[Silvia]

hmmm you guys seem to think f for question 2 and u know ur probley right.. lol i cant think of any questions.

[Anna]

ive been thinkin of questions all day + i cnt think of any!! bit weird as i wud lyk 2 no more bout him :confused: oh well any1 else got any more questions??

[Bibliophile]

*sniff* ugg I really want to read The Riddle now but I haven't seen it anywhere mooph and why oh why do they come out so far apart I'm more obsessed with The Gift (and Eragon) than I was with Harry Potter

[Bridie]

if u live in england then go 2 a waterstones n ask if u can order it cause i dont think it costs more 2 do that

[alison]

if u live in england then go 2 a waterstones n ask if u can order it cause i dont think it costs more 2 do that

Hi Bibliophile - welcome! As Bridie says, ordering books in is (as it ought to be) cost -free. And it also serves the purpose of making the shop aware of the books, so they may stock them - especially if you mention the HP word. :D They're still very new and so bookshops will not necessarily know about them. If people go in and demand them, then they may well become easier to find - so go for it!!! I'd be very grateful indeed.

[alison]

Second extract from Lives of the Bards by Fornarii of Lirigon.

Now, it was around this time that the Bards of Lirigon began to be concerned about some disturbing, if small, incidents; and one of these happened to Cadvan. There were stories that wers had been seen in the wild lands near the Osidh Elanor, and other creatures that the Lirhanese had not names for, but which became rumours of fear. And also at this time the raids of the Jussack peoples pushed the Pilanel people out of their traditional summer grazing lands in the Arkiadera, and the the chief of the southern clans came south over the Osidh Annova and asked the Lirhan Bards and Thane for permission to graze their herds in the Rilnik Plains.

Cadvan was heedless of these things; although of course he heard gossip. Sometimes he would sit with his father at the inn and listen restlessly while the greybeards spoke darkly of bad portents. At such times, he would yearn to be at the School of Lirigon, because then, as he thought, he would learn great mageries, and would fight these evil things. But he knew better than to mention his wish to his father. Sometimes he thought of running away to Lirigon, but despite his fierce desire, he could not abandon his father. And so he learned the trade of cobbling, and frittered away his spare time, thinking up new pranks to amuse himself and his companions. And all the time, a black bitterness was nursing itself in his heart.

One day the stranger did return. Cadvan was working outside the house – it was a sunny day – and he saw him riding through the middle of the village, looking neither right nor left. When Cadvan saw him, his heart leapt into his mouth. He stood up and watched the rider. The man glanced sideways at Cadvan as he passed the house, and pulled up his horse.

“Still here then, boy?” he said, with a touch of scorn.

Cadvan stared back and said nothing.

The stranger dismounted and stared at Cadvan. “You’ll be a man soon,” he said. “And yet you still let your father tie you to his house? The world is big, my boy. You don’t belong here.”

He said no more than what Cadvan already knew, but the boy’s face darkened at the man’s mockery, and a loyalty towards his father leapt in his heart. “I am with my own people,” he said angrily. “Who are you, to speak thus to me?’

“You know my name,” said the man. Cadvan wanted to deny it, but he did know Likud’s name.

“Likud,” said Cadvan.

Likud looked pleased. “So you have some wit. Or some memory,” he said. “You have the Gift: from here I can see it is in you in no small measure. Why aren’t the Bards of Lirigon here, taking you to where you should be? They betray their duty. Your training is no business of your father’s.”

Cadvan said nothing, because he had sometimes wondered the same thing. But Bards will not take children with the Gift if their parents do not permit it.

“Come with me,” said Likud. “I have something to show you. Your father is away from home, he will not know.”

At first, Cadvan made no answer, wondering how Likud knew his father was from home. Then he said, “I have to finish mending this boot. You can come back later, if you want.”

Likud shrugged, and made to move away. But Cadvan felt a deep stubborness wake in him, and would not go anywhere until he had finished his task. He bent his head down and concentrated on his work. When he looked up, Likud was still waiting for him.

Then Cadvan carefully put away his tools, and stood up to follow Likud.

Likud led him out of the village and a short distance into a beechwood. It was high summer, and the light shone bravely on the leaves, but where Likud walked it seemed that the birdsong sank down and a shadow followed him. Cadvan felt fear settle inside him like a black bird, and he began to feel sorry that he had come. He thought about the dark things that had been talked about in the village, and wondered whether he should just turn around and go home. For everyone said that evil was gathering in the north, and he did not think that Likud was a good man. But despite his doubts, he followed him.

