Song Magick (18 page)

Cormac noticed his gesture. “I see that
you’ve had little sleep either. I’ll keep watch, and I’ll consult
the Gwaith’orn in two hours for a bearing on The Dragon. If
anything happens, I will come to you. You should go and rest while
you can.”

Mithrais started to demur, but changed his
mind, admitting to himself that he had not fully renewed his
strength with the few hours’ sleep he and Telyn had managed the
previous night. He needed whatever rest he could steal. Cormac was
still fresh, despite the fact he had traveled leagues that day.
Mithrais inclined his head in acquiescence.

“Thank you, Cormac. If The Dragon comes
within range of the forest giant in the valley below the rift, we
must leave immediately. I want no less distance between us than
we’ve had today. We make for the south gate tomorrow, however long
it takes us.”

“I understand, sir.” Cormac had not yet
attained the ease of familiarity with the Westwarden that the
others possessed after years of comradeship, and Mithrais
acknowledged the honorific with a brief smile and a nod as he
turned away.

Cormac was already invisible when Mithrais
looked back from the midpoint between the outpost and the grove. He
had no doubts about the young warden’s abilities, and Mithrais’
trust in him was steady. Cormac had been well trained by Rodril, a
veteran soldier of the Tauron, and his own unique relationship with
the tree folk was to his advantage. It would not be long before
Cormac became a full Tauron warden instead of an initiate, and
would be given his own post in the Wood.

Mithrais had not been delegated his post as
Westwarden solely because of his family’s rank; Rodril had made
certain he earned it, and Gwidion had expected nothing less of his
son. He had proven himself skilled as a Tauron warden and as an
officer of his peers despite his youth, but tonight’s events had
brutally shaken Mithrais’ confidence. The death of his friend
weighed heavily upon him, and he knew he would miss Aric bitterly.
He drew his cloak around him against a chill that was more of soul
than of body as he approached the earth-covered mound.

Mithrais slipped through the curtain of the
outpost into warmth and the red glow of the coals in the hearth.
Telyn was still sleeping, although restless, and he wondered
fleetingly if the turmoil in the Wood was disturbing her dreams. He
replaced his weapons in the rafters and pulled one of the chairs to
Telyn’s bedside, sinking into it and closing his eyes. Letting his
head rest against the wall behind him, Mithrais invited sleep to
overtake him. It came quickly, but was a shallow, dreamless doze
that offered no comfort.

* * * *

All too soon, he woke to hear Cormac’s
whistled signal. Mithrais rose stiffly from the chair, exiting the
outpost with a glance at Telyn, who stirred beneath the blanket,
but did not appear to be awake. The mist was rising in the glade,
dappled in blue-white patches of moonlight, and he estimated that
dawn was at least four hours away. His breath hung in the cold air
like smoke. The odd disquiet that had seeped through the Wood was
less oppressive, but still lay in the hollows and groves like an
invisible fog, formless to the touch, but clinging to the mind.

“He is very close to the valley below the
rift,” Cormac informed him in a hushed voice. “Halith seems to have
found his trail again, but they will not be able to intercept him
in time.”

He offered his palm to Mithrais, and showed
him images of the current bearings. Halith and Rodril did indeed
seem to be following a determined path, but they had lost ground
and were proceeding slowly. The Dragon, far ahead of the wardens,
appeared to be lingering on one particular spot. Mithrais
recognized it as the place where he and Telyn had paused on the
ridge.

“The Dragon has found our trail again as
well.” Mithrais felt groggy, his eyes gritty with sleep. He walked
away from the outpost, Cormac trailing behind, and took a moment to
splash his face with the numbingly cold water of the stream. The
shock of the icy liquid freed his thoughts from the stickiness of
sleep and let him think more clearly.

“He will be inside the rift in less than an
hour,” Mithrais mused aloud. “I will not entertain the hope that he
falls on the way down.”

“He does seem to know where he is going,”
Cormac agreed bitterly. “I have never seen such a tracker. He is
like a wolf with a scent. Each time I took a bearing he was that
much closer, as if he...”

