Chapter Eight

 

Diarmid smoothly corrected seating arrangements, so the guests of honor were now seated near Gwidion. Upon the dais, the Lord of Cerisild presided over the table with Marithiel and Lord Vuldur on his left, and Prince Keir on his right.

Below the dais, Gilmarion played host to Searlas and the small number of attendants who accompanied the delegation. Mithrais and Telyn were seated with Emrys at the opposite end of the table. All the courses passed without incident although she could barely remember any of the meal. Her eyes drawn to the dais time and again, she wondered what Vuldur and Marithiel talked about. She could not help but think that at any moment, Marithiel would cast those ice-blue eyes upon her and order the guards to arrest her. The anticipation of an accusation from Lord Vuldur, and the knowledge she might have to perform, destroyed any appetite she might have had.

Emrys, whose appetite remained unaffected, solved the dilemma. He rose from his chair while the dainties were being served and made his way to stand before the dais. He bowed low.

“My lord and lady.” His sonorous baritone voice echoed from the walls. “I am aware you have a bard in residence of singular talent, who planned to entertain. I could not allow one of our hosts to perform a duty that I, a guest, would gladly offer as a gift for the duration of our stay. My services are yours, and I will be honored to play in her stead.”

The reason for his great harp’s prominent display became clear, and relief flooded Telyn. It was well done. Presented as a gift to his hosts, Emrys’ offer could not be refused without the risk of a grave affront. She mouthed her thanks to her cousin, and he gave her a discreet salute. But at the same time Gwidion thanked Emrys for his generosity, a comment from the dais froze her blood to the marrow.

“But I was so looking forward to hearing Telyn Songmaker play for us again.” Vuldur’s eyes glinted with a feverish, glassy light, a mirthless smile on his gaunt lips. “I believe she owes me a song.”

Prince Keir shot him a look of warning, but as yet he’d said nothing out of line. Dismayed, she returned Vuldur’s malevolent regard. It was an extreme effort to maintain a blank expression. In his dark eyes, Telyn read an unrelenting grief still as fresh as his hatred for her, only held in check by resentful promises made to Prince Keir.

Uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch forever. Gilmarion and Marithiel, mystified by this exchange, looked between Telyn and the Lord of the East. Gwidion at last broke the hush and spoke mildly, although his gaze held a hint of challenge.

“This is Telyn’s home,” he said. “I will not compel her to play.”

“Of course not,” Vuldur replied with exaggerated compliance. “But perhaps later I will claim that debt, Lady Bard.” Telyn heard the clear threat in those innocent words. “What say you?”

Beside her, Mithrais went still, his body taut, green eyes dark with anger. Upon the dais, Prince Keir frowned as Telyn looked to him with a wordless plea. He too had heard the veiled inference but no real reason existed to reprimand the Lord of the East in front of his host. She realized her hand had strayed to the scar on her chest, and cold fury replaced the fear in an instant. With unnatural calm, she faced Vuldur squarely.

“I received a messenger, my lord, who informed me you requested a lament. But I fear he can no longer collect the price you set upon the composition.”

Vuldur’s face fell. Telyn read the disbelief in his eyes, satisfied she disconcerted him with the news his assassin had been dispatched.

“I will never forget what I am owed,” he rasped.

Prince Keir gestured with finality. “Enough. There will be no more talk of debts, Lord Vuldur. We are here on the King’s business, not our own.”

The Lord of the East inclined his head with barely restrained contempt for his authority. “Yes, my lord Prince.”

“Emrys, if you please.” Gwidion encouraged the bard, who moved to take up position behind his great harp and set about playing a lighthearted tune. Emrys’ song magic began to insinuate itself through the hall. Taut shoulders relaxed, and the ugly mood soon dispersed for those listeners who were susceptible. Even Vuldur conversed with Marithiel upon the dais, where by all appearances, the incident was forgotten.

Immune to another bard’s charms, Telyn found it more difficult to let the tension drain from her body. Her hands remained clenched in her lap. Mithrais, obligated to perform a host’s duties to the guests at their table, reached beneath the linens and claimed the hand wearing his ring. All the while, he answered courteous questions Searlas and the retainers asked about the Tauron. His unspoken concern and reassurance warmed her through that touch and her fingers began to relax their stubborn curl. But at the other end of the table, she found a cold-eyed Searlas staring at her several times. It unnerved her all the more.

A short recess would take place between the feast and the delegation’s business, and Telyn looked forward to her escape from the great hall. Early reprieve came in the unexpected arrival of Colm, Northwarden of the Tauron, and one of Mithrais’ fellow Magians.

