Selmana met Dernhil’s steady gaze, her rage ebbing. “Maybe,” she said. “I know what I saw.”
“As do I,” said Dernhil. “I have no reason to lie. But it seems to me that you did see Cadvan, and somehow what you saw made him know what was within him, and that is why he came to me and asked me to cast it out.”
“I dreamed of you,” said Cadvan. “It must have been you.”
Selmana studied him doubtfully, but said nothing.
Nelac had been listening, his brows drawn in thought. “Be not too quick to judge, Selmana,” he said. “We have been talking, Dernhil and Cadvan and I, this past hour, attempting to make sense of what is happening in this world. I can vouch for Cadvan; I do not believe that darkness lives in him now. But I begin to wonder where else it might dwell. I am full of fear, as are we all: but let us not speak out of fear. There is too much we don’t understand. In any case, I wish very much to know what happened to you. Can you tell us?”
Selmana nodded. “I’ll try,” she said. “But it’s hard to describe…” Haltingly, she told the Bards of how she had seen the Shadowplains from her window as she was reading late at night, and of her feeling the next day that something was hunting her, and then of how she had stepped from the Street of Potters into the Shadowplains. She began to explain what had happened there, stopping in frustration as words failed her. Nelac prompted her with simple questions, and bit by bit she found the words. When she had finished speaking, she felt exhausted, as if she had undergone a long and wearying examination.
“It is too strange,” said Dernhil abruptly. He stood up restlessly and walked towards the window. The rain was falling so heavily that he couldn’t see more than a few paces through the gloom. “Even the weather is strange,” he said, turning around. “I don’t remember this kind of rainfall in Lirigon. It is like the rains in the Suderain, when the seasons turn.”
“Weather is weather,” said Cadvan. “We don’t fully understand its laws.”
“I remember reading that the Elementals can change the weather at will,” Dernhil said. “They can summon rains and snow and frost, even in the midst of summer, if they are angered.”
“It is claimed so,” said Nelac. “I confess, I haven’t studied the Elidhu. It is a long age since Bards had anything to do with them.”
“Did Ceredin mean the Elementals, when she said that others would help us?” asked Selmana hesitantly.
“Surely not,” said Nelac. “She must have meant the dead, who, like Ceredin, are trapped in the Shadowplains. They would have the greatest stake in this affair. The Elidhu allied with the Nameless One, and it is a bitter memory among Bards, who do not trust them. It is hard to see why they should help the Light.”
“Some say they were enslaved,” said Dernhil. “They were also part of the Light in Afinil, remember?”
“We know almost nothing about the Elidhu,” said Cadvan. “Let’s concentrate on what we do know, which is difficult enough! Also, I’m hungry. I have not eaten one morsel since dawn, and this has been a long day…”
Nelac laughed. “That’s easily dealt with,” he said. “And I will take care of it soon. But we must debate now what to do. I have several thoughts. Firstly, it seems clear that Kansabur has divided herself, as Ceredin says, most likely in the conflict when we believed that we had defeated her.”
“There was that moment when the Circles were all open to each other,” said Cadvan. “An instant when everything faltered and frayed, when I thought that we had lost: and then it passed, and it seemed that the battle was finally won… I’ve been going over and over it, trying to remember, and I keep thinking that something has been erased from my memory, a kind of scar, maybe. But I am beginning to think that Kansabur transformed in that instant, that at the moment of extremity she found some other way of being, in order to escape us.”
Nelac nodded. “Aye, I am thinking something similar. And if that is so, she is much diminished. But she is gaining strength now, which bodes ill. I think this is part of some much larger strategy. I can’t but remember how the Black Bard Likod came to you, Cadvan, when you were just a boy. What seeds were laid then? Was the plan even then to return the Bone Queen to the throne of Lirhan? I have begun to suspect that Likod is a Hull, not merely a Bard who has turned from the Light: and if he is, he has been a Hull for less than a century, maybe. There is only one being that I know of who can transform a Bard into a Hull, and that is the Nameless One. And if that is true, he must have returned, against all the will of the Light.”
