[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  One of the archers turned aside and scrutinized the two for a moment. Apparently satisfied, he raised his head and gave a piping cry. His fellows stopped, and each jumped for the nearest tree. In seconds, they had all vanished as if they had never been.

  The remaining archer slung his bow over his shoulder and walked over to Starbrow. He touched the animal’s nose lightly, then turned. Without glancing back, he headed northwards into the trees. The horse followed; Tamsin’s surreptitious tightening of the reins had no effect whatever.

  Alethia and Tamsin rode in silence. Both were acutely conscious of the eerie reputation of the Wyrwood and its denizens, and neither wished to antagonize their strange rescuers.

  They traveled for nearly an hour and a half. Finally their guide stopped in a glade which, to Alethia, looked exactly like every other glade they had passed through in the forest. Starbrow stopped beside the Wyrd, snorting gently. Alethia and Tamsin looked at each other uncertainly, but before they had a chance to move the Wyrd gave another high, piping call.

  Almost instantly Starbrow was the center of a solemn circle of curious brown eyes. Alethia found herself uncomfortably aware of the long slender bow each Wyrd carried, and the quiver of arrows strapped conveniently to every back. One of the Wyrds stepped forward and bowed profoundly.

  “Welcome to the Wyrwood. I am Grathwol, Arkon of the Wyrds of Glen Wilding,” he said in their own language, in a voice that was not altogether friendly.

  Alethia slid to the ground and curtsied as Tamsin dismounted. “Thank you for your welcome, sir, and for your help,” she said. “Your rescue was most timely.”

  Grathwol’s eyes flickered from Alethia to Tamsin. “I am glad you found it so. Therefore you will forgive my desire to know whom we have rescued and what business brought you to the Wyrwood.”

  Tamsin made one of his theatrical bows. “I am a minstrel and my name is Tamsin Lerrol; this is the Lady Alethia Tel’anh of Brenn.”

  The circle of Wyrds stirred for the first time, a brief rustle that could have been astonishment. Grathwol’s eyes snapped back to Alethia, and he studied her narrowly for a moment. Alethia lifted her chin and stared back. The Wyrd laughed. “I see. Forgive my discourtesy; it has been a long time since we had such visitors at Glen Wilding.”

  He made a gesture, and all but two of the green-clad Wyrds vanished into the trees. One of the remaining Wyrds, a girl of indeterminate age, came over to stand beside Grathwol; the other took Starbrow’s bridle in hand and started to lead him away. Tamsin made half a gesture of protest. Grathwol smiled, showing pointed teeth.

  “You need not fear for your horse, minstrel,” the Arkon said. “Nor for yourself or your companion. Those who come from the Hall of Tears have always been welcome among us, and Mistress Alethia we have been watching for since yester eve.”

  “Watching for me?” Alethia said with a trace of alarm. “Why?”

  “We are not totally without knowledge of things beyond our forests,” Grathwol said evasively. He paused a moment, studying Alethia, then nodded slightly to himself. “I think perhaps we owe you an apology.”

  “I have never heard that it was customary among Wyrds to apologize for saving someone’s life,” Alethia said. Tamsin shot her a warning look, but the Wyrds both smiled.

  “It is not for rescuing you that we apologize,” the girl said, “but for being so long about it. We did not discover until this morning that the Lithmern had found a way to hide their clumsy blunderings about our woods.”

  “They have grown powerful indeed to dare a crossing of the Wyrwood,” Grathwol growled. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten Alethia and Tamsin; then he looked back at them. “We can speak more of this later. My daughter, Murn, will guide you while you remain in Glen Wilding; I will return to hear your stories and answer your questions after you have refreshed yourselves.”

  Grathwol bowed, then turned and disappeared among the trees. Murn, however, remained. She eyed the two humans critically. “I think you will want to wash first,” she said. “This way.”

  Tamsin and Alethia looked at each other. Alethia shrugged. There was no real reason not to follow; if the Wyrds wanted to harm them, there was very little Tamsin or Alethia could do to prevent them. Warily, Alethia started after Murn. A moment later she heard twigs crackling behind her as Tamsin moved to join her.

