Song Magick (11 page)

At the sound of horns from atop the tower,
Mithrais took her hand, setting off at an unhurried pace through
the vineyard. Telyn could hear voices and low, intimate laughter
nearby, and as they reached the edge of the fields, the smell of
torch smoke and the sound of a drum and merry flute drifted past on
the breeze. Looking back, Telyn could see the bright orange flames
waving in the fields outside the gates of the keep, where Riordan
was leading the guests and villagers to the rites in the long,
snaking torch dance. The drum’s rhythm seeped into her step even as
Telyn tried to match Mithrais’ near-silent stride. He noticed, and
grinned as she shrugged apologetically.

At the end of the rows of tethered vines,
they turned down slope toward the road and crossed it casually,
entering the barley fields. The new shoots were only inches high;
pale, satiny leaves glistened under the moonlight and whispered
against the passage of their feet. Clouds were beginning to scud
across the glittering night sky from behind the mountains, veiling
the moon, and Mithrais lifted his head, scenting the air.

“Rain is coming. I welcome the cloud cover,
but it will make traveling a bit more difficult. We’ll reach the
first Tauron outpost long before dawn, and you can sleep for a few
hours there. We’ll start again at first light.”

“Do you never sleep?” Telyn asked softly.

“I shall have to, very soon. It’s been three
days since I last closed my eyes. I don’t wish to be so weary that
I become careless.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes,
still hand in hand, the black shape ahead becoming individual trees
as they came nearer. Telyn could no longer see the torches in the
fields west of them as their path began to slope downward toward
the Wood.

The trees were at last directly ahead, and
Telyn winced at the sound of her leather boots crunching through
the litter of last winter’s dry leaves. She couldn’t help but look
about her nervously, although her eyes were incapable of making out
anything more than the separation of earth and sky, and the dim
shapes of nearer objects. Mithrais squeezed her hand encouragingly,
and he led her through the darkness into the Wood.

As they passed beyond the border of the
trees, a welcoming stillness seemed to surround them. The Wood was
hushed, the tranquility broken only by the faint cry of some
nocturnal creature, and the sound of Telyn’s footsteps. Mithrais
released Telyn’s hand and heaved a sigh. She could see that he was
relieved to be in his own element again. Telyn looked about her,
willing her eyes to adjust to the profound shadows while Mithrais
drew his weapons from the cloak and slung them within easy
reach.

“Stay close behind me. I will warn you if
there is something in our path.”

“How will you contact Aric?” Telyn asked, her
voice little more than a whisper as they walked, falling into a
steady pace to the northeast.

“We’ll have to go farther in to accomplish
that,” Mithrais told her. “I don’t believe that we were followed. I
saw no one in the fields but a few of Riordan’s townsfolk. They
were...uninterested in our passage. Here—there’s a fallen tree in
front of you.” He turned and offered his hand, helping her step
over the horizontal obstacle.

Telyn kept her eyes on the dim crescent of
Mithrais’ bow as she followed him through the trunks of the trees,
stumbling slightly in the darkness. She became more sure-footed as
her trust in his guidance grew, and her eyes adjusted to the
peculiar grey-green light that seeped through the Wood from
above.

They had walked for nearly an hour before
Mithrais stopped, his head bowed briefly in an attitude of
concentration, then he strode to their right with a purpose. Telyn
followed him into a group of large trees, and Mithrais turned to
face her thoughtfully, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

“Can you tell which of these trees is
different from the others?”

Puzzled, Telyn looked at the black trunks,
and up at the sparse new leaves covering the branches overhead.
“They all look like normal trees to me, at least in the dark.”

“So they will appear by day, as well. The
only telling features of the tree we seek are smooth, white-barked
upper branches, but there are other trees which possess similar
markings. There’s but one way to be sure, and that’s by touch.
Press the palm of your hand against the trunk.”

Telyn hesitated a moment before moving to
stand beside the nearest tree, gingerly placing her hand against
the trunk. It was cool, the bark rough beneath her hand, and it
felt no different from any other tree she had ever touched.

“I don’t feel anything unusual,” she said
uncertainly.

