The Bone Queen (20 page)

“She’s not at the library, and Calis hasn’t seen hide nor hair of her today,” he said. “Maybe she went off to visit her mother? She does that sometimes. But she would always tell me. And anyway, her pack is still in her room, and her horse in the stables…”

Nelac knew that Selmana was worried about Berdh, and it was just possible that she had gone to Kien, even if her horse was still in the stables. Perhaps she could have taken a lift in a cart. But surely not without leaving word? And especially not if she were anxious to talk to him?

“We should be looking for her,” Nelac said.

“There’s something wrong. I can feel it. I’ve been feeling it ever since you came to the Bardhouse…”

Nelac met Seriven’s gaze, and for a few moments both Bards were silent. “I feel it too,” he said at last. “But I cannot sense any distress. I don’t think she is hurt or dead, but it is a … curious feeling.” He picked up Selmana’s note from the table and held it out. “She left this, at around noon, as far as I can tell.”

Seriven read Selmana’s note, frowning. “The Shadowplains? That can’t be right…”

“She was frightened,” said Nelac. “I wish I had been here. I wish I knew what she was afraid of.”

Seriven handed the message back to Nelac, his lips folded tightly. “Tell me, Nelac, is there a peril in Lirigon? Should I be warning the Minor Bards?”

Nelac was silent. “Not as yet,” he said. “Before anything else, we must find Selmana.”

“That shouldn’t take long,” said Seriven. “Perhaps I should send a message to her mother, to be sure she hasn’t gone there?”

“If she is not returned tonight, we should send tomorrow morning. I don’t wish to cause Berdh any unnecessary anxiety.”

Seriven folded his arms and studied Nelac’s face. “Don’t think I can’t see how worried you are,” he said. “Are you going to tell me why? Or am I not worthy of your confidence?”

Nelac frowned. “Of course you are worthy,” he said shortly. “The truth is, I don’t know what it is I fear.”

Seriven paused, as if he wished to speak further, but thought better of it. “I’ll take my leave, then,” he said. “I’ll put out word, and let you know if I hear anything.”

After he had closed the door, Nelac stood staring at the blank wood. He was all but certain that Selmana was missing now; he couldn’t imagine that she would have left such a note, and not return to his rooms or to her own. He realized that he had been nursing a tiny hope that she was out with friends, or otherwise engaged in some harmless way that meant she had merely forgotten that she wanted to see him.

The following day word of Selmana’s disappearance spread among the Bards, and some came to Nelac to tell him of when they had seen her. She had last been sighted making her way to the North Gate: after that, it was as if she had simply vanished. In the afternoon, increasingly worried, Nelac rode to Kien himself, to speak to Berdh. As he had expected, Selmana wasn’t there. The visit took longer than Nelac had expected, since his courtesy forbade his hurrying away from a woman consumed with anxiety about her daughter. After he had left Kien, assuring Berdh that he would send word as soon as he heard any news, he visited Bashar, the First Bard of Lirigon, to arrange a meeting of the Circle. Bashar met his urgency with scepticism.

“Selmana is young,” she said. “Young people can forget to tell others what they are doing, and cause all sorts of unwarranted flurry. Perhaps she has a lover whom she has told no one about? Or she decided to stay with a friend? It does happen, Nelac. People have their own lives. I don’t see why we should summon the whole School…”

“You have read the note she left me,” said Nelac. “She was afraid.”

“It seems very fanciful to me. You know as well as I do that the Shadowplains do not appear in the World and that one doesn’t simply … stumble into them. Why, she’s not even a student of the Eleven Circles. As I recall, she is a Maker? Why is she talking this nonsense? More importantly, why are you taking any notice of it?”

“Perhaps it isn’t nonsense,” said Nelac impatiently. “And she is not a young woman given to fancy.”

“I’m sure she will return and be embarrassed by all the fuss,” said Bashar. “She has only been gone a day, after all…”

“My lady, whether or not Selmana is given to wild imaginings, you should know that I am not. And I am very anxious. Surely the incident with the boar should at least give pause…”

Bashar folded her lips tightly. “Yes, we are aware of that. But still I counsel patience. I respect your Knowing, Nelac, but you have been misled before by your fondness for particular students. On this business of Cadvan, for example. Our law is unambiguous about those who meddle with sorcery, and yet you argue…”

Nelac’s impatience curdled into anger. “I wish I could be as certain as you,” he said, his voice cold. “Alas, I am not; and you might perhaps remember that the laws teach that those who refuse doubt are blind.”