Dernhil rose and walked to the window, and stood there looking out, his back turned on the others. “You name my inmost fear, Nelac,” he said. “All I can say is such a thought is the very substance of my dreams, and if they are indeed foredreams, then no other could create such desolation…”
A silence descended on the Bards. Selmana, who had been listening intently, stirred restlessly. “But why use Cadvan?” she said. “If the Dark wanted to summon the Bone Queen into the World, couldn’t they have done it themselves?”
“Perhaps they cannot,” said Nelac. “Hulls give up a great deal of themselves when they permit their Truenames to be devoured. It could be that the Dark needs magery to bring the Bone Queen back into the World. But I’m only guessing. Maybe in gaining the powers of sorcery, and so gaining the dominion they desire over people and things, they lose the capacity to create life. The Dark doesn’t only fear the Light: it envies it, with a deep and bitter jealousy.”
“I could only summon Kansabur’s spirit,” said Cadvan. “And that was deadly enough.”
“If she were more than spirit bound with sorcery, she would be deadly indeed,” said Nelac. “Then she could remain in the World and wreak her vengeance on Lirigon. For I have no doubt she desires vengeance.” He sighed. “But I think also that they used Cadvan because the Dark seeks to divide Barding from within. It has certainly been effective. Which leads me to my other thought: if Cadvan could carry a part of Kansabur’s being concealed in his, without the least suspicion that he did so, then it is entirely possible the same thing has happened to me. I have entered the Shadowplains twice in the past fortnight, and both were a trial in ways they should not have been. Indeed, the second time was almost fatal. And my Knowing lately has been – muffled, as if I cannot quite hear myself, which is too like what Cadvan has told us. So, Cadvan, I think that first you should scry me, since that seems the only way to be sure.”
Cadvan looked up, surprised. “Nelac, I thank you for your trust. But I have never scried anyone before. And after the night and morning I’ve had, I’m not sure I could do such a thing today.”
“I think nevertheless you are the one to do it, and that you should do it soon,” said Nelac. “I think that every Bard who was present for the banishing of Kansabur must be scried. If indeed she escaped us, and it now seems undeniable that she did, then that is when it must have happened.”
“Who was there?” asked Dernhil.
“There were six of us,” said Cadvan. He counted the names off on his fingers. “It was me, Nelac, Bashar, Calis, from Lirigon. Also Milana of Pellinor and Enkir of Il Arunedh.”
“Perhaps they will not agree.”
“Calis will, I am sure, but I am uncertain of the rest,” said Nelac. “They will need to understand its urgency. We must tell Bashar what we know and what we fear, but I hesitate. She would not listen to me yesterday, all but saying that my Knowing is misled, and she may equally dismiss what we say now.”
“You can’t tell her that Cadvan is in Lirigon,” said Dernhil. “Or at least, not at first. It is her edict that you break, and she will be the less likely to accept what you say.”
“It goes against the grain to conceal anything, but I fear you’re right.” Nelac sighed. “The other puzzle is Selmana.” He looked across at the young Bard. “The Impossible Selmana! It seems to me that you are key, somehow. I wish I knew why you could just step, by accident, through the Circles. What is different about you?”
“I
don’t know,” she said. “I’m just the same as anybody else.”
“But the fact is that you’re not the same. Of course, we are all different, each from the other, and each of us has their own Gift. But there is something in you that is clearly very different.”
Selmana blushed under the intensity of Nelac’s gaze, and he laughed and released her. “I am sorry, Selmana, but it is very curious. This is outside my knowledge. We should let Seriven know you are safe and send word to your mother, they have been most anxious, but I think for the moment you should remain here. I am loath to leave you on your own.” He stood up and stretched. “Ah, I’m tired in my very bones. Perhaps food will help.”
