The Naming (14 page)

When Maerad entered the Council Hall at Oron's house that afternoon, she flinched as if from a blow; she felt that she had walked into a brilliant blaze of light. It seemed that the room was brightly glowing and humming with a strange music, although she saw no light and heard no sound. Some deeper awareness in her mind prickled to alertness. A contested energy, she thought swiftly, as if many different minds strove in opposing directions to no avail.

She blinked and surveyed the room.

At least three dozen solemn Bards were seated at a round wooden table in a hall of austere loveliness, vaulted with a fan of fluted stone that soared over unadorned white walls. The only sign of luxury was a rich red carpet underneath the table, woven with stylized images of horses running over wide fields. The table itself seemed very ancient, carved of dark wood buffed to a high polish. It bore shapely glass decanters of water and goblets and a huge silver centerpiece of a horse rearing, but nothing else. A fire burned in a hearth on one wall, keeping back the chill of the early year.

The Bards looked as if they had already been conferring for some time. When Maerad and Cadvan entered, the entire table turned and looked at them, and Oron stood up. Maerad's stomach lurched with nerves. She turned to Cadvan for reassurance, but he just smiled at her gravely, neither friendly nor unfriendly. She swallowed and let him guide her to a high-backed chair. She stood waiting behind it, hoping that no one could see that her knees were shaking.

"Welcome to this Council, Cadvan of Lirigon and Maerad," said Oron. She introduced the people around the table, most of whom Cadvan seemed to know already. They nodded as their names were spoken, but said nothing. Maerad tried to keep track of them, but there were so many she forgot all of them almost instantly, although she saw Silvia and Malgorn to her right. Helgar, dressed in blue robes, who was a few seats to her left, flashed her a glance of such undiluted malevolence that Maerad was visibly taken aback. Next to her was a man with a long nose whose face Maerad instantly decided she didn't like. Saliman, sitting nearly opposite, smiled warmly. At last they sat down, but Oron remained standing.

"Out of courtesy to Maerad, who has not come into the Speech, we will use now the tongue of Annar," Oron said, with a slight nod to Maerad. "We've been discussing many things this day," she continued, "many of dark and troubling import, and it is pleasant to at last turn our consideration to something that might be thought of as good news. Here is one who claims to have survived the sack of Pellinor, the first and perhaps so far the most grievous of our losses. One Maerad, daughter of Milana, who, perhaps, some of you remember."

There was a murmur around the table. Some looked at Maerad with lively interest, some with open scepticism.

"It was said none survived," said Helgar sharply. "Why have we heard no news before of this? Can we be sure that this woman is who she says she is?"

"Perhaps Maerad can tell her story herself," said Oron unexpectedly, and she sat down.

There was an uncomfortable pause as Maerad looked down at the table as if she could find some help there. Her mind was completely blank. Cadvan cleared his throat and was clearly about to speak for her when Maerad stood up, almost knocking her chair over in her haste.

"I am Maerad," she said, "as you have already heard."

She paused again. She clenched her hands to stop them from shaking.

"When I was little, I lived with my mother and father in a place like this. I remember it, but not very well. My mother was
called Milana and my father was called Dorn. But then men came with swords, and they burned my home and killed my father, and they took me away with my mother. We went to be slaves in Gilman's Cot, near the Landrost in the mountains. My mother died there. I was a slave until Cadvan came there seven days ago and freed me and brought me here."

She stopped, and there was an expectant pause, as if all the Bards expected her to say more. Someone sniggered, but Maerad didn't look up to see who it was.

"Cadvan says I am a Bard and that I have the Gift, but I don't know if that is true," she said at last. "I just wanted to be free from Gilman. I was going to die there, in that place. But now that I'm here I don't know what I want. To be a Bard, maybe. Like my mother."

She stopped, twisting her hands, and then sat down abruptly

"Thank you, Maerad," said Oron. "Now, perhaps some of us here might like to ask you some questions. I understand this might be painful, but I would appreciate it if you could answer them."

