The great hall was teeming with denizens of the animal kingdom. Guests were costumed as creatures both common and fantastic, in pairs and alone. Telyn couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement, wondering what had possessed Riordan to choose this particular theme.
The wooden rafters holding up the cavernous roof were draped in banners and buntings, resembling nothing more than the canopy of fantastically colored trees. Narrow windows at the top of the walls let in fresh air and dispersed the torch smoke. As she and Mithrais made their way toward the entrance, Telyn saw that Riordan had beaten them downstairs after all, despite his previous record of never arriving before the third fanfare of trumpets.
The Lord of Rothvori was fittingly dressed as a bear, an enormous furry headdress and mantle making him seem even larger than he was. Riordan was greeting the line of guests at the door of the great hall, the seneschal behind him surreptitiously checking off a list of invitees. Riordan’s female companion, who stood beside him as he greeted the guests, was a sweet-faced woman of indeterminate age whom Telyn had not seen before. Her hood was also in the likeness of a bear, although more delicate and in reddish-brown shades that matched her hair.
Riordan caught Telyn’s eye and signaled to her that she and Mithrais were to hold back and enter with him in procession. Telyn acknowledged that she understood. She needed no explanation for Riordan’s change of habit, and admitted that although she thought he might be overly cautious, it was a prudent move to greet his guests personally. One more uninvited guest in a room full of masked people might not even be noticed. The thought triggered a realization, and Telyn cursed under her breath, remembering that the dagger still lay on the bed in her chamber.
Mithrais heard her muttered oath. “What is it?”
“I’m unarmed,” she whispered back.
“I will not leave your side. And look.” Mithrais indicated the raised platform at the end of the hall with a nod of his head, and Telyn saw that there was a liveried servant at each end of the dais. “Lord Riordan has taken precautions. I would wager that those men are from the garrison and not his usual household staff.”
Telyn had to agree, as the men were more muscular than the average servitor, wearing tabards emblazoned with Riordan’s device which barely covered their chests, and were obviously meant for much smaller individuals. The line of people dwindled quickly, until at last Telyn and Mithrais were the only ones remaining. Riordan beamed at Telyn with a mischievous wink, sending Rand and the lady just inside the door to await him.
“I fear that I had already planned my little jest before the messenger arrived,” Riordan said apologetically to Telyn and Mithrais. “Under the circumstances, I would not expect you to perform the rites in the fields. I can lead them myself.”
“Nonsense. I see that you have matters well in hand, and believe I will be perfectly safe.” Telyn patted his furry mantle playfully. “We did not have a chance to discuss what you want me to accomplish tonight with my music.”
“Ah, yes. My guests will want to hear the gossip from all Three Realms, I’m sure, but I have no need of specific persuasions this year.” Riordan blew a kiss to the waiting lady, who smiled back at him fondly. “I simply wish for my guests to enjoy themselves, and that includes you and your Green Man.”
Telyn raised an eyebrow. “My goodness, Uncle Rio. Is all this restraint on my account?”
“Not at all.” Riordan smiled, his eyes still on the lady in the doorway. “I have discovered that I am getting old—and lonely, despite my attempts to live the life of a much younger man. I have found a companion in whom I am very content. Ciara is a widowed lady, and much like me. Neither of us will marry again, but because of our strong affection for each other, Ciara has agreed to become my consort, and live with me in Rothvori.”
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me this in your letter!” Telyn threw her arms around Riordan delightedly and laughed with genuine pleasure. “I am very happy for you, and she is a fortunate woman, indeed. I know what songs to offer, then. There is nothing more worthy of celebrating at the spring rites than love.”
Riordan winked at her with a satisfied nod. “I could not agree more. Very well, then. Let us begin!”
Riordan signaled to Rand, who in turn alerted the musicians in the hall to strike up a fanfare. The assembled guests stood for Riordan’s entrance, Mithrais and Telyn following close behind him. They climbed the steps to the dais and stood behind their seats to Riordan’s right, while Lady Ciara took the place to her lord’s left.