  Murn led them down a narrow, barely visible path to a small brook. She waited while they rinsed the dust from their faces and hands, then brought them to another clearing. A meal of fruits, dark bread and round cheese was laid out on the ground. Alethia and Tamsin seated themselves, and Murn poured a somewhat bitter wine into carved cups. Several times during the meal Tamsin tried to question her, but Murn would only laugh and shake her head.

  “Father will answer your questions when he is ready,” was all she would tell them.

  When they had finished eating, the Wyrd girl rose. “Now I will show you…” Murn stopped in mid-sentence, listening. A moment later, Grathwol appeared. The Arkon of Glen Wilding was frowning, and he carried a strange-looking, squirrel-like animal about the size of a large cat. He handed the animal to Murn with a few words in a language neither Alethia nor Tamsin understood. Murn’s eyes grew wide, and she nodded. She accepted the animal and disappeared among the trees. Grathwol turned to Alethia and Tamsin.

  “I apologize for this interruption,” he said. “The mirrimur has brought disturbing news. I fear you may not be safe here.”

  “But the Lithmern are gone, aren’t they?” Alethia said. “And even if they come back, surely they wouldn’t try to attack Wyrds!”

  “It is not swords I fear, but magic,” Grathwol said. “The Lithmern have discovered… an important artifact. It was found in the clearing where we rescued you. They may have others as well.”

  “Do you mean that queer iron thing that Lithmern captain had?” Alethia asked.

  “Yes,” replied Grathwol with a sharp look at the girl. “They are bringing it to Glen Wilding now. What do you know of it?”

  Quickly Alethia told him of her encounters with the captain. She finished with, “I am afraid that is all I can tell you. What is this thing?”

  “It is a Talisman—ancient beyond imagining, and it has great power, if it can be unlocked,” Grathwol replied.

  “And you are certain the Lithmern know how to use it?” Tamsin said.

  “There is no other way the Lithmern could have traveled so far so quickly,” Grathwol said. “And how else did they hide their trail from us, and defeat our warding spells?” He gave Alethia another long, speculative look. “You must be of great value for the Lithmern to send a wielder of such power to capture you, Alethia. They would not risk the loss of such a prize, save for one of at least equal importance.”

  “Why would the Lithmern care about the daughter of an Alkyran noble?” Tamsin asked.

  “That I do not know,” Grathwol said. “Nor is it likely to be an easy thing to learn. Even if we catch one of the Lithmern who kidnapped Alethia, I doubt we could learn much from common warriors. And I do not think the Lithmern will send another party through the Wyrwood soon.”

  “Then you can protect Alethia!” Tamsin said with relief.

  “Now that we are warned, I do not think the Lithmern could slip past us again,” said Grathwol. “But she is not safe here.”

  “But if Alethia stays here she won’t have to worry about Lithmern,” Tamsin said.

  “I am more worried about getting back home than I am about Lithmern,” Alethia said. “Particularly if there aren’t going to be any of them around for a while.”

  Grathwol examined Alethia for a long moment. “I will send a group of bowmen to escort you to Brenn, if you wish it,” he said slowly. “I think you would arrive safely; but the city has no defense against one of the Talismans of Noron’ri.”

  “You seem to have some other course in mind,” Alethia said thoughtfully. “Just what would you recommend?”

  Grathwol smiled. “I do not wish to k
eep the Talisman in Glen Wilding any longer than I must. Tomorrow I will send it to Eveleth; I suggest that you go with it.”

  “Eveleth!” Tamsin said under his breath, so softly that Alethia almost missed the word. Grathwol smiled again.

  “You may accompany Alethia, minstrel, if you desire it.”

  Tamsin flushed slightly. “Why are you sending the Talisman away?” he asked a little hastily. “Is it not as valuable to you as to the Lithmern?”

  “It is not our manner of magic,” Grathwol replied. “The Shee will know better how to deal with it.”

  “I really don’t think I should—” Alethia started, but Grathwol interrupted with a shake of his head.

