Shadow Magic by Patricia C. Wrede Page B

tightening of the reins had no effect whatsoever.
    Alethia and Tamsin rode in silence. Both were acutely conscious of the eerie reputation of the Wyrwood and its denizens, and neither wished to antagonize their strange rescuers.
    They traveled for nearly an hour and a half. Finally their guide halted in a glade that, to Alethia, looked exactly like every other glade they had passed through in the forest. Starbrow stopped beside the Wyrd, snorting gently. As Alethia and Tamsin looked at each other uncertainly, the Wyrd gave another high, piping call.
    Almost instantly Starbrow was the center of a solemn circle of curious brown eyes. Alethia found herself uncomfortably aware of the long slender bow each Wyrd carried, and the quiver of arrows strapped conveniently to every back.
    One of the Wyrds stepped forward and bowed profoundly. “Welcome to the Wyrwood. I am Grathwol, Arkon of the Wyrds of Glen Wilding,” he said in their own language, in a voice that was not altogether friendly.
    Alethia slid to the ground, wincing as her bare, bruised feet landed. As Tamsin dismounted, she curtsied as best she could and said, “Thank you for your welcome, sir, and for your help. Your rescue was most timely.”
    Grathwol’s eyes flickered from Alethia to Tamsin. “I am glad you found it so. Therefore you will forgive my desire to know whom we have rescued and what business brought you to the Wyrwood.”
    Tamsin made one of his theatrical bows. “I am a minstrel and my name is Tamsin Lerrol; this is the Lady Alethia Tel’anh of Brenn.”
    The circle of Wyrds stirred for the first time, a brief rustle that could have been astonishment. Grathwol’s eyes snapped back to Alethia, and he studied her narrowly for a moment. Alethia lifted her chin and stared back. The Wyrd laughed. “I see. Forgive my discourtesy; it has been a long time since we have had such visitors at Glen Wilding.”
    He gestured, and all but two of the green-clad Wyrds vanished into the trees. One of the remaining Wyrds, a girl of indeterminate age, came over to stand beside Grathwol; the other took Starbrow’s bridle in hand and started to lead him away. Tamsin made half a gesture of protest. Grathwol smiled, showing pointed teeth.
    “You need not fear for your horse, minstrel,” the Arkon said. “Nor for yourself or your companion. Those who come from the Hall of Tears have always been welcome among us, and we have been watching for Mistress Alethia since yester eve.”
    “Watching for me?” Alethia said with a trace of alarm. “Why?”
    “We are not totally without knowledge of things beyond our forests,” Grathwol said evasively. He paused a moment, studying Alethia, then nodded slightly to himself. “I think perhaps we owe you an apology.”
    “I have never heard that it was customary among Wyrds to apologize for saving someone’s life,” Alethia said. Tamsin shot her a warning look, but the Wyrds both smiled.
    “It is not for rescuing you that we apologize,” the girl said, “but for being so long about it. We did not discover until this morning that the Lithmern had found a way to hide their clumsy blunderings about our woods.”
    “They have grown powerful indeed to dare a crossing of the Wyrwood,” Grathwol growled. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten Alethia and Tamsin; then he looked back at them. “We can speak more of this later. My daughter, Murn, will guide you while you remain in Glen Wilding; I will return to hear your stories and answer your questions after you have refreshed yourselves.”
    Grathwol bowed, then turned and disappeared among the trees. Murn, however, remained. She eyed the two humans critically. “I think you will want to wash first,” she said. “This way.”
    Tamsin and Alethia looked at each other. Alethia shrugged. There was no real reason not to follow; if the Wyrds wanted to harm them, there was very little Tamsin or Alethia could do to prevent them. Warily, Alethia limped after Murn. A moment later