The Gift Read Online Free PDF Page A

elbow in quick concern.
    “I’m sorry to drive you, Maerad, but we cannot rest here tonight,” he said. “Gilman’s hounds are no danger to us, but other things are. This is an unwholesome place. And already it grows dark.”
    Maerad shrugged off Cadvan’s hand.
Other things?
she thought.
What other things?
All the recent rumors of wers and other creatures of the night crowded uncomfortably in her mind.
    “I’m all right,” she said sullenly.
    “It is safest if we keep moving,” said Cadvan.
    The night had a cold edge, but this early it was still mild and clear. They walked for some time in silence, and as Maerad began to get her second wind, they started talking. Maerad asked Cadvan what he was doing in Gilman’s Cot, but he evaded the answer, instead asking about her life there, and whether she had earlier memories, from Pellinor. She could tell him little on that point.
    “Fragments,” she said. “A man — I think it was my father — a handsome man, tall, with long, black hair, laughing. A chair with beautiful carvings with a strange-colored light falling on it from a high window. A few scraps of music. I thought that I dreamed it.”
    “It’s no dream. The Schools are places of high learning and much beauty,” said Cadvan sadly, as if he spoke of something loved that was vanishing. “The Lore is upheld, and the Light shines over all who dwell there. But now their power wanes, and darkness reaches into Annar.”
    “What are the Schools?” asked Maerad, feeling ignorant and coarse. “Is that where you learned those spells?”
    He glanced at her, and to her confusion he laughed. “Maerad, it is so strange to me that one of the Gift should know nothing at all of the Schools.”
    “The Gift?” said Maerad. She looked down the valley; a long way before her, she could see the stars glimmering between the spurs where it ended, opening out onto the wide world, of which she knew nothing. She suddenly felt more alone than she ever had in her life; and she was so tired, more tired than she had ever been. A ball of grief rose in her throat, and she couldn’t speak.
    “Please forgive me, Maerad,” Cadvan said. “I do not mean to tease your ignorance. Perhaps more tutored, you would now be dead, and your lack of knowledge has protected you from the sight of those who would otherwise have done you harm.” He smiled at her, and Maerad, not quite understanding him, smiled wanly back. “Perhaps I should turn Loresinger for a while?” he said. “Tonight we could have an introductory lesson. It will pass the time.”
    “All right, then,” said Maerad, glancing across at the shadowy man beside her. “Tell me about the Gift.”
    They had a long way to go, but they were making good time, despite boulders and loose stones that constantly threatened to turn an ankle. The last traces of daylight were retreating from the mountains, and it was the dark interval before moonrise. Her legs felt heavy and sore with tiredness, but talking took her mind off her discomfort.
    “Where to begin?” said Cadvan. “What is the Gift? How to answer that, when nobody really knows?” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “Well, those of the Gift are like to the Loresingers of Afinil. All Bards are of the Gift, and it means they have certain powers and abilities. The most important is the Speech.” He paused. “Bards do not learn the Speech, but are born with it already living within them. In the mouths of those with the Gift, the Speech holds an innate power; it is the source of our Knowing and much of our might. Those with the Gift also live for three spans of a normal life: I am already an old man by normal reckonings, although you would not think so, perhaps.”
    “An old man?” said Maerad, looking dubiously at Cadvan. He did not look old to her; she had already guessed his age to be about thirty-five years. She wondered briefly if he was making it up, but then she thought of how he had made her invisible.
    “Not