Song Magick (30 page)

Telyn made a conscious effort to comply, her
innate curiosity beginning to outweigh the fear. As she allowed her
shields to drop a bit farther, the presence advanced eagerly.
Inexplicably, her song magic once more reacted, giving a musical
reference to the intent as Telyn concentrated on what the tree folk
were saying.

Welcome, seed-voice.
The communication
brought with it a soft rise of sound that bore reassurances, a
gentle harmony inside her chest. It was accompanied by a distinct
feeling of recognition, and what Telyn thought might be
excitement.

Why is my song magic responding?
It
was a thought to herself; Telyn had not really meant to ask this of
the Gwaith’orn, but they answered her quickly.

It is akin to our own way of speech.
A
small, triumphant chord of resonance made Telyn smile slightly. She
was surprised that she had understood everything they said to her
thus far. The bard glanced at Mithrais, whose expression was
strange as he listened to the conversation through her mind, his
green eyes wide and startled.

“What is it?” she asked aloud.

“You’re receiving words, Telyn,” the warden
told her, amazement in his voice. “I’ve never experienced this
before.”

Seed-voice is the first in countless
seasons that can shape words.
The Gwaith’orn seemed to emanate
relief.
It is imperative that all understand. You are our voice,
and will quicken the others.

What is it I that I have to do?
Telyn
asked them, feeling a spark of hope.

An excited trill of vibration accompanied the
last:
Open to us.

Telyn hesitated, uncomfortable. She felt the
Gwaith’orn’s presence become insistent, and her heart began to trip
in fear as their advances against her shields became stronger.

Stop it,
she commanded.
Don’t try
to force me.

Open to us.
The relentless pressure
was accompanied by a stronger, more demanding chord of
resonance.

Telyn severed the contact, removing her hands
from the trunk of the tree as she felt her shields begin to bend
resiliently against the Gwaith’orn’s determined attempt to merge
their consciousness with hers. Mithrais allowed her to do so, his
fingers quickly releasing her wrist, and Telyn backed away from the
Gwaith’orn, her breathing ragged as she glared at the tree
resentfully.

Mithrais placed his own hands on the tree and
spoke to them as Telyn stalked out of the grove to wait beside the
horses, her back to the Gwaith’orn. She knew they couldn’t see her,
but she wanted them to know she was angry at their presumption.
Mithrais soon joined her, his body warm against her back, arms
going around her in a comforting embrace.

“They don’t understand how badly they’ve
frightened you,” he said softly. “I attempted to explain, but they
don’t know fear as we do.”

“Show them an axe and they’ll get the idea,”
Telyn said darkly.

Mithrais gave a small chuckle, and glanced
back at the tree. “They want to speak to you again. Perhaps they’ll
understand if you tell them.”

“Not now. If they want me to trust them, they
will have to behave themselves.” Telyn leaned her head back against
his shoulder and blew out her breath, releasing with it some of the
tension that had built up because of her apprehension. “Why did
they try to force me?”

“I’ve never known them to be so aggressive,
but it isn’t malevolence that drives them, Telyn. It seems to be
urgency.” Mithrais kissed her temple, and reminded her softly, “You
held them outside your mind the entire time. Even when you were
most afraid, your shields were strong and steady against them.”

With a startled sense of satisfaction, Telyn
realized that he was right. It made her feel slightly better, but
her thoughts returned to the riddle at hand.

“If they wish me to affect two hundred and
more Gwaith’orn before the solstice,” Telyn said with a sense of
desperation, “they’ll need to tell me how to do it instead of
trying to control me. Unless we can crowd them all into one room,
which is highly unlikely, my gifts of song magic don’t carry that
far.”

“It’s possible that they must enter your mind
in order to bring about their ends,” Mithrais suggested gently, and
turned her to face him. “Your communication with them was beyond
even Cormac’s advantage, Telyn. He receives stronger impressions of
intent and motivation, but not words. They should be able to make
clear enough what they require of you. Ask them outright.”

“I know it will have to be soon. We simply
don’t have the time for me to be squeamish about it,” Telyn
sighed.

“That’s so.” Mithrais leaned his forehead
against hers. “But I truly think that you have nothing to fear from
them. When you’re ready, we will ask.”

