Song Magick (6 page)

In Cerisild, the dances would have been
slightly more restrained, but the symbolism was the same,
celebrating the return of spring and fertility, male and female,
and the call of the wild to find a mate. Young couples would steal
into the Wood together afterward, as would undoubtedly happen in
the barley fields outside Rothvori after the Maypoles burned in the
bonfires.

Telyn quickened the pace of the music, the
dancers responding instinctively to the increased tempo. Those
without ribbons were free to dance with abandon, and several
maidens approached Mithrais hopefully. He declined each with a
smile and slight shake of his head, and they rushed away, giggling,
in search of another partner.

Studying Telyn and the musicians, he began to
understand what she had told him about her gift. Mithrais could
feel the spell insinuating itself among the group of performers as
he cautiously lowered his shields for a brief moment. A motley
assortment of Riordan’s hired musicians and villagers with drums
and flutes and crude fiddles, they became a cohesive musical whole
under the influence of Telyn’s song magic. They acted in unison to
Telyn’s slightest direction, although they seemed to be unaware of
this fact, all of them caught up in the excitement and
merriment.

As for Telyn, she was fire and music itself,
her hair flying, and eyes glowing with the sheer joy of song.
Mithrais found he was unable to take his eyes from her, enthralled.
The beater she drummed with was no more than a blur with the rising
tempo, the wreath of flowers on the Maypole edging ever closer to
the bottom and the ribbons becoming shorter. Telyn gave a fierce
cry that Mithrais realized was a cue to the other musicians, and
they played the tune through again at a dizzyingly rapid pace that
had the dancers laughing and shrieking with delight as they
completed the pattern, the wreath able to fall no farther.

The music ended. Telyn and the musicians
played a final flourish that set the crowd roaring with approval.
She cheered with them, applauding the dancers as the villagers
dismantled the pole and brought in the next one. Her searching gaze
found him behind the wagon and she smiled down at him, her
expressive, tawny eyes rendered a rich topaz by the sunlight.

A new group of dancers had assembled and were
ready as the tune was struck. A servitor arrived with food and
drink for Telyn and Mithrais, sent by the generous Riordan.
Mithrais accepted it with thanks, reminding himself that he was
supposed to be alert and watching for trouble, and not become
distracted by the rites of spring. He felt slightly out of his
element here in the open, without the familiar presence of the
trees.

The square was full of merrymakers, and none
of them seemed to be interested in anything except dancing and ale.
Mithrais was about to turn his attention back to the dancers when a
new figure, leading a horse, caught his eye. The man was obviously
a messenger, carrying a leather pouch and wearing a weather-stained
tabard with a device that Mithrais did not recognize.

The courier barely glanced at Telyn or the
dancers and did not stop, guiding his limping mount with
single-minded purpose through the crowded square to the foot of the
keep, disappearing through the stone archway that led into the
courtyard. Mithrais did not know why it bothered him. Telyn had not
seen the messenger, her focus entirely on the music.

When the song ended, the musicians broke for
a quick drink and she came and sat on the edge of the cart where
Mithrais waited. Telyn took a gulp out of the chalice Riordan had
sent, and grinned broadly as she realized what was in the cup.

“Bless the dear man, he remembered!” she said
fondly. “Riordan’s vineyards grow the sweetest grapes I have ever
tasted, and what he doesn’t turn into wine, he turns into nectar.”
She offered the cup to Mithrais for tasting. The liquid was sweet
and tangy, with a hint of some unfamiliar spice that was heady and
delicious.

“When I would visit Rothvori with Emrys
during my apprenticeship, Riordan would be certain there were casks
of nectar in our wagon when we left because he knew how much I
loved it.” Telyn smiled in remembrance. “He truly spoiled me.”

“I have no doubt.” Mithrais chuckled. “He
seems to care for you a great deal.”

“Yes.” Telyn’s smile faded as she stared into
the sparkling nectar. “I only hope that’s still true when he finds
out what I’ve done.”

“Why would he not, Telyn? You are no
cold-blooded murderer. You’re a woman who had the strength to
defend herself.”

