Conversations that had been taking place among the wardens ceased as Telyn and Mithrais approached the bier. Feeling the curious stares resting upon her, the bard glanced about uneasily, and several wardens bowed with solemn formality as her eyes met theirs. Telyn returned their acknowledgements out of habit, but her embarrassment grew with each new obeisance, and she wondered what embellishments had been made to Cormac’s story that they would treat her with such gravity.
Mithrais halted several steps from the bier, and Telyn followed his lead as they bowed deeply from the waist in honor of the dead. Only Aric’s face, pale and drawn in death, was visible in the swathes of green cloth.
Mithrais drew nearer to place his hand atop the slight rise beneath the embroidered mantle where Aric’s hands lay folded, and Telyn held back to give the Westwarden a moment of privacy with his fallen friend. She heard Mithrais speak his farewell, but the words were lost in the sound of wind-rustled leaves, birdsong, and the soft approach of footsteps through the grass.
Telyn turned slightly to see Rodril moving toward them. The grizzled warden inclined his head, and Telyn returned the nod. Rodril came to stand with her, watching as Mithrais withdrew the packet containing Aric’s red braid from his jerkin and tucked it carefully within the folds of cloth. When Mithrais turned from the bier, Rodril met him with an outstretched hand, pulling him into a fierce embrace of comradeship and shared sorrow.
“I see your guilt, Mithrais, and it is unnecessary,” Rodril growled quietly. “Not one warden here holds you responsible. There was legitimate reason for you to ensure the bard’s safety before tracking the bounty hunter.”
Halith and Cormac joined them. Halith pressed Telyn’s hand warmly in greeting, and Telyn smiled back, glad to see her. In the aftermath of the battle with The Dragon, it was Halith who had recognized that Telyn’s brave façade was crumbling against a tide of exhaustion, and had talked with her gently until she was calm. The presence of another strong woman, an equal of men like Telyn herself, had been unexpectedly comforting to the bard.
Cormac’s arm was no longer in a sling, but his eyes were red from weeping. Mithrais pulled him into a brief, brotherly hug, and Telyn’s affectionate embrace was reciprocated tightly, Cormac’s eyes freshly wet when they parted.
“How are you, Cormac?” Telyn asked with a nod toward his shoulder.
“It’s fine,” Cormac said, wiping his eyes hastily on his sleeve and shrugging carefully. “It barely pains me at all. The healers say I can return to my post in a few days.”
“Ah, to be young again,” Rodril said dryly, and then stiffened a bit as his gaze moved past Cormac. “I suspect an introduction is imminent,” he warned, his head bobbing discreetly in the direction of four men who stood apart from the rest at the far side of the Circle; Telyn followed the movement of his eyes and studied this small group unobtrusively. The four men were of varying age, wearing short green mantles with clasps that bore the same symbol as the pall that covered Aric. They appeared to be in the midst of an intense discussion, casting furtive glances in the bard’s direction.
Rodril grumbled as the men reached some accord and began to walk toward them, “I shall never retire, for fear of becoming an Elder.”
“We would have better sense than to elect you an Elder,” Halith said lightly.
“I should certainly hope so,” Rodril grumbled, his arm encompassing his lifemate.
“They wanted to meet Telyn prior to this, but we left the guild house before they arrived,” Mithrais allowed, his voice neutral.
“Yes, and I wonder what you’ve been telling them, Cormac,” Telyn said with a good-natured scowl at the young warden. “All this bowing is making me uneasy.”
“I didn’t tell them anything but the truth,” Cormac protested, coloring, and Halith came to his defense.
“Among the Tauron, gossip is devastatingly accurate, despite any slight exaggerations that may have been made. It’s one of the benefits and curses of being a community of heartspeakers,” she told Telyn. “That the Gwaith’orn defended you has become a well-known fact. That alone has convinced many of the Tauron that you’re worthy of deference.”
Telyn sighed and gave in gracefully, turning to face the oncoming group. Mithrais held out his hand to Telyn with an encouraging smile, and she allowed him to draw her forward to meet the governing body of the Tauron. Telyn returned their interested regard calmly and with courtesy as Mithrais introduced her.
“Respected Elders, this is Telyn Songmaker, a true bard, whom the Gwaith’orn have called ‘seed-voice’.”
Telyn began to bow as was appropriate in courtly introductions, but the small, lithe man at the fore of the group held up his hands in a gesture of protest, and bowed deeply to Telyn instead.
“Lady Bard, it is we who are honored by your presence,” he said. “I am Declan, Elder Watchwarden. She who is heralded by the Gwaith’orn is welcome here in the Circle.”
Two of the other men followed Declan’s lead immediately; the last hesitated only slightly before also offering his obeisance. The greeting caused yet another stir among the rest of the wardens, and Telyn’s brow creased in anxiety.
She said in a low voice, “I appreciate your welcome, but I have done nothing to merit this kind of reception, respected Elders.”
“On the contrary: Your mere presence has roused the Gwaith’orn to a state of consciousness that has not been seen in recent memory. That in itself is remarkable.” The new speaker was hawk-nosed Silde with bright, glittering eyes, his body seeming to quiver with nervous energy. “I am Semias, Elder Heartspeaker. This is Conlad, who is the Tauron’s Elder Historian.”