Not trusting himself to speak further, Nelac turned on his heel and left, returning to his chambers in a rage. He knew his fury was unjust; what Bashar said was, on its own terms, wholly reasonable. He also knew that, in countenancing Dernhil’s search for Cadvan and advising his return to Lirigon, he was breaking Bashar’s own ruling. This made it impossible for him to speak openly of the deeper worries that drove him.

He reached his rooms and sat down heavily. Perhaps he was responding too hastily, perhaps his anxieties were irrational. It troubled him that his sense of justice was at odds with the considered ruling of the Bards of the Light. Bards were always argumentative, and often differed passionately; but all his life, Nelac had held faith in the collective wisdom that constituted Bardic law. He trusted that these arguments meant that all sides were considered fairly.

The decision on exiling Cadvan had been the first time that he had seen the process falter: he remained convinced that the decision had been driven more by fear and desire for punishment than by rational justice. Bashar’s hostility on that question had taken him by surprise. It wounded him that she thought he had been simply arguing out of partiality for Cadvan, and that she so easily dismissed his arguments. How many others thought as Bashar did? And now it seemed that he was stepping further and further outside the law of the Bards. Was his Knowing misled after all?

Nelac realized with a start that the room had darkened as he had been thinking. He lit a lamp and set a fire in the hearth, the simple task calming his thoughts. No, he could not be certain; but that didn’t mean the conclusions he had drawn were without reason. He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance about the wood they were consuming. The Shadowplains. Could Selmana have accidentally stumbled into another plane? Bashar was right: it simply wasn’t possible to enter those realms physically: the soul of a Bard might wander those grey slopes, but the flesh always remained in the World…

He picked up her note and read it again.
I looked out of my window and everything was changed.

He breathed slowly, in and out. He turned his perception inwards, seeking the edge from which he could leap outside his body, into the dizzying, unboundaried reaches beyond the World. And from there, gathering his mind, he walked step by step into the Shadowplains, where everything was changed.

C
ADVAN
knew by the quality of the light that the morning was still young. For a few moments he lay there, idly listening to the noises floating through his window; a cock crowing, Stefan greeting a passer-by outside, a clop of hooves as a rider passed the inn. Then he realized he was wrapped in his cloak, and the events of the night before flooded back. He sat up abruptly and stared sightlessly at the opposite wall, wondering if it had been a terrible and strange nightmare. Yet he was aware of a new ease, as if deeply rooted illness had been driven from his body. He hadn’t slept long, but it had been deep and untroubled, and there was a new clarity in his mind. There had been some – parasite – that was now gone. Even the thought of it made his innards clutch in disgust.

Now, he said to himself, whatever darkness I find in my soul is mine alone…

He poured some water from a ewer into a bowl, washed his face, pulled on his boots and went downstairs. The inn was quiet; Stefan was out, perhaps attending to his chickens. There was no sign of Dernhil. Cadvan wandered into the kitchen, where Stefan’s daughter, Celb, was chopping vegetables, and asked for some bread and cheeses and tea. He broke his fast soberly in the front parlour, looking out of the latticed window. Banks of grey clouds were gathering overhead, and the smell of rain was on the wind.

He heard Stefan in the porch, stamping his feet and taking off his overboots. He thought of asking if there had been any word from Nelac, but let it slide; surely Stefan would tell him if there were news. For a moment he felt guilty: there was too much that was urgent, too much to worry about. If they heard nothing from Nelac today, it was a sign that something was grievously wrong. But just now, Cadvan thought, just now I want to sit and be still and wonder what it is to be me.

That blackness, the inexorable wave that overwhelmed his being. Was it really part of him, or was it the foul thing that had insinuated itself into his mind, poisoning his thoughts? Was he now free of it? The thought lifted his heart. But, no, he said to himself, setting his jaw: that darkness, as Dernhil had told him last night, was all his own. His wounds lay in his own choices, his own crimes. What had lifted was something else entirely; it was as if a toxic mist that had muffled his Bardic senses had cleared. He was less blind now, that was all. But surely that was something…

He had been sitting for an hour when Dernhil came downstairs and sat awkwardly at the table. Both Bards were stricken by shyness.

