Authors: Alison Croggon
I suspect it was someone close to him—rebelled. And I was smuggled out of Norloch and given a horse. I couldn't go to Lanorial or Ileadh, because they were besieged by Enkir's forces, so I made my journey through byways and across wastes all the way to Innail, which was the only School that I could trust. And I arrived a month or so ago, only to find that I had just missed the battle here, and that Cadvan and Maerad were lately gone. Mine is the dullest story of all, really, and I would far rather hear yours."
Irc, whose belly was bulging as he perched on the back of Hem's chair, gave a sharp caw, so that everyone turned to look at him. He wanted to tell his story too. Cadvan laughed, and Hem rolled his eyes. "I told you he'd be impossible," he said.
Cadvan lifted his glass to Irc. "To me, Irc is a hero," he said. "He saved Lirigon from certain doom, and he can boast as much as he likes."
Irc danced up and down.
I am a hero,
he said.
The Savior of Lirigon. Cadvan said so, so it must be true. And I am the King's messenger, and I am a very clever crow. I flew so far and so fast that my wings hurt and I told the Bard about the army, and he said that I was a brave and intelligent bird, and that they would make a song about me and I should have a necklace of gold. But then I had to fly all the way back to find my friend because I missed him so much and my wings hurt even more.
He cocked his head and looked at Nelac, his eyes a little blurry, and Hem realized that Irc was actually a bit drunk: he must have been sipping from Hem's glass when he wasn't looking.
It seems to me,
said Nelac gravely,
that you deserve at least one necklace. Maybe two.
At this, Irc bobbed up and down even more energetically and then, very slowly, overcome by the wine and the excitement, began to topple off the back of the chair. Hem caught him before he fell, put him in his lap, and tickled his tummy, and Irc lay on his back, his wings flopped open, his eyes closed blissfully
"I think he's overdone it," said Hem fondly. "And he does deserve praise. He has been brave." He remembered how glad he had been when Irc had flown back to him, a few days after the Singing. Irc hadn't called him: he had simply dropped onto his shoulder out of the sky, startling Hem so much he almost fell off Keru. Irc was so tired he could barely talk, and he was so glad to see Hem that he didn't make a single rude remark. It had taken a few days before he was his brash and boastful self again.
Irc's warning had bought the city a few precious days. The Black Army had marched up expecting a city open to attack, and instead found itself trapped on the other side of the Lir River. The Bards and townspeople had broken the bridge, but on the other side were fierce and well-prepared defenders. Undaunted, the Hull captains had begun to build rafts, felling the trees on their side and lashing them together, and harried the townsfolk, preparing for a siege. They had no doubt that, with their overwhelming forces, they would win in the end.
But when the Nameless One was destroyed, so were all his Hulls, who drew on his power for their own deathlessness. The deaths of their captains threw the Black Army into panic and chaos. The bulk of the infantry were slaves from Den Raven, and they rebelled and threw down their weapons and refused to fight. The remaining forces—the dogsoldiers and bloodguard— had retreated hastily, and were probably marching back south. Hem wondered what had happened to the snouts.
"The war is over," said Nelac. "But there is still much to do. Enkir's campaigns against Ileadh and Lanorial have been beaten back, although there has been much loss of life. And I've heard, from bird messengers, that Amdridh still holds out strongly against the Black Army, and that Til Amon is still besieged, but under no threat of starvation. But that will be old news now,
I
expect. The tide now runs with the Light."
"And it runs quickly," said Cadvan. "There is much to do, yes. But
I
think that it is not too soon to toast victory."
"Aye," said Nelac, his voice low. "And then we must turn our attention to the healing. There is much to heal.
I
am glad that the Nameless One is no more, and I am very glad, Maerad and Hem, that you did not have to pay for it with your lives. There is great joy in that. But I am an old man, and very tired, and my heart is full of sorrow for all those who have died, and for the great cities that have been destroyed. We have lost much in this war, and much is past repairing. And it will be you young people who must heal these wounds."
