The Riddle (8 page)

“The Tree of Light, as I see it each year at Midsummer,” said Nerili, looking at it with her head cocked to one side. “It is beautiful, yes? Each First Bard sees it in her own way. This is how it appears to me. If ever you do the Rite of Renewal, you will see a different one. But it will be just as beautiful.” She clapped her hands, and the tree vanished. “Now you try.”

Maerad’s mind went blank. “What?” she asked.

Nerili shrugged. “Show me something,” she said. “Something you remember. Did you catch the passes?” She showed Maerad the hand gestures again, and Maerad copied them slowly, fixing them in her memory. Into her mind leaped an image of the wight she had destroyed at the Broken Teeth, just before Norloch. She bent her imagination to visualizing it, and Nerili gasped.

“Not that!” she said quickly. “Not a creature of the Dark. No, show me something else.”

My memories are full of horror, Maerad thought. I can’t help it. Obediently she pushed the wight out of her mind and cast about for another image. Gradually, shimmering a little, the figure of a woman appeared in the room, facing away from them. She was dressed in white robes, and her long dark hair fell unbound down her back. Slowly she turned to look at the two Bards. Her face was full of sadness.

“Your mother, Milana of Pellinor,” said Nerili softly. “I never met her. She looks very much like you. Thank you, Maerad.” The figure faded and vanished, and there was a short silence. Maerad looked away. She didn’t know why she had shown Nerili her mother, and she now wished she hadn’t. Nerili took her hand, and Maerad jumped. If she had said anything to her, Maerad might have started crying, but they just sat wordlessly for a while, until Maerad collected herself.

“Magery, even the slightest, calls on the deepest parts of ourselves,” Nerili said at last, releasing her hand. “And often that is painful. It is the pain of being in the world, where so much that is fair passes into death and forgetfulness. But if we are to know joy, we must embrace that pain. You cannot have one without the other.”

Maerad nodded, her face downcast. Sometimes, it seemed to her, the pain far outweighed the joy.

Emissaries arrived from Norloch very quickly, five days after Maerad and Cadvan. They made council with Busk’s First Circle and left early the next day for Gent. After they had gone, Nerili called another council of the First and Second Circles — all the senior Bards of the School of Busk — and this time Maerad and Cadvan were summoned.

When they arrived in the Council Room, Maerad was surprised to see half a dozen people who were clearly not Bards. They were the Steward of Busk, a tall, burly man called Arnamil, and the members of his Chamber — three women and two men — one of whom, Maerad saw, was Owan d’Aroki. In tandem with the six Bards of the First Circle of the School, the Chamber governed the Isle of Thorold. With the sixteen Bards, there was a sizable gathering around the large round table that dominated the room. When everyone was seated, Nerili stood and began without preamble.

“Welcome, Chamber and Bards. Thank you for answering my call. I realize this meeting is not at the usual time.” She paused and looked slowly around the table, meeting the eyes of each person present. “Bards of the First Circle, you know why I have called you here. You were present yesterday, when Igan of Norloch issued the edict of Norloch to the School of Busk. What he told me deeply concerns all of Thorold, and this is why I asked you, Lord Steward, and your Chamber to be present.”

She drew a deep breath, as if she were nervous, but Maerad realized quickly that Nerili was, with difficulty, restraining fury.

“Igan of Norloch informed me yesterday that there have been certain changes within the School of Norloch, and within Annar.” Here Maerad sat up straighter. “There has been revealed, he said, a plot within the First Circle itself, a faction of rebels who are in league with the Dark. The rebellion has been put down, and its leaders imprisoned. The imprisoned traitors are Nelac of Lirigon, Tared of Desor, and Caragal of Norloch.”

There was an audible gasp of dismay from around the table, and Maerad met Cadvan’s eyes. He looked saddened, not shocked; she suspected he knew this already.

Nerili continued. “Norloch is under the military rule of the White Guard, commanded by the First Bard, Enkir of Norloch, to combat the emergency caused by the rebels. He has invoked the triple scepter, the emblem of the lost Kings of Annar, and claims the authority of High King over all the Seven Kingdoms.”

