“No, no, the track’s still there—I just can’t see it in all this gloom.”
“A torch—”
“Torches flicker too much, create too many distorting shadows.” She glanced up at the elves. “One of you give me some nice, steady light”
Eliathanis hesitated, then admitted reluctantly, “I can’t I’m a warrior, not a magician. The only magic I possess is that innate to my race.”
“No light-spells, eh? Tich’ki, I know you don’t have any, either.”
The fairy shrugged. “Can’t know everything. Better things to do with my time than waste it studying spells.”
A fairy who wasn’t too much of a magician? Kevin had never heard of such a thing. Maybe that was why she’d been cast out by her people.
Lydia was turning to Naitachal. “What about you, Dark Elf?”
Naitachal’s eyes glinted eerily in the darkness. “My people have no need for tight-spells.”
“Oh, great.” Lydia got to her feet. “Might as well make camp, then. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Wait” Heart racing, Kevin took out his lute, tuning it carefully. One of the magical songs his Master had taught him was known as the Watchwood Melody, and its purpose was to create tight “I don’t know if this is going to work, but ...”
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and started to sing.
At first nothing happened. But halfway through the melody, Kevin felt a tingle run through him, head to foot Magic, he prayed, let it be magic ...
And it was. For the first time in all the weary years of study he felt the song, felt each syllable, each note, as a separate wonder ringing in his mind. Listening to that wonder, he slid more and more deeply into his music ... though he was vaguely aware of something outside himself being different ... the darkness ... ? Surely it wasn’t quite as dark ... ?
Powers! He and his lute were—glowing! They were actually glowing with a pale, steady light!
“Terrific!” Lydia yelled—”Keep it going, just like that”
But all at once Kevin was terrified of what he had done. A childish part of his mind jibbered that he should stay what he’d been, ordinary, unimportant, safe. The bardling’s concentration slipped. His fingers stumbled on the strings, breaking the spell. As the pale light began to fade, his voice faltered to a stop. Kevin slumped, suddenly so weary from (he energy loss of a failed spell he could barely stay in the saddle.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Sorry!” Lydia echoed. “That was amazing!”
“No, it wasn’t. If I’d done it right, the light would have lasted even after I stopped singing.”
“Well, never mind,” the woman said cheerfully. “You’ll get it right next time.”
Kevin clenched his jaws before he could say something he’d regret The last thing he wanted right now was to be patronized, even by someone who meant well.
What was I trying to prove? I couldn’t hold onto even the simplest song-spell. Fin not a Bard. Maybe I never will be.
At least the two elves weren’t trying to be kind. But it didn’t help to hear Tich’ki chortling to herself, “Just like a human! Disappointed because he’s been de-lighted!”
Once the party had fed and watered the horses, and picketed them in a line, and eaten a dinner of cold meat and bread, there wasn’t much else to do. Kevin tried to start a conversation with the others, but nobody else seemed to want to talk. He sat back, disgruntled. This camp was hardly like those in the old songs: those songs in which a cheery group of comrades on the road gathered beneath the stars. If there were stars, they were totally hidden by the roof of leaves. And except for Lydia and Tich’ki, the comrades were strangers to each other, and not in a very cheery mood.
Naitachal sat as silently as a black-wrapped statue, a darker part of the night just outside the ring of firelight.
