Song Magick (33 page)

“All is well?” Halith inquired anxiously as
they approached.

“It will be, I think,” Rodril grunted. “We
are to keep the vigil tonight as if none of this ever happened. The
Elders have called an assembly of those chosen tomorrow night at
the guild house.”

“They are arguing semantics,” Mithrais said
impatiently. “I thought that the Gwaith’orn were appallingly clear
on the matter.”

“For the most part,” Telyn sighed in
agreement. She rose to her feet with Halith’s unobtrusive
assistance, and found herself steady. Mithrais gathered her into
his arms and Telyn welcomed the embrace, relieved that he had been
formally included in this task by the Gwaith’orn.

“You’re all right?” he asked softly. He
pulled away to look at her, concern still evident in his eyes, and
she nodded reassuringly.

“Yes, I’m fine. I think the Gwaith’orn are
finished with me for the evening.”

“At last, there are some answers. The
Gwaith’orn did tell you from the first that you would not be
alone.”

“Now if I just knew what to do with all of
you, it would be something.” Telyn smiled at him crookedly, and
Mithrais grinned at her.

“It will come, I am sure of it.” He turned
toward Colm, who was waiting to be introduced. He was a small man,
compact and athletic, his pleasant face suffused with eager
excitement. “Telyn, Colm is Northwarden, and one who has been
chosen. He is also a musician of the first order and wished to meet
you long before tonight’s revelations.”

Colm flashed a brilliant smile at her, and
bowed low. “My services are yours, Lady Bard. Your lament was
extraordinary.”

“What do I have to do to convince everyone to
simply call me Telyn?” The bard couldn’t help but grin back. “Thank
you for your compliments. Was it you that I heard earlier, playing
a low whistle?”

“It was. There are a few of us here who are
passable musicians, though nothing near your talents, I fear,” Colm
said modestly, and Cormac snorted.

“Don’t let him pretend to be humble,” he
said. “I’ve known Colm for years-–he winters in the village where I
was born, and plays at the solstice celebrations every year. He is
the reason I wish to learn to play. Colm is amazingly good.”

“We create music together whenever it is
possible,” Colm told Telyn. “What we might lack in talent, we make
up for in enthusiasm. I was appointed to ask if you would consent
to play with us tonight as we keep the vigil and celebrate Aric’s
life.”

“Consent?” Telyn rolled her eyes in
impatience at the word. “Colm, all musicians are one in purpose.
I’d like nothing better than to join you. In fact—” she turned to
Cormac. “If I could impose upon you, my friend, I brought a number
of instruments with me. We can start your lessons tonight if you
will bring me my saddlebag.”

“A flute in Cormac’s hands is a weapon,”
Rodril stated darkly, and Halith elbowed him sharply in the
ribs.

“I’ll get it,” Cormac agreed, “but Telyn,
Rodril’s right. I’m not much of a musician.”

“You’ve never played with a bard before,”
Telyn reminded him with a wink. “You’ll do better than you think.
We’ll practice a few minutes before we join Colm and the
others.”

With a broad smile, Cormac darted off toward
the clearing, and Colm excused himself happily to gather his
fellows together.

“Music lessons?” Rodril growled, and sighed
harshly as Telyn nodded solemnly, fighting the urge to giggle. “Ah,
well. I was waiting for the right time to bring this out.” The
grizzled warden reached into his jerkin and withdrew a small
leather flask that he offered to Mithrais. “Shall we drink and arm
ourselves against the assault?”

Accepting the bottle, Mithrais removed the
stopper and inhaled the fumes, letting a smile born of fond memory
and sadness cross his lips.

“Considering the number of bitter winter
nights that you, Aric and I spent passing this flask between us, I
think it would be appropriate to drink to his memory,” Mithrais
said quietly. His eyes held no trace of the bitter remorse that had
tormented him earlier, and the bard hoped that it was a sign that
her lament had done its work and allowed him to mourn at last.

The Westwarden raised the flask in salute,
and then brought it to his lips. He took a careful swallow,
expelling his breath forcefully with a sound that was almost a gasp
as he passed the bottle to Halith. She repeated the salute and took
a delicate sip, her reaction much the same as she gave the flask
back to Rodril. Telyn watched curiously as the tall warden drank
deeply and with less caution than either Mithrais or Halith had
done, but he was evidently immune to the strength of the liquor.
Rodril offered the flask to Telyn.

