The Riddle - Alison Croggon [192]
Sometimes she would pass a house that was almost intact apart from its roof, which had long fallen in. Occasionally, miraculously, one window pane remained unbroken, or she could make out the remains of what had once been a mosaic of colored pavings, within one corner an undamaged design — the shape of lilies intertwining, or a bird in flight. On the ground she saw the remains of statues, their faces shattered, and the remnants of what had been a lintel carved with flowers, and an iron pan, now dimpled and red with rust. Once, winding through the ruined ways of Pellinor, she emerged into a tiny court in which there was a marble fountain that was almost completely undamaged. It was a carving of a beautiful woman holding a ewer, out of which the water had once poured into a small pool. The marble was streaked with green slime, and the empty pool around it was clogged with dead leaves.
Nothing stirred in Maerad’s memory as she walked through the ruins of Pellinor. This sad, deserted place did not match her few memories, which were full of color and light and song; it revealed nothing but its own desolation. All that remained was a bleak, wintry absence. It filled her with an overpowering sorrow, and her thoughts turned to her foredream of Turbansk, long, long ago, in Ossin. Was this, then, the fate of Turbansk? Was that, too, doomed to become a haunting, pitiful ruin? Perhaps the city had fallen already, its light and beauty extinguished forever.
She turned her thoughts away from Hem. She was sad enough already.
Maerad wandered miserably through the ruins, her tail dragging behind her, until she came into an open space that had obviously been the central circle of the School. As soon as she entered the circle, Maerad stopped dead in her tracks.
It seemed that the School of Pellinor was not entirely deserted: a man still dwelled amid the ruins. She scented him first, and then a pungent smell of wood smoke and meat, which made her mouth water. She saw that a horse was grazing on the far side of the circle. She had not smelled the smoke or the man earlier, preoccupied as she had been with her gloomy thoughts, and the wind had blown the scent away from her. Now she cursed her inattention.
For reasons she did not wholly understand, Maerad did not slink back silently to hide among the tumbled stone walls. Perhaps the man would give her some of his food, or if he did not give it, perhaps she could take it. She stood tensely by the edge of the circle, and watched the man closely.
He seemed to be a traveler. He was bent over the fire, poking it with a stick. After a short time, he seemed to become aware of Maerad. He turned his head and looked directly at her. She sensed rather than saw his eyes upon her.
The man stood up, but still she did not flee. Hesitantly, ready to turn and run in an instant, she stepped a few paces out into the open and there halted, her heart hammering. The meat smelled delicious, and she put her snout up into the air, tasting it. The man did not seem dangerous. If she walked toward him very slowly, showing that she meant no harm, perhaps he would give her something to eat.
The man watched her closely as she paced toward him, but he did not move. She could not see his face, as it was hooded in a black cloak. Maerad could not sense that he was afraid, and this frightened her a little, but he was not angry either. He was nothing at all: he simply stood and waited.
She was so hungry. Averting her eyes from his to indicate that she meant no harm, she moved closer and closer, halting every few paces. At last they stood only a dozen paces apart.
Samandalamë, ursi, said the man in the Speech. His voice was kind and warm. “Welcome, wolf. You look hungry.”
Maerad looked up into his face, and recognized him at last.
She couldn’t react at all. She simply stared at him, her mind completely blank.
It was Cadvan, and there, coming up behind him warily, staring at her, was Darsor. It was Cadvan’s face, his