The Gift

3: THE LANDROST

THEY rode the short distance to the stables at a gallop, fighting the wind all the way, and one of Indik's apprentices, looking pale, took the horses in hand. There they threw on some dry clothes from their packs in one of the empty stalls: there wasn't time to run to the Bardhouse. That morning when she had dressed, Maerad had only thought of warmth: it had been stupid, she reflected, not to put on her mail coat. Now she slipped it over her head with a shiver.
Maerad peered out of the stable door into the chaos beyond: even in the short time they had spent in the stables, the storm had worsened. It was now almost as dark as night, although it couldn't have been much past mid-morning, and the air was bitterly cold. Torn branches and other objects were skidding down the narrow roads between the buildings. It looked dangerous simply to step outside.
"Shield yourself, Maerad," said Cadvan in her ear. "We're going to have to make a run for it, and you don't want to be knocked over by a flying tree."
She paused for a moment, shielding herself with magery, and then she and Cadvan left the warm refuge of the stables and began to run to the Watch House. The shield protected Maerad from the storm, and the light of the magery made it a little easier to see, although it was disconcerting to see leaves and other rubbish blowing straight at her face and then sliding past. Rain, hail and sleet were driven so violently by the wind that they spurted horizontally from the eaves of the buildings. Maerad heard a crash behind her; a tree, probably, falling onto a house or a wall. She didn't look back. Even with her shielding, the storm was terrifying. This, Maerad thought to herself, was why Bards distrusted the Elidhu: this blind, amoral power, turned to utter destructiveness.
They were almost at the watch house, a small stone tower which rose over the gates, when a terrible shriek sounded almost in Maerad's ear and something hit her shield from behind. Even protected as she was, she was almost knocked sprawling, and she called to Cadvan as she leapt sideways, backing up against a wall, and drew her sword. She couldn't see what had hit her, but she had felt a deathly cold, of a different quality than the the freezing air, push past her like a wave.
Up, said Cadvan into her mind. Did you not see the wings?
I didn't see anything, Maerad said. And my hearing doesn't work in this noise.
Wers, I think, said Cadvan. And flying...they must have gone over the wards. He was squinting into the sky. With this magelight, we're clear targets. I can't see anything up there, but that thing came down out of nowhere. I'd barely sensed it when it was gone...
Maerad was surprised to find that she wasn't afraid. The Watch House isn't far, she said.
Cadvan nodded, and they made a final dash, zigzagging down the street like rabbits dodging an eagle. Two guards stood by the door, sheltered very minimally by a porch, and let them in without comment.
"There are winged wers out," Cadvan shouted over the wind as they entered the door. "Beware."
One of the guards nodded to indicate he had heard, but he didn't look alarmed. He was probably too cold, Maerad thought; the skin on his face looked blue.
The door swung shut, and the sound of the storm suddenly muted. Maerad sighed unconsciously with relief: the screaming of the wind was almost as unbearable as the cold. They stood in a small, bare room of undressed stone lit by a single lamp, but it seemed almost homely after the chaos outside.
"I expect Malgorn will be at the top," said Cadvan, gesturing towards a flight of stairs. Maerad nodded, and they wound their way to the top room. Like everything else in the Watch House, the room was without decoration, save for the horse emblem of Innail carved in relief on the wall above the wide hearth, where a fire burned. The storm rattled the shutters of the broad windows, and Maerad suddenly felt claustrophobic: what was going on outside? In the middle of the room was a broad wooden table surrounded by chairs, and the Bards of Innail's First Circle were gathered around it, deep in discussion.
Malgorn turned as Cadvan and Maerad came up the last stairs and waved them over. "Wise of you to return," he said.
"The weather took a turn for the worse," said Cadvan. "And I have some bad news. A winged wer swooped down on Maerad as we came over here."
"A wer?" Silvia looked up, her face pale. "Malgorn, I told you the wards were not enough..."
"They worked well enough in Tinagel," said Malgorn sharply. Their conversation had the air of an old argument. "And it's all we can do. We're stretched thinly enough as it is."
"Aye, we are." Indik looked grim. "This is a different attack from Tinagel, Malgorn: the weatherworking has an ill feel about it. This is no mere storm, though the Light knows that was bad enough at Tinagel. There's the smell of sorcery in the air. And I sense something approaching that I haven't felt before. I like it not."
Maerad blinked. Indik was right: there was a presence, a sense of menace she had only noted subliminally, that grew in intensity with every moment. It was unsettlingly familiar...
"I know what that presence is," said Cadvan. "I remember it all too well. It is the Landrost."
A sudden appalled silence fell over the table.
"I thought the Elementals could not leave their place," said Kelia, a short Bard who sat to the left of Malgorn, her dark brows drawn into a fierce frown. "I thought that the Landrost was bound to his mountain..."
"They don't like to leave," said Maerad. The Bards turned to her, listening gravely. "Arkan - the Winterking - told me that it is to them like losing their being. But that doesn't mean that they can't."
"Would he be weaker for being away from his mountain?" asked Indik dubiously, pulling at his lower lip.
"I don't know." Maerad looked helplessly around the table. The six most powerful Bards in Innail sat before her. In battle, each of them was worth a rank of soldiers; and yet she felt her heart quailing within her. "But - there's a taste like sorcery in the air. The Elidhu are not sorcerers."
Indik flashed her a sharp glance.