Hem thought of the snouts. How would they be healed, after what had happened to them? And a sudden fire lit in his breast: perhaps he could help those damaged children; perhaps that could be his next task.
As if he caught Hem's thought, Nelac looked sharply at Hem. "If you wish to pursue your studies, my dear one, you are very welcome to learn from me for a time. It takes no gift of prophecy to predict that you will be a great healer."
Hem blushed with pleasure, and his eyes were shining. "Yes," he said. "I want to be a healer, more than anything in the world."
"I think you already are. But there is always more to learn." Nelac rose, and bowed. "I think that
I
will heed Silvia's gentle tyranny and take myself to my bedchamber. I will sleep better this night than I have for many years." He bade them all good night, and as he left the room, he kissed Maerad's brow. "Well done," he whispered. "You were always full of surprises, Maerad, but somehow I am not surprised."
As if Nelac's leaving were a signal, the others took themselves to bed shortly afterward, yawning and stretching, all of them looking forward to waking late in a warm, comfortable bed. Hem realized that if he did not move now he probably never would; he had drunk far too much of Malgorn's deceptively light wine. He heaved himself out of his chair, holding Irc in his arms like a baby, and made a round of the room, kissing everyone good night with unusual enthusiasm. He kissed Silvia twice. Maerad watched him with amused surprise; she had never seen Hem tipsy before. Then he waved brightly and disappeared out of the door, to stumble up the stairs.
"He is a beautiful boy, your brother," said Saliman, standing up. "I love him well. I knew he was special the moment I set eyes on him. I don't think I realized quite how special."
"Yes," said Maerad with feeling. "He is."
"And I think I will follow his example. My Lady Hekibel, will you do me the honor of leaving with me?" He held out his hand to Hekibel, and she took it, smiling, and made her farewells to the five remaining Bards. The two departed together, Hekibel's golden head resting on Saliman's shoulder.
"He is a lucky man," said Indik, following Hekibel with his eyes. "She is a very beautiful woman."
"She's more than beautiful," Maerad said. "She's generous and true and kind and strong and wise. And she's very funny."
"She'll need all that, if she is to be with a Bard," said Silvia. "It's not easy, even for another Bard." She glanced sharply between Cadvan and Maerad, who were seated close together, their hands clasped, and then looked over to Malgorn. "It's late, my dear. And tomorrow will be as busy as usual."
And that was the end of the celebration. Maerad remembered it afterward as one of the best evenings of her life, rich and vivid and luminous with joy snatched back from the dark.
Maerad was still wakeful, perhaps because of the wine, so she and Cadvan went out into the streets of Innail for a walk.
It was a clear, frosty night, at the dark of the moon, and the stars blazed brightly, throwing shadows beneath them on the ground. The streets were empty, save for the occasional walker or curious cat, and they wandered arm in arm through the streets and crooked little squares toward the Inner Circle, because Maerad wanted to see the statue of Lanorgrim and the Singing Hall before they went to bed.
"Who would have thought, when you found me milking a cow, that we would have ended up doing all the things we did?" said Maerad.
"I think that I had an inkling," said Cadvan, smiling. "But all the same, Nelac is right. You surprised me almost every step of the way. Sometimes, truth be told, you terrified me more than surprised me."
"I surprised myself." Maerad frowned. "I do feel strange, Cadvan. I will have to get used to myself. And I was never used to myself in the beginning, anyway . . . But I'm glad that I'm still a Bard, you know. I mean, it would have been fine if I were not. But I was a little sad, when I thought I had lost all my magery."
"You should have asked me, as Silvia said. I didn't know you were even thinking that. It was obvious that your Elemental powers had gone ..."
"I didn't want to talk about it." She leaned her head on Cadvan's shoulder. "I think I didn't want any more sadness. And anyway, I had too much to be happy about."
