The Riddle by Alison Croggon

teachers were all senior Bards in the School of Busk. Elenxi of Busk taught her swordcraft, Intatha of Gent taught her reading and writing, and, to Maerad’s initial abashment, Nerili herself had taken on the task of introducing her to High Magery. Partly, Cadvan explained, the senior Bards were teaching her because Maerad was such an unusual case and because she needed swift teaching, but another reason was secrecy. Maerad was known within the School as Maerad of Innail, traveling with Cadvan, who was too well known to conceal his identity.
    “I don’t doubt that some will guess that you are Maerad of Pellinor,” said Cadvan the first night after her lessons commenced. “Bards are the worst gossips, and your arrival and acceptance as a Minor Bard at Innail caused a lot of comment: a survivor of the sack of Pellinor was big news. As was the scandal when I applied to be your sole mentor. But even so, it’s better for us to lie low and be discreet, even here. We are just traveling Bards, visiting the School at Nerili’s invitation. There is nothing unusual about that.”
    Maerad shrugged. “Do you think there are spies here?”
    “For the Dark, you mean?” said Cadvan. “I do not think there are spies in the School, but nowhere is safe for us and I would be surprised if there weren’t any in the town. Busk is a trading port, remember, and strangers go unmarked. News has not reached here yet from Norloch. I don’t doubt that it will soon. And then things will become more dangerous.”
    Maerad pondered what “dangerous” meant, and then her thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Hem. The day before, Cadvan had sent a message by bird to Turbansk, to tell Saliman of their safe arrival in Thorold. Hem and Saliman would be riding there now; Maerad wondered where they were, and if they were safe.
    The lessons were interesting. Her sessions with Intatha of Gent gave her a pang at first; they could not but recall Dernhil, who was the first to open for her the world of reading and writing. For Maerad, reading itself was imbued with memories of him. And Intatha was of the same School as Dernhil, although Maerad never dared to ask her if she had known him.
    Intatha was an imposing-looking Bard: tall, with high cheekbones, a formidable eagle nose, and hair that was silvering from black. She was a stern teacher, but gentle. Maerad worked hard for her, not because she feared her dispraise, but because Intatha expected much of her and Maerad wished not to disappoint. She found herself mastering the alphabetic script of Nelsor very quickly, building on the basics Dernhil had taught her, and even found that her handwriting began to look pleasing, instead of scratchy and ill formed. Intatha also started teaching her the Ladhen runes, coded symbols that Bards used when traveling to leave signs for each other, and some of the Dhyllic pictograms. It was intense work, and Maerad left their long sessions feeling both stimulated and drained, with her arms full of work to do on her own.
    Classes with Elenxi of Busk were surprisingly fun. For all his age and his giant frame, he was quick and agile, and Maerad was not surprised to find he had been a famous warrior in his youth: she imagined that he would have been fearsome. Unlike Indik, the master swordsman who had taught Maerad at Innail, Elenxi was a patient and encouraging teacher. Maerad was also no longer a raw beginner: holding a sword no longer felt strange. She had quick reactions and good natural balance, and was strong for someone of her size. Elenxi coached her in advanced swordcraft and unarmed combat, and Maerad began to feel for the first time that perhaps she might be able to hold her own against attack.
    “Don’t get overconfident,” Elenxi warned, after praising her efforts in her first lesson. “You are still only a beginner. It’s the stroke you don’t see that kills you.” He looked at her, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “I think we deserve a wine, yes,