The musicians abruptly ended the entrance music as Riordan raised his cup, offering an invocation in the sudden silence. “Blessed be the mother of us all, who grows fertile with the bounty of the vine and field.”
“Blessed be!” The call rang back from the hundred voices gathered in the hall, and all lifted their cups and drank in salute.
“Welcome, my friends, to my hall!” Riordan shouted, raising his arms. A rousing cheer followed his words, and as it died, Riordan continued speaking. “I have many reasons to celebrate this spring, not the least of which is the fact that I have lived through yet another ghastly winter. Like the bear whose guise I wear tonight, I slept through most of it in a cozy den, with the she-bear of my choice.”
Bawdy comments and more cheers followed, and Telyn noted with amusement that Lady Ciara seemed as prone to blushing as Telyn herself. Riordan raised his hand, stilling the noisy crowd.
“I wish to take the opportunity on this night, when all creatures heed the call of the wild and choose a mate, to announce that Lady Ciara of Thasbrae has agreed to become the consort of this grizzled old bear. Tonight, she presides over the feast with me for the first time as mistress of my hall.”
Lady Ciara curtsied deeply to him, and he raised her up to more cheers. Riordan bowed to his lady and kissed her hand, the expression on his face so tender that Telyn felt tears of happiness spring to her eyes. She wished them nothing but joy of each other.
Riordan spoke again. “Another reason to celebrate is the esteemed presence of Telyn Songmaker, a true bard. Many of you may remember her as Emrys Harpmaster’s little shadow! As you can see, she is no longer in anyone’s shadow, and will lead the rites this evening.”
Telyn acknowledged the cheers with a smile and placed her hand over her heart, inclining her head. “The honor is mine, Lord Riordan. It is always a pleasure to return to Rothvori and to the old bear, himself.” Laughter and applause followed her affectionate words.
“My final guest of honor was an unexpected surprise, but is no less welcome,” Riordan finished. “Who better to take the role of the Green Man, but a lord of the Wood? Mithrais is the son of my old friend, Gwidion, Lord Cerisild.”
There were more cheers at Gwidion’s name, which Telyn could see pleased Mithrais a great deal. It was apparent that many present remembered those long-ago days of ‘diplomacy’. The throng was in such high spirits that a grinning Riordan beckoned the servitors to bring out the meal rather than attempt to speak again.
Enormous quantities of food appeared: roasted meats and root vegetables, meat pies, cheeses, breads and the finest wines of Riordan’s cellar. Telyn’s cup again held nectar, and her instruments were arranged on the dais before the head table, awaiting her leisure or the lord’s command. She knew the latter wasn’t likely to happen until the sweets and savories were being passed around at the end of the meal.
The feast was a time for conversation and the renewing of old friendships, and the costumes of some of the guests were the subject of good-natured ribbing. One unfortunate man had discovered that his choice of costume invited sport, as there were no small number of items tossed at him in effort to impale them on the golden horn of his unicorn mask.
“Lady Bard, I am eager to hear you play this evening,” Ciara said, peering around the great, furry bulk of Riordan. Her voice was low and gentle, with a hint of a southland burr, and her smile genuine. Her eyes were blue and merry behind her golden-brown mask. “I have heard a great deal about you from Rio.”
Telyn smiled back at her. “I also am looking forward to getting to know the lady who has captured Lord Riordan’s affections.”
“Ah, captured me indeed,” Riordan said, grinning, gesturing emphatically with a leg of roasted chicken. “She is as cunning as a vixen and sharper than any blade. We met at King Taran’s autumn court two years ago, and I persuaded her to visit me for the winter solstice this year. She never left. I was powerless against her once she set her mind to have my vineyards.”
“Rio!” Ciara scolded, and Telyn laughed delightedly at Riordan’s mock cowering.