Maerad had told no one of the sorrow she had felt at the loss of her powers. Hem was simply relieved that everything was over, but for Maerad it was different. It could have been worse, much worse; but even through the relief that she hadn't lost everything and was still a Bard, she still mourned her Elemental self. She knew now what Cadvan had meant when he had told her:
I think that even if we should claim victory in the
midst of all this uncertainty, we could still find ourselves with our hands empty. Whatever happens, our world will not be the same after this.
No, her world would not be the same. And there would always be loss. She thought of the dream that both she and Hem had shared, of a beautiful house with an orchard where they both lived. She realized now that it was not a glimpse of the future, but a longing for the childhood that they'd never had.
Cadvan stroked Maerad's hair, interrupting her thoughts. "If something worries you, you should tell me," he said.
"Sometimes it's hard, even now," said Maerad. And then added, smiling, "But, Cadvan, you were my first friend, and you are my best friend, and you know me like no one else does. I always think you should know already!"
Cadvan squeezed her arm. "If the last year has taught me anything at all, it has taught me precisely how little I know. Especially about you. A year is scarcely enough to begin to know you. Even a hundred years might not be enough."
He swung Maerad around to face him, and gently kissed the corners of her mouth and each eyelid, and then stood back from her, earnestly studying her face. Maerad smiled and reached up to stroke the scar on his cheekbone, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. It was some while before they resumed their walk.
They wandered in silence for some time, not taking any particular notice of where they were walking. All Innail was silvered with starlight, lying beautiful and serene under the still sky. Maerad thought that she had never known such peace.
"Maerad, you are going to have to give some thought to what you are going to do now," said Cadvan at last. "Do you have any ideas? You can go anywhere you like; after what you have done, you will be received in honor in every School in
Annar and the Seven Kingdoms. My only condition is that whatever School you decide on, I have to be there too."
"I
don't want to be anywhere if you're not there too," said Maerad.
"You might get tired of my company."
Maerad looked at him sidelong. "I can't imagine that," she said. "Unless you begin to tell me what to do."
"Since when," said Cadvan, smiling, "have I ever been able to tell you what to do? You have never taken the blindest notice—"
"That's not true," said Maerad. "I've always listened. When it's sensible advice, that is."
"I have always given you
extremely
sensible advice."
Maerad grinned. "Sometimes it has been," she said. "Sometimes it's been
too
sensible."
"Well.
I
shall learn to be less sensible, then. Though I must say that I've been called many things in my time, and I'd swear that
sensible
is not one of them. But seriously, Maerad. What shall you do now?"
Maerad thought for a while, her eyebrows drawn into a straight line. "I want to learn, to study the Lore," she said. "I still can't read and write properly, and there's so much I want to know... but I think I'd like to rest first. And maybe then I'd like to see some places that you've talked about. I've only ever journeyed with Hulls chasing me. I'd like to travel like a merchant, with an inn at every stop. I'd like to go to Zmarkan and see Sirkana and bring Imi home, and maybe I could find Nim, the Jussack boy who was kind to me .. . and I'd love to go back to Thorold . . . and I have to see the rose gardens of II Arunedh. And you said once you'd take me to Lirigon."
Cadvan laughed. "I did say that," he said. "We could make a pleasant journey of it, when the roads are less perilous. I need to see my birth home; it is long since I was there. Too long. I could show you all my favorite places, and the houses I used to throw stones at and the orchards I used to raid when I was a small boy and a little less wise than I am now." "I'd like that," said Maerad.
HERE ENDS THE FOURTH BOOK OF PELLINOR
N
The Naming, The Riddle,
and
The Crow,
I provided background on some of the more interesting aspects of the history and societies of Edil-Amarandh, Barding, the Speech, the Elidhu, and of course the Treesong itself. These form an (admittedly all too brief) introduction to the rich and growing field of Annaren Studies, and I recommend that anyone interested in these topics should consult the appendices in the earlier volumes.