“Will you join us?”

“That is Rodril’s own concoction,” Halith
cautioned as Telyn accepted the bottle gingerly. “In fact, if you
plan on singing tonight, I would forgo the drink entirely.”

“His elixir is legendary,” Mithrais advised
her as Telyn looked to him for confirmation. “Rodril delights in
springing it on unsuspecting initiates. It has a wonderful effect,
but if you’re not careful it can produce a hangover that lasts for
days.”

“Spoken from experience?” Telyn asked, and
Mithrais grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and declining to
answer. She uncorked the flask and took a tentative sniff of the
contents. The liquor’s scent hinted at fruit, some unknown spice,
and a volatility that was daunting.

“I will take the chance.” The bard raised the
bottle solemnly. “To Aric:
casla i urilath
. Memory and
honor.”

“Memory and honor,” the wardens repeated.

Telyn drank quickly, gasping as Rodril warned
belatedly, “Don’t let it touch the roof of your mouth!”

The draught burned on her tongue and down her
throat, threatening to take her breath away before the liquid fire
transmuted to mellow warmth which spread quickly through Telyn’s
limbs. “Oh, that is...very good,” Telyn managed to say, although
her eyes were watering.

She gave the flask back to Rodril, who eyed
Telyn with approval and said, “Well done. Cormac nearly burst into
flames the first time he tried it.”

Telyn let her breath out in a whoosh of air
as Cormac returned, and he grinned at the bard knowingly as he
handed her the leather bag.

“The elixir?” he asked. Telyn nodded, still
speechless, and as Rodril offered Cormac the bottle, he shook his
head vehemently.

Telyn knelt and rummaged in the leather bag,
producing a low whistle similar to the flute that Cormac had given
her. Giving the instrument to Cormac, she stated, “You know how to
play, or at least have begun to teach yourself. What songs could
you play on your flute?”

Embarrassed, Cormac admitted as Telyn pulled
another whistle from the bag: “Nursery songs, mostly. I had not
progressed very far.”

“Do you know this one?” Telyn played a short,
sweet tune on the whistle she had kept for herself, and Cormac
brightened.

“Yes.” He raised the low whistle to his lips
and played the tune through slowly and clumsily as Rodril winced
and took another draught of his elixir.

“Not bad. I’ve heard worse,” Telyn reassured
him, and sat cross-legged on the grass, motioning for Cormac to
join her. He sat beside her, and played the tune again at her
urging.

“I hope he’ll get better at some point,”
Rodril grumbled.

Mithrais knelt opposite them, watching with
keen interest, and grinned up at his mentor. “I think I know what
she’s about, Rodril. Be patient a moment.”

“Now, Cormac, play it again, and keep
repeating it until I tell you to stop,” Telyn instructed, and
Cormac obeyed, his fingers stumbling over the notes. Telyn raised
her own whistle to her lips, playing the tune through with him at
his slow and laboring pace.

Toward the end of the melody, she began to
call on her song magic, touching Cormac with the thread of her
influence and extending her own musical talents to temporarily
enhance his innate ability.

This was her unique bardic gift, one that no
other possessed, but her recent training in heartspeaking caused
her to recognize exactly what she was doing.

She was entering a part of Cormac’s mind that
was not protected by his shields; it was a surface touch only, and
it did not appear that Cormac was even aware of it. It was as if
she were overlaying upon his subconscious mind the knowledge of
where to place his fingers on the instrument, the control of his
breath, and the subtle nuances that came after a lifetime of
practice. She could sense no thoughts or emotions as in a true
joining; this was something different. It was both disturbing and
intriguing, for it came dangerously close to violating the
boundaries of free will that the bard had imposed upon herself.
Telyn made a conscious decision to concentrate on the music and
explore this new perception later.

As they finished the first repetition of the
cradle song and the young warden began the tune again, Telyn
accompanied him, but slightly faster than Cormac this time. By the
end of the short tune, Cormac had matched her note for note. At the
end of the third time through, faster still, Cormac’s fingers were
sure and confident as they moved upon the instrument, the notes
pure and true as he responded to her magic.

