The Riddle (16 page)

“And you, also,” said Cadvan. He smiled his rare brilliant smile and kissed Nerili’s hands. “All is not dark, Neri, not yet. And though we walk through perils unnumbered, we will carry with us the blessings of those who have given us their friendship and love. And that is a shield from the worst despair, in all places — even in the dungeons of the Nameless One himself.”

Maerad thought she saw a faint flush rise in Nerili’s cheeks, though she held herself as proudly as before. “That seems a little grandiose for my humble blessings,” she said. “But if you say it is so, then it is so, since you have been in such dungeons and I have not.”

Nerili turned then to Maerad. “I give you no gifts but the blessings of Thorold,” she said. “I do not wish to burden you. Go well!”

“The gifts you have already given are more than enough,” Maerad answered. “May the Light shine on your path.” A catch in her throat took her by surprise, and she turned hastily and walked swiftly to the door, where Elenxi was standing impatiently, tapping his foot. They swung onto their waiting horses, and soon the village of Velissos was hidden behind them in the folds of the hills.

They rode steadily all day, following the westward track out of the village. The shadows grew shorter and shorter before them until they shrank to black pools beneath the bellies of their horses, and then slowly stretched behind them as they blinked in the long, level shafts of the sinking sun. Their way led them steadily higher and higher into countryside that was almost completely uninhabited. They passed only a few solitary huts. Their path was a vertiginous track through a scrubby landscape littered with huge lichened boulders and tumbles of smaller rocks. It was unusually desolate for that fertile island.

“We call this place the Bones,
I Lanik
in the tongue of the Isle,” said Elenxi as he lit a fire for their camp that night. “Have you seen a stream today?”

Maerad thought, and realized she hadn’t.

“By some trick of the hills, all streams fall on the other face of the ridges. And there are no springs. The only water that comes here falls out of the sky. It is said that long ago the spirit of the place offended the Lamedon and was punished by the banishment of the waters.”

Despite this, Maerad thought the next day, this hungry land had a curious beauty; the naked rocks were rich in colors — mauves and pinks and deep purples and white — and they caught the light in curious and interesting ways. Toward afternoon they entered a broad valley, the snowbound peaks of the central range of Thorold rising sheer on either side of them. Now, for the first time in more than a day, she could hear running water; streamlets dashed down the sides of the valley, meeting farther on to make a wide, shallow river that ran over a bed of smooth pebbles toward the northern coast of Thorold. Their path met the river and ran alongside it.

“Soon we enter the belly of the snake,” said Elenxi, looking over his shoulder. “The Idoiravis.”

Maerad felt an obscure shiver run through her at his words. “Are there bandits here?” she asked. It reminded her a little of the Broken Lands near Milhol, a notorious haunt for such thieves.

“There are no bandits in Thorold, my friend,” said Elenxi, grinning over his shoulder. Nevertheless, they instinctively drew closer together as they passed under the ominous shadows cast by the towering cliffs on either side.

Like the Bones, this was unforgiving country; as they pressed into the valley, the slopes on either side grew more sheer and ever higher, until they were riding through a gorge that sliced through the very heart of the mountains, as if they had cracked open in some primordial tumult. It was very cold: even in midsummer the floor of the Idoiravis stayed in shadow for most of the day, only a few direct shafts of sunlight finding their way past the precipitous walls. Sometimes they saw gray piles of snow from the previous winter hidden in crevices in the rocky walls. Maerad called a halt to put on her woolen cloak, which she had not worn since they had arrived in Thorold, and rode on through the chilly gloom. Along the narrow floor of the gorge were low tangled yews and bog myrtles growing above thick carpets of moss, and stands of some fern she hadn’t seen before, with dark fronds. She didn’t like this place so well. It seemed the horses were in agreement; they quickened their pace to a swift trot, their hoofbeats multiplying disconcertingly in the echoes off the stone walls, as if a cavalry were clattering through the gorge behind them.

Perhaps the clamor of the echoes was why they were taken by surprise. Cadvan pulled up his horse and called out a warning. Instantly he raised a defense, just before Elenxi, who was still leading them, threw up his arms and slithered off his own mount. His horse reared in dismay, and then swung around and bolted off. Maerad stopped in shock, trying to work out what was happening even as she drew her sword — an automatic reaction now — and shielded her mind against attack. Her mare shied beneath her, and Maerad fought to keep control as she felt another attack, sensing a dark presence nearby. Both she and Cadvan were aglow with magelight.

