The Bone Queen (26 page)

Selmana felt sick at the thought of such violation. “So you think that Likod is definitely a Hull?”

“There has always been rumour of Hulls who survived the defeat of their master,” said Nelac. “If Likod is a Hull, he must be newly made. Even though the Nameless One can offer them immortality, he cannot prevent their bodies from aging. Likod is not even old. And only the Nameless One can create Hulls.”

Selmana shuddered and thought about what she had been taught about Hulls. She had read of them in old tales out of the Great Silence when the Nameless One had ruled all Annar, forcing the Light out to the Seven Kingdoms, where it remained defiant through the long years of tyranny. That Hulls should be in Lirigon seemed impossible; they were part of a distant past that was long over, that belonged only in dusty, half-forgotten books and children’s tales.

“But how could a Hull enter the School?”

“I wish I knew.” Nelac sighed heavily. “It seems likely to me that Bashar, like Cadvan and I, had something of Kansabur hidden in her soul. And perhaps that opened a gateway, a chink in her protection, which meant she couldn’t resist Likod, for all her native power. But that doesn’t explain how he could have passed the wards, unless Bashar herself took them down. Perhaps he can step through the Circles, from Shadow to the World, in ways we don’t understand, and so bypass them.”

“Will Bashar be all right?” said Selmana, in a small voice.

Nelac halted, turning to face her, and Selmana was startled by the grief she saw standing in his eyes. “No,” he said, his voice harsh. “If I am right in my guess, and I think I am, there is no returning from what has been done to her. The Hull might be expelled from her mind, but even if she survives that, she will be forever after broken and diminished. Sometimes Hulls do this to Bards for no reason except their own amusement, to laugh at their torment.” His voice broke and he was silent for a time. “Bashar was a great Bard, wise and just. A true friend, through all our differences. To think of what has happened to her is beyond bearing.”

“That was unsubtle,” said Cadvan back in Nelac’s chambers, after Nelac had reported their visit. “One would think that the Dark would have more guile.”

“The Dark has its own blindnesses,” said Nelac. “They cannot imagine that others should have desires different from their own, and they only desire power. Likod believes a First Bard would wear her authority as tyranny, because that is what he would do.”

“Had Likod been cleverer, he would not have cut you off with such impatience,” said Dernhil.

“The Dark was ever arrogant in its cruelty,” said Cadvan. “I should know.”

“For my part, I’m surprised by how little concerned he was to conceal his hostility,” said Nelac. “But do not underestimate his cunning. Perhaps he thinks to provoke us into making an unwary accusation against Bashar, which he can then use to discredit me.”

“We should not stay in your rooms,” said Cadvan.

“I think that Likod believes we are presently thwarted. We can do little in the School without Bashar’s help. All the same, I agree it would be wise to go elsewhere.”

“Will Bashar survive this?” said Dernhil.

“Perhaps,” said Nelac. “Some Bards did. But the records say that they were never the same afterwards. We must do what we can to help her, but I fear it is already too late.”

There was a bleak silence.

“Now,” said Nelac. “We should prepare ourselves.” He took a key ring from his belt and led them to the general storeroom in his Bardhouse. Selmana’s eyes opened wide in wonder: here was kept anything Bards might conceivably need to do their work. Neatly stacked on shelves that went to the ceiling were spare instruments, reeds and strings for flutes and lyres, stacks of fine paper and bundles of pens, a small armoury of weapons, including short swords and the slender bows Bards preferred, shields and light armour, and astrolabes and other delicate instruments. Nelac looked at the other Bards and chose swiftly, throwing them practical travelling clothes: breeches, jerkins and stout boots, the thickly woven cloaks of sheep’s wool that were a particular craft in Lirhan, and some packs and saddlebags. “Take these,” he said. “There are other sizes, if these don’t fit.”

They retired to his living room and changed. Selmana, who was shy, used the screen for privacy. Then Nelac took their Bard clothes and folded them away for laundering, and they packed their bags: kits for horse care, travelling victuals such as pulses, nuts and dried fruits, goose grease for their boots, a flask of medhyl each, flints for lighting fires, soap and salt, and other things they would need for a long journey.

“Are we going away?” asked Selmana uneasily.

“Not yet,” said Nelac. “And perhaps not at all. But we may have to flee Lirigon.”