"You think that there's some Hullish business here too?" he asked. Maerad shrugged. "There have been no Hulls in any other attacks. The one thing I've been grateful for. Well..."
He straightened himself, and looked around the table.
"Clearly, the wards have been breached by wers," he said. "I think they should be maintained, all the same. I sent out scouts early this morning, as soon as I smelt the weather, and they tell me there is an army of mountain men marching this way; they will be here soon. And there will be wers on the ground, to be sure." Suddenly his eyes went blank, as if he were listening to something. The other Bards watched him in silence. At last he looked up. "Kelavar tells me that outriding forces have been sighted outside the east wall. They can't tell how many, visibility is very poor...but the flying wers are playing havoc in the town. Not much damage, but a lot of panic. Again, they don't know how many. He thinks five of them have been killed."
Malgorn frowned and stood up, and walked over to the fireplace. Maerad watched him anxiously. She liked Malgorn, and recognised his strengths; but she suspected that he was not a Bard of war. She looked inquiringly at Cadvan.
"The weakest place, as ever, is the gate," said Cadvan. "If the Landrost himself marches with his forces, he will lodge his fiercest attack here. Still, we must give thought to the rest of the wall..."
"We lack an army," said Malgorn. "Farmers who use swords as if they're cutting hay are no match, no matter how brave...and yes, we have great Bards here. But too few..." He said this almost in a whisper.
Indik's face darkened. "Then we might as well open the gates and ask the Landrost in for dinner," he said. "Malgorn, we have no time now for lamentation or regret. The Light knows that we may have plenty of time later.... Yes, we have not enough soldiers, not enough mages. It seems to me that the Landrost aims to crush us utterly. The Dark marches with him. I admit, things do not look hopeful for us. So let us bend our thought to how best to use the strengths we have."
He looked glowering around the table, and the other Bards nodded. Malgorn flushed, and looked down at the table and Silvia glanced at him, her face unreadable. She was very pale, but her jaw was set and determined; there was a steel in Silvia, thought Maerad, that Malgorn lacked, and she wondered why Silvia had not been made First Bard. For the first time since she had entered the Watch House, Maerad felt a sudden focus of energy, a surge of purpose. As Indik began to outline how he saw the battle before them, she felt, despite the grim picture, a small flicker of hope.

Indik had a realistic notion of what Innail was up against. He had set captains at intervals around the walls of Innail, who communicated with him through mindspeech. Each was in charge of varying numbers of Bards and soldiers, volunteers drawn from the valley population. There were too few of them, as Malgorn had said, and too few skilled or hardened warriors. They were armed with swords and bows - although in the chaos of the storm, arrows were next to useless - vats of tar and boiling oil, stones to throw on the heads of the attackers. Indik had a select band of highly trained warriors, both horsed and on foot, whom he kept by the gates.
He had encountered the mountain men before, and he knew them as hard fighters, ruthless, cunning and unafraid. He was more worried than he liked to admit about the probability that the Landrost was exploiting both Elemental powers and Dark sorcery. He could calculate the odds of battle as well as anyone, and he had measured the strength of wers in other battles in the valley; he figured that even if the wers had broached the wards that he and Malgorn had set in the walls, Innail still had a fighting chance. The presence of the Landrost was an imponderable; until they met him in battle, they wouldn't know his strength. Indik was one of those who believed the Landrost was the same figure as Karak, who in the Great Silence had laid waste to the lost realm of Indurain. If he was correct, they were up against one of the most powerful of the Nameless One's allies.
When he thought about it, Innail didn't stand a chance. But Indik was stubborn; the worse the odds, the harder he would fight. While he still breathed, Innail falling to the Landrost was something he was not prepared to contemplate.
Like Cadvan, Indik thought that the major force would be brought against the gates, but he thought their strength of soldiery should be deployed along the walls. "There we will most likely face siege ladders," he said. "And if the town is not to be razed beind our backs, we will need to fight them off. The wards will help, but I am not sure whether they will be enough, especially if the wers can simply fly over them...I am very disturbed that they are already breached. I don't understand why they haven't flown a whole wer army over the walls already."
"Perhaps only the powerful wers can break the wards?" suggested Maerad. She was thinking of the first battle she had ever faced, against wers in the wilds of the Indurain: Cavdan had made a barrier then to protect them, and the wers then had changed their wolf shapes in order to fly over it. "Or are they waiting?"
"The former, I think," said Malgorn. "We are not stupid: we know that wers shapeshift, and can become winged. These wards were set when Tinagel was attacked, and they do not work like walls. Not even a hostile bird should be able to pass them."
Indik nodded. "I think we should concentrate our strength of magery at the gate. If the Landrost breaks the gate, the wards will fail also. Maerad, do you know how to fight an Elidhu?"
"No," said Maerad.
"That's not quite true," Cadvan said impatiently. "You held back the Landrost even before you were in your full powers."
"I've never fought an Elidhu," said Maerad. "I don't know how." Indik's question made her feel sick with panic; she saw that she was his main hope. Suddenly a major part of the responsibility for defending Innail was on her shoulders, and she didn't know if she would be any help at all. She met Indik's gaze; he was studying her, his face inscrutable, weighing the odds. With a slight shock, she realised that on his face was the same expression as when he tried a new sword: he was calculating the merit of a weapon, testing its temper and edge.
