacred trust of his people and that, regardless of his reasons, should be banished.”

Tarkyn whistled under his breath. “For pity’s sake! That is a harsh judgement, when one could equally argue that he should be regarded as the saviour of his people”

“Yes, my lord. It was very harsh. Yet a people’s saviour does not lead them into subjugation.”

“Death or submission. That was the choice presented by my father.” The prince ran his fingers through his hair. “Stars above! Your poor brother. What a choice!”

“In the end, it was all of us who made that choice,” Waterstone pointed out. “Falling Rain’s crime was making our existence known to the king.”

“I see.” The prince thought for a moment. “And am I right in saying that this choice has not affected your lifestyle in the intervening years?”

“Yes, that is true.” answered Summer Rain. “Except in the abstract, of course – in our view of ourselves and in knowing that one day, our debt would be called in.”

“In the shape of myself.” Tarkyn considered the healer as she packed away her herbs and bandages. Finally he asked, “And do you think Falling Rain should have been banished?”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Waterstone quietly, “I have to go and check on Sparrow.” Since the woodman could easily have mind linked with his daughter, Tarkyn raised his eyebrows slightly in query. “And I’ll fashion a walking stick for you while I’m there,” added Waterstone quickly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

When he had gone, the prince turned to Summer Rain. “What was that all about?”

The woodwoman gave a gentle smile. “Waterstone does not want to become involved in influencing your decisions.”

“I presume that means he has a strong view on this subject.” observed the prince.

“Yes, he does, but I would not betray his intentions by telling you what it is,” said the healer firmly.

“Nor would I expect you to,” the prince retaliated stiffly. “But you have not yet told me your own views on your brother’s banishment.”

The healer met his gaze steadily. “Until recently, I have always advocated that Falling Rain should not have been exiled, certainly not for such a long period of time. Many woodfolk agreed with me, especially those who had been saved or whose relatives had been saved by your father and the wizard.”

“But then,” continued the prince for her, “I came into the forest and now the debt has been called in.”

Summer Rain nodded. “And the forest has already been damaged twice in the short time you have been here.”

Tarkyn thought of saying that the incidence of damage to the forest was likely to decrease as the woodfolk came to terms with the power of the oath, but on balance he decided that the comment might be more harmful than helpful. So he merely asked, “So, what is your view now?”

“As both a healer and his sister, I still believe that his betrayal of us did more good than harm. But now memories of the sickness have faded and the reality of your presence has swung away most of the support I might have had.”

Politics is alive and well and living in the woodlands, thought the prince. He closed his eyes, imagining the pull of opposing forces dragging at him. He took a careful, deep breath and gazed steadfastly at the floor as he thought through what he was saying, “So, on the one hand, you resent me and all I represent but on the other hand, you know I could choose to end your brother’s exile.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “And because Falling Rain was exiled for complying with my father’s wishes, it seems likely that I would champion his cause.”

She returned his stare in silence. When he said nothing further, Summer Rain swallowed and said tightly, “And yet you will not.”

The prince shook his head slowly. “I have not said that. I will think on it. However, I am facing enough resentment at the moment without overturning such a pivotal decision. I can’t do that on such short acquaintance. It would look as though I had no respect for woodfolk lore.”

The healer’s gentle green eyes flashed. “I doubt there is much you could do to persuade us that you respect us. Meanwhile, my brother will suffer in exile to ease your passage into our society.”

“Charmingly put, ma’am,” said the prince with heavy irony. “And on that note, might I suggest we close the discussion?”

Summer Rain looked as though she would say more but the forbidding expression on the prince’s face stopped her. As she left the shelter bearing her bag of herbs and bandages, Tarkyn relented enough to say stiffly to her retreating back, “Do not despair. I will not forget your brother’s plight. Thank you for your care.”

By the time Waterstone returned, Tarkyn had managed to wash himself using the basin of water that had been left for him in the corner of the room and had dressed himself in his new woodfolk garb. The effort of this activity had depleted his reserve of energy and he was lying down recovering when Waterstone walked in, bearing a long sturdy staff of wood.

Again the woodman’s face showed signs of strain and although he smiled as he presented Tarkyn with the staff and commented on his new clothes, there was a haunted look at the back of his eyes.

