The Sorcerer's Oath - Books 1-2

Chapter 3-1

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?”