Song Magick (17 page)

The clothing was a nearly perfect fit, Halith
seeming to be only slightly taller and longer of limb than the
bard. Telyn stepped into the leggings next, tying them quickly
about her waist before advising Mithrais that he could turn around.
“How many female Tauron are there?” Telyn asked curiously as she
shrugged into the green jerkin.

“There are five, but only Halith in the West.
Anyone with the gift is welcome to serve if they wish. Halith has
been a warden for many years. She and Rodril have been training
Cormac, our newest warden. Rodril is her lifemate.”

“Lifemate?” Telyn cocked her head,
considering, as she belted on her dagger. “I’m unfamiliar with the
term, although I believe I can guess the meaning. Is it a
marriage?”

“Formal marriages are uncommon here in the
Wood. They merely unite physical properties or titles, and the line
of inheritance, as in the case of my father and mother.” He rose
and came to Telyn, standing close enough to touch, but not reaching
for her.

“I told you that a bond like ours is rare
among heartspeakers. When it happens, there is an understanding
that goes beyond words. A lifemate is the partner that the soul
chooses. It is the one without whom you are diminished. I believe
that we are lifemates, Telyn.”

She did not know how to respond. Distress
must have shown in Telyn’s expression, for Mithrais touched her
cheek softly in a gesture that was at once regretful and
understanding.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have spoken. It’s
too soon.”

She shook her head and offered him her palm,
meeting his eyes steadily. “You said that words are not necessary
between us.”

Mithrais interlaced his fingers with hers,
his expression guarded and hopeful. Telyn took a deep breath,
opening to him clumsily but effectively, and he entered her mind
with the cool, unyielding flow of his thoughts. She unflinchingly
allowed Mithrais to see the scars the rape and its aftermath had
left upon her psyche; shared with him the love of the freedom that
her art allowed her, so different from the fate of most women in
the Three Kingdoms.

He understood better than she could have
realized. In return, he shared with her his own yearning for the
freedom his calling allowed; the solace of the Wood providing a
haven from an increasingly tumultuous household where the
self-exiled Princess berated him for placing the duties of a Tauron
Warden above the responsibilities of his rank and family. She saw
his deep love for his father, who shared his younger son’s devotion
to service, but for whom Mithrais felt concern regarding Gwidion’s
increasing withdrawal, and no small amount of guilt at leaving his
father to his Marithiel’s tempestuous moods and spiteful whims.

Lastly, there was the profound wonder he had
experienced upon his first rapport with Telyn, and his certainty
that what they shared was something unique and precious. There was
something deeper there that he gently turned aside before it could
surface: a profound loneliness that she sensed even as he shielded
it skillfully from her. That echo found its twin in her own soul,
where it throbbed like a forgotten wound behind the cages of her
disciplines. They moved together into a one-armed embrace, their
clasped hands resting between them against the steady cadence of
their hearts. Even as they acknowledged their loneliness, there was
a new sense of healing taking the place of that emptiness as they
stood in the misty darkness of the grotto.

The connection between them shredded and fell
away like gossamer as an enormous yawn took Telyn by surprise.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, laughing. “It’s
getting very difficult to keep my eyes open. The spring was
definitely worth the climb down.”

“We’ll go to the outpost, where you can rest.
It’s just beyond the grove.” Mithrais released her, waiting as
Telyn pulled on her boots and sleepily collected her discarded
clothing. He settled her cloak around her shoulders and steadied
her as Telyn stumbled back through the dark, narrow fissures to the
glade in the Wood. The tree did not seek her attention again as
Mithrais led her past the Gwaith’orn’s grove to a rounded rise,
black in the nighttime forest.

Although Telyn caught the faint smell of
smoke, she saw no indication that there was any sort of dwelling
nearby. Then Mithrais reached into the side of the hillock, drawing
aside a leather curtain that let orange firelight spill into the
darkened Wood. The outpost was an earthen structure, covered with
moss that was soft and springy beneath Telyn’s hand as she braced
herself to descend the narrow stone stairs, ducking beneath the low
archway of the door. Once inside, she straightened carefully as
Mithrais followed her in and drew the curtain across the doorway
once more.