Tarkyn frowned in concern. “What is wrong, Waterstone? I feel you have withdrawn from me. Are you still angry with me because of Sparrow? What is it?”

Waterstone looked at him without speaking for several seconds, and then made up his mind. “Come. I will show you.”

When they had emerged from the winding path through the brambles, the prince found himself facing a scene of devastation. Twigs and branches littered the ground. Broken branches hung, half ripped off standing trees. Some smaller trees had been virtually stripped bare of leaves. From where he stood, Tarkyn could see at least three fallen trees other than the great oak. The prince stood and surveyed the scene for long minutes before asking, “How far does the damage go?” he asked quietly. “Is it like this throughout the forest?”

“No.” Waterstone shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “Probably thanks to your intervention, the damage is all within a two hundred yard radius. But look what I’ve done,” The woodman waved an encompassing hand. “How can I live with this?”

Tarkyn remembered his father saying that breaking the oath would destroy the woodfolks’ souls. The sorcerer glanced at the distressed woodman and without thinking about it, sent waves of understanding and strength to him, as he said, “Waterstone, you do not bear all the blame for this. We both did something wrong but more than either of us, my father let loose a great evil when he created this sorcerous oath in the first place. If he had to impose an oath, it should have been an oath of honour. He showed no respect for the integrity of woodfolk when he bound your compliance to the welfare of the forest.” He looked at the woodman. “Can we walk down to the river? I can’t stand up for long.”

Waterstone nodded and they set off slowly, Tarkyn using the staff for support as his back and legs muscles complained. He still found the walk difficult but was able to make the distance without a break or assistance. He lowered himself down against the rocks with a sigh of satisfaction. Waterstone did not sit down, but paced around tidying up debris or gazing up into damaged trees. Finally, he sat on a rock opposite Tarkyn and ran his hands through his light brown hair. He gazed at the river for a few minutes then took a deep breath and swung his eyes around to face the patiently waiting young sorcerer.

“Tarkyn, I don’t know whether I can do this.”

Tarkyn could feel his heart beating slow and hard. He knew what was coming and thought it ironic that Waterstone had finally used his name. “Go on,” he said.

“When you were unconscious, when you were ill and isolated, I didn’t understand the complications of …I don’t know… spending time around you.” The woodman picked up a couple of pebbles and started tossing them up and down, just as he had when they had been beside the river two days earlier. He took his eyes off the prince to focus on the pebbles. “There are so many things that are difficult…I don’t know where to start. There’s your enormous magical power that seems to become erratic when your emotions get the better of you. You have absolute dominion over the future of the woodfolk if you want it and I can already see the vultures gathering, waiting to use your influence. I don’t know how to act to keep neutral. I don’t know how to be a friend and not have opinions. And if I have opinions, you’ll start thinking I’m trying to use you…. and I’ll be drafted into one camp or the other and people will try to make me influence you. But if I don’t have opinions, who am I? And on top of all that, there’s the stinking oath. I don’t blame you for it, but now I know how destructive it is, how can I risk being unrestrained around you? When does anger start a windstorm?” He dropped the pebbles and shook his head. He looked back up at the prince. “It’s all so hard,” he finished disconsolately.

Tarkyn gave Waterstone a rueful smile. “I know it’s hard being around me. I have to do it all the time, but at least I’m used to it. I do understand and I’m sorry you have had to go through all this when you have done so much to help me. If you cannot cope with me and all that goes with me, I will miss your company but I will understand.”

Waterstone stood up and started to pace up and down in some agitation. Finally, he came to stand in front of the prince and glowered down at him. “The trouble with you is that you’re too b****y noble. If you were less understanding, I might be able to walk away and leave you to your fate but I can’t. Anyway, I don’t want to. I just don’t know how to deal with it all.”

Such a wave of relief came flooding into Waterstone’s mind that he blinked. “And that’s another thing,” said the woodman, half crossly and half laughing, “You work out how to use mind links and then develop your own weird style. We use images and words. You use images and feelings. Do you realise you’re flooding me with your relief at the moment?”

Tarkyn managed to look guilty and embarrassed all at once. “You’re right, aren’t you? My emotions do run riot at times, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. And when they do, things tend to go haywire. You’re an absolute disaster area, all things considered.”

Tarkyn shrugged, “That’s how I got into this mess in the first place.” He realised what he had just said and added quickly, “Not that I mean to imply that….”