“You are a prize beyond measure, my lord. I am sure that your vineyards had little to do with it,” Telyn reassured him. Riordan patted her hand fondly, and turned his attentions to Mithrais.
“Mithrais-–tell me truly how Gwidion is. I had heard of his unfortunate injury, but little additional news has reached me here. How did it happen?”
Behind his mask, Mithrais’ expression was neutral, and his words carefully chosen. “He is as well as can be expected, my lord. Frustrated, to be sure. My father was injured in a fall while hunting, and it is very difficult for him to move his legs without assistance. He can no longer walk or ride. He has given my mother and brother limited power of regency. Gilmarion oversees everything that happens outside the manor, and he and my mother preside over public functions. However, Gwidion is still Lord of Cerisild, and all decisions and decrees regarding the Wood are his own.”
“Forgive my interruption, Lord Mithrais, but I understand your mother is Princess Marithiel. Does this mean we have an heir to the Sildan throne in our midst?” Lady Ciara asked.
“Only very distantly,” Mithrais admitted. “My mother has two older sisters, with seven children between them. Gilmarion and I are quite safe from the responsibility of the throne, and I can honestly say that my cousins are welcome to it. My father had no sisters, so Gilmarion and I are his heirs.”
“I have never understood the Sildan reckoning of descent,” Ciara said with a slight frown. “Why do they inherit through the female line instead of the male?”
Riordan cleared his throat, taking a great swig from his cup, and Telyn took up the explanation at a glance from Mithrais, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “To put it bluntly, Lady Ciara, one can never be sure of the father of any child. The mother, however, is always evident.”
Lady Ciara did not look as embarrassed as the men, but merely nodded at Telyn in agreement. “Quite sensible. It would have precluded the current troubles in my homeland, certainly. Have you heard whether Queen Boudicea has accepted any one of her suitors?”
“No, but rumors abound.” Telyn raised an eyebrow as she sipped from her cup. “I will share all I have heard after the meal, but I will tell you this: King Taran has recently proposed that Boudicea wed his youngest son as her Prince Consort.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be a neatly wrapped package for Taran?” Riordan said dryly. “Our King doesn’t really believe that Boudicea is that shortsighted, does he? After all, Prince Ioain has never professed to be interested in women in general.”
“That may suit Boudicea perfectly well. The fact is that Prince Ioain is a brilliant statesman, and they have become great friends. She is making a great show of considering the match to bait her other suitors.” Telyn frowned. “There was even talk of a Sildan suitor. No one seems to know who it is—it’s all shrouded in some great mystery. In the meantime, Boudicea’s son is now two years old, heir to her throne, and she still won’t name the father. I would not be surprised to see her unwed and dangling prospective husbands many years from now.”
“How do you bards find out all these things?” Ciara said, bemused. Telyn grinned at her.
“We tend to share information among ourselves whenever we meet—just as I will share the happy news of you and Lord Riordan with any bards I encounter after tonight. Among those with the gift, music can also be...influential, when it comes to procuring information from reluctant sources.”
“Can bards force the truth from people with song?” Ciara asked interestedly. Telyn shook her head quickly, regretting that she had mentioned this aspect.
“Most bards are unable to provoke something so dramatic.” Telyn continued hurriedly before the shrewd lady could ask a more pointed question, “Our music can invite people to relax and become less guarded, much like the products of Lord Riordan’s vineyards and barley fields.” Telyn smiled at Riordan, who acknowledged her words with a salute of his monstrous wine cup. He leaned toward her to show her the inside of the cup, which to the bard’s surprise also held nectar and not wine.
“Less guarded is not something I wish to be this evening,” he whispered conspiratorially to Telyn, who smiled at him gratefully before Riordan’s attention was drawn to another guest wishing to speak with him.
The caution of both men at the head table was making Telyn feel slightly more on edge than she wished to be. On her left, Mithrais’ sharp eyes were constantly scanning the guests, and he had eaten very little. Telyn reached over and touched his hand with hers, and he looked at her with a gentle smile, returning the pressure with his fingers.