"Maerad, you know much more about the Elementals than any of us; none of us have even seen one," said Indik. "I don't expect you to single-handedly strike the Landrost down, but I will be relying on your senses of him. Especially any sense you have of weakness. And you too, Cadvan: you were his prisoner for a time. In the coming hours, the smallest detail might swing things in our favour."
"The first thing is the storm," said Malgorn, frowning. "I've had all the Bards I can spare weatherworking since the clouds were first seen, to no avail. The winds will not hear us. Cadvan, I know you can do weatherwork; perhaps you could aid your powers there? It would free me up."
"Of course," said Cadvan. "It may be an idea for Maerad to help here too. Maerad?"
Maerad had never done weatherworking in her life, and pointed out that if the Bards of Innail couldn't turn the winds, she had little hope of being any use at all. Despite this, Malgorn detailed both of them to the task.
There was a briskness among the First Circle now; they knew that there was very little time, and that the Landrost's army was almost at the gates. They departed to various destinations around Innail, embracing sombrely as they took their leave. Silvia kissed Maerad lightly on the forehead, and to Maerad's surprise, smiled warmly. "While there's breath, there's hope," she said. "I'm still breathing!" She was in charge of a section of the walls to the east of Innail, and Maerad watched her go, sadly wondering if she would ever see her again.
Maerad and Cadvan left with Indik and Malgorn: weatherwork had to be performed in the open, and the Bards were gathered on the walls above the gate, near where Indik and Malgorn had their command.
As she stood up, Maerad glanced at Cadvan, taking a deep breath. She had never been in a real battle before, and her insides felt entirely hollow. Cadvan's expression was stern, but his face softened as he perceived Maerad's anxiety. "Silvia's right," he said. "We have a chance, Maerad, as long as we stand fast."
"We don't have any choice, do we?" said Maerad, forcing a smile.
"There's always a choice," Cadvan answered. "As I have told you many times before. None of us will yield our souls, should the end be even as bitter as we fear. Now, for the sake of the Light, let us go and defend what we love!"

It was hard walking out into the storm again. A walkway led from the top floor of the Watch House to the outer keep above the gate, and it was a wrestle even to open the heavy door and keep it from immediately slamming shut. Without her magery shielding her, Maerad would likely have been blown straight off the bridge. The shrieking of the wind was so loud it hurt her ears. Although her shield protected her against the wind and the rain, it did not keep out the bitter cold, and Maerad gasped with the first shock of it; it went into her bones like the deep cold of the northlands.
But that doesn't make any sense, she thought. If it were that cold, everything would be ice...
When they reached the keep, a fork of lightning stabbed down so close to them Maerad could smell it, a sharp smell like the sea, followed by a massive crack of thunder that made her involuntarily duck. In its brief illumination, she saw the battlements were crowded with people. A few pitch torches lit the walls, but otherwise there was very little light; a silver glow a short distance away showed where the Bards were weatherworking.
Maerad realised at once that this was no easy task. For one thing, it wasn't possible to work weather from within in a shield, and the eight Bards assigned to the task were huddled against the outer wall, trying to stay out of the worst of the tempest. The sheer cacophony of the storm was a constant assault, making it impossible to talk.
Maerad, said Cadvan into her mind. You remember how to meld your powers? I know you've never done it with so many Bards before, but really there is little difference.
Maerad nodded. She was afraid that she might fail - the last time she had tried to meld with Cadvan, when they were attacked in the mountains, it hadn't worked at all - but she said nothing. It had to work.
She didn't know the Bards they were to work with; there were faces she vaguely remembered, but she had never been long enough in Innail to meet everybody. They looked up, their faces grey with strain, as Cadvan and Maerad entered their circle and let down their shields.
There was no time for introductions, though a couple of the Bards cried out gladly when they recognised Cadvan. To her relief, when Maerad opened her mind she could feel the joined powers of the other Bards. Tentatively she put out her own to meld with them. It was a little like a vine putting out tendrils to tangle with another plant, she thought, a process at once delicate and chaotic and individual to itself. As soon as she had joined with the other Bards, the storm began to bother her less; despite the extremity of the situation, she found herself fascinated by touching so many minds at once, intrigued by the forces they were weaving together. It really was like trying to puzzle out a tapestry of deep, abstract intricacies, only its pattern was constantly changing. Or, more accurately, it was constantly being torn up and then being rewoven.
The magery was coloured by the Bards' emotions; she immediately felt both their fear and determination. As she felt her way into its pattern, she saw it had a formal shape. She couldn't read it; she didn't have the training, she supposed, and it was as if she were looking into a book of poems in a language she didn't understand. She could perceive the grammar, the syntax, the recurring words, the shapes of the verses, but its meaning was beyond her.
At this point, Maerad felt like giving up: she was obviously going to be useless, as she didn't have the experience. But she was still deeply intrigued, and kept on feeling her way in. Even as she did, she felt with a shock the magery being torn apart by the forces of the storm; its tendrils broke and whipped apart, although the Bards' melding stayed firm. Maerad found herself admiring the strength of the Bards: she felt as if she had been punched, and gasped aloud.
Patiently, the Bards began again, and this time Maerad thought she could see what they were trying to do. She was staggered at the size of the spell: they were attempting to weave a charm around the borders of Innail, which would keep the air calm within its walls, and leave the storm raging without. But, as Malgorn had said, the wind would not listen, and raged against the magery.
They're making it worse, she thought. The storm would not be harnessed in this way. It was driven by the dire rage of the Landrost, but it was not the Landrost himself. The fell voices on the air, which Maerad had thought were wers, were elemental creatures, not creatures of the Dark.