Waterstone interrupted him with a half-smile, “Don’t even try to get out of that one. You’ll just tie yourself in knots and won’t convince me you didn’t mean it anyway.” He sat down on the ground next to Tarkyn and became serious again. “You will have to help me, Tarkyn. I’m not used to people pulling at me and judging my every move and questioning my motives.” He looked around at the prince. “I know you can’t completely trust me and, having seen just a little of what goes on around you, I can understand why, much better than I did two days ago. But maybe you could tell me when I do or say something that arouses your suspicion, so we can sort it out.”

Tarkyn grimaced, “I am hard work, aren’t I? Thank you for sticking with me. If I have any doubts, I will talk to you about them. I have been honest with you so far, haven’t I?”

“Blindingly.”

“But you are also badly upset about the forest, aren’t you?” When Waterstone nodded, Tarkyn continued, “I know the forest has a different, deeper meaning to you and that it is hurting you to see what has happened to it. But if my welfare is tied to that of the woodlands, then your support of me is supporting the woodland. So please don’t let this one mistake eat away at you. Just help me to make sure it doesn’t keep happening as woodfolk test me out.” The sorcerer looked around the nearby trees and pointed at some of the half torn off branches. “Perhaps we can repair some of these trees. In the palace nursery, they used to graft branches onto other trees by tying them until the tree grew strongly enough around the joint to hold the branch without support. Can’t we do that for some of these trees?”

The woodman looked perplexed. “I can’t hold a branch and tie it at the same time while dangling out of the tree. And there wouldn’t be room for two of us to reach one branch at the same time, even if you were strong enough to climb up.”

Tarkyn gave a self-satisfied smile. “You forget. I’m a sorcerer. Watch.” He pointed one of his fingers at a branch and incanted, “Liefka.” The branch lifted up into its original position on the tree. “Now, all you have to do is get up there with something to bind it.”

Waterstone’s eyes lit up. “Well, isn’t that amazing?! I never thought of sorcery being used to do something good!”

Tarkyn let the branch back down and stared at him. “What do you think? That all sorcerers go around using their power to hurt people?” He frowned. “And if you think sorcerers are so evil, what on earth are you doing spending any time with me at all?”

The woodman was nonplussed. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose I thought sorcerers only used their powers for attack or defence. I’ve only ever been near five sorcerers, you, your father and those three bounty hunters - and I’ve heard about your brothers, of course.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that we might not be typical sorcerers - two kings, two princes and three vicious bounty hunters?”

Waterstone raised his eyebrow. “No. Not really. Though, when you put it like that….”

“So, I suppose you thought I was the best of a bad lot.”

Waterstone gave an embarrassed smile. “Something like that. To be honest, I thought you were quite remarkable when you didn’t hurt anyone even though you were under attack and then only used your powers for defence - well - except for that flashy display when you thought we were keeping you in the forest, but even that was pretty harmless.” He flashed Tarkyn a cheeky grin. “Just another example of your emotions running riot.”

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “That was you, wasn’t it? I’ve just remembered. You were the person trying to tell me that it was the forest not the woodfolk that was stopping me from translocating.”

The woodman smiled and nodded. “For all the good it did us.”

“Oh dear,” grimaced the prince. “You and I are not very good at listening to each other when we’re angry, are we?” He thought through what Waterstone had said, “So all any of you knows of sorcerers is my family and those bounty hunters throwing our weight around. I have a lot of bad impressions to overcome, haven’t I?” He looked at Waterstone thoughtfully, “Just to set the record straight, sorcerers are just ordinary people with varying degrees of magic. Some are good. Some are bad. Most are a mixture of both. Just like woodfolk, I would imagine. Most sorcerers use their powers to ply their trade, whatever that is; gardener, groom, craftsman, cook…”

“And what useful, helpful things does a prince do with his magic, as a general rule?”

The prince started to reply, but hesitated. Then he came up with another idea but again stopped himself before he spoke. Finally, he said with a wry grin, “Actually, not a lot, but it doesn’t mean I can’t start now. So let’s get on with fixing these trees.”

