The Riddle - Alison Croggon [56]
“No one knows. Our people hid in the places they know, and when the fog lifted, there was no sign of the army. Some said they had wandered, lost and misled by phantoms, until they fell off a cliff into the sea, others that they were led into a great ravine in the mountains, which closed over them. But it is certainly true that they vanished without trace.”
Maerad shuddered as an image passed over her inner vision of terrified soldiers running raggedly through a merciless, impenetrable whiteness. “Was it the Lamedon?” she asked. “Or was it the Bards?”
“It was not the Bards,” said Elenxi. “But it is said that Limod, the leader of Thorold at that time, went and begged the Lamedon himself for help when he heard that a great army was on its way. The Lamedon might not be interested in human wars, but perhaps the thought of invasion offended him. In some tales, although not all, it is said that the Lamedon was Limod’s father.”
Maerad fell silent as the talk moved on to other topics. Elenxi’s story disturbed her, although she could not say why. The question of her Elidhu heritage always filled her with discomfort. Ankil had balked at the suggestion that she speak to the Lamedon, despite his unquestioning acceptance that she had Elemental blood, and she thought again of the curious look he had given her when the plan was suggested, and wondered what he had seen that made him doubt her. Was it weakness? Or something else, which was beyond her knowledge? A vague foreboding weighed upon her spirits; there was so much about herself that she didn’t understand. She was glad of the distraction when Owan said they would leave on that evening’s tide.
IT was a beautiful summer evening, the final light lingering in faint streaks of pink and purple on the rippling surface of the dark sea, as they slipped out of Nisa harbor. Elenxi stood on the quay, his hand raised in farewell and blessing, and Maerad, who had little to do with the sailing of the boat, stood in the stern facing him as Owan’s craft surged on the outgoing tide. Elenxi glimmered faintly in the shadows, a blur of light that steadily grew smaller and smaller. Above him stretched the dark cliffs that surrounded Nisa, and above them the white stars opened in a clear sky.
It wasn’t long before they reached the head of the harbor. Maerad looked uneasily at the cliffs, which loomed uncomfortably close as Cadvan and Owan negotiated the reef that lurked under the water, ready to scrape or hole any unwary boat. Soon, as if the White Owl leaped gladly out of harbor, they passed into the open sea.
Instantly a strong wind bellied out the sail, and they began to scud across the waves as a full moon climbed above the dark line of the land. Maerad breathed in the cold salt air with delight, seeking out Ilion, the star of dawn and eventide, which burned low and very bright over the western horizon. Hello, my friend, she said in her mind, and then laughed at herself; who did she think she was, talking to a star?
Now the waves were bigger: they weren’t the waves of the deep ocean, as they were still sheltered by the island, but they were large enough to make the boat climb and fall as it rode forward. It wasn’t long before Maerad felt the first stirrings of seasickness, and her spirits instantly dampened. Although Elenxi had given her a remedy he said was guaranteed to work even in the worst of storms, she felt nausea roiling through her guts. But it seemed the remedy did work; once she had adjusted to the new movements of the ship, the sickness vanished. Her relief was beyond words.
Cadvan stepped over to the bow and sat next to her. “No need of mage winds tonight,” he said. “The Isle of Thorold sends its last blessing.”
“I am glad of it,” said Maerad. She turned to him, her face outlined by moonlight, and, for a brief moment, she saw an expression on his face that she hadn’t seen before, and something in him seemed to flinch. Maerad looked up at him questioningly; they knew each other well enough by now not to need to speak. Cadvan looked out over the sea