The Riddle

by Alison Croggon

"Aye, it could be done, if you took one with you with weatherlore and a finding sense, and if you were lucky. We have the telling of how to get there, if the Wise Kindred still dwell there. It is not just the ice and the storms and the cruel terrain to fear. There are also the Jussacks, who prey on travelers. You will need to be well armed."

  "I have some swordcraft," said Maerad. "And Barding skills as well."

  "You can ride?" asked Sirkana.

  Maerad nodded.

  "It is yet two moons before the winter solstice; it is early for snow, and this storm should pass," said Sirkana. "It would be best to go on horseback to Tlon, where the northern clans gather. From there you will have to travel by dog. There is no other way over the snow."

  "Dog?" said Maerad, with some trepidation. She harbored a deep fear of dogs. Sirkana picked up on her tone and gave her a slightly mocking glance.

  "Dharin a Lobvar, my sister's son, is an expert dog handler, and he owns a very fine team. He goes on the trading routes to the northern clans each winter. Perhaps you can speak to him; he is young and he itches for adventure."

  "Is he the Dharin I spoke to last night?" asked Maerad.

  "He was seated with us, yes. His mother is not here; she is south with the clans in Annar."

  "But that would make him my cousin." Maerad spoke softly. This was a long way from having no family at all.

  "Yes, he is. But I will not tell him of that kinship, for fear that in his gladness he might tell others. Whether you tell him after you leave Murask is up to you."

  There was a short silence. Maerad studied the strange murals in Sirkana's room, pondering how she could have such close kin in Murask and yet still feel so alien. When she looked up, Sirkana's eyes were unfocused, as if she saw something far away. Presently Sirkana blinked and seemed to return; her eyes, Maerad saw with surprise, were bright with tears.

  "Aye, he is your cousin," she said. "I think he is meant to travel along your path. But it is a heavy price."

  Sirkana would not say further what she meant, although Maerad pressed her. She merely said that Maerad would be equipped with everything she needed for her journey to the north, and that she would ask Dharin the following day if he wanted to go on the journey. Their quiet intimacy seemed to have been broken; Sirkana made it clear, without saying anything, that she wanted to be alone, and Maerad retreated to her chamber, filled with a sudden gloom.

  Maerad was eager to leave. She was free to wander wherever she liked in Murask, but everyone seemed busy with various tasks—smoking meats for the coming winter, or putting food and grain in the storage houses, or cleaning out their winter quarters—and she most often felt that she was in the way. It had started snowing again, a seemingly unending blizzard, so when she wanted to leave Sirkana's house, she used the underground tunnel that linked it to the warren of the Howe. Maerad had spent her childhood in mountain country and was not unused to snow, but she felt the oddness of this blizzard and did not need the Pilanel to tell her it was unseasonal, two months before the midwinter solstice, to have such heavy weather. She thought of the stormdogs, and the iriduguls in the Gwalhain Pass, and her heart grew heavy. A cold intelligence was aware of her, and brooded over her presence in the north; she was surer and surer of it. It felt like a shadow in her mind, inchoate but present, which intensified with the cold weather. Arkan, the Winterking, knew she was here.

  Her single pleasure was the beginning of a friendship with Dharin. As she had promised, Sirkana spoke with him privately, and the following day he came to her at the noon meal and clasped both her hands in his. Maerad looked down: his hands were enormous, her whole hand barely covering his palm.

  "Sirkana tells me you are on a quest and she asked if I would take you north, to the Wise Kindred," he said. "I will be your guide; I know the telling of the way there. No one from the southern clans has been that way since my father's father was alive. It will be a great adventure!"

  He grinned, and Maerad could not help smiling back.

  "She told me that we'd have to go by dog from Tlon," said Maerad. "I didn't know you could ride dogs."

  At that, Dharin burst out laughing. "You don't ride them, little cousin." Maerad flinched; did he know her real identity? But he used her pseudonym Mara—Sirkana had been insistent that her real identity be kept secret within Murask. "Come, after the meal I will show you. We might be using dogs all the way from Murask, the way this snow is falling, so you should get to know them."

