Shae’s thoughts on camping in a place of magic showed in his darkened expression. “How do you know all these things?”
“I am a bard; we owe more to the Pathani than any mortals do, although I have been told we are not the only ones to learn from them.” Gwynn picked up her harp and 135
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began a low haunting melody. She didn’t sing, but instead, told a story with the music as a background. “The Pathani are the first-born children of the Great Mother. We mortals are her grandchildren, loved and cherished, but lacking the wisdom of her first born. There was a time when the Pathani and mortals often walked her lands together, although now, we have grown far apart.”
Perhaps it was the place and the magic of the music, perhaps it was the fact that he had come to trust Gwynn, but once more, Shae was drawn under her spel . The fire burned low while she told her friend how the first mortals were not given the gift of music, because the Mother believed they needed to prove themselves worthy of so fine a gift. Most had not realized what they missed, but far in the west of Balahar, there lived a people who heard the voices of the streams, the wind, and the fire. One day, they heard a new voice, more enchanting than any they had known. The tribe followed the voice until they came to a mountain cloaked in trees with golden trunks and scarlet leaves. That mountain was a dwellar, a home to the Pathani. The lord of the dwel ar; Delrithar, had taken pity on the mortals drawn to the music his people made. He had commanded his people to bring them into their home, for it seemed to him that any mortals who sought music should learn it and other secrets of the Earth. The Goddess had relented and agreed.
“So, for nine times nine years, they dwelled with the people of Delrithar, seeing neither the sun nor moon.
Neither did they grow old as they lived among the Pathani for whom time is different than for those who live here.
There, the tribe learned to create music and to hear it in all things. Deep within the hill and long outside their time, they learned that Ariadwen had sung all of creation into being, so all music is an act of worship to our Mother. When they left the dwellar, their goods and animals waited for them just as 136
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before, preserved through the years by the magic of the Pathani. Many took their new gift out into Balahar, sharing music with all they found. Some of the tribe was not ready to leave; they still hungered to learn more of music. They settled in the craggy hills near the dwel ar and continued to study with the Pathani. When the long years passed, they became the Bards of Inishmore.”
Shae shook his head when Gwynn’s music released him. “That is quite a tale. How do you know the legends to be true? Have you seen the Pathani?”
“One, just after I found out my mother was gone.
When Grandmother told me, I ran up into the hills above our home. I don’t know how long I wandered, but it was most of the day. I had my harp with me, not this one of course,” Gwynn said running her fingers over the strings in a soft glissando, her eyes far away, “but the smaller one my mother had taught me on. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I just sat down on the ground and began to play. I poured all my grief into the music. I was mourning not only my mother, but everyone I had known who had passed into the Shadowlands. Baron Holger and his wife were kind, generous people, and their two sons had been brothers to me. I mourned for them all and wove their life songs into the music I made. When I finally stopped, it had grown dark and cold. I realized that my hands hurt, and I looked down to discover both my fingers and my harp strings were stained in my blood. I had torn my nails on the strings while I played.”
Her eyes turned upon Shae, coming back to the present. “That was when I heard a voice say, ‘It is a terrible grief that waters our Mother with blood.’ Before me stood a Pathani; somehow, I knew him for what he was and that I had no need to fear him. He bent down and picked me up, harp and all, telling me that it was long past the time a little 137
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girl should be safe at home in her bed. I’m not sure where he took me, but it seemed like we passed through a rock wal into darkness. Then we were in a chamber filled with soft light, but I didn’t see any lamps or candles. He put me down and poured something over my hands that washed away the blood and healed them at the same time. He gave me something warm and sweet to drink before he carried me to a cot and covered me with a blanket that seemed like silk but finer. Then he began to sing, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but I wanted desperately to listen, because I had never heard such breathtaking music. I remember asking who he was, but I don’t remember hearing what he answered.”
“When I awoke, I was in my own room and in my own bed. My harp sat on the table beside me, and the strings were still stained. Grandmother told me later that they had been unable to find me the night before, but that she had sat up waiting, hoping that one of those searching would return with me. Just before dawn, our door opened, and my Pathani rescuer stepped into the room carrying me, sound asleep, in his arms. He gave me to my grandmother and told her to look after me as it seemed I did not know how to do that for myself.”
Gwynn chuckled. “I would wager he sounded just like you do when you say you cannot save me from myself. He also told my grandmother that if ever I needed his help again, I had only to call his name, Darion. I saw him many times after that. Darion would often appear when I was playing in the hills and help me with my songs. Then one day, he came to me and said he had news from home, so he would not be in Inishmore for a time. He said that he would see me soon, but I have yet to meet him again. The Pathani don’t see time as we do, since they have so much more of it, so it doesn’t really surprise me.”
Shae gazed at her, half in wonder and half in disbelief.
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“I am tempted to call you a liar for spinning that tale.”
“Why?”
The answer came from behind them in a voice more beautiful and musical than hers. “Because the ever-so-practical Southrons find us impossible to believe in.”
