Soul-Singer of Tyrnos. Ardath Mayhar
and a woman, too, who had been the instrument of that Lord’s doom. Still, that was my task, the fate of those who must be Singers.
Though I had come to the city of Raz in the grip of grim purpose, now I went away from it in the twilight with no destination in my mind. All ways are alike to a Singer, and we must trust to the gods to lead us toward the work they hold ready for our hands.
The dust puffed away from each russet boot as I walked. I looked up toward the darkening horizon and saw that it might well turn into mud, for purple-gray cloud hung there. It raced the night down-country toward me.
To my right, a few rods from the verge of the road, was the hem of a considerable wood that seemed to stretch in ever-thicker reaches until it filled the whole prospect to the south. Deciding that its shelter would be preferable to the exposed road, I turned aside and made my way among the slim young saplings of its outer edge until I reached the greater boles that marked the beginning of the real forest.
The strange stillness that precedes a storm held the wood in a fragile trance. My steps did nothing to break the waiting mood, as I made my way into the dimness of the ways beneath the heavy-leaved spread of branches that roofed out the sky. Finding, by touch, a hollow in a giant trunk, I rattled a dead branch inside to frighten away any resting serpent. Then I climbed into the gap, glad to find so secure a haven from the rain and the night that was now upon me.
I did not touch the wheel of my lightglass. There was some mood of darkness and quiet in that place that I felt would not take kindly to the intrusion of my kind. Instead I settled my bones among the twiggy debris that lay on the floor of my nook and closed my eyes, glad enough for the chance of rest, though I still felt the Power tingling along my nerves in faint echoes.
A crash of thunder and the chill mist of rain blown into my hiding place woke me. As I peered out, I could see the area about my tree kindled to wet-silver brightness by a flash of lightning. And more than trees and vines and fallen trunks were thereby revealed.
I looked closely, not to miss the next lightning bolt. All through the wood, as far as I could see, there were dark forms, shapeless as though hooded and cloaked in black, moving through the sheeting rain, standing as though looking upward toward the shouting sky, or drifting into an eddy that seemed to center upon the tree in which I lay.
I closed my eyes and drew upon the residue of Power that still thrummed within me. I traced glowing bars of force across the opening behind which I lay, crosshatched them with others, and set at the webbed center the Huym. Without further worry, I slept again, lulled by the drumming of the rain and the swishing of branches.
When I woke, a shaft of pale sunlight was striking into my refuge. I stretched and climbed down onto the soaked mold of the forest floor, examining it closely for any trace of those dark watchers of the night before. The rain had been heavy and long, and if there had been any mark of foot or paw, it was obliterated now.
Drawing from my pack a chunk of cheese and a heel of good bread, I stood and ate, surveying my surroundings carefully. Though there seemed nothing amiss, still there was a feel to that wood that made my neck hairs rise. Though I made no stir or movement more than was necessary, I could hear no bird, see no motion anywhere about me. Such an old forest should have been astir with small creatures: rabbits scuttling through the undergrowth, beetles chomping noisily at the fallen and lichenous logs, birds feeding in the upper reaches. There was nothing.
A clatter of hooves over a stony patch in the nearby road distracted me, and I moved to the edge of the trees to see who was corning so swiftly. Away toward the towers of Raz, now out of sight behind the fold of low hills, the road was awash with morning sun. Drawing near upon it was a pony bearing a youth who flogged it without mercy, urging it to more speed.
Suspecting that I was the object of his pursuit, I stepped into view and raised my arms high, that he might see me. He reined in the pony and walked it through the young growth to the spot where I stood. As he drew near, I saw that he was, indeed, very young...more than twelve, perhaps, but less than fourteen. His milk-pale skin was blotched with cinnamon-colored freckles, and his hair was red-gold in the light.
As he approached, I saw his eyes widen and a look something like awe overspread his features. He sprang from the pony’s back and knelt at my feet, making obeisance as though I were one of the High Adept, rather than a very young Singer clad in leather.
“You slept the night in the accursed wood?” he asked, as I lifted him to his feet and looked into his face. “None but the very wise and the terribly wicked can sleep safely there. My mother....” He choked as if to quell a sob, then continued, “...My mother is like to die, because her mare carried her into that forest and dashed her head against a limb, knocking her senseless.”
“Surely no wood can be blamed for a frightened horse,” I murmured. “Such accidents happen everywhere, to all kinds of folk who never saw this wood.”
“Not of the injury is she like to die,” he said. “When they told me in the town that a Singer had come and gone, I came after you as fast as Cherry could gallop. I knew that you, if anyone alive, may be able to save her. May I sit and tell you of our trouble?”
So we sat at the edge of the road, as he feared to go into the trees, and he told me this tale:
“My father is from home, having been called by the High King to come down to the Citadel in the south. My mother, with his leave, wished to visit Grandam, who lives in Raz. Even Razul would not dare meddle with those of our family, and both knew that she could safely make the journey. We came past this wood on our way; we made our visit and persuaded Grandam to return home with us. Again we made to pass this wood, but a great black shadow rose beneath the hooves of Mother’s mare, and she fled into the wood, mad with fear.
“We took Mother up, Grandam and I and the servants, and bore her home. It is not far, and there we brought her to herself. She seemed a bit dazed, but not seriously hurt. We were well content, for a time. But she had not known, before my father left, that there would be a new babe. He has not returned, though there has been more than enough time for him to end his business with the High King. She has grown wild and pale and weak. She calls for him in the night and speaks strangely of people in the wood.
“Our folk, though not wicked, are very fearful of things they cannot understand. They are talking among themselves, saying that the child to come is not of my father’s get, but a demon begotten on my mother in the accursed wood. They will not listen to a youngling like me. They hardly listen to Grandam, though she is tall and fierce and can quell them, for now. They want to slay the child, though it means slaying Mother as well. She will not stay them, for she fears, too, that the child is not of human kind. Twice she has eluded her nurses and gone into the village to those who would take her life. Both times, thanks be to the gods, we overtook her and brought her safely back. Still, we know that we must have help, and I went to Raz to find a physician. When I learned that you had been there, I knew that the gods held us in their hands.”
Here the boy paused, and I looked at him long. “I am surprised that any remembered that I was there,” I said. “Few seemed to see me, even as I sang. After...afterward no one but Anna, the serving woman, could see me at all.”
“But it was Anna I went to,” he said. “She is Nurse’s sister, and she told me which way to go. Will you come with me to my father’s house and see to my mother? The folk will surely listen to a Singer of Souls.”
“I will come,” I said. “But first I must cleanse this wood. If it reaches out and draws victims to it, it must not be left to do further wickedness. Tell me how to come after you, then go and spread the news of my coming. I will be there shortly.”
The boy stood up from the stone upon which he sat. His hair flamed in the sunlight, and he said firmly, “Rolduth, Rellas’s son, does not leave a maid alone to do a fearsome work. What help I can give you, I will.”
I did not smile, for he was much in earnest. “Then come with me into the wood, Rolduth. Take my hand...no harm will come to you, that I swear.” He turned even paler than was his natural hue, but he took my hand. Together, we went into that still forest. When I