before dismissing the mystery. “Bards!”
Dernhil was oblivious to the farmer’s curiosity. He had pulled up his mare, Hyeradh, when he rode over a hill and saw, for the first time in more than a year, the red-tiled roofs of the School of Lirigon in the valley below. The sight swept a wave of nausea through his whole body, bathing him in a cold sweat. All the terror and grief of that night in the Inkadh Grove seemed to possess him: for an endless moment it was as if he were back there, standing in the shadows of the pines as Cadvan woke the dead, as Ceredin ran towards him, crying out in dismay and horror… Dernhil was shocked by how even the distant sight of the School brought those memories back; it was as sharp as if it had happened yesterday, instead of two years before. He wondered if he could bear to return.
At last, prompted by his mount’s increasing skittishness, Dernhil urged her on towards Lirigon. Infected by his mood, Hyeradh began to shy at things she would normally never notice: tree stumps, stray chickens, children playing. When a dog barked suddenly from behind a wall, Dernhil was nearly thrown off, forcing him to gather his scattered wits. But that last mile of road to Lirigon was harder than he could have ever imagined: he felt as if he were forcing himself, step by step, back into a nightmare.
Dernhil hadn’t sent ahead to inform the School of his arrival. Norowen, who was at the gate, recognized his tall, slender figure with a cry of surprise and ran towards him. “Dernhil! By the Light, how lovely to see you. What are you doing here?”
He dismounted and returned her embrace. Norowen was one of the healers who had cared for him in the dark months of his illness, and they had become good friends; but glad as he was to see her, she too brought back dark memories. Was every association in Lirigon to be tainted with horror? He forced himself to smile, and replied lightly that he had a fancy to visit Nelac.
Norowen stood back, holding his shoulders and examining his face. “You look pale,” she said. “It’s a long journey from Gent, Dernhil. Are you recovered enough?” Seeing a flicker of irritation in his eyes, she let him go. “Now, don’t be annoyed with me. You know you were my first concern for a long time, and I don’t care to see my handiwork treated lightly.”
At this, Dernhil laughed, and some of the strain vanished from his eyes. “And surely I was one of your worst patients!” he said. He clasped her hands and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Norowen. But I must see Nelac, and I had no chance of making him come to Gent. Look, I have to stable Hyeradh now, but perhaps we can eat together tomorrow? I’m not planning to ride out straight away.”
Norowen nodded, and watched with a frown as he led his horse away. He still walked with a slight limp, and there was a shadow in his brown eyes, which had used to be brimful of merriment. She wondered if that shadow would ever vanish: it seemed to her that Dernhil’s mobile, expressive face now was set hard against an inner pain. Perhaps it never would go away entirely: Dernhil would never be able to unsee what he had seen, and he would bear the scar from the Bone Queen’s wound until the end of his days. She sighed, and returned to her interrupted errand.
Dernhil made his formal visit to the First Bard, Bashar, who was too courteous to ask him his business or to refer to his last visit. Perceiving her guest’s weariness, she welcomed him warmly, but she didn’t keep him long. Then Dernhil was shown to his guest chamber, and was able to unpack his bag and wash off the grime of his journey. He saw with relief that the pleasant room he was assigned was in a different part of the house from that he knew.
Clean and freshly clothed, he threw himself on his bed and closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion sweep over him. He had by no means travelled hard since he left Gent, making the journey in easy stages, but his
Dernhil was oblivious to the farmer’s curiosity. He had pulled up his mare, Hyeradh, when he rode over a hill and saw, for the first time in more than a year, the red-tiled roofs of the School of Lirigon in the valley below. The sight swept a wave of nausea through his whole body, bathing him in a cold sweat. All the terror and grief of that night in the Inkadh Grove seemed to possess him: for an endless moment it was as if he were back there, standing in the shadows of the pines as Cadvan woke the dead, as Ceredin ran towards him, crying out in dismay and horror… Dernhil was shocked by how even the distant sight of the School brought those memories back; it was as sharp as if it had happened yesterday, instead of two years before. He wondered if he could bear to return.
At last, prompted by his mount’s increasing skittishness, Dernhil urged her on towards Lirigon. Infected by his mood, Hyeradh began to shy at things she would normally never notice: tree stumps, stray chickens, children playing. When a dog barked suddenly from behind a wall, Dernhil was nearly thrown off, forcing him to gather his scattered wits. But that last mile of road to Lirigon was harder than he could have ever imagined: he felt as if he were forcing himself, step by step, back into a nightmare.
Dernhil hadn’t sent ahead to inform the School of his arrival. Norowen, who was at the gate, recognized his tall, slender figure with a cry of surprise and ran towards him. “Dernhil! By the Light, how lovely to see you. What are you doing here?”
He dismounted and returned her embrace. Norowen was one of the healers who had cared for him in the dark months of his illness, and they had become good friends; but glad as he was to see her, she too brought back dark memories. Was every association in Lirigon to be tainted with horror? He forced himself to smile, and replied lightly that he had a fancy to visit Nelac.
Norowen stood back, holding his shoulders and examining his face. “You look pale,” she said. “It’s a long journey from Gent, Dernhil. Are you recovered enough?” Seeing a flicker of irritation in his eyes, she let him go. “Now, don’t be annoyed with me. You know you were my first concern for a long time, and I don’t care to see my handiwork treated lightly.”
At this, Dernhil laughed, and some of the strain vanished from his eyes. “And surely I was one of your worst patients!” he said. He clasped her hands and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Norowen. But I must see Nelac, and I had no chance of making him come to Gent. Look, I have to stable Hyeradh now, but perhaps we can eat together tomorrow? I’m not planning to ride out straight away.”
Norowen nodded, and watched with a frown as he led his horse away. He still walked with a slight limp, and there was a shadow in his brown eyes, which had used to be brimful of merriment. She wondered if that shadow would ever vanish: it seemed to her that Dernhil’s mobile, expressive face now was set hard against an inner pain. Perhaps it never would go away entirely: Dernhil would never be able to unsee what he had seen, and he would bear the scar from the Bone Queen’s wound until the end of his days. She sighed, and returned to her interrupted errand.
Dernhil made his formal visit to the First Bard, Bashar, who was too courteous to ask him his business or to refer to his last visit. Perceiving her guest’s weariness, she welcomed him warmly, but she didn’t keep him long. Then Dernhil was shown to his guest chamber, and was able to unpack his bag and wash off the grime of his journey. He saw with relief that the pleasant room he was assigned was in a different part of the house from that he knew.
Clean and freshly clothed, he threw himself on his bed and closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion sweep over him. He had by no means travelled hard since he left Gent, making the journey in easy stages, but his
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