Song Magick (29 page)

Telyn woke from a dream of music, in which
the sound of a haunting lament echoed through the fog-shrouded
Cesperion Hills. She had no need to puzzle over the meaning, but
rose quietly from her bed, the arc of song repeating persistently
in her mind. The bard padded barefoot in her shift to the
night-shadowed dayroom, where she lit a single candle from the
embers of the hearth. Finding quill and ink in the desk, Telyn
committed the notes to a piece of parchment, and the composition
quickly took on a life of its own, the music blossoming from those
few notes to a full piece in a very short time.

As she viewed the completed lament, fingers
moving silently as if on the chanter of her absent pipes, the bard
hoped it would accomplish two things; to honor the fallen warden
whose life had been lost in her defense, and to ease the sorrow of
those who mourned. Telyn had become worried about Mithrais, whose
mood had grown more melancholy as the time for the rites
approached. Telyn knew how deeply Aric’s death had affected him,
and that he felt he was accountable.

Her own spirits had already been subdued. It
had taken Telyn the lion’s share of the day to read only the first
half of the Tauron scroll, painstakingly deciphering and
translating the tiny, cramped writing of a long-winded scribe. It
had yielded nothing in regard to the seed-voice or seed-speaker,
and Gwidion had fared no better with his own scroll. Time seemed to
be passing quickly; the leaves outside the library balcony
thickened with the approach of summer.

As she returned to bed and what few hours of
sleep remained before they would depart for the Circle, Telyn
pondered wistfully how she could fulfill this memorial for Aric
without her instruments, and breathed a silent prayer to the Fates
to solve the dilemma for her. Almost as an afterthought, she added
a plea that they would find some answers to what the Gwaith’orn
expected from her.

* * * *

Mithrais had renewed the custom of sharing
his morning meal with Gwidion while in residence at the manor, and
Telyn was quickly made a part of that affectionate ritual. Before
they departed for the Circle that morning, they breakfasted in the
library in comfortable, easy companionship.

“I will continue to read the records while
you are absent, but I may not be able to give it my complete
attention,” Gwidion told Telyn apologetically.

“I understand,” she answered, buttering a
slice of bread. “I’ll double my own efforts when we return.”

Gwidion continued, “I expect the majority of
the Order will be attending the life celebration tonight. Will
there be discussion of Telyn’s charge afterwards, Mithrais? Under
the circumstances, I imagine rumors must be rampant.”

“No. Aric’s rites are our only official
business, and we have agreed to meet the following night at the
Guild House. What is discussed privately during the vigil is
another matter.” Mithrais gave the bard a subdued smile. “Cormac’s
enthusiastic retelling of the events in the Circle has garnered a
great deal of attention.”

Telyn groaned in exasperation. “Oh, Cormac! I
heard his version of the story before we left the Guild House that
morning. What will he have them expecting of me?”

“They’ll expect to meet a brave and
resourceful bard, who happens to have the strength of a Tauron
warden and a gift that may change the Wood as we know it,” Mithrais
said seriously.

“Is that all?” Telyn said sarcastically, and
Mithrais grinned.

“In regard to that gift, I understand that
Telyn is to be introduced to the Gwaith’orn today,” Gwidion
stated.

“Yes. She’s ready, beyond any expectations I
could have had,” Mithrais answered confidently.

Telyn’s brief training had been more
productive than either of them had foreseen. They had quickly
discovered that Telyn’s disciplines were a form of reverse
shielding: even stronger than her natural barriers because of her
constant use, the disciplines had easily been turned to her own
shielding rather than that of others.

The singular language of the Gwaith’orn was
another matter. Although Mithrais had allowed her to read his
memories of conversations with the Gwaith’orn, there was nothing
that could replace experience in interpreting the images, and his
memories alone could not duplicate the musical references the
resonance seemed to elicit from her song magic. Despite this
shortcoming, Mithrais was convinced she could now stand against
their overwhelming presence, but the very idea made Telyn more than
a little apprehensive.

“I am certain you’ll do well.” Gwidion had
followed her unspoken thoughts, which were apparent on Telyn’s
troubled brow. “You alone will decide how much access to your mind
they are allowed.”

