The Singing Read Online Free PDF

examining Maerad's face. "What a relief! When I was told only Cadvan had arrived, I feared the worst... but here you are!"
    Maerad smiled with pure happiness. "Here I am!" she said. "And it's so good to be here. Innail is as beautiful as I remembered."
    "Aye. But things have changed since last you were here." Silvia's clear brow briefly darkened, but she shook her head, putting those thoughts aside. "But—wasn't there a wolf? Malgorn said Cadvan had lost his mind and insisted on bringing a wolf into the house."
    Maerad laughed. "That was me," she said. "Cadvan didn't want anyone to know that I was here."
    Silvia stared at Maerad for a time without speaking, her face expressionless. "You?" she said at last.
    "Yes." Maerad gazed back at Silvia with a stab of sadness, feeling again the gulf that lay between her and those she loved. "I can shapeshift. It's one of the things I have found out about myself." She wondered whether she should tell Silvia about her Elemental self, those inborn powers that made her different from other Bards—but she couldn't, for the moment, face the thought. Bards deeply distrusted the Elidhu, the Elemental entities whose ways had long been sundered from humankind, and Maerad felt she couldn't bear to see the doubt it would raise in Silvia's face. Another time. "It's part of—part of my Gift."
    "I can see that there's an interesting story to tell," said Silvia. "We can do that over dinner. Malgorn's arranged it, so it's sure to be good—even in these hard times, we in Innail take pride in our table." She smiled, reaching for Maerad's hand, and went still with shock. Blushing, Maerad pulled back her hand and concealed it again in the folds of her dress, where she had kept it hidden from Silvia's eyes. Very gently, Silvia reached out and took her maimed hand, pressing it between both of her own.
    "Oh, Maerad," she said, her voice hoarse with sorrow.
    "It—I lost some fingers in the cold," said Maerad awkwardly. "It's all right. I can do most things."
    "But you can't play your lyre with your hand like that!" said Silvia, putting her finger straight on the deepest wound. "My dear. I am so sorry... Oh, this world!" she cried with sudden passion, her eyes brimming with tears. "It is filled with such hurts!"
    Maerad, her face averted, had nothing to say. But Silvia gathered her into her arms and hugged her again, and then said, her voice muffled by Maerad's hair, "And it is full of such joys, and we must not forget those. I thought of you every day, and feared I would not see you again. I am so glad that you are back." Suddenly she became brisk. "I think that both of us need something to drink. Or at least, I do. I'm pretty sure there's wine in here somewhere ..."
    She went over to a table by the window, where a carafe stood next to some glasses, and poured two drinks. She handed a glass to Maerad, lifted hers in salute, and took a long draft.
    "It has been a hard year, Maerad," she said. "And we have had our own losses. But I doubt that my year has been as hard as yours."
    "It has been hard," Maerad answered, thinking back. "But I'd rather hear about what has happened here."
    Silvia sighed, and looked down at her wine, swirling it thoughtfully in her glass. "We lost Oron," she said, naming the First Bard of Innail.
    Maerad drew in her breath, remembering Oron's stern, iron-gray head, her straight back, her kind authority. "How?"
    "A battle near Tinagel. Innail has been much afflicted by bands of marauders down this side of the mountain, men mainly, but also some wers. They mounted a big assault on Tinagel, attacking the townspeople at night. They weren't entirely unprepared, but it was a hard battle. Oron went to help the defense, with many other Bards. They destroyed the attackers. But Oron did not return." There was a slight catch in Silvia's voice, and she sighed. "She is sorely missed. Malgorn is First Bard now, which doesn't sit easily on him. He worries overmuch. Not that there isn't much to worry