Beset by strange dreams which troubled her sleep, Telyn instantly awakened to Bessa’s nervous stamping and high-pitched squeals. She had learned from experience not to ignore the animal’s restlessness, and quickly untangling herself from the nest of blankets, pulled on her boots and made calm, silent preparations for her defense.
The bard stood with her back to the wagon, blade sheathed but in hand, quieting the nervous mare with a comforting touch. She heard rustling in the brush to her left. Consequently, it came as no surprise when a figure crashed clumsily out of the undergrowth into the clearing.
Nor was it entirely unexpected to see a second man coming out of the trees on her right. Silently blessing the waxing moon, which had finally risen above the treetops and lit the clearing with a bright, silver-blue cast, Telyn drew the sword out of the leather. She did not discard the sheath, but held on to it, counting the scabbard as a second weapon.
“Now, lass, don’t be so difficult,” one of the men said.
“We’re only messengers,” the other added, his voice quavering.
“A message delivered in the middle of the night could not be good news,” Telyn said amiably. “Please don’t come any closer.”
Her request was predictably ignored. The men were in no hurry, wary of her sword and staying just out of range.
“A lady traveling alone should be glad of company.” The first man’s voice held the suggestion of a smirk.
“I prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.” Telyn still stood where she had begun, relaxed and confident, her sword and scabbard held loosely at either side.
The ruffian on her right finally succumbed to impatience and lunged. She swung the scabbard, striking him across the face and sending the man reeling, cursing and holding his bloody nose. The other one came at her in a low, hesitant crouch. She sidestepped him easily and dealt a solid blow to the head with the flat of her blade. The man groaned and rolled on the ground, holding his head. The other daubed the blood on his face.
“You’ll pay for that,” he swore at her, taking a threatening step closer. Telyn brought up the sword in warning, its point level with the man’s chest.
“What is your message?” she demanded.
“I am the message.” A third man stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of her, moving with the lazy grace of a trained swordsman, blade drawn and gleaming in the moonlight.
“Do I know you?” Telyn moved diagonally, trying to keep all three men in her line of vision and praying silently to whatever deity might be listening that there weren’t more out there.
“You know our benefactor, Lady Bard.” The swordsman’s thin smile was clearly visible in the pale light. “The Lord of the East requires that you compose a lament for his son, whom you murdered.” The smile became wider. “You shall perform this lament personally in the realm of the dead—and it is my agreed-upon duty to deliver you there.”
Long-practiced disciplines allowed Telyn to suppress the fear that began to claw its way to the surface, and the bard fought to keep her voice dispassionately calm as she faced the hired blade.
“I was defending myself against his son, who attacked me,” Telyn said softly. “His death was not intended. If your ‘benefactor’ thinks that I don’t regret what happened, he’s gravely mistaken.”
“Perhaps so, but for the amount he has promised me, I can’t afford to come back empty-handed.” Eyes glinted in the pale light, and Telyn could read the eagerness for battle evident in the lines of the assassin’s body. “You can express your regrets to the boy face-to-face, when you see him tonight.”
He struck, lightning quick, and Telyn parried, ducking beneath his slashing blade and returning with her own offensive. Telyn had always counted on her smaller size and agility to be an advantage when training with the King’s soldiers, but this man was compact and wiry, and no taller than she. A tailor-made assassin, she thought with gallows humor as they circled each other.
She took the offensive once more, attacking with both sword and scabbard. He blocked her blows expertly, knocking the scabbard out of her left hand and sending it spinning into the trees. He was good, but she had learned something valuable: the darkness was as much a disability to him as it was to her. A Wood-born Silde might have had her blade as well by now.
Bessa was on the offensive, nipping and lashing out with her hind feet whenever one of the men came too close to her. The mare’s indignant squeals pierced the silent Wood. The hired muscle was uncertain in this environment, holding back from the flashing blades wielded by their cohort and the bard. The one whose nose Telyn had bloodied grabbed for her clumsily as she avoided the swordsman’s downward strike. She wasn’t feeling merciful this time, and dealt him a shallow slash across the midriff with her blade, hearing him scream with pain and fury as she narrowly evaded the assassin again.
The third man stayed warily out of reach, but paced her movements so that he was a consistent distraction. As another flurry of blows were blocked and returned, the swordsman hissed through gritted teeth, “Ban, get in here, you coward!”
