Song Magick (19 page)

“It wasn’t just a dream,” she breathed.

“No, it wasn’t.” Mithrais’ voice was odd, and
his expression carefully neutral. “I’ll explain later. We must go
immediately, if you are able.”

“What has happened?” Telyn asked bleakly.

“The diversion failed,” Mithrais told her.
She could hear the pain in his voice then, and she knew that there
was something he did not wish to tell her. Beside him, the young
warden—Cormac, she remembered, was his name—looked away, his face
crumpling. A cold shiver washed through her, and Telyn knew without
doubt that something dreadful had occurred.

She rose to her feet with Mithrais’
assistance. She saw that Cormac had brought her sword and the bag
of provisions from the outpost, and she thanked him as he handed
them to her. At a nod from Mithrais, Cormac dashed away, taking
point as Telyn quickly looped the leather strap of the scabbard
over her head and beneath her arm, positioning the hilt of the
sword over her right shoulder, and slung the pouch over the
opposite shoulder and hip.

“Are you truly all right?” Mithrais asked.
Once again, he settled her cloak over her shoulders and beneath the
scabbard, his hands resting briefly on her upper arms. Telyn
squeezed one of his hands with her own in reassurance.

“I’m well enough.” She could see the weight
of worry and sorrow in his eyes, even by moonlight. “Please tell me
what’s happened. I’m certain I know why we must go now, but there
is something else, something terrible, isn’t there?”

Mithrais nodded, his throat working. “Aric
was killed.”

Telyn closed her eyes against the revelation,
sharp guilt and fear knotting in her chest. “I’m so sorry,” she
whispered, her arms going around him in instinctive comfort.
Mithrais returned her embrace fiercely.

“I was beginning to fear I had lost you as
well,” he whispered. “You were deeply entranced for some time and
the Gwaith’orn wouldn’t allow me in. You collapsed suddenly and I
couldn’t wake you. I had to enter your mind and bring you back to
consciousness.”

“You were in my dream...” Telyn pushed away
from him suddenly, remembering. “Mithrais, they called me
seed-voice, and showed me something important. I think I know what
they want from me, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

Mithrais took her hand and began to draw her
away from the grove, following in the direction Cormac had
gone.

“If anyone can find a way, it will be you,
Telyn. The Gwaith’orn make few mistakes. Tell me as we go.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Dawn broke in shades of grey-green, the mist
swirling about the ground in mysterious eddies and wisps that made
Telyn remember tales of phantoms and restless spirits. Above
head-height, the mists thinned enough to admit glimpses of the
treetops through gauzy veils of cloud, yellow beams breaking
horizontally through the fog in strange, liquid lines of light.

Cormac’s cloaked form was perhaps a dozen
feet ahead, the young warden careful to keep within Telyn’s sight
in the heavy mists. Mithrais was at her back, perhaps half that
distance away, with his bow held loosely at his side. His weapon
had been in hand since first light, his senses wide open to the
Wood for any sign of The Dragon, and Telyn found her fingers
flexing on the pommel of the dagger at her side in response to his
agitation.

She felt the rising tension in the Wood even
as the sunlight began to burn away the mist. The birds had failed
to sing their usual morning chorus, the passage of their wings
startlingly loud among the shrouded trees, and Telyn knew without
having to ask: The Dragon was on their side of the rift.
Unencumbered by matching Telyn’s pace, the bounty hunter would be
traveling twice as fast as they could.

They left the Cesperion Hills behind as the
sun began to top the trees, and the terrain returned to gentle,
thickly forested slopes. Conspicuously absent were the pulses of
resonance from the Gwaith’orn that had plagued Telyn the previous
day. Her involuntary communication with the tree folk had answered
one question, but created many others: Telyn was not convinced of
their absolute benevolence, part of her was deeply resentful that
she had been called to them without conscious will or assent. The
charge set before her was monumental, and Telyn was not even
certain she could unravel the riddles in time to complete her task
by the summer solstice.

At late morning, the trio passed a cluster of
stones, ancient formations that scribed a rough arc of rock and
moss. Telyn was able to feel the presence of a Gwaith’orn somewhere
in the forest beyond. Mithrais gave a softly whistled signal, a
brief imitation of the birdsong that was missing in the Wood.
Cormac halted and quickly closed the distance between them.