It was not as large as the cliff outpost, but
high enough that Mithrais could stand upright in the center. There
was adequate room for a narrow bed, a small table on which rested
the provisions they had brought from Rothvori, and two chairs.
Their weapons hung from pegs tapped into the timbers bracing the
roof. As before, trunks lined a wall wattled with pale plaster, and
there were things scattered about that indicated this was a
much-used outpost. An empty iron cook pot sat on the hearth beside
the fire; wooden tankards and bowls rested on the mantelpiece. A
small cask that held water or ale sat in the corner beside the bed,
topped by a half-consumed candle in an unglazed clay dish.

Mithrais lit the candle with a taper from the
fire and set out some food, urging Telyn to eat. She finished only
a few bites of bread and cheese before nodding over it. Mithrais
finished his own quick meal and then gently pried the bread from
her hands. He raised Telyn to her feet and led her to the bed.

Telyn said drowsily, her words slurred with
fatigue as she lay down on the straw mattress, “The spring has a
stronger sleep charm than I do.”

“You’ve had very little rest, but the spring
does have its merits. That’s why I did not avail myself of it.”
Mithrais drew a blanket up over her, and Telyn sighed, slipping
beneath the surface of wakefulness almost immediately. Her last
memory before sleep enfolded her was of Mithrais blowing out the
candle beside the bed.

* * * *

There was a strange, unsettling silence in
the Wood.

Mithrais noted it immediately upon stepping
into the open air as he awaited Cormac’s arrival. The atmosphere
remained, growing in intensity with each passing moment. With the
intent of consulting the Gwaith’orn once more, Mithrais traversed
the short distance to the grove.

As if the Gwaith’orn had been expecting him,
contact came at the first touch of his palms to the trunk. Mithrais
let the urgent pulses of resonance wash over him. He saw that
Cormac was but a few hundred yards away, rapidly approaching the
end of the rift, his signature the first to be encountered.

The second pulse was an unwelcome revelation,
but Mithrais realized grimly that he had known it would be so. The
Dragon was moving south in an arrow-straight course toward the
place Mithrais knew the false trail branched from the actual path
he and Telyn had taken. Something had caused the bounty hunter to
see through the ruse, but what was it?

A moment later, the signatures of Rodril and
Halith were returned. The wardens were not a great distance behind
The Dragon, but a quick confirmation of their separate, wandering
routes made Mithrais certain they had lost The Dragon’s trail in
the dark.

Where is Aric?
Mithrais brought the
pattern of resonance that signified the warden to his
consciousness, and sent it forth to the Gwaith’orn. The repeat of
the pulse that he expected never came as the tree beneath his hands
absorbed the pattern into its own energy rather than sending it
out. Mithrais felt himself grow cold.

He waited for an answer, but knowing that
Aric was not inside the rift, the sudden absence of the warden’s
presence left only one explanation.

When the images came, it was still a
blow.

Mithrais closed his eyes, letting his
forehead rest against the tree as shock and sorrow compounded into
a sickening realization. The strange atmosphere that pervaded the
Wood was the resonance of violence, and Aric’s death.

Chapter
Twelve

Mithrais walked several paces away from the
Gwaith’orn, struggling to regain his composure before Cormac
arrived.

Although their oaths promised to give their
lives in service to the Gwaith’orn and the Lord of Cerisild, the
Tauron had lost no wardens in nearly a hundred years, not since the
end of the Great Wars-–until this night. That it had happened under
his command filled Mithrais with despair and no small amount of
guilt. Aric had been Mithrais’ best friend for many years, and a
brave comrade in arms.

The whistled signal that indicated Cormac’s
approach echoed through the uneasy silence, and Mithrais raised his
voice in a quiet acknowledgement.

“Cormac, I’m here in the grove. Come
quickly.”

Cormac appeared out of the darkness. His
young face was pale beneath the shadowed hood of his cloak.

“Westwarden!” Cormac hailed him as he closed
the distance between them, his voice holding an edge of fear.
“Something’s wrong. The tree folk are very unsettled—do you feel
it?”