For the final book, I have acceded to requests by readers for more information on the major characters. For most of this information, I am indebted to the principal expert on the
Naraudh Lar-Chane,
Christiane Armongath, who has made an extensive study of the extant resources concerning the heroes of the story. This work remains mostly unpublished, so I am grateful for her kindness in permitting me to draw on her research for these notes.
After the events recorded in the
Naraudh Lar-Chane,
the Annaren Scrolls record a period of some hundreds of years of peace. The Schools were restored, Turbansk and Baladh were rebuilt, and peace made with the people of Den Raven. A truce was brokered between the Pilanel and the Jussacks in the north—an effort led, it seems, by Maerad herself.
Maerad, Cadvan, Saliman, and Hem were, predictably enough, very famous in their own time, and although we have only fragments of many of the documents, there is enough to piece together a picture of their lives after the quest for the Treesong was completed.
There is no record that Cadvan and Maerad married. They remained close for the rest of their long lives, although the records show that they certainly spent several years apart when they worked in different Schools or pursued different tasks. Under the name Elednor of Edil-Amarandh, Maerad became a famous poet in her own right, and was often referred to as one of the greatest poets of Annar, although sadly almost none of her poetry has survived. There are many writings that are attributed to Maerad and Cadvan's co-authorship (most, sadly, preserved only as references in other documents). The most famous is, of course, the
Naraudh Lar-Chane,
but it seems that they also left extensive writings on Elemental magery and made significant contributions to the Bardic writings on the Balance, with particular reference to the Elidhu.
Fornarii's
Lives of the Bards
says that Maerad and Cadvan traveled between many Schools, staying several years at Lirigon, II Arunedh, Busk, Turbansk, and Til Amon. Cadvan was made First Bard of Lirigon, in N1134, and presided there until his death, in N1205. Maerad died in Lirigon in N1297, and was buried with great honor. For many years her tomb was a place of pilgrimage.
It seems that Hem did not study with Nelac, who returned to his home School of Lirigon, where he lived in peace and honor in the few years before he died, in N950.
Hem journeyed south to Turbansk with Saliman and Hekibel. Saliman was appointed First Bard of Turbansk. Har-Ytan's son, Ir-Ytan, was Ernani of the city, as Har-Ytan's designated heir—she had given him the ruby of the Ernani, symbol of their authority, before she led the charge on the Black Army in Turbansk. Under their leadership the people of the city began the task of rebuilding Turbansk to its former greatness. Despite the devastations of war and earthquake, the damage was not as complete as had been feared, and the work was finished more quickly than was expected. Some said that Turbansk was made even more beautiful than it had been formerly, and its arts and sciences flowered over the next few centuries.
Hem was reunited with Oslar of Turbansk, and was actively involved in restoring the Healing Houses. After Oslar's death, Hem was made chief healer, and under his guidance the skill and wisdom of the healers of Turbansk became a byword through all of Edil-Amarandh. Although he often traveled north to Annar to visit Maerad or to share his knowledge with other Bards, and it is known that he visited his Pilanel relatives in Murask, he based himself in Turbansk for the rest of his life.
Irc continued to live with Hem, and enjoyed as much honor as the other heroes of the
Naraudh Lar-Chane.
He clearly never became modest: the phrase
Irc-tongue
passed into Turbanskian speech as a byword for boastfulness. He died at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, and it was popularly held that when he died, his soul flew to join the Elidhu Nyanar in his land near the Glandugir Hills.
Accounts claim that even in his early manhood, Hem was appointed an emissary to Den Raven and that, young as he was, he helped to negotiate the peace between the Suderain and the people of Den Raven. And later, when a stable peace was made, he established a network of houses for the children who suffered in the wars in the Suderain.
