The Riddle - Alison Croggon [129]
They both sat in silence, eating their meal. Maerad thought about Dharin’s life, which seemed in a different way as harsh as hers, and wondered whether to tell him who she was, and that they were cousins. Something held her back, perhaps principally the thought that doing so would entail her telling him that she had deceived him in the first place.
Despite being only a passenger, Maerad felt strangely exhausted, and as soon as it was dark, they prepared for sleep. Dharin tethered the dogs to the sled, and they curled up, nose to tail, and went to sleep on the snow.
“Should we set a watch?” asked Maerad, ready to volunteer to be first. But Dharin laughed.
“We could not get a better watch than these dogs,” he said. “They will rouse us if anything stirs within a league. They have better ears than either of us.”
Possibly not, Maerad thought, thinking of her Bard hearing, but she did not demur. It was a relief to think that she would have unbroken sleep for a change.
They slept side by side in the sled. Ordinarily Maerad might have felt self-conscious about this arrangement, but Dharin was so casual about it that she didn’t feel bothered at all and he was, after all, kin. He simply settled himself among the furs, said, “Dreams of Light, then,” and was almost instantly asleep. It took Maerad a little longer to sleep, but not much.
In less than two days, Maerad felt that she had always lived this way, traveling in a sled through the snow. The landscape seemed endless and unchanging; they had left the river line behind and now swept over the heart of the Arkiadera Plains. She saw many birds — strange birds with feathered feet, which could run across the snow, and big crows, startlingly black against the whiteness. More occasionally, she spotted hunting eagles, circling on updrafts of wind. She also saw little white animals that Dharin told her were a kind of weasel called zaninks, which the northern Pilanel trapped for their warm fur. “The fur in your jacket is of this kind,” he said. “It is the best protection against the cold that you can find.”
Occasionally they saw herds of the shaggy deer, which Dharin told her were of a northern species the Pilanel called oribanik, and which were herded for their meat and milk. They were very big, sometimes standing higher than a horse, with dappled coats, and the males had huge branching antlers.
On the third day, the clear weather turned. The temperature dropped perceptibly as a bitter wind began to blow from the northwest. Dharin wrapped a cloth around his face to stop his nose from freezing, so all that was visible was the glint of his eyes. Maerad did the same. Dharin had been right; this was a different kind of cold. As the day continued, the wind picked up and a thin snow began to fall. “It will be a cold night,” said Dharin that evening. “And I think a blizzard tomorrow. It is a strange wind. A gift from the Winterking.”
Maerad looked up sharply. “Do you think so?” she said anxiously.
“Oh, that is a saying among my people, for weather from the northwest. It blows bitterly.”
“Still, you could be right,” said Maerad broodingly. “He has pursued me since Annar.”
Dharin was silent for a time, and then said, “Perhaps, Mara, you can tell me what it is that you are doing. Sirkana told me that you were on quest to see the Wise Kindred and that if I took you there, it could be perhaps the most important thing I had ever done. But she told me no more. I had guessed that it was something to do with the Winterking, but nothing else.”
Maerad studied Dharin’s face. He looked back earnestly, his gentle eyes inquiring and a little shy.
“You’re right,” said Maerad. “It is not fair to ask you to risk your life for me without knowing why. Well, it is a long story.”
Dharin settled back. “I like stories,” he said.
“First, Mara is not my real name,” said Maerad. “My proper name is Maerad of Pellinor, and I am a Dhillarearën, a Bard.”
Dharin’s eyebrows went up. “I did not guess that,