At last Likud stopped in a small clearing. He turned and smiled at Cadvan.

“Now,” he said. “I will show you something you have never seen before.”

He lifted his arms and between them there began to gather a darkness, as if he were making a hole in the air. Cadvan now was very afraid and wanted to cry out, but his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth and he could make no sounds, and he found his feet were rooted to the ground, and he was no longer aware of the woods or the sunshine around him. He could only watch the darkness between Likud’s arms.

The darkness thickened and roiled, and there began to be a sound like rushing wind or water. And then, to his astonishment, Cadvan saw a picture form in the darkness: and it seemed as if the picture moved and was alive. It was of a glittering city, with graceful walls and towers, which stood by a great mere so still that stars were reflected on its surfaces. The city was built of white stone so that it seemed to be carved of moonlight. And it seemed to Cadvan as if he entered the city and walked around inside it like a ghost, and that he peered through casements and saw men and women in fine robes speaking together, or making fine things; but none of them saw him.

The vision passed, and Cadvan came to, as if out of a swoon. Likud let down his arms, and the darkness disappeared. Cadvan stared at Likud with amazement.

“What is that place?” he asked.

“It is a place that is no longer,” said Likud. “By my art, you glimpsed the ancient citadel of Afinil, and it has been gone for many lives of men. Is that not wonderful?”

“Aye,” said Cadvan, caught in enchantment. He hungered to see more. “What else can you show me?”

Now Likud was a Hull, and his aims were not benevolent. He was pleased that he had enraptured the boy so, because he did not want him to be fearful. He had perceived that Cadvan had a rare and untrained talent, and he wished to bind him to himself, so the boy would be his slave.

Now that Cadvan was no longer wary of him, Likud lifted his arms again and put forth his power. But this time the spell was different, and Cadvan did not like it so much; he felt that chains of smoke were winding around his thoughts, and he felt the voice of Likud inside his own head, as if Likud’s thoughts were his own; and he thought that he would die from the black pressure in his mind.

And now Cadvan showed his native power, because he looked Likud in the eye, and, untrained as he was, he forced down the spell that would have made him a minion of Likud. And when Likud felt his own powers useless, he was then afraid of the strength of the boy; and he tried then to capture him by force, and abduct him on his horse. But Cadvan was stronger than Likud, and he punched him in the face and knocked him over, and then found in himself such magery to strike the Hull senseless. And then he stole Likud’s horse and galloped away as fast as he could.

He did not ride home, but to the School of Lirigon, which was three leagues off, and he did not stop until he clattered into the courtyard and almost fell off the horse. It is said that Nelac of Lirigon himself came running out to see what the disturbance was, and took the sobbing boy into his house and calmed him down. And Nelac then rode to Cadvan’s village and spoke a long time to Nartan: and after that, Cadvan entered the School, and no more was said about cobbling.

But that was not the last that Cadvan saw of Likud, nor he of Cadvan.

[Gemini]

oooo interesting ending :D, but i am so so tired, i'm literaly falling alseep on the keyboard and probably am lacking the coherance necessary to properly reply to this continuance of Cadvan's adventures. The bits that i can remember through this haze of sleep were good and i shall return and improve upon this horribly usless post :D.

I was thinking this mornong that it was probably Cadvan's ambition that led him to meet Likud again. You can imagine Likud saying somthing like "I can give you powers beyond what you've ever imagined" &c&c and Cadvan, who i imagine would have probably been the subject of some prejudice being the son of a cobbler and all, gratefully accepting. Again it was an interesting look into Cadvan's past, it's always fascinating to find out about characters pasts i suppose :rolleyes:.

[Silvia]

ohhh very intresting alison yay we know cadvans past but what aboutderhills past hehhehe just kidding u dont need more work to do!and i loved the ending too!!ok well thx alot for giving that background history of cadvan amybe you could make a book with the chaharcates history(excluding maerad). might not be very long though...

[peter_gia]

Very very interesting... thanks Alison for the little story on Cadvan :D ... lol maybe you should write a story of Dernhil and Cadvans rivalry and stuff like that :) ... not that you have to do it.. it seems you're busy enough right now.

[Silvia]

we seem to come up with a lot of possible novels lol.....or things for poor alison to write