Selmana swallowed hard and looked at the heavy pack at her feet. She felt very uncertain and inexperienced next to these sober-faced Bards. She had never been outside the Fesse of Lirigon in her life. “So what do we do now?”

“Now?” said Cadvan. He was back in disguise, but he smiled, and she saw fleetingly through the dour face of the Lirhanese farmer a glimpse of Cadvan, mercurial and joyously reckless. “Now we hunt down the Hull. And we destroy it.”

“It?”

“Bards don’t permit Hulls the dignity of sex,” said Dernhil gravely.

There was a brief silence, and then Selmana burst into snorting laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, gasping as she tried to control herself, conscious of a hysterical edge in her voice. “But that sounded so funny.”

But Cadvan was laughing too. “It’s true,” he said. “They have no sex. When they reject death, Hulls reject the life of their flesh. It no longer matters to them. And so the bodies of others don’t matter to them either: they become only objects for them to use at their will. They are not man nor woman nor any other of the five sexes. And they do not love.”

“So why do we always speak of the Nameless One as if he is a man?” she asked. “And why do we say Kansabur is she? Aren’t they Hulls? Or are they special Hulls?”

“The Nameless One is not a Hull,” said Nelac, who had been listening, smiling faintly, as he checked over his pack to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “No one knows what spell he used to bind his spirit within the World, but he has kept it for himself alone. And the Bone Queen? Well, she was a Hull, but the rumour is that she was also something more: it is said she reached into the Abyss and took the Shika, the Terror of the Abyss, into her being, and that is the source of her dread. I don’t know if that is true. But when she ruled over the Realm of Lir, she took a queenly form, dire and beautiful to those without the eyes of Bards. Bards, of course, saw her otherwise. So in Lirhan, we call her
she
. You should know already that Bards are not always consistent.” He stood up and looked at the others. “Well, are we ready?”

“I am,” said Dernhil. “But I confess that I have no idea what you plan to do.”

“We should shield ourselves, so Likod can’t track our magery. And for now we need a place to conceal ourselves within Lirigon, where we won’t be easily found. I am thinking of your friend Larla, Selmana.”

“Larla?” Selmana turned in astonishment, remembering the kind, fat woman who had helped her in the Street of Potters.

“She is not a Bard, and so Likod will not even think of her,” said Nelac. “She has powers beyond magery. And she is also an old friend of mine.” He hefted his pack, grimacing. “Let’s leave. The skies will open soon.”

The rain began in earnest just before they reached the Street of Potters, following one of the major streets that ran, like spokes from the hub of a wheel, out of the Inner Circle. The strange clouds covered the entire sky, hanging very low above them, almost as if they might brush the red roofs of Lirigon. There was no thunder or lightning, just a heavy downpour driven almost sideways by the wind, which was still rising. The Lirhan cloaks, woven of wool cunningly waterproofed, kept out the rain, but within minutes they were splashing through deep puddles. Even the boots, made with the best Lirhanese cobbling, as Cadvan had pointed out, were not enough to keep Selmana’s feet dry: she stepped unwarily into a small river rushing down the street and the water overtopped them.

Nelac led them unerringly to Larla’s blue door. They crowded into her little porch, trying to escape the rain, and water streamed from their hoods onto the scrubbed threshold. Larla answered the door swiftly, almost, Selmana thought, as if she had been waiting for them, and spoke over Nelac’s greeting.

“Come in, come in,” she said. “It’s wild out there.” She fussed around as they entered, taking their cloaks and hanging them in her entrance hall, where they dripped lugubriously onto the floor, pointing to a storeroom where they could stow their packs and urging them to take off their boots and dry them by her fire. “Now, come into the kitchen. Lucky I’m on high ground here, and my house is nice and low, it’s the high houses next door that’ll catch the wind, you mark my words. There’ll be no flooding in
my
street. But look at your boots, Nelac! Wet feet run up to wet noses, and the last thing you want is a cold!”

Dernhil caught Cadvan’s eye and they both grinned; they had never seen their mentor treated so cavalierly. Selmana sniffed: something was baking, warm and homely and sweet.

Larla asked them for no explanation; she didn’t seem in the least surprised to have four Bards turn up at her door. She seated them at a big table in her kitchen, chatting brightly as she poured tea from a pot that might have been made for their arrival.

