Song Magick (10 page)

“King Taran has decreed that one-third of
this year’s tributes will be used to repair the mountain roads
between his capital city and the South Kingdom.” Telyn held up a
hand against the shouted questions and continued, “It seems that
much travel is planned between the two capitals. Not only will the
trade of wine and ale increase—which should please our good Lord
Riordan—but Prince Ioain, at the request of his sire, is seeking
the hand of Queen Boudicea.”

Both loyal cheers and some less than polite
comments about the Prince’s habits followed. Telyn allowed the
clamor to die down, and then continued, “As unlikely as this match
might seem, Queen Boudicea herself has said that the idea has its
merits. With Ioain as her Prince Consort, not King, she would not
have to share her throne. Any sons they might have would be heir
not only to her realm, but conceivably, to the West Kingdom as
well, unless Crown Prince Aengus produces a male heir soon. There
was one other consideration that Boudicea was said to favor.”

“What was that?” Lady Ciara wanted to
know.

“The Queen said that if she accepts his
proposal, it would be better for her treasury, as she and Ioain
could share the same wardrobe.”

Guffaws of laughter followed, and Telyn
launched into another skirl of music. When it spiraled down to near
silence, she continued with the saga of Boudicea’s suitors.

“The Queen now has at least four suitors with
hopes of winning her hand. Besides Prince Ioain, she has
entertained ambassadors from two Kings over the sea, neither of
which she is said to favor for obvious reasons. The Three Realms
have done well enough without interference from any mainland
kingdom—we’ve been at peace with one another for nearly one hundred
years, and they are still at war over petty land disputes. Why
upset the balance now, Boudicea says?”

“A wise woman,” Riordan allowed. “They grow
them well in the Southland, don’t they, my dear?” He kissed Ciara
soundly to the great delight of his guests.

“That’s only three,” someone at the table
nearest the dais called out. “You said there were four?”

“Yes. Apparently, there is a suitor from the
Sildan kingdom. King Amorion denies any knowledge of this, and none
of his lords are confessing to seeking her hand. It’s quite the
talk in Belthil, they say.” Telyn could not keep the slight
hesitation from her voice as she said this, knowing that it would
lead to her having to talk about the Sildan court. “The rumored
alliance seems to have stirred up some of the old arguments
regarding the trade city in both courts, and an ambassador from
Belthil has been dispatched to the Queen’s court.”

She started to play another song, but someone
in the crowd forced her hand, and it was the question that she
dreaded most.

“Is it true that there was a murder in the
Sildan court last year?” a calm, male voice called from the end of
the room furthest from the dais. Telyn felt herself grow cold, her
fingers stilling on the harp strings, and forced her voice to
remain neutral.

“There was an unfortunate incident involving
the son of Vuldur, Lord of the East. He was killed, but it was not
murder. Lord Vuldur seems to have gone mad with grief and views it
as such.”

“That is understandable,” the voice continued
mildly. “After all, it was his only son. Isn’t that right?”

Telyn could not see who was asking the
questions, and indeed, the voice now seemed to come from nowhere
and everywhere at once. She took a deep breath and answered, “Yes,
it was his only son.”

Mercifully, the voice did not come again, and
Telyn let her fingers move on the strings of her harp in the
beginnings of the interrupted song, forcing herself to calm and
concentrate on her music. Her heart was racing. It was entirely
possible that the question was an innocent product of rumors
filtering west of the Sildan capital, but even Riordan hadn’t heard
anything about the incident until this afternoon. She played the
song with single-minded focus, rigidly employing her disciplines
until her breathing was normal and her heart slowed. It seemed that
none of the guests had noticed her discomfiture and were smiling
with pleasure at the music. It was just a rumor repeated, she told
herself. It had to be that.

“I promised Lord Riordan a love song for his
lady,” Telyn said, disciplining her voice to carry nothing but
cheer. She glanced at the head table. Riordan smiled at her
encouragingly with a reassuring nod, and Lady Ciara beamed at her.
Mithrais, although he appeared relaxed, looked ready to fly to her
side at an instant’s notice.

She closed her eyes and began to play one of
the oldest Sildan love songs she knew, letting the haunting and
beautiful music carry her song magic to the audience, enhancing an
atmosphere of romantic anticipation. She had just taken a breath in
preparation to sing the first verse when the sting of pain, a
jangling discord of strings and the crunch of wood startled her
eyes open.

