Song Magick (16 page)

“The springs must be close by,” she said, her
voice rising slightly to make it a question.

“Yes, just beyond that outcropping.” Mithrais
indicated a spot where the western wall of the rift jutted out
sharply and seemed to end there. As they came level with the wall,
Telyn saw that the rift split into three shallow, wandering forks,
the stones dark and overgrown with moss and littered with leaves.
It was into the easternmost fissure that Mithrais led Telyn.

“We must speak with the Gwaith’orn first,” he
told her as they threaded the maze of rock. “It should be apparent
now if The Dragon has begun to move on the decoy trail.”

The ravine tapered away to nothing, emptying
once more into the heart of the Wood. The trees were still clearly
visible in blue-green twilight; as the light from the late sun
beyond the hills filtered through the canopy above her, it painted
a strikingly beautiful palette of color that Telyn had never
encountered anywhere else. The trickle of a swift-flowing rivulet
of water danced in white rushes over a bed of moss-covered stones,
and Telyn stared in wonder at the scene. The sight filled her with
a sense of peace, and she took a deep breath, feeling as if she had
arrived home.

They followed the little stream toward a
thick stand of trees. A pulse of resonance broke over Telyn in a
fizzing wave, bringing with it only a brief moment of
disorientation, and Mithrais raised his eyebrows, his lips curving
in a smile.

“They know you’re here,” he said.

Despite his earlier assurances, Telyn was
still apprehensive about the Gwaith’orn and their inexplicable
preoccupation with her. Mithrais strode directly to the grove
without hesitation, but Telyn hung back. Mithrais, with gentle
insistence, drew her into the circle of trees.

“You have nothing to fear,” he reminded her.
“I want you to listen as I speak with them. My thoughts will be
open to you, and you may receive an early understanding of the way
they communicate. Until you’ve had time to strengthen your shields,
it would be unwise to try and make contact on your own—we call this
eavesdropping,” Mithrais said with a conspiratorial wink.

He pushed up the sleeve of his jerkin, baring
his forearm. “Any skin to skin contact makes the sharing of minds
more direct, but the palms of the hands are the most powerful
conduits. Place your hand here, above my wrist, as I create the
connection with the Gwaith’orn.”

She clasped his arm tentatively. Mithrais
touched his hands to the trunk even as he opened his mind to her.
The bard’s thoughts merged with his effortlessly, and she took a
startled breath. Beneath the now-familiar brush of his thoughts
rushed a torrent of pulsing energy.

Greetings, old ones.

She heard Mithrais’ words in only her mind,
his mental voice a soundless echo of his speaking voice. The
resonance of the tree changed abruptly, becoming focused on the
spot where his hands lay with fingers slightly outspread against
the trunk of the Gwaith’orn.

What she sensed from the tree was not a word,
nor an image as Mithrais had described to her. It was more a
pattern of vibration. Through Mithrais’ mind, Telyn understood that
it embodied the Gwaith’orn’s recognition of his presence in the
Wood. Again, she perceived it as a metaphorical chord: a pure,
mid-range blending of tones. She knew instinctively that this
signature would be his alone.

Mithrais.

It was given voice and form only by Mithrais’
long familiarity with the Gwaith’orn’s singular language, but the
sense of recognition and welcome that accompanied the pulse took
Telyn by complete surprise. There was a second sending immediately
afterwards. A shimmering pattern of vibration, it was like the
sound of a bell in the bard’s mind rather than any chord produced
by a stringed instrument, clear and echoing and utterly lovely.
Telyn realized that this was the Gwaith’orn’s perception of
her.

“They greet you as well,” Mithrais whispered
aloud to her. The bard did not speak, too awestruck to form a
coherent thought.

Where are the Tauron and the invader
now?
Mithrais asked the tree folk. His mind recalled individual
signatures that represented the four wardens. Each struck a musical
allegory in Telyn’s mind—a deep, bass rumble; the tentative, high
whistle of a pipe; a wavering drone, and the sweet sound of a
single harp string. After a pause, Mithrais introduced a harsh,
discordant sound that reminded Telyn of grinding metal, a sensation
that sent a shudder down her back.