Maerad nodded. She felt foolish and out of place and, glancing over to Helgar, she saw again that hostility in her face. She answered as best she could: how old she was, her age when she was kidnapped, who Gilman was, the circumstances of her slavery, how she escaped. She spoke mechanically, wondering why Cadvan sat so silently beside her. Underneath, however, she had a sense of being shamed, and her pride rebelled. Why should she have to prove who she was? She wasn't pretending to be anybody she was not. At last the long-nosed man sitting next to Helgar said with a sneer, "And how are we to know all this is true? None of this is said to us in the Speech, and we all know that lying is easier that way. An interesting ploy, think you not? Some clever young beggar might
seek to enter our ranks in such a way.... And in these days, we must be wary of the spies of the Dark...."

"I'm not a beggar!" Maerad forgot her self-consciousness, and was for a moment simply furious. "Why should I lie, anyway? I didn't ask to come here."

"Forgive us our questioning, Maerad," said Oron gently. "It is necessary for us to establish in our own minds who you are. The existence of a survivor of Pellinor is great news among us, and we would not have that news mislead us."

Maerad nodded again, slightly mollified. Strangely, she didn't feel nervous anymore.

"The dates fit," said Saliman. "Pellinor was sacked ten years ago, to this month, and Milana did have a daughter."

"As if the Dark wouldn't make it fit," said the sneering man. "It's a likely story. As if one of the Gift, of the House of Karn itself, could stay hidden for ten years, with no whisper."

"There were none left alive to witness their kidnapping," Saliman said. "And the School was burned to the ground. Who would know?"

"And why does Cadvan say nothing?" the sneering man continued. "I'd like to hear
his
story."

At last Cadvan stirred. "I said nothing, Usted, because I was not invited to speak," he said. "If my word and my Knowing mean anything at all, I can vouch for this girl. I am certain that she is who she says she is."

"That's all very fine, Cadvan," said Usted. "But the best of us can be misled by the arts of the Dark."

Cadvan sighed. "I know it is a time of fear, but equally we should be wary of fearing too much and suspecting where suspicion is pointless. The Dark seeks just such erosions of trust, for they serve its purposes. But I will give you my reasons for not doubting Maerad's story.

"Firstly, I have questioned her, and there is no part of what
she says that doesn't square with what is already known. Secondly, I have seen where she was, and her circumstances at Gilman's Cot, and I have no difficulty believing that no news escaped from such a place. Thirdly, there is no doubt she has the Gift, and it is an unusual Gift. You all know the signs. Fourthly, in my own doubt, I asked permission to scry her. She consented freely, and I found in my scrying no walls, no inhibitions, no scarred memory, no trace of any dealings of the Dark. Only confirmation that what she has said is the truth."

"But we all saw her play last night," said Usted, a little sulkily. "Where, if she was in such a benighted place, did she learn such playing? For, even if it's allowed that we all know the signs, we also know that playing doesn't come without teaching."

"There was a Bard at the Cot. He taught her. He didn't, however, teach her anything else. There are serious gaps in her Knowing, which will have to be rectified if things are to proceed. She doesn't even have the Speech."

"His name was Mirlad," said Maerad suddenly. "He was a good man."

"Mirlad?" said a woman who hitherto had sat silently, following the debate. "Maybe I knew him. There was Bard called Mirlad at Desor. He was a talented musician, but went to the bad: dabbled a little in the Dark Arts, and was cast out of the School. I never heard anything more of him."

"He was kind to me," said Maerad sadly. "And anyway, he's dead now."

"It seems that he was sufficiently punished, and perhaps redeemed himself, if indeed he was the same man," said Silvia, who had sat without speaking through the debate so far, a small crease between her eyebrows. "I think he was right to teach Maerad the way he did. Perhaps she would have been endangered if she had been taught the Arts. Myself, I believe Maerad's story."

