The Naming (20 page)

"Alas, no. I must go first to Norloch. Perhaps I will find what I seek there, but it seems to my heart that I will not. A long journey, and cheerless to me, although it is long since I saw Nelac, and I have missed him. Nelac was my teacher, as well as Cadvan's," he explained to Maerad. "Perhaps he has spoken of him to you? A great Bard, but even a great Bard ages, and we have need of more like him. I mislike all I hear of what is happening in this land. All that is good and wholesome withers."

"It's unlike you to be so downcast," said Cadvan. "When are you leaving?"

"In a week or so, I think," Saliman said. "I find myself reluctant to hurry away from this haven. It will be all the sweeter if those who slight me for the color of my skin have left." Maerad knew that he meant Helgar and Usted, and others. "I have not had time, either, for proper counsel with Oron, which I hope for before I leave here."

Cadvan did not take the dais this night, and Maerad listened to the other Bards playing the songs of leavetaking. Her sense of foreboding could not abate her delight in the music, and she was so absorbed she jumped when Cadvan told her it was time to go.

Together they said farewell to Saliman and then made their way to the high table where Malgorn and Silvia sat. "We will come with you," said Silvia. "I begin to tire." In silence they walked back to Silvia and Malgorn's house, where Cadvan and Maerad changed into their traveling clothes. Maerad took off her finery and put on the jerkin and leather trousers Silvia had laid aside for her, and over all a heavy, dark blue cloak. She kept the jewel Silvia had given her around her neck, hidden under her clothes. Her mail and helm were stowed in her pack. Regretfully she folded the crimson dress and placed it in the chest. She guessed it would be a long time before she
wore such fine clothes again. Then, after a last quick look around her room, she picked up her pack and went downstairs.

"Now we are travelers indeed," said Cadvan. He was back in the clothes she remembered from their first meeting, worn and travel-stained, but now clean and mended. "But we won't be camping until we leave the Innail Valley. There are some fine inns here it would be a crime to pass by!"

Maerad smiled with relief; she had been dreading the thought of sleeping outside in this weather. Cadvan offered her a small glass of sweet wine. "We must drink the parting cup." He raised his glass to Malgorn and Silvia. "Peace be on your house, and all who live there," he said.

"And may the Light bring your journey to a safe end," said Malgorn. They drank the wine, and then Cadvan and Maerad embraced Silvia in farewell. Malgorn was to go with them, to show them a private way out of the School.

"Make sure he doesn't eat all the rations," Silvia said to Maerad, smiling sadly. "You still have some weight to gain."

"Now, be fair," said Cadvan. "I can hardly force them down her throat!"

"Good-bye!" said Silvia, and she stood alone at the door and watched them until they vanished completely into the darkness.

They walked quickly through the night streets of Innail to the stables, wrapping their cloaks around them to keep out the cold. It was beginning to rain, a light shower that slowly grew heavier. Their footsteps echoed back from the black walls of the houses, and raindrops glanced off the wet cobbles like flecks of cold light. When they saw a few Bards straggling home from the feast they withdrew into doorways, covering their faces with their hoods. Otherwise they saw no one and passed unnoticed through the shadows.

Already Maerad felt exiled from the life of Innail. Even ten
minutes ago she had been part of it, one glowing thread in its complex tapestry. Now sadness dragged her steps. Would she ever come here again? Here she felt safe and at ease. Before her lay hardship and flight, certain danger and an uncertain fate. But a hardening will answered the obscure dread stirring within her; she couldn't say in words why she should leave Innail but, in some deeper part of her mind, she was certain she could do nothing else.

Cadvan helped Maerad strap her pack to the saddle, and then, leading their horses, they followed Malgorn through dark, narrow lanes Maerad had not seen before, until they reached the School wall. He led them to a small, heavily bolted iron door just big enough to admit the horses. Malgorn took out an iron key and opened the door soundlessly. A last hasty embrace and they passed through. The door shut behind them with a dull thud.

Maerad heard the key turn in the lock and the bolts shoot home, and then only the heavy patter of the rain.