The bard lost sight of the man as she was forced to deal with a new onslaught from the blade of her opponent. Unexpectedly, a pair of hands wrapped themselves about her ankles and tripped her as she began another offensive, sending Telyn sprawling in the new grass and knocking her sword from her grasp. She kicked viciously at the man holding her legs, trying to reach for her weapon.
The man she had bloodied threw himself upon her. His weight drove the breath from Telyn, and suddenly, the unwelcome memories which had been threatening all night flooded in with blinding panic. The bard lashed out with fists and nails, drawing blood again as the man cursed her. Then the swordsman was there, the point of his blade at her throat.
“Our benefactor told us not to underestimate your skills,” the swordsman panted. “Hold her down. He wants her hand as a token.”
Telyn screamed then, struggling beneath her captor, but the man was already stretching out her arm—the one with the honor marks—and she realized with horror what was about to happen. The swordsman straightened and raised his blade. Telyn squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away, and breathing a final prayer to the Fates.
There was a faint hissing sound, and the blow never came.
Telyn opened her eyes to see the swordsman silhouetted against the nighttime sky, swaying, and then toppling in slow motion to the ground. The feathered shaft of an arrow protruded from his neck.
“The Tauron!” The man holding her down jumped to his feet, but was cut down in mid-motion by an arrow that struck him in the center of his chest.
The man at her feet gibbered in fear, looking around wildly, and Telyn took the opportunity to free her legs and drive the heel of her boot into his face. He fell backwards, then scrambled to his feet and ran for the moon-silvered road, the sound of his panicked flight fading into silence.
The stars above her wheeled dizzily as Telyn struggled to rise, but her shock-numbed body refused to obey her. Running footsteps passed through the campsite, and then Mithrais, Westwarden of the Tauron, was suddenly beside her, sheathing his bow.
“Lady Bard? Lie still—you’re covered in blood. Where are you injured?”
Telyn pushed his hands away convulsively as they began to probe for wounds, still in defensive mode, her breath ragged.
“Easy,” the warden murmured soothingly. “You’re safe now.” He sat back, waiting.
“It isn’t my blood,” she was able to say after a moment.
“What were they after?”
“Me. They were sent to kill me. They were going to take my hand back as proof...oh, gods!” Telyn lurched to her feet and away as the reality of how close she had come to dying hit home. She leaned against a tree and retched, shock and horror taking its physical toll.
The Westwarden gave her privacy, grimly searching the bodies in the clearing and rebuilding the fire. The bard stumbled down to the bank of the stream bordering the rear of the campsite and cupped the icy water in her hands, welcoming the cold bite of the liquid on her flushed cheeks. She drank to clear her mouth of the foul taste of sickness, and returned reluctantly to the scene.
Telyn stopped to hug Bessa’s neck, whispering her thanks. The horse blew softly through its lips and nuzzled her bloody tunic, which Telyn examined with disgust and began to unlace it hurriedly.
The warden was waiting for her. “Do you know any of them?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t think so. I’ll look in a moment.” She dropped the blood-stained tunic on the ground, standing in her sleeveless shift and leggings and shivering in the dew-wet chill until her numb, groping fingers found another garment in the wagon. Telyn shrugged into it, belting the thick wool quickly, and joining Mithrais where he knelt beside the body of the swordsman. The firelight flickered in the half-open, staring eyes of the dead man, and she looked away, shuddering slightly.
“No. I’ve never seen him before.”
“What about him?” Mithrais indicated the other dead man. Telyn was about to shake her head, but stopped and stared, moving closer.
“I have seen this man before. I stayed at Osland Manor during the winter months, and instructed the lord’s children in music in exchange for a bed and stable rights. I’m certain that he was there.” Fear flickered on her face. “How long have they been following me, I wonder?”
“We can ask this one. He’s still alive.”
Telyn’s breath stopped for a moment as a new voice came unexpectedly from the trees surrounding the campsite, but Mithrais, unsurprised, merely nodded to the figure that had appeared out of the darkness. Over his shoulder, the new arrival was carrying a limp body which he dumped unceremoniously beside the fire. Flame-red hair in a thick braid glinted brightly against a Tauron green jerkin, and the broad, expressive face below that crimson thatch was disgusted, amber eyes flashing in the light.
“I stepped out into the road in front of him, and the coward fainted,” the warden snorted derisively.
“They called him Ban,” Telyn remembered, approaching cautiously as the supine figure groaned and rolled his head fitfully.
