Free The Singing by Alison Croggon Page A

stood for a moment, listening to the howls of the wind.
    "Well," Cadvan said, picking up Darsor's reins. "Once more into the storm, Darsor; but at least this time there's hay at the end of it." He turned to Maerad. "Better here than outside," he said. "But still, I have a feeling it's going to be a long day."

 

     
     

Chapter IV

 

     
     

WEATHERLORE
     
     
    THEY rode the short distance to the stables at a gallop, fighting the wind all the way, and one of Indik's apprentices, looking pale, took the horses in hand. There they threw on some dry clothes from their packs, in one of the empty stalls: there wasn't time to run to the Bardhouse. That morning when she had dressed, Maerad had only thought of warmth: it had been foolish, she reflected, not to put on her mail coat. Now she slipped it over her head with a shiver. While she rummaged in her pack, her hand clasped the blackstone, sliding across its strange surface. She didn't like touching it, and dropped it at once. Then she picked it up, more slowly, and put it around her neck.
    Maerad peered out of the stable door into the chaos beyond: even in the short time they had spent in the stables, the storm had worsened. It was now almost as dark as night, although it couldn't have been much past midmorning, and the air was bitterly cold. Torn branches and other objects were skidding down the narrow roads between the buildings. It looked dangerous simply to step outside.
    "Shield yourself, Maerad," said Cadvan in her ear. "We're going to have to make a run for it, and you don't want to be knocked over by a flying tree."
    She paused for a moment, shielding herself with magery, and then she and Cadvan left the warm refuge of the stables and began to run to the Watch House. The shield protected Maerad from the storm, and the light of the magery made it a little easier to see, although it was disconcerting when leaves and other debris blew straight at her face and then slid past. Rain, hail, and sleet were driven so violently by the wind that they spurted horizontally from the eaves of the buildings. Maerad heard a crash behind her—a tree, probably, falling onto a house or a wall. She didn't look back. Even with her shielding, the storm was terrifying. Such a storm could only be summoned by the Landrost. This, Maerad thought, is why Bards distrust the Elidhu: this blind, amoral power, turned to utter destructiveness.
    They were almost at the Watch House, a small stone tower which rose over the gates, when a terrible shriek sounded almost in Maerad's ear and something hit her shield from behind. Even protected as she was, she was almost knocked sprawling, and she called to Cadvan as she leaped sideways, backing up against a wall and drawing her sword. She couldn't see what had hit her, but she had felt a deathly cold, of a different quality from the freezing air, push past her like a wave.
    Up, said Cadvan into her mind. Did you not see the wings?
    I didn't see anything, Maerad said. And my hearing doesn't work in this noise.
    Wers, I think, said Cadvan. And flying... they must have come over the wards. He was squinting into the sky. With this magelight, we're clear targets. I can't see anything up there, but that thing came down out of nowhere. I'd barely sensed it before it was gone...
    Maerad was surprised to find that she wasn't afraid. The Watch House isn't far, she said.
    Cadvan nodded, and they made a final dash, zigzagging down the street like rabbits dodging an eagle. Two guards stood by the door, sheltered very minimally by a porch, and let them in without comment.
    "There are winged wers out," Cadvan shouted over the wind as they entered the door. "Beware."
    One of the guards nodded to indicate he had heard, but he didn't look alarmed. He was probably too cold, Maerad thought; the skin on his face looked blue.
    The door swung shut, and the sound of the storm was suddenly muted. Maerad sighed unconsciously with relief: the screaming of the wind was almost as