“We will stop here for a short time to rest
and eat,” Mithrais told them.

Telyn divided out the little food that was
left from the leather bag of Riordan’s provisions, portioning the
cured meat and bread and cheese between the three of them and
holding only the dried fruit and nuts in reserve. Mithrais appeared
contemplative as they consumed their scant meal in silence, and
finally spoke as he reached for the water skin.

“I need to consult the Gwaith’orn. If I don’t
return in one quarter of an hour, leave without me and continue our
present course. I’ll follow.”

Cormac nodded, acknowledging his orders, but
Telyn was uncomfortable with the thought of leaving Mithrais
behind.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.
Mithrais shook his head mildly and drank water from the skin,
passing it to Telyn and urging her to drink as well.

“I’m not certain I can explain quickly. It’s
an old practice no longer used, an alternative method of getting a
bearing without pulses of resonance. Now is the time to try it for
myself.” Mithrais recognized her apprehension and cupped the bard’s
cheek with his hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. “I’ll
return soon.”

He touched his lips to Telyn’s softly, and
she responded to his kiss. When they parted, Telyn glimpsed a
surprised Cormac, running a hand through his yellow hair and
turning discreetly away from them with a red countenance.

Telyn uneasily watched Mithrais go, and took
a distracted swallow of water from the skin as he faded from sight
between the trunks.

“How long until we reach Cerisild, Cormac?”
Telyn asked softly, replacing the stopper in the water skin.

Cormac shrugged casually, drinking from his
own store of water, his composure restored. “Eight hours, perhaps a
little more,” he replied, employing the same hushed tone of voice.
“Without a bearing, it’s difficult for me to tell. I’m still
learning the lay of the land here.”

“You aren’t from Cerisild?” Telyn asked,
settling on a stone.

“No, my lady—Telyn,” Cormac amended her title
when the bard gave him a pointed look. “I was born in a village in
the northern Wood, called Ilparien.” Cormac smiled shyly, and
admitted as he scanned the Wood with eyes the bright azure of
cornflowers, “I have never met a true bard before. None ever travel
so far north.”

“Really? Well, we shall remedy that situation
once I have my horse and instruments back,” Telyn declared, and
amended wistfully, “But I feel I’m only half a bard without my
harp. I will miss it.” At Cormac’s look of inquiry, Telyn
explained, “It’s in pieces now at the home of a good friend, with a
crossbow bolt in the soundboard.” She shook her head. “I don’t know
if I’m angrier about the fact that The Dragon is trying to kill me,
or the fact that he destroyed my harp.”

Cormac gave a startled snort of laughter, and
Telyn grinned up at him ruefully. “Ignore my rambling, Cormac.” She
heaved a sigh. “I’ve had a very strange life in the last three
days, and I’m lost without my instruments. I am without even as
much as a simple whistle.”

Cormac brightened. “I can resolve that.” He
reached into his jerkin and pulled out a wooden flute. Telyn’s
hands reached for it almost of their own accord.

“Cormac! Do you play?” She examined the flute
with delight, her fingers caressing the delicately carved, sinuous
lines that curled on its length. “This is exquisite work.”

“I made it this winter with the intent of
teaching myself to play. Alas, Rodril is no music lover and has
little patience for it.” Cormac grinned good-naturedly. “Halith
scolded him for not letting me practice.”

“May I try it?” Telyn asked.

“Please! Although...” Cormac looked around
anxiously as she raised it to her lips. “You may wish to play very
quietly.”

Telyn winced, lowering the flute. “Perhaps
this isn’t the time, after all.” She sighed regretfully, extending
the flute toward Cormac, who waved it away.

“No, please keep it until your own
instruments are returned to you.”

“Thank you, Cormac.” Telyn was touched, and
she placed the flute carefully inside her own jerkin, where it
rested against her heart. “I hope this won’t deprive you of
music.”

“No. I fear I’m no musician, with or without
practice. It seems to be a gift I don’t possess.”

“We have to remedy that as well,” Telyn said,
narrowing her eyes at him. “A few lessons will do wonders.”

