The Singing Read Online Free PDF Page B

about." She smiled crookedly. "Alas, I am trying to think of good things to tell, but none will come to me."
    Looking at Silvia closely, Maerad saw that her face had lines of care that hadn't been there last spring. She hunted for something to say that might be comforting. "We're still here!" she said at last.
    "Yes, despite all. Though we have not reached the worst, I think." Silvia shook her head again, like a dog shaking off rain. "Maerad, I have almost forgotten lightness. Is that the worst thing?" Suddenly she smiled, with a spark of her normal mischief. "Of course, you are right. We are here, and the fire is bright and this room—well, this room is as beautiful as it has ever been. And we are about to eat, I am quite sure, a delicious dinner. That should be enough for any of us."
    Dinner was as tasty as Silvia had promised: roasted wild duck basted with almond oil and butter and stuffed with fresh herbs and nuts, carrots flavored with honey and rosemary, and fried cabbage with butter melting into its green and white and purple folds. That was followed by a rich latticed pie made out of the last of the winter apples. Maerad resisted the urge to gobble it all down, and savored every mouthful. She couldn't remember when she had last eaten such food: it must have been when she was in Norloch.
    By unspoken consent, all the Bards spoke about distant or pleasant things—memories of Cadvan's and Malgorn's youth, or funny stories that Silvia remembered from her childhood in a village nearby, or arguments about the relative merits of favorite songs—until they had finished eating. They returned to the music room, holding glasses of Malgorn's concoction of an apricot liqueur—like amber jewels in their hands—and settled by the fire on the comfortable red couches.
    Malgorn could not conceal his gloom, although he tried his best to be a cheerful host. At first, they did not speak about Maerad's and Cadvan's travels over the past year; Cadvan, hungry for information, wanted to know what had happened in Annar over the past few months. There was, it seemed, no good news anywhere. Bands of soldiers from Norloch, claiming to be under the orders of Enkir, the First Bard of Annar, were, it
    was rumored, roaming the land, press-ganging farmers and tradesmen and acting like brigands.
    "Enkir grows in his strength," Malgorn said. "Still many Schools support him, and none dare oppose him openly. Yet. People are more afraid of the Dark than they are of what Enkir is doing. I fear both of them, equally. As ever, the greatest resistance is in the Seven Kingdoms."
    "Enkir demands clear and unambiguous fealty from every School," said Silvia. "As if a First Bard has ever demanded such a thing! Only the kings have dared to do this, and we know what that led to—war and ruin in Annar. But we all fear that he plans to march on Til Amon, which lies most open to him. They have not, as yet, returned their pledge. As we have not. And others."
    "It's hard to keep in touch," added Malgorn, frowning. "Roads are no longer as safe as they were, and no one dares to trust letters, lest they fall into the wrong hands. And so we sift gossip and rumors, trying to discern what is true and what is not, what is likely and what is impossible ..." He fell silent and stared at the table.
    "We hear news, all the same," said Silvia. "And Bards have not completely given up traveling. The worst, of course, is the Fall of Turbansk..."
    Maerad looked up sharply. Silvia could not know that Maerad's brother, Hem, was in Turbansk, with their friend Saliman.
    "Turbansk has fallen?" Cadvan said, glancing anxiously at Maerad. "What news of that?"
    "Little, and bad," said Malgorn heavily. "We hear that the Black Army, led by the sorcerer Imank, marched on Baladh, sacked and burned the city, and then went on to Turbansk, where it laid siege; at last the city fell to the Dark forces. Now there are rumors that Imank marches north, while others say that he is moving westward to Car