“Try another,” Mithrais encouraged her.

Telyn stepped closer to the next tree. She
frowned and narrowed her eyes at Mithrais as she touched the
trunk.

“You’re jesting with me, Mithrais! It’s just
another tree.”

“I assure you, you will know.” Mithrais’
voice was rich with suppressed laughter. “There’s only one
left.”

Telyn sighed, shaking her head. She stood
before the largest tree, and placed her hand on it, pressing her
palm firmly against the trunk...

And gasped, startled! The spark Telyn had
felt when she and Mithrais had first touched their hands palm to
palm was there, and more. The tree was warm, thrumming with a deep
vibration that she could feel in her throat, beneath her feet, and
crackling overhead: a deep, pulsing, musical harmony threatened to
overwhelm her with sound. Unlike the sharing of senses with
Mithrais, which had been a gentle immersion by comparison, this was
drowning.

Telyn jerked her hand away and stepped back,
the silence of night suddenly deafening in her ears.

“What is it?” she said, almost
frightened.

“It won’t hurt you. What did you feel?”
Mithrais was by her side, his presence warm and reassuring.

Telyn shook her head, her hand on the hollow
of her throat. “It was like music, a vibration of a harp string,
but so strong that it felt almost painful.” A faint buzz was in her
ears, prickling the hair on the back of her neck. “I can still feel
it.”

“Well done.” Mithrais wore a pleased smile
that she could just make out in the dimness. “The intensity of
contact will ease as you become accustomed to it. The resonance you
felt last night, the pulse of the Wood, is the way the Gwaith’orn
sense changes in their environment. I was able to find the tree
folk by following the vibration back to the source. Even those
without the gift can sometimes sense the Gwaith’orn, and it makes
them uneasy—the true reason, perhaps, behind the tales of haunted
groves, and spirits of the Wood.”

“The Gwaith’orn are real?” Telyn was
dumbfounded and could not believe her ears, staring upwards into
the branches. “You can’t mean to tell me that those old tales are
true. Trees that speak aloud?”

“They haven’t spoken aloud for hundreds of
years, but yes, the tales are true. They are living beings, with a
will of their own, and the Tauron are in their service as well as
that of the Lord of Cerisild. It’s through their resonance that we
learned you were in danger last night.”

Mithrais placed his own hands on the tree,
and was silent for the span of a few minutes as the bard struggled
to assimilate the information. Telyn watched him intently. Although
there was no outward sign of anything occurring, her newly
heightened sensitivity to what Mithrais had called ‘resonance’ felt
a series of tingling pulses go out, and return moments before
Mithrais spoke again, removing his hands from the trunk.

“Nothing moves in the western Wood tonight
but us. We’re two hours walk from the nearest outpost. It’s not an
active post, but we keep it supplied in case of need. I’m afraid
that the rain is almost upon us as well, which may add additional
time to our journey. Will you be all right until then?”

“I will.” Telyn eyed the tree warily. “How do
the Gwaith’orn know where we are? Can they see us?”

“Let me think how I can explain in terms of
music, although my tutors told me that I’m better suited for less
artistic pursuits.” Mithrais looked up at the tree, and back at
Telyn. “You likened it to a harp string. When the strings vibrate
together in a certain order, the sound is pleasing, and a chord or
a harmony is created. When struck in the wrong order, discord
results. Is that correct thus far?”

“You’re making perfect sense to me. Go
on.”

They resumed their journey, and Mithrais soon
thought of another analogy. “Each Gwaith’orn is a string in the
whole chord. The vibrations travel through the roots in the ground,
the intermingling branches, and the very air. Something moving
through that resonance disrupts it, and sends it back to its source
unexpectedly: an echo returning a voice to the singer.”

Telyn laughed delightedly. “You’re very good
at this.”

“I’m afraid that the musical references are
over, as I can think of no better way to explain what follows.”
Mithrais turned and offered his hand to assist her in jumping over
a small gulley in the forest floor. “The Gwaith’orn are able to
form images from these vibrations, ones that we with the gift of
heartspeaking are able to interpret. The Gwaith’orn also allow us
to send images in order to communicate with other wardens. I have
done so tonight. The other wardens will soon know that we may have
a bounty hunter entering the western Wood.”