“He is also a stranger?” Mithrais queried, and Telyn affirmed this with a nod. “Bind him, Aric. I don’t wish to have to kill him before he answers our questions.”
Aric completed his work without comment, and prodded the man with the toe of his boot when he finished. “You can stop pretending now,” he told the man casually. “I know you’re awake.”
Their prisoner opened fearful eyes, and Telyn stalked over to stand above him contemptuously.
“How long have you been looking for me?” she demanded softly. The man tightened his lips stubbornly, but his wide eyes kept flicking to Mithrais, who sat on his heels by the fire and watched the captive with unnerving stillness, and to Aric, who stood with his arms crossed a few feet away.
“Those bloody wardens will kill me either way, won’t they?” the man finally spat, defiance mixed with terror. “I won’t tell you anything unless you promise to let me go.”
“By the code of the Tauron, I should have killed you already,” was Aric’s cold reply, and Mithrais silenced him with a gesture.
“I’ve had enough of death for one night.” Telyn knelt beside the man. “But I have a keen interest in continuing to live, myself. How do I know you won’t try to kill me again? There must be a fine price on my head—or my hand, as it happens.” She stared unhappily at the honor marks on her wrist a moment, then back at the bound man. “Obviously, it’s tempting enough to make greedy men risk the Tauron’s arrows.”
“There isn’t enough gold to get me into the Wood again,” the man said fervently. “I just hired on a few days ago. They knew you’d be coming this way. Said that they wanted you dead before you got to the town.”
“‘They’—do you mean them?” Telyn indicated the dead men.
“Yes.” One look at the still bodies was enough, and the man babbled, “Faine, the one with the sword—he said that he and Rolf were hired in Belthil, but they had been trying to find you for months. They finally split up to look, and Rolf heard you were at Osland over the winter. By the time Faine got there, you were already gone, but Rolf knew where you were headed for the spring fires. Faine said we were lucky to find you first.”
“First?” Mithrais said sharply, and Telyn went cold with the implications of the word. “There are more looking for her? How many?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.” The man licked sweat off his upper lip, his eyes never leaving Mithrais, who stood and exchanged a wordless glance with Aric. The warden nodded, raising the deep hood over his flame-bright hair, and slipped into the trees to vanish without a sound.
“Do they know where I will be?” Telyn pressed.
“I don’t know,” the man repeated. “Faine was close-mouthed. Didn’t want anybody else horning in on his kill.” He began to struggle in panic. “I told you all I know! You have to let me go. I swear I won’t come after you again. Please don’t let him kill me!”
Telyn stood and walked away from the man even as he continued to plead with her and struggle against his bonds. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her arms wrapped around herself. Mithrais watched her for a moment, and then silenced the man with a look before he joined Telyn.
“What shall I do with him?” Mithrais asked her gently.
“He’s a cowardly little toad. I believe that he’ll just run.” Telyn’s voice was flat. “Let him go.”
Mithrais nodded and returned to the captive, who stared at him with wide, glazed eyes. He whimpered when Mithrais drew a slender dagger from his belt. The Tauron warden knelt beside him, holding the man’s gaze with his eerily wolfish eyes.
“Remember that you owe her your life.” The man went limp with relief, but gasped as the point of Mithrais’ knife kissed the pulse at the side of his neck, and the warden leaned in to whisper: “You have until dawn to be outside the trees. If you ever set one foot inside the Wood again, we will know. We will find you. Do you understand?”
The man nodded fearfully. Mithrais withdrew the dagger from his throat, and the man jumped as ropes parted at his wrists and ankles. He leaped up, babbling his thanks, and Telyn watched him flee in the direction opposite the one Aric had gone. He kept looking back nervously as if he expected Mithrais to loose an arrow into his back. Telyn thought bitterly that she might not stop the warden had he decided to do it.
“I will have some explaining to do when Aric returns.” Mithrais stood behind her again. “You showed him more mercy than he deserves.”
“I know.”
“Lady Bard, I must ask you something.” She turned to face him, and his pale eyes were compelling, his expression grave.
“You say you haven’t been at court for some time, when your honor marks declare you bound to the royal household. You’re very young to be traveling alone, although I see you’re quite capable of protecting yourself. But why are you so many leagues from Belthil?” He paused. “And why would it give motive to a hired blade to track you for the better part of a year?”