Speak to them, Maerad said suddenly. We must speak to them.
One of the Bards, whom Maerad thought was the leading mage among them, turned sharply towards her. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered over his forehead, and his eyes were set in deep hollows; he looked exhausted and angry.
In case you haven't noticed, he said, ice in his voice, we have been trying just that for hours.
Just as he spoke, the Bards rocked back as their magery tore apart with a new violence and a fork of lightning hit the stone parapet near them, splintering the rock. Maerad had a nightmare glimpse of a man falling, his mouth open in a scream she couldn't hear, his hair on fire. One of the Bards gave Maerad a look of such rage that she almost withdrew from the melding in panic and shame, as if it were her fault. But then she felt Cadvan's voice, calm amid the growing panic of the Bards.
What do you mean, Maerad?
I mean - you're not speaking to it in the right way...it's like - it's like a baby, or something - but very angry and strong - what you're doing isn't, well, crude enough...
It was hard to explain, even in mindspeech, which didn't use language as it was normally used, relying as much on a current of empathy between minds to communicate as much as words. So Maerad thought it might be easier just to do it.
Something like this, she said. I don't know if this will work...
She paused for a brief moment to focus, and then began to croon a string of nonsense words. The other Bards kept their melding strong, preparing to attempt their own magery again in a moment, and she could feel their scepticism and even a thread of savage mockery. Maerad first used the Speech, trying to feel her way into some rhythm that she felt she could almost hear, and as she became more sure, slipped imperceptibly into the language of the Elidhu. Now she felt incomprehension around her, rising to anger, and tried to ignore it; she was fumbling, trying to sense something by feel, something strange, and she needed to concentrate. For a moment she almost felt she had the key, but it slipped by, and almost at the same time she heard the same Bard who had turned on her in rage seek to stop her.
Don't, said Cadvan. His voice was gentle, but it held something implacable. The Bard halted. Listen instead, said Cadvan. Listen well...
Maerad kept mumbling, not knowing what she was saying, concentrating so hard that she lost almost all sense of the others, and of the storm itself. And then she caught a feeling that was like a melody, something recognisable, and then another. She matched them together, repeating them with variations as she went, and found something else yielding. Gradually a pattern of enormous complexity opened up before her, and she could see the relationships between its different parts, its infinite variations and repetitions. Then - ah! she saw the Landrost within it, like a black spiral, churning and churning the pattern.
Just as she perceived this, she felt the Landrost jolt into awareness of her probing. He struck back blindly, a black bolt of energy that sent her reeling. But she had the pattern now. She looked around, blinking, and found she was still held in the meld of the Bards, who now were paying very close attention.
I found it, she told them. Now, I will need you to follow me... if you can. I'm not sure I'm strong enough by myself, though I'll try. I don't know how shape the charm around Innail, I will need you to do that. And the Landrost knows I'm there, so be careful.
She felt a shock reverberate through the Bards at the mention of the Landrost, and realised that they hadn't known what they were dealing with. No wonder their magery had been useless. But she didn't have time to explain. She re-entered the patterning, cautious now, but more confident, avoiding the malestrom at its centre. It was a question of finding a shape and then, patiently, reshaping it, slowing and stilling the outer edges. Almost immediately she felt a difference, but it was so tiring. The Landrost felt her there and was seeking her. The black spiral grew twisting arms that snaked out to catch her, and she felt the chill malevolent presence she remembered from so long ago, like a dank breath on her skin, and she shuddered with disgust.
She bit her lip, willing herself on. For all his strength, the Landrost was nothing like as powerful as the Winterking. She realised she was not afraid of him breaking her. But the Landrost had the endurance of rock, and she was only a woman; she already felt the weariness in her mind, like the ache that steadily grows in muscles that are overtaxed.
And then there was someone else there, with her. Cadvan. Tears of relief started into her eyes; suddenly the burden was not quite so heavy. Soon, other minds joined hers, keeping up the repetitions and freeing Maerad to find new variations, new shapes. The whole thing was so immensely complex, so very big... Shortly afterwards, she became aware of the Bardic charm being woven into the new pattern she was making.
Now she could feel the blind anger of the Landrost boiling around her. The more she undid his making, the more savage his responses became. But although he could feel what was happening, he couldn't trace her; Maerad was slipping like a tiny fish in and out of the currents of his wrath, untouched by them. It was like trying to set a trap; Maerad thought that he did not know what they were trying to do, and she wanted him to remain ignorant until the last tiny piece was in place and the whole structure could snap shut.
She had lost all sense of time, and even of urgency, and was utterly absorbed in the delicacy and intricacy of what she was doing. Bit by bit, with infinite care and patience, she and the Bards worked together. They could not afford one mistake. They would probably only get one chance.
At last she felt a pressure of assent from Cadvan: the charm was prepared, and the Bards awaited her signal. She poised herself like a fisherman standing with a spear above a river, waiting for a fish to glint beneath the surface: things shifted all the time, wavering and changing, and it had to be just right...
Now, she said, and she heard the words of command explode in her skull, and a blaze of white fire seemed to pour up into the clouds and boil against them, although Maerad didn't know if she really saw it, or if it was something that only happened in the strange world inside her head.
And suddenly, it was quiet.

Maerad was so exhausted that she would have pitched forward onto her face, had Cadvan had not put his arm around her shoulders. She realised that she was cold to her very marrow, and that she was shaking all over.
