Song Magick (7 page)

Telyn shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s
true, but he doesn’t always use scrupulous methods to get what he
wants. You know that piece of land has been disputed ever since the
Great Wars, and Vuldur could really choose to which kingdom he
swears fealty even now. He can be quite irrational. The King always
has to placate him in one way or another because he threatens to
interrupt trade.”

Riordan frowned. “Willingness to employ
assassins and bounty hunters speaks ill of any man. We must act
immediately.” Riordan stalked to his writing table, taking quill in
hand himself and searching the clutter for an empty piece of
parchment. “I will write to the Sildan King and advise him of this
Vuldur’s defiance against his command not to seek revenge. My
courier will go tonight.”

“The dispatch will take weeks to get there,
even if they ride straight through.” Telyn rose from the chair and
began to pace, her spirits turning from defeat to anger. “Vuldur
could deny everything, but even if he didn’t, how do you recall a
bounty hunter?”

“Oh, let me take care of that.” Riordan
glared through narrowed eyes. “I have a garrison full of soldiers
bored to tears. I know a few of them would relish a Dragon hunt,
and Haldovar has described him thoroughly, from his pointy ears
down to his tattooed scalp. If he sets foot in my lands, his life
is mine. You will be relieved of this nonsense by midsummer, I
promise you.”

“You should come to Cerisild until then,”
Mithrais said quietly. He had been silent since the revelation of
Telyn’s adversary, his expression enigmatic. “I believe you will be
safe there. The Tauron do not allow bounty hunters to roam the Wood
without a warrant signed by the Lord of Cerisild, and I speak with
certainty when I tell you that my father will never give his
consent to The Dragon. The King can send word there when he has
dealt with Vuldur’s disobedience.”

“Your father?” They both jumped as Riordan’s
mighty fist banged on the table and he bellowed a smug laugh. “I
knew you were no ordinary Tauron Warden, lad. I should have noticed
the resemblance before, but it’s been almost thirty years since I
last saw Gwidion. I need no other assurances for her safety.
Gwidion is a good man.” He wrinkled his brow at the bard’s
expression. “Don’t look so surprised, lass. The Wood is on my
doorstep. Gwidion and I thought it wise to maintain diplomacy when
we were young and new to power. We got on well, hunting and
feasting, until things got tense.”

“I never knew that. What happened that
strained relations?” Mithrais asked, perplexed.

“He got married,” Riordan pronounced
darkly.

Telyn couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter,
and immediately apologized to Mithrais, who waved it away. “I can
understand how marriage to my mother might have complicated
things,” he admitted.

“Very well. I’ll go to Cerisild.” She sighed
heavily. “I thought I had put all this behind me. I know that I’ve
been running from it, but I didn’t expect that it would follow
me.”

Riordan looked up from the furious scratching
of his quill. “Trust in those who love you. We will keep you alive
until this matter is concluded. In the meantime, I insist that you
rest. You’re spent. My own musicians can take over the duties at
the feast.”

“Absolutely not!” Telyn sputtered. “I didn’t
come all this way to sleep through the celebrations.” She crossed
the room to the writing desk, taking Riordan’s hand and holding it
in both her own. “Let me do my duty, Uncle Rio. It will keep me
from fretting on this.”

Riordan kissed her hand and sighed. “Still as
stubborn as ever, I see. The feast will not begin until sunset, so
go and rest for a few hours at least. On this, I will not be
disobeyed.”

“Yes, my lord.” Telyn knew better than to
argue. She kissed Riordan’s cheek in grateful affection and turned
to leave. Mithrais accompanied her to the door, but Riordan called
out:

“Stay a minute, lad. I would like to talk
with you briefly. Rand can escort her to her room, and come back to
show you the way.”

Telyn sighed, as if she were already feeling
the loss of her treasured freedom. The seneschal was hovering
outside when Telyn pulled the enormous wooden door open. She
managed a brief smile for Mithrais, and followed Rand from the room
in weary resignation.

* * * *

Mithrais came back and sat opposite Riordan,
who scratched away at the parchment until the door banged shut. He
immediately put the quill down and fixed Mithrais with those
fathomless black eyes, his expression hinting that no dissemblance
would be tolerated.

