Song Magick (9 page)

“Nonsense. I see that you have matters well
in hand, and believe I will be perfectly safe.” Telyn patted his
furry mantle playfully. “We did not have a chance to discuss what
you want me to accomplish tonight with my music.”

“Ah, yes. My guests will want to hear the
gossip from all Three Realms, I’m sure, but I have no need of
specific persuasions this year.” Riordan blew a kiss to the waiting
lady, who smiled back at him fondly. “I simply wish for my guests
to enjoy themselves, and that includes you and your Green Man.”

Telyn raised an eyebrow. “My goodness, Uncle
Rio. Is all this restraint on my account?”

“Not at all.” Riordan smiled, his eyes still
on the lady in the doorway. “I have discovered that I am getting
old—and lonely, despite my attempts to live the life of a much
younger man. I have found a companion in whom I am very content.
Ciara is a widowed lady, and much like me. Neither of us will marry
again, but because of our strong affection for each other, Ciara
has agreed to become my consort, and live with me in Rothvori.”

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me this in
your letter!” Telyn threw her arms around Riordan delightedly and
laughed with genuine pleasure. “I am very happy for you, and she is
a fortunate woman, indeed. I know what songs to offer, then. There
is nothing more worthy of celebrating at the spring rites than
love.”

Riordan winked at her with a satisfied nod.
“I could not agree more. Very well, then. Let us begin!”

Riordan signaled to Rand, who in turn alerted
the musicians in the hall to strike up a fanfare. The assembled
guests stood for Riordan’s entrance, Mithrais and Telyn following
close behind him. They climbed the steps to the dais and stood
behind their seats to Riordan’s right, while Lady Ciara took the
place to her lord’s left.

The musicians abruptly ended the entrance
music as Riordan raised his cup, offering an invocation in the
sudden silence. “Blessed be the mother of us all, who grows fertile
with the bounty of the vine and field.”

“Blessed be!” The call rang back from the
hundred voices gathered in the hall, and all lifted their cups and
drank in salute.

“Welcome, my friends, to my hall!” Riordan
shouted, raising his arms. A rousing cheer followed his words, and
as it died, Riordan continued speaking. “I have many reasons to
celebrate this spring, not the least of which is the fact that I
have lived through yet another ghastly winter. Like the bear whose
guise I wear tonight, I slept through most of it in a cozy den,
with the she-bear of my choice.”

Bawdy comments and more cheers followed, and
Telyn noted with amusement that Lady Ciara seemed as prone to
blushing as Telyn herself. Riordan raised his hand, stilling the
noisy crowd.

“I wish to take the opportunity on this
night, when all creatures heed the call of the wild and choose a
mate, to announce that Lady Ciara of Thasbrae has agreed to become
the consort of this grizzled old bear. Tonight, she presides over
the feast with me for the first time as mistress of my hall.”

Lady Ciara curtsied deeply to him, and he
raised her up to more cheers. Riordan bowed to his lady and kissed
her hand, the expression on his face so tender that Telyn felt
tears of happiness spring to her eyes. She wished them nothing but
joy of each other.

Riordan spoke again. “Another reason to
celebrate is the esteemed presence of Telyn Songmaker, a true bard.
Many of you may remember her as Emrys Harpmaster’s little shadow!
As you can see, she is no longer in anyone’s shadow, and will lead
the rites this evening.”

Telyn acknowledged the cheers with a smile
and placed her hand over her heart, inclining her head. “The honor
is mine, Lord Riordan. It is always a pleasure to return to
Rothvori and to the old bear, himself.” Laughter and applause
followed her affectionate words.

“My final guest of honor was an unexpected
surprise, but is no less welcome,” Riordan finished. “Who better to
take the role of the Green Man, but a lord of the Wood? Mithrais is
the son of my old friend, Gwidion, Lord Cerisild.”

There were more cheers at Gwidion’s name,
which Telyn could see pleased Mithrais a great deal. It was
apparent that many present remembered those long-ago days of
‘diplomacy’. The throng was in such high spirits that a grinning
Riordan beckoned the servitors to bring out the meal rather than
attempt to speak again.