  As he promised, that afternoon Dharin took her to see his dogs. Because of the blizzard, they went by the underground tunnels to a part of Murask that Maerad had not seen. She had assumed the Howe was perfectly round, but it was not; the dog stables, as they were called, were in another open area that was separated from the common where Sirkana's house stood. It was divided into big pens by high stone walls, and was kept apart from the rest of Murask to prevent the working dogs from hunting the livestock in the main part of the Howe. There were at least fifty dogs there, penned in groups ranging from six to more than a dozen.

  It was clear the dogs were Dharin's pride, and Maerad, who could not quite overcome her fear of them, did her best to conceal her nervousness. They were bigger than any dog she had ever seen, bigger by far than Gilman's hounds—they stood as high as her chest—and were unsettlingly like wolves.

  To Maerad's surprise, despite the bitter weather, the dogs were all curled up outside, covered in a thin drift of snow, rather than in the shelters provided for them. Even with her untrained eye, she could see that Dharin's dogs were unusually fine: all glossy-coated and well muscled, with deep, strong chests. There were fifteen of them, gray or black with thick white ruffs around their wolvish faces, and their eyes, unsettlingly, were a light, icy blue.

  "This is Claw, my leader," said Dharin, as the biggest dog shook off the snow that had curled around it and bounded up to him, its tail wagging like a puppy. Maerad had steeled herself to follow Dharin into the pen, not wanting to be thought a coward, and flinched; this close, the dog was something out of some of her worst nightmares. The dog's face was almost level with Maerad's, even as it stood on four legs before her. Its canine teeth were as long as her fingers. She could feel the dog's hot breath puff past her face as Dharin briefly stroked Claw's ears. The dog gave a short bark and Maerad jumped.

  "Do they frighten you, Mara?" said Dharin, turning quickly. "You must not show them your fear; they can smell it, and it makes them afraid. Claw, down." The dog instantly lay down on the snow, looking up at Dharin alertly, waiting for his next move or command. "Claw is the best dog in Zmarkan," he said proudly. "I have had many offers for her, but I would as soon sell my own soul. And all these"—he waved at the rest of the team—"are her puppies. I have always kept the best. It makes a good team; there are no fights on my trips. Well, not serious fights, anyway."

  Maerad nodded, her heart in her mouth. How was she to keep the dogs from knowing she was afraid? One snap from those formidable jaws would break her neck. She could use the Speech, perhaps, but she dared not; if it was impossible to lie in the Speech, it would be impossible to conceal her fear.

  Dharin disappeared inside the shed, leaving Maerad looking at the dogs. They ignored her, obviously having decided she was harmless. They all stood up, their ears erect, watching the doorway. Soon Dharin emerged carrying a side of meat, which he threw to the ground. The dogs instantly pounced on it, snarling and yapping at each other, and Maerad backed away nervously. She could hear their jaws crunching on the bones. The flesh looked very red on the white snow.

  "They are hungry," said Dharin, who seemed unfussed by what to Maerad looked like terrifying and threatening behavior. "They are fed every two days; they do not need to eat more often. And they are spoiling for exercise. They are the only creatures that do not enjoy rest." To Maerad's relief, they left the pen, although Dharin remarked indifferently that his dogs could leap the high fence if they really wanted to. "Sometimes dogs will jump into another team's pen, and that is not a good thing. N
ot my team, but others less obedient. It makes people very angry; you can lose a good dog that way."

  Maerad shuddered. Dharin's dogs were more frightening than any dogs she had ever seen. And it seemed she would have to travel with them for weeks.

  "Are they wolves?" she asked, thinking that her silence had drawn out for too long.

  "Not all wolf. Part wolf, and half wild still. Like all wild things, they must be treated with respect." Then Dharin noticed Maerad's white face.

  "Mara, they are good beasts," he said earnestly. "Even if you are afraid of them, they know that you are under my protection, and they will not hurt you. I am the boss dog."

  "I saw a man killed by dogs once, when I was a child," she said. "I used to have nightmares about it."

  Dharin looked at her thoughtfully. "That is a terrible thing. But it was not my dogs who did that."