“Tell me the truth, Mithrais. I saw your face
when I mentioned The Dragon. What do you know about him?”

“He’s a butcher. He takes perverse joy in the
hunt, and more in the killing. It is sport to him.” The muscles in
his jaw clenched as Mithrais remembered the scene. “He once pursued
his bounty into the Wood. Another warden and I tracked the Dragon
and found what was left after his handiwork...he had tortured the
man before he killed him, and I have no doubt the fellow begged for
death before his head was taken. It would have been a pleasure to
rid the world of such a monster. My father has since forbidden
bounty hunters to enter the Wood unless they first seek his
approval.”

“Admirable, but nearly impossible to enforce,
I’m afraid.” Riordan tapped his lips with one scarred finger.

“The Tauron’s reputation keeps most of them
at bay. They are afraid that they’ll be cut down as soon as they
enter the trees, but desperate men—or greedy men—will often take
that chance. The Tauron will deal with him if he dares to enter the
Wood.” Mithrais allowed an unpleasant smile to form on his lips.
“We’ve been waiting for an excuse.”

“Can the Tauron really read evil men’s
souls?” Riordan asked abruptly, eyes glittering.

Mithrais gave a short laugh. “The fear that
we can seems to be enough for most.”

Riordan pursed his lips, aware that Mithrais
had not really answered. “How long before the scum will be here, do
you think? Haldovar seems to think The Dragon was on foot, and the
messenger claims he personally rode at top speed for the last ten
days, until his horse threw a shoe yesterday.”

“I think he could be here now,” Mithrais said
grimly. “I’m certain that the messenger stopped each night. If The
Dragon is a Wood-born Silde, as it sounds by his description, he
may be able to go without sleep for several days, and travel by
night as easily as by sunlight.”

Riordan considered this information and
nodded curtly. “I shall take precautions. When will you leave for
Cerisild?”

“Telyn needs more than a few hours rest, but
we should leave before first light. For speed, we will leave her
wagon behind. I doubt that he would try to take her on an open road
so close to your garrison, but we’ll go across the fields to be
certain.”

“I can provide you with horses,” Riordan
offered, but Mithrais shook his head.

“Horses are too easy to track, and difficult
to conceal. We should go on foot through the wild. The deep Wood
will provide us with more cover and my Wardens can assist us if
necessary. It will be more direct than the forest road, and will
take only a few days to reach Cerisild rather than the better part
of a week. The Tauron outposts will allow Telyn to rest each
night.”

“Agreed. I will have provisions ready for
you. You will travel light, I presume?”

“The lighter, the better.” Mithrais grimaced.
“Telyn will have to leave her instruments behind.”

“I will keep them all safe for her—horse,
wagon and harp—and send them along directly.” Riordan raised an
eyebrow. “The power is in the bard, my lad, not the instruments.
Her skills were unequaled long before that peacock of a father ever
had her in training, and her gifts are remarkable. As a child,
Telyn accidentally spelled an entire room to sleep, just by
singing.”

Mithrais’ eyes widened. “Her influence over
the musicians today was impressive. But it seemed harmless
enough.”

“The dance was a mere trifle. She keeps it
under tight rein, but Telyn has real power, Mithrais—power of a
sort that could be dangerous if it were wielded by someone with
less integrity.” Riordan’s eyes were concerned, and he turned back
to the parchment before him, picking up his quill again. “Do you
think that Amorion will deal with Vuldur appropriately?”

“I do. More importantly, Telyn seems to think
so, and she knows King Amorion better than I, who have never been
to court.”

“Yet you seem well acquainted with the Lord
of the East’s reputation,” Riordan mused, his eyes narrowed
thoughtfully. Mithrais colored, hesitating. Riordan began to ask
another question, but a knock on the door signaled Rand’s return
and prevented him from giving voice to his query. He waved Mithrais
out.

“My curiosity can wait until later. Go and
rest, lad, while you can. No one can enter the keep uninvited
without the guard raising the alarm, and my seneschal knows who
should be here for the feast and who should not. I will finish this
missive to the Sildan King and request that he send word to
Cerisild when the matter is concluded.”

“Thank you, Lord Riordan. I give you my word
that I’ll see Telyn there safely.”

