Song Magick (20 page)

The Dragon was close—much closer than
Mithrais had hoped. They had passed through the resonance of this
particular Gwaith’orn less than two hours before.

Coherent thought ceased for a moment as
Mithrais was plunged into the earth, twisting through the
intermingling roots with the resonance until reaching the outer
edges of a third Gwaith’orn’s sphere of perception.

The Gwaith’orn drew Mithrais in and slowed
his momentum as a figure came into view below. Mithrais
concentrated intently with his own senses as he received his first
glimpse of the bounty hunter.

Exhibiting a lethal quickness as he traveled
through the Wood, The Dragon stopped only brief seconds as he
searched for signs of his quarry’s passage, his movements feline
and deliberate. A tattooed dragon in blue and green curved around
his skull from temple to temple, partly obscured by a mane of
white-blond hair gathered at the crown. Arms corded with lean
muscle were bared by a sleeveless leather jerkin, and he wore a
bandolier in which rested steel bolts and a wicked assortment of
small blades. A diminutive but powerful crossbow was slung at the
small of his back.

The Dragon ceased all movement, and Mithrais
realized that the bounty hunter somehow knew that he was being
watched. He looked up toward the canopy with flat, expressionless
grey eyes, searching the trees, his gaze passing through Mithrais’
insubstantial form. His mind was almost entirely accessible, but
whether by intent or natural lack of shielding, Mithrais could not
tell. One brief, tentative advance caused Mithrais’ thought-self to
recoil in disgust, unable to endure the depraved thoughts that
seethed below the surface. He knew now why The Dragon’s presence so
disturbed the tree folk, for beneath the vacant eyes, the bounty
hunter’s mind was a thing of horror, full of twisted obsessions and
obscene desires that broadcast themselves with a palpable, creeping
presence of their own, befouling all they contacted with the touch
of madness.

A pulse of resonance came from the west,
undoubtedly from the two wardens tracking The Dragon, and it rocked
Mithrais slightly in its wake. The bounty hunter turned his
attention from the treetops to the Wood behind him, and removed the
crossbow from his back, cradling it loosely in his left arm. He
moved forward suddenly, plucking at something nearly invisible
snagged on a branch: a long, curling strand of Telyn’s hair. A
smile, chilling because of the emotionless eyes, crossed The
Dragon’s features. He began to move again, picking up speed, his
head moving from side to side in an unrelenting search for more
signs.

Something swung from the back of his belt,
and Mithrais, aghast, recognized it as Aric’s flame-colored braid,
still attached to a ragged piece of flesh.

He barely registered the signatures of Halith
and Rodril, just at the edge of the Gwaith’orn’s awareness, before
he was roughly catapulted back into the boundaries of his own mind.
Mithrais took two staggering steps away from the Gwaith’orn before
falling to the ground, weakened, dizzy, and gasping for air. Grey
blots were swimming before his eyes. He had evidently slowed his
breathing to a point where his body was starved for oxygen, and he
coughed uncontrollably, recognizing that involuntary defense
mechanisms had forced him to sever the connection with the
Gwaith’orn. Mithrais stayed on his hands and knees and concentrated
on taking deep, slow breaths, a triumphant grin creasing his face
despite the exhaustion he felt.

He climbed to his feet as soon as he knew he
was able to stand. The Dragon would almost undoubtedly intercept
them within four hours if they kept to their current path and
speed. Reaching Cerisild ahead of him was now impossible. Rodril
and Halith were an hour or more behind the bounty hunter, and could
be of no assistance.

It seemed that they were fated to stand and
fight.

The first ideas of a strategy were beginning
to form, and although he could not be entirely sure of its success,
Mithrais was determined that they would have every advantage
available to them. He placed his hands against the tree once more,
and asked a question that could change everything.

* * * *

Cormac stopped in mid-stride, turning around
to face the Westwarden.

“You are going to lead him into the Circle?”
he asked, his voice breaking with disbelief. “But it is a hallowed
place!”

“It won’t matter to The Dragon, nor, I think,
will it matter to the Gwaith’orn.” Mithrais did not stop, forcing
Cormac to continue walking.