“It’s a Hull,” hissed Cadvan. “At least, I hope it’s only one.”

“I can’t see anyone,” said Maerad, searching the bracken nearby. They were tall enough to conceal a man. Maerad reached out with her mind to touch Cadvan’s, uniting their strengths, and together they searched the valley, tracking down the source of the evil they both felt. It was hidden in a thicket of the low trees. Even as they found it, another attack came, this one directed at Cadvan.

This time, Maerad could see it: a bolt of energy as swift as an arrow. As always when her life was in peril, time seemed to have slowed down. She and Cadvan instinctively parried the blow, using both their swords and their Bardic powers, and the bolt ricocheted up the gorge wall, hitting it with a huge crack and splitting off splinters of rock. One hit Maerad’s face, cutting her on the cheek, but she didn’t notice the pain.

It wasn’t, she thought, a particularly powerful blow; dangerous for a Bard caught unaware, but unlikely to hurt anyone with their defenses up. She and Cadvan both dismounted, silently commanding their quivering horses to remain where they were, and moved warily toward the thicket of trees. Elenxi lay very still on the ground, his arms outflung, and for a moment Maerad wondered how badly he had been hurt. There was no time to think about that yet.

“Not too close,” murmured Cadvan. “It could be trying to draw us closer, and spring a trap.”

They steadied themselves and then sent a blast of light toward the trees. It was White Fire, the most powerful of Bardic weapons against the Dark, but it seemed to have no effect; it was as if a pebble had been thrown into a swamp. The energy simply vanished. They still could not see anyone.

The answer was swift in coming: an assault that shocked Maerad with its strength and almost knocked the two of them flat. Her sword rang as she swung it against the Hull’s bolt of black light, driving it into the ground in front of her, and her shoulder jarred with the effort. There was a black notch on the blade afterward, as if it had struck fiery iron. The blow singed her hair and filled her mouth with a taste like burned iron, bitter and foul. She reflexively lashed out with another strike, this more powerful than the previous one made by both of them, and it was answered at once with a bolt of dark energy that nearly broke her defenses, shivering her mind as if she were a thin blade of steel. She reeled with pain; she hadn’t been struck in this way before, with magery. It was as if a black, hideous void exploded in the midst of her being.

“Stop!” said Cadvan sharply as she readied another bolt. “It’s using us. I don’t know how, but that had White Fire in it.”

“What?”

“We can’t attack it. Not with the White Flame. It’s having no effect on it. And that was your Flame.”

Maerad turned to Cadvan in disbelief. “Then what do we do?”

“Are you certain of your shield?”

Maerad mentally tested her defenses. Despite the jarring shock, they seemed whole. “As certain as I can be,” she said.

“Good. Keep it whole. We shall have to fight hand to hand.”

“But what if it’s a trap, like you said?”

“I feel there is only one. And I do not know what else we can do.”

Maerad took a deep breath. Then she and Cadvan continued their slow pacing toward the trees, buffeted by attacks from the Hull that were not serious enough to get past their shielding. As they neared the trees, she saw at last a single figure among them; it was hard to see, since some sorcery entwined it with shadows so it tricked the sight, and it seemed to be part of the tangle of branches. It did not come forward to meet them.

When they were only ten paces away, Cadvan called out in the Speech: “Who attacks travelers in this peaceful land? Name yourself!”

There was a long silence, and they were about to take another step forward, when a thickset man moved into the lesser shadow of the gorge.

“It is none of your business who I am, Cadvan of Lirigon,” said the Hull. It, too, used the Speech, but it seemed strangely glottal, and its voice raised the hair on Maerad’s neck. “I am but a servant of greater laws.”

No hooded cloak hid the horror of the bony, unliving face that turned its depthless eyes upon them. Despite herself, Maerad shuddered.

“As for you, outlaws, I seek to bring you to a larger justice. It is well broadcast through all these lands that you are wanted for treason against the Light.”

