“Llauron—”
“Rhapsody, you do remember the legends of the Island of Serendair that I told you when you studied with me, do you not?”
Her throat went dry. “Yes.”
“That was once a place of deep magic, Rhapsody, the homeland of many enchanted beings, a place where ancient power was heavy in the air. The world now is a much more ordinary place since the Island’s death—do you know why?”
Rhapsody had her own reasons, but merely shook her head.
“It was the loss of the Tree, my dear, the great Oak of Deep Roots, Sagia. Sagia’s death took with it much of the magic of the world. Each of the great trees—there were five of them, legend has it—grew at one of the five birthplaces of Time, where one of the five elements had its beginning. Sagia grew at the place where ether was born, where starlight first touched the Earth. Ether was the first of all the elements to be born, and its magic was the strongest. Sagia sank beneath the waves when Serendair was destroyed. The loss the world suffered when the Island was consumed in the fire of the Sleeping Child is incalculable.” Llauron began to wheeze suddenly, then erupted into a fit of hacking coughs. Rhapsody put her hand out to him, but he waved her away, intent on his tale.
“The Great White Oak grows at the last of the birthplaces of Time, where the element of earth was born; it protects the Earth, keeping its magic alive. Imagine what kind of place the world would be if we were to lose it, too? Surely life would become so colorless, so meaningless, that it would scarcely be worth living. You, of all people, a Canwr, a Namer, would hardly wish to see anything so disastrous come about, would you?”
Rhapsody hid a smile at the dramatic ending of Llauron’s discourse. “No, of course not.”
“Excellent. Now, my dear, favor me thus, please. Promise me that upon our return to my keep in Gwynwood you will work whatever charm you did upon this young sapling on the Great White Tree as well. As a gift to your humble admirer.”
Rhapsody swallowed but said nothing. The fire that had destroyed the House of Remembrance had been, in a way, her doing; it was the means she and the Bolg had utilized to destroy the demon-vine that once grew from the sapling’s roots. It could have destroyed the tree as well; she was not certain what had prevented it. Still, Llauron seemed so intent, desperate even, to obtain similar protection for the holy oak he guarded that it seemed little enough to promise.
“All right, I will try,” she said, smiling and adjusting the Invoker’s cloak where it had fallen from his shoulder. “You, in return, must endeavor to be more careful with your health, Llauron. Leaving your neck exposed to the elements like this is tempting frostbite, and you could take cold.”
“Let us strike a bargain, then,” Llauron said merrily. “I shall put on my hat and gloves, and keep my neck well swathed, if you agree to work whatever rite of protection on the Great White Tree that you did on this young sapling to spare it from the destruction of fire. Then the scales will be balanced. Agreed?” He put out his hand.
Rhapsody looked at him strangely. The expression of scales balancing was one she had primarily heard used in Sorbold; perhaps it had farther-reaching influence that she had realized. In the back of her mind she heard the terrifying chant begin again, low and thunderous: Tovvrik, Tovvrik, Tovvrik. She shuddered involuntarily and looked up into Llauron’s expectant face; there was something about the way his eyes glinted in the winter light that unsettled her, but his request seemed reasonable enough. She pondered a moment longer, then took his hand and shook it.
“Agreed. However, I had not planned to return to the Circle with you, Llauron,” she said. “I really need to be heading back to Ylorc soon. But I believe I might be able to do it from here, through the roots of the sapling. They intertwine with those of the Great White Tree, or so Grunthor said.”
“How wonderful,” Llauron said. He walked briskly to the horse and opened the left-flank saddlebag, removing from its depths a pair of gloves, a hat, and a scarf, all made of soft, undyed wool.
Rhapsody glanced around at the ruin of the House of Remembrance, trying to dispel the deep chill that had settled on her like snowfall. She waited until Llauron returned, more warmly dressed, then went to the foot of the sapling.
“Do you know the Great White Tree’s true name?” she asked.
Llauron looked down into her face. He watched her seriously for a moment, then shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he said reluctantly. “Will that prevent you from working your magic on the Tree?”
Rhapsody exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t think so—I know a few of the names that the Filids and the Lirin call it—but it would be better to know its true name.”
“Alas,” Llauron said. “I suppose we will just have to make do, then. Go ahead, my dear. I’ll try to be as quiet as possible.”
She stared up into its smooth white branches, dancing in the winter breeze, the bright blossoms rustling under the clear sky, then closed her eyes and listened to the song of the wind singing harmony with the tree’s own melody. It was the same sound she had heard within the Earth as she and the two Bolg traveled along the roots of Sagia, this tree’s mother, a rich sound, full of wisdom and power, a melody that moved slowly, changing tones infinitesimally, unhurried by the need to keep pace with anything, though younger, brighter, than it had been below ground, blending with the music of the sky that surrounded it.
Gently she rested her hand on the sapling’s trunk, then attuned herself to the pitch and began to sing, calling to each of the primordial elements save for the one from which she wished to protect the tree, knowing that those elements held the power of all magic within them.
Green Earth below thy roots, guard thee
Wide Sky above thy branches, shelter thee
Cool wind buffer thee, Rain fall down upon thee,
Fire shall not harm thee.