At the first word, Shae leapt to his feet, his blade sliding free from its scabbard with a hiss. The sword gleamed wickedly in the firelight when he wheeled to face the rock wall, planting himself between the voice and Gwynn.
Leaning nonchalantly against the rock was a man with golden skin and slanting eyes a few shades darker, but the same hue as his skin. Clad in deep red, he had a thin, sculptured face framed by snowy hair falling far down his back. His height was equal to Shae’s, although he was slenderer in build. He raised his open hands, keeping them far from the two ornate silver hilts rising over either shoulder.
“I’m no threat to you, Southron, or to your charge.”
There was amusement in his rich voice. “Indeed, I have known her much longer than you have. Is that not so, Gwynn?” he asked. Gwynn had not moved since the Pathani first spoke, but now, she jumped to her feet and reached for his out-stretched hands.
“Darion, what in the Mother’s name are you doing here?”
“Any of a number of reasons may have brought me, but remember, it only requires speaking my name. Now reassure your protector.”
Shae had sheathed his sword the moment she spoke Darion’s name. “No reassurance is necessary,” he said, his Southron accent sounding a sharp contrast to their melodic voices. “Impressive, few humans have such quick reflexes,”
Darion complimented when he extended his hand. “I am 139
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known as Darion of the line of Ælënor.”
“Shae, Brashaen’s son.” Shae’s eyes widened at Darion’s touch; his hand had an unnatural icy chill
“Your pardon, that was probably startling. We Pathani live closer to the Earth than you mortals. Our blood does not course so hotly through our veins.” Darion drew Gwynn back to her seat beside the fire. “Let me look at you Gryffyn’s daughter. You were little more than a pretty child when I saw you last; now you have grown into a beautiful woman. I often forget how quickly t
ime makes its mark on humans. Don’t let it weigh heavily on you; age comes all too swiftly to mortals.”
“If a cure is discovered, I shall make use of it,” Gwynn promised. “How did you find me? I am far from the crags of Inishmore.”
“You sit in a rel ar reciting stories of my people, and you wonder how I found you? Ah, Gwynn, I thought you knew more of our lore than that.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. “Don’t flash such fire from your eyes.
I meant no insult. I mean you lack experience in some matters.”
“Just a few,” Shae muttered. Darion’s golden gaze locked with his and sudden accord passed between the human and the immortal.
“I believe that is why fitan sent you to her; Gwynn has an unstinting need to give of herself that without balance could lead her to ruin.”
“Fitan?” Shae questioned, trying to ignore the fact that Darion had just read his thoughts like Gwynn had done earlier. “It is the Pathani term for fate,” Darion told him.
“Fate has tied me to a bard. Has it also made provision to keep me sane?”
“The people of Southron have a reputation for 140
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patience and strength of will, which is most helpful where a bard is concerned. They have spent much time viewing things through the eyes of the Pathani, and for this, they frequently do not act as most mortals would.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Darion’s only response was a smile before turning back to Gwynn. They spoke of what had passed since he had last seen her in Inishmore. Shae listened with interest, since it was something he had learned little of from Gwynn.
“What?” Darion’s shocked voice rang through the rel ar when he snatched Gwynn’s harp from the ground.
“You can play it?”
“Of course, I can play it. It’s a harp!”
“But this is Talaysen’s Harp!”
“And how exactly does that matter?”
He didn’t answer for a moment while he looked back and forth between Gwynn and the instrument in his hands.
His expression was full of wonder when he spoke.
“Talaysen’s Harp was not made by a mortal; it was made by Elisan, a Pathani master. When a Pathani artisan creates something, it is made specifically for the recipient. It is prepared with care and then bound to its owner. It—”
“Almost has a life of its own,” Shae finished for him.
Gwynn and Darion both stared. “I noticed when we were in Mazlo that, at times, the Harp seemed. .aware. It was the night you sang with Corwyn. After you went to bed, the Harp’s eyes kept glowing, even after I moved between it and the fire. When I touched it, it felt like you do after you sing.”
“I have always felt that it fought me. I have had to work so hard at playing it. The first time I held it, I thought it hated me. It seemed so angry. It used to hurt when I tried to play it. After I had won it, I locked myself in my room and didn’t come out for a seven-night while I struggled with it. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was afraid they would think I was 141
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going mad. I thought I was going mad!” Gwynn’s voice had dropped to an agonized whisper.
“Why did you not call for me?” Darion asked, placing the Harp on the ground and gathering her into his arms.
“I couldn’t tell anyone,” Gwynn repeated, sobbing against his shoulder. “I was too ashamed—how could a Master of Inishmore not be able to play a harp?”
“No mortal should be able to play this Harp. That you can says much more than you realize. Hush now, we will find a way to set things right.”
“What do I do? Why didn’t Talaysen know better?”
Darion shook his head. “I am not certain how to answer your questions; I believe you should come with me to see Elisan. He made the Harp for Talaysen; perhaps he can help us come to an understanding. It only proves what I have always known; you have a great gift for magic.”
“Only the magic that is made with music,” Gwynn whispered in disbelief, “but no more than that.”