He had appeared out of the forest only
seconds before Cormac and Telyn had meant to reluctantly carry out
the Westwarden’s orders to leave without him. His face drawn and
haggard, Mithrais had imparted a hasty image of The Dragon to both
of them, and the three left the tumble of stones behind
immediately, taking a new course that led them due east.

Telyn had received Mithrais’ news with more
relief than dread—after days of running, she was almost eager to
turn and meet her enemy, sword in hand. The Dragon was no longer a
faceless nemesis, although the means by which Mithrais had obtained
this information seemed to have been costly in terms of
endurance.

“What is the Circle?” Telyn asked, falling
into step beside Mithrais.

He answered, “It’s the heart of the Tauron
Order. We hold it to be the precise center of the Wood, and at the
compass points of North, South, East, and West stand forest giants.
It is where we pledge our lives to the service of the Gwaith’orn
and the Lord of Cerisild.” He fell silent a moment, shadow
darkening his eyes to the green of deep waters. “It is also where
we will commit the ashes of Aric’s body to the Wood when the time
comes. It’s a place of great power.”

Cormac paced, thinking aloud. “He’s armed
with a crossbow. We can outshoot him if it comes to it, but there
is no cover there inside the Circle. What do you propose,
exactly?”

“We will only draw him to the Circle. I don’t
believe he will enter it willingly for the same reasons, Cormac,
but to the edge is enough. The Gwaith’orn play the next part.”
Mithrais turned to Telyn. “Although I’m now certain he is a
heartspeaker, The Dragon has no shields that I could sense.
Yesterday, you were nearly stunned by the pulse of resonance from
one giant because your shields were merely weak. Can you imagine
the pulses of four giants, simultaneously directed at him?”

Telyn’s eyes widened, remembering the
near-physical impact of the resonance. “It might be enough to
render him unconscious.”

“Use the tree folk as a weapon against a
heartspeaker? I like this less and less. We don’t even know that it
will work.” Cormac was distressed.

“It’s all we have,” Mithrais said curtly, his
patience thin.

“The Gwaith’orn have never used their
resonance in that manner,” Cormac persisted.

“To defend the seed-voice, they will!”

Cormac ceased protesting, stumbling to a
halt, his eyes swiveling to Telyn with a look of shock.

“They’ve already agreed,” Mithrais continued
in a gentler tone.

Telyn realized with dismay that Mithrais—and
the Gwaith’orn, for that matter—held more faith in her than she
held in herself, and they were willing to risk more than they ever
had to make certain Telyn survived to fulfill the charge she had
been given. The knowledge made her turn her gaze away from
Mithrais, troubled and uncertain, and Telyn found Cormac staring at
her instead, regarding the bard with something close to awe.

She felt a sudden, irrational surge of
annoyance with all of them: Mithrais, Cormac, and the Gwaith’orn,
and hoped she could live up to their expectations.

“Stop looking at me that way, Cormac, or you
will need a weapon much sooner than you think,” she growled.

Cormac looked startled, and then grinned
broadly when he realized she was not entirely serious. He became
sober again, glancing from Telyn to Mithrais.

“One last thing and I’m committed to your
plan. If her shields weren’t strong enough to deflect the summons
from one giant, Telyn won’t be able to withstand four inside the
Circle.”

Mithrais nodded in agreement. “She’ll have to
remain in physical contact with one of the Gwaith’orn. Its own
resonance should deflect that of the others.”

Mithrais motioned for them to keep moving,
for they had little time to lose, and each step he took seemed to
require an effort. When he spoke again, there was a tentative note
to his voice, and a hint of humor despite his weariness. “I know
that climbing another cliff is out of the question, Telyn, but what
about a tree?”

* * * *

They emerged at last from thick forest into
the edge of a large clearing, nearly perfectly round and carpeted
in heavy moss and grasses. An immense, flat stone of the same grey
granite that formed the rift lay in the center of the clearing,
carved with lines running North and South, East and West. Four
enormous trees, their white-barked branches reaching far into the
sky, stood parallel with the terminations of each line, backed by
the deep Wood in every direction.