The ancient, frail-looking man smiled at her warmly. “I shall have a great deal to record in the coming days, Lady Bard, or so I hope.” His voice was unwavering and strong, despite the fact he leaned on a thick staff. “Please don’t be disconcerted by our regard. We have waited long for an answer to this mysterious plague of silence. You may well be the one to wake the Gwaith’orn—can you blame us for being hopefully optimistic?”
Telyn had to laugh softly as Conlad beamed at her. “I suppose not, but I do not wish to distract anyone from the rites at hand. What might happen before the solstice is irrelevant. Tonight, I am only a bard. I wish to offer the gift of a lament in Aric’s memory, if it may be permitted.”
“I think that would have pleased him.” The youngest of the Elders, who had hesitated before offering his greeting to Telyn, drew back his hood and regarded her somewhat resentfully. Although streaked with grey at the temples, the familiar hue of the flame-colored hair was still recognizable in the softening light of early evening.
“I am Jona, Elder Martial. Aric was my nephew, Lady Bard.”
Taken aback by the Elder’s almost hostile, accusatory introduction, Telyn put her fingertips to her heart and bowed from the waist. “My sincerest condolences, Elder Martial. I wish that...” She faltered, and met Jona’s eyes steadily, accepting the blame she saw there and speaking honestly. “I have no words to express my deep sadness that Aric’s life was lost in my defense. I shall have to let my music speak for me.”
“I thank you.” His eyes flickered to Mithrais, and then to the bier. “If you will excuse me, I wish to say a last farewell to Aric before the rites begin.” Declan made soothing motions with his hands.
“Yes, of course. I am sorry. The introductions could have waited. We will accompany you, Jona.” Declan nodded contritely, and the four green-mantled men walked as a unit to the bier.
Mithrais watched their passage with a bleak expression, then turned back to his wardens, who had arranged themselves behind Mithrais in a show of unity.
“Jona would like to see you stripped of your commission,” Rodril remarked. Mithrais nodded grimly.
“Do you really think they will?” Cormac asked, looking anxiously from Rodril to Mithrais.
“Not if I have my say,” the grizzled warden stated. “You are a born leader and a skilled warden. I trained you. I should know. Jona’s grief will not allow him to see it, but you made the right decision.”
“I can’t help but think there is doubt in more than one Elder’s mind about that,” Mithrais replied in a low voice.
“So long as it isn’t foremost in yours. Your own confidence in your actions speaks louder than our testimony,” Halith reminded him. “If necessary, we’ll be ready to defend you, Mithrais.”
“All of us,” Cormac declared, and Mithrais could not help but grin at the young Silde.
“Thank you. I couldn’t ask for better wardens—or better friends,” he told them earnestly. His gaze turned to the bier once more, and he rested a hand on Cormac’s good shoulder. “Last night, the Elders told me that they’ve given the four of us the honor of lighting the pyre that will speed Aric on his next journey.” His voice shook with emotion. “It’s our right as his closest comrades in arms, and will serve as our farewell to him.”
Cormac dissolved into tears, and Telyn saw the first signs of grief from the serene Halith as she turned into the curve of her lifemate’s arm, her lip trembling. Rodril gathered her in, his other arm drawing Mithrais and Cormac into a tight knot of fellowship. Telyn felt the prickle of tears gather helplessly in her own eyes as she witnessed this tableau of friends mourning their diminished number.
After a moment, Mithrais’ hand reached for Telyn’s from the midst of the group, and pulled her in. He told her softly, his arm tightening around her, “As the flames take hold, it would be a fitting time to offer your lament.”
* * * *
Save for a bare half-dozen wardens who had volunteered to keep their posts on the main road, the last of the Tauron arrived as the sun slipped below the horizon, the darkening sky clear and beginning to show the first stars of evening. The west was still alight with a fiery orange glow as the Order assembled to observe the rites of mourning.
The bier was stacked round with wood and kindling, Aric’s body wrapped in its green shroud so that his face was now hidden from view. The pall had been folded away and removed; the circle within a circle it had portrayed was now repeated by the Tauron wardens who stood shoulder to shoulder inside the ring of trees. The compass points were marked by the four Elders, each bearing a torch, and the four remaining wardens of the West.
Outside the circle of wardens, Telyn sat quietly with her pipes upon one of the upturned casks that would later provide drink for the nightlong vigil, watching and listening until the time for the lament was at hand. She was within arm’s reach of the easternmost Gwaith’orn, with its strangely sinuous roots which curved back against themselves and whose branches had provided her shelter during the assault on The Dragon. She had been careful not to touch the tree with her hands and the tree folk did not seek her attention, as if understanding the gravity of the rites that were about to take place.
Declan was the first to speak, his voice ringing through the clearing:
“We come to the Circle to honor the fallen, and to celebrate a life well-lived in the service of the Wood. It was here that Aric of Cassath swore his fealty to the Lord of Cerisild, and dedicated his life to the service of the Gwaith’orn. He departed from this Circle a Tauron warden, and now returns to the Circle, having fulfilled his vows of service in the highest degree.”