Oron stood again. "Is everyone here satisfied to the truth of Maerad's tale?"

There was a murmur of assent. Usted and a few others still looked sceptical, but said nothing. Helgar stood up, smiling. There was no sign now of the malevolence that had so disconcerted Maerad on her entrance, unless it was in the honeyed tone of her voice.

"Oron, by your leave, I am not satisfied," she said.

The other Bards turned and looked at her gravely. Only Silvia studied the table, as if she did not trust herself to look at Helgar.

"Yes?" said Oron.

"I must say that this is an amusing fairy story," said Helgar. "An ignorant girl, a slave, and you wish to make her a Bard! By Cadvan's admission she is completely untaught. She probably can't even read. And we know nothing about her. Nothing!" Helgar looked around the table, and her face hardened. "Are we really about to admit her into the high circles of Barding, simply on Cadvan's say-so? Cadvan of Lirigon? How trustworthy is
he,
might I ask? Some of us seem to have longer memories than others. . . . I'm tempted to think it's all a bad joke. Or are Bards these days so credulous? Have we really fallen so low?"

A muttering went around the table, and Maerad felt her temper rising inside her. She quelled the impulse to jump up and shout at Helgar. She looked across at Oron, but her face was unreadable.

"Is that all?" Oron asked.

"I think, with the greatest respect, that it is quite enough," said Helgar. "By common consent, we know this is a time for caution. Do we really want a cuckoo in our midst?"

"I would suggest that an argument based on the traducing of a Bard's character is no argument," said Saliman, with an icy courtesy that was more cutting than any rudeness might have been.

"Any other objections?" said Oron.

A few Bards stood and echoed Helgar's sentiments. One, an older Bard dressed in green robes, went on for some length about the declining standards of Barding. Oron listened gravely, her face still expressionless, and at last silence fell. The Bards sat, their heads bowed, seemingly deep in thought. Maerad bit her lip, suddenly afflicted again with nervousness.

"I have heard all that is said," Oron said at last. "Despite the objections voiced here, I take it on myself to overlook Maerad's lack of Knowing. I believe she is as she says, and I know of no reason to disbelieve Cadvan of Lirigon. I here name her Minor Bard of the School of Pellinor. She is to receive the proper teachings and rectify her ignorance of the Three Arts."

An audible gasp ran around the table. For a split second Helgar looked amazed and furious, but she concealed it swiftly beneath a false smile. All the Bards stood and bowed to Maerad. Uncertainly, she stood also, and bowed back, wondering why Helgar disliked her so much. They sat down again, but Cadvan remained standing.

"I have a request," he said. "I ask permission of the Bards to name me as her sole teacher."

Another frisson went around the table, and a few whispers.

"Why do you seek that?" asked Oron. "It's most unusual."

"It's a little archaic, I know," said Cadvan. "But in these circumstances, I think such an arrangement would best serve Maerad. Although she is almost completely ignorant in some areas, she is very far advanced in others. If she stayed at a School, I think it would not serve her Gift."

"Can you take on such a responsibility?" asked Silvia. "I think your duties are already too onerous, and make you unsuitable. We can find a way of teaching that would suit her."

"Indeed, Silvia, I don't doubt that," said Cadvan. "But
Maerad has a Gift of unusual strength, and to reach her potential she requires tutoring that I am uniquely able to give her."

"But can you balance that with her needs as a young woman? She needs to be protected so her Gift can come into its full flowering. And, Cadvan, you are not one who lives a protected life."

"I know that, Silvia. Nevertheless, I have thought long on this. It was not chance, I believe, that I found Maerad when and how I did. I think she is my responsibility."

"But perhaps you read the chance wrong, and take from happenstance what was never meant to be taken. I think, Oron, that Maerad should stay here and be tutored wisely in the Arts in a place where she can learn properly." She didn't say,
instead of gadding about the wilderness with Cadvan,
but it was clearly meant. Their argument had the air of repetition, as if they had been through these same points before in earlier conversations.