“Yes, if we are to have any successes, we must start soon. Many will already be too far gone to repair.” Waterstone’s eyes went out of focus for a couple of seconds. Tarkyn did not say anything but Waterstone could see he was waiting for an explanation. “I’m recruiting help. You probably didn’t pick it up because it was mainly words.”

Shortly afterwards, Autumn Leaves, Thunder Storm and three other woodfolk arrived. Right behind them, Sparrow came running up, carrying twine and bandages.

A woodwoman with a soft sighing voice said, “Good morning, Your Highness. I am Grass Wind.”

“I am Cracking Branch,” said another woodwoman with a sharp staccato voice.

“And I am Rustling Leaves,” said a woodman in a voice similar to Autumn Leaves but harsher.

The prince did not rise, but inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I am pleased to meet you all.”

Instead of instructions being issued, there was an intense silence followed by the woodfolk glancing sceptically at the prince. Nevertheless they then fanned out to inspect nearby trees and to climb into the branches of those that had broken boughs which could be saved.

“Ready, Your Highness,” instructed Waterstone cheerfully. “Let’s see this magic of yours. Start with mine. As soon as I have it partly secured, you can move onto the next one.”

The sorcerer nodded, waited until the woodman was ready in the tree, held out a finger and incanted, “Liefka!” A shaft of bronze power raised the bough into position.

“It won’t burn if I touch that beam, will it?” queried Waterstone suddenly.

“Don’t you think I would have told you if there was any danger?”

“You might have assumed I’d know.”

“No. After the acorn episode, I wouldn’t assume anything about your knowledge of my magic. Don’t worry; I will remember to tell you if there is anything that might harm you….Now, can we get on with it?”

Waterstone grinned and immediately set to work with the twine. After a while, Tarkyn worked out that once he had one branch held in place with a steady shaft of power, he could transfer his focus and use his other hand to create a second shaft of magic to raise another branch. He was not used to performing two spells at once and he found that it required intense concentration. Once a broken branch was bound in place, Sparrow would tap him on whichever hand was supporting that branch and he would know to transfer his power and attention to a new location. When all the trees in a thirty yard radius of Tarkyn had been repaired as well as possible, everyone took a break while the sorcerer hauled himself up and moved to a new position. Once he had seated himself in a new location, the process started again.

When they broke for lunch, there was notably less restraint in the attitudes of the other woodfolk. The work continued deep into the afternoon until Waterstone noticed that the branch he was trying to secure kept wavering out of place. He sent a mental image of the problem to Tarkyn and received back such a weak response that he immediately sent an urgent query to Sparrow. Sparrow transmitted an image of Tarkyn’s face, which was deathly white with dark smudges under his drooping eyes. As one, the woodfolk descended from the trees to return to Tarkyn’s side where he was seated, leaning against a tree.

Waterstone passed the exhausted sorcerer a drink. “Why didn’t you tell us you were tiring? I didn’t realise you would be tired, just sitting there sending up shafts of light.”

Tarkyn blinked owlishly up at him, almost drunk with tiredness. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been lifting tree branches and holding them up in the air all day.”

“Doesn’t the magic do that for you?”

“Yes and no. But where do you think the power comes from?”

“Oh dear,” said Waterstone, “We’ve made another wrong assumption about your magic, haven’t we?”

“I believe we have tired you excessively, Your Highness,” rumbled Thunder Storm.

“You look like a corpse,” observed Autumn Leaves, with his characteristic lack of tact. “Do you have enough strength to walk?”

Tarkyn leant his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe in a while.” He opened his eyes and gave a tired smile. “At least we’ve repaired a lot of trees, haven’t we? I’m sorry I can’t keep going but I’m afraid that’s the end of the road for me today.”

A gentle chorus of forest sounds let him know that they were all pleased with what had been done and reassured him that they were all tired too and ready to stop for the day anyway. With a satisfied sigh, the overtaxed young sorcerer drifted off to sleep.

Tarkyn woke to find himself in the dark, still leaning against the tree. In that moment of disorientation between sleep and wakefulness, his mind jolted with alarm as the memory of the last time he had awakened out in the open in the forest flooded through him.

“Whoa,” said Waterstone as he received a wave of Tarkyn’s reaction, “It’s all right. We’re all here. We haven’t left you on your own this time.”

As Tarkyn became wider awake, he realised that a fire was crackling cheerfully a short distance away and there was a lovely aroma of roasting meat wafting through the air. He hauled himself up and wandered over to join the woodfolk sitting at the fire.

