After Cadvan's abrupt departure, Maerad felt refreshed enough to pen three more poems from the book that Dernhil gave her. Writing was beginning to come easily to her and her script was becoming more elegant. Recently, she found that she actually enjoyed writing: the way the quill rested comfortably in her hand, the sound of the point scratching lines into the parchment; it was a very soothing process and Maerad often used this time to contemplate things.
After she'd finished, she packed up her belongings and made her way out of the School, towards the market. She had a new appreciation for the people of Innail: not all of them were Bards, but they all had fought valiantly in their own rights. Some had lost their farms, homes, and even families but they made the choice to stand beside her, willing to sacrifice their lives for her cause and for that she was forever grateful. The war had taken a visible toll on them: the women were more skittish, and the men were often scarred, but she could see hope beginning to blossom in their eyes once more.
As she walked through the streets, she took a moment to notice all of the little things that she would have normally passed by: the gray cobblestones that made the streets, the smell of fresh produce filling the air with its pungent sweetness, and the laughter of children playing in the streets. As a group of them passed her, she saw their eyes widen to the size of saucers.
"Happy birthday, Lady Maerad," a boy no older than seven winters said. Stopping before her and bowing low in respect.
"Yes, happy birthday, my Lady," a little girl with blonde hair chirped, before handing her a small yellow flower. "Papa and I grew it in our garden," she said proudly. Maerad felt herself blush slightly, but she smiled and took the bloom from the girl, pinning it in her hair. How was it that these children knew of her birthday? She had only told Cadvan and Silvia a few weeks before. Her answer came when she remember how quickly the rumors started about her and Cadvan during her first visit to the town; news traveled fast in Innail, and good news even faster.
"Oh, how kind of you both; thank you," Maerad replied shyly.
The children bowed once more and took off running, chattering happily about their run-in with the Maid of Innail. For a while, Maerad idly browsed the shops, not looking for anything in particular, just using it as an excuse to let her mind wander. She was admiring a doll made of pieces of silk and ribbons when the shopkeeper saw her,
"These are the finest dolls in all of Annar," the older man smiled. "Does this one interest you, Miss?"
"It is lovely, yes, but I am too old to play with toys," Maerad said. Often she wondered if she had such fine toys as a child in Pellinor.
The shop keeper's eyes softened, seeing the look of distance in her eyes, "Nonsense. It is never too late to remember one's childhood. Take it: I insist," he gestured to the doll that was now in her hands, "It could go to no one more deserving than you." Maerad thanked him and smiled weakly: her childhood was not something she enjoyed remembering.
As she walked, she tucked the doll into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. It seemed like every time she turned a corner someone was wishing her well and bowing, or offering her gifts, all of which she politely declined. Knowing that so many people were making such a fuss over her made her uncomfortable; she would rather go by unnoticed.
If she had hoped for solace at the Bard house, she was sadly mistaken; as soon as she walked in the door she was wrapped tightly in Silvia's arms. Maerad could see that she had, indeed, been very busy; her auburn hair was thrown carelessly in a bun and her apron was strained with flour and other indistinguishable substances.
"Happy birthday, my dear girl!"
Before Maerad could reply, her brother, Hem burst through the door looking as if he had ran all the way from the School.
"Oh, Maerad, I'm so happy for you!" he said, hugging her so tightly that it forced most of the air from her lungs.
"Hem…Hem...thank you, but I'm not sure what you're so excited about," she replied, gasping.
Hem laughed, "There's no sense in hiding it from me, Maerad. I have already spoken to Cadvan."
"He must have told the boy about your birthday," Silvia said quickly. If Maerad had eyes behind her she would have seen the stern look that Silvia was directing at her brother. Her normally soft features were tense in warning.
"Oh…yes…of course, your birthday," Hem recovered, running a hand nervously through his hair. Maerad cocked an eyebrow in suspicion; everyone was being so peculiar today.
"At least you know when your birthday is," Hem continued, sounding a bit jealous, "I was too young to remember mine." Maerad sighed and smiled at him. Hem was more than a head taller than her now and he was beginning to look more like a young man every day.
"Trust me, brother; if I could share all of this fuss with you, I would. I do not like all of this attention."
Silvia ushered them into the kitchen and put plates of cold meat and cheese in front of them before continuing to prepare for the feast.
