They had ridden hard since the ambush at the Broken Teeth. Maerad was exhausted after the battle with the wight, but there had been no time to rest. They'd spent one night at the Hardellach Inn, where the Bard Colun stitched the wounds on Cadvan's face. Then early the following morning they set off on a punishing trek through the Vale of Norloch.
If Maerad had not seen everything through a blur of weariness, she might have enjoyed the ride. The weather was fine but not too hot, the sky a deep clear blue, and above them she could sometimes hear the faint twittering of a lark borne high on the summer thermals, although she could not see it. Around them stretched a peaceful and fertile landscape slumbering in a faint haze of heat; they passed many stone houses edged with overflowing gardens, set in the hills overlooking the vale.
The road pushed steadily downhill, winding past meadows of rich grass growing in wide terraces, which were often divided by silver streams and treed with fine stands of beech or birch or elm. White herds of cattle or black-faced sheep grazed there, or perhaps a few horses drowsed in the sun, flicking away the flies with their tails. Around the gray stone houses were small hedged fields planted with barley or oats or wheat, their seed heads fattening in the ripe sunlight, or dark green rows of beets or cabbages, or peas flowering cheerfully in pinks and whites, and everywhere were green orchards of apples and almonds and soft fruits. Sometimes the road passed through a small forest and the cool, dappled shade fell on their faces, a welcome relief from the heat. They saw many people: farmers with carts, or children skipping or intent on some errand, or women walking with big wicker baskets, and once a shepherd with his dogs, the sheep filling the road like a bleating cloud. Sometimes they passed cloaked riders who Maerad thought must be Bards.
When they reached the straight road through the Meads of Carmallachen, on the morning of the fourth day, they went at a fast canter. Occasionally they could see the Aleph River winding many miles to their left, glittering in the sun. Cadvan squinted at the sky. "I think our fine weather is going to break," he said. "The wind is changing."
By the time they drew close to the walls of Norloch, late in the afternoon, a dark bank of clouds had spread over most of the sky and a chill wind was blowing. As the sun dipped to the horizon it fell beneath the clouds, loosing a rich golden light that seemed to etch every object with a surreal clarity, and it seemed as if the world held its breath. Close up, the city stretched dizzyingly high above them; Maerad craned back her neck to look, feeling as if the whole thing would topple down on her, crushing her with a vast weight of stone. The road led to high gates of black iron, featureless apart from huge silver hinges in the shapes of curling flames. Above the gates was a tower with a belfry of white stone, in which hung an enormous bronze bell.
"The gates shut at the sundown bell. We're just in time," said Cadvan. "I sent a message by bird to Nelac, but we may have arrived before it. I hope he's expecting us." He turned to Maerad, unsmiling; the marks of the whip still slashed lividly across his face, and his eye was bruised black. She was shocked to see how pale and strained he looked. "There will be a savage storm tonight, if I have any weatherlore."
They passed through the gate arch, and its dark shadow fell over them. The sun was already beginning to disappear. Before them stretched a wide thoroughfare, edged with big stone buildings of many kinds: the Ninth Circle of Norloch. On its other side the Circle was bounded by a great stone quay that stretched beneath black cliffs, but Cadvan led them away from the quay, upward to the Eighth Circle. A few large raindrops began to splash on the road, and Maerad shivered and gathered her cloak close around her.
Cadvan began to hurry them down the street, anxious to reach Nelac's house before the storm broke and, it seemed to Maerad, driven by some other urgency she couldn't guess. There was no time to stop and stare, but she had a confused impression of wide streets lit by huge lamps that cast a broad, steady light over grand houses and buildings and inns. The dusk was vanishing swiftly, and as the sun finally disappeared she heard a great tolling; the bell of Norloch was signaling the coming of night and the closing of the gates. Then, almost instantly it seemed to her, it was deep night. The isolated raindrops were now falling more swiftly and she could hear distant rumblings of thunder. It would not be long before the storm broke over their heads.