“No such assurances are necessary.” Riordan’s
expression softened. “I believe you to be a man of honor, Mithrais,
like your father. I can see that you care deeply what becomes of
Telyn, however brief your acquaintance may be. I need no other
guarantee for her safety.”

Startled that his feelings were so evident to
Riordan, there was nothing more that Mithrais could say. He
sketched a quick bow and turned to the waiting seneschal. Riordan
bent purposefully over the parchment again, stabbing his quill into
the inkwell, and calling for Rand to return to him when he had seen
Mithrais to his room.

The harried seneschal led Mithrais down the
left-hand passageway he had seen before, and up a flight of winding
stairs, which led to another hallway lined with doors and lit by
candles in twisted iron sconces.

“This is your room, my lord.” Rand indicated
the final door on the right side of the passage. “Lady Telyn’s is
directly opposite. I have made sure that there is water for
washing, and Lord Riordan has provided appropriate attire for the
feast. He asks that you join him on the dais as a guest of
honor.”

“I am flattered. Thank you, Rand.” The
seneschal bowed and hurried away, muttering under his breath about
the thousand things left undone.

Mithrais found the promised basin of water
warming beside the fire grate, and clean linen towels. He also
found the clothing he was expected to wear for the feast, and his
eyebrows rose in surprise.

Apparently, the feast was a masquerade,
something neither Telyn nor Riordan had mentioned. Riordan had made
good on his earlier jest, for the costume was that of the Green
Man, a velvet jerkin in forest colors, fluttering with leaves made
of silk and metallic threads. A crown of ivy with a green cloth
mask completed the outfit.

He laughed softly. The Green Man and the
Maiden...Mithrais had a sneaking suspicion that as guests of honor,
they might be asked to officiate the rites of spring as well. Oh,
Riordan was a perceptive man, indeed.

Chapter
Five

Telyn woke from foul dreams with a start,
sitting straight up and looking about her in panic, unable to
remember where she was. The failing light in the room still
illuminated enough detail to show her the familiar chamber, and she
exhaled a shaky breath.

She rose from the bed where she had collapsed
in exhaustion on top of the coverlets. Going to the fire grate to
light a taper, she touched it to the wicks of the candles in the
room, feeling pangs of nostalgia as she looked about the chamber
with a wistful smile. Telyn had always loved this room. As a young
girl barely out of childhood, it had made her feel like a princess
with its drapery-hung bed and the balcony.

She slipped through the curtain that led
outside, leaning tentatively on the stone ledge of the balcony. She
closed her eyes and raised her face to the warm southern breeze,
letting it cleanse her of the last cobwebs of sleep. The wind
tugged at her hair, lifting the wilted garland of flowers and
sending it spiraling down to the ground even as Telyn reached to
catch it.

She sighed, leaning cautiously over the
balcony to watch it land in the rocky soil at the shadowed base of
the keep, a blue and gold fairy ring of blossoms in a desert
landscape. Telyn had been reluctant to remove it. Tradition among
the feudal villages said that a young man crowned his chosen love
with flowers on the eve of spring. Old wives’ tales held that the
blossoms should be kept and dried if the maiden wished to assure
that her suitor continued to court her throughout the year.

Moving back from the dizzying thirty-foot
drop, Telyn turned and went inside. She doubted that Mithrais knew
the significance of his innocent act, but she had allowed herself a
foolish moment of fancy, caught up in the excitement of the
day.

As a true bard, Telyn had more liberty than
other young women, but Taliesin had discouraged her from forming
any romantic attachments during her training. She had put aside her
loneliness in the pursuit of her art, which was the source of her
freedom, and the desire to earn the approval of the powerful and
intimidating Taliesin.

Then, the violent assault in Belthil had left
her confidence as bruised as her flesh, and had caused her to shy
away from any hint of physical intimacy since leaving court-–until
today. Her attraction to Mithrais was so strong that Telyn found it
unsettling. Something about him called to her blood, and the
sharing of Mithrais’ mind had both aroused and alarmed Telyn with
its intensity. That his response to her had been the same was
thrilling and a little disconcerting—perhaps, because she was
unafraid. Her longing for that closeness was dangerously near the
surface, and with a chill, Telyn thought of the last May Eve night
in Belthil. She could not afford to be so distracted.