It rained all afternoon and into the night, a punishing downpour driven by high winds. Inside Nelac’s rooms, the four Bards scarcely noticed: the relentless rain gave them ample excuse to be private. They had decided that they would stay overnight in Nelac’s chambers, and a feeling of holiday, as if they were children camping out in midsummer, began to take hold of them. Selmana had one of the merriest meals of her life that afternoon.
Cadvan scried Nelac at twilight, after they had eaten and rested. Scrying was usually a private business, conducted only between the two Bards concerned, but Dernhil insisted that he and Selmana be present in case something went wrong. Selmana watched with fascination, her legs curled beneath her on the couch, as Cadvan looked into Nelac’s eyes and cast the charm. The Bards seemed to fall into a trance, their figures shining with magery. For a time nothing happened, and Selmana shifted restlessly, feeling pins and needles in her feet. Then everything seemed to happen so quickly that she could barely follow it.
Cadvan cried out, and at the same time Nelac collapsed. Selmana saw something on the floor, a thick, moving shadow on which she couldn’t quite fix her eyes. She gagged and instinctively scrambled to the far end of the room in panic. Cadvan and Dernhil stood shining before her, their arms raised, speaking words of power that scorched the air. A bolt of light pinned the shadow to the floor, and it writhed horribly around it, like a pinioned animal. She could feel the thing’s rage and hatred, as if they were sweated into the air, and she was very afraid of what would happen if it escaped. But then tendrils of light seemed to cage the shadow, spearing it with small lightnings and enclosing it in a net of blazing silver that slowly, with a terrible slowness, began to shrink. Little by little the net tightened, until it was the size of a melon, and then a fist, and then a walnut, and it grew brighter and brighter as it became smaller. And finally, when it was an intense pinpoint of brilliance, it seemed to explode in a great soundless rush of energy, and there was nothing there.
Dernhil and Cadvan let down their arms, and the light inside them died. Cadvan rushed to Nelac, who lay gasping on the ground. As Cadvan caught him up, he opened his eyes.
“Twice rescued in one day!” he whispered. “My dear friend, I hope I never have cause to ask this of you again.”
Cadvan’s face was grey with exhaustion, but at that he smiled. “However many times a day you need me, my friend, I hope that I shall always be there,” said Cadvan. “But I can’t pretend that it’s easy.”
Nelac stood up slowly. “At least you don’t have age weighing you down,” he said. “I’m not as young as I was. More’s the pity. That hurt almost as badly as anything I have suffered.” He looked across at Dernhil and Selmana. “All well?”
“Up to a point,” said Dernhil, grinning tiredly. “We destroyed the fragment.”
“It is good to know that it can be destroyed,” said Nelac. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. “A beginning, at least.”
III
XVIII
THE rain poured all night, ceasing just before dawn. The rising sun cast a grey light over a drenched landscape. Lir Lake was already swollen after the recent rains, and the downpour burst its banks, swamping some shoreline villages. Elsewhere the wind had torn down trees and blown tiles from roofs. Lirigon, set on a high ridge by the lake, had largely escaped flooding, although sodden drifts of autumn leaves and rubbish were piled in the streets.
Alone in her chambers, Bashar rubbed her temples and leant back in her chair. Requests for help had been coming in from all over the Fesse since the evening before, and she had had little sleep. She had just finished a long discussion with Berhard, the Thane of Lir, trying to determine where there was most need. Obviously the shore villages had suffered the worst damage, she would send the Makers there, but thought had to be given to other emergencies as well. Two people had been injured by falling trees, a man had been killed when a roof tile had struck his head, and many people were flooded out of their homes. She studied the list before her. The only certain thing was that there would be more to do as the day broadened.
At least the rains had stopped. Coglint, the Lirigon Bard most learned in weatherlore, had told her that there may be more rains later in the day, although he thought that they would not be so heavy. But for those who no longer had roofs, or were working in the open, more rain would add to the misery. The downpour over the past day had been unremitting. It didn’t come in buffeting waves of showers, as was usual in the plains of the north; it had been a constant, suffocating assault. She wondered how the sky could hold so much water.