The horses rode swiftly up the nine levels, climbing each time, winding back and forth from gate to gate. Norloch had been built many hundreds of years before on a pinnacle of rock that thrust straight up more than seven hundred feet from a harbor enclosed by steep cliffs. On one side the rock dropped sheer to the sea, and on the other it inclined more gently down to the plains of the Carmallachen. It was on this incline that the city had been built. The Circles of Norloch were in truth half-circles, becoming less regular the nearer they fell to the plains, and their walls stretched from cliff to cliff. In the Ninth Circle the wall stopped at the harbor, a small cliff-bounded inlet with a narrow mouth, bordered on the city side by a wide stone quay.
The original up-thrust rock had been strengthened and extended, and it was now fashioned into an almost impregnable fortress, protected on one side by the sea and on the other by the swamps and waterlands of the Aleph River. The one clear approach to the Ninth Gate was from the north, and the only other entry to the city was by sea through the narrow heads of the harbor, which were risky to navigate and would admit only one ship at a time. Beneath the city there were delvings and caves that reached deep into the rock, with provision for supplies to keep the city alive for many months if it came under siege. The city's garrison lived in the Third and Fourth Circles, companies of stern warriors numbering in the thousands. Even in the days of Maninae, when Norloch had long fallen from its greatness, it was proud and strong.
They went unquestioned until they reached the Fourth Circle, where a man in the silver and blue livery of the citadel challenged them. Maerad concealed herself in her hood, suddenly fearful they would not be allowed through, and she noticed that Hem was completely hidden inside Cadvan's cloak. But when the soldier recognized Cadvan, he bowed low and drew aside, and they passed through; and so it was at each higher gate. As they walked through the final gate into the First Circle, the storm finally broke. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the High Citadel starkly, for a brief second, before the rain started to pour down. Maerad saw glimmering white walls reaching high into the darkness and streets edged with trees, now boiling and thrashing in the gale, and high plinths on which were set figures, some leafed with gold and gleaming brightly, some black in the darkness, before the rain came down like a blinding sheet.
"We haven't far," shouted Cadvan over his shoulder. "But hurry! Don't lose me!" And he set off at a brisk canter. Imi, skittering nervously at the lightning, followed Darsor almost at his tail; although the streets were well lit, it would have been easy to lose him in the heavy rain and flailing shadows. At last, with water streaming off their cloaks, they reached the house Cadvan was seeking. It gave a blank, high wall to the street, in which was set one high door with carvings about its lintel. Cadvan dismounted and pulled a small iron lever in the wall, which Maerad guessed must be attached to a bell. They waited, sheltering against the side of the wall to try to escape the savage wind, for what seemed an age. It was in reality a short time before the door opened and before them stood an old bearded man heavily cloaked in gray, bearing a lamp.
"Who's there?" he said, peering out into the darkness. "By the Light, Cadvan! What are you doing here? Come in, come in, this weather isn't fit for rats!" He waved them in, and they led the horses through the door into a wide stone-flagged courtyard. They were at last out of the wind, although the rain still poured down in a deluge, coming off the roofs in great spouts. The man locked the door behind them.
"Nelac," said Cadvan, embracing the old man. "How good it is to see you!" Maerad saw that Cadvan suddenly looked exhausted and gray as if he'd been holding himself together by sheer will and now, having reached his goal, was on the verge of collapse. T
he old man stood back, his hands on Cadvan's shoulders, and inspected him sharply.
"And good to see you, Cadvan, my dear friend. I've missed you. But you've been ill-used, I can see." He nodded at Maerad and Hem. "Let's get out of this weather before we talk. Come." He led them across the courtyard toward some stables. "We must attend to the beasts, first."
In the shelter of the stables it was suddenly quiet and calm, and Maerad breathed in, comforted by the warm smell of hay and horses. They said nothing more as they hastily unsaddled and groomed the horses, leaving them comfortably housed, snorting at full mangers. Then Nelac led them at a run across the courtyard and through more high doors into a wide hallway.
It was made of plain stone and dimly lit by a silver lamp suspended from the roof, but it gave an impression of richness; there were gold hangings of heavy brocade on the walls, and Maerad saw that many rooms ran off it. Some doors were open and their light spilled onto the stone floor, and she heard voices talking and, far off, the trilling of a flute. They put off their cloaks in the hallway; they were all so wet they stood in little puddles. Cadvan leaned against the wall, swaying slightly.
"Well!" said Nelac, surveying the dripping group. "And who are these two?"
