The Riddle - Alison Croggon [196]
“Perhaps the most astounding thing is your third name,” Cadvan said at last. He studied Maerad as if he were looking at her for the first time. “Triple-tongued, triple-named . . . it is a great strength, Maerad. There is still some power in knowing your Bard Name, clearly, since the Jussack sorcerer and the Winterking could use it so blackly against you, but I suspect that if you knew your Elemental Name, your Bard Name would cease to hold that power.”
“It’s a bit confusing,” Maerad said. “There seem to be so many of me.”
Cadvan smiled. “We are all many,” he said. “But most of us don’t have the privilege of understanding that as clearly as you do. It is hard to know oneself, but until we do, we cannot know why we act as we do. It’s a lifetime’s quest, and it never ends.”
Maerad stared at Cadvan, who was broodily poking the fire again. He seemed not to be speaking of her, but of himself.
“And the Treesong was on your lyre,” Cadvan said. “I wonder that we never thought of that possibility.”
“How could we know?” said Maerad. “Even Nelac could not read the runes.”
“True.” Cadvan stared into the fire. “I thought the runes were most likely the name and the story of the Dhyllic craftsman who made it. But now it is likely your lyre was made by Nelsor himself. The greatest of all Bards. And from what you say, it seems that Nelsor and the Winterking were lovers.”
Maerad turned away from Cadvan, hiding her face. It was difficult for her to think of Arkan, and the thought that he had loved a Bard struck a hollow place inside her breast.
“I didn’t know what to think of the Winterking,” she said at last. “He’s neither good nor evil. He has no great love for the Light, but I do not think that he gives his loyalty to the Dark; he spoke of the Nameless One with disgust and said that he had been betrayed by him.”
“He is a powerful Elidhu,” said Cadvan thoughtfully. “I think you are right; he would not consent to be enslaved, like the Landrost. I wonder what part Ardina plays in all this.”
“I don’t know,” said Maerad. She stared out into the night; there were many forces at play, and she could not follow them. A silence fell, and to break it, Maerad went to her pack and took out her lyre.
“I’ll read the Treesong to you,” she said. “Arkan said it was dead, that the runes had no music. I don’t really understand what he meant by that, but he told me these meanings.” She went through them one by one, stroking each rune as she named it. As she did so, she remembered the Winterking’s face as he had taught her the runes, and a sharp pain went through her. She did not regret leaving the Ice Palace, but she wondered if she would ever be free of the memory of Arkan.
“It is beautiful,” said Cadvan when she had finished. “Well, Maerad, we’ve come a long way. Though I do not doubt there is much more to the Song than these runes. And we know also that the Nameless One seeks you, not just because he fears that somehow you will cause his overthrow, but because he needs you. As much as he needs the other half of the Song.”
“Arkan said that I was the player,” said Maerad softly. “But I do not know how to play music that I have never heard.”
“No. Well, some things begin to make sense, but they only raise more questions,” Cadvan said. “If the Nameless One has the other runes, I doubt it will be easy to get them back. And Annar grows ever more dangerous: war comes near, and not only from the south.”
“Civil war?” asked Maerad.
“I have no doubt of it. But not only that. If Turbansk falls, things will go ill with Annar.” Cadvan stretched, grimacing. “Though it could be that the chaos of war might make it easier for us to slip through the nets of both the Light and the Dark.”
“I suppose now we storm the Iron Tower