“I’m glad to see you, young kitten,” she said to Selmana, as she handed the cups around. “I was that worried about you, when I heard you’d gone missing.”

“So were we all,” said Nelac. He leaned back in his chair and regarded Larla with open amusement. “Am I right to assume that we were not unexpected?”

Larla returned his gaze innocently, with her eyebrows raised. “Why would you say that?”

“Perhaps you are awaiting other guests,” he said, indicating the kettle. “I trust we’re not inconveniencing you?”

“No, no, not at all. Yes, of course I was expecting you. I saw you in my basin, as sure as sure, as I was washing my small clothes. Though I wasn’t very certain of the time, and it is just good chance that you turned up when I was taking the weight off my feet and making a brew.”

“Good chance is what we’ve been short of lately,” said Cadvan. “It’s very welcome.”

Larla cast him a narrow look. “I think I know you, young man,” she said. “Though I cannot call your face to mind.”

“Perhaps you do,” said Nelac, smiling. “This is Cadvan, once of Lirigon, in other guise.” Larla’s eyebrows shot up, but she made no comment. “For now, Larla, I’m curious. What do you make of what is happening here, in Lirigon? Because it seems to me that you might understand something that we do not.”

Larla looked suddenly serious. “It’s not likely that I do,” she said. “You’ve read all the books, and I try and try, but I just can’t get my head around all those letters, they slip and slide and make no sense at all. I’m that troubled, Nelac. I sniff and look into corners, and all I can tell is that something’s awry, the weaving’s knotted in the making of things, in the shadows where you don’t look. I couldn’t even knit this morning, the stitches kept dropping, and I couldn’t read the yarn.”

“But you could see us?”

“Aye.” Larla blew on her tea and gave him a sly look. “But I confess, I did call to you, my friend. I was a bit worried this morning, when the knitting went wrong, and it was like there was a black knot in my head, and I thought to myself, Nelac, he’s the one to talk to. And like I said, I saw you in the basin, you and your young friends here, and I felt a little better after that, knowing you’d be here later.”

Dernhil was listening with a puzzled expression, looking as if he wished to laugh but didn’t quite dare. Larla glanced at him. “I know who you are, young Dernhil of Gent,” she said. “I don’t mind if you laugh at me. I did like coming to hear your poems. I like a handsome man, I do. And your poems do get inside a person, like you already know something.”

Dernhil blushed vividly, and stammered an apology. “No, I wouldn’t dream of…” he began, but Larla cut him off.

“I know,” she said kindly. “I was just teasing. But we’re wasting time. What are you Bards going to do about all this, eh? There’s something bad here, something bad right in the middle, and you can’t tell me there isn’t. Selmana knows, she can see, though I didn’t realize until after she had left my house. But nobody seems to notice, they’re too busy with their little floods, as if that’s the only thing going on.”

As she spoke, the shutters on her little house rattled violently, as if the wind were clawing to get in. Selmana shivered.

“This storm isn’t little,” said Selmana. “It’s part of everything. It’s there to distract us.”

Dernhil looked up. “Perhaps the Elidhu set their power with the Dark, as is said in the tales,” he said.

“Not always, if the old accounts are true,” said Cadvan.

Selmana stirred impatiently. It would be just like Bards, she thought, to plunge into a learned discussion about the history of the Elementals, while the world was torn to rubble around them. “Yes, but what must we do
now
?” she said. “How do we destroy Likod? I mean, we can’t just walk up to the Bardhouse and chop off his head.”

“No,” said Nelac slowly. “We can’t do that. And we are not well placed: the Dark has struck at the centre of Lirigon, and from there Likod will direct affairs as suits the Dark’s wishes. I believe a strategy long-prepared is now unfolding. Perhaps it was the plan from the beginning, when Likod first spoke to you as a child, Cadvan. We don’t know what the Dark will do next, but I fear it will be swift and strong. And we have no time.”

“Then are we going to hide here, as we were hiding in your chambers, scurrying from place to place like frightened mice?” said Cadvan. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“I did not say that,” said Nelac. “It is well to understand what confronts us. The Dark is moving fast, and so must we: but equally a careless move made in haste would spell disaster.” He paused. “I only know one way of undoing the possession of a Bard. Another Bard must take the Hull into himself. I will do this.”