_RACHIDA

And from his icy throne a king

Rose from his spellbound sleep and saw

A vision of the banished spring,

A form so fair and luminous

That from his frosted eyes the hoar

Ran down like tears and, marveling,

He felt the chains of winter thaw

And years of thraldom ruinous.

Between them stood the wall of ice

And round them barren winter waste,

But each saw in the other's face

The light of summer lingering:

And then like thunder broke the frost,

The chill wall fell, and morrowless

Immortal maid and man embraced,

Their light and shadow mingling.

From
The Lay of Ardina and Ardhor

_XI

INNAIL
 
FESSE

THEY rode through the night in almost total darkness. The heavy clouds meant that little moonlight aided their way, and all Maerad could see was the dark shape of Cadvan, the darker shapes of trees on either side, and the faint glimmer of the road ahead of them. Imi was sure-footed and never stumbled. After an hour the rain lifted, and shortly after that they reached a fork in the road. Cadvan took the western road, and they had ridden for another hour when the dulled sound of the hoofbeats on a track changed to a sharp ring of cobbles, and Maerad saw the black outlines of houses around them. They slowed to a walk and Cadvan leaned toward her, pointing to one of the buildings.

"We're in Stormont now," he said. "That's the Chequers, one of the best inns in Innail Valley. Grall will rise for late travelers, and it's comfortable enough."

Maerad was numb with cold and tiredness, and was grateful for a respite from the rain. It wasn't long before Cadvan had roused the innkeeper, who looked curiously at Maerad but admitted them cheerfully and, after stabling their horses, showed them to a small pair of low-eaved rooms linked by a comfortable sitting room, in which he hastily lit a fire.

"Too late for dinner, by some hours, begging your pardon," said the innkeeper. "You're lucky you came tonight. After tomorrow I'm all booked up with Bards."

"I'd be grateful if you kept quiet about our stay," said Cadvan. "Some are a little too nosy for my liking."

Grall looked sideways at Maerad and put a finger along his nose. "Secrets are safe with me," he said conspiratorially. "As you well know, Lord Cadvan. Can I get you some spiced wine, perhaps? And for the young lady? You look half frozen."

He bustled out, and Maerad burst into giggles. Cadvan threw his cloak on a chair and leaned toward the fire.

"Perhaps it is no bad thing, having a ready reason for discretion," he said, looking at Maerad with amusement. "Grall is a good man; I have reason to know I can trust him. Otherwise, we'd be making camp underneath some dripping trees, with no fire!"

Before long Grall was back with clay cups of hot spiced wine, and Maerad sipped it dreamily, staring into the fire, feeling the warmth thrill down to her toes. The wind threw more rain against the window and howled through the trees outside, and she felt intensely grateful she wasn't out in the night. As soon as she finished her wine, she roused herself and went to bed, yawning.

It seemed only a minute later that Cadvan was knocking at her door. "Time for breakfast!" he said. "I want to get moving straightaway; the Bards from Innail won't be far behind." Maerad realized she was ravenous, and, after a spartan wash, joined Cadvan in the sitting room. Grall brought in a huge breakfast of sausages, chops, black beans, mushrooms, and fresh bread, fussing about Maerad with so much exaggerated tact she had trouble keeping a straight face. It was still dark, but soon a dim gray wash began to lighten the windows. Although it had stopped raining, outside looked bleak and dreary. The last thing Maerad felt like was a long ride, though she wondered hopefully if Cadvan was planning inn stops all the way to Norloch; it mightn't be so bad if he was.

In less than an hour they were mounting their horses. A
watery sun was now struggling to push through the clouds, but with little success. Grall held their bridles while they mounted. "No word, mind, Grall," Cadvan said. "I shouldn't like to hear of my own movements."

"You know me, mum as an egg," said Grall. "Though I'm sorry you're not staying longer. I was hoping to get some news from you, and I know what Lord Cadvan says is more reliable than what comes from some others, if you know what I mean."

"I'm sorry too, and not only for that," said Cadvan. "You've always run one of my favorite stopping places."