* * * *

Below the spreading branches of the
Gwaith’orn, Mithrais carefully thought through what he was about to
ask of the tree folk. He was a skillful heartspeaker, almost as
strong as Gwidion, but the request Mithrais planned to make was
unheard of within the current generation of Tauron wardens,
unfamiliar even to the Elders.

The practice of resonance travel had been
abandoned partly due to the physical energy it drained from the
heartspeaker, but primarily because it required a level of skill
that was no longer common as the old gifts waned. His father had
come across an account of the practice in the written histories
while searching for answers to the mystery of the silent
Gwaith’orn, and they had studied it together on Mithrais’ last
brief visit before the winter solstice.

A master of the control of his own gifts,
Gwidion was convinced that he could perform it without taxing
himself unduly, but Mithrais was uncertain his own abilities were
yet as finely honed as his father’s. He had had no opportunity to
test their discovery prior to this, but it was a risk that he felt
he must now take.

Sheathing his bow, Mithrais placed his palms
flat against the rough bark of the trunk. Recognition came
immediately this time, as if compensating for the rejection he had
experienced earlier.

The resonance was full of images. The Tauron
were now aware of Aric’s death, and he let the stream of
information flow through his thoughts, picking out only the
specific items of which he needed immediate knowledge. Some were
sent by Halith, others by the Tauron whose wardenship they were
rapidly approaching. Halith had alerted Ronan, the Southwarden, of
The Dragon’s proximity. Ronan and two wardens were headed in their
direction, but they were nearly six hours from Mithrais’ current
position. It merely strengthened his decision that the radical
method he was about to employ was necessary.

Old ones.
Mithrais paused, and formed
the specific intent in his mind.
You know that the intruder
threatens the seed-voice. I want to determine his location by
traveling through the resonance.

There was a surge of approval, and an
invitation to open his mind further. Mithrais took a deep breath
and let his eyes close, preparing to drop his shields entirely.
Resonance travel was an act of complete trust in the Gwaith’orn.
While normal communication required only surface contact of his
mind, travel would require Mithrais to allow his consciousness to
become entwined with that of the tree folk and be carried on the
natural resonance that was a constant in the Wood. Even a seasoned
heartspeaker’s first instinct would be to sever the contact when
the Gwaith’orn’s presence overwhelmed them. Skill and discipline
were essential to keep one’s own shields completely submissive.

His breathing slowed and Mithrais entered a
light trance state, willing his shields to withdraw. At once the
presence of the Gwaith’orn flooded his mind, and Mithrais fought to
keep natural defenses from taking over, pushing away the mental
barriers that tried to reinstate themselves. The immense sound and
vibration that was the resonance struck Mithrais with the force of
a gale, lifting him up and into the canopy overhead. He knew that
his body still stood at the foot of the Gwaith’orn and that it was
only his consciousness that moved haltingly upwards with the
resonance, but a moment of fear came as he felt himself teetering
at the edge of an unknown abyss. Instinctively, Mithrais struggled
to keep within the confines of his own mind even as the Gwaith’orn
tugged at his thought-self with firm, unyielding compulsion.

Mithrais cast himself outward and over the
abyss in an act of faith.

The sensation was indescribable, as close to
flight as Mithrais knew he was ever to come. In a strange, doubled
awareness, he could see the Wood below him as he traveled at the
height of the canopy. For the first time he sensed it through the
consciousness of the Gwaith’orn.

His metaphorical descriptions to Telyn had
been closer than Mithrais knew; each tree, each stone, each small
creature of the Wood had its own song to sing. He experienced the
individual signatures that represented Telyn and Cormac at the edge
of the curving stones; saw them deep in conversation as he skimmed
overhead. The bell-like purity that was Telyn’s resonance touched
something inside Mithrais’ new, intangible form, stirring his own
signature to life in a blend of harmonics before he was borne away
to the south and west.

The shuddering, discordant signature that
represented the bounty hunter was present at the edge of this
Gwaith’orn’s circle of awareness, a disruption of the seamless
current and order of vibration. As Mithrais’ consciousness eased
into the resonance of another Gwaith’orn, the dissonance stimulated
by the bounty hunter’s signature became even stronger, causing
discomfort where Telyn’s had created harmony within him.