"Well done," Cadvan whispered into her ear. "Oh, that was well done. Maerad, ever you repay my faith in you..." His words were echoed by cheering from the soldiers on the walls.
The eight other Bards looked almost as weary as Maerad. The man who had been angry with her, a tall, heavy-set, fair-haired Bard, smiled awkwardly and offered his hand.
"My gratitude, whoever you are," he said. "Am I right in guessing that you are Maerad of Pellinor?" Maerad nodded. "I am Isam of Innail. I had heard rumours, of course, but I had no idea..." He shook his head. "The Landrost himself attacks us, eh? Well, at least we've put a spoke in his wheel."
"One spoke in one wheel," said Cadvan. "Sadly, he has many more...Maerad, can you make any guess how far he is from our walls?"
Maerad pondered. She could sense the baffled anger of the Landrost, but it was difficult to locate it. "Not really," she said at last. "He is not quite here. But he is very close."
The relief of no longer being battered by the wind was indescribable, and that numbing, bitter cold was also gone. Maerad looked up at the sky, blinking at the pale winter daylight that now poured through the gap in the clouds. What the Bards had done was effectively to place Innail in the eye of the storm. Within the walls, there was an eerie stillness; a strange pressure of the air made Maerad's ears pop. Outside, the tempest still raged.
"I expect the Landrost will still the storm, once he understands it disadvantages him," said Cadvan.
"If he can," said Maerad. "He may not be able to command it any more."
Cadvan glanced at her in surprise. "Do you think so?" Maerad shrugged. "Well, it would help us beyond measure if it were so. In any case - " he looked around at the weary Bards - "perhaps we should see Malgorn and Indik, and find out how we can best be of use."
Isam sighed heavily. "Right now, the thought of doing anything other than sleeping for uncounted hours is almost unendurable," he said. "And I know this is only the beginning." He stood up. "But you're right."
They wound past lines of Bards and fighters who were busily drying themselves and their equipment and looking about them with wonder. Malgorn was in the Watch House above the gate. He was openly delighted at the success of the charm, and when Isam told him of Maerad's part in it, embraced her with a new warmth. Then he held her back from him, studying her face.
"Maerad, you are the colour of snow," he said. "Are you all right?"
Maerad nodded. "I'm - tired. That's all."
Malgorn looked dubious. "I've seen people that colour when they are dead," he said. "You have done too much. Perhaps you ought to rest."
Maerad looked up and met his eyes. "So should you. So should all the other Bards who helped with the weatherworking. But Indik was right: I could help with the Landrost. It worked with the storm. Of course I'm staying here."
"Perhaps some medhyl wouldn't go astray," said Isam, producing a small stoppered bottle from a bag. "It is made to stay exhaustion. Especially of the kind that comes from magery."
Maerad gratefully took a large gulp, and it took the edge off her weariness at once. She still could have slept for hours, but she no longer felt dizzy. Malgorn watched her steadily until some colour came back into her face.
"That's better," he said. "Maerad, if you are to be our major weapon against the Landrost - an idea I like not at all - I would prefer if you didn't kill yourself. But I thank you. We have a chance now, I think. It does mean that we can't see the enemy, that is a problem for us. They are cloaked by the storm. But on the other hand, those without sorcery shielding them will scarce be able to draw a sword or a bow with that wind howling about their ears. They can barely see a handsbreadth in front of them."
"Maerad thinks the Landrost is close," said Cadvan. "If he plans to assault the gate, it won't be long now."
Malgorn set his jaw and stared into outer walls, as if his sight could pierce the darkness beyond them. "Let him come," he said. "He shall not take our home as easily as he thinks."

Isam and the other Bards were sent to various points around the walls of Innail, but Malgorn asked Maerad and Cadvan to stay with him. There was no sign of Indik, but Malgorn was kept busy with a constant stream of people entering and leaving the keep. For the moment, Maerad felt no interest in what was happening out in the streets: she was too cold. She huddled by a brazier in a corner, trying to dry off: she had no idea how long she had been out in the rain, but it had been long enough to soak her through for the second time that day. She wondered what time it was: her departure that morning from Innail seemed like it had been last week. Steam rose up from her cloak, and her mail grew uncomfortably hot, but she huddled close, feeling her body thaw. Once she stopped shivering, she realised she was hungry.
"Is it time for lunch yet?" she asked Cadvan.
A young Bard nearby laughed. "We balance on the edge of doom, and Maerad of Pellinor asks for lunch!" he said. "Mistress Maerad, you must be more used to peril than some of us." He bowed flamboyantly, and Maerad found herself smiling. "I confess, I have no appetite at all."
"Maerad is a seasoned warrior indeed, Camphis," said Cadvan. "And like all old soldiers, thinks chiefly about a comfortable bed and a good meal. It is an hour or so after noon, Maerad. I'm sure there'll be food up here somewhere. This is Innail, after all..."
Camphis took some smoked fish, cheese, bread and fruit from a nearby cupboard, and spread them on a nearby table with a flask of wine. "Will this do?" he asked. "I assume you have your own knife."
"I lost mine," said Maerad, feeling a little foolish.
"You can borrow mine, then." He handed over a wooden-handled clasp knife, and Maerad smiled her thanks, sat down and set to. She was ravenous: the morning's ride, the scramble back to Innail and the charm casting had worked up a keen appetite. Cadvan joined her, and Camphis picked at some dried plums to keep them company, chatting idly. Maerad could see that, underneath his lightness, he was very frightened, and admired how he hid it. It seemed that he had but lately become a major Bard, and was one of Silvia's students.
