Bronze Magic (Book 1) Read Free Page A

other to venture forth to see the spectacle.
Tarkyn considered his situation. He knew how to fight, but other
than that, he had had no training in looking after himself. He had been
pandered to from the moment he was born. Now, the obstacles facing him
even to procure breakfast in a few hours’ time, seemed insurmountable.
He had never had to deal with money and did not have any on him
now. And even if he did have money, he could not risk being seen to buy
anything. Not only was he a well-known public figure, but any circulated
description of his long black hair, his height and his unusual amber eye
colour would make him eminently recognisable.
After some careful thought he decided that with an uncertain future
ahead of him, he would need resources. He would not turn to his friends
and jeopardise their safety but somehow he had to get back into the
palace and retrieve at least some of his personal jewellery. Now seemed
as good a time as any; in fact better than most. All eyes would be on the
demise of the Great Hall.
With a wry smile, he focused carefully on himself, better prepared this time
for the feeling of disintegration and murmured, “ Maya Mureva Araya …”
He expected to land in his mother’s bed where he had been born but
in fact, he landed in the king’s huge four-poster bed. As he fought against
the nausea, he shook his head. This spell is dangerously unpredictable.
Returning to the place of one’s creation is open to more than one interpretation .
He shuddered as a thought struck him, Oh lord. At least it didn’t try to put
me back inside my mother.
A
sound
in
the
corridor
brought
his
attention
back
to
his
surroundings. Even if the present king were elsewhere, he realised,
there would always be a guard at his door. A fire glowed in the stone
hearth, keeping the room warm, ready for the king’s return. Bright
moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing the padded
armchairs and the fine, ornate writing desk in soft, silvery light. In
the distance, Tarkyn could still hear the sounds of turmoil but within
the palace, everything seemed quiet.
Tarkyn considered his options. He could take some of the king’s
jewellery in exchange for his own, leaving a note to that effect, but he
suspected that Kosar would publicise the loss of his jewellery and suppress
the explanation. Tarkyn did not want grand larceny added to the other
accusations against his name.
He could not hope to beguile the guard by passing himself off as his
brother. The king and Jarand were noticeably shorter than he, had grey
eyes and wore their auburn hair shoulder length. Only the set of their
features showed their relationship.
Tarkyn crossed to the window and opened it. Two hundred yards away,
crowds of people clustered around the remains of the Great Hall. Only
one corner of the monumental old building was left standing. The rest lay
in piles of tumbled stone. Even as he watched, the last section gave way
and crashed to the ground, sending up a billow of white dust. The sounds
of shouting redoubled as spectators and workmen scrabbled away from
the falling masonry. A knot of activity centred around one particular
group and when the crowds parted, he could see his mother the dowager
queen, talking intently with guards, workmen and townspeople. Tarkyn
felt sick at the thought of the guardsmen who must have been trapped
inside the building as it fell.
He shook his head to clear it. There was nothing he could do to help
them. He had to find a way out of the king’s room, retrieve what he had
come for and leave. He took a moment to peer down two storeys to the
lawns below. Too exposed. No way of escape there. After a bit of thought,
he moved quickly to the king’s writing desk and rummaged around until
he found some parchment. He tore it quietly into strips and placed it
along the inside of the door. Then he lit a taper from the coals of the fire,
set the parchment alight and waited.
As