The resonance flowed upwards and outwards
from Mithrais’ hands to encompass the entire tree once more, and a
pulse of vibration was sent forth. Through Mithrais’ mind, Telyn
could sense the resonance being received and repeated in successive
rings of energy as they were passed from Gwaith’orn to
Gwaith’orn.

“The number of pulses represents the
individual Gwaith’orn through which the signal passes,” Mithrais
explained.

Telyn saw that this was how the wardens were
able to estimate distance through their familiarity with this
sector of the Wood. As each individual signature that Mithrais had
requested was encountered, it was returned through the spider web
of resonance. The first pulse to return was the high, piping tone,
and Mithrais recognized it immediately with a surprised frown.

“Cormac is on his way to us already,” he
remarked quietly. “He is at the edge of the rift.”

“Isn’t that a good sign?” Telyn asked, trying
to duplicate his near-whisper.

“Perhaps. It seems premature.”

A second and third pulse returned almost in
tandem, the bass and the wavering drone, which Mithrais recognized
as Rodril and Aric. The fourth to return was the discordant,
metal-biting sound for which Telyn needed no interpretation. There
was a distinct sentiment that marked the Gwaith’orn’s discomfort
with the presence of this individual; a deep, visceral sense of
dread rode the resonance like a shadow. The final, sweet-toned
pulse that returned represented Halith.

A staccato of small, rapid pulses: Mithrais
concentrated on their return intently, for these pulses carried the
vibration-images that made it possible for him to pinpoint the
exact location of each of the wardens, and more importantly, The
Dragon.

For Telyn, these images were almost
unrecognizable, resembling nothing more than gauzy grey-on-grey
relief sculptures, but in Mithrais’ mind, what they represented was
clear. Capable of relating them to specific landmarks and locations
of individual Gwaith’orn, Mithrais was able to pinpoint precisely
where the images came from.

Mithrais was displeased, and Telyn felt
stirrings of the first real anger that she had known from him.
“What is it?” she asked.

“They’ve led him less than a league north of
our original path, and yet Rodril and Aric are now behind him.” He
shook his head. Telyn could clearly sense his combination of
concern and annoyance. “Aric was too impatient. He has sent Cormac
to us, and Halith is still an hour from their position. Should
anything happen...”

His misgivings were still unvoiced as the
energies flowing through the Gwaith’orn changed again, the focus
pooling not only around Mithrais’ hands, but at a point directly in
front of where Telyn stood. The intent was as clear in her mind as
if it had been spoken: it was an invitation for Telyn to place her
hands on the trunk.

It seemed rude to refuse, but she knew that
she was barely attuned to this facet of her gifts. Telyn looked
anxiously to Mithrais for guidance.

Old ones, Telyn is new to the gift. She is
not yet able to speak to you directly,
Mithrais told the
Gwaith’orn.

A flow of communication came slowly, and
Telyn, more familiar now with this strange, double-sided
conversation, was able to pick up the images directly from
Mithrais’ thoughts. She sensed bewilderment from him as much of the
translation failed. Mithrais shook his head, studying the branches
above him with a furrowed brow. He thanked the Gwaith’orn for their
assistance.

“What did they say?” she asked, puzzled.

Removing his hands from the tree, he turned
to Telyn with eyes that showed curiosity and wry amusement.

“We have an answer to their interest in you,
but I’m afraid that I can’t begin to tell you what it means. They
seemed to say that they have been waiting for you.” Mithrais took
her hand from his arm, holding it in his own and kissing it with
lighthearted reverence. “I believe they said that you are their
voice.”

* * * *

The light was rapidly diminishing in the
misty grotto that held the springs. Telyn dipped her hand into the
steaming water, wincing as her blistered, bare feet came in contact
with the rocks that lined the edge. Clad only in her thin shift,
Telyn sat on the lip of the pool and swung her legs over the side,
tentatively submersing her sore feet in the hot water and twisting
her hair into an untidy knot on top of her head. Her clothing and
boots were cast in a disheveled pile behind her, her dagger lying
on top within easy reach.