Cadvan spat on the ground. “It ill behooves a Hull to speak of treason against the Light,” he said.

“I am no traitor,” said the Hull. “I am a loyal Bard of Norloch. And it would be well if you came with me. You cannot fight me.” The Hull was idly fiddling with an object it held in its hands. “I have a blackstone; your magery is useless. Even such powers as yours, Maerad of Pellinor. And I am a greater swordsman than you might guess.”

“You’re a liar,” said Maerad hotly. “Like all Hulls.”

Casually and contemptuously, the Hull lifted the blackstone and spoke, and Maerad gasped; it felt as if serpents were biting her innards. She clutched herself in sudden agony, almost falling.

Cadvan grasped her hand, and the agony vanished.

“It has your pattern,” he said inscrutably. “And it is right: we cannot attack it. Not with magery. It will only be turned against us.”

“I don’t believe you can fight us and prevail, even so.” Maerad lifted her sword, and the Hull laughed.

“Oh, I have heard of your prowess,” it said deliberately. “A promising beginner, I’m told. But no more than a beginner. And do you think the great Cadvan can defend you? Not with his magery useless, surely. He is not so great.”

“I will not bandy words with traitors,” said Cadvan grimly.
Come, Maerad,
he said in her mind, and moving together as one, they attacked the Hull.

The Hull moved blindingly fast, sending a blast of black lightning and attacking Cadvan with his sword. Maerad doubled in agony again, and a darkness came over her vision, as if it were suddenly the deepest night. She collapsed to the ground, writhing and struggling to breathe.

For a few moments, she was conscious of nothing except pain. Then she remembered the urgency of their situation, and wrestled with herself. She still couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the sound of weapons clashing, as if from very far away. With all her willpower, she forced herself to ignore the pain. She opened her eyes, staring sightlessly ahead of her; after a short time she could almost see, but it was as if a black mist flooded her sight. She took a deep breath and tried again.

Cadvan and the Hull were in vicious combat, but neither had as yet gained the upper hand. The Hull had not been lying about its sword skills; Maerad could see, even through the dimness that afflicted her sight, that they were formidable. What if Cadvan couldn’t defeat him?

Maerad bit her lip so hard it bled. It helped to clear her mind. She struggled to her knees, and tried to see more. She saw Cadvan knocked head over heels by the force of a sword stroke, but he sprang back onto his feet like an acrobat. His right arm was bleeding, and the Hull was yet unscathed. The Hull was now fighting him back, step by step, toward the gorge wall.

Maerad pushed her agony down into the back of her mind. It’s only pain, she said to herself. It’s only pain. Shaking with the effort, she reached deep inside her mind, and as she did so, the pain lessened slightly. She took a deep breath and began to visualize the first thing that came to her mind. The Hull was paying no attention to her, believing she was disabled, and Cadvan was fighting back fiercely, demanding the Hull’s full concentration. He almost disarmed the Hull, which righted itself, springing back, but Cadvan was breathing heavily, and Maerad thought the arm wound was perhaps a serious one. She focused fiercely on the figure of the Hull and shut her eyes.
Now.

She heard a clatter of stones as Cadvan fell over, slashing wide with his sword against blank air, and she opened her eyes again. Her first thought was overwhelming relief; the pain in her belly was gone. She looked up.

Cadvan had rolled as he fell, twisting like a snake to avoid any sword thrust aimed his way, and had scrambled to his feet, his sword upraised. There he had halted, his face a mask of astonishment, looking this way and that. His opponent was nowhere to be seen.

Then something small hit his boots, making him step backward, and he looked down. On the ground was a furious, mangy brown rabbit with black ears. It hopped forward and sank its teeth into the ankle of his boot and tried to slash the toe with its back claws.

It seemed that the Hull hadn’t quite realized that it had become a rabbit, and it still attacked with single-minded ferocity. Cadvan sheathed his sword and bent down, grabbing the struggling rabbit by its ears. He held it up and looked sardonically at Maerad, who was stumbling toward him, and then back at the rabbit. Maerad started to giggle.

“It was the first thing I thought of,” she said. She sat down heavily on the ground, exhausted suddenly by the shock of the fight and her relief that it was over, and feeling laughter bubble hysterically inside her. There was a short silence.