She was first to see him, standing ill at ease in his battered Tauron green jerkin while he conferred with one of the servants. She nudged Mithrais and directed his attention to his comrade. The Tauron seldom came looking for Mithrais at the manor, and they both knew something had to be amiss. A page darted over with a breathless message.

“Lord Mithrais, the Northwarden asks if you can speak with him—you and Lady Telyn. He says it’s urgent.”

“Thank you.” Mithrais rose, asking their guests to excuse them for a moment. Unfortunately, they all rose when Telyn did out of deference to a lady. It was something that never happened when she dressed in her usual attire and just another reason she preferred not to dress as a girl. It caught the attention of everyone on the dais. Gwidion had also noted Colm’s presence by now and indicated his assent to their departure before he turned back to his guests. Telyn imagined eyes boring into her back as she and Mithrais exited the great hall and joined Colm.

“I’m sorry, Mithrais. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His eyes took in Mithrais’ circlet and Telyn’s gown, and he grinned at them. “Do I bow or curtsy?”

“Neither, if you know what’s good for you. What’s happened?”

Colm’s demeanor became serious. “A boy was brought to the guild house last night. He is showing signs of magical talent.”

Mindful that there were others within hearing distance, Mithrais drew him farther away where they could talk in private.

“It’s started then. Others are beginning to discover their abilities. The Gwaith’orn said this would happen.” Mithrais kept his voice low.

“It seems we have the Magians’ first student,” Telyn said, and Colm gave a nod of assent.

“By his mother’s account, his powers manifested last night without previous warning. Now he can’t stop or control it, and it’s escalating. He’s never been trained in heartspeaking, and we’ve had trouble reaching him. Semias is still afield at the moment, and Cormac thinks both of you are better suited than he is to resolve this. He’s asking that you come. We could use your counsel, Mithrais.”

In the great hall, the meal ended and a rustle grew as people began to mill about. “I fear it’s impossible for me to leave now. I have business here this afternoon.” Mithrais looked to Telyn. “If my presence is imperative, send for me and I will try to come.”

“I will.” She beckoned a page with a wave and asked the child to retrieve her harp from the sideboard before she returned to Colm. “Let me change clothes, and I will meet you in the stables. It may be a few minutes. I have to find a maid to help me out of this blasted dress.”

 

* * * *

 

The guild house lay outside the Southern Gate, some distance from the manor. They maneuvered their horses single file through busy, crooked streets in the still-crowded city. Once they reached the outskirts, they were able to ride side by side, and Colm filled her in.

“We have suspicions he tried to protect his mother from being beaten, although she denies it. His father was the target of some rather painful spells.”

“Ah.” Telyn frowned. “So he is using his new magic to defend her?”

“That may have been how it started. None of the spells truly harmed his father, but Cormac believes the boy is so frightened of punishment that he’s withdrawn inside himself. We can’t get close enough for Cormac to touch Edrun and give him healing sleep, or anything else, without a painful static charge. Now there’s a vortex of objects just spinning about the room. I can’t even dissipate it with air magic. Aedan took a flying pitcher to the head and would have needed sutures if Cormac hadn’t been there. He’s hoping your song magic can calm the boy.”

When Telyn entered the building, she caught the scent of smoke. A haze hung in the air of the great room. A man and woman stood outside one of the doors, engaged in a heated conversation with Cormac. She recognized the glowering man as a woodcutter employed at the manor who brought wagonloads of fuel for the kitchen fires. The woman she did not know. Still young and very pretty, her hands were clasped tightly in front of her in an attitude of supplication.

“Telyn!” Cormac’s eyes lit with relief when he saw her. He would have hugged her, but she prevented it with a formal bow. Young Cormac needed a reminder that to these people, he represented a figure of authority.

“Magian Cormac. I understand you have a job for me.”

“Oh, I do.” Cormac’s usual good humor was absent. “Aedan is in there now, putting out the fire.”

“Literally or figuratively?” Colm asked with raised eyebrows.

“Literally. We can add pyromancy to the list of Edrun’s talents. Nothing as enormous as Gaelen can do but enough to set the bedclothes alight. We need to figure out something quickly. Do you think you can help, Telyn?”

“I hope I can. Where do you want me to start?” She unslung the harp case from her shoulder and put it on the table.

“See if you can reach him before he burns down the guild house or cracks anyone else’s skull.” Cormac motioned toward the closed door. “They’re in that room. Edrun hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and the more exhausted he gets, the more violent things become.”