Grail's face brightened. "We have a reputation, and that's a fact," he said. "And there's no gainsaying that my beer's been especially good since last you were here. I could wish you visited more often. The Chequers's cellars are famous around these parts now." Then he looked worried again and leaned forward, whispering hoarsely. "I just keep hearing bits and pieces, bad news, and no mistake. Things are out of whack, if I'm not mistaken. I'd sorely like your advice."

"Yes, things are out of whack, Grall," said Cadvan seriously. "May it not touch you! Be sure the Bards are doing what they can. But now, we really must go. A blessing on your house!"

Grall at last let go of the bridles, and they were off.

Stormont was a village of perhaps a dozen houses, all low-windowed and whitewashed and thatched with dark river reeds. Maerad looked around her with wonder; she had never seen such a village before, and in truth it seemed to her as exotic as Innail, although Cadvan was riding through it with scarcely a glance. It was still early and no one was on the road, but she saw rushlights fluttering in the paned windows. Cocks were crowing and dogs barking, and far in the distance she could hear a farmer calling in his cows and the clank of pails. Beyond the village the hills were shrouded in fog, but as the sun rose, it began to disperse and there was even some sunshine, although
it brought no warmth, and heavy gray clouds coming in over the mountains portended more rain.

When they were well out of the village, Cadvan turned to Maerad and said, "I might as well disguise us a little. I'm known around here." He simply passed his hands, and Maerad blinked and looked around. She saw no difference.

"You're Bard-eyed, so it doesn't work on you," said Cadvan. "It's only a glimmerspell. But to any casual farmhand ambling along the road, I look like a fat northern farmer from Milhol riding along with his wife. There are many such hereabouts, taking their wares to market or coming to buy. So take care to call me husband, if you need to call me anything."

They continued the rest of the morning at a fast pace, speaking little. They passed a few people on the road, and Maerad looked at them curiously; they were fair-haired and fair-skinned, and dressed in the same fine woolen cloth of which Maerad's clothes were made. They nodded to the strangers with a reserve that was not unfriendly but invited no conversation.

Although she had been in Innail for more than a week, it was Maerad's first real sight of the valley, or the Fesse, as the district surrounding the Schools was often called. When they had first entered it, it had been night, and for the rest of the time she had been enclosed in the School, behind walls, as she had been for most of her life. But the walls of Innail, she reflected, were very different from the walls of Gilman's Cot: Innail protected her and offered freedom, while the cot had been a prison.

Innail Fesse was an almost self-contained region, a thickly populated valley of fertile green hills suspended between two mountainous spurs split from the Osidh Annova, which almost met at their tapering to make a natural sheltered enclosure of perhaps twenty leagues at its widest and not much longer. It
had been settled since time immemorial, and its inhabitants regarded themselves as somewhat apart from Annar, though they had acknowledged the Monarch when the High Seat was reestablished in Norloch. They prided themselves on their self-sufficiency and independence, and were famous for their spinning and weaving and for their cuisine. The valley boasted two major towns: Tinagel, where the Steward lived, and the Innail School. There were also many villages like Stormont, of perhaps a couple of dozen houses, and hundreds of small, prosperous farms. The Imlan River ran through its center, fed by many streams that leaped down, fresh and cold, from the mountainsides.

Maerad rode on gravel roads through fields hedged with well-cut rows of hawthorn just now beginning to leaf. She frequently saw farmhouses of the same yellow stone as the buildings of the Innail School, many surrounded by orchards of trees heavy with pink and white blossoms. The flowers of early spring, crocuses and daffodils and bluebells, pushed through the wet grass, and occasionally whiffs of scent blew in Maerad's face on the cold air. It was as if they were riding through a huge bowl; the green hills swept up on either side of them to the sheer walls of the mountains in the distance, which now were hidden in heavy cloud. Even the piercing wind couldn't stop Maerad riding through the valley in a daze of wonder.

They stopped briefly in a copse of ash and had a quick, cheerless lunch. The horses ambled about cropping grass, and seemed as little inclined as they to stop for long. They were soon off again.

"Are we staying in an inn again tonight?" Maerad asked hopefully as they mounted.

Cadvan smiled. "This weather is a bit hard for spring," he said. "Though it is often like this here, being so close to the mountains."