It was plain that the spring had been
modified from its original state, for the water bubbled up in
near-boiling surges from another level, and was far too hot to
bathe in without being scalded. A small cataract of stacked rock
had been erected below. The water cooled as it ran down these
stones and collected in the large pool, deep enough that one could
fully submerge in it. Excess water ran down a channel in the rock
toward the Wood, providing circulation to keep the water clear of
debris.

Even with the attempts to cool the water as
it fell, it was tingling hot, and drove the breath from Telyn as
she eased into it. She found that the temperature varied quite
dramatically on the opposite edge of the pool, furthest from the
cataract, and it was more bearable but still deliciously hot. She
sank in up to her chin, sighing in delight as the water closed
around her.

Mithrais, although unhappy with the progress
of Aric’s diversion, had insisted that she take advantage of the
spring during what little daylight remained, citing that its
healing properties were well-known among the people of the Wood. He
escorted her to the grotto, assuring her that there would be no
others at the spring this time of year. Then he had excused
himself, taking her sword and their provisions to the outpost,
promising that he would return shortly.

As she relaxed in the steaming water, her
mind turned back to the puzzle of the Gwaith’orn. Her initial
experience with their way of “speaking” had both confused and
amazed her, the vague expectations that she had formed having been
surpassed. She thought that she would have no difficulty learning
this strange language, as it seemed largely a pattern of vibration,
to which her gifts of song magic seemed perfectly suited. Indeed,
the strange sensation in her chest that she had experienced while
touching the trunk of the Gwaith’orn that morning was almost
identical to what she felt while exerting a great deal of influence
through music.

She suspected that her comfortable definition
of “tree” was about to change in dramatic ways. How could a tree
welcome someone? The same warmth of recognition and greeting that
the Gwaith’orn had shown Mithrais had been extended to include her,
and there had been an indefinable something that Telyn could have
sworn was excitement.

What exactly did the Gwaith’orn anticipate
from her?

She sighed, stretching her legs and arms to
release the muscle tension, the heat of the spring working its own
magic on her tired body. A marked drowsiness was beginning to steal
over her, but she was unwilling to leave the comfortable warmth of
the water so soon. It was unlikely she would get such a chance
again, for if the wardens did not dispatch The Dragon, Telyn might
as well be under house arrest in the manor at Cerisild until the
matter was resolved. That was assuming she reached the manor at
all...

This thought she pushed determinedly into the
back of her mind. Some part of her nagged that she was avoiding the
entire issue, but Telyn was too weary to care just now.

The sky was steadily gaining the deep,
sapphire tones that came immediately after sunset, and Telyn
reluctantly emerged from the pool a short time later. She was
trying to decide which of her few items of clothing would best
imitate a towel when Mithrais appeared, carrying another set of
apparel that he had procured from the outpost’s supplies.

“I thought you might have fallen asleep,” he
said with a grin.

“I nearly did.” Telyn smiled back at him,
accepting the pile of clothing that he offered. It was a set of the
simple, forest-green leggings and jerkin, identical to his, and a
rough piece of homespun cloth that would make a serviceable
towel.

“The clothes belong to Halith, and they may
fit more closely than what was available last night,” Mithrais told
her.

He took a seat on one of the boulders as
Telyn began to dry the excess water from her arms and legs, turning
away from her pointedly as she started to remove the wet shift. “I
couldn’t get a bearing for Cormac, which means he’s inside the rift
and will be here very soon.”

Telyn glanced at him over her shoulder as she
stripped off the drenched garment and dried her skin. “Are the
others still heading north?”

Mithrais hesitated a moment before answering.
“Yes. Aric and Rodril are closing on the Dragon, and Halith has
joined them. I don’t know how far they extended the decoy trail.”
His voice was still laced with dissatisfaction.

Telyn sorted through the clothing he had
given her, finding a light linen undertunic. “Isn’t it more
difficult to track at night?” she asked, pulling the dry tunic over
her head.

“Not for the Gwaith’orn, but The Dragon
should have some difficulty finding the end of the false trail.”
Mithrais made a sound somewhere between regret and frustration. “I
should have allowed Aric to tell me what exactly he had planned,
then I would know what he’s doing. I hope that Rodril and Halith
can prevent him from acting rashly.”