The tingling awareness of the Gwaith’orn at
the back of her neck was receding with every step Telyn took, and
she looked back again, wondering. “But are they truly a living
being?” she inquired.

“Oh, yes. They live. They recognize the
Tauron, and individual Gwaith’orn will even draw our attention when
something is amiss with those directed pulses you felt in the
clearing last night. It’s called a summons.” The Wood began to fill
with a growing hiss of rain on leaves, and Mithrais looked up at
the sky as the first drops began to fall upon them. He raised the
hood of his cloak.

“But how did they know I was in danger last
night?” Telyn persisted, drawing up her own hood against the
steadily increasing rain. Mithrais stopped, and turned to face her
gravely.

“That is the greatest secret of the Tauron
Order. You have heard the tales that wardens can see into the souls
of men and know if they are evil? We seldom contradict this
belief—it serves our purpose and keeps many violent men out of the
Wood. But it isn’t the Tauron who hold this power. It is the
Gwaith’orn.”

Chapter
Eight

Cold, heavy drops of water punctuated by
faraway rumbles of thunder had continued to fall since they had
left the Gwaith’orn’s grove, and Telyn hoped fervently that their
destination was nearby. She estimated that she and Mithrais had
been walking for nearly three hours, and was beginning to feel
chilled, her breath steaming in the air before her. The heavy, wet
cloak dragged at her shoulders, long since soaked through. Telyn’s
step was becoming less sure in the rain-slick leaves and muddy moss
that covered the floor of the Wood, and although she was very
tired, she was determined to make the Tauron outpost without
hindering her guide.

Their path turned slightly downhill,
increasing the instability of the terrain. Ahead of her, Mithrais
turned and offered her a hand, which she valiantly declined, and
regretted it a moment later when her boots skidded on the slippery
surface of a moss-covered rock, sending her sprawling on her
backside into the muck and slimy leaves.

Mithrais stood above her, a darker figure
against the black canopy of the trees. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Telyn said grumpily, wiping a dripping
strand of hair from her eyes. “I’ll take that hand now, if you
don’t mind.”

Mithrais gripped her arm and lifted Telyn to
her feet. “I saw the rock, but I neglected to tell you it was
there. I’m sorry. I, too, am getting tired.”

“How far to the outpost?” Telyn asked,
sneering in disgust as she slapped futilely at her muddy,
leaf-covered seat.

Mithrais cocked his head, listening. “I can
hear the stream now. It will not be far. The outpost is just above
its banks—we’ll have to cross the water to reach it, but it’s a
shallow ford.”

“I can’t get much wetter and colder,” Telyn
muttered to herself.

“I think we can risk a fire when we arrive,”
Mithrais said, offering an enticement. Telyn’s mood lifted
considerably at the thought, and she wiped her muddy hands on her
sodden cloak.

“Let’s hurry, then.”

Mithrais helped steady her until the slope of
the forest floor was less noticeable, and then took point once
more. The rain diminished to a heavy mist, and then stopped
entirely as they walked for some distance. Telyn realized that she
could now hear the stream, a rush of water that was steadily
growing to a dull roar.

“You said it was a shallow ford?” she asked
hopefully. Several yards ahead of her, Mithrais was standing at the
edge of what she imagined was the stream bed.

“The rain must have been heavier upstream.”
Mithrais looked back at her. “You did tell me that you enjoyed
swimming?”

“That’s not funny, Mithrais.” As she reached
his side, Telyn groaned. The gentle, winding stream that threaded
the forest was swollen to double its normal size, and flowing
swiftly. She could just make out the other side of the water in the
darkness, where the bank sloped upwards again.

“There is the ford.” Mithrais indicated a low
spot in the bank to their left, which was full of water. “It could
be more than knee deep in the middle. Do you want to risk crossing
it?”

“Right now?” Telyn took a deep breath, eyeing
the dark water warily. “You promised a fire. I think I will risk a
swim for that.”