Cadvan pushed the bread towards him and Dernhil studied it dubiously. “I’m not especially hungry,” he said.

“Nevertheless, you should eat,” said Cadvan. “I’ll ask Stefan for some more tea.”

Dernhil shrugged and broke some bread. Cadvan studied his face, hiding his anxiety: Dernhil’s skin was pale, almost transparent, as if you could see the bones beneath.

“I slept very well,” said Dernhil, giving him an ironic glance. “Better than I have for an age. You needn’t worry, Cadvan; you can certainly cast a healing sleep.”

“I asked too much of you, I fear.”

Amusement flickered over Dernhil’s face. “Asked? You
demanded
, Cadvan.”

“Well, yes. Though if you had straightly refused, I would not have argued…”

“Yes, I know. But it was a terrible thing.”

Cadvan could think of no answer and an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

“As it turned out, you were right to ask,” said Dernhil at last, relenting. “And I am tired, which is only to be expected, but not so tired that it is a damage. Be sure I’m well used to monitoring my health.”

“Good,” said Cadvan, more abruptly than he intended.

“It is a strange … intimacy, scrying,” said Dernhil, after a pause. “But intense and vivid though it is, the impression fades quickly. You can only absorb so much knowledge…”

Cadvan, grateful for Dernhil’s tact, cleared his throat. “Yes. But the important question is what has happened to that – thing – you cast out of me.”

“It’s anybody’s guess. Before I came down, I looked for any tracks, anything we could trace. But I felt nothing. Aside from the broken window, of course.”

“We must tell Stefan about that,” said Cadvan.

“I did already. He all but clucked, but he has forgiven me. And I asked him if there had been word from Nelac. No word at all. I’m worried, Cadvan. I’m sure something is wrong.”

“It’s yet early,” said Cadvan. “In any case, I think we should ride to the School, rather than wait for Nelac.”

“Both of us? You are
exiled
, Cadvan.”

“Even so. I can hide my face. And this is too important. Will it tire you too much, do you think?”

Dernhil sighed, and contemplated his empty plate. “No, I’m not too tired,” he said. “And I think you are right; but I fear the Bards will punish you.”

“How could they punish me more?” said Cadvan.

“One of the punishments for breaking exile is death.”

“And it has never been used, in all the annals of all the Schools. Not once. They could throw me out. But they won’t know me; I’ve a little skill at disguise. The last person they’d expect to see with you would be Cadvan, formerly of Lirigon.”

Dernhil laughed. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it would still have to be a good disguise. There isn’t a single person in Lirigon who would not recognize you on sight.”

“Not if I am someone else,” said Cadvan. “And I will be.”

Later, as they travelled to Lirigon, Dernhil kept glancing sideways at the stranger who rode beside him. Cadvan had transformed himself utterly before they left the inn, using a charm of which Dernhil knew nothing. Once Dernhil had recovered from his astonishment, they had decided that Cadvan’s new name was Garth, and that he was a local farmer with urgent news for Nelac. Garth could have been Cadvan’s kin, a cousin, perhaps; he had Cadvan’s high cheekbones and firm mouth, and his build and colouring. But his skin was wrinkled by wind and sun, his nose misshapen by an accident or a brawl, his expression good-humoured and open and perhaps a little simple. The transformation was startling. It was not a glimmerspell, the illusion magery that was a source of much play and delight to Bards, because a Bard’s eye could see right through a glimmerspell if they wished. Dernhil was fascinated.

“I have never heard of such a charm, Cadvan,” he said. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“It’s Garth, remember?” said Cadvan. “I met a Pilanel a few years ago, who taught it to me when I cured his prize horse of founder. And I have kept it close and secret ever since. It is sometimes useful.”

“I don’t know much about that people,” said Dernhil. “I am told they are powerful
Dhillarearën
, for all their lack of Schools. But many Bards will not trust them.”

“Those Bards are foolish,” said Cadvan. “The Pilanel are a wise and ancient race. And they have, as you see for yourself, some useful mageries of which we know little. It is as well I ride a poor horse; it completes the disguise.”