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Authors: Alison Croggon
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unbound down her back. Slowly she turned to look at the two Bards. Her face was full of sadness.
“Your mother, Milana of Pellinor,” said Nerili softly. “I never met her. She looks very much like you. Thank you, Maerad.” The figure faded and vanished, and there was a short silence. Maerad looked away. She didn’t know why she had shown Nerili her mother, and she now wished she hadn’t. Nerili took her hand, and Maerad jumped. If she had said anything to her, Maerad might have started crying, but they just sat wordlessly for a while, until Maerad collected herself.
“Magery, even the slightest, calls on the deepest parts of ourselves,” Nerili said at last, releasing her hand. “And often that is painful. It is the pain of being in the world, where so much that is fair passes into death and forgetfulness. But if we are to know joy, we must embrace that pain. You cannot have one without the other.”
Maerad nodded, her face downcast. Sometimes, it seemed to her, the pain far outweighed the joy.
Emissaries arrived from Norloch very quickly, five days after Maerad and Cadvan. They made council with Busk’s First Circle and left early the next day for Gent. After they had gone, Nerili called another council of the First and Second Circles — all the senior Bards of the School of Busk — and this time Maerad and Cadvan were summoned.
When they arrived in the Council Room, Maerad was surprised to see half a dozen people who were clearly not Bards. They were the Steward of Busk, a tall, burly man called Arnamil, and the members of his Chamber — three women and two men — one of whom, Maerad saw, was Owan d’Aroki. In tandem with the six Bards of the First Circle of the School, the Chamber governed the Isle of Thorold. With the sixteen Bards, there was a sizable gathering around the large round table that dominated the room. When everyone was seated, Nerili stood and began without preamble.
“Welcome, Chamber and Bards. Thank you for answering my call. I realize this meeting is not at the usual time.” She paused and looked slowly around the table, meeting the eyes of each person present. “Bards of the First Circle, you know why I have called you here. You were present yesterday, when Igan of Norloch issued the edict of Norloch to the School of Busk. What he told me deeply concerns all of Thorold, and this is why I asked you, Lord Steward, and your Chamber to be present.”
She drew a deep breath, as if she were nervous, but Maerad realized quickly that Nerili was, with difficulty, restraining fury.
“Igan of Norloch informed me yesterday that there have been certain changes within the School of Norloch, and within Annar.” Here Maerad sat up straighter. “There has been revealed, he said, a plot within the First Circle itself, a faction of rebels who are in league with the Dark. The rebellion has been put down, and its leaders imprisoned. The imprisoned traitors are Nelac of Lirigon, Tared of Desor, and Caragal of Norloch.”
There was an audible gasp of dismay from around the table, and Maerad met Cadvan’s eyes. He looked saddened, not shocked; she suspected he knew this already.
Nerili continued. “Norloch is under the military rule of the White Guard, commanded by the First Bard, Enkir of Norloch, to combat the emergency caused by the rebels. He has invoked the triple scepter, the emblem of the lost Kings of Annar, and claims the authority of High King over all the Seven Kingdoms.”
Again there was a collective gasp of shock. Arnamil leaped out of his chair, his mouth open, ready to say something, but Nerili held up her hand to indicate she wasn’t finished, and he slowly sat down.
“Moreover, he spoke of news that the kingdom of Dén Raven is moving in the south. He said that Norloch expects that Turbansk will be attacked within the next three months by the Sorcerer Imank.”
Maerad thought of the implacable army she had seen in her foredream. She bit her lip and looked at her hands,
“Your mother, Milana of Pellinor,” said Nerili softly. “I never met her. She looks very much like you. Thank you, Maerad.” The figure faded and vanished, and there was a short silence. Maerad looked away. She didn’t know why she had shown Nerili her mother, and she now wished she hadn’t. Nerili took her hand, and Maerad jumped. If she had said anything to her, Maerad might have started crying, but they just sat wordlessly for a while, until Maerad collected herself.
“Magery, even the slightest, calls on the deepest parts of ourselves,” Nerili said at last, releasing her hand. “And often that is painful. It is the pain of being in the world, where so much that is fair passes into death and forgetfulness. But if we are to know joy, we must embrace that pain. You cannot have one without the other.”
Maerad nodded, her face downcast. Sometimes, it seemed to her, the pain far outweighed the joy.
Emissaries arrived from Norloch very quickly, five days after Maerad and Cadvan. They made council with Busk’s First Circle and left early the next day for Gent. After they had gone, Nerili called another council of the First and Second Circles — all the senior Bards of the School of Busk — and this time Maerad and Cadvan were summoned.
When they arrived in the Council Room, Maerad was surprised to see half a dozen people who were clearly not Bards. They were the Steward of Busk, a tall, burly man called Arnamil, and the members of his Chamber — three women and two men — one of whom, Maerad saw, was Owan d’Aroki. In tandem with the six Bards of the First Circle of the School, the Chamber governed the Isle of Thorold. With the sixteen Bards, there was a sizable gathering around the large round table that dominated the room. When everyone was seated, Nerili stood and began without preamble.
“Welcome, Chamber and Bards. Thank you for answering my call. I realize this meeting is not at the usual time.” She paused and looked slowly around the table, meeting the eyes of each person present. “Bards of the First Circle, you know why I have called you here. You were present yesterday, when Igan of Norloch issued the edict of Norloch to the School of Busk. What he told me deeply concerns all of Thorold, and this is why I asked you, Lord Steward, and your Chamber to be present.”
She drew a deep breath, as if she were nervous, but Maerad realized quickly that Nerili was, with difficulty, restraining fury.
“Igan of Norloch informed me yesterday that there have been certain changes within the School of Norloch, and within Annar.” Here Maerad sat up straighter. “There has been revealed, he said, a plot within the First Circle itself, a faction of rebels who are in league with the Dark. The rebellion has been put down, and its leaders imprisoned. The imprisoned traitors are Nelac of Lirigon, Tared of Desor, and Caragal of Norloch.”
There was an audible gasp of dismay from around the table, and Maerad met Cadvan’s eyes. He looked saddened, not shocked; she suspected he knew this already.
Nerili continued. “Norloch is under the military rule of the White Guard, commanded by the First Bard, Enkir of Norloch, to combat the emergency caused by the rebels. He has invoked the triple scepter, the emblem of the lost Kings of Annar, and claims the authority of High King over all the Seven Kingdoms.”
Again there was a collective gasp of shock. Arnamil leaped out of his chair, his mouth open, ready to say something, but Nerili held up her hand to indicate she wasn’t finished, and he slowly sat down.
“Moreover, he spoke of news that the kingdom of Dén Raven is moving in the south. He said that Norloch expects that Turbansk will be attacked within the next three months by the Sorcerer Imank.”
Maerad thought of the implacable army she had seen in her foredream. She bit her lip and looked at her hands,
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