The Riddle - Alison Croggon [19]
“For the Dark, you mean?” said Cadvan. “I do not think there are spies in the School, but nowhere is safe for us and I would be surprised if there weren’t any in the town. Busk is a trading port, remember, and strangers go unmarked. News has not reached here yet from Norloch. I don’t doubt that it will soon. And then things will become more dangerous.”
Maerad pondered what “dangerous” meant, and then her thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Hem. The day before, Cadvan had sent a message by bird to Turbansk, to tell Saliman of their safe arrival in Thorold. Hem and Saliman would be riding there now; Maerad wondered where they were, and if they were safe.
The lessons were interesting. Her sessions with Intatha of Gent gave her a pang at first; they could not but recall Dernhil, who was the first to open for her the world of reading and writing. For Maerad, reading itself was imbued with memories of him. And Intatha was of the same School as Dernhil, although Maerad never dared to ask her if she had known him.
Intatha was an imposing-looking Bard: tall, with high cheekbones, a formidable eagle nose, and hair that was silvering from black. She was a stern teacher, but gentle. Maerad worked hard for her, not because she feared her dispraise, but because Intatha expected much of her and Maerad wished not to disappoint. She found herself mastering the alphabetic script of Nelsor very quickly, building on the basics Dernhil had taught her, and even found that her handwriting began to look pleasing, instead of scratchy and ill formed. Intatha also started teaching her the Ladhen runes, coded symbols that Bards used when traveling to leave signs for each other, and some of the Dhyllic pictograms. It was intense work, and Maerad left their long sessions feeling both stimulated and drained, with her arms full of work to do on her own.
Classes with Elenxi of Busk were surprisingly fun. For all his age and his giant frame, he was quick and agile, and Maerad was not surprised to find he had been a famous warrior in his youth: she imagined that he would have been fearsome. Unlike Indik, the master swordsman who had taught Maerad at Innail, Elenxi was a patient and encouraging teacher. Maerad was also no longer a raw beginner: holding a sword no longer felt strange. She had quick reactions and good natural balance, and was strong for someone of her size. Elenxi coached her in advanced swordcraft and unarmed combat, and Maerad began to feel for the first time that perhaps she might be able to hold her own against attack.
“Don’t get overconfident,” Elenxi warned, after praising her efforts in her first lesson. “You are still only a beginner. It’s the stroke you don’t see that kills you.” He looked at her, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “I think we deserve a wine, yes, young Bard? We have worked hard today.”
“A wine?” said Maerad shyly, thinking of the vociferous Bards. Elenxi looked at her and laughed.
“Don’t tell me you are frightened! Well, we’ll have to cure that.”
“But I’m filthy!” Maerad objected, blushing.
Elenxi lifted an eyebrow. “So? Does one have to be clean to drink? I should like to know when that was made a rule. No, young Bard, I will hear no excuses. We’ll go to Oreston’s house; he has the best wines.”
They stowed their fighting gear, and permitting her only a quick wash, Elenxi led a reluctant Maerad down the road to one of the houses nearer the town. He strode among the tables confidently, expecting Maerad to be right behind him, and when he saw her still hesitating in the road, he went back and took hold of her, almost dragging her to a table where about six Bards, men and women, were engaged in lively conversation. At one end of the table, a young man was idly plucking arpeggios, which ran like a quick river of music underneath the talk, on a beautiful big-bellied stringed instrument.
Maerad felt paralyzed by shyness, and sat down quietly, hoping nobody would notice her. Elenxi exchanged cheerful greetings with all the Bards and then introduced Maerad as a guest from Innail. She