  “Think on it before you give me an answer; you need not decide now. I will return shortly.” He turned to leave, but Alethia caught at his arm.

  “Please, would you send someone to my father to tell him I am safe?” she asked him. “I know you do not like to be seen, but there must be some way.”

  “It has already been done,” Grathwol replied. Before Alethia could stammer her thanks, he disappeared among the trees, leaving the two travelers alone in the clearing.

  Alethia caught her lower lip between her teeth and frowned. Tamsin stared after the vanished Wyrd. “This appearing and disappearing is a bit disconcerting. I suggest, lady, that we make ourselves comfortable; we seem to have much to discuss.”

  Alethia nodded absently as she seated herself. “What exactly is a Talisman of Noron’ri?” she asked abruptly. “Grathwol never did explain. Do you know?”

  “The Talismans are only mentioned in one old lay, and that an unpopular one,” Tamsin said thoughtfully. “Still, I think I can tell you a little.”

  Alethia gestured impatiently. “I am getting tired of legends that no one has ever seen and songs no one has ever heard of,” she said crossly. “We seem to be running into such a large number of them!”

  Tamsin laughed. “The Talismans of Noron’ri are not so unremembered as that!” he said. “The sorcerer Noron’ri made them for his followers long ago, before Alkyra was settled. There were twelve in all: three for the creatures of the sea, three for those of the land, three for the birds of the air, and three for the creatures of the depths of the world.”

  “You mean the Lithmern might have eleven more of those things?”

  “No, for two sank with the island of the Kulseth and another was destroyed in the fires of Mount Tyrol in the south,” Tamsin said. “The other nine have been scattered and lost for hundreds of years. How many still exist I do not know, but it is unlikely that the Lithmern could have found more than the one we saw.”

  “And now the Wyrds are sending it to the Shee,” Alethia said. “But why do they want us to go with it?”

  “Grathwol was concerned for your safety,” Tamsin said uncertainly.

  “Why should the Wyrds care about me?” Alethia demanded. “And if the Lithmern only had one Talisman, why wouldn’t I be safe in Brenn?”

  “There is no certainty that the Lithmern have only one of the Talismans,” said a soft voice from behind Alethia, and Mum stepped into view.

  “If the Talismans are so powerful, why aren’t you keeping this one here?” Alethia said. “You could use it, couldn’t you?”

  “We could use it, in a way,” Murn said. “But our magic is of the forest and the wild things, tree and leaf and changing season, and the slow, ancient spells of earth. The Talisman is a different type of magic, and we would have to twist it before it could be used to help us. Twisted magics are dangerous, and the more powerful they are, the greater the danger. The Talisman is not for us.”

  “Won’t the Shee feel the same way?” Alethia asked.

  “The Shee are well versed in the high magic of old,” Murn said. “They are better suited to deal with this. Even so, it will be a difficult decision; that is why my father wishes you to go to Eveleth.”

  “Why?”

  “To speak before the Queen of the Shee and her Council,” Murn said. “They will make the final decision about the Talisman, whether it is to be destroyed or kept safe somewhere. Your story may help them decide.”

  Alethia stared into the forest. “I think I see,” she said at last. “Still, I cannot go to Eveleth.”

  “Your tale might well make a difference in what the Shee will do,” Murn said, frowning. “And Brenn is not safe for you.”

  “I am of the Noble House of Brenn, and my place is there, even if it is not safe,” Alethia said. “I am willing to go to Eveleth after we reach Brenn, if you still think it necessary, but I must reassure my parents first and obtain their permission in person.” Wryly, she imagined herself begging her parents’ permission to seek a legend in the mountains. Who would believe her?

  Murn nodded slowly. “I am sorry, but I think I understand.”

  “I, too, am sorry to hear your decision,” Grathwol’s voice said. A moment later he appeared beside his daughter. “Yet your concerns are good ones. Since your motives are true, perhaps this course is better; I have no gift of foreseeing.”

  “Thank you for understanding, sir,” Alethia said.