“Perhaps. But one who hasn’t the strength to
forgive herself yet.” Even as the confession left her lips, the
bard appeared surprised at her own words.

“I am a soldier of the Wood, Telyn. I don’t
enjoy killing, but when we exercise Tauron judgment it is to
prevent innocent lives from being lost. Last night was no
exception, and I can’t regret it. I see little difference in the
choice you were forced to make that night.”

Telyn nodded slowly. “I have never allowed
myself to think on it in those terms,” she admitted.

“Lady Telyn!” One of Riordan’s musicians
beckoned. “Are you ready? We want to play the roundel this
time.”

Telyn sighed, a wry grin on her lips. “Duty
calls.”

“And so it does.” He helped her rise, and
shifted to reclaim his place against the building behind the cart
as Telyn climbed to her feet and found her instrument distractedly,
taking a few deep breaths to center herself before counting down
the rhythm. The dance began again.

Chapter
Four

The shadows were much longer when the
revelers finally dismantled the last Maypole, carrying it away to
where the bonfires were being laid. Trencher tables were quickly
assembled in the square to hold the massive quantities of food
being prepared in open fire pits. Telyn allowed Mithrais to lift
her down from the cart, and she leaned against him briefly in
weariness, the few hours of restless sleep she had managed
beginning to take its toll.

“Are you all right?” Mithrais asked her. They
began to walk to the keep, threading the maze of merrymakers and
laughing children that crowded the streets.

Telyn nodded. “Yes. We should have some time
to rest, and the music required from me in the feasting hall will
be more sedate, I hope! Riordan claims his dancing days are long
past, but there’s still the torch dance to come.”

“Will you see Lord Riordan now?”

“Later, before the feast begins. I must ask
his preference in music, and any influences he might wish me to
encourage.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Mithrais
snorted in amusement. Despite his earlier reassurance, Telyn still
felt apprehensive at the thought of confessing to Riordan.

“You should be aware that he asked me to be
there as well,” Mithrais advised. “He wants me to tell him what I
know.”

“That old busybody!” Telyn tried to look
fierce, but her affection for Lord Riordan overcame her indignation
and she grinned. “He sees everything, you know. The first and last
time I tried to keep a secret around him I was eight years old. He
bribed it out of me with sweets. I don’t think his lady wife ever
forgave me for spoiling the surprise.”

“Will I meet her tonight as well?”

“No.” Telyn sobered. “She died six years ago.
After her death, he was devastated, but he decided to live each day
as if it were his last. Riordan denies himself nothing, but he also
gives as freely. You won’t find a kinder man in the Three Realms,
even if he does try to conceal it beneath the guise of some ancient
wine-god.”

As they mounted the steps that led to the
inner keep, Telyn felt the subtle tension in Mithrais’ arm. “What
is it?” she asked.

“I see guards at the door, where none were
earlier.”

Telyn shrugged, but was unalarmed. Riordan
kept a full garrison, and it was likely that the guards who stood
watch tonight would be sent back to the barracks with extra coins
and no small amount of wine when they were relieved.

Riordan’s seneschal, a small, harried man
with wiry ginger hair, hailed them from the doorway. Rand was a
bundle of nervous energy, able to accomplish great feats of
housekeeping and hosting at his lord’s bidding with astonishing
speed, and he had been a fixture in Riordan’s keep as long as Telyn
could remember. She greeted him with pleasure.

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Telyn. I’ve
seen to your room—it’s where it’s always been, of course—the room
with the balcony—and your instruments are on the dais in the great
hall.” He inclined his ginger head toward Mithrais. “My lord, your
room is directly across from Lady Telyn’s. If you are at leisure,
Lord Riordan requests that you both come to the library
immediately.”

“Immediately?” This was unusual, and Telyn
was surprised. Riordan would not insist on seeing her, knowing that
she had traveled all day and was weary, unless it was
important.

“He is waiting for you. Shall I tell him
you’re coming?”

“Yes, thank you, Rand. Can you see that this
gets to the great hall for me, please?” Telyn handed him her
bodhran, and the seneschal scurried away, handing off the
instrument to a servitor and giving him rapidly spoken directions
before disappearing through the doorway.

