Toren regarded the proffered object with a dry mouth and a flush of heat around the neck, acutely aware of the eyes upon him, particularly Deena's. The itch was gone, but bands of energy flowed from his palms to the gauntlets, creating an unbearable tug deep in the bones of his arms and shoulders. He reached forward, hand trembling, and hesitantly wrapped his fingers around Alemar's gift.
Toren inserted his right hand and pulled the finely meshed mail snug over his fingers. Suddenly the talisman grew heavy. He grunted and tensed his arm in order to keep it from plunging to the ground. The twins seemed impressed that he succeeded. Within moments the gauntlet grew light…
And the world changed.
First, and most fundamentally, he felt strong. Each breath pumped vigor into him. The weariness of the long journey dissipated. Secondly, the auras of the people around him sharpened, achieving a clarity that he had previously enjoyed only at night, away from the interference of background light. That belonging to one of the wounded men was sputtering. Toren guessed the rebel would die before nightfall. Complex and eye-pleasing filaments of energy shone around the twins, brightest of all except for the hearty glow streaming from the abdomen of the pregnant woman near Alemar.
Like the auras, sources of magic stood out like the solitary trees in the pasture lands of Irigion. In addition to the riot of tendrils blazing around the gauntlets, Toren saw the bursts coming from the amulets on the twins' chests, though the talismans were hidden beneath their collars. The throwing net draped over Geim's saddle horn flickered prominently. But far more intriguing was the forest itself. Before donning the gauntlet, he had been completely blind to a deep-seated, primal force contained in the foliage. A tiny bit radiated from each living leaf and twig, a virtually inexhaustible supply of energy should one know how to tap it. Someone could, for he sensed infinitesimal fractions of that power being drawn upon and guided in conscious ways. Of course, he thought. It's the rythni.
He laughed. He smiled at Deena. The anxious frown left her face. He turned and reached out his hand toward Elenya. "May I have the other gauntlet?"
The princess gazed at the talisman as if she had never seen it quite as she saw it then, slipped it off with a precision that betrayed a reluctance to part with it. She held it out to Toren.
"Be sure of yourself," Elenya said. "My brother and I each tried to put on the whole pair soon after we left the desert. We were both knocked unconscious. They might have killed us had we been slightly less attuned." Toren heard a hint of challenge in her tone, along with a note of concern.
Toren felt the compelling force in his right hand and said with confidence, "Struth knew what she was doing when she sent me."
The Vanihr took the second talisman and cradled it, examining the inset stones and the delicate, yet virtually indestructible gold filigree. He licked his lips, nodded, and inserted his left hand.
A ward automatically swelled around him, but other than that he felt little change. The most distinct difference was that he could sense what the rythni were doing with the forest energies he had detected earlier. They were weaving spells of concealment. Toren had only to adjust his inner vision a slight degree and the little people stood revealed, as visible to him now as if they had stepped from shadows into full sunlight. He was reminded of the moment when Struth had dropped the illusion on her countenance, except that in this case, the rythni were still actively trying to cloak themselves. The talismans utterly nullified their attempts. He hoped they were equally effective against Gloroc's illusions.
The relatively minor improvement in his senses worried Toren. Surely this was not all. Then he remembered how Keron's belt had acted when he had first put it on. The way to test the gauntlets was to do something with them.
One of the spells that Janna had taught him came to mind. He had been unable to master it at the temple. He recalled the technique and concentrated.
Jaws dropped and eyes widened on every side of him. Deena cried out.
"Where did he go?" Tregay blurted.
Toren had not moved. Smiling, he slipped to the side just as Elenya, less disoriented than the others, reached into the spot where he had been standing. She waved her hands over the area.
A voice carried over the hubbub of the rebels. "He's invisible." It was the pregnant woman who spoke. Toren noted a certain wryness in her tone.
The modhiv continued to wend his way through the assemblage, testing his spellweaving. No one heard his footfalls, no one felt the wind of his passage. As he ducked under a frond of bracken, careful not to brush against it, he noticed a queer pattern of magic, quite powerful but chaotic, emanating from a small tent just ahead. Leaving his confused audience behind, he ventured forward and lifted the flap.
A man in dirty silk robes came into view. He drooled and spun away from the light as if stung. Toren identified the strange energy pattern, and grunted in surprise. He dropped his invisibility just as a rebel noticed the open flap. The man called out, and moments later Alemar and Elenya led the observers to the tent.
"A wizard of the Ril," Toren said. "The one you defeated in the north?"
"I see you've heard about that," Alemar said. "Yes, this is Omril, a short time ago one of Gloroc's most favored pupils."
"What is wrong with him?"
"He has been dragon-touched," Alemar said.
Toren frowned. "Something you picked up from Struth?"
"No. I've only seen Struth once. It was actually a variation of a healing technique. Dragon-touching, a battle of minds-it's all the same sort of magic in the end." He dismissed the topic with a peremptory wave of his hand. "I take it that the talismans work for you?"
The query sank in. For a moment, Toren recalled the simple scout he had been less than a year before. On impulse, he freed the voices of his ancestors, and they simply waited, silent, absorbing the difference in their descendant, finding comfort that they were once again in a forest. It was his turn to shape the day. He clenched his fists, joyful at the power in them. Struth had stolen him from his home, but she had repaid the debt. He had come full circle-he was a warrior again, with a battle ahead as big as any modhiv of the Fhali had ever dreamed of. He could dream of better circumstances, perhaps, but with these talismans he had what he needed: a fighting chance.
"Yes, I am able to use them," he said. "It remains to be seen whether they are strong enough for Gloroc, but Struth has made a good plan. I'll accept that hospitality now, and I'll tell you about it."
XXIX
ALEMAR LEANED BACK against the broadleaf tree, Wynneth nestled in the crook of his arm. His right hand, bereft of the gauntlet, slid back and forth over his wife's rotund belly. The baby kicked. Alemar and Wynneth exchanged a smile.
The couple were part of a ring of people that surrounded Toren and received an account of his travels. Alemar listened with mute detachment, saving his questions. He felt warm and relaxed, able for once to be himself and enjoy his wife's company and his comrades' excitement. One of the burdens of his life had shifted to other shoulders.
Toren spoke clearly and well. The rebels insisted on lengthy descriptions of the Wood, which amazed them both by its resemblance to and difference from Cilendrodel's great forest. They listened raptly to the account of life at the temple of Struth, eager to know more of their strange ally. Fond memories welled up inside Alemar when the modhiv mentioned that Obo was the source of his skill with the High Speech. The prince approved of the candidate's open, guileless demeanor and the patience with which he answered questions. He had not known what to expect from a man sent by a dragon. He also liked the tender glances the Vanihr shared with his woman companion. Could it be true that, after all these years, their designs to reconquer Elandris were coming to fruition?