"My true interest is herblore, not swordcraft," he said, regarding his armour with distaste. "Although of course I know how to use weapons; Indik bullies us all into some kind of competence. I'd die for Innail. I only hope I don't have to." He smiled a little crookedly, and Cadvan patted his shoulder.
"We all hope that," he said. "Never fear, we have Maerad on our side. One never knows what she might do. She could turn all the enemies into rabbits."
Camphis looked his astonishment, and began to laugh again.
"She did it once to a Hull, you know," said Cadvan, enjoying himself as Maerad blushed next to him. "She even sang a lullabye to a storm dog."
"These are strange tales," Camphis said. "I hope one day you will have the time to tell me them in full."
"The strangest thing about them is that they are true," said Cadvan. He winked at Maerad. "She is perilous company, to be sure, but you can't say she's dull."
"Is it true that you take the form of a white wolf?" Camphis asked, fascinated.
Maerad looked over at Cadvan before she nodded. Clearly there was no point in hiding her presence in Innail now.
"And other forms as well?"
"I don't know. I haven't tried."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of wild yelling. It sounded uncomfortably close and the Bards started up, feeling for their swords. Almost immediately, Indik strode into the room.
"It has begun," he said. "The outriders are at our gates. And already we have beaten back two attacks on the eastern walls."
Maerad saw Camphis turn white, although his mouth was set and hard. He was much more frightened, she realised, than she was. And the Light knows, she thought, that I am afraid enough...
"Maerad," said Indik. "Can you tell if the Landrost is close to us, or not? So far we face mountain men and some wers, but it is hard to tell precisely what assails us."
"I do not think he is at the gate," said Maerad, unwillingly dragging herself back to consciousness of the shadow that oppressed her mind. "He seems a little distant to me. Though I could be wrong..."
Cadvan glanced at Indik, his face serious. "What will you have of us?" he asked.
"At present, I want Maerad to stay in mindtouch with me." Indik looked across at her. "If you could tell me the moment you feel any change, any - tensing - as if he prepares to leap - you know the kind of thing. Cadvan, Camphis, I could do with some help with any wers. Malgorn, are there any other Bards to spare?"
"No," said Malgorn. He paused and listened intently for a few seconds. "Silvia is asking for more hands as well. I've spread all the Bards as evenly as possible around the walls. There is no sign of wers within Innail, either they fled when the charm was set or they have been killed. I've put all available Bards around the walls of Innail. We are spread thin as it is."
"We'll have to make do with what we have." Indik's face was expressionless. "I wish I could clearly see what is out there. But all reports seem to indicate that a great force is gathered out in that darkness. And Innail is not a fortress, after all. I am glad of the wards; magery will have to make up for what we lack in stone."
"Do you need me there?" asked Malgorn.
"I'd rather you stayed out of the fighting," said Indik. "It is hard to keep mindtouch with many people in the midst of battle, and we need one Bard at least in constant contact with everyone - I will send if we need you." He nodded at the other Bards, and marched out.
Maerad glanced quickly over at Cadvan. "I'd like to come with you," she said.
"Why not?" said Cadvan. "You can keep an eye on the Landrost as well on the outer wall as here."
They left the keep and climbed a a flight of stairs to a broad area behind the battlemented wall. Here they were directly above the gate, and it was bustling with activity: archers were posted thickly around the battlements and there were knots of grim-faced soldiers, ready to repel any attackers who raised ladders. They had the same contained, disciplined air that Indik possessed, and although there was a tension among them, a palpable sense that the attack would happen at any moment, they were relaxed: some were playing dice, others were joking with the young boys and girls who stood ready to tip cauldrons of boiling pitch or to throw stones onto the heads of any who threatened the gate itself.
Maerad was shocked to see children so young up on the battlements; most were no older than Hem. Indik caught her expression.
"I didn't think children fought in Innail," she said to him.
"All volunteers," he answered shortly. "We need every hand we can get. These ones know what they face if we lose. Some have already seen their homes destroyed, their families killed."
Maerad said nothing. It brought home to her, as nothing else had, the violence that had already occurred in the gentle valley of Innail. She felt a deep anger smouldering inside her.
Here on the battlements, she could see the full strangeness of the weathercharm she had helped to cast. The air was still here, even a little stuffy, but the noise of the wind was very loud. Winter sunlight fell on her shoulders, but only a few spans away was a great shadow in which light faltered and died. Through the gloom, she could make out a boiling mass of figures on the ground before the Innail gates, holding flaring torches that hissed and spat in the rain. She could hear the rhythmic twang of bowstrings, and she realised that archers were picking off any attackers foolhardy enough to venture into bowshot.
Indik was right: it was very hard to see what the army was doing, or how far back it stretched into the gloom. But there seemed many, many more soldiers than were stationed here at the gates. Maerad wondered if the forces were this thick all the way around the walls, and drew in her breath. She didn't know if it was worse imagining their attackers, or seeing them with her own eyes.
On the whole, she thought, it was better to know the worst. But now she was very frightened indeed.
Remember, said Indik into her mind. I rely on you to keep track of the Landrost. And stay out of bowshot...I don't want any stray arrows putting you out of action...