Cormac stopped abruptly, his face clouded.
“What is it, Cormac?” Mithrais prompted gently.

“What if he’s a heartspeaker?” Cormac said
slowly.

Mithrais felt a cold blossom of comprehension
in the pit of his stomach, but he remained silent as Cormac
continued his thread of thought.

“I know that the tree folk will not speak
with him, but that wouldn’t stop him from feeling the pulses of
resonance if he’s sensitive enough. Do you think he could be
getting a bearing on us, even as we are tracking him?”

Mithrais paced slowly away from the outpost,
carefully thinking through the implications of The Dragon’s
actions. He personally had taken a bearing only once that morning,
choosing a path that would intercept the wardens rather than take
additional bearings. The Dragon had never gained any ground,
presumably restricted to tracking them by skill alone.

The other wardens had undoubtedly been
carefully watching The Dragon’s progress for signs he had taken the
bait of the decoy trail, sending pulses toward the bounty
hunter...drawing him in their direction? When he and Telyn had
arrived at the springs, Mithrais had taken two bearings in
relatively short succession. Had it caused The Dragon to reverse
from a path he was beginning to suspect was false, sending him
straight into Aric?

Their past encounter with the villain offered
more evidence that pointed to the same conclusion. Mithrais and
Aric had tracked the bounty hunter for three days after finding his
quarry’s remains, never seeing The Dragon in the flesh, and
Mithrais recalled having the distinct impression they were being
led in circles. If he could sense the pulses of resonance, The
Dragon would have known approximately where the wardens were, and
stayed one step ahead of them the entire time.

“Cormac, I think you may be correct.”
Mithrais strode back to the young warden, clapping him on the
shoulder and leading him toward the outpost. “Excellent insight. We
can’t delay any longer. We must reach Cerisild without taking
additional bearings on his position.”

“It will be dark before we reach the south
gate,” Cormac said worriedly. “He could still overtake us.”

“We have no other alternatives.”

They reached the outpost and Mithrais drew
aside the leather curtain, ducking inside quickly. He halted in
mid-stride as he stepped into the crumpled drifts of Telyn’s
cloak.

The bed was empty, the blanket discarded on
the floor. Telyn was gone.

Mithrais picked up the cloak and came back
through the curtain, looking around uneasily. “Cormac, she isn’t
there.”

“Call of nature?” Cormac suggested, his
cheeks coloring brightly, but Mithrais shook his head, showing him
the cloak.

“I don’t think so.” Mithrais scanned the
ground and easily found her tracks in the dewy cover of moss and
low vegetation, and followed them. They nearly twinned the earlier
passage of Cormac, and Mithrais quickly realized that Telyn was
heading for the grove.

“Telyn?” he called, thinking she may have
gone to look for him, but there was no answer, and Mithrais became
concerned.

“Do you feel that?” Cormac said suddenly.

Mithrais stilled, knowing that Cormac did not
refer to any real physical sensation, but one of resonance. A
ripple of barely perceptible vibration was coming from the
direction of the grove, one that would have been missed had they
not been already searching for some sign of Telyn.

Mithrais moved quickly toward the Gwaith’orn,
an idea of what might be occurring beginning to form. Cormac
followed closely behind, evidently coming to the same conclusion
that Mithrais had, for he spoke the words as they ran:

“Could they be calling her to them in
dreams?”

“I suspect so.”

“Has she spoken to them before?”

“No. It appears that they’re insisting on an
introduction.”

They reached the grove a moment later. In the
diffused moonlight, Telyn was clearly visible in the circle of
trees, standing close to the Gwaith’orn with her hands outspread
against the trunk. Mithrais motioned for Cormac to remain outside
the grove for the moment, and moved to stand beside Telyn.

Her eyes were open but unseeing, only the
barest edge of iris visible against the widely dilated pupils. Her
breathing was slow and shallow; Mithrais recognized that she was in
a deep trance state. He reached out with his mind and found that
her shields were almost non-existent.