“Do you expect an assault on the feast?” Telyn kept her tone light, but her eyes were serious. Mithrais smiled at her distractedly.
“I’m sorry, Telyn. I’m uneasy here in the open. I wish we were back in the Wood.”
“When will we leave?”
“Before first light.” Mithrais hesitated. “You know that we’ll have to travel on foot through the Wood, off the roads.”
Telyn took a deep breath, and then nodded. “I had begun to suspect that. I will be sorry to leave Bessa.”
“Riordan will see that she’s well cared for.” The edge of Mithrais’ mouth quirked up in a half-grin. “We can rely on the Gwaith’orn in the absence of Bessa’s vigilant watch.”
“The Gwaith’orn?” Telyn grinned, remembering the legends. “The tree folk who cry aloud warnings in the Wood?” She squeezed his hand playfully where it still lay in hers, but he did not return the gesture. “I would like to learn more about heartspeaking as we travel, and how you communicate with the Tauron over a distance. Perhaps you can start to teach me what I need to know.”
“I believe you’ll be surprised at how much you already know,” Mithrais said, but did not elaborate. “We’ll stop each night at a Tauron outpost so that you may rest. It would be an ideal time to begin your training.”
The servitors were moving among the crowd now with trays of dainties, and the copiously wined guests were growing more boisterous. A rhythmic pounding on the table nearest the dais was picked up by others until there was a din of thumping and of voices shouting, “The news! The news!”
Telyn smiled, rising from her seat at a nod from Riordan. She moved around to the front of the dais and lifted her small harp to a chorus of approving shouts. Seating herself on the steps, Telyn set the harp in her lap and leaned it against her shoulder, sending a ripple of song into the air, testing both the tune of the strings and warming her fingers to the task. She offered no magic in the music but the sheer joy of melody, and sang a traditional greeting to the guests, her voice strong and pure in tone.
Gentle folk, a bard am I
Come to bring you simple cheer
The road I tread is cold and hard
Content am I to linger here!
Harken now, for news I bring
And tunes to pass the night along
A lowly harper begs your leave
To spin my tales, and sing my song.
The harp seemed to become part of Telyn, and her fingers were a flurry of light on the strings, plucking out a lively tune that had the guests pounding on the tables in rhythm again. The tune finished, and when the shouts and clapping ceased, Telyn spoke.
“I bring you news, first from the court of your good King Taran, King of the Western Shores!”
“Hail Taran!” Riordan bellowed dutifully, raising his cup, and shouted affirmations and clanking flagons followed.
“King Taran has decreed that one-third of this year’s tributes will be used to repair the mountain roads between his capital city and the South Kingdom.” Telyn held up a hand against the shouted questions and continued, “It seems that much travel is planned between the two capitals. Not only will the trade of wine and ale increase—which should please our good Lord Riordan—but Prince Ioain, at the request of his sire, is seeking the hand of Queen Boudicea.”
Both loyal cheers and some less than polite comments about the Prince’s habits followed. Telyn allowed the clamor to die down, and then continued, “As unlikely as this match might seem, Queen Boudicea herself has said that the idea has its merits. With Ioain as her Prince Consort, not King, she would not have to share her throne. Any sons they might have would be heir not only to her realm, but conceivably, to the West Kingdom as well, unless Crown Prince Aengus produces a male heir soon. There was one other consideration that Boudicea was said to favor.”
“What was that?” Lady Ciara wanted to know.
“The Queen said that if she accepts his proposal, it would be better for her treasury, as she and Ioain could share the same wardrobe.”
Guffaws of laughter followed, and Telyn launched into another skirl of music. When it spiraled down to near silence, she continued with the saga of Boudicea’s suitors.
