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I
arrive.”
    Mithrais’ answering smile was slow and
beautiful. “Then we must make haste. I wouldn’t want to be
responsible for the incapacitation of an entire village.”
    * * * *
    The sun was nearly at its zenith when the
small wagon broke from the trees at last. At the fore, Bessa
cantered proudly, ribbons streaming from her bridle and mane and
tail. Telyn had pulled lengths of ribbon out of a basket to
decorate the wagon as well, and they now fluttered in rainbow
streamers on the freshening breeze.
    Mithrais blinked in the sudden brightness of
open skies, unaccustomed to light unfiltered by the dense, green
canopy of the Wood. The day had become unseasonably warm, and the
Westwarden’s forest-green jerkin was casually open at his throat,
his bow and the late assassin’s sword slung on his back as he
walked several paces in front of the wagon.
    He had declined to ride beside the bard on
the bench seat, ostensibly in order to keep better watch, though
Aric’s brief reconnaissance and bearing before departing the
campsite had revealed no threats. The previous night’s captive had
fled as instructed, and no other presence in the western Wood
interested the Gwaith’orn—or Mithrais, for that matter—as much as
that of Telyn Songmaker.
    In keeping his distance from the bard,
Mithrais hoped to allow himself the opportunity to order his own
thoughts, which were uncharacteristically divided. Something else
was at work within his heart besides duty.
    Aric had cast occasional bemused glances at
his friend as Telyn prepared her wagon. The flame-haired warden had
known Mithrais far too long not to recognize that the Westwarden
was affected by the young bard, and pulled him aside when it came
time to depart.
    “You’re as distracted as the Gwaith’orn by
this girl,” he murmured with a glint of humor in his eye. “They
missed the threat to her last night until it was nearly too late.
Are you certain that you don’t want me to accompany you to ensure
you don’t do the same?”
    Mithrais grinned at his partner, and then
sobered. “I’m even more certain that the Fates are directing my
path in this, Aric,” he admitted in a low voice, but did not
elaborate. “I promise I’ll be vigilant. I’ll find you after I have
seen her safely to Rothvori, but don’t look for me until
tomorrow.”
    Aric raised an eyebrow. “I thought Marithiel
had summoned you to return to Cerisild for the spring celebrations.
You’re not going to make it.”
    “My mother knows full well that my duties
will not always allow me to return home at her whim,” Mithrais
replied shortly. Aric shrugged.
    “You have to face her, not I, the gods be
thanked for that. I’ve seen enough of her venom to last me a
lifetime.” The warden’s amber-brown eyes glanced toward where Telyn
made final adjustments to Bessa’s harness leathers, and he frowned.
“What of the Gwaith’orn, Mithrais? Will you tell her?”
    “Not yet. There are few here at the edge of
the Wood, and little danger that they’ll attempt to bring her to
them. It will give me time to explain.”
    “The old stories have always been the Tauron
Order’s alibi. No one really believed them, not even the bards.”
Aric’s glance was still troubled. “That secret has never been
shared with one who wasn’t Wood-born.”
    “The Gwaith’orn have never shown so much
interest in one that wasn’t Wood-born,” Mithrais countered.
    “Unless they’re dangerous.” Aric smiled
wickedly. “And I have never seen you in so much danger, my friend.
I thought you to be immune—or has she bewitched you with a bard’s
spell?”
    Not a spell, perhaps, but some ancient magic
deeper than that... Mithrais wondered if Aric suspected how close
to the truth he had been. The rapport he and Telyn had shared that
morning was an intimacy more profound than physical closeness,
although the touch of her hand had stirred his blood in unexpected
ways. In that moment of unity, Mithrais had realized