Song Magick (2 page)

Telyn flinched inwardly. He had wounded her
again without knowing he did so, but it was she who had opened the
door to sorrow with the strings of her harp. “I’ve come to perform
at the invitation of Lord Riordan. As for home, there it lies.” She
indicated the wagon with a nod.

Mithrais, glancing pointedly at the intricate
tattoo that circled her wrist, seemed unconvinced. “You wear the
crest of the Sildan King. Doesn’t that mean you’re honor-bound to
the royal household?”

“I always shall be, however, King Amorion has
allowed me to travel where I wish.” Telyn forestalled the next
inevitable question with one of her own. “How is it that you know
so much about court?”

Mithrais stiffened a little, and he grimaced.
“My own instruction was very thorough.” He declined to elaborate,
but Telyn’s curiosity was piqued by the silence that followed.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” the
Westwarden finally said. “Be watchful, Lady Bard—there are many on
the road tonight due to the spring celebrations, and few Tauron
here in the western Wood. We try to keep our eyes and ears open,
but we can’t be everywhere at once.”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, I have
Bessa.” Telyn nodded toward the mare, which raised her head at the
mention of her name, snorted, and went back to searching the grass
for any missed grain. “She’ll warn me if anyone is about.”

“She didn’t warn you of my approach.” The
warden was dubious.

“But you weren’t a threat to me, were
you?”

“No.” Mithrais appeared to be considering
something, but said only, “Good night then, Lady Bard.”

She watched Mithrais disappear into the
forest, a silent apparition among the darker trunks of the trees,
until she could no longer see him. She let out her breath in a long
sigh, and Bessa whickered gently.

“Oh, yes, I agree,” Telyn told her. “Most
interesting. I told you the Wood would be lovely this time of
year.”

She returned to the ring of stones and raked
the coals of the fire in preparation to turn in for the night. It
would be an early start for her on the morrow if she were to reach
Lord Riordan’s keep by midday, where the May Eve festivities would
be in high swing.

She reflected on the warning the Tauron
Westwarden had given her and opened the box beneath the wagon seat
once more, locating the familiar hilt of her sword by touch.
Placing it within easy reach beside the pallet that was her bed,
Telyn settled into the nest of blankets. It was probably best to be
prepared, but of all the ways the night could end, Telyn least
expected the Fates to choose for her a song of battle.

Chapter
Two

Beset by strange dreams which troubled her
sleep, Telyn instantly awakened to Bessa’s nervous stamping and
high-pitched squeals. She had learned from experience not to ignore
the animal’s restlessness, and quickly untangling herself from the
nest of blankets, pulled on her boots and made calm, silent
preparations for her defense.

The bard stood with her back to the wagon,
blade sheathed but in hand, quieting the nervous mare with a
comforting touch. She heard rustling in the brush to her left.
Consequently, it came as no surprise when a figure crashed clumsily
out of the undergrowth into the clearing.

Nor was it entirely unexpected to see a
second man coming out of the trees on her right. Silently blessing
the waxing moon, which had finally risen above the treetops and lit
the clearing with a bright, silver-blue cast, Telyn drew the sword
out of the leather. She did not discard the sheath, but held on to
it, counting the scabbard as a second weapon.

“Now, lass, don’t be so difficult,” one of
the men said.

“We’re only messengers,” the other added, his
voice quavering.

“A message delivered in the middle of the
night could not be good news,” Telyn said amiably. “Please don’t
come any closer.”

Her request was predictably ignored. The men
were in no hurry, wary of her sword and staying just out of
range.

“A lady traveling alone should be glad of
company.” The first man’s voice held the suggestion of a smirk.

“I prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
Telyn still stood where she had begun, relaxed and confident, her
sword and scabbard held loosely at either side.

The ruffian on her right finally succumbed to
impatience and lunged. She swung the scabbard, striking him across
the face and sending the man reeling, cursing and holding his
bloody nose. The other one came at her in a low, hesitant crouch.
She sidestepped him easily and dealt a solid blow to the head with
the flat of her blade. The man groaned and rolled on the ground,
holding his head. The other daubed the blood on his face.