"Maerad, the people of Innail have had very few opportunities to celebrate in the last few years and your birthday gives them the opportunity to share their good wishes with you. Without you, all of Annar would have fallen into unspeakable Darkness," she said, stirring a large pot of stew, "And it is your day to share with whom you wish."
"Then I wish to share it with Hem," Maerad said surely, looking to Hem to judge his reaction, "My birthday shall also become his. That is, if he wants it."
Hem looked up from his plate in shock, his cheeks stuffed with food, which he swallowed loudly after some time, "Really, Maerad? You would share your birthday with me?"
She nodded, "I couldn't have released the Treesong without you. You had just as much hand in saving the world as I did."
Hem stood up so quickly that he almost knocked his now empty plate off the table, "Oh, Maerad, you really are the greatest. Thank you! I'm going to get ready right now!" He kissed the top of her head quickly before dashing away. Silvia smiled to herself before taking away the plates. Maerad stretched, feeling content now; she dismissed herself from the table and grabbed her pack before heading to her room to take a much-needed nap.
Back at the School, Cadvan and the other members of The First Circle were deep in conversation,
"Turbansk must be rebuilt. With Norloch's allegiance still unknown, the people need a new center of the Light," said Malgorn, his words seeping with authority.
"Why not make that center Innail? We held strong during the Landrost's attacks. There is no place that the Light shines brighter than here," said Indik proudly. "And besides, why should we help Turbansk? We received no aid from them when we were in need."
"They had their own battles to fight, Indik. It might be wise to remember that before you pass judgment on them," said Cadvan evenly, attempting to keep his temper in check, "I have received word from Saliman of Turbansk that wild men threaten to invade. The city's defenses are weak; many of the people fled during the first attack on the city, and a few Bards cannot hold off hundreds of starving wild men for long."
It was then that Nelec of Lirigon replied, "Innail is too small of a city to accommodate the throngs of young Bards that would flock to study at the center of the Light, Indik. Have they tried using peaceful means to communicate with the wild men? If they are hungry, they should be fed."
Cadvan nodded curtly, "Saliman says the Bards continue to bring them any food that they can spare, but the wild men grow restless. He fears that a new leader has emerged and is organizing an attack in order to claim land."
"This information is greatly appreciated, Cadvan. We will discuss any more on this matter at a later date. Do you have any more news to share, my friend?" Malgorn asked, putting an end to the discussion before it got out of hand.
"Yes, Saliman also mentions that Til Amon still holds strong against The Black Army. When Sharma was destroyed, all of the leaders of the Army were as well, which we know. Recently, there have been whispers that those who once followed Enkir now move to control The Black Army. I fear what would happen if this were true."
"We cannot act on whispers, Cadvan. Until we know for sure, we do nothing," Malgorn replied. Cadvan moved to interject, but the First Bard held up his hand to silence him and he held his tongue. In truth, this gossip left Cadvan feeling uneasy, this was saying a lot because he often paid little attention to such trivial things. He had seen something like this happen before: Enkir was able to corrupt enough people to invade and destroy Pellinor. Who's to say that his poisonous teachings haven't done the same to those who followed him in Norloch? If those Bards took control of what was left of The Black Army, Til Amon would surely fall.
The rest of the meeting passed without incident and Cadvan found himself unconsciously stroking a small, velvet pouch that rested comfortably in his pocket. When they were dismissed he rose from his seat and made his way to the Bard house as quickly as he could. He had not gotten very far before he heard Malgorn call his name.
"Cadvan, wait just a moment!" He stopped and allowed his friend to catch up to him,
"I just wanted to make sure that you took no offense to my curtness this afternoon. If it were solely up to me, I would send soldiers towards Turbansk tomorrow; but politics complicate the matter."
"Your apology is not necessary, Malgorn. I understand the position you are in and I have nothing but respect for you. I was just relaying what I had been told," Cadvan replied.
"And I value your information and advice, Cadvan, above anyone else. Which brings me to my next request: I want you to rise as my First Consul. I trust you more than any other Bard in the land and I know you will act justly when I am unavailable."
Cadvan felt his mouth drop open in shock; he knew Malgorn valued his opinion as a friend, but as First Bard, it was hard to believe that he had been extended such an honor. He usually shied away from positions of leadership because of his dealings with the Dark, but things were different now.
"I would be honored, Malgorn. If you feel I am worthy then I will gladly accept your offer," he said smiling widely.
"I was hoping you would say that," Malgorn chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder, "Now, enough talk of this. We have a feast to attend!"