The Riddle by Alison Croggon Page A

young Bard? We have worked hard today.”
    “A wine?” said Maerad shyly, thinking of the vociferous Bards. Elenxi looked at her and laughed.
    “Don’t tell me you are frightened! Well, we’ll have to cure that.”
    “But I’m filthy!” Maerad objected, blushing.
    Elenxi lifted an eyebrow. “So? Does one have to be clean to drink? I should like to know when that was made a rule. No, young Bard, I will hear no excuses. We’ll go to Oreston’s house; he has the best wines.”
    They stowed their fighting gear, and permitting her only a quick wash, Elenxi led a reluctant Maerad down the road to one of the houses nearer the town. He strode among the tables confidently, expecting Maerad to be right behind him, and when he saw her still hesitating in the road, he went back and took hold of her, almost dragging her to a table where about six Bards, men and women, were engaged in lively conversation. At one end of the table, a young man was idly plucking arpeggios, which ran like a quick river of music underneath the talk, on a beautiful big-bellied stringed instrument.
    Maerad felt paralyzed by shyness, and sat down quietly, hoping nobody would notice her. Elenxi exchanged cheerful greetings with all the Bards and then introduced Maerad as a guest from Innail. She was immediately swamped with questions in both the Speech and Thoroldian: Innail? It is long since someone came all the way from the east — how goes it there? How is Oron? They had heard of the death of Dernhil of Gent — how could that have happened? Hulls murdering Bards in a School?
    Elenxi put up his hand to stem the tide. “Now, be fair,” he said in the Speech. “Maerad is clever, but she can’t speak Thoroldian. How can she answer all of you? Anyway, what does she know about the high policies of Innail? She is only a young Bard, and she hasn’t been there for months. We have been working hard at improving her swordcraft this afternoon, and she is tired and needs some wine. She came all this way to be taught by me, which shows remarkable good taste.”
    He winked at her slyly, and Maerad, grateful for his intervention, gave him a small smile; she hadn’t understood much, but she knew they had asked about Dernhil, and the mention distressed her. Suddenly a glass full of a dark red wine was in front of her, and she was being plied with delicacies instead of questions. She clutched her glass and gulped the wine. The conversation resumed, in the Speech so she could understand it, and she sat quietly listening. After a while, emboldened by her second glass of wine, she asked the young man with the instrument, a Bard called Honas, what it was.
    “It’s a
makilon,
” he said. “My father made this one especially for me: he’s a master crafter of instruments, famous in Thorold. It’s beautiful, yes?” He handed it to her, and she stroked the smooth, mellow wood, admiring the mother-of-pearl inlay around the soundhole and the delicate carving of its neck.
    “Oh, yes, it’s lovely,” said Maerad. She let her fingers trickle over the strings, listening to its resonance. “So beautifully made. I’ve never seen one before. How do you play it?”
    Honas, his face alight with obvious passion, took the instrument back and started to show her the complicated fingerings and plucking styles for the
makilon.
Maerad’s fingers itched to try them, and before long Honas gave it to her, placing her hands correctly on the neck and the strings. She ventured an arpeggio, marveling at the sound. Honas was beginning to be more interested in Maerad than the music, but only Elenxi, keeping discreet watch from the other side of the table, noticed this. He smiled into his beard. Maerad was completely absorbed, and had now forgotten her shyness altogether.
    Maybe they weren’t so frightening, these Bards.
    The most demanding studies were those in High Magery. This was something Maerad had never studied formally, although Cadvan had taught her much on their travels