She unlaced the flap of the leather case while he spoke and drew out her harp. She checked to be certain the strings were in tune, and the sneering, blocky man who loomed near the child’s door took a few steps toward her.

“You think a cradle song will tame that little beast in there?”

Cormac drew himself up. “This is Telyn Songmaker, a true bard. Her magic may be able to reach Edrun where ours can’t. Give her a chance.”

“I have a better solution to bring my boy to heel. It involves no magic, only the back of my hand,” the man growled. Telyn stiffened in sudden dislike as Colm stepped forward.

“You’re speaking through exhaustion, Bron. I think you need to get some fresh air and some rest. Let Telyn do her work.”

The man glared at Colm with smoldering eyes, and the Magian stared back at him in challenge. Telyn noted Colm’s fingers flexed and suspected he was prepared to cast a spell if need arose. Finally, Bron gave an inarticulate snarl and stalked away to slam the outer door behind him. The weeping woman advanced.

“Oh, help him! Please help him. Bron’s so angry. Edrun was only trying to...” She began to sob.

Colm held out a comforting hand to the woman. “Come, Maev. I’ll show you to your room. You are overwrought. You can stay here until Edrun feels well enough to return home.”

Colm led the woman upstairs. Telyn looked at Cormac, a dismayed question in her eyes. He shook his head in disgust. “Edrun’s father is a brute,” he confirmed. “Maev can’t even say a word to him without cowering.”

Telyn made minor adjustments to the tension of a few strings. Satisfied with the tuning, she crossed to the door.

“Be careful when you open it,” Cormac cautioned. “In fact, you may want to duck.”

Telyn moved the latch to swing the heavy door open. She took immediate cover behind the jamb. A wooden bowl hurtled through the doorway and smashed to the floor of the great room. Inside, the smell of char still lingered but steam now curled toward the ceiling. Aedan acknowledged her and held up a hand in caution.

“Wait a moment.”

Whirling energy filled the room. Telyn sensed it rather than saw it. Other objects were caught in the vortex besides the already-flung bowl. Spoons, fluttering paper, broken crockery that may once have been a pitcher, and shoes all danced through the air. Aedan ignored a particularly lethal object, a small knife, as it whizzed past him. He stood behind a magical shield-wall that flickered with sparks of silver. The objects caught in the spinning energy bounced off of it without harm.

The Magian applied his own spell to draw the steam vapors from the air. He concentrated on a sphere of water forming between his palms. He maneuvered it out the window with a sweep of his hand and a splash sounded as it hit the ground outside. The atmosphere in the room became less dense, but there was nothing to be done about the cyclone of debris trapped in the child’s rogue energy. The boy, his arms wrapped around his knees, huddled on his side at the top of the bed. The bedclothes and the wooden frame at the foot of the bed lay in blackened testament to the now-extinguished flames.

Aedan gestured toward her. The manifestation of the sparkling shield extended to allow Telyn to enter safely. “Come in but be careful. There is still water on the floor.” She came to stand beside him and flinched when a spoon ricocheted off the shield with a crack. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Things are getting more violent.”

“I see that.” Telyn watched the shoes trapped in the whirlpool of energy as they thudded, one after the other, into the shield in front of them. She searched for the center of the energy, the calm in the center of the maelstrom, and found it where she suspected it would be: a six-foot circle of stillness around the child. “Let me start. Can you shield me long enough to get to the boy, and then drop it?”

“If you touch him you’ll get a very painful shock. Your hand will be too numb to play for an hour or more.” Cormac peered through the doorway and waggled his fingers. “Believe me.”

“I don’t want to touch him. I just want to sit beside him.” Telyn cradled the harp and played a few one handed chords in preparation. “Once I start, you should leave the room. I can pitch it not to carry outside these walls, but if I have to do something drastic, I don’t want you affected.”

Cormac wore a worried frown. “What if he strikes out at you?”

“I don’t think he will.” The knife bounced point first off the shield in front of her head and she winced. “Just keep me protected until I sit down, and then close the door.”

“Let me leave the room first, and I’ll surround you with the shield,” Aedan said. They shifted positions. The Magian angled out the doorway, his hand outstretched to revolve the shield. He ignored a hail of pottery shards and moved both his hands in an enveloping gesture. The silver-flecked energy wrapped closely around her and goose bumps rose on her skin in response to the magic. Her steps resounded against the hollow confines of the spell, as Telyn clutched her harp to her chest and walked into the whirlwind.