Mindful perhaps of his experiences as a child in Edinur's orphanages, Hem insisted the buildings should be beautiful and the schools run with compassion and wisdom. "Beauty is almost as important to a child as is food," he wrote in a letter to Maerad, preserved in the
Iklital,
a collection of correspondence between Bards. "It is beauty that comforts the soul and heals the wounded mind. And in a place of peace and beauty, those who care for children who are wounded in the mind and soul will need its solace even as much as the children themselves."
Saliman married Hekibel and lived with her in Turbansk. Together they had five children, including the famous Bard Maerad of Turbansk, who was later First Bard of Turbansk herself. Hekibel was honored by the people of Turbansk and lived there until she died in N1003. The chronicles say that Saliman was heartbroken, and for some years forsook Barding, retreating to his grandmother's house and refusing to see any but his closest friends. In those years, he wrote songs and poems, none of which survive: it is said that his
Lament for Hekibel
was among the most popular poems of the Suderain people. Although he lived until N1210, Saliman never remarried.
Cadvan of Lirigon
Many people have asked for more information on the early life of Cadvan of Lirigon before he met Maerad, and again, through the kind offices of Christiane Armongath, I can provide some facts.
Cadvan was born, the oldest of four children, into a poor family in a small village near Lirigon. His father was a cobbler. His mother died of a fever when he was six years old, after she gave birth to his youngest brother, Morvan.
We know that as a young Bard at the School of Lirigon, Cadvan was one of the most brilliant students of Nelac of Lirigon, and that great things were expected of him. The documents suggest that at that time—around fifty years before the events in
The Books of Pellinor
—Cadvan was one of a particularly bright generation of young Bards that flourished in Norloch under Nelac's tutelage. In particular, there were Ceredin (who became Cadvan's lover before her tragic death), and Malgorn, a childhood friend. Others named in the records of the time were Runilar, who later went to the School of Til Amon; Norowen, later First Bard of II Arunedh; Grigar of Desor; and Saliman of Turbansk. They were instated together as Minor Bards and remained friends throughout their adult lives. Saliman of Turbansk became part of this Circle when Nelac moved to Norloch, where he was followed by many of his young students.
When Nelac of Lirigon was asked to be a member of the First Circle in Norloch, sometime after Cadvan became a full Bard, Cadvan divided his time between Lirigon and Norloch, and most likely at that time met Saliman of Turbansk, who had traveled to Norloch expressly to study with Nelac. Cadvan met Dernhil of Gent, his other greatest friend, at Lirigon, when he challenged the young but famous poet to a poetry duel and, to his own chagrin and to the delight of many others, lost. Dernhil was already on his way to becoming the most celebrated poet of his age, and this event did nothing to hinder his fame, as the Bard Turilien records in her
Life of Dernhil:
The whole town was in a fever at Cadvan's challenge, and many turned out for the duel from both the School and the Town, so the Singing Hall was crammed, and the crowd spilled out into the central circle: and yet more came. It was like a festival, with Bards bearing banners for one or the other of the challengers, and three Scribes given leave from the Library to record their stanzas. In some cases, fights broke out between rival supporters, such were the passions aroused by the challenge; and many young ladies came to witness the event, wearing their brightest furbelows, hoping to catch the eye of one or the other of the challengers, who were, it was generally agreed by the crowd, not only the most talented, but the most handsome young Bards of their age.
Poetry duels have very complicated rules, but in essence the duel required the two poets to extemporize poems in set meters and forms, responding to each other's poems immediately. The poems were judged for technical finesse and emotional power, as well as for their wit as responses. Sadly, although it is said that the poems were written down, we have yet to find any record of them. It seems that Cadvan did not lose very graciously, and stalked out of the Singing Hall "with a face clouded as black as any had seen." However, after this he and Dernhil became firm friends.
This particular event demonstrates Cadvan's arrogance: he was the leader among his friends, used to being the best at everything. This made him enemies as well as friends and admirers, and not everyone was displeased at his later downfall.