“So you both keep telling me. Until I can
prove it to myself I will still be frightened, so I’d best be
prepared,” Telyn sighed.

“You are,” Mithrais assured her, but Telyn
wished she could feel as certain.

A quiet tap at the door heralded the arrival
of Diarmid, who looked bemused as he entered, smiling curiously at
the bard.

“Forgive my interruption, but Telyn has a
visitor,” he said.

“I?” Telyn said, alarmed, a quick, cold flood
of terror rising in her breast for the first time since they had
arrived in Cerisild. “Who knows that I’m here?”

Diarmid saw her discomfiture, raising a
calming hand. “This visitor is genuine, Telyn,” he said in a
reassuring tone. With Telyn’s permission, Mithrais had advised
Diarmid of the possible danger she faced from bounty hunters, to
ensure that the steward would be aware if anything was amiss.

“He was most adamant I tell you immediately
that he came at the request of your ‘Uncle Rio’.” Telyn gasped as
Diarmid continued, “He is an anxious, ginger-haired individual
driving a small wagon drawn by a gray mare.”

“Rand! Bessa!” Telyn said, overjoyed. “Lord
Riordan has sent my belongings!”

“And several casks of wine and nectar, with
his compliments and greetings to Lord Gwidion,” Diarmid said with a
grin and a bow, handing a letter to Gwidion with a flourish.

“Rothvori’s finest vintages, no doubt,”
Gwidion said, smiling warmly, accepting the letter and breaking the
seal on the parchment. “I suspect Riordan will want assurances of
your well-being, Telyn, which I will be most happy to send.”

“Go and see Bessa,” Mithrais told her with a
grin. “I’ll stay and talk with Father a while before we leave.”

* * * *

Relieved that she would be able to fulfill
her desire to offer the lament in Aric’s memory, Telyn was prepared
to depart when Mithrais joined her in the courtyard. Bessa had been
led away to a well-deserved rest in a comfortable stall, while
Telyn’s borrowed horse carried a large leather saddlebag containing
her pipes and bodhran, and a few small whistles.

Sadly, during a rest and a brief meal before
starting back to Rothvori with the garrison men who had accompanied
him, Rand had confirmed the bard’s suspicions that her shattered
harp was beyond repair. Telyn was overjoyed to have her remaining
instruments back, her pipes providing the means to perform the
lament for Aric’s life celebration.

Forced to make the reluctant concession of
completing the journey to the Circle on horseback due to his
healing injury, Mithrais had exchanged his own clothing for the
simple, forest-green garb of a warden. A cloth-wrapped packet
protecting Aric’s red braid rested inside his jerkin. The trophy
reclaimed from The Dragon would be reunited with the fallen warden
in the flames of his funeral pyre.

Mithrais had brought their weapons back from
the guild-house, and while his bow was slung at his horse’s side,
neither he nor the bard was armed with anything more immediate than
a dagger. Since she would be in the company of the entire Tauron
Order, she doubted that she would need her sword.

The dwellings along the southern road tapered
off as they left the city behind. Villages glimpsed through the
trees grew smaller and more distanced until there was nothing on
either side of them but the deep Wood, and Mithrais slowed his
horse’s pace just after midday, earlier than Telyn had expected.
Even though the memory of the night they had traveled this road was
blurry, she did not think that they were yet parallel with the
Circle.

She recalled the chord of the Gwaith’orn to
her mind and found the resonance easily, but it held none of the
raw power that the Circle had contained. It seemed to be a single
tree somewhere to the west of the road. Mithrais turned his horse
into the Wood, speaking to the animal softly, and Telyn allowed her
mount to follow, her palms beginning to feel damp with nervous
sweat.

The Gwaith’orn had not harmed her in the
previous encounter, but her resentment was still deep. Because she
was so adamant that her unpredictable song magic should not
influence others against their will, it rankled that the Gwaith’orn
had no such reservations and drawn her to them as if she were on a
string.