Declan turned and handed his torch to Halith, who took the Elder Watchwarden’s place at the easternmost point. “Who are we?”
“We are the servants of the Wood: the Tauron Order, embodiment of the covenant between Silde and Gwaith’orn.” Halith spoke clearly and proudly.
The frail, white haired Conlad spoke next, his sonorous voice belying the fragile-seeming exterior.
“What are our vows?” he intoned, handing his torch to Rodril, who took his place at the southern point.
“To live and die in the service of the Lord of Cerisild, to defend the Wood and our people, and to remain worthy of our gifts,” the tall warden replied.
“What is promised by the covenant?” Semias, his hawk-nosed visage somber, gave his torch to Mithrais, who took his place in the west.
“That which would have been lost will be held in safety by the Gwaith’orn, in return for our service and protection,” Mithrais answered.
Jona faced Cormac at the northernmost point, but did not relinquish his torch to the initiate immediately. “What is the duration of that covenant?”
“Unending and unbroken, until we are released from our vows by the Gwaith’orn...or by our deaths,” Cormac responded, his voice quavering slightly.
“Let this death serve as a reminder that our vows are not idly spoken, and that even in times of peace, violence can seek us out. Those who require our protection within the borders of the Wood will receive it, though our lives may be forfeit in their defense.” Jona’s eyes sought Telyn at the outside of the Circle, and she saw pride mingled there with his bitterness. The Elder Martial passed the torch to Cormac and took his own place behind the young warden.
The Elders raised their arms in blessing. The four wardens mirrored the movement with their torches, which blazed skyward, and Declan spoke, his voice thick with emotion.
“Aric of Cassath, the Order releases you from your vows.”
At a nod from Mithrais the four wardens stepped forward, and with simultaneous movements thrust their torches into the pyre. The fire leapt as they stepped back in unison, the dry wood catching quickly, and above the crackle and roar of flame came the sound of Telyn’s pipes.
The bard let the first notes drift upwards upon the smoke in the cool and windless night. She began with no enhancement from her gifts, allowing the music alone to call those who grieved to a common place of sorrow. Whether they would allow her influences to guide them through the lament was their own choice; all were trained heartspeakers, and their shields would prevent them from being affected unless they wished to be. The call was repeated; Telyn felt the warmth of her song magic rising within her breast.
She had kept herself tightly shielded here in the Wood, but in order for her gift to insinuate itself among the listeners, Telyn would have to reverse the disciplines that had become her defense. She sensed no attempt from the tree folk to breach her mind, and permitted herself to relax. Telyn willed the rigid wall she had built around herself to dissolve, and released the song magic to drift outwards to the assembled wardens.
With her growing sensitivity to other heartspeakers, the bard was aware that many of the wardens had rendered their shields accessible to her song magic. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the atmosphere her gifts were weaving as her nimble fingers moved on the chanter.
The music spoke of remembrance and duty, crafting a subtle invitation to bring their personal memories of Aric to the surface of their thoughts. Each passage of music fondly evoked comradeship and shared experience, until rising sharply with the poignant knowledge that in this life, comradeship had ended, and all that remained was memory.
The pipes spiraled upwards into the painful loss of a friend, the keening sorrow that death had come unexpectedly and far too soon. Telyn allowed it to carry the weight of grief to a peak, and to release it upwards with a bittersweet reminder that while the life journey of Aric of Cassath was over, yet another journey was beginning for him. There truly were no endings as long as his memory remained.
The music returned to the low drift of notes with which the lament had begun, and Telyn began to call her song magic back, withdrawing her influences and letting the music speak once more for itself. She intended to release the listeners to their own thoughts and emotions, wherever they led, and into silence, but in that hushed stillness, Telyn suddenly became aware that a deep, visceral tremor of vibration was beginning below her feet.
It quickly grew apparent to those who stood within the Circle, startled faces turning to each other as the pulsation intensified. Telyn barely had time to register that it was coming from the Gwaith’orn, when unbidden, her song magic flared violently in response to the power growing in the Circle, stronger than anything she had experienced before. It rendered Telyn breathless with its magnitude and flowed outwards into the circle of Tauron wardens, touching them all gently with a stroke of magic in the same way she might have sought to gather a group of musicians under her influence.
We release Aric from our service.
The words seemed to come from the earth itself, formless and echoing within her mind. Telyn stumbled to her feet in disbelief as the resonance rumbled through the clearing and out into the Wood, carrying that trace of her magic with it.
Across the Circle, Mithrais turned a tear-streaked face to Telyn, his expression one of wonder and shock. All about the ring of wardens, faces were lifted in amazement, staring first at the forest giants, and then at the bard. It was clear that all of them had heard the Gwaith’orn speak.
Telyn stood beneath the tree, her breathing quick and ragged, and feeling the weight of all their stares. She glanced up into the branches above her, her mind racing with the implications of what had just occurred. For a brief moment, it seemed that the part of her gift the Gwaith’orn had called ‘shaping words’ had been shared with the entire Tauron Order.