The Sorcerer's Oath - Books 1-2

Chapter 7-1

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.”