Free The Bone Queen by Alison Croggon Page A

man, and I’m weary, and now I must seek my bed.”
    “One thing seems very clear,” said Dernhil. “We have to find Cadvan. Do you know where he went?”
    “I have no idea where he might be,” Nelac said. “He wouldn’t even tell me what direction he intended to ride in. He could be anywhere between the northern wastes and the Suderain.”
    “Typical of Cadvan, that he should make everything even more difficult than it already is,” said Dernhil, as he stood up to take his leave.
    Nelac smiled. “He was always one of my more vexatious students. And, in truth, one of the most loved. Not that he ever knew that. But then, he ever knew himself but slenderly.”
    Dernhil shrugged. “In that at least, he and I are alike,” he said. “It is a painful knowledge.”

VII
    T HE horseman trotted into Jouan as the sun vanished into a long summer twilight. Although there was only a sliver of a moon, it wasn’t dark: the stars blazed so brightly their light cast shadows on the ground. Children playing tag in the village street stopped to watch the horseman, wondering what his business was: this wasn’t one of the coal traders, and he certainly wasn’t a miner. His horse looked fleet and fine-boned, unlike the labouring animals that pulled the drays and windlass, and one boy swore he saw a flash of gold under the rider’s dark cloak.
    Outside the tavern, the horseman stopped and looked around, as if he were uncertain what to do next. He noticed the children and beckoned. The oldest boy came forward cautiously.
    “I’m told a man called Cadvan of Lirigon lives in this village,” said the stranger, in an accent the boy couldn’t place. “Can you tell me which is his house?”
    “Who wants to know?” said the boy, more boldly than he felt.
    “A friend,” said the horseman. “An old friend…”
    The boy looked up into the rider’s face, but it was shadowed and he could make out nothing. He shrugged. “I don’t know no Cadvan of Lirigon,” he said. “But our cobbler’s called Cadvan. Maybe he’s the man you want. He lives in the second to last house in the village, next to Taran. You’ll know it by the apple tree outside, the trunk is split.”
    It didn’t take long to find the apple tree and the house. Cadvan was sitting alone on the porch, with a mug of cider at his elbow. Yellow light spilled through an open door, half illuminating his face so his eyes seemed to glitter in deep shadow. When he saw the stranger, his body tensed and he sat up, watching silently as the rider dismounted and knotted the reins at the horse’s neck so it wouldn’t trip, before walking slowly up to him. The light from the house fell on his face and Cadvan recognized him. If he was startled, he didn’t show it.
    “Dernhil,” he said, as casually as if he had been expecting him.
    “Cadvan,” said Dernhil, nodding.
    There was a short silence while the two Bards studied each other. Their faces betrayed no emotion. At last Cadvan stood up, reaching out his hand in greeting.
    “Welcome, friend. Will you join me?” he said, with a stiff formality. “I can only offer cider, I’m afraid, but it’s crisp and good on a night like this.”
    “I thank you, but I should settle my mare first,” said Dernhil. “She has borne me far today.”
    “I fear I don’t run to stables in this establishment,” said Cadvan. “You should try the tavern.”
    “I will,” said Dernhil. “I thought only to find your house, not you. May I come back later?”
    “Tonight?”
    Dernhil nodded.
    “Why not?” Cadvan lifted his mug. “We could talk over … old times.”
    Dernhil heard the bitter mockery in Cadvan’s voice, but didn’t respond. He remounted Hyeradh and disappeared into the deepening dusk. Cadvan poured himself another cider. Now that Dernhil had gone, he found his hands were shaking.
    Of all the people in the world who might have turned up in Jouan, he thought, the last he would have expected to see was Dernhil of Gent. Yet