  Grathwol smiled. “Even so, you may travel with the Talisman for a way. I suggest you go with it to the foothills of the Kathkari and spend the night with the keeper there. A large group will travel more safely, and you can continue south to Brenn in the morning, while the Talisman goes north to Eveleth.”

  Alethia nodded. Grathwol went on, “Now I have preparations to make for tomorrow. Murn, show our guests to their rooms.” He turned and slipped out of sight once more; hardly a leaf stirred at his passage.

  “Where do you have rooms?” Alethia asked Murn curiously. “I have not seen anything even remotely like a building.”

  “Come, I’ll show you,” the girl said. She led them along a narrow path. As they walked, the trees grew closer and closer together. Then Murn turned sharply left and vanished between two massive trunks. A little hesitantly, Alethia followed, “Oh,” she gasped, and stopped abruptly as Tamsin came up behind her.

  They were standing at the front of a long entry room, very like those of the houses of the nobles of Alkyra. Rather than stone, however, this one was made of whole logs set upright side by side in the ground. Alethia wondered how the small Wyrds could move such enormous tree trunks, and then she realized that those were living trees, growing so close together that they formed a solid wall. The ceiling, high above, was made from strips of bark woven into the lower branches. “How do you do it?” Alethia breathed.

  Murn smiled. “This hall was planted about two hundred years ago. It is not particularly old; the walls did not grow closed until about seventy-five years ago.” Alethia nodded, wide-eyed.

  Turning to Tamsin, the Wyrd went on, “Now I think you may understand better what I told you of our magic. It is old and slow, but sure, like the growth of the trees we care for. To hurry them would kill them or twist them into shapes that would be useless, so we use our spells to strengthen them, and to keep them growing evenly. It is our gift to the earth, and the price of our power.”

  “Oh.” Tamsin was still too overwhelmed to say more. They followed Murn through an opening on the other side of the entry room and down a long hallway. They passed several doorways covered with heavy hangings; then Murn paused before one and swept the cloth aside. “Tamsin, this is for you.”

  Alethia peered inside as the minstrel stepped forward. It was a fairly small room, and the ceiling was at a normal level compared to the great height of the entry hall. Noticing the direction of her gaze, Murn said, “We do not always leave the space between the ground and the lower branches unused. We attach crosspieces to the tree trunks to support floors, and add more as the trees grow. In some places there are two or three floors that have been put on as the roof grows upward.”

  Alethia and Murn left Tamsin almost immediately. Murn showed the other girl to her own room and then left. Alethia fell onto the bed without bothering to remove the torn green silk she wore, and was s
oon deep in the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was not yet light when Alethia was awakened by a light touch on her shoulder. She sighed and opened her eyes to see Murn’s serious inhuman face bending over her. “The messengers will be leaving very soon,” the Wyrd girl said. “I will come for you then.”

  Alethia sat up. Her muscles had stiffened overnight, and she moved a little gingerly. She heard a soft sound as Mum left the room, and turned her head; the sudden movement made her wince. She slid her legs out of the bed and looked around.

  On a table by the bed stood a washbasin, pitcher, and towel; beside them was a platter of honey-biscuits and a cup of cream-heavy milk. A small lamp hung from a bracket near the curtained doorway. Draped over the chair on the other side of the table was a dress of the same dark material worn by most of the Wyrds. Alethia smiled at this thoughtfulness and reached for the pitcher.

  Washing and dressing took very little time. The dress proved to have a split skirt, obviously intended for riding. It was a little small and far too short, but there was a generous hem, and by taking out the stitches Alethia contrived to bring it almost down to her ankles. The only shoes she had were the spangled green dancing slippers she had been wearing when she was kidnapped. They were stained and tattered, and they looked a little strange below the dark, heavy material of the dress, but at least they were comfortable.

  By the time Murn returned, Alethia was seated on the edge of the bed, nibbling at one of the biscuits. The Wyrd girl surveyed her critically. “The dress is much too short, I am afraid; it is a good thing you are slender. I am sorry we could not do better for you,” she apologized.