After a few moments Rhapsody could feel the song moving through the young tree’s trunk and out through its branches, down to the very blossoms that graced its twigs. Like sap she sensed it traveling through the tree and into the ground along its roots. Slowly she chanted some of the names she had heard the Filids call the Great White Tree, hoping to direct the song to it.
Signpost of the Beginning, live
Mother of the Forest, flourish
Temple of Songbirds, sustain,
Fire shall not harm thee.
An infinitesimal harmony began to emanate from the sapling, joined a moment later by a deep, rich counterpunto that could only be the voice of the Great White Tree singing in response. It was a silver sound that sent a thrill through her blood, bringing with it memories of long ago, in a land long lost to Time, when she had first heard the voice of the great tree’s Root Twin, Sagia, the tree that had sheltered her and her two companions from danger, had given them passage here, to safety and life in this new land. She moved into the last verse, calling forth characteristics of fire that would touch but not bring harm to the tree.
Light of early spring, illuminate thee,
Heat of summer sun, warm thee,
Leaves of flaming color, bejewel thee,
But fire shall not harm thee.
The harmonic surged, blending into the song of healing she had left playing on the harp a year before. Rhapsody smiled, satisfied, and turned to Llauron, who was watching her with great interest.
“That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. I don’t know if it will work.”
Llauron smiled warmly in return. “I’m sure it will. And I do appreciate your efforts, my dear. Thank you.”
Rhapsody nodded and pulled up her hood. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s be on our way. We still have a long ride and much work ahead of us.”
They walked along the original trail, leading their horses through the wood, stopping to observe markers that had been overgrown with weeds, buried in snow and all but forgotten by time. Rhapsody had brought the dragon-claw dagger with her; she only employed it now to till the earth, trying to make positive
use of it. The memory of its part in Jo’s last moments was too strong to carry it as a weapon ever again.
Carefully she stripped away the frozen weeds and thorns that obscured the various commemorative plaques and stones, noting the growing warmth of Llauron’s smile as she did so. She sang a song of tending at each place, calling to the windflowers that still slept, dormant beneath the snow, in the hope that the spring would bring a new beauty to the place. The trail held little significance to her; she had not known the Cymrians, and felt them to be a strange and troubled people, from what little she did know, but it meant a great deal to Llauron to see her honoring their history, so she refrained from making the suggestion that nagged in the back of her mind that they turn back.
They crossed over the unmarked border back into Navarne, where many of the landmarks were hidden by excessive growth and neglect. “You know, I’m somewhat surprised that Lord Stephen isn’t tending to these markers better,” Rhapsody said, rising and repacking her dagger after tending to the third site in Navarne. “He’s the Cymrian historian, after all.”
“This is a difficult era to be an Orlandan lord of Cymrian heritage,” Llauron replied, bending over and peering at the marker. “The royalty of the lineage is recognized, but there is still the taint left over from the war and the crimes of Anwyn and Gwylliam. Stephen’s actions represent in a way the attitude of many later-generation Cymrians: it’s acceptable to keep a small museum in your own castle, but the outer signs of the Cymrian ancestry fall by the wayside. Ah, well, that will all change soon, won’t it, my dear? Gwydion will give us all reason to be proud of our heritage again.”
Rhapsody smiled as they mounted the horses. “Yes, I’m sure he will.”
Within their hiding place in the copse of trees to the south, Lark gestured the others into silence, then listened to the sound of the hoofbeats as they waned.
When she could no longer hear the sound of Llauron’s Madarian, she turned to the others, renegade Filids all, and nodded.
“Are you ready, Mother?”
Lark nodded again.
“All right, then,” said Khaddyr, nervously fingering the belt of his robe. “Don’t follow too closely—we need him to be exhausted from his travels; understood?” The nods of silent assent brought a smile to his face. “Good. Let’s be off.”
50
The section of the trail in the northwestern region of Navarne outside of Gwynwood took three days to complete, much of it through rough terrain. Rhapsody could see that the journey had been difficult on Llauron; he had not slept well by the fire at night, and seemed especially susceptible to the cold. A slight cough had settled into his chest, and though she had given him such herbs and tonics as she had with her, it seemed to do little to help. Each of the nights on the trail she had sung him a song of healing, and he seemed to improve a little, only to slip back into consumptive coughing again when the sun rose. Finally she put her foot down.
“Llauron, this is insane. This is making you ill. We have to go back now. I will come back in the spring and tend to the entire set of markers on the trail; it will have to be redone then anyway.”
“There are only three more in this part of Navarne, my dear, and they are really quite close. Why don’t we see if we can get them finished by noon, and then we can drop in on Stephen. His keep is an easy ride from here, and I’m sure he would love to see you.”
Rhapsody considered, and decided that was probably wisest. Llauron was too exhausted to make it back to Gwynwood at a reasonable speed anyway, and Lord Stephen would no doubt see to his health and make him comfortable within Haguefort, his castle of rosy-brown stone.