* * * *

It was late afternoon when they reached the
Circle, and Telyn counted at least thirty wardens already within
the hallowed place as she guided her horse slowly through the
bramble. They tethered their animals near a wagon outside the
clearing, which was laden with food and casks of ale awaiting the
night-long celebration of Aric’s life. Cords of wood that had been
painstakingly gathered from the forest floor were stacked in
readiness to feed the pyre and the smaller fires that would burn
throughout the night.

The primal power was just as evident in this
place as it had been before; skin-tingling, with the warmth of song
magic building in Telyn’s breast like a secret flame. The four
giant trees that had been instrumental in Telyn’s defense stood in
majesty, as if an honor guard to the rites that would be observed
here.

Atop the immense grey stone in the center of
the clearing, a wooden bier had been erected on which lay the body
of the fallen warden. Aric’s remains were wrapped in green cloth
and covered by a pall embroidered with a symbol Telyn had not seen
before, and deduced must be the crest of the Tauron Order: a circle
within a circle, broken by the four compass points, was picked out
in brilliant threads against the dark green mantle.

Mithrais, his face lined with pain, walked
stiffly toward the Circle and took a deep, uneven breath, gazing at
the bier as he stopped just outside the clearing. Telyn moved to
stand beside him, feeling his grief and guilt as if it were her
own, and wishing that she could help to ease it. Mithrais closed
his eyes a moment, and when he opened them, smiled down at her
bitterly.

“I can’t help but wonder,” he said, his voice
harsh with self-recrimination. “Had I not given Aric an order that
contradicted the Tauron code, would he still be alive?”

“If we are to trust in the Fates, then we
must believe that this is where his life’s journey would have
ended. Nothing you could have done would have changed that.”

His hand gripped hers tightly, and Telyn
leaned her head against his arm, continuing softly, “If it was
Aric’s part to die, that I might live to perform the task I have
been given, then I share the burden of his death. I have to believe
that it is part of that larger destiny Gwidion spoke of, and that I
must try to fulfill it. To do anything less would dishonor his
memory.”

“Then it will be fulfilled,” Mithrais
promised. She knew that he spoke not only to her, but to Aric’s
spirit as well. They walked into the Circle together, Telyn’s hand
still clasped tightly in his.

Chapter
Twenty

Conversations that had been taking place
among the wardens ceased as Telyn and Mithrais approached the bier.
Feeling the curious stares resting upon her, the bard glanced about
uneasily, and several wardens bowed with solemn formality as her
eyes met theirs. Telyn returned their acknowledgements out of
habit, but her embarrassment grew with each new obeisance, and she
wondered what embellishments had been made to Cormac’s story that
they would treat her with such gravity.

Mithrais halted several steps from the bier,
and Telyn followed his lead as they bowed deeply from the waist in
honor of the dead. Only Aric’s face, pale and drawn in death, was
visible in the swathes of green cloth.

Mithrais drew nearer to place his hand atop
the slight rise beneath the embroidered mantle where Aric’s hands
lay folded, and Telyn held back to give the Westwarden a moment of
privacy with his fallen friend. She heard Mithrais speak his
farewell, but the words were lost in the sound of wind-rustled
leaves, birdsong, and the soft approach of footsteps through the
grass.

Telyn turned slightly to see Rodril moving
toward them. The grizzled warden inclined his head, and Telyn
returned the nod. Rodril came to stand with her, watching as
Mithrais withdrew the packet containing Aric’s red braid from his
jerkin and tucked it carefully within the folds of cloth. When
Mithrais turned from the bier, Rodril met him with an outstretched
hand, pulling him into a fierce embrace of comradeship and shared
sorrow.

“I see your guilt, Mithrais, and it is
unnecessary,” Rodril growled quietly. “Not one warden here holds
you responsible. There was legitimate reason for you to ensure the
bard’s safety before tracking the bounty hunter.”

Halith and Cormac joined them. Halith pressed
Telyn’s hand warmly in greeting, and Telyn smiled back, glad to see
her. In the aftermath of the battle with The Dragon, it was Halith
who had recognized that Telyn’s brave façade was crumbling against
a tide of exhaustion, and had talked with her gently until she was
calm. The presence of another strong woman, an equal of men like
Telyn herself, had been unexpectedly comforting to the bard.