Maerad nodded, as if Indik - who was out of sight - could see her, and gathering her wits, moved back from the battlements. Without losing consciousness of her present surroundings, she delicately felt her way back into the net of magery that she had woven with the weatherworkers. She knew the Landrost was in there somewhere, and she could feel his presence more accurately if she let her mind touch its strands, as if he were a spider in the centre of his web and she a fly on its outer edges, sensing his presence by subtle vibrations.
From her post, Maerad could see the outer wall better. Although at first it had seemed chaotic with activity, now she saw there was an order in it. She had little experience of fortifications, but even she could see that compared with Norloch, Innail had minimal defences. A high stone wall, reinforced with wards woven into the stone to keep out creatures of the Dark, seemed the thinnest tissue against the forces she had seen swirling below.
Even as she thought this, the clouds before her seemed to explode, and Maerad reeled and almost fell. Before she even knew what was happening, she had automatically drawn her sword, shaking her head to rid herself of a dizziness, as if something had struck her head, although nothing had come near her. The air seemed to be full of black, wet, leathery wings: wers, she thought, in some cold part of her. They've broken through the wards... The wers landed swiftly, their claws raking the stone and striking sparks, and began to transform almost immediately into manshapes: tall figures with shoulders of brutal strength and black broadswords. Maerad heard, as if from a great distance, Indik shouting orders, and the screaming of the children, and already the clash of weapons. Almost without thinking, she lifted her arms and said the word for white fire, noroch, and a silver ball shot from her fingertips and caught the nearest wer on its shoulder, as it raised its arm to strike at a Bard. The flame stuck and burned, flaming through its hair, and the wer screeched. The sound went through Maerad's head like a knife. As it writhed on the ground, flames blackening and withering its body, the white flame leapt to another wer close by, and Maerad saw more wers behind and stretched out her hand to send more white fire: but it was already over, all the wers were dead, either hacked by the Bards and soldiers or burned by the white flame.
The orderliness of the outer wall was now splintered into chaos. Maerad saw that one of the children had been killed, and averted her eyes; another body lay limp close by. She rushed over to see if she could help, her heart in her mouth, and turned the body over; it was a Bard she didn't know, but she still breathed. A bruise was already turning purple over her temple.
"Quick! Over here!" cried a voice at her shoulder, and Maerad turned in surprise. It was Camphis, who laid a hand on the Bard's face, over the bruise, and briefly glowed with magery. Yes, he would be a healer, Maerad thought rapidly, drawing back so she wouldn't be in the way. Indik had already arranged Bards in a fighting line, which was just as well as the attack was almost immediately followed by another. Camphis stayed with the injured Bard until men arrived with a stretcher to carry her away, protecting her even as a wer rose on its haunches and struck out at him with its savage claws. He shore off its head with his sword, and the thing collapsed heavily to the ground, and smoking blood spurted over the stones and over Maerad's feet.
Maerad had no time to feel disgust: she sent out white flame, hitting every wer she could see, wondering why other Bards were not following her example. All of them, she saw, were fighting with weapons, not magery...In a very short time - or perhaps the time only seemed short - the wers were again all destroyed. The ground was littered with their foul corpses and smirched with their blood, and one of the cauldrons of pitch had been spilt and a pool of molten pitch was spreading slowly over the stones. The stench made the gorge rise in Maerad's throat. Indik was shouting for men to throw the corpses off the wall, and in twos they flung the heavy bodies over the battlements. And then it happened again. This time Cadvan was using magery, scorching the wers as they landed so they flared up like living torches and collapsed, wrecks of burned leather and bone; but still no one else.
Maerad, said Indik into Maerad's mind. Do not forget to track the Landrost. This is meant to distract us...
In the confusion, Maerad had forgotten about the Landrost entirely. She hastily began to explore, feeling for his presence. She drew back as far as she could from the fighting, trying not to look: to witness these savage acts was somehow worse than to perform them. Again, the fighting was over quickly, but there were more bodies on the ground this time: a young girl with her neck at an awful, unnatural angle, another Bard whom Maerad saw, after a quick glance, was certainly dead. Then were was a wave of attacks, one after the other, so that Maerad lost count, but this time more Bards could use the white flame. The children had scrambled down the steps into shelter after the first couple of attacks, and the soldiers were now fighting steadily. No one else was hurt, and it turned into a systematic, sickening slaughter. Some wers, seeing the carnage, swerved back over the wall without even attempting to fight. Maerad concentrated on staying out of the way of the skirmishes, following the malevolent pressure that signalled the Landrost, trying to feel him out without letting him become aware of her.
Cadvan was suddenly next to her; she hadn't seem him approach, and started in surprise. His face was grim, and splashed with blood, and his sword was black with it, but he seemed unhurt.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Maerad nodded abstractedly; she didn't want to lose the thread she was following.
"The Landrost somehow broke the wards and staved off our magery at the same time," he said. "His little revenge, no doubt, for that weathercharm. Maerad, if you could find out how he did it, it would help us...It costs he Landrost far less to lose ten than for us to lose one."
Maerad turned to him. "He couldn't block me," she said.
"I know. Maerad, you are key to this..."
"Are these attacks happening all over Innail?"
"I don't know. Probably."
Yes. Indik's voice sounded harshly in Maerad's head: she had forgotten she was in mindtouch with him. We have been hard pressed. But the wards are remade, and are stronger now. I think they will not try that again.
