bright enough to cast sharp shadows. For a while they continued in silence.
“Do you know where we are?” Maerad asked at last. She had a strange feeling that she knew this landscape. Were they, perhaps, near Pellinor?
“Yes.” Cadvan nodded. “We are an hour’s fast walk from Innail, the easternmost of the Schools. It was built in the shadow of the Annova some hundreds of years ago now, and is a strong School that has shaped many fine Bards! I can’t say how glad I am. Although, of course, we are not there yet. Fortune so far has favored us; this is better than anything I could have planned. I think our trail was lost in the storm, and I think that none will find it. It would have gone ill with us, if we had been forced to travel the way I planned. More than the Landrost watches over that empty realm.”
“And what was that tunnel through the mountain?” Maerad asked, deciding to take advantage of Cadvan’s ebullience. “Did you know it was there?”
“No,” Cadvan answered. “I have traveled often over this land in my time, and I have heard neither rumor nor tale of such a place. The nearest pass through the mountains, to my knowledge, was at least sixty leagues south from here, through bad country. I don’t know who made that place, or who might have lived there in ages past. A great city, it seemed to me; there were hundreds of rooms, empty and forsaken, carved into the rock. Perhaps the whole mountain is honeycombed with them. I didn’t recognize the runes hatched around the door. I wonder who they were, those people! A people of great cunning, they must have been, to pierce the living rock so straightly. There were no bad airs, nor any flaws in that tunneling. Few could do such a thing now.”
Maerad was taken aback by Cadvan’s cheerful admission of ignorance; it made the world she had just entered seem even stranger and more perilous. She thought of Gilman’s Cot: only a few days ago it had been the compass of her entire existence, but to Cadvan it was insignificant, a tiny place in the scheme of things. And now, it seemed, there were things even he knew nothing about. It made her feel very small and unimportant; and she asked no more questions.
The vegetation began to change; there were groves of pine and birch, and beneath their feet, grasses and herbs. The incline became gentler, and the hills were covered with a springing turf that was a relief to their feet after the shingle and small rocks over which they had been picking their way. Cadvan turned his face southward, with the Osidh Annova rearing up like huge shadows to their left, blades of darkness cutting off the stars. The scents of bruised grasses and flowers, spring honeysuckles and bulbs rose about them, and wild briars snatched at their cloaks. In the dim moonlight the countryside was silvered with mystery, but Maerad felt it was unaccountably familiar and walked on as if in a dream.
Then Cadvan cried out and pointed, and in the distance Maerad saw a light. “Innail!” he said. “And only three hours after sunset!”
As they neared Innail, Maerad began to feel nervous. This was a School, and she knew nothing about such places. What would they think of her, turning up with her hair like a mare’s nest, stinking and filthy and ignorant? Her apprehension increased as they got closer, and when she saw the outlines of the buildings of Innail emerging, she felt sick with it; proud and noble they seemed to her, towers lit with golden windows that thrust gracefully into the night sky, behind a high wall of smooth white stone that threw back the starlight. Her reluctance increased as Cadvan’s step grew more eager, and much sooner than she would have liked they arrived at the tall gates, thick oak stoutly barred with black steel. Cadvan cupped his hands and shouted.
“Lirean! Lirean noch Dhillarearë!”
A shutter opened high above the gate and a man looked out.
“Lirean? Ke sammach?”
“Cadvan Lirigon na, e Maerad Pellinor
“Do you know where we are?” Maerad asked at last. She had a strange feeling that she knew this landscape. Were they, perhaps, near Pellinor?
“Yes.” Cadvan nodded. “We are an hour’s fast walk from Innail, the easternmost of the Schools. It was built in the shadow of the Annova some hundreds of years ago now, and is a strong School that has shaped many fine Bards! I can’t say how glad I am. Although, of course, we are not there yet. Fortune so far has favored us; this is better than anything I could have planned. I think our trail was lost in the storm, and I think that none will find it. It would have gone ill with us, if we had been forced to travel the way I planned. More than the Landrost watches over that empty realm.”
“And what was that tunnel through the mountain?” Maerad asked, deciding to take advantage of Cadvan’s ebullience. “Did you know it was there?”
“No,” Cadvan answered. “I have traveled often over this land in my time, and I have heard neither rumor nor tale of such a place. The nearest pass through the mountains, to my knowledge, was at least sixty leagues south from here, through bad country. I don’t know who made that place, or who might have lived there in ages past. A great city, it seemed to me; there were hundreds of rooms, empty and forsaken, carved into the rock. Perhaps the whole mountain is honeycombed with them. I didn’t recognize the runes hatched around the door. I wonder who they were, those people! A people of great cunning, they must have been, to pierce the living rock so straightly. There were no bad airs, nor any flaws in that tunneling. Few could do such a thing now.”
Maerad was taken aback by Cadvan’s cheerful admission of ignorance; it made the world she had just entered seem even stranger and more perilous. She thought of Gilman’s Cot: only a few days ago it had been the compass of her entire existence, but to Cadvan it was insignificant, a tiny place in the scheme of things. And now, it seemed, there were things even he knew nothing about. It made her feel very small and unimportant; and she asked no more questions.
The vegetation began to change; there were groves of pine and birch, and beneath their feet, grasses and herbs. The incline became gentler, and the hills were covered with a springing turf that was a relief to their feet after the shingle and small rocks over which they had been picking their way. Cadvan turned his face southward, with the Osidh Annova rearing up like huge shadows to their left, blades of darkness cutting off the stars. The scents of bruised grasses and flowers, spring honeysuckles and bulbs rose about them, and wild briars snatched at their cloaks. In the dim moonlight the countryside was silvered with mystery, but Maerad felt it was unaccountably familiar and walked on as if in a dream.
Then Cadvan cried out and pointed, and in the distance Maerad saw a light. “Innail!” he said. “And only three hours after sunset!”
As they neared Innail, Maerad began to feel nervous. This was a School, and she knew nothing about such places. What would they think of her, turning up with her hair like a mare’s nest, stinking and filthy and ignorant? Her apprehension increased as they got closer, and when she saw the outlines of the buildings of Innail emerging, she felt sick with it; proud and noble they seemed to her, towers lit with golden windows that thrust gracefully into the night sky, behind a high wall of smooth white stone that threw back the starlight. Her reluctance increased as Cadvan’s step grew more eager, and much sooner than she would have liked they arrived at the tall gates, thick oak stoutly barred with black steel. Cadvan cupped his hands and shouted.
“Lirean! Lirean noch Dhillarearë!”
A shutter opened high above the gate and a man looked out.
“Lirean? Ke sammach?”
“Cadvan Lirigon na, e Maerad Pellinor
Similar Books