He turned a perplexed face to Waterstone. “Where are all the others? There were many more people here when I first arrived in the forest.”

“We don’t usually congregate in such large numbers,” explained the woodman. “We were all gathered for your welcoming feast. But aside from that, most of the gatherer woodfolk have gone up to the east of the forest to harvest the blackberries. The harvesters are collecting the last of the summer flowers and will soon move further north for the sweet chestnuts and hazelnuts. And the rest of the wanderers could be anywhere by now, gathering information and taking wares from one group to the next as they go.”

Tarkyn took a few moments to absorb this then asked, “But aren’t there blackberries here? My shelter is in the middle of a big patch of them. Why aren’t the harvesters still here?”

Waterstone nodded. “The best crops are in particular areas. So the harvesters and gatherers tend to move around with the seasons to gather the best harvests.”

Autumn Leaves brought him a cup of wine. The prince thanked him and asked, “So how many of you have stayed here?”

“There are twenty of us still here, my lord,” replied Autumn Leaves. “Ten men, six women and four children.”

“And on what basis did you people choose to stay rather than go with the others?”

The woodfolk all looked at each other, then eyes went out of focus as they conferred mentally with each other. Tarkyn picked up a feeling of embarrassment but no explanation.

“Well?”

“Well… ” said Waterstone, clearing his throat, “It was done on a voluntary basis. Basically, those of us who were least frightened or least resentful of you stayed to look after you and protect you.”

Tarkyn picked up a wave of consternation rolling around the campsite in the wake of Waterstone’s words. The sorcerer raised his eyebrows and swung his eyes slowly around the group. “Don’t worry. I know where I stand with you people, particularly after talking with Waterstone earlier about your experience of sorcerers. I can appreciate what a courageous decision it was to stay anywhere near me. I don’t think my behaviour on the first day in the woods did anything to improve matters. I can only say that I am not usually in the habit of throwing my weight around as I did that day.”

Unexpectedly, Thunder Storm came to his support. “Prince Tarkyn was very careful with his use of power yesterday when there was a need to calm Waterstone.”

“No one was fearful today when you were using your power, at least not once we became used to it,” added Grass Wind.

There was a lull in the conversation as the roasted meat was taken off the fire and thick slices were handed around with small, soft loaves of warm bread.

After a period of silent concentration on eating, the prince looked around the group thoughtfully then asked, “So what would you do next time if another group of sorcerer bounty hunters threatened me? What can you do against sorcerers’ shields?”

“You’d probably know the answer to that better than us.” Waterstone pointed out. “What can we do?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “Not much with bows and arrows, and you can’t break through their shields and grab them.” He paused while he thought about it. “A shield takes power and focus. Most sorcerers can’t maintain them for long, if at all. Those who can would eventually run out of power but possibly not for a long time. It’s not as hard to maintain a shield as it is to lift tree branches, for instance. If you could hold the sorcerers somehow until they went to sleep, they would be vulnerable. We can’t maintain our shields while we’re asleep.”

“What about using nets or misleading them so they can’t find their way out of the forest until they tire?” asked Rustling Leaves.

“Yes. That would work.” Tarkyn frowned. “But what would you do with them once they were asleep? If you kill them, mightn’t someone come looking for them?”

“For that very reason, killing them would be the last resort,” said Waterstone. “Keeping you hidden is the simplest solution. It works for us. We may need to teach you some of our camouflaging techniques. How are you at climbing trees?”

The sorcerer smiled, and incanting “Mayareeza Mureva,” rose gently into the air and drifted into the nearest tree. “Not bad,” he said, grinning down at them.

“Good. That’s sorted then,” continued Waterstone with a completely straight face. “So now we have to deal with your hair…” He broke off and stood looking up at the sorcerer with his hands on his hips, laughing. “Get down from there before you fall down. You’re too tired to go mucking about in trees tonight.”

Tarkyn floated gracefully back down, staggering slightly as he landed. “Whoops! You may be right, at that.”

Waterstone grabbed his arm to steady him. “I think you’ve had about enough for your third day out of bed. Why don’t we help you back to your shelter now, to save us having to carry you later?”

Tarkyn smiled tiredly down at him and nodded.