Enormous quantities of food appeared: roasted
meats and root vegetables, meat pies, cheeses, breads and the
finest wines of Riordan’s cellar. Telyn’s cup again held nectar,
and her instruments were arranged on the dais before the head
table, awaiting her leisure or the lord’s command. She knew the
latter wasn’t likely to happen until the sweets and savories were
being passed around at the end of the meal.

The feast was a time for conversation and the
renewing of old friendships, and the costumes of some of the guests
were the subject of good-natured ribbing. One unfortunate man had
discovered that his choice of costume invited sport, as there were
no small number of items tossed at him in effort to impale them on
the golden horn of his unicorn mask.

“Lady Bard, I am eager to hear you play this
evening,” Ciara said, peering around the great, furry bulk of
Riordan. Her voice was low and gentle, with a hint of a southland
burr, and her smile genuine. Her eyes were blue and merry behind
her golden-brown mask. “I have heard a great deal about you from
Rio.”

Telyn smiled back at her. “I also am looking
forward to getting to know the lady who has captured Lord Riordan’s
affections.”

“Ah, captured me indeed,” Riordan said,
grinning, gesturing emphatically with a leg of roasted chicken.
“She is as cunning as a vixen and sharper than any blade. We met at
King Taran’s autumn court two years ago, and I persuaded her to
visit me for the winter solstice this year. She never left. I was
powerless against her once she set her mind to have my
vineyards.”

“Rio!” Ciara scolded, and Telyn laughed
delightedly at Riordan’s mock cowering.

“You are a prize beyond measure, my lord. I
am sure that your vineyards had little to do with it,” Telyn
reassured him. Riordan patted her hand fondly, and turned his
attentions to Mithrais.

“Mithrais-–tell me truly how Gwidion is. I
had heard of his unfortunate injury, but little additional news has
reached me here. How did it happen?”

Behind his mask, Mithrais’ expression was
neutral, and his words carefully chosen. “He is as well as can be
expected, my lord. Frustrated, to be sure. My father was injured in
a fall while hunting, and it is very difficult for him to move his
legs without assistance. He can no longer walk or ride. He has
given my mother and brother limited power of regency. Gilmarion
oversees everything that happens outside the manor, and he and my
mother preside over public functions. However, Gwidion is still
Lord of Cerisild, and all decisions and decrees regarding the Wood
are his own.”

“Forgive my interruption, Lord Mithrais, but
I understand your mother is Princess Marithiel. Does this mean we
have an heir to the Sildan throne in our midst?” Lady Ciara
asked.

“Only very distantly,” Mithrais admitted. “My
mother has two older sisters, with seven children between them.
Gilmarion and I are quite safe from the responsibility of the
throne, and I can honestly say that my cousins are welcome to it.
My father had no sisters, so Gilmarion and I are his heirs.”

“I have never understood the Sildan reckoning
of descent,” Ciara said with a slight frown. “Why do they inherit
through the female line instead of the male?”

Riordan cleared his throat, taking a great
swig from his cup, and Telyn took up the explanation at a glance
from Mithrais, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “To put it
bluntly, Lady Ciara, one can never be sure of the father of any
child. The mother, however, is always evident.”

Lady Ciara did not look as embarrassed as the
men, but merely nodded at Telyn in agreement. “Quite sensible. It
would have precluded the current troubles in my homeland,
certainly. Have you heard whether Queen Boudicea has accepted any
one of her suitors?”

“No, but rumors abound.” Telyn raised an
eyebrow as she sipped from her cup. “I will share all I have heard
after the meal, but I will tell you this: King Taran has recently
proposed that Boudicea wed his youngest son as her Prince
Consort.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be a neatly wrapped
package for Taran?” Riordan said dryly. “Our King doesn’t really
believe that Boudicea is that shortsighted, does he? After all,
Prince Ioain has never professed to be interested in women in
general.”

“That may suit Boudicea perfectly well. The
fact is that Prince Ioain is a brilliant statesman, and they have
become great friends. She is making a great show of considering the
match to bait her other suitors.” Telyn frowned. “There was even
talk of a Sildan suitor. No one seems to know who it is—it’s all
shrouded in some great mystery. In the meantime, Boudicea’s son is
now two years old, heir to her throne, and she still won’t name the
father. I would not be surprised to see her unwed and dangling
prospective husbands many years from now.”