"My heart tells me this is the right path," said Cadvan. "The ways of the Light are often beyond simple readings, and we must not dismiss them out of excessive caution. In our fear, we must not forget the strength that lies in trust."

"But trust is a double-edged blade," argued Silvia. "And can invite unwisdom."

"There was good reason for stopping the old system," interrupted Usted, who was still looking annoyed. "Bad training, the indulgence of spoiled students, and worse. I think it's a ridiculous idea." He snorted derisively. "Since when has Cadvan of Lirigon been known as a great teacher? Not in
my
lifetime." A number of other Bards murmured assent.

"Where could she get better teaching than Innail, anyway?" said the green-robed man, whose name Maerad hadn't caught. "We all know the dangers of badly taught Barding. Young Bards overreaching themselves and causing all sorts of trouble. Cadvan should know better than anyone. No, no, we can't countenance this."

Saliman had been studying the table. He looked up at this comment. "It does not do to speak ill of one of our greatest Bards," he said quietly. "Either we trust Cadvan of Lirigon, or we do not. I know of no reason why we should not trust one who has spent himself in the service of the Light. I believe we should listen to his promptings."

Maerad was beginning to feel like a cow for sale in a market. She was grateful when Oron turned to her and said, "Maerad, what do you think?"

She surprised herself when she said, without hesitation, "I'd like Cadvan to be my teacher."

"And you say that freely, without coercion?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence. Then Oron said slowly, "I think I will grant this. I feel it is correct, however unusual. There is more at play in this than any of us understand, and in such times we ignore the promptings of such as Cadvan, or the freely given decision of Maerad, at our peril. I say this understanding both the risks and rewards of trust. Do you, then, Cadvan, take on the duties of teacher and swear to work always to the good of Maerad's Gift and the Balance, to teach her the Three Arts to the best of your Knowing, and never to betray her trust in you?"

"I do," said Cadvan.

"This then is witnessed by the Bards of Annar, and is binding until Maerad is made full Bard. Thank you for your time, Maerad of Pellinor and Cadvan of Lirigon. We will meet later."

A number of the Bards who had objected to Cadvan were sitting at the table with their mouths open, and Maerad couldn't help admiring Oron's businesslike dispatch. She realized they were dismissed, and she left the Council Hall with Cadvan. As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, Cadvan laughed.

"Sorry I didn't warn you, Maerad, but I couldn't. It wasn't going to be easy, but we got what we wanted."

"What
we
wanted?"

"Yes. You had to choose me as teacher, out of your heart, and freely. I saw Oron this morning, and those were her terms. I could not take it on without your consent. Silvia will not be pleased with me. She thinks you should stay here."

Maerad felt a sudden pang of regret. "You mean we can't?"

"I
can't. And you must come with me, if you are my pupil." Cadvan looked at her swiftly. "I think we should talk. I'm hungry after all that business. We should get something to eat."

Maerad opened her mouth to object that she hadn't agreed to leave Innail, but she realized she was very thirsty and thought she could tax Cadvan on that point later. They went to the buttery in Silvia and Malgorn's house, where Cadvan charmed some wine and bread and cheese from the cooks, and took their food out to the courtyard. It was sunny, and the stone bench was warm. They attacked the bread and cheese with relish.

"It went well today, but mostly by the grace of Oron," said Cadvan. "I saw her early this morning, and we had a long discussion. The first thing was to get you named as Minor Bard of Pellinor, which should have happened when you were about six or seven, as I said—though some were implacably opposed to that, more than I expected. ... I need to think on what that might mean. Nothing good, I suspect. If they had not agreed, you would have been a Minor Bard of Innail."

"What would have been wrong with that?" asked Maerad. She liked Innail.

"Nothing in itself." Cadvan glanced across at her. "But Pellinor is your birthright, and that is your correct assignation.