The Singing Read Online Free PDF Page A

happened to Silvia.
    "Aye, aye, she's well," said Malgorn hastily, seeing the look on Maerad's face. "You mustn't worry. She's busy, but I've told her that Cadvan is here, and she will come as soon as she can. She asked after you, Maerad ..."
    Maerad sighed with relief, and sat down on the couch, cradling her glass. Suddenly she felt exhausted. Malgorn and Cadvan began to talk and she listened idly, with no desire to participate in the conversation.
    Shortly afterward, when Silvia still did not appear, Malgorn disappeared to organize beds for the two travelers. To her delight, Maerad was given the same chamber she had slept in last time she had been in Innail. A friendly woman whom she did not know gave her clean clothes. Maerad dumped her pack on the floor and immediately repaired to the bathroom where, with a feeling of inexpressible bliss, she lowered herself into the hot water and washed off all the grime of travel.
    She avoided looking at her left hand as she washed. The two fingers she had lost to frostbite made it an ugly claw, and she felt ashamed whenever she caught sight of it. She was getting used to compensating and could now do most things without too much difficulty, but she tried to keep it out of sight whenever possible. With a hand so maimed, she could no longer play music whenever she wished; and every time she glimpsed her missing fingers, she remembered her loss anew.
    Finally she dressed in the clean clothes, sighing for the sheer pleasure of the soft fabrics against her skin, and made her way to the music room. It was now full night and the lamps were lit, casting a soft glow. For this brief suspended time, she pretended nothing was wrong: that she was just an ordinary Bard, that she had never heard of the Nameless One, the Dark power who now made war on all Edil-Amarandh. Tonight she would eat a delicious dinner, and tomorrow she would resume her studies ...
    She curled up on a red couch and waited for Cadvan. Right now she was very content to be alone. This room was her favorite in the house. Though her bedchamber was her favorite room as well... and she loved the bathroom too, with its deep stone bath and bottles of scented oils and endless supply of hot water. Her gaze swept lazily across the pale yellow walls with their stenciled flowers, the musical instruments stacked casually against the bookshelves, the mullioned window, and returned to the fire in the grate, which burned brightly against the cold winter evening.
    It felt like an age since she had last been here, although it had been less than a year. Would that shy girl who had arrived last spring, ashamed of her rags and tangled hair, ignorant of Bards and Schools and Magery, recognize the Maerad who sat here now? Perhaps she would have gazed in wonder at her as at a figure out of legend: Maerad of Edil-Amarandh, the Fire Lily, who had spoken with the Elemental Ardina, Queen of Rachida, Daughter of the Moon—the same who had traveled to the very north of the world and seen cold curtains of light danc
    ing in the sky, and had escaped the clutches of Arkan, the Ice Witch, himself. Maerad the shapeshifter, who could become a wolf at will. Maerad the Chosen, the Fated, the One, whose destiny was to save Edil-Amarandh from the Dark.
    Maerad the Unpredictable, she added, thinking of an old joke of Cadvan's. But I am really quite predictable. I don't want any of these fine names. I don't want these mysterious powers that frighten good people and make the Dark hunt me down. I just want to stay where I am and to sleep in a bed with clean linen sheets and a warm coverlet. And I don't want to be cold or hungry or sad ever again.
    Although, for as long as she could remember, Maerad had always been sad.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Silvia, who stopped dead in surprise when she saw Maerad and then, when Maerad stood up, came forward and embraced her hard, kissing the top of her head.
    "Maerad!" she said, standing back and earnestly