For a moment, Maerad panicked: in the intimacy of mindtouching, she could feel the anxiety that Indik otherwise concealed, and she knew that Indik was depending on her in their battle with the Landrost. And she was already so weary...If Innail fell, it would be her fault. Cadvan caught the tenor of her thoughts, and took her hand.
"Maerad, yes, much is hoped of you," he said. "But like all of us, you can only do your best, and no one will blame if even that is not enough. We all have our parts to play in this, and our own responsibilities. The Landrost couldn't block my powers, either, although I had to find a way around it." Cadvan grimaced. "We are all tired. And it is not as if the wards were completely ineffective even though they were breached. It cost the wers to break them; they used a large part of their native powers, and were slower and less deadly when they attacked us. The Landrost is sending them to be slaughtered. I suspect there will not be many more of these attacks."
"Indik thinks he won't try that again," said Maerad.
"Well, then. We have won at least some respite."
"What next, then?" Maerad studied the scene before her: already the wers' bodies had been flung over the walls, the wounded fighters taken to the healers, and reeds and sand scattered over the blood that smeared the stone. For the moment, all seemed orderly again, although all swords were drawn, and the defenders were wary, prepared for assault at any moment.
"I don't know," said Cadvan. "The Light grant us strength to meet it."
In the other part of her mind, Maerad tensed: she was now very close to the Landrost, and she could feel him brooding. She sensed a miasma of doubt colouring his presence, a bafflement: he had met resistance where he had thought to find none. Shifting cautiously, Maerad attempted to move closer to his thoughts. No, he was nothing like the Winterking, who was subtle and complex as well as powerful: the Landrost was a creature who thought only in crude patterns of power, seeking to overwhelm like a landslide. And yes, there was great and frightening power in these forces, but surely, also, a weakness...a landslide can only go in one direction, after all...
She froze: she had become too absorbed in her contemplation, and the Landrost had become aware of her. Just as she could read him, her mind could be open to his. For a vital moment, she was too terrified to move: the Landrost lashed out with a blast of energy, and she felt felt the shock of it go through her, a malevolent pulse of chill darkness that left her numb and stupid. In that moment, the Landrost perceived her. As if she could see a reflection of herself in another's eye, she glimpsed for the briefest moment how he saw her: a glowing figure in the darkness, very small and very bright, pulsing with an unknowable power. Now she was trapped in his gaze, as if his perception pinned her beneath a crushing weight; she could neither move nor think. She felt his astonishment give way to a gloating triumph, and she felt his mind flex. The Landrost would would squash her flat as if she were a beetle, and there was nothing she could do. Panicking, she struggled in his grip, but he held her fast.
From very far away, at the edges of her mind, she heard a voice. She was so frightened that she didn't recognise who it was: her whole being was infused with darkness and impotence.
Elednor na Edil Amarandh, said the voice. It was cold too, colder than the Landrost, and glittered with an icy brilliance. This creature is nothing compared to you. Are you really so weak? Is the pebble really less than the mountain? And, bizarrely, it laughed. Its laughter was like ice falling on her skin, cutting her open, waking her from the impotence of nightmare.
There was no time to think: the pressure was unbearable, and already the Landrost was blotting out her whole being: only the smallest light remained of herself. With her failing consciousness, she latched fiercely onto the idea of the pebble: in the landslide, the pebble was not destroyed. She stopped resisting the Landrost and let herself sink into the darkness, hard and round and small and herself. The wave of blackness tossed her an immeasurable distance, through realms of vacant space where stars rolled in their inscrutable dance, through clouds of blinding colours vaster than she could even imagine, where time itself was squeezed and stretched by collossal forces. She was lost, lost... but still she arced through her trajectory, a tiny star.
She didn't know any more who or where she was; everything went through her, faster and faster. And then, quite suddenly, time seemed to start again, and someone called her name. Blindly she reached towards it, to whoever knew her and called her. At last she rolled to a halt, dizzy and breathless. She was a body of flesh and blood and bone, and she could hear her own breathing. She gasped, feeling the air rush into her lungs, a hard surface pressing against her legs, something soft around her. Someone was stroking her face and saying her name.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into Cadvan's eyes. He repeated her name again, a question in his voice, and she nodded, still stunned.
"Are you all right?" He was pale, with deep shadows under his eyes, and the scar around his eye stood out lividly against his skin.
"No," said Maerad. She waited until the dizziness began to dissipate, and then pushed Cadvan away and was sick. Wordlessly he handed her a cloth and she wiped her mouth, and then he gave her some medhyl. Maerad took a long draught and sat down next to him, her back against the wall.
"He saw me," she said at last. "The Landrost. He almost destroyed me."
Cadvan nodded, his face expressionless.
She twisted around so she could look Cadvan in the face. "Was it you who laughed at me?"
Cadvan looked puzzled. "No, my dear. I could not laugh at you in such a place. I called you home. You were so very far away..."
"Someone laughed at me. He saved my life, just as I thought I was going to be crushed. No, it wasn't your voice..." Maerad frowned and took another sip of the medhyl. Her heart was no longer pounding so painfully. "I wonder who it was. It was a cold voice, very cold..."
She gasped: of course she knew who it was. The knowledge gave her the feeling that she was standing on a very high cliff. She wanted to be sick again, but at the same time she felt as if she were full of light, a strange, thrilling buoyancy.
"Was it the Winterking?" asked Cadvan, after a long silence.
Maerad nodded. "Yes," she said. "Yes. It was."

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