Mithrais walked several paces away from the Gwaith’orn, struggling to regain his composure before Cormac arrived.
Although their oaths promised to give their lives in service to the Gwaith’orn and the Lord of Cerisild, the Tauron had lost no wardens in nearly a hundred years, not since the end of the Great Wars-–until this night. That it had happened under his command filled Mithrais with despair and no small amount of guilt. Aric had been Mithrais’ best friend for many years, and a brave comrade in arms.
The whistled signal that indicated Cormac’s approach echoed through the uneasy silence, and Mithrais raised his voice in a quiet acknowledgement.
“Cormac, I’m here in the grove. Come quickly.”
Cormac appeared out of the darkness. His young face was pale beneath the shadowed hood of his cloak.
“Westwarden!” Cormac hailed him as he closed the distance between them, his voice holding an edge of fear. “Something’s wrong. The tree folk are very unsettled—do you feel it?”
“I do. I fear that I already know the cause.”
“What happened?” Cormac asked anxiously, his face falling as he saw Mithrais’ stricken expression.
“Aric is dead.”
Cormac went even whiter with shock. “How?”
“I can only guess that The Dragon must have become aware of his presence.” Mithrais pushed the emerging memory of the scene he and Aric had stumbled upon from his mind, not wishing to imagine Aric in the victim’s place. “Cormac, did Aric explain what his orders were? Do you know what he was planning in regard to The Dragon?”
“No. At least, he said nothing within my hearing regarding his orders. He told me that I was to join you here immediately.” Cormac’s manner told Mithrais that he had been offended and slightly hurt by the dismissal. “Rodril wanted me to stay with them, but Aric said that I was needed to help guard The Dragon’s quarry. All I know is that Aric intended to lead him away, and into a trap.”
Mithrais nodded, tight-lipped. Aric had chosen to deploy his own plan to take down the bounty hunter too early. Perhaps there had been reason, but whatever the circumstances, it had proven to be a fatal error.
Mithrais quickly calculated the distance between the springs and The Dragon’s position. “He could be here in six, possibly even five hours, if he has reestablished our path.”
“We should wait for him to come out of the rift, and take him,” Cormac said fiercely, stalking back toward the ravine and staring at it as if he could already see the approach of the bounty hunter. His voice shook, thick with the edge of tears and anger. “He’ll regret coming back to the Wood!”
“That is not our task, Cormac,” Mithrais stated firmly, causing the younger warden to halt in his tracks and face him. “We’re charged with the shielding of his quarry. We will rely on Halith and Rodril to do what must be done.”
Mithrais looked at the younger warden expectantly, until Cormac straightened slowly and returned to the grove, his anger more subdued.
“Rodril said that this bounty hunter takes trophies from those he hunts,” he said in a low voice.
“That is the least of his evils. He tortures them before he allows them to die.”
Cormac stared at him with horror in his eyes, but Mithrais could offer him no reassurance, the knowledge indelibly imprinted on his own memories.
“Who is it that he hunts?” Cormac asked finally. “Aric said it was a woman—a bard.”
“Her name is Telyn. She’s near exhaustion, and I had hoped to allow her to rest for a full night at the outpost. I fear that I will have to wake her all too soon.”
“Why would such a vile creature be pursuing a defenseless musician?” Cormac inquired, and Mithrais managed a quick grin in spite of the circumstances.
“She’s hardly defenseless. You will find Telyn quite capable. It’s the only reason she acquired a bounty against her, but one large enough to have attracted at least two assassins.” He paused, considering how much he should tell Cormac. “I have discovered that she has the gift of heartspeaking, among her other considerable talents.”
Cormac lowered the hood of his cloak and went to the stream. “You know the tree folk have been trying to talk to her all day,” the young warden remarked offhandedly as he knelt to drink water from his cupped hands.
“To the point of her discomfort. Her shields aren’t yet strong enough to completely deflect the more powerful summons,” Mithrais acknowledged, unsurprised that Cormac had known the Gwaith’orn’s intent. Highly sensitive to the Wood, and something of a prodigy, Cormac had been introduced to the Gwaith’orn while still a child. He shared an ease of understanding with the Gwaith’orn that the other Tauron wardens envied, an unusually high level of communication with the tree folk that no one else possessed. Although he was barely fifteen, Cormac was proving to be a quick study in all areas of Tauron wardenship.
“Have they told you why they’re so interested in her?” he asked the younger man.
Cormac shook his head as he rose. “I haven’t had time to speak with them at length. Rodril was worried that we would miss the rendezvous and that Aric would try to take on the bounty hunter alone...” Cormac’s voice faltered. “I can’t believe that he’s dead.”
“Neither can I.” Mithrais passed a hand over his eyes with a heavy sigh, his own weariness beginning to take its toll. “We will celebrate Aric’s life when our duties are fulfilled.”
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.
“It wasn’t just a dream,” she breathed.
“No, it wasn’t.” Mithrais’ voice was odd, and his expression carefully neutral. “I’ll explain later. We must go immediately, if you are able.”
“What has happened?” Telyn asked bleakly.
“The diversion failed,” Mithrais told her. She could hear the pain in his voice then, and she knew that there was something he did not wish to tell her. Beside him, the young warden—Cormac, she remembered, was his name—looked away, his face crumpling. A cold shiver washed through her, and Telyn knew without doubt that something dreadful had occurred.
She rose to her feet with Mithrais’ assistance. She saw that Cormac had brought her sword and the bag of provisions from the outpost, and she thanked him as he handed them to her. At a nod from Mithrais, Cormac dashed away, taking point as Telyn quickly looped the leather strap of the scabbard over her head and beneath her arm, positioning the hilt of the sword over her right shoulder, and slung the pouch over the opposite shoulder and hip.
“Are you truly all right?” Mithrais asked. Once again, he settled her cloak over her shoulders and beneath the scabbard, his hands resting briefly on her upper arms. Telyn squeezed one of his hands with her own in reassurance.
“I’m well enough.” She could see the weight of worry and sorrow in his eyes, even by moonlight. “Please tell me what’s happened. I’m certain I know why we must go now, but there is something else, something terrible, isn’t there?”
Mithrais nodded, his throat working. “Aric was killed.”
Telyn closed her eyes against the revelation, sharp guilt and fear knotting in her chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her arms going around him in instinctive comfort. Mithrais returned her embrace fiercely.
“I was beginning to fear I had lost you as well,” he whispered. “You were deeply entranced for some time and the Gwaith’orn wouldn’t allow me in. You collapsed suddenly and I couldn’t wake you. I had to enter your mind and bring you back to consciousness.”
“You were in my dream...” Telyn pushed away from him suddenly, remembering. “Mithrais, they called me seed-voice, and showed me something important. I think I know what they want from me, but I don’t know if I can do it.”
Mithrais took her hand and began to draw her away from the grove, following in the direction Cormac had gone.
“If anyone can find a way, it will be you, Telyn. The Gwaith’orn make few mistakes. Tell me as we go.”