The Riddle - Alison Croggon [66]
“So are we,” said Owan. “We almost didn’t get here. We were attacked by a stormdog on our voyage.”
Gahal looked at him in astonishment. “A stormdog? They haven’t been seen around here since the Great Silence.” He shook his head. “It is not even winter. How did you survive it?”
“Maerad sang it a lullaby,” said Cadvan dryly. “And it went away.”
Gahal was sipping his wine, and at this he spluttered. “You are joking, of course,” he said when he had recovered himself. “I mean, really.”
“No, I’m not joking. Maerad has — ah — some original solutions to such things. I must tell you of how she turned a Hull into a rabbit. But that is, in fact, what happened, and it is why we are here, and not dashed to the bottom of the Ileadh Straits.”
Gahal grunted and gave Maerad a very sharp glance indeed. “You are pursued, then, and by the Winterking himself, it seems.”
“I believe so,” said Cadvan. “I also think we daren’t go farther north by sea, as we had planned.”
“Annar is dangerous for you, as well,” said Gahal. “There is a price on both your heads, on Norloch’s orders, and many eyes will be seeking you. I wonder which is the worst risk.”
No one responded, and he sighed and poured them all another glass of wine. “Well, we will talk more seriously over dinner, when you have refreshed yourselves. Meanwhile, I have heard from Thorold, of course, and I assume you know of the situation here?”
“We know of the ultimatum from Norloch, and what your response has been, if that is what you mean,” said Cadvan.
“It is the worst news for a long time. I have been disturbed these last fifty years, as you know, Cadvan. Something is deeply wrong. But it is no satisfaction to be proved right.”
“No, none at all.”
“Nerili tells me you are going north, on a quest I don’t fully apprehend. And I am given to understand that Maerad of Pellinor is the Fated One?”
“So we believe.”
Gahal looked her over with a cool curiosity that belied his former manner altogether. Maerad bore his examination with patience, wishing she were cleaner.
“I see.” Gahal put his glass on the table, linked his hands behind his neck, and leaned back into the couch, contemplating his ceiling. “That is news of greater significance than the happenings at Norloch. The Light stirs at need, it is said.” He leaned forward suddenly and to Maerad’s surprise took her hand in his. “You are very young. Overyoung, I would say. Much rests on your shoulders, young Bard. I had heard of your extraordinary powers before tonight, but I do not doubt you will need any help you can get.”
“There is much I do not understand,” said Maerad. “But I am learning.”
“Gent you can count on. But Annar is split.” Gahal let go of her hand and glanced at Cadvan. “There are those who remain loyal to Enkir — allies of the Dark or those who believe that as First Bard he must be acting against the Dark — and there are those who are deeply troubled or in deep disagreement, yet fear to be called rebels by Norloch. Even in Gent, I cannot be sure there are no spies. And the Dark is on your very heels. It will not be easy to pass through Annar.”
“Still, I think it would be less perilous than stormdogs,” said Owan. “There was only one, and it nearly sank us.”
“As always, we have to choose between bad and worse,” said Cadvan. “There are no safe paths.”
“No,” said Gahal. “Well, I have warned you of the perils of Annar, so I must consider my duty done. You must make your own choices.”
“Everything tells me that time runs short for us,” said Cadvan. “You have heard of the Rite of Renewal in Busk?”
Gahal sighed heavily. “Yes,” he said. “It will not surprise you to hear that in Gent it almost failed. Almost. But I do not doubt that across Annar there will be Schools where the Rite has failed completely. Something draws out the Dark within us all. This is not just a war of arms and martial strategies, Cadvan.”
“No,” said Cadvan. “That has been clear for a while.”
Maerad shuddered. “I had an evil foredream in Norloch,” she said. “And also in Innail. And there was a voice