Cadvan gestured vaguely, too exhausted for formalities. "They're Maerad and Hem, I mean Cai, of Pellinor." Nelac's eyebrows rose in surprise, and his gaze rested for a second with a strange intensity on Maerad's face. "Maerad, Hem, this is Nelac. My old teacher and a good friend."
"We'll have to get you dry clothes," said Nelac. "Brin!" He called down the hallway and a dark, stocky man appeared out of a door. "Brin, we have some unexpected guests. Can you get their rooms ready? Three. And I need clothes for three, urgently. One woman and a boy." The man nodded and disappeared. "Come into my rooms while we're waiting," Nelac said. "It's warm in there."
Like Malgorn and Silvia, Nelac lived with his students; his rooms were downstairs off the huge entrance hall, behind a high, plain wooden door. Nelac led them into a large sitting room that seemed very bright after the dimness of the corridors. Here it was not so grand; the room was full of tables and comfortable chairs and shelves laden with books and instruments of various kinds, and a fire blazed in a large iron grate. One wall, free of any shelves, was painted curiously, so that it seemed to look out on a woodland inhabited by marvelous beasts and birds. On its other side the room had windowed doors that opened out onto a garden, but there it was all blackness and storm. Maerad looked around, her mouth open, and saw a tall, black-skinned man standing to greet them, his face blank with astonishment. She blinked in surprise: it was Saliman.
"Cadvan!" he said. "What on earth are you doing here? You keep close counsel; you didn't tell me you were coming this way. We could have traveled together. And Maerad too? And who's this?"
Cadvan swayed in the doorway. "Well met, Saliman," he said quietly. "I thought you might be here." He staggered across the room and fell into a deeply cushioned chair by the fire. Maerad saw that he was shaking badly.
"And very much the worse for wear, I see," said Saliman, swiftly covering his shock at his friend's state. "You're white as a sheet. Who punched you in the eye? Not to mention those whipstings. Let me get you a drink!" He raised his eyebrow at Nelac, who nodded, and went across to a sideboard on which there were several glass decanters. "Laradhel, perhaps?"
Cadvan nodded. Saliman poured a glass of the golden liquor, then looked across at Maerad and Hem, and poured another two.
"Sit down, sit down," said Nelac. Maerad and Hem were still standing uncertainly in the doorway. Maerad, with Hem sticking close behind her, walked to a sofa against the painted wall and sat straight as a bolt on the very edge. Saliman gave her the glass, and she sipped, looking sideways at Hem, who at first spluttered wildly and then drained the entire glass. A glow of warmth ran through her body, and she began to relax a little.
"That's a little better," said Nelac. He looked at Maerad. "Did I hear aright?" he said. "Cadvan said you were Maerad and Cai of Pellinor? Brother and sister, I guess?"
"Brother?" said Saliman, staring at Hem, who stared boldly back.
"Yes, my brother," said Maerad. She still had a feeling of unreality in so claiming him.
Nelac shook his head in amazement. "Pellinor! Though now that I look, I can guess who your mother was, Maerad. Surely she was Milana of the First Circle? You're alike as two peas. I didn't know Dorn so well, but Cai takes after him. You both have your father's eyes."
Hem wriggled, in discomfort or pleasure, Maerad couldn't tell. "My name's Hem," he said abruptly, and then gulped nervously, as if he thought he'd be clouted for speaking.
Nelac lifted an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Instead he looked across at Cadvan, who was staring into the fire and didn't appear to be listening. Maerad followed his gaze, beginning to feel alarmed. She had never seen Cadvan like this before. Even when his wounds were stitched at the inn, and in his agony she had thought him at the extremity of his endurance, he hadn't seemed so wraithlike, so gray. He looked deathly. Nelac seemed to share her concern; he went over to Cadvan and knelt before him. Cadvan looked up heavily.
"What has happened to you, my friend?" Nelac asked gently. He cupped his hand under Cadvan's chin and looked straight into his eyes. To Maerad, Cadvan suddenly seemed ten years old, a child in pain pleading wordlessly for relief, and she flinched at the sight. She had no idea until then of the extent of Cadvan's suffering: over the past four days he had been grimmer than usual, but she had put it down to the whiplashes and weariness. What she perceived now was his wounded mind, broken in the battle on the downs. She realized with a rush of distress that he had been in constant anguish ever since, and she had never guessed.