“Something’s wrong?” Mithrais asked, but it
was more a statement than a query. Telyn shook her head, taken
aback.

“I don’t know. I suppose we’re about to find
out.”

She led him into the keep. The primary entry
way was wide and windowless, a true fortress, with smooth
flagstones lining the floor. The great hall lay down the passageway
to the right, and another torch-lit passage carried to the left. A
large banner with Riordan’s sigil—a black bear on a field of
orange, clawing the air with its front paws—hung above a wooden
door in the wall directly before them.

The central door was the one that Telyn
chose. Before she could knock, the portal opened to reveal Rand.
Another man stood close behind in the leather clothing of a
messenger.

Telyn stared at the device on the messenger’s
stained tabard with dawning recognition, and Mithrais’ hand
tightened on her elbow.

“That courier arrived during the dances,”
Mithrais informed her in a low voice.

“Lord Riordan is within, Lady Telyn.” Rand
and the courier exited, and Telyn followed them into the library,
Mithrais close behind. Riordan sat at a large wooden table, reading
a parchment. His expression, when he looked up at her, was
worried.

Before he could speak, Telyn asked Riordan,
“My lord, is that courier from Osland?”

“He is.” Riordan shook his head. “Tut, tut,
lass. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I don’t understand.” Telyn looked at him
blankly. “I spent the winter months at Osland Manor, teaching music
to Haldovar’s children. We parted on good terms about a month ago,
as soon as the mountain roads were clear.”

“Yes, I remember. It was there I wrote and
asked you to come for May Eve. This letter is from Haldovar.”
Riordan squinted at the parchment. “The man is fair frantic because
someone claiming to be from the court of Amorion arrived there a
fortnight after you left, asking for you. Haldovar, trusting soul
that he is, told them you would be here. He discovered shortly
afterward, thanks to the captain of his guard, that the Silde was
actually a bounty hunter who calls himself The Dragon.”

Beside her, Mithrais rocked as if he had
received a blow, but Telyn went numb. She had managed not to think
of this all day; now the knowledge came back with a vengeance, the
cold, hopeless terror that had hidden at the back of her mind,
threatening to break through her fragile control.

Her eyes were closed in abject defeat as
Riordan continued, “By the time Haldovar sent the guard after him,
the villain had disappeared. He sent the courier immediately
afterward.”

Riordan paused, waiting expectantly for some
kind of response, but receiving only silence, he finally erupted,
“Blast it, girl, I need to know what it is that’s troubling you!
You aren’t in Belthil. Emrys won’t tell me why you left, and now a
bounty hunter?” His strident voice broke with emotion as he stood
and placed his enormous, gentle hands on her shoulders. “Tell me
how I can help you.”

She was too weary to fight it any longer, and
Riordan’s affection left her undone. Telyn covered her face with
her hands and wept. It seemed that the tears would not stop;
finally allowed release, the tightly wound disciplines which had
kept Telyn from acknowledging her own emotions crumbled in the
flood of her sorrow, anger and fear.

Riordan held her in helpless bewilderment,
dabbing at his own eyes, and Mithrais brought her a cup of strong
wine, poured from one of Rothvori’s ubiquitous carafes. When Telyn
calmed enough to speak, she told her story to the Lord of Rothvori,
huddled in one of the huge wooden chairs with her arms wrapped
tightly around her knees.

Exhausted, she gratefully allowed the
Westwarden to relay the events of the previous night. Riordan’s
demeanor changed quickly from shared sorrow to silent fury. His
voice quivered with violence as Mithrais finished the tale.

“Who is this madman sending killers after an
innocent girl? By the gods, the coward can’t even do his own dirty
work!”

“He can’t. King Amorion forbade it.” Telyn’s
eyes were swollen from weeping, but she was quiet now. She took a
deep breath. “This man controls the harbor city on the coast, where
the trade ships come in.”

“The Lord of the East?” Riordan frowned in
recognition, and beside Telyn, Mithrais made a sound that might
have been a laugh of resigned disbelief. Riordan shook his head.
“Ah, Telyn. You’ve made a dangerous and unstable enemy in that one.
Rumor has always been that Vuldur was a pirate before he inherited
the title.”