Telyn looked down and saw the feathered end
of a small crossbow bolt. The point was buried in the shattered
soundboard of her harp, directly over her heart. A warm trickle of
blood welled from a shallow cut on the back of her hand where the
bolt had grazed.

Several women screamed and, in the sudden
confusion, Telyn sat frozen with the harp in her lap. Mithrais was
suddenly there, appearing out of thin air to pull her to the floor
and shield her with his own body, while Riordan protected Ciara,
bellowing orders to his guards to find the person who had fired the
bolt.

Ciara was pointing toward the rafters. Telyn
clawed her mask off and tried to look up, but between Mithrais
crouching over her and the guests running to and fro she could see
only the floor, Mithrais’ discarded mask, and the shattered remains
of her harp on the stones beside her. The dark iron crossbow bolt
stood out in stark relief against the pale wood.

“This way!” Riordan beckoned Mithrais, who
lifted Telyn up to her feet, still shielding her from the unseen
marksman, and hurried to where Riordan was pointing. Behind the
tapestry on the dais was a hidden hallway, and Riordan and Ciara
followed them in. “It leads to my library. Go!”

Chapter
Seven

“In my own keep! By the gods, someone will
pay for this!” Riordan, who had removed his furry mantle and hood
in the secret corridor, was red-faced with fury as he stalked into
the library and threw the costume piece into a nearby chair.

“Telyn, are you all right?” Lady Ciara asked,
flushed but composed in the growing light of the candles. She moved
closer to the bard and took her injured hand, inspecting the cut
carefully.

Telyn looked down at her hand, which stung
sharply at Ciara’s gentle ministrations, and at the crimson-smeared
white silk and velvet of her gown. She felt inexplicably calm,
despite all that had just occurred. “I’m all right. It’s not much
more than a scratch. They weren’t trying to kill me.”

“What do you mean they weren’t trying to kill
you?” Riordan roared, and Mithrais motioned for calm as Lady Ciara
bound Telyn’s wound with a clean handkerchief.

“Telyn’s right, Lord Riordan. He could have
easily killed her. It was meant to frighten her, or to let her know
that he’s here. As I said, he enjoys the hunt.”

“The Dragon?” Riordan blustered. “How could
he have gotten inside the great hall without my knowing it? Rand
and I identified every guest as they were going in!”

“He may have already been here, long before
we arrived,” Mithrais reminded him grimly. “With all the
preparations surrounding the feast, it would have been easy to slip
in unnoticed, and hide.”

Riordan banged a fist against the wall.
“Thanks to me, he knows who you are, and where you are from. Do you
think he will guess you are taking Telyn to Cerisild? I am of a
mind to send you with an armed escort from my garrison.”

“He may know who I am, but has no reason to
know that I’m a warden. I think Telyn will be safer with me on foot
in the Wood, as we planned, but we should go now, and meet up with
the rest of the Tauron as soon as possible.”

Riordan turned to the bard, taking her
shoulders gently in his enormous hands. “My dear, I believe we can
stage an immediate diversion that will allow you and Mithrais to
make your way to the Wood without the beast knowing you are gone. I
will have your wagon driven south, toward the mountain roads, with
the driver cloaked and hooded and the back full of my guards. It
should allow you and Mithrais to slip unnoticed across the fields
and into the trees.”

“It may give us the time we need. Once in the
Wood, I’ll be able to discover if we were followed.” Mithrais
nodded in approval of the plan. “We’ll need our weapons. They are
in the wagon.”

“I will have them waiting for you, with your
provisions.” Riordan forced Telyn to meet his eyes, lifting her
chin with his hand. “I’m sorry, lass. I had hoped my keep would be
a safe haven for you.”

“It always has been before. You aren’t to
blame, Uncle Rio.” Telyn managed a wan smile. “My cloak and boots
are in the wagon, if someone will bring them as well. I definitely
can’t go through the Wood in white skirts.” Telyn lifted the silk
of the gown and heaved a sigh. “What about the rites, then? Your
villagers will be uneasy if they do not go on as planned.”