Mithrais placed his hand gently over Telyn’s,
and carefully extended his own mind. To his surprise and alarm, he
was immediately repelled, not by Telyn, but by the Gwaith’orn.

He placed his own hand upon the trunk, and
they did not acknowledge him: Mithrais was pointedly being excluded
from this conversation. He exchanged glances with Cormac, who
entered the circle of trees and placed his own hand on the trunk.
He looked at Mithrais and shook his head mutely, indicating that
they would not speak to him, either.

Bewildered by the unexpected rebuff, and
genuinely concerned for Telyn, there was nothing that Mithrais
could do but wait.

* * * *

She was aware that she was asleep and
dreaming, but also knew that it was much more than the nightly
fantasies that played out in the realm of sleep. In this vivid,
lucid dream, she could understand the secret language of the
Gwaith’orn perfectly, for it was the same language of music and
magic that she had known since birth.

We are glad you have come,
the voice
told her.
We had begun to despair that you would not. Another
winter and all would have been lost forever.

What is it that you need of me?
Telyn
asked.

Come.
They guided her to a grove,
where stood one of the tree folk, its white-barked branches
stretching for dark heavens spattered with silver fire. When her
fingers touched it, she knew it was one of the silent ones. As with
the tree she had touched before, Telyn received the impression that
it was waiting for something; waiting...for her?
Watch, and
remember.

The sensation in her chest that marked her
song magic began to grow, and with it the true resonance of the
Gwaith’orn, a sound Telyn had only heard metaphorically in her
waking life. Energy poured from her hands into the silent being
beneath her touch, the tremendous chord of the Wood channeled and
changed through her gift, imposing its will on the tree.

Telyn, in that surrealistic knowledge of
dreams, could see into the ground below her feet. Nestled beneath
the tree, cradled and protected by the roots, was something that
began to gather power of its own, bringing forth a pulsing, golden
light that grew brighter as she watched.

They must all be quickened before the
longest day, or they will be lost.

She was shown the vast expanse of the Wood, a
bright aura of golden light around the resonant Gwaith’orn and a
barely seen foxfire glow that represented the silent ones, like a
reflection of the star field that glittered above impressed in deep
green below. The pale pulse of light beneath the silent ones was
dying even as she watched, and when those faded, the golden light
of the resonant trees began to wane to that of the silent ones,
pale and ghostly.

There are so many. I can’t touch them all
before the solstice comes,
Telyn said in despair.

You are the seed-voice. You will not be
alone.

I don’t understand what that means!
she cried out
. This is all happening too quickly.

We have little time.
The voice was at
once sorrowful and forceful.
You are in peril. You will open to
us again once you are safe.

The lucid dream began to fade, and Telyn
struggled to stay with it, but it slipped away like water between
her fingers. It was replaced by a nightmare in which she walked
through an endless forest, unable to find a glimmer of light to
lead her out. She started to run, but the branches began to lower
in front of her, trapping her in the bramble. Fear and anguish rose
in her throat, choking her, and she dropped to her knees, her face
buried in her hands.

A warm touch roused her, and Telyn looked up
to see Mithrais, standing before her with a gentle smile.
Wordlessly, he began to lead her through the unbroken paths until
ahead of her she could see the sky, a blue-white brightness between
the leaves.

* * * *

She blinked. The intense, white brilliance of
the full moon framed in the space between the trees caused her to
squeeze her eyelids shut again. Telyn turned her face away from the
light, her cheek coming into contact with something warm and
unyielding, and comfortably familiar.

“Telyn.” Mithrais voice was soft, sounding in
the ear that lay against his chest. “Do you hear me?”

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
“Yes.”

As coherent thought returned, Telyn gave a
start. She was outside, not in the outpost, and lying in Mithrais’
arms, covered by her cloak. A new face, very young with a
sprinkling of freckles that stood out even in the moonlight, was
looking down at her with a worried expression.

“How did I get here?” Telyn sat up abruptly,
spilling out of Mithrais’ arms and onto the ground. She looked
around wildly, her gaze becoming fixed on the trunk of the
Gwaith’orn, and Telyn became still, her attention rapt.