Again there was a collective gasp of shock. Arnamil leaped out of his chair, his mouth open, ready to say something, but Nerili held up her hand to indicate she wasn’t finished, and he slowly sat down.

“Moreover, he spoke of news that the kingdom of Dén Raven is moving in the south. He said that Norloch expects that Turbansk will be attacked within the next three months by the Sorcerer Imank.”

Maerad thought of the implacable army she had seen in her foredream. She bit her lip and looked at her hands, trying to keep down a surge of despair; even if Turbansk were attacked, it didn’t mean that Hem would be killed.

Nerili kept speaking. “In this climate of danger, Igan tells me, the First Bard of Norloch and the King of Annar, Enkir of Norloch, seeks the loyalty of all Schools and all Kingdoms. We are to give our undivided fealty, without question, to the triple scepter, or we are to be regarded as rebels. And he gave me to understand, in not so many words, that to choose rebellion, and thus to earn the enmity of Norloch, would be to risk the full wrath of Norloch’s might and power.”

The final statement nearly caused a riot. Almost everyone in the room stood up and started shouting. Nerili again held up her hand for silence, and her voice rang out over the room.

“My friends,” she said. “My dear fellow Thoroldians. I know as well as you that never, even in the times of the Kings of Annar, were we or any of the Seven Kingdoms under the authority of Annar. And you can be sure that I said this to Igan, emissary of Enkir of Norloch. And he said to me, ‘Nerili of Busk, things change. We have entered dangerous times, and if we are to survive them, we must change our free ways. Thoroldians must obey the new laws or be the victims of them.’ Such is the edict of Enkir of Norloch.” Nerili bowed her head. “I am ashamed to be the bearer of this news. It casts a shadow over all Bards.”

There was a wrathful murmur around the table, and Arnamil stood up again, his eyes flashing. “What did you say to this insult, Lady of Busk?” he asked. “Did you throw him out of the School, with his tail between his cowardly legs, as he deserved?”

“I did not.” Nerili looked him steadily in the eye. “Arnamil, to do so would be tantamount to severing all connection with Norloch, and would risk open war. Such a thing has not happened since the Kings ruled in Annar, and I am not prepared to risk warfare solely on my own authority.” She again looked around the table, where everyone now sat in tense silence.

“I received him politely. I listened politely. I told him that I was aware that we live in dangerous times, and that we must take heed of such that threatens us. I said I would consult with the Bards and Chamber, and then would let Norloch know of our response.” She paused. “He gave us a week. And he said again that if our fealty was withheld, we would suffer grave consequences.”

“I say, then,” said Arnamil, thumping the table with his huge fist, “that in a week we send back his damned edict, torn into little pieces.” Most of the table cheered. “We don’t need Norloch.” He sat down truculently.

Now Elenxi stood. “I suggest, for the meantime, another way,” he said. “If we can avoid a war with Norloch, I think we should. Let them force the issue. If Norloch seeks to betray the covenant between Annar and the Seven Kingdoms in this way, then let Norloch break it. Not us.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Owan, who had hitherto sat silently throughout the noisy meeting, twisted around to look up at the old warrior.

“I suggest we offer Norloch our fealty.” There was an angry rumble. “We offer them our fealty, I say, under our unwavering allegiance to the Light. That covenant guarantees our freedom and our independence. If Norloch doesn’t like it, Norloch has to say on what terms our fealty is unsatisfactory. This will take a little time, since we have broken no promises. Meanwhile, we send emissaries to other Schools in the Seven Kingdoms and seek to know their own answers to this outrage. I think their minds will be like to ours. Will Annar seriously declare war on all of the Seven Kingdoms? And, in the meantime, we look to our fortifications.” Elenxi glared around the table from under his bushy eyebrows and sat down.

After a short silence, Arnamil started chuckling. “They always said you were a fox, Elenxi. I like it.”