Cormac’s arm was no longer in a sling, but
his eyes were red from weeping. Mithrais pulled him into a brief,
brotherly hug, and Telyn’s affectionate embrace was reciprocated
tightly, Cormac’s eyes freshly wet when they parted.

“How are you, Cormac?” Telyn asked with a nod
toward his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Cormac said, wiping his eyes
hastily on his sleeve and shrugging carefully. “It barely pains me
at all. The healers say I can return to my post in a few days.”

“Ah, to be young again,” Rodril said dryly,
and then stiffened a bit as his gaze moved past Cormac. “I suspect
an introduction is imminent,” he warned, his head bobbing
discreetly in the direction of four men who stood apart from the
rest at the far side of the Circle; Telyn followed the movement of
his eyes and studied this small group unobtrusively. The four men
were of varying age, wearing short green mantles with clasps that
bore the same symbol as the pall that covered Aric. They appeared
to be in the midst of an intense discussion, casting furtive
glances in the bard’s direction.

Rodril grumbled as the men reached some
accord and began to walk toward them, “I shall never retire, for
fear of becoming an Elder.”

“We would have better sense than to elect you
an Elder,” Halith said lightly.

“I should certainly hope so,” Rodril
grumbled, his arm encompassing his lifemate.

“They wanted to meet Telyn prior to this, but
we left the guild house before they arrived,” Mithrais allowed, his
voice neutral.

“Yes, and I wonder what you’ve been telling
them, Cormac,” Telyn said with a good-natured scowl at the young
warden. “All this bowing is making me uneasy.”

“I didn’t tell them anything but the truth,”
Cormac protested, coloring, and Halith came to his defense.

“Among the Tauron, gossip is devastatingly
accurate, despite any slight exaggerations that may have been made.
It’s one of the benefits and curses of being a community of
heartspeakers,” she told Telyn. “That the Gwaith’orn defended you
has become a well-known fact. That alone has convinced many of the
Tauron that you’re worthy of deference.”

Telyn sighed and gave in gracefully, turning
to face the oncoming group. Mithrais held out his hand to Telyn
with an encouraging smile, and she allowed him to draw her forward
to meet the governing body of the Tauron. Telyn returned their
interested regard calmly and with courtesy as Mithrais introduced
her.

“Respected Elders, this is Telyn Songmaker, a
true bard, whom the Gwaith’orn have called ‘seed-voice’.”

Telyn began to bow as was appropriate in
courtly introductions, but the small, lithe man at the fore of the
group held up his hands in a gesture of protest, and bowed deeply
to Telyn instead.

“Lady Bard, it is we who are honored by your
presence,” he said. “I am Declan, Elder Watchwarden. She who is
heralded by the Gwaith’orn is welcome here in the Circle.”

Two of the other men followed Declan’s lead
immediately; the last hesitated only slightly before also offering
his obeisance. The greeting caused yet another stir among the rest
of the wardens, and Telyn’s brow creased in anxiety.

She said in a low voice, “I appreciate your
welcome, but I have done nothing to merit this kind of reception,
respected Elders.”

“On the contrary: Your mere presence has
roused the Gwaith’orn to a state of consciousness that has not been
seen in recent memory. That in itself is remarkable.” The new
speaker was hawk-nosed Silde with bright, glittering eyes, his body
seeming to quiver with nervous energy. “I am Semias, Elder
Heartspeaker. This is Conlad, who is the Tauron’s Elder
Historian.”

The ancient, frail-looking man smiled at her
warmly. “I shall have a great deal to record in the coming days,
Lady Bard, or so I hope.” His voice was unwavering and strong,
despite the fact he leaned on a thick staff. “Please don’t be
disconcerted by our regard. We have waited long for an answer to
this mysterious plague of silence. You may well be the one to wake
the Gwaith’orn—can you blame us for being hopefully
optimistic?”

Telyn had to laugh softly as Conlad beamed at
her. “I suppose not, but I do not wish to distract anyone from the
rites at hand. What might happen before the solstice is irrelevant.
Tonight, I am only a bard. I wish to offer the gift of a lament in
Aric’s memory, if it may be permitted.”