“The Queen now has at least four suitors with hopes of winning her hand. Besides Prince Ioain, she has entertained ambassadors from two Kings over the sea, neither of which she is said to favor for obvious reasons. The Three Realms have done well enough without interference from any mainland kingdom—we’ve been at peace with one another for nearly one hundred years, and they are still at war over petty land disputes. Why upset the balance now, Boudicea says?”
“A wise woman,” Riordan allowed. “They grow them well in the Southland, don’t they, my dear?” He kissed Ciara soundly to the great delight of his guests.
“That’s only three,” someone at the table nearest the dais called out. “You said there were four?”
“Yes. Apparently, there is a suitor from the Sildan kingdom. King Amorion denies any knowledge of this, and none of his lords are confessing to seeking her hand. It’s quite the talk in Belthil, they say.” Telyn could not keep the slight hesitation from her voice as she said this, knowing that it would lead to her having to talk about the Sildan court. “The rumored alliance seems to have stirred up some of the old arguments regarding the trade city in both courts, and an ambassador from Belthil has been dispatched to the Queen’s court.”
She started to play another song, but someone in the crowd forced her hand, and it was the question that she dreaded most.
“Is it true that there was a murder in the Sildan court last year?” a calm, male voice called from the end of the room furthest from the dais. Telyn felt herself grow cold, her fingers stilling on the harp strings, and forced her voice to remain neutral.
“There was an unfortunate incident involving the son of Vuldur, Lord of the East. He was killed, but it was not murder. Lord Vuldur seems to have gone mad with grief and views it as such.”
“That is understandable,” the voice continued mildly. “After all, it was his only son. Isn’t that right?”
Telyn could not see who was asking the questions, and indeed, the voice now seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. She took a deep breath and answered, “Yes, it was his only son.”
Mercifully, the voice did not come again, and Telyn let her fingers move on the strings of her harp in the beginnings of the interrupted song, forcing herself to calm and concentrate on her music. Her heart was racing. It was entirely possible that the question was an innocent product of rumors filtering west of the Sildan capital, but even Riordan hadn’t heard anything about the incident until this afternoon. She played the song with single-minded focus, rigidly employing her disciplines until her breathing was normal and her heart slowed. It seemed that none of the guests had noticed her discomfiture and were smiling with pleasure at the music. It was just a rumor repeated, she told herself. It had to be that.
“I promised Lord Riordan a love song for his lady,” Telyn said, disciplining her voice to carry nothing but cheer. She glanced at the head table. Riordan smiled at her encouragingly with a reassuring nod, and Lady Ciara beamed at her. Mithrais, although he appeared relaxed, looked ready to fly to her side at an instant’s notice.
She closed her eyes and began to play one of the oldest Sildan love songs she knew, letting the haunting and beautiful music carry her song magic to the audience, enhancing an atmosphere of romantic anticipation. She had just taken a breath in preparation to sing the first verse when the sting of pain, a jangling discord of strings and the crunch of wood startled her eyes open.
Telyn looked down and saw the feathered end of a small crossbow bolt. The point was buried in the shattered soundboard of her harp, directly over her heart. A warm trickle of blood welled from a shallow cut on the back of her hand where the bolt had grazed.
Several women screamed and, in the sudden confusion, Telyn sat frozen with the harp in her lap. Mithrais was suddenly there, appearing out of thin air to pull her to the floor and shield her with his own body, while Riordan protected Ciara, bellowing orders to his guards to find the person who had fired the bolt.
Ciara was pointing toward the rafters. Telyn clawed her mask off and tried to look up, but between Mithrais crouching over her and the guests running to and fro she could see only the floor, Mithrais’ discarded mask, and the shattered remains of her harp on the stones beside her. The dark iron crossbow bolt stood out in stark relief against the pale wood.
“This way!” Riordan beckoned Mithrais, who lifted Telyn up to her feet, still shielding her from the unseen marksman, and hurried to where Riordan was pointing. Behind the tapestry on the dais was a hidden hallway, and Riordan and Ciara followed them in. “It leads to my library. Go!”