As recounted in
The Naming,
the major event of Cadvan's early life was the time when he was attracted by the arts of the Dark, and raised a Revenant that he could not control. Both he and Dernhil were seriously injured and Ceredin was killed. He escaped banishment from the Schools only through the intercession of Nelac of Lirigon and other loyal friends. For the next fifty years—until he met Maerad of Pellinor—he wasn't associated with any particular School, and lived an itinerant life in pursuit of the Dark, attempting to expiate his youthful crime. Although records are patchy, it is clear that it was in this time that he began to establish his reputation as one of the most powerful Bards of the Light.
Selected extracts from the Annaren Scrolls
Following are two extracts from the Annaren Scrolls, which I append for their interest. The first is an account by the Bard Fornarii of an incident in Cadvan's childhood that casts an interesting light on his later life. It is unclear whether the Hull mentioned in the story is the same one Cadvan encountered at the Broken Teeth early in the
Naraudh Lar-Chane,
but it seems at least likely that it might be.
From
The Lives of the Bards
by Fornarii of Lirigon
Cadvan lived with his father and three siblings in a small Lirhan village, not far from Lirigon. But he did not go to the Lirigon School until much later than most children with the Gift.
He was an attractive child, clever and quick with his hands, and he knew he was different from his brothers and sisters. He came into the Speech early, when he was about five, shortly before he lost his mother. His father, Nartan, never quite recovered from the death of his wife, and was frightened of his son's precocity. He was often harsh with the boy, and ordered Cadvan not to tell anyone about his abilities, but it was impossible for him to hide them completely, and soon the whole village knew that he had the Speech.
When Cadvan was nine years old, the Lirigon Bards, as was the custom, came to Nartan's house to speak about the boy attending the School of Lirigon. Being a Bard was considered an honor in Lirigon; it was not one of those places where those with the Speech were shunned. But even so, Nartan was surly with the Bards, and would not hear of Cadvan attending the School. Perhaps he was reluctant to lose another member of the family, or perhaps he needed the hands of his eldest son to help with the three younger children and his cobbling. The Bards earnestly argued that to leave a boy with the Gift untrained was asking for trouble, but Nartan refused to listen. The Bards said they would come the following spring, and ask again, but Nartan turned his face away and would not speak another word, so they sighed and left.
Cadvan had not been allowed in the room when the Bards had been talking, but he knew they were discussing him, and he eavesdropped easily enough, using his Bard-given hearing; what he had heard excited him, and he decided that he wanted to be a Bard more than anything else. His father cuffed him and told him to get on with his work.
After that, Cadvan conceived a great resentment against his father. He began to run wild, and he led other children on his escapades-—nothing very harmful, beyond raiding orchards and throwing stones. Because he had the Gift, he could go hidden and speak to animals, which gave him the edge in their pranks. He was learning how to use his powers, but without the careful training of the Bards, which would have controlled his excesses, his use of them was willful. His behavior concerned his aunt, his mother's sister Alina, who perhaps had a little of the Gift herself and was certainly a perceptive woman; and she spoke again to Nartan, telling him he ought to send the boy to the School.
Nartan was a stubborn man, and he said he would not agree to his firstborn going away, no matter what. Alina told him he was a fool and was breeding trouble for himself, but he would not listen. The truth was that Nartan burned with love for his son, love that he could not admit even to himself, and so would not let him go. It was often said that Cadvan was very like his dead mother.
One day, when Cadvan was about ten, a stranger came to the village on a black horse. He was tall and severe-looking, and he was dressed in rich clothes. He went straight to the cobbler's house, demanding that a strap on his horse's bridle be fixed at once, as it had broken. Nartan was not at home, so Cadvan took the job. Cadvan saw that the stranger's horse was ill-treated; its mouth was bleeding. This angered him, and he spoke to the man without respect. "If you were more gentle with your hands," he said, "the strap would not be broken."