had called the Bone Queen, Kansabur herself. She had ruled over Lir, as Lirhan was then called, during the Great Silence, when the Nameless One had held sway over all Annar. Even after all these centuries, the Bone Queen was still remembered in Lirhan with a shudder of dread, as a name to frighten small children, an evil shadow that haunted the folklore. Bards had longer memories, and knew what Kansabur’s terror really meant.
Cadvan had told Nelac this much, but neither Dernhil nor Cadvan willingly spoke of what had happened that night. Cadvan had unleashed a monstrous spirit: the revenant had proved much stronger than Cadvan had imagined, and Kansabur had broken his control. When the other two Bards added their power in an attempt to banish it, they were brutally cut down.
The Bards of Lirigon had felt the jolt in the Balance the moment that Cadvan uttered the summoning, and had raced to the Grove: but it was too late. Nelac closed his eyes, remembering what they had found there. The trees, blasted with magefire, were still smouldering, giving a ghastly light, and the air was thick and sour with the burnt smell of sorcery. The three young Bards lay in a welter of blood. Dernhil was barely alive: he had suffered a deep wound from his shoulder to his thigh. Ceredin had been slashed almost in two. Cadvan had suffered no physical hurt: he was found unconscious, splashed with the blood of his companions, his eyes wide in stark horror. The revenant had vanished. It had taken more than a year to track the spirit, and to banish it back to the Abyss had taken all the powers of the First Circle. It was done at last: but the harm it had caused, that night and afterwards, could not be undone.
Bleakly, as he relived those terrible times, Nelac wondered again if there could be pardon for such a crime. Even with all the love he bore Cadvan, he found it hard to forgive him. Yet could one wrong be answered by another? Banishing Cadvan’s gifts was to double the loss to Barding. But there was something else, some other reason that plucked at his deeper Knowing. It was an instinct that had yet to grow a mouth, a shadow that remained stubbornly without form. Again he groped towards it in his mind, demanding that it show itself, and again it vanished before him, mocking his fears.
How often, he thought, are one’s convictions decided by trivial preference, rather than by a true desire for justice? He felt unusually troubled. Finally, he reached a decision and made his way to the guest quarters, to find Milana of Pellinor. He had need of counsel.
“Well, that was dispiriting,” Milana said, as she poured him another wine. “I had thought better of my fellow Bards. Well, maybe not Noram. Right now I would gladly mince that man and feed him to the pigs.”
“How did the vote run?”
“Me, you, Calis. Everyone else voted for exile for life, and it is confirmed by Bashar. I think it’s shameful.”
Although he had expected the decision, Nelac felt a stab of sorrow. He was silent for a time, studying the slender Bard who sat opposite him, her long black hair swinging across her downcast face, her startling blue eyes averted from his.
“My heart tells me this is a bad decision,” he said at last. “And yet I scarcely know why, aside from my love of Cadvan. Tell me, why did you speak for clemency?”
Milana gave him a candid look. “For the same reasons as you did, I imagine. You heard my argument. I don’t know Cadvan as you do, but in the hunt for Kansabur I perceived his soul, and I know the Light is true in him. Bards should not be so swift to condemn…”
“Noram was one of those who resented Cadvan,” said Nelac. “He often mocked his pedantry. But other arguments, such as Bashar’s … they’re not so easily dismissed.” Those, he thought, were sober judgements from Bards who had thought long and deeply on the question. After all, Cadvan was by no means generally disliked. If he was arrogant, he was also generous:
Cadvan had told Nelac this much, but neither Dernhil nor Cadvan willingly spoke of what had happened that night. Cadvan had unleashed a monstrous spirit: the revenant had proved much stronger than Cadvan had imagined, and Kansabur had broken his control. When the other two Bards added their power in an attempt to banish it, they were brutally cut down.
The Bards of Lirigon had felt the jolt in the Balance the moment that Cadvan uttered the summoning, and had raced to the Grove: but it was too late. Nelac closed his eyes, remembering what they had found there. The trees, blasted with magefire, were still smouldering, giving a ghastly light, and the air was thick and sour with the burnt smell of sorcery. The three young Bards lay in a welter of blood. Dernhil was barely alive: he had suffered a deep wound from his shoulder to his thigh. Ceredin had been slashed almost in two. Cadvan had suffered no physical hurt: he was found unconscious, splashed with the blood of his companions, his eyes wide in stark horror. The revenant had vanished. It had taken more than a year to track the spirit, and to banish it back to the Abyss had taken all the powers of the First Circle. It was done at last: but the harm it had caused, that night and afterwards, could not be undone.
Bleakly, as he relived those terrible times, Nelac wondered again if there could be pardon for such a crime. Even with all the love he bore Cadvan, he found it hard to forgive him. Yet could one wrong be answered by another? Banishing Cadvan’s gifts was to double the loss to Barding. But there was something else, some other reason that plucked at his deeper Knowing. It was an instinct that had yet to grow a mouth, a shadow that remained stubbornly without form. Again he groped towards it in his mind, demanding that it show itself, and again it vanished before him, mocking his fears.
How often, he thought, are one’s convictions decided by trivial preference, rather than by a true desire for justice? He felt unusually troubled. Finally, he reached a decision and made his way to the guest quarters, to find Milana of Pellinor. He had need of counsel.
“Well, that was dispiriting,” Milana said, as she poured him another wine. “I had thought better of my fellow Bards. Well, maybe not Noram. Right now I would gladly mince that man and feed him to the pigs.”
“How did the vote run?”
“Me, you, Calis. Everyone else voted for exile for life, and it is confirmed by Bashar. I think it’s shameful.”
Although he had expected the decision, Nelac felt a stab of sorrow. He was silent for a time, studying the slender Bard who sat opposite him, her long black hair swinging across her downcast face, her startling blue eyes averted from his.
“My heart tells me this is a bad decision,” he said at last. “And yet I scarcely know why, aside from my love of Cadvan. Tell me, why did you speak for clemency?”
Milana gave him a candid look. “For the same reasons as you did, I imagine. You heard my argument. I don’t know Cadvan as you do, but in the hunt for Kansabur I perceived his soul, and I know the Light is true in him. Bards should not be so swift to condemn…”
“Noram was one of those who resented Cadvan,” said Nelac. “He often mocked his pedantry. But other arguments, such as Bashar’s … they’re not so easily dismissed.” Those, he thought, were sober judgements from Bards who had thought long and deeply on the question. After all, Cadvan was by no means generally disliked. If he was arrogant, he was also generous:
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