“This is the course I and the full First Circle advise,” said Nerili, standing again. “Are we all agreed?” Everyone in the room, even Cadvan and Maerad, who were not really supposed to vote, put up their hands. Nerili nodded. “Good, then. We will pursue this policy until we find out whether Norloch’s words have real steel or are only empty threats. Norloch would be a dire enemy, doubt it not; but it would be no small thing to invade Thorold. We will all keep in close consultation. Elenxi and Arnamil can confer on the strength of our defenses, and improve them, if need be.”

“They’d have to kill every man, woman, and child to defeat Thorold,” growled one of the Chamber.

“Now, there is one more thing. I need to introduce to you Cadvan of Lirigon and Maerad of Pellinor.” Cadvan stood up, and Maerad, taken by surprise, scrambled up after him. “Most of you know Cadvan well. He has spent much time here. Maerad only some of you will know; she has been Cadvan’s student, and is now a full Bard. They are, Igan told me, dangerous members of this rebellion in Norloch, and they are outlawed. They are now sought over all Annar.”

The council turned to look at them with lively curiosity.

“I want you all to know that I cannot and do not believe that either of these Bards have any truck with the Dark. Igan tells me that anyone who hands these criminals to Norloch will earn great favor with the citadel, but those who harbor them from justice will feel the full force of its displeasure. He is unaware as yet, of course, that they are here in Thorold. I warned my people to keep silent when the emissary came, and I know also that they were asked after, both within the town and the School. To my knowledge, they can prove nothing, but we cannot be sure of that. They may already know that these Bards have sought refuge here.

“I ask you now whether we, as Thoroldians, will hand them over to Norloch, as is ordered. Or do we suffer this risk — to grant haven to Cadvan of Lirigon and Maerad of Pellinor, and risk its punishment?”

The table erupted again. The mood against Norloch was so ugly that Nerili had no need of persuasive argument: to be declared rebels by Enkir was itself enough to ensure their protection.

“I need not tell you, then,” said Nerili, “that their presence must be kept secret within the School and must not be made known within the town of Busk, aside from those here, who already know. We cannot tell what spies are abroad, and the arm of Norloch is long. A loose word could forfeit their lives and would cause Norloch to declare us rebels.” She stared around the table, to underline her seriousness. “Well, that is the end of our business.”

She lifted up her arms, as if in blessing, and said, with a sudden wild joy that sent goose bumps down Maerad’s spine, “My friends — you make me so glad. I expected no less from you. No tyrant will crush the heart of Thorold!”

The council ended in cheers.

NERILI acted on the decision with dispatch: the Thoroldian emissaries left the following day. As one was to go to Turbansk, Maerad took the chance to write to Saliman and Hem. She closeted herself in her room and carefully laid paper, ink, and a pen out on the table. She sat for a long time looking at them, without doing anything. She had never written a proper letter before.

At last, with a determined expression, she picked up the pen and began to write. She blotted the first sheet, then tore it up and threw it on the floor. Her second try was more successful. She wrote laboriously, with many hesitations.

To Hem and Saliman, greetings!

Cadvan and I arrived in Thorold safely, as you may know if the bird reached you. We are both much better than when we last saw you.

I was very seasick on my way here, and Cadvan and I had to fight an ondril, which was very big, but we got here safely. Nerili has given us haven, and you will have heard the rest of the news from the emissary.

I hope you have arrived in Turbansk with no harm, and that Hem finds the fruits are as big as the birds said they were. I think of you all the time and miss you sorely.

With all the love in my heart,

Maerad

Writing this note took her a long time. She looked at it critically; her writing was still very wobbly, with none of the sure beauty of a Bard’s hand, and it said nothing that she really wanted to say. She would have liked to tell Hem what Busk was like, to describe its low stone buildings and cool gardens, and its cheerful, generous people. Hem would have been amused by the sea urchins that smelled like old boots. She imagined him laughing, and then imagined him tasting them in his greed. But no good manners would have prevented Hem spitting them out onto the table, no matter who was present.