“You’ll pay for that,” he swore at her,
taking a threatening step closer. Telyn brought up the sword in
warning, its point level with the man’s chest.

“What is your message?” she demanded.

“I
am the message.” A third man
stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of her, moving
with the lazy grace of a trained swordsman, blade drawn and
gleaming in the moonlight.

“Do I know you?” Telyn moved diagonally,
trying to keep all three men in her line of vision and praying
silently to whatever deity might be listening that there weren’t
more out there.

“You know our benefactor, Lady Bard.” The
swordsman’s thin smile was clearly visible in the pale light. “The
Lord of the East requires that you compose a lament for his son,
whom you murdered.” The smile became wider. “You shall perform this
lament personally in the realm of the dead—and it is my agreed-upon
duty to deliver you there.”

Long-practiced disciplines allowed Telyn to
suppress the fear that began to claw its way to the surface, and
the bard fought to keep her voice dispassionately calm as she faced
the hired blade.

“I was defending myself against his son, who
attacked me,” Telyn said softly. “His death was not intended. If
your ‘benefactor’ thinks that I don’t regret what happened, he’s
gravely mistaken.”

“Perhaps so, but for the amount he has
promised me, I can’t afford to come back empty-handed.” Eyes
glinted in the pale light, and Telyn could read the eagerness for
battle evident in the lines of the assassin’s body. “You can
express your regrets to the boy face-to-face, when you see him
tonight.”

He struck, lightning quick, and Telyn
parried, ducking beneath his slashing blade and returning with her
own offensive. Telyn had always counted on her smaller size and
agility to be an advantage when training with the King’s soldiers,
but this man was compact and wiry, and no taller than she. A
tailor-made assassin, she thought with gallows humor as they
circled each other.

She took the offensive once more, attacking
with both sword and scabbard. He blocked her blows expertly,
knocking the scabbard out of her left hand and sending it spinning
into the trees. He was good, but she had learned something
valuable: the darkness was as much a disability to him as it was to
her. A Wood-born Silde might have had her blade as well by now.

Bessa was on the offensive, nipping and
lashing out with her hind feet whenever one of the men came too
close to her. The mare’s indignant squeals pierced the silent Wood.
The hired muscle was uncertain in this environment, holding back
from the flashing blades wielded by their cohort and the bard. The
one whose nose Telyn had bloodied grabbed for her clumsily as she
avoided the swordsman’s downward strike. She wasn’t feeling
merciful this time, and dealt him a shallow slash across the
midriff with her blade, hearing him scream with pain and fury as
she narrowly evaded the assassin again.

The third man stayed warily out of reach, but
paced her movements so that he was a consistent distraction. As
another flurry of blows were blocked and returned, the swordsman
hissed through gritted teeth, “Ban, get in here, you coward!”

The bard lost sight of the man as she was
forced to deal with a new onslaught from the blade of her opponent.
Unexpectedly, a pair of hands wrapped themselves about her ankles
and tripped her as she began another offensive, sending Telyn
sprawling in the new grass and knocking her sword from her grasp.
She kicked viciously at the man holding her legs, trying to reach
for her weapon.

The man she had bloodied threw himself upon
her. His weight drove the breath from Telyn, and suddenly, the
unwelcome memories which had been threatening all night flooded in
with blinding panic. The bard lashed out with fists and nails,
drawing blood again as the man cursed her. Then the swordsman was
there, the point of his blade at her throat.

“Our benefactor told us not to underestimate
your skills,” the swordsman panted. “Hold her down. He wants her
hand as a token.”

Telyn screamed then, struggling beneath her
captor, but the man was already stretching out her arm—the one with
the honor marks—and she realized with horror what was about to
happen. The swordsman straightened and raised his blade. Telyn
squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away, and breathing a
final prayer to the Fates.

There was a faint hissing sound, and the blow
never came.

Telyn opened her eyes to see the swordsman
silhouetted against the nighttime sky, swaying, and then toppling
in slow motion to the ground. The feathered shaft of an arrow
protruded from his neck.