  "No," she said. It was no use trying to explain her fear; it wasn't as if it were rational. "But if I can't stop being afraid, I can be a little brave, can't I? If you promise they won't bite me."

  "When you are with me, they will not touch you," said Dharin.

  "Well, I'm not going near them otherwise," she said.

  "Well, then, we will be all right," he answered. He looked up at the sky, which was still swirling with snow. "I somehow do not think that we will be riding horses to Tlon," he said. "This snow does not look as if it is going to stop."

  "It's the Winterking," said Maerad without thinking.

  "You think so?" Dharin gave her a surprised glance. "Well, perhaps you are right. There are many dark rumors these days, and no doubt you have other news."

  Maerad squirmed a little. Because of his massive bulk and slow deliberate movements, she had not thought Dharin especially quick, but he seemed to have unsettlingly acute perceptions. "But you can't travel in a storm," she objected, to turn the subject.

  "I have a good sled. And my dogs have run in weather worse than this," he answered. "Admittedly, on roads that I know well. I never get lost, you see; they say I am like the wild geese, who fly to the same spot each summer from the other end of the world. But true, even the best driver in the world can fall into a hole if he can't see it in front of him."

  Despite Dharin's boast about traveling through blizzards, they did not begin their journey until the snowstorm abated. It lasted for three days, dumping snow in the center of the Howe until it reached the bottom of the lower windows. Every day paths were shoveled through the snow, but most people just used the tunnels.

  Sirkana told Maerad that a winter this early had not been heard of since the days when the Winterking held sway over Zmarkan. "His power waxes," the headwoman said gravely. "I do not doubt it is him. I told Cadvan of Lirigon of this, when last he was in Murask."

  Maerad's heart gave a little flip at the mention of Cadvan's name. "Yes, he believed that the Winterking had arisen. And he said he had traveled within sight of his stronghold," she said. "It seems all but certain now."

  Sirkana gave her a narrow look. "I do not fully understand your quest, my brother's daughter. But if Cadvan of Lirigon was with you, then I do not doubt it is good. And I know you do not seek to deceive me; it is difficult to lie to me. Nevertheless, I am troubled. There is within you something that I do not recognize; it is not of the Dhillarearen; it is something else."

  "It's the Elemental blood," said Maerad.

  "Nay, it is more than that." Sirkana frowned. "Elemental blood, so it is said, is common among the Pilani. Still, I wonder greatly that you have spoken with such beings."

  "Oh, only one," mumbled Maerad, suddenly embarrassed. "The Elidhu called Ardina has spoken with me once or twice."

  "Hmmm." Sirkana's face was unreadable, and Maerad wasn't sure if she believed her or not. "There are tales that attend you, beyond your years; that is at least clear. Well, I see there are questions of high policy that are bound up with your quest, and I will not ask further. I trust you, and not only because you are my kin. I will give you what help I can."

  The warmth that flooded into Maerad's breast when Sirkana said she trusted her surprised her. She blinked, feeling her eyes prickle. It seemed the first time that anyone had said such a thing to her, and since the killing of the Bard in the Rilnik Plains, and Cadvan's death in the Gwalhain Pass, she had not even trusted herself. She turned away to hide her emotion.

  "I thank you, Sirkana," she said, her voice rough.

  "Ah, little one." Sirkana put her hand on her shoulder, and Maerad started at the intimacy of the gesture. "It is hard to bear such a burden as you bear, even for one much older than you. You are very young. We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterward."

  Maerad said nothing; she felt that if she said anything, she would burst into a storm of tears. Sirkana had guessed shrewdly at what tormented her.

  "I loved my brother," Sirkana went on softly. "And it has been a strange shock to me to meet you, my brother's daughter. But as I have talked with you, I can see his face in yours. There is much in you that comes from him. And he was the bravest man I have ever known, and the most honest."

  Now Maerad did begin to cry. Sirkana patted her shoulder until she stopped, wiping her eyes with her hands.