A shadow fell across the door, and Bashar looked up, irritated: she had said that she was not to be disturbed while she worked out the duty lists. When she saw it was a stranger, she frowned.
“My lady Bashar,” said the stranger. He bowed and entered the room. He was a tall man, grey-haired and pale-skinned, with deep-set, unsettling eyes, and was dressed all in black.
“Forgive me, but you mistake your entrance,” she said, with icy courtesy.
“Indeed I do not.” The man walked insolently across the room and sat in front of her. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Likod.”
Bashar frowned: she knew the name, although she couldn’t quite place it. His cool assurance angered her. “I am presently engaged,” she said. “If you have need, see the Thane of Lir. Please leave.” She returned her gaze to her lists, dismissing him, and picked up her pen.
“But I don’t wish to leave,” said the man. “My business is not with the Thane of Lir, my lady. It is with you.”
“How did you even enter here?” said Bashar.
“I have my means,” said Likod. “You Bards do not, after all, know everything, as you so fondly imagine.”
Likod moved his hands so swiftly her eyes couldn’t follow the gesture. An instinct made Bashar recoil as if she were avoiding a striking snake, and then she froze. In that moment, she realized she was bound fast.
Likod studied her, a cold amusement flickering in his eyes. “I can enter the stronghold of your power at my pleasure, and I can hold you here for as long as I desire,” he said. “You have no way to prevent me.”
Bashar struggled fiercely in Likod’s bonds, too angry to be afraid. At last she spoke, but thickly, as if her tongue were made of wood.
“You scum,” she said. “I know who you are.”
Likod shrugged. “So, you can speak.” He snapped his fingers and Bashar’s tongue was locked. “Alas, if only you knew: you are held by the lightest of chains. If I wished, I could tighten them so you could not even breathe, so the very organs of your body would be strangled. I realize you have been taken by surprise, I’ll allow you that, but even had you been wary, you could not resist the power that I have. For I am far beyond the pathetic limits of the Light, my lady. You cowardly Bards, babbling of the Balance, will never understand this. So you must be made to understand…”
He stood up and approached Bashar, taking her face between his hands. She twisted impotently in disgust, and he laughed, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Never let it be said that I am immune to the beauty of Bards!” he said. “It might be the only reason that they can be tolerated. But even then…” His smile snapped off, and she saw the abyss behind his eyes, the arid emptiness of his ambition. “Even then, that beauty is only the bare
st of justifications for their delusions…”
Bashar realized then that Likod intended to scry her, and such was her fear and panic that she almost wrenched herself free. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He spoke and a hidden claw within her clutched at her throat and silenced her, a parasite that paralysed her will even as she perceived it with a horror that made her choke. Nothing could now stop him: he would scour her most intimate being, and he would use that power to possess and dominate her mind. The world closed around her until the only thing she saw was Likod’s eyes, which were now lit with a cold flame, a cruel and pitiless power. She heard herself screaming, but she knew she made no sound, and her scream echoed in the caverns of her mind until at last it faded, obliterated by pain.
A short while later, Calis knocked cursorily on Bashar’s door and entered without waiting for a reply.
“Sorry to interrupt, Bashar, but Berhard is asking after the healers,” she said. “I’m just heading to the lakeside with the Makers.”
Bashar turned and contemplated her calmly. “All Bards are to repair to the School,” she said. “It’s only a little rain. The villages can be dealt with later, at our leisure. It is not as urgent as they claim, they are always exaggerating. The Fesse makes too many demands and gives too little in return.”
Calis was taken aback. “No, Bashar, the need in the villages is real. It could have been much worse, but some are flooded out and need our help. And there may be more rain later, we need to build levees. We’re leaving now.”
“They have their own crafters,” said Bashar. “Let them be responsible for what is theirs. As I said, all Bards will be working in the School.”
“But the School was barely touched!” said Calis. “You can’t be serious.”