“Ciara and I can perform them, never fear.
The rites will act as an additional distraction. I must go to my
guests and reassure them that all is resolved, somehow.” Riordan
touched Telyn’s face gently. “It seems our parting must be now, my
dear. I have already sent my dispatch to the Sildan King.
Midsummer, I promise, if not sooner. My men are looking for The
Dragon even now.”

Telyn hugged him fiercely, taking comfort in
his confidence. “Thank you, Uncle Rio, for everything. I will
return as soon as I can.”

Riordan kissed her forehead. “Take care. I
know you are headstrong, lass, but let Mithrais guide you while in
the Wood. The Tauron have secret ways we cannot imagine, and I have
no doubt that you will reach Cerisild safely under his guard.”

“I will behave,” Telyn promised. Riordan
released her and turned to Mithrais.

“I will send Rand to you when all is in
readiness. Go with all speed, and may the goddess watch over you
both.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Mithrais clasped the
wrist Riordan offered in a soldier’s embrace. “I’ll give my father
your regards. I am certain he will be glad to receive them.”

“Tell him I miss the days of our youth.
Farewell.”

Ciara gave Telyn a brief, worried clasp of
hands, and then she and Riordan were gone. True to form, Rand the
seneschal was already waiting outside in the hall, knowing where
his lord had gone in the moment of confusion, and the wooden door
slammed shut on Riordan’s quick, furtive instructions.

Rand reappeared with his customary frazzled
efficiency half an hour after Riordan had left them. He led Telyn
and Mithrais to yet another hidden passage that wound down through
the bowels of the keep, into the cellars stacked with barrels of
aging wine and ale. They threaded through the maze of racks by the
light of Rand’s single candle until they reached a small wooden
door on the east side of the keep, which swung open to reveal rough
stone steps and a tunnel that led up at a steep angle. Telyn could
see stars twinkling above at the end of the passage.

“This leads directly into the vineyards,”
Rand told them. “Your wagon is being driven out on the south road
even now, and your clothing, provisions and weapons are here.” A
small leather pack, Mithrais’ bow and quiver and the swords lay
beside the wall atop their folded clothing, illuminated as Rand
dipped the candle in their direction. He lit another stub of candle
atop a broken barrel beside the narrow archway. “The trumpets will
sound from the gates when Lord Riordan leads the torchlight
procession into the fields. He believes that would be the best time
for you to make your escape.”

Telyn couldn’t help but smile at the
seneschal’s incredible, although somewhat frantic, competency.
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Rand. Please make certain that the
stable hands take care of my horse.” There was a slight catch in
her voice that she couldn’t hide. “I hope Bessa will be all right
tonight if—if anything happens.”

“She is in the stable, safe and sound. One of
Lord Riordan’s horses is being used as a decoy.” Rand smiled at her
reassuringly. “Good luck. Lord Riordan asks that you send us word
when you reach Cerisild safely.”

“We will,” Mithrais assured him. Rand bowed
and hurried away, the light of his candle bobbing and receding
through the towering shadows of the wine casks.

Mithrais handed Telyn her own pile of
clothing, and they changed for travel quickly in the near-darkness.
The bard buckled on her dagger and sword with grim resolve, and
Mithrais cautioned her to keep them hidden until they reached the
shelter of the trees. She slung the leather pack over her shoulder
and drew on a short, hooded traveling cloak that covered the
scabbard at her side. Mithrais threw his cloak over his shoulders,
his own weapons hidden from view beneath the mottled, grey-green
cloth.

They extinguished the candle and climbed
wordlessly to the top of the tunnel to await the trumpets. Telyn
stayed just inside the rocky mouth, hidden in an outcropping of
natural stones in the ground beside the keep wall, while Mithrais
conducted a quick reconnaissance of the area. His Tauron cloak
seemed to absorb the moonlight, rendering Mithrais a noiseless
shadow that moved among the newly sprung vines.

He returned and crouched beside her, once
more a disembodied voice inside the hood of his cloak. “We will
cross the vineyards to the eastern edge, then over the fields to
enter the Wood there.” Mithrais pointed, showing her where the
black edge of the Wood jutted out into the barley field. He lowered
the hood of his cloak. “It will not be out of place to be walking
in the fields tonight. We will not run and draw attention to
ourselves, but take our time.”