The Naming by Alison Croggon Read Free Book Online

ever had to tune it?" he said. "I suppose you have never replaced the strings?"
    "No," said Maerad. "Should I have? I didn't know. . . . Mirlad never said ..."
    Cadvan laughed, startling her. "Oh, Maerad," he said, when he regained his breath. "Should you have strung it?" He laughed again, softly, wonder palpable in his voice. "This is a thing precious beyond the ransom of kings. What would Gilman have done, had he known such a treasure lay hidden in his small cot? It is worth ten times, no, a thousand thousand times, the worth of everything in it. Such lyres have not been made for many a long age, not since the days of Afinil. It was carved by a great craftsman. I don't know this script at all, and I know many that are long fallen into disuse; no doubt it tells the name of who made it. Instruments like these are known as Dhyllic ware, and a great potency is woven into their making. The virtue on its strings is one now long lost. I have read of these instruments, but I have never seen one. It was thought they were all lost. What a riddle you are!" He looked at her, still smiling.
    Maerad had no idea how to answer him. She was staggered.

Her humble lyre, a thing out of legend? But, suddenly serious, Cadvan reached out and patted her hand.
    "We shall have to be friends, if we are to travel together," he said. "And we must trust each other. Don't mind my teasing. Nevertheless, we must decide what to do."
    Maerad looked uneasily down at her hands and said nothing. She didn't know what to say to this man: did he mean her ill? How could she tell?
    "In any case, we won't leave here tonight," continued Cadvan. "I am still weary, truth be told. And I need to think. Here we are safe, for the time being. Rest will harm neither of us. And there is a long road ahead, whatever we decide."
    He opened his pack and drew out a lyre. "Of less noble lineage than yours, but noble enough to keep it company," he said. "And still true, and my first love." He struck some chords, tuning it, and then plucked a cascade of notes that pierced Maerad's heart. It was a song she knew well, the beginning of the tragic lay of Andomian and Beruldh, which Mirlad had taught her many years before. Cadvan began to sing the part of Andomian in a clear, beautiful voice:
    "Speak to me, fair maid!
    Speak and do not go!
    What sorrows have your eyes inlaid
    With such black woe?"
    He paused, plucking the melody, and Maerad realized he was waiting for her to respond. She was still holding her lyre, and began to play the antiphon, singing the answering verse. She hadn't played a duet since Mirlad died. They continued to sing the alternate verses of the ancient lay, Cadvan's baritone and Maerad's contralto filling the grove with music. Maeradhad the odd feeling that the trees were listening, bending inward the better to hear them.
    "My dam is buried deep
    Dark are my father's halls
    And carrion fowl and wolves now keep
    Their ruined walls."
     
    "Stay and heal your hurt
    Lay down that brow of stone
    From this day forth my hidden heart
    Will be your own."
     
    "The curse of Karak binds me
    My brothers are his thralls
    And I must turn all joy and flee
    To his foul halls ..."
    Maerad stopped, suddenly faltering. Cadvan ceased his play, and after the rippling chords of music there was a deep silence. "And so Andomian and Beruldh met, and wended their way to the dungeons of the Nameless, and there died, beyond hope or help of the Light," he said. "But none of the legends speak of his regret." He struck a sudden harsh, impatient chord. "You're right, Maerad. This is no song for such a place, unhoused, in the dark, where wers howl in the distance. You play well: you've had some good teaching, clearly, although with some odd variants. I see you know more than you choose to show. I should have expected that. We'll talk of this later."
    He put away his lyre and spoke no more for some time, and now his brow was dark and troubled. Maerad sat disconsolate, wondering if she had been