Telyn could not relax, the tension in her
shoulders building as the resonance of the Gwaith’orn became more
noticeable. Her horse tossed its head irritably, and Telyn realized
she was holding the reins in a death grip. She patted the horse’s
neck and murmured apologetically, and Mithrais turned around to
look at her, pulling his own mount to a halt and allowing Telyn
move parallel to him. He reached for her hand, kissing her cold
fingers reassuringly.

“I know, I know,” Telyn said before Mithrais
could speak. He grinned crookedly at her.

“We don’t have to do this now. It could wait
until tomorrow when we journey home, but you’ll be tired after
being awake all night, and your shields weaker.”

“I think I would rather be at full strength,
thank you,” Telyn responded tartly, and sighed. “I’m not used to
being so apprehensive about things. I don’t like it.”

“I promise nothing will happen that you can’t
control. I’ll be there to anchor you, so that you can find your way
out whenever you wish.”

Her dream of becoming lost in the forest had
been frighteningly real, Telyn had learned. First-time contact
sometimes resulted in an inexperienced heartspeaker being unable to
break the connection alone, effectively becoming lost in the
overwhelming stream of the Gwaith’orn’s consciousness. Mithrais had
explained to her that the tradition of an experienced heartspeaker
‘introducing’ an initiate to the Gwaith’orn had been instituted to
prevent the very thing that had happened to her.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Telyn said
resignedly, nudging her horse’s flanks with her heels. She could
not continue to hold a grudge against the Gwaith’orn and hope to
complete her task.

The animals slowly picked their way through
the trees until they reached the Gwaith’orn. They left the horses
outside the small grove, and Telyn approached the trunk of the
resonant tree, looking up into the green crown of leaves that
nearly hid the white-barked branches.

Mithrais took her hand and gently pushed back
the sleeve of Telyn’s tunic. He encircled her wrist with his
fingers, creating the contact that would allow him to listen and
guide her, and the touch of his hand was comforting.

“I’ll be the eavesdropper in this
conversation, as you were before,” he told her with a reassuring
smile. “You won’t understand everything that they try to tell you,
but it will come.”

Telyn took a shaking breath, and allowed
Mithrais to place her hand on the rough bark. The shock of the
mighty chord of resonance made her jerk reflexively, but she held
fast and brought her other hand up resolutely, placing it on the
trunk as well. Telyn felt the resonance changing, swirling down
from the branches to gather about her hands, and the forceful surge
of the Gwaith’orn’s consciousness against her shields made her gasp
fearfully. Mithrais’ gentle hold on her wrist was all that kept her
from pulling away entirely.

“It’s all right, Telyn,” Mithrais soothed
her. “Remember that they can’t enter your mind unless you allow
them to do so. Open your shields just a little, and they can make
themselves understood. You don’t need to open to them completely
for this kind of contact.”

Breathing deeply until her pounding heart
slowed, Telyn allowed her shields to subside in minute increments,
slowly and hesitantly, until a breach formed that let the
Gwaith’orn’s consciousness flow in like water through a
channel.

The presence that flooded into her mind held
no flesh and blood feeling to it—no humanity at all. The very
strangeness of it caused her a moment of terror as Telyn caught a
definite sense of will and intent behind the alien contact. She
recognized her signature, that lovely, bell-like vibration borne on
the resonance with which they had previously greeted her.

Glancing nervously at Mithrais, who nodded at
her with encouragement, Telyn let her thoughts shape the salutation
she had heard him use when speaking to the Gwaith’orn.

Greetings, old ones.
Even her mind’s
voice seemed to shake with fear as she concentrated on what she was
trying to convey.

There was a gentle acknowledgement, a soft
wave of something that the bard could almost feel brush against her
skin. Telyn’s song magic rose to give an unexpected flare of
response to the communication—the bard heard in her mind a
plaintive minor chord. She immediately understood their intent, or
thought she did, and looked to Mithrais for confirmation.

Are they telling me not to be afraid?
Telyn asked incredulously, without speaking aloud.

You are so tightly shielded that I can’t
pick up everything.
Mithrais’ inner voice was laced with silent
laughter, his eyes full of amusement.
Relax, and attempt to open
to them a little more.