"It was a wight," Cadvan said hoarsely. "A wight of the Abyss, Nelac. It struck me down. There was nothing I could do."
Maerad heard the sharp intake of Saliman's breath. "A wight!" He looked at Maerad and Hem, marveling. "How is it that you're still alive?"
Cadvan waved his hand. "Maerad. . . ," he mumbled. Nelac, who seemed deeply worried, looked up sharply.
"No time for questions," he said. "They can be answered later."
Nelac put his hand on Cadvan's brow, and, as Maerad watched in wonder, she saw a silver radiance gather around him, growing in intensity. He shut his eyes. After a short time, Nelac's hand was brighter than anything else in the room, and the Bard himself seemed to be a form of sheer incandescence, a being of air and light rather than flesh. Very far away, or very deep in her mind, Maerad could hear an ethereal music; she thought it was like bells or pure voices, but it was really like nothing she had ever heard before. Cadvan's eyelids fluttered closed, and a deep peace flooded into his face.
Hem was sitting beside Maerad with his mouth open, his glass forgotten in his hand. They watched, entranced, for an immeasurable span of time; and then Nelac breathed out and drew his hand away from Cadvan's brow, and the radiant music softened and dimmed and disappeared.
Sighing, Cadvan opened his eyes and leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. Nelac stood up slowly, and Maerad realized properly for the first time that he was an old man; how old she couldn't guess. He suddenly looked intensely weary. He poured himself some laradhel and sat down again without speaking.
"What was that?" Hem's voice squeaked with astonishment and alarm, and Maerad jumped. "What did he do?"
Nelac looked up at Hem, amused despite his evident tiredness, but it was Saliman who answered.
"Young Hem, you have just seen the greatest healer in Annar and the Seven Kingdoms exercise his full powers. Take note! It is a rare sight. And something for a young Bard to aspire to. An old Bard too," he said, lifting his glass toward Nelac.
"Will Cadvan be all right now?" Maerad asked in a small voice. She still felt cold with distress: why hadn't she noticed how ill he was? She wondered again at Cadvan's powers of endurance; he had led them all that way.
Nelac sighed. "Yes," he said. "It was almost too late. Even another few hours
and perhaps not even I could have helped him. I had to go deep to heal him. But yes, he will be all right now. For the rest, he just needs sleep." He looked at Hem and Maerad. "I would say that you two do, as well. Maerad, I don't know what has happened. I see already it is a cruel story. For the moment we'll leave that be; we can talk tomorrow. Perhaps you would like a bath, and dinner, and a long sleep?"
"A bath!" Maerad was overwhelmed with a sudden physical longing. "That would be so lovely! I haven't had a bath since ... since Innail."
There was a knock on the door, and Brin, Nelac's housemaster, entered. "The chambers are prepared, Master Nelac," he said.
"Good!" said Nelac, standing up. "Then you shall have a bath straightaway, if you wish, young Maerad. And you too, Hem."
"A bath?" said Hem, looking alarmed again. "What's a bath?"
"Or not, as the case may be," said Nelac, smiling with great gentleness. He seemed to find Hem very amusing. "It's not compulsory, if, perhaps, advisable. Saliman, could you take these young people upstairs? I need to sit for a while. Cadvan can go up later, when he's ready."
Maerad took her pack from the hallway, and then Saliman led them up several flights of stairs to their guest chambers. She blinked as they walked through the dimly lit corridors. Nelac's house was big and grand, the ceilings high enough to be lost in shadow, and everywhere, carved into the lintels of doors and windows, were runes and symbols: ancient charms, Saliman told them, for the prosperity and wisdom of those who dwelt there. It was sparsely but richly furnished, and Maerad saw often the glint of gold or a bright tapestry, or they would turn on a landing and confront an exquisite statue glimmering whitely through the shadows. They passed many doors through which they could hear the murmur of conversation, or the tuning of instruments, or a lone voice practicing scales; and often they passed people on the stairs, Nelac's students, she supposed, some of whom turned and stared at their wild state. Maerad wondered how many people lived there. She began to understand what Silvia had meant by calling Innail a "humble house"; privately she thought she preferred Silvia's friendly abode to this grandeur, which she thought cold and gloomy.