“I do. I fear that I already know the
cause.”

“What happened?” Cormac asked anxiously, his
face falling as he saw Mithrais’ stricken expression.

“Aric is dead.”

Cormac went even whiter with shock.
“How?”

“I can only guess that The Dragon must have
become aware of his presence.” Mithrais pushed the emerging memory
of the scene he and Aric had stumbled upon from his mind, not
wishing to imagine Aric in the victim’s place. “Cormac, did Aric
explain what his orders were? Do you know what he was planning in
regard to The Dragon?”

“No. At least, he said nothing within my
hearing regarding his orders. He told me that I was to join you
here immediately.” Cormac’s manner told Mithrais that he had been
offended and slightly hurt by the dismissal. “Rodril wanted me to
stay with them, but Aric said that I was needed to help guard The
Dragon’s quarry. All I know is that Aric intended to lead him away,
and into a trap.”

Mithrais nodded, tight-lipped. Aric had
chosen to deploy his own plan to take down the bounty hunter too
early. Perhaps there had been reason, but whatever the
circumstances, it had proven to be a fatal error.

Mithrais quickly calculated the distance
between the springs and The Dragon’s position. “He could be here in
six, possibly even five hours, if he has reestablished our
path.”

“We should wait for him to come out of the
rift, and take him,” Cormac said fiercely, stalking back toward the
ravine and staring at it as if he could already see the approach of
the bounty hunter. His voice shook, thick with the edge of tears
and anger. “He’ll regret coming back to the Wood!”

“That is not our task, Cormac,” Mithrais
stated firmly, causing the younger warden to halt in his tracks and
face him. “We’re charged with the shielding of his quarry. We will
rely on Halith and Rodril to do what must be done.”

Mithrais looked at the younger warden
expectantly, until Cormac straightened slowly and returned to the
grove, his anger more subdued.

“Rodril said that this bounty hunter takes
trophies from those he hunts,” he said in a low voice.

“That is the least of his evils. He tortures
them before he allows them to die.”

Cormac stared at him with horror in his eyes,
but Mithrais could offer him no reassurance, the knowledge
indelibly imprinted on his own memories.

“Who is it that he hunts?” Cormac asked
finally. “Aric said it was a woman—a bard.”

“Her name is Telyn. She’s near exhaustion,
and I had hoped to allow her to rest for a full night at the
outpost. I fear that I will have to wake her all too soon.”

“Why would such a vile creature be pursuing a
defenseless musician?” Cormac inquired, and Mithrais managed a
quick grin in spite of the circumstances.

“She’s hardly defenseless. You will find
Telyn quite capable. It’s the only reason she acquired a bounty
against her, but one large enough to have attracted at least two
assassins.” He paused, considering how much he should tell Cormac.
“I have discovered that she has the gift of heartspeaking, among
her other considerable talents.”

Cormac lowered the hood of his cloak and went
to the stream. “You know the tree folk have been trying to talk to
her all day,” the young warden remarked offhandedly as he knelt to
drink water from his cupped hands.

“To the point of her discomfort. Her shields
aren’t yet strong enough to completely deflect the more powerful
summons,” Mithrais acknowledged, unsurprised that Cormac had known
the Gwaith’orn’s intent. Highly sensitive to the Wood, and
something of a prodigy, Cormac had been introduced to the
Gwaith’orn while still a child. He shared an ease of understanding
with the Gwaith’orn that the other Tauron wardens envied, an
unusually high level of communication with the tree folk that no
one else possessed. Although he was barely fifteen, Cormac was
proving to be a quick study in all areas of Tauron wardenship.

“Have they told you why they’re so interested
in her?” he asked the younger man.

Cormac shook his head as he rose. “I haven’t
had time to speak with them at length. Rodril was worried that we
would miss the rendezvous and that Aric would try to take on the
bounty hunter alone...” Cormac’s voice faltered. “I can’t believe
that he’s dead.”

“Neither can I.” Mithrais passed a hand over
his eyes with a heavy sigh, his own weariness beginning to take its
toll. “We will celebrate Aric’s life when our duties are
fulfilled.”