Cadvan stumbled down the mountainside, ignoring the constant throb in his mind from the power of the Landrost

I

MAERAD

Cadvan stumbled down the mountainside, ignoring the constant throb in his mind from the power of the Landrost. How long had he been imprisoned within the rocky depths of the Elidhu's home? He had lost count of the days, tortured with the glimpses of what Annar was soon destined to become, the realization of what was to become of all those he dearly loved. He had denied this truth for so long, but he knew that the Elidhu had not been lying to him. Of course it was possible for such a horrible creature to torment Cadvan with the blackest of lies but Cadvan knew that everything he had seen was real.

He remembered the cold laughter of the Landrost as he saw the tears well in Cadvan's eyes at the images of his home. It still echoed in his ears as he pushed onward, ignoring the loud protests from his legs as he quickened his pace, eager to be rid of the enveloping blackness around his mind. He was no longer heading in any general path, having lost his sense of direction long ago. Not for the first time did the thought cross his mind that the Landrost was waiting for him, that he already knew he was coming, that he had been forewarned.

Cadvan shook his head violently, clearing his head from such poisonous thinking. Norloch would not have betrayed him and no one beside the High Circle there had known of the contents of his mission. At least, this time he would have some useful information to pass on. Every mission he had undertaken for the past years had all ended in disappointment. He had not managed to gain any knowledge of the movement of the Black Army and his frustration only heightened when he heard of the increase in the Hull's activities. Not one piece of news from Sharma's stronghold in Dén Raven had been obtained. It was as if the Dark had vanished from the whole of Edil-Amarandh and it would have been easy to believe so if it were not for the scars they left behind with the brutal sacking of Pellinor and Jerr-Niken.

A thin line of smoke rising from above the crest of a hill slightly to the west caught his attention. He tensed and sent out his hearing. There were the sounds of brooms sweeping stone floors, the silent cooking of food, a few mumbling voices, and the sound of milk sloshing around in a tin bucket. He must be at Gilman's Cot. He had heard of this place, a cruel place where many innocent people were subjected to be slaves to sustain Gilman and his thugs. He had winced away when he heard of the treatment the slaves received there. It was not a place he had ever wished to cross but now it seemed he had no choice. The Landrost could not harm him there. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment. He felt a sharp pain run through his body as he reached for his magery and caught his breath. He hastily murmured the words to make him unseen and when he was sure of his guise, approached the walls of the cot. He scanned each briefly before settling for one that did not seem that hard to climb. It was also less watched by the guardsmen, an error that might cost them dearly later. He quickly climbed the wall and landed lightly on his feet on the other side. He stood, listening again, before deciding to go in the direction of the stables. The soft sounds of the cattle grazing were the only things that could be heard there.

As he reached the stables, he saw one beast tied down, a pair of legs seen from its other side. It was a girl, much too young to be working in these conditions. Her black hair fell around her face, covering her eyes as she dozed against the cow's side. Her skin was pale, giving the girl a weak appearance. Her face was marred with a frown with whatever thoughts were crossing her mind at that moment. She was thin, very thin. It seemed that she had not had a proper meal for months.

Suddenly, the cow reared and the girl's eyes flew open as her hands scampered to the milk pail, saving it before it spilt. She tried to soothe the animal, calming it with soft words, however, the creature kept stomping and snorting, uncomfortable with Cadvan's presence. Cadvan stood still, not daring to even breathe. The girl unexpectedly looked around the byre, and froze when she saw him.

Cadvan felt his heart stop. She could see him. Had his magic failed him? Had the Landrost taken all his powers from him without his noticing? No, that was impossible. There had to another reason. The girl reached for a rushlight, hesitantly, unsure of what to do. Cadvan remained rooted to where he stood, also lost in what he should do.

"Who are you?" the girl asked sharply. Cadvan did not answer. He could not. It seemed that all sense of speech had left at that moment. His eyes met the girl's gaze and he was shocked. Her piercing blue eyes, so familiar yet unknown were filled with confusion and fear. But behind that all, Cadvan caught a glimpse of stubbornness and he almost smiled. And that was when he noticed it, something he should have seen from the moment he had spotted her. The girl was absolutely glowing. It was unlike any bard light he had ever seen, so powerful and yet irresolute. What was she doing here? And so close to the enemy's clutches. He realized that she had again asked him who he was, accusing him of being a black spirit.

"Nay," he replied. His voice was raspy from the long days of unuse. "Nay, I am no black spirit. No wer in a man's skin. No. Forgive me." He sighed, attempting to keep his eyes open. "I am tired, and I am wounded. I am not quite—myself." He attempted to smile at her, to reassure her but winced instead at the pain it caused. He was exhausted. He felt her scrutinizing him and he held her gaze, enduring her inspection before finally unable to hold his curiosity any longer, despite his fatigue. "And who are you, young witch-maiden? It takes sharp eyes to see the likes of me, although perhaps my art fails me. Name yourself."

"Who are you to ask me?" the girl snapped back, with more bravery in her voice than before. Cadvan studied her face for a moment. Yes, he had seen those eyes before, he was sure of it. He staggered as he finally recalled who's they reminded him of. Milana, Milana of Pellinor. The resemblance was unmistakable. He staggered at his discovery, but then corrected himself and smiled.

"I am Cadvan, of the School of Lirigon," he said. It was too late to pretend to be anyone else right now, and he doubted he would even remember if he switched names. "Now, mistress, how do they name you?"

"Maerad," the girl replied softly, almost whispered. She was confused again.

"Maerad of the Mountains?" Cadvan asked derisively.

"Of…of Gilman's fastness," she said haltingly. "I'm a slave here…" she added in a rush.

"A slave?" Cadvan frowned inwardly. That much he had guessed, but he did not realize how much he had hoped he was wrong until Maerad had confirmed his thoughts.

Someone was approaching and Maerad heard it now. A huge doltish man came through the door. He did not see Cadvan, much to Cadvan's relief.

"Where's that milk? What are you doing there, have you lost your wits?" he asked Maerad sneeringly. "Are you looking for the whip? If the butter doesn't turn, we'll know who to blame." Obviously, this man loathed Maerad for reasons unaware to Cadvan.

"I'm – I'm sorry," she stammered. "The cattle are restless…" Cadvan recoiled at her meekness toward this man. If she was indeed a bard, which would not be surprising by the fact that Cadvan was almost positive that she had the Gift, she should not be treated in such a way. The man watched for her for a while as she continued milking, before deciding she was working as she should and leaving. Cadvan saw Maerad relax slightly as his presence left the byre. He stood there, continuing to watch her, a million questions running through his mind. What was this girl doing here? And more importantly who was she?