“The Tauron!” The man holding her down jumped
to his feet, but was cut down in mid-motion by an arrow that struck
him in the center of his chest.

The man at her feet gibbered in fear, looking
around wildly, and Telyn took the opportunity to free her legs and
drive the heel of her boot into his face. He fell backwards, then
scrambled to his feet and ran for the moon-silvered road, the sound
of his panicked flight fading into silence.

The stars above her wheeled dizzily as Telyn
struggled to rise, but her shock-numbed body refused to obey her.
Running footsteps passed through the campsite, and then Mithrais,
Westwarden of the Tauron, was suddenly beside her, sheathing his
bow.

“Lady Bard? Lie still—you’re covered in
blood. Where are you injured?”

Telyn pushed his hands away convulsively as
they began to probe for wounds, still in defensive mode, her breath
ragged.

“Easy,” the warden murmured soothingly.
“You’re safe now.” He sat back, waiting.

“It isn’t my blood,” she was able to say
after a moment.

“What were they after?”

“Me. They were sent to kill me. They were
going to take my hand back as proof...oh, gods!” Telyn lurched to
her feet and away as the reality of how close she had come to dying
hit home. She leaned against a tree and retched, shock and horror
taking its physical toll.

The Westwarden gave her privacy, grimly
searching the bodies in the clearing and rebuilding the fire. The
bard stumbled down to the bank of the stream bordering the rear of
the campsite and cupped the icy water in her hands, welcoming the
cold bite of the liquid on her flushed cheeks. She drank to clear
her mouth of the foul taste of sickness, and returned reluctantly
to the scene.

Telyn stopped to hug Bessa’s neck, whispering
her thanks. The horse blew softly through its lips and nuzzled her
bloody tunic, which Telyn examined with disgust and began to unlace
it hurriedly.

The warden was waiting for her. “Do you know
any of them?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t think so. I’ll look in a moment.”
She dropped the blood-stained tunic on the ground, standing in her
sleeveless shift and leggings and shivering in the dew-wet chill
until her numb, groping fingers found another garment in the wagon.
Telyn shrugged into it, belting the thick wool quickly, and joining
Mithrais where he knelt beside the body of the swordsman. The
firelight flickered in the half-open, staring eyes of the dead man,
and she looked away, shuddering slightly.

“No. I’ve never seen him before.”

“What about him?” Mithrais indicated the
other dead man. Telyn was about to shake her head, but stopped and
stared, moving closer.

“I have seen this man before. I stayed at
Osland Manor during the winter months, and instructed the lord’s
children in music in exchange for a bed and stable rights. I’m
certain that he was there.” Fear flickered on her face. “How long
have they been following me, I wonder?”

“We can ask this one. He’s still alive.”

Telyn’s breath stopped for a moment as a new
voice came unexpectedly from the trees surrounding the campsite,
but Mithrais, unsurprised, merely nodded to the figure that had
appeared out of the darkness. Over his shoulder, the new arrival
was carrying a limp body which he dumped unceremoniously beside the
fire. Flame-red hair in a thick braid glinted brightly against a
Tauron green jerkin, and the broad, expressive face below that
crimson thatch was disgusted, amber eyes flashing in the light.

“I stepped out into the road in front of him,
and the coward fainted,” the warden snorted derisively.

“They called him Ban,” Telyn remembered,
approaching cautiously as the supine figure groaned and rolled his
head fitfully.

“He is also a stranger?” Mithrais queried,
and Telyn affirmed this with a nod. “Bind him, Aric. I don’t wish
to have to kill him before he answers our questions.”

Aric completed his work without comment, and
prodded the man with the toe of his boot when he finished. “You can
stop pretending now,” he told the man casually. “I know you’re
awake.”

Their prisoner opened fearful eyes, and Telyn
stalked over to stand above him contemptuously.

“How long have you been looking for me?” she
demanded softly. The man tightened his lips stubbornly, but his
wide eyes kept flicking to Mithrais, who sat on his heels by the
fire and watched the captive with unnerving stillness, and to Aric,
who stood with his arms crossed a few feet away.