Rodril and Halith watched, astounded, and
Telyn glanced at Mithrais, who let a broad smile grow across his
face. The fourth time through, Telyn allowed Cormac to play the
melody alone, and added a counterpoint melody. Cormac did not waver
and by the end of the tune, his eyes enormous with disbelief, added
his own flourish in perfect harmony with Telyn’s. She withdrew her
song magic and joined him in his delighted laughter.

“What...” Cormac spluttered, a giddy grin
lighting his face. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a bard. It’s what I do,” Telyn grinned
back at him. “I lent you my gifts for a moment, but they merely
enhanced your own talents. You have the potential to be a fine
musician someday, Cormac, if you’re allowed to practice.” She
glared pointedly at Rodril, who shook his head, a rare smile
splitting his face.

“I would not have believed it, had I not seen
it,” Rodril marveled.

“This is due to your bardic gift?” Halith
asked interestedly, and Telyn nodded.

“This part of my influence is unique,” she
admitted. “I have to be very careful not to—”

She broke off. With growing disbelief,
Telyn’s attention turned back to Cormac. The young warden had
raised the instrument again, having slight difficulty in blowing
the low whistle because of the smile that refused to leave his
lips. What had startled Telyn was her song magic, unbidden,
extending a thread of influence toward Cormac. He was playing a new
tune, exhibiting the same casual skill he had just
shown...completely unaware that he had called forth her magic and
was using her gifts to enhance his talents.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Dawn bloomed clear and chill, moisture
sparkling on the grass as the first rays of sun began to pierce the
leaves. Once more the Tauron Order drew together in the semblance
of a circle, encompassing the smoldering remnants of the pyre which
had at last been allowed to burn down to ash. The Watchwardens of
East, West, North and South were the sole occupants of the center,
taking their assigned places at the termination of the compass
points carved into the flat, fire-blackened granite.

Each carefully claimed a handful of the ashes
from the slab of stone. The first to speak in the quiet stillness
of the new day was Deirdre, the Eastwarden, who turned to face the
rising sun.

“Farewell, our friend and comrade in arms. We
release your spirit upon its new journey without regrets. Go and
travel upon the winds that blow soft and fair: Aric, farewell.”
Deirdre let the ashes trickle from her fingers to fall lightly to
the ground.

Ronan lifted his hand as he faced southward.
“As the flame of your calling burned true in you, may it continue
to burn in us until we are released from our vows: Aric, farewell.”
The ashes sifted through his hand to drift away on the breeze that
had begun to rustle the leaves above them.

Mithrais, his back to the sun, raised a hand
closed softly around the still-warm ashes. “In the many voices of
the waters, may we hear your voice added to the echo of those who
have served the Wood before us, and upheld the covenant with their
lives: Aric, farewell.”

The ashes slipped through Mithrais’ fingers
even as Colm raised his hand and voice in the final invocation.
“Here at the center of things, in the heart of our Order, we commit
your remains to the earth to become one with the Wood. Aric, our
friend and comrade in arms: farewell.”

There was a collective pause, as if the
wardens waited to hear whether the Gwaith’orn would make another
contribution. From the corner of his eye, Mithrais saw Telyn wince
as if awaiting a blow, but all was still save the wind in the
trees.

The Elders approached the granite marker as
the circle of wardens reluctantly broke and shifted, aided by a
detail of volunteers, they would oversee the interment of Aric’s
remains within the Circle.

Mithrais breathed a heavy sigh and watched as
they began to transfer the ashes and larger fragments of wood and
bone into a heavy piece of canvas. The granite slab would be moved
aside just enough to sift Aric’s remains into the natural vault
hidden beneath the stone, there to mingle with the ashes of other
wardens who had fallen in duty or had simply died in their beds
after a lifetime of service to the Gwaith’orn.

The ashes of the previous Lords of Cerisild
also lay there; Mithrais saluted their shades silently, his hand
over his heart, and asked them to welcome Aric into their
fellowship. He looked up to see Jona staring at him with eyes that
still held bitterness and anger.