“How do you bards find out all these things?”
Ciara said, bemused. Telyn grinned at her.

“We tend to share information among ourselves
whenever we meet—just as I will share the happy news of you and
Lord Riordan with any bards I encounter after tonight. Among those
with the gift, music can also be...influential, when it comes to
procuring information from reluctant sources.”

“Can bards force the truth from people with
song?” Ciara asked interestedly. Telyn shook her head quickly,
regretting that she had mentioned this aspect.

“Most bards are unable to provoke something
so dramatic.” Telyn continued hurriedly before the shrewd lady
could ask a more pointed question, “Our music can invite people to
relax and become less guarded, much like the products of Lord
Riordan’s vineyards and barley fields.” Telyn smiled at Riordan,
who acknowledged her words with a salute of his monstrous wine cup.
He leaned toward her to show her the inside of the cup, which to
the bard’s surprise also held nectar and not wine.

“Less guarded is not something I wish to be
this evening,” he whispered conspiratorially to Telyn, who smiled
at him gratefully before Riordan’s attention was drawn to another
guest wishing to speak with him.

The caution of both men at the head table was
making Telyn feel slightly more on edge than she wished to be. On
her left, Mithrais’ sharp eyes were constantly scanning the guests,
and he had eaten very little. Telyn reached over and touched his
hand with hers, and he looked at her with a gentle smile, returning
the pressure with his fingers.

“Do you expect an assault on the feast?”
Telyn kept her tone light, but her eyes were serious. Mithrais
smiled at her distractedly.

“I’m sorry, Telyn. I’m uneasy here in the
open. I wish we were back in the Wood.”

“When will we leave?”

“Before first light.” Mithrais hesitated.
“You know that we’ll have to travel on foot through the Wood, off
the roads.”

Telyn took a deep breath, and then nodded. “I
had begun to suspect that. I will be sorry to leave Bessa.”

“Riordan will see that she’s well cared for.”
The edge of Mithrais’ mouth quirked up in a half-grin. “We can rely
on the Gwaith’orn in the absence of Bessa’s vigilant watch.”

“The Gwaith’orn?” Telyn grinned, remembering
the legends. “The tree folk who cry aloud warnings in the Wood?”
She squeezed his hand playfully where it still lay in hers, but he
did not return the gesture. “I would like to learn more about
heartspeaking as we travel, and how you communicate with the Tauron
over a distance. Perhaps you can start to teach me what I need to
know.”

“I believe you’ll be surprised at how much
you already know,” Mithrais said, but did not elaborate. “We’ll
stop each night at a Tauron outpost so that you may rest. It would
be an ideal time to begin your training.”

The servitors were moving among the crowd now
with trays of dainties, and the copiously wined guests were growing
more boisterous. A rhythmic pounding on the table nearest the dais
was picked up by others until there was a din of thumping and of
voices shouting, “The news! The news!”

Telyn smiled, rising from her seat at a nod
from Riordan. She moved around to the front of the dais and lifted
her small harp to a chorus of approving shouts. Seating herself on
the steps, Telyn set the harp in her lap and leaned it against her
shoulder, sending a ripple of song into the air, testing both the
tune of the strings and warming her fingers to the task. She
offered no magic in the music but the sheer joy of melody, and sang
a traditional greeting to the guests, her voice strong and pure in
tone.

Gentle folk, a bard am I

Come to bring you simple
cheer

The road I tread is cold and
hard

Content am I to linger
here!

Harken now, for news I
bring

And tunes to pass the night
along

A lowly harper begs your
leave

To spin my tales, and sing my
song.

The harp seemed to become part of Telyn, and
her fingers were a flurry of light on the strings, plucking out a
lively tune that had the guests pounding on the tables in rhythm
again. The tune finished, and when the shouts and clapping ceased,
Telyn spoke.

“I bring you news, first from the court of
your good King Taran, King of the Western Shores!”

“Hail Taran!” Riordan bellowed dutifully,
raising his cup, and shouted affirmations and clanking flagons
followed.