“There you are wrong. Why do you think I came to you that night in the hills of Inishmore? The magic drew me to you like a beacon-fire.”
“I am no mage,” she insisted.
Shae spoke in support of his friend. “I have been around a few finger wigglers in my day. Gwynn is nothing like them.”
“Mortal mages believe that magic is a power separate from other things that must be controlled,” Darion scoffed.
“Pathani realize that magic is in all things, not outside of them. Bards know that too, but since they are also human, they seem to think that to use magic they must study. To study magic requires devoting too much time to one thing when there are so many other things to do. Is that not so?”
She nodded. “I remember Mother joking about it when I was trying to learn to call fire.”
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“Magic comes to you as easily as breathing.” Darion’s tone brooked no argument. “Like my people, you do not have to utter archaic nonsense or cause a flash of pretty colors and noxious fumes to create magic. What you can do with magic is limited only by your belief in your ability to accomplish it. What you must do is learn some control of it just to keep you and everyone around you safe. Untrained gifts can be very dangerous.”
“Limited knowledge can create fatal consequence.” Shae quoted the Southron proverb almost against his will, not liking the fact he agreed so readily with the Pathani about the situation.
“Exactly. You must come with me to understand the Harp,” Darion declared.
“I can’t! We can’t! We’re going to Samhayne. Shae is entering the Wintertide Tournament, and I may enter the gorseth to administer the college.”
“Mother Ariadwen! If I can find you here, many leagues from your homeland, don’t you think I can manage to put you and your protector near to Samhayne in time for some silly mortal contests? Gwynn, you disappoint me.”
“Where is it that you want to take us?”
“Oh yes, do tell us.” Shae was eying Darion once more with suspicion.
“To see Elisan in Heralith.”
“Heralith?” Gwynn gasped.
“Where is that?” Shae asked at almost the same time.
It was Gwynn who answered. “Most of the Pathani live in scattered, well-hidden dwellars, but they do have a city; that is Heralith.”
“But where is it?” Shae asked.
“I don’t know,” Gwynn confessed. “No mortal does.
It’s hidden by magic. There are a thousand ways to get there, none of them the same, but unless you are Pathani or guided 143
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by one, you cannot find it. Or, once there, find your way back.” “What?” Shae leapt to his feet, rounding the fire before Darion could react. He loomed over him; eyes aflame.
“You expect me to let you take Gwynn some place that neither of us can find or get back from? Have you taken complete leave of your faery senses?” His tone was deliberately insulting.
Darion rose to face him, their eyes level, and his voice reasonable. “On the contrary. I believe it is the wisest thing Gwynn could do. She must learn to control her gifts, and we don’t know what influence the Harp may be having on her.
Surely, you can see what danger this presents?”
Shae was simmering, but he had to concede Darion’s point, and the blaze in his eyes died down to embers. “So how long must we stay?” he asked past clenched teeth.
“Not long,” Darion assured him.
“And you guarantee our safe return from this place you call Heralith?”
“You have my word.”
“When Pathani gives his word, it is a sacred oath to our Mother.” Gwynn sounded dazed when she spoke.
Shae was neither pleased nor comforted, but he knew she would not lie to him. “If you think it is necessary, Gwynn, we will go with Darion to Heralith, but we will go in the morning. You need rest from our day’s ride
.”
“He speaks wisely,” Darion said, “the way to Heralith is not an easy one for a mortal. Sleep well tonight, my pet. I will return for you both in the morning.” He turned and seemed to fade through the rock wall behind them.
The two friends sat in stunned silence for a few moments after Darion disappeared before Shae drew a deep breath and said, “Go on and get some sleep. We have agreed to go, and morning will come soon enough.”
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“Thank you for saying you will come with me. I know that going to Heralith was not part of our original negotiations.”
“Our agreement was that I would see you safely to Samhayne,” Shae told her. “If that includes a side trip to some mythical faery town, so be it.”
Gwynn removed her boots and wriggled under her blankets. She turned shadowed eyes on him and whispered,
“Will you think less of me if I tell you I am a little frightened?”
“No, I’m not at ease myself about our proposed trip.
Fear serves a purpose as long as you don’t let it paralyze you in body or in thought.”
“Yes, venchar, I am glad you are so wise.”
“Thank my teachers; they are the wise ones; I’m just sharing their wisdom. Try to rest, although, I know it may not be easy.”
Gwynn did eventually drift off to sleep, but Shae watched over her deep into the night while he pondered the change in their plans and being responsible for it. You don’t know anything about the Pathani. What if we cannot find our way back? What if Darion breaks his word? Well then, Shae answered himself, closing his hand around the hilt of his sword, if Pathani blood doesn’t run as hot as that of a mere mortal, I will take oath that it still runs red.
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CHAPTER NINE
The hounds had found their quarry; the mad baying intensified when they closed for the kill. She wanted to run, but her legs refused to move. The shriek of terror that formed in her throat came out like the mew of a frightened kitten. They were going to tear—
“Wake up, little one. I’m here; all is well.”
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