The Singing by Alison Croggon

As far as Darsor was concerned, the fine-looking bay stallion was out of the question (although Maerad rather regretfully turned her eyes from him). There was also a black mare, and a strawberry roan with a broad blaze down her nose. Maerad examined both of them carefully, under Indik's deceptively casual gaze, and picked the roan. She knew she had chosen well by Indik's barely perceptible nod of approval.
    "That's Keru," said Indik, patting the mare's neck. "She'll carry you far. A little flightier than Imi, but just as tough."
    The mare reached her nose forward and sniffed Maerad's hand.
    Will you carry me? asked Maerad in the Speech.
    You smell good, said Keru. And you're very small. You're a friend of Darsor's?
    Yes, said Maerad. But we will be traveling hard and far and fast.
    Good. I'm bored here. I will bear you. The mare turned away to snatch some straw from a manger, and Maerad missed Imi all over again. She saw at once that Keru was a good, strong horse, and she had been polite, but the companionship Maerad had with Imi would be hard to replace.
    Well, she thought. I suppose we can't befriends all at once.
    Indik gave her a sword that he had forged himself. "It was supposed to be for a young woman in Tinagel," he said. "She will have to wait a few days longer; she has not your urgency. It is well made: I laid charms in every tempering. Make sure you are less careless with this one." He drew it from its light leather scabbard and handed the hilt to Maerad; she tested the balance, feeling it light and apt to her hand.
    "Thank you, Indik. I'll take good care of it, I promise."
    "What will you name it?" asked Cadvan.
    Maerad examined the sword. It was beautiful, with a straight, short blade of blue steel and a silver hilt shaped like a leaf and cunningly enameled with green. "Eled, I think," she said after a while. "Lily. It is a lily, like me."
    "Eled is a good name. It was meant for you, I think, although I did not know that when I made it." Maerad looked up and met Indik's eyes, and saw there the well-guarded gentleness that burned like a quiet flame inside him. "May you bear it to good fortune."
    Maerad felt the blessing in his words. Indik said things sometimes that resonated through her being; if he wasn't a Truthteller like Cadvan, he was very nearly one. She realized afresh how much she liked this ugly, harsh, honest man.
    "I hope so," she said fervently. "For all our sakes."
    After they left Indik, Cadvan went off on some business of his own and Maerad made her way to the center of the School, bending her steps to the Library. She wanted to visit Dernhil's rooms. Dernhil of Gent was a Bard—a great poet, Cadvan had said—who had taught her how to read and write, opening up the world of books to her astonished pleasure and delight. She was still very slow at both—-she had not had much time to practice in the past year—and the hunger to learn more ached inside her; but Dernhil's promise that he would teach her all the lore of Annar and the Seven Kingdoms would never now be kept. He had died last spring, when Hulls had secretly entered Innail in search of Maerad. The small illuminated book of poems Dernhil had given her was one of her most treasured possessions; she kept it in her pack, wrapped in oilskin.
    She remembered the way through the maze of corridors without difficulty, nodding to the Bards she passed, and halted outside the familiar door, suddenly feeling a little foolish. What if someone was in there? She hadn't asked anyone's permission to come, and it wasn't as if it were Dernhil's room any longer. She knocked hesitantly and, when no one answered, slowly pushed open the door.
    She had expected to find the room changed, filled perhaps with the belongings of another Bard. And it was different, but not for that reason. What had once been a cheerful room, full of clutter and work and warm light, was now empty and forlorn and cold. The air smelled musty and stale, as if the room had not been opened