Telyn swayed, closing her eyes, for in the
newly awakened senses of her mind, she could feel the power here,
eliciting growing warmth in her chest as her song magic responded
to the primal energy. It was no wonder Cormac had been hesitant to
agree to lead The Dragon here, for it was, in all senses of the
word, a holy place. Tightness grew in her throat, and Telyn was too
moved to speak. For a brief moment, her distrust of the Gwaith’orn
was forgotten, swept away by wonder.

The canopy of leaves left only the center of
the clearing above the grey stone open to the early afternoon sky,
which darkened steadily with clouds that threatened a dangerous
storm. At a nod from Mithrais, Cormac went to the westernmost of
the tree folk and placed his hands upon it, preparing to take the
bearing they assumed would lead The Dragon directly to them.

The pulse rippled out and away from the
Circle. Mithrais took Telyn’s hand, leading her to the opposite
side of the clearing, to the wide trunk of the forest giant
standing at the eastern termination. On the leeward side of the
tree, the roots curved around like a pair of sinuous arms embracing
something precious and invisible. It recalled to Telyn’s mind an
image from the forced rapport, and she eyed it warily, almost
unwilling to go nearer.

“When the Gwaith’orn begin sending the pulses
toward The Dragon, remember to keep as much of your body against
the trunk as possible. It should shield you from the worst of it,”
Mithrais told her quietly.

“What happens if they decide it’s necessary
to speak to me again?” Telyn could not keep a trace of resentment
from her voice.

“Even if you touch the tree with your hands,
they can’t create a connection unless you allow it.” He stroked a
wayward strand of her hair away from her cheek, his hand lingering
there. “I’m sorry that they’ve caused you to mistrust them, Telyn.
The Gwaith’orn seldom impose their will in dreams, and then only in
matters of great importance. It’s unlikely that you will experience
it again. Hold fast to that remarkable courage but a little
longer.”

His eyes were grave and tired, and Telyn
realized guiltily how exhausted he was. For three successive days,
Mithrais had been at her side from dusk until dawn; her steadfast
friend and guardian, her guide through the Wood and the mysteries
of heartspeaking. The gratitude she felt was inexpressible in
words, and Telyn let a kiss speak what she could not say.

The pulse of resonance returned to the grove,
and almost immediately Cormac’s voice hissed in warning.

“Mithrais!” The young warden came sprinting
toward them, bow in hand, his face creased with tension. “He’ll be
upon us within minutes. We should take position at once.”

“Go!” Mithrais instructed tersely, and Cormac
disappeared into the densely forested outer perimeter between the
southern and western trees, drawing up the hood of his cloak.

Mithrais cupped his hands and Telyn stepped
into them with one foot, reaching for the lowest branches of the
Gwaith’orn as he propelled her upward. She caught hold of a thick
limb and pulled herself up into the tree, her breath catching in
her throat as the resonance hummed through her body at first touch.
Telyn clenched her teeth, willing her shields to stay in place as
she gathered her cloak over one arm and reached for the next
branch, preparing to climb. She looked down at Mithrais as a flash
and rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

“Go as high as you can, and find a steady
hold that offers you some protection should you become disoriented
by the resonance. Stay on the outside of the Circle, and do not
come down until we’re certain that he is subdued,” Mithrais told
her. They looked at each other for the space of a heartbeat, and
then he was gone, moving with all speed toward the Gwaith’orn at
the northern edge, where he would direct the tree folk’s
assault.

Telyn climbed resolutely, the sword on her
back catching on small branches and leaves, and the resonance
humming small shocks to her nerves each time she reached for a new
handhold. She found at last a three-forked niche perhaps fifteen
feet above the lowest branches and settled into it, rearranging the
Tauron cloak to cover her body and pulling up the hood. She looked
up. The trunk continued to rise above her like a spire, surrounded
by a nebulous cloud of branches for another fifty feet or more.

With her hands muffled in her cloak, Telyn
found that she could brace herself against the trunk without
feeling the resonance through her palms. She peered through the
leaves, which were not yet so dense that they completely obstructed
her view of the clearing. She knew approximately where Cormac had
gone, but he was invisible to her eyes. Of Mithrais, she could see
nothing but his hand against the trunk of the northernmost
Gwaith’orn, framed in a cluster of wide, star-shaped leaves. The
Wood to the west was deathly silent.