The Sorcerer's Oath - Books 1-2

Chapter 8-2

Tarkyn watched with interest as several people melted into the forest and the same number swung down out of the trees to take their place. The newcomers helped themselves to food and drink, and two of them wandered over to join the prince.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” said a middle-aged woodwoman whose soft brown hair hung well down her back. “I noticed last night that your face was showing signs of strain. No doubt being on the run is bad for the nerves.” She put her plate down on the log, in order to produce a small phial of dark green liquid. “This should reduce some of your tension, my lord. I am Summer Rain.”

“Thank you.” Tarkyn took the phial from her and held it up to study it in the firelight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw woodfolk exchanging knowing looks. He turned his gaze to confront Autumn Leaves. “Am I being made fun of?” he demanded.

“No Sire,” said Autumn Leaves hastily. “Summer Rain’s tonics are renowned for their efficacy.”

They waited until he had taken out the cork and tossed off the contents before Thunder Storm, who had just joined them, added, “But they taste horrific.”

With his face screwed up from the bitterness of the brew, Tarkyn eyed their grinning faces balefully. Waterstone could see that he was not pleased. “Sire, we are not laughing at you. We are laughing out of fellow feeling. All of us have endured Summer Rain’s tonics.”

Creaking Bough refilled Tarkyn’s goblet and smiled at him, “And thank you for putting our minds at rest, Your Highness. The fact that you even considered our concern gives me the first glimmering of hope.”

When Tarkyn had regained control of his facial muscles, he said kindly, “I believe that no one in my acquaintance or service would tell you that I am a harsh master. I try to be fair. I will always listen, though I will not always agree. Of course, once the issue is decided, I would expect my orders to be obeyed without question. And needless to say, my word is final. But I will listen.” He sipped his wine, blithely unaware that the smile had slowly died on the woodwoman’s face.

Creaking Bough swallowed, and tears started to her eyes. “Oh, Your Highness. No matter what your expectations, this is going to be so hard.”

Tarkyn, who had thought he was being reassuring, looked at her in some surprise.

“Your Highness, Ancient Oak told you, but you did not take it in,” rumbled Thunder Storm quietly. “Other than the two days when your father was here, no one here has ever taken orders from anyone. Certainly not as a way of life. We are used to deciding for ourselves. Until today, we were all equally in charge of our own lives.”

“No matter how fair you are, or think you are,” said Autumn Leaves, “while you have the final say, you hold our freedom in your hands.”

Tarkyn resisted the urge to retort that that was exactly how it had always been. In Tormadell, he had held the freedom of all his friends, acquaintances and staff in his hands. He could have ordered their imprisonment at any time, on the slimmest of excuses, if he chose. He could see, however, that these woodfolk were genuinely upset and he remembered how it felt when his own freedom had been held in the king’s hands, and Kosar had chosen to crush it. But even though he had hated it, he had accepted Kosar’s right to do it.

No, that was wrong, he realised. He hadn’t accepted it at all. He had rebelled and thrown away his whole life to save his freedom.

Suddenly the prince smiled. “Perhaps you and I are not so very different. I refused to let my brother take my freedom from me. Saying that, until then I would have followed his orders without question.” He shrugged. “However, I can see it is different for you. Strange as it seems to me, you are not used to following orders. But unfortunately for you, your oath has given you all into my service. So, whether you like it or not, and whether I like it or not, you do owe me your obedience, and as your liege, I do have the final say. But I will bear in mind how much it grates with you.” He spread his hands, “That is the best I can do. Even if I decide to relieve you of my presence, it is still my decision, not yours.”

Autumn Leaves looked startled, “Are you considering that possibility? Sire, you can’t. We are sworn to protect you. If you leave the forest and anything happens to you, the forest will be destroyed.”

“So that’s what you meant when you said that if I place myself in jeopardy, I risk all of you. It makes sense, now that I know about the sorcery in the oath.” Tarkyn took a deep draught of wine. “I will not place you at risk, but I may perhaps choose to live alone somewhere in the forest until the risks outside subside.” He glanced uncertainly at Waterstone. “All my life, people have fallen all over themselves to be of service to me. I am not sure that I will enjoy, or even be able to endure, being surrounded by people who are serving me under duress and who resent my very existence.”

The woodfolk were stunned. They knew the prince was not happy about being trapped in the forest but it had never occurred to them that he, too, might not relish the consequences of the oath. After a moment, Waterstone sent Autumn Leaves a sharp glance. “You see? I told you Tree Wind might have been too unkind.”

Tarkyn waved his hand, “No. All she did was show me her memories…” He thought back to the hatred in her eyes and added, “…and perhaps a little of how she felt about them.” He took a breath, “And if you all feel the same way about it, I may end up preferring my own company. We’ll see.” Primed by now with several glasses of wine and Summer Rain’s tonic, he stood up. “And now, I think I must circulate amongst my reluctant liegefolk. Even if they are unwilling, I owe them the courtesy of my attention.”