Song Magick by Elisabeth Hamill Page B

Mithrais soon
thought of another analogy. “Each Gwaith’orn is a string in the
whole chord. The vibrations travel through the roots in the ground,
the intermingling branches, and the very air. Something moving
through that resonance disrupts it, and sends it back to its source
unexpectedly: an echo returning a voice to the singer.”
    Telyn laughed delightedly. “You’re very good
at this.”
    “I’m afraid that the musical references are
over, as I can think of no better way to explain what follows.”
Mithrais turned and offered his hand to assist her in jumping over
a small gulley in the forest floor. “The Gwaith’orn are able to
form images from these vibrations, ones that we with the gift of
heartspeaking are able to interpret. The Gwaith’orn also allow us
to send images in order to communicate with other wardens. I have
done so tonight. The other wardens will soon know that we may have
a bounty hunter entering the western Wood.”
    The tingling awareness of the Gwaith’orn at
the back of her neck was receding with every step Telyn took, and
she looked back again, wondering. “But are they truly a living
being?” she inquired.
    “Oh, yes. They live. They recognize the
Tauron, and individual Gwaith’orn will even draw our attention when
something is amiss with those directed pulses you felt in the
clearing last night. It’s called a summons.” The Wood began to fill
with a growing hiss of rain on leaves, and Mithrais looked up at
the sky as the first drops began to fall upon them. He raised the
hood of his cloak.
    “But how did they know I was in danger last
night?” Telyn persisted, drawing up her own hood against the
steadily increasing rain. Mithrais stopped, and turned to face her
gravely.
    “That is the greatest secret of the Tauron
Order. You have heard the tales that wardens can see into the souls
of men and know if they are evil? We seldom contradict this
belief—it serves our purpose and keeps many violent men out of the
Wood. But it isn’t the Tauron who hold this power. It is the
Gwaith’orn.”
     

 
    Chapter
Eight
     
    Cold, heavy drops of water punctuated by
faraway rumbles of thunder had continued to fall since they had
left the Gwaith’orn’s grove, and Telyn hoped fervently that their
destination was nearby. She estimated that she and Mithrais had
been walking for nearly three hours, and was beginning to feel
chilled, her breath steaming in the air before her. The heavy, wet
cloak dragged at her shoulders, long since soaked through. Telyn’s
step was becoming less sure in the rain-slick leaves and muddy moss
that covered the floor of the Wood, and although she was very
tired, she was determined to make the Tauron outpost without
hindering her guide.
    Their path turned slightly downhill,
increasing the instability of the terrain. Ahead of her, Mithrais
turned and offered her a hand, which she valiantly declined, and
regretted it a moment later when her boots skidded on the slippery
surface of a moss-covered rock, sending her sprawling on her
backside into the muck and slimy leaves.
    Mithrais stood above her, a darker figure
against the black canopy of the trees. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes,” Telyn said grumpily, wiping a dripping
strand of hair from her eyes. “I’ll take that hand now, if you
don’t mind.”
    Mithrais gripped her arm and lifted Telyn to
her feet. “I saw the rock, but I neglected to tell you it was
there. I’m sorry. I, too, am getting tired.”
    “How far to the outpost?” Telyn asked,
sneering in disgust as she slapped futilely at her muddy,
leaf-covered seat.
    Mithrais cocked his head, listening. “I can
hear the stream now. It will not be far. The outpost is just above
its banks—we’ll have to cross the water to reach it, but it’s a
shallow ford.”
    “I can’t get much wetter and colder,” Telyn
muttered to herself.
    “I think we can risk a fire when we arrive,”
Mithrais said, offering an enticement. Telyn’s mood