  "I don't know," she said despairingly. "I don't feel brave. Everything's been very hard for a long time. All my life, it seems. I wish I could remember my father better. All I can remember is—" She stopped, swallowing. "The clearest memory I have is of him being murdered. It doesn't seem fair."

  "The world is not fair," said Sirkana. "And there is nothing that can make its injustices easier to bear."

  They were silent for a while, and for that time Maerad felt closer to her than she had felt to any human being for a long time: she felt that someone saw her for who she was, and simply accepted her, in all her rightness and wrongness, as bone of her bone. Once, perhaps, her mother had looked at her like that. But she could barely remember it.

  Finally Sirkana kissed her forehead and stood up. Her gentleness vanished behind her usual austere expression. "Well, I have a dispute that I must sort out between two clans, and they are awaiting me in the Hall," she said. "I am already late."

  Maerad looked up, her lashes still wet with tears, and smiled. "Thank you, Sirkana," she said.

  "There is nothing to thank me for," she said. "You will have what you need for your journey. If your quest succeeds, perhaps I will have to thank you."

  "Not for that. For—"

  Sirkana's face briefly softened again. "I know. Remember that my love will also go with you, and may it guard you well. For your sake, as well as your father's."

  Dharin insisted that Maerad help him with gathering supplies and packing the sled for their journey. He said she should know what they were taking and where it was kept, and that she needed to be familiar with the sled before they left. She gladly assented; it gave her something to do.

  Dharin had made the sled himself, and he knew every knot of it backward. The long runners were made from single lengths of ash that he had cut and carefully warped upward at one end so that the sled would ride easily over rocks and other obstacles. The runners were each about as thick as his thumb, and he had covered them beneath with a mixture of mud, moss, and (he told Maerad later, when they knew each other a little better) urine, which froze hard and slick, and protected the wood. Up from the runners ran six stanchions, also of ash, each one higher than the last, which were joined by two parallel rails. At the back end, behind the hindmost stanchion, was a little platform where Dharin stood to drive the sled. He told Maerad that she would be sitting in front of him, and he carefully made her a comfortable seat well padded with furs, which she could simply slip into, like a foot into a shoe.

  The base of the sled was fashioned of thick wooden slats. At the front was a curved bow to protect the sled; it was made of stout wood and covered with rawhide. When he had taken the sled out of
summer storage, Dharin had dismantled it entirely and freshly lashed it together, to ensure maximum strength and because mice had nibbled the hide. The hide kept the structure flexible and strong. Over the whole he had lashed two layers of cured skins.

  Dharin explained every detail of the sled patiently, running his hands lovingly over each part of it, feeling for flaws and warpings in the wood that might have occurred during the summer. Maerad couldn't imagine herself driving it, but then, she thought, there were a lot of things she had done that she wouldn't have thought possible. Very slightly, her apprehension of the coming journey abated.

  Together they packed onto the sled what seemed to Maerad an enormous number of supplies. There were extra furs to keep them warm at night and a sort of tent made of oiled hide and springy willow wood. They stowed a lot of a tough honey biscuit baked especially for long journeys through the cold. There were also bags of the usual traveling food—nuts, dried fruits, cured meat—and several large leather bags of drinking water. They took a supply of peat and fire-making tools, and a small traveling stove, of a kind Maerad had never seen: it was made of iron, with a stone base to prevent it burning the wood of the sled.

  Maerad's pack, which had often seemed so heavy in her travels, looked insignificant compared to everything else. And yet it contained everything she owned—her fighting gear, her treasures, her lyre. By far the most space was taken up by food for the dogs. Maerad was at first surprised by how much they were taking, but Dharin explained that while horses could usually feed themselves, everything dogs ate had to be carried.

  "Unless they go hunting, but they might not catch anything, and it makes them wild," he said. "And they eat a lot. They can keep running all day. It adds up to a lot of meat. I put it at the front: it will freeze there and so it will keep."

  They stood back, both admiring their handiwork. "It looks neat, well balanced," said Dharin, his head tilted to one side. "Well, Mara, we're ready to go anytime now. Just say the word."

  Maerad looked out through the open doors into the wide yard. She couldn't see to the farther end; the view was white with snow.