“All right,” she agreed, kissing his cheek. “But don’t try and talk me into any more on the way. Three, and that’s all. I don’t want to risk getting caught in another storm, like the poor rangers you sent to help me in Sorbold. I don’t want you adding to theirs on my conscience.”
“Agreed,” said the elderly gentleman, his eyes twinkling in the morning light.
They were in the process of restoring a stone marker listing the names of the first settlers of western Navarne when Rhapsody felt a chill come to the clearing. Llauron had been standing behind her, watching above her as she dug around the stone, clearing the brambles from its base. When she turned she saw Khaddyr come into view behind him. Rhapsody rose, standing with the Invoker, as four men and a woman came into the clearing behind Llauron’s chief advisor. She glanced quickly at Llauron. The woman was Lark, Llauron’s own herbalist and one of his chief priests, with whom Rhapsody had studied.
The old man’s brows drew together.
“Khaddyr. I thought you were attending to the preparations for the vernal equinox.”
Khaddyr nodded as the priests closed ranks around him. “I am, Your Grace. I mean to see that it is celebrated under the leadership of a new Invoker.”
Rhapsody’s stomach froze like the ground beneath her boots. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means he is enacting an ancient ritual of passage, my dear,” said Llauron calmly. “He is challenging me under the law of Buda Kai.”
Rhapsody’s hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of Daystar Clarion. Buda Kai was the Filidic fight for dominance, a rite not practiced in the time since the Cymrian War. Llauron himself had not ascended by means of it, nor had his predecessor. Khaddyr himself had told her as much when he was her tutor. The victor would be recognized as the Invoker. It was a fight to the death.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to Khaddyr. “You yourself said it was a barbaric and outdated ritual that no one practiced anymore.”
Khaddyr smiled, and Rhapsody shivered involuntarily. There was a cruelty in his eyes behind his cultured voice, a hard and unyielding glint.
“Then I see we are both of the same mind. You are restoring monuments to the faded glory of a dishonored people, while I am invoking an ancient rite for purposes of returning honor to a religious sect led by a crumbling bastion of the same line. How ironic. Lark will stand as my second. It appears Llauron has no alternative but you. I am sorry you have to witness this, my dear. I would have spared you if I could.”
“Oh, no, Khaddyr, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rhapsody said, fury seething in her voice. “This way I can stand in for him. You’ll have to fight me first.”
“Excuse us for a moment, please,” Llauron said to Khaddyr, who nodded. He took Rhapsody by the arm and led her twenty feet away behind a stand of birch trees.
“Rhapsody, I’m sorry this is happening now, when we were just getting to spend some time together again. I’m afraid I must tend to this. The challenge must be met.”
“This is absurd,” Rhapsody said, glaring over her shoulder at Khaddyr and his second. “Imbeciles. Well, name me your champion and I’ll wipe that smug smile off his face. It will give me the opportunity to repay him for groping me when he first brought me to you.”
Llauron’s hands were gentle as he took her shoulders and smiled down into her face. “No, my dear, I’m not going to do that. I appreciate the offer, of course.”
Rhapsody was astonished. “What do you mean? Is someone else coming? Is Ashe nearby? Anborn?”
“No, I’m afraid not. This is a battle I will have to fight alone. Part of the office, you know.”
Rhapsody’s voice was gentle, but the overlay of concern was obvious. “Llauron, that’s ridiculous. Your strength is in your mind, in your wisdom, not your body. Besides, it’s my job to champion just such causes as these; that’s why I have the sword, remember? Please, just go tell Khaddyr that I will fight him, or Lark. I hope it’s the bastard himself, I have a debt to him I am looking forward to repaying with interest.”
“Rhapsody, listen to me,” Llauron said, his voice a little more commanding. “You will not be named champion. You don’t understand the intricacies of my office. This is a battle I have to fight alone. I need you to do something for me, though.”
“Name it, Llauron.”
“I n
eed you to be my witness; to act as herald when this is over. Whatever you see you must report accurately. The fate of the Filidic order depends on it. As a Namer, you guarantee the truth will be told.”
“Of course, but—”
“And I want you to swear a holy oath on your sword that you will not intervene here; that, no matter what happens, you remain out of the fight.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Rhapsody snapped before she had time to temper her words or her anger. “Llauron, this is what I’ve trained for, what you wanted me to do. This whole idea is insane; you’re exhausted and ill. Please, either walk away from this, or let me handle it.”
“Rhapsody, time grows short. Listen to me; either you will forswear intervention, and act as my witness, or I shall be forced to ban you from the fight. My lore here is stronger than yours, my dear. I can exile you to outside this forest, and then you condemn me to face this alone, without a herald, without a friend. I hardly think that is something you would abandon me to, is it, Rhapsody? Would you, a Namer, a Lirin Singer, deny me a friend in the face of death?”
Rhapsody began to tremble. “No.”
“I thought not.” Llauron’s face and voice grew gentle again. “I appreciate your selfless intentions, my dear. But this is an act that is foreordained; you can’t be part of it. You would dishonor everything I hold holy if you break your oath and participate in any way. Do you understand?”
She lowered her eyes as they filled with tears. “Yes.”
“Good, good. All right then; we will accept the challenge.”