Telyn hugged herself tightly, despair crushing her spirit. The details of the night that had changed her life forever haunted her dreams more often than she cared to admit, and tonight’s events had brought them far too close. She felt the warden’s eyes upon her as he waited for her to speak, but could not look at him. She chose to answer him honestly.
“You know that true bards can affect the emotions of others with their song magic, as you felt earlier, but my gift is...different. It’s stronger. It’s more unpredictable in its effects. I played for the court at the spring rites last year, for the first time since I came of age. Afterwards, I was alone in the music room putting away my instruments, and I heard someone enter. It was one of the young lords. He was drunk, and he said my song magic had...inflamed him. When I refused him, he struck me and forced himself on me. I fought back, and in the struggle, I wounded him gravely with his own dagger.” She lifted haunted eyes to meet his at last. “I killed him.”
Mithrais stared at her, and Telyn turned away from the horror in his expression, unable to bear it—but it was not for the reason Telyn feared.
“Surely you were not dismissed for defending yourself against a rapist,” he said quietly. “Magic or not, there are offenses which cannot be excused. I can’t imagine the King would have ignored this.”
“The King truly had no other choice than to send me away,” she told him. “The boy’s father is a very powerful lord, and he demanded vengeance. King Amorion forbade it, but he knew I was no longer safe in Belthil. I left that night.”
“Did no one defend you?” Mithrais’ voice held outrage.
Here at last was the crux of the matter that had so wounded her. “Taliesin couldn’t even bring himself to speak to me until I came to say farewell.” Tears finally overflowed to trace slow tracks down her face, and she wiped them away impatiently. “He told me that I had brought about the end of our family’s honor with my carelessness. I didn’t stay to hear more.”
“Your family?” Mithrais asked carefully, and she nodded.
“The Royal Bard is my father.” Telyn saw his eyes widen. “The title would have passed to me in time, but no longer.”
Mithrais joined her at the edge of the circle where firelight and darkness merged. “What will you do now?”
“Go to Rothvori. That hasn’t changed. I refuse to live in fear.” Telyn turned and managed a smile in spite of the chill in her heart. “Thank you, Mithrais. You saved my life tonight. I don’t understand how you knew to come back at just the right moment.”
He paused a moment before answering, “I am only grateful that we were still near enough to aid you.”
A yawn shook her involuntarily, and Telyn swayed. Mithrais steadied her with warm hands on her shoulders. She stiffened a moment, but the panic did not come; there was only a strange comfort in his touch, soothing and somehow familiar.
“Sleep now. You’re exhausted. Aric is conducting a reconnaissance to make certain no others are lurking about. We’ll stay here and keep watch tonight, and in the morning I will escort you to Rothvori.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
His eyes reflected silver in the moonlight. “It’s my duty as Westwarden to see you safely out of the Wood after having been attacked. Until I know that you’re out of danger, my place is at your side.”
A stubborn flare of indignant pride rose inside Telyn, and she moved past him and away from the distraction of his touch. “I told you, I can take care of myself.”
“So I have seen, but your enemy knows your strengths as well. Lady Bard, who is it that sends paid assassins? If the King forbade revenge, he should know of this.”
Telyn shook her head in negation. “I don’t want to think about it tonight.” Another yawn convulsed her. “Good night, Mithrais.”
She heard the resignation in his sigh. “Rest well. We shall be here.”
As she returned to the wagon, a repeat of the disconcerting, visceral drumbeat that Telyn had felt earlier that night abruptly passed over the bard’s skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. The sensation was much stronger than before, and Telyn gasped involuntarily. She half-turned in the direction from which it had come, knowing she would see nothing, but compelled all the same.
“You felt that.” Mithrais’ soft statement held an edge of surprise, and Telyn stared at him. His expression registered no concern, only an intense interest.
“All day long. What is it?” she asked, and the warden sighed as if searching for the right words.
“The pulse of the Wood,” he said finally, a small, enigmatic smile lifting his lips. “It is nothing to fear. You have my word. Good night.”
Telyn looked away as Mithrais began to drag the body of the assassin out of the circle of firelight. She did not really want to know what he was going to do with the corpse, and climbed quickly into the back of the wagon.
She collapsed into the nest of blankets in the load bed and lay there a moment, her mind whirling with chaotic images of blades and blood, and the face of an anguished father kneeling over the body of his son. Telyn jerked physically away from that last mental picture and turned over onto her stomach, where sleep claimed her at last.