The Crow

  He took a deep breath and realized that he regretted what he had said. Zelika's occasional pulling of rank was very irritating, and she was sometimes callously ignorant of how most people lived, but that was no reason to so brutally remind her of everything she had lost. He remembered that Saliman had asked him to be strong. Squabbling with Zelika probably wasn't what he had meant.

  "I'm sorry, Zelika," he said. "I'm really sorry. It's just... it's just..."

  Zelika did not turn around, but after a while she spoke in a muffled voice, which told Hem she had been crying.

  "I know. I'm sorry too. Just don't be so nasty. Things are bad enough."

  An exhausted silence fell over the whole group, and they all glumly watched Ire attempting to break open a bundle of dried strips of meat, without trying to stop him.

  "This place is sick," Hem said vehemently, at last. "You can feel it in the bones of the earth."

  "Aye." Saliman glanced at him soberly. "You say rightly, Hem. The very stones are ill. You sense the touch of the Nameless One, his ill will to all living things. It reaches deep into the earth."

  Hem looked down at his hands. "I wish that things were different," he said.

  "Aye, that we all do." Hared, who had been silently gathering together some dried fruits, bread, and smoked meat for their meal, turned and gave Hem the wolfish smile that never quite reached his eyes. "But they are not. They are as they are, Hem, and the only way things will get any better is through what we do." He waved his hands at Ire, who had given up on the meat strips and was now eyeing a date. "Keep that bird under control, Hem. I don't want his beak in our supper."

  "But what difference can we make?" Hem absently picked up Ire, who pecked his hand in token protest. Tonight he felt numbed and helpless in the face of all the suffering he had witnessed. He thought of Boran, who liked nothing better than to sit in the marketplace, drinking bitter coffee out of his little silver cups and gossiping with his friends. He should not be dead, a man so generously alive, and yet he was. The little girl from Baladh with the terrible burns. Lanik in the small haven a few days ago, in an agony only death could alleviate. Mark, whom the Hulls had wanted him to murder on that terrible night so long ago. His father, whom he could not remember. Cadvan. Countless others, whose names he did not know, who had cried out and whom Hem had tried to help, and could not.

  "It is not given to us to know what difference we can make, and perhaps we can make no difference at all. But that is no reason not to make the attempt," said Saliman quietly. "The Light shines more brightly in the darkness."

  "Hard words, my friend," said Soron. "For all that they seem gentle."

  "Not so hard, when you consider the alternative." Saliman looked up, meeting Hem's eyes, and his glance was clear and dark. "No act is without meaning. Even if the darkness swallows us utterly, I will brook no despair."

  "Despair!" said Zelika bitterly, turning around. "What else is there? I don't have any hope; I don't think we have a chance. But I'm not going to lie down and die quietly – no matter how many mauls and dogsoldiers and Hulls there are. And even if they end up killing me, I'll die cursing them."

  Her bottom lip was pushed out pugnaciously, and her eyes flashed; and with a leap of his heart Hem realized, for the first time since he had seen Zelika come out of the bathing room in Saliman's house in Turbansk, how pretty she was. He flushed and looked away, afraid he had betrayed himself, but Zelika was frowning at the floor and did not notice.

  Saliman smiled. "Spoken like a true Baladhian," he said, his voice warm and amused. "Though that's not quite what I meant."

  They ate their cold meal, and then bedded down to sleep on damp pallets. There was only just room for the five of them to lie on the floor.

  Despite his deep tiredness, Hem lay awake for a while listening to the steady breathing of his companions. Saliman had not spoken of their imminent parting, although Hem knew that the knowledge of it lay unsaid behind all his words that night. The thought of their separation weighed more heavily on Hem than anything else. It was as bad as having to leave Maerad; worse, because he knew more now than he did then, and could deceive himself less. It was, he thought, very likely he would never see Saliman again.

  Saliman and Soron rose to leave soon after they had broken their fast. They made their farewells swiftly, wishing each other good fortune. Hem hung back, made shy by the intensity of his emotion, and Saliman farewelled him last of all. He took Hem's face between his hands and kissed his forehead; as once before, his kiss lit a golden flower in the chill that numbed Hem's soul, and the boy looked into Saliman's face with a wild, despairing gratitude.

  "Go well, Hem," said Saliman in the Speech, standing back and regarding him gravely. "May the Light shine on your path."

  "And on yours," said Hem, feeling a stiff formality paralyzing his body. He took a breath, wanting to say more. Hem found there were no words: he wanted to say too much, and so could say nothing. With a sudden clumsy rush of love he embraced the Bard, clutching him hard, breathing in the spicy smell of his skin. With surprise, he realized he was almost as tall as Saliman.

  Saliman returned the embrace, holding him close, and then gently disengaged himself. He stroked Hem's cheek lightly with the back of his fingers.

  "Come, Hem! Courage, my heart." He smiled, and for a moment his expression held no trace of sadness. Hem stared at him hungrily, wanting to fix in his memory his last sight of this man he loved so much. "All is not yet lost, and hope is not dead. I say to you, Hem, we will meet hereafter, through all these shadows."

  Hem nodded, unable to speak for fear he would start sobbing and wouldn't be able to stop; and Saliman and Soron turned swiftly and climbed the iron ladder out of The Pit, vanishing strangely in the shadows as the charms embedded in the entrance began to weave themselves around their forms.

  The others were to wait until Saliman and Soron were well clear of the area before they would leave on their own mission. Hem sat on the ground, covering his face with the hood of his cloak. Zelika and Hared busied themselves, making sure the haven was left as tidy as they had found it, and double-checking their own supplies. Ire pecked around Hem's feet, searching for stray crumbs of food, but did not try to speak to him. Even he knew that Hem wanted to be left alone.

  When it was time, Hem hefted his pack onto his back and followed Zelika and Hared up the ladder and out onto the plains.

  XVII

  THE GLANDUGIR HILLS

  Now began the most dangerous part of their journey. The camp of child soldiers was reported to be several leagues southeast of The Pit, in the shadow of the Glandugir Hills, which lay before them, humped ominously against the horizon, dark purple under the haze of night sky.

  They moved on through an increasingly heavy rain, Hem's sandals slipping on the wet tufts of grass, Ire clinging damply to his shoulder. At least they didn't have to worry about mauls in these conditions, Hem thought; it was hard to keep all his senses alert, though, when he was soaked through and continuously hammered by the rain. There was no prospect, either, of even such shelter as The Pit offered; from now on they camped in the open, relying on their magery and campcraft to keep hidden.

  As they approached the hills, the vegetation thickened, and they began to make a better pace; the feathery grasses and shrubs of the Nazar were giving way to larger trees – wild almonds with bitter black fruits, shrunken, deformed cedars, and stands of twisted oak. They encountered a road of beaten earth, churned to mud by the recent passage of carts and feet. Hared paused a long time before he permitted them to go across, questing through the rain for any scent of vigilances or other sorceries.

  Hem mentally kicked himself awake, reminding himself that now they were deep in Black Army territory, and tomorrow he and Zelika would have to go on without Hared, depending wholly on their own skills. Hared had been preparing them for this all through their journey from the Caves of Burat, sending each of them in turn ahead of the group to scout for signs of danger and constantly drilling th
em in their responses; but, even so, the thought of being without Hared to guide them filled Hem with an apprehension he couldn't shake off. As Hared kept reminding them, one mistake could mean death; there was no room for error.

  As the sky began to lighten to gray, they found a grove of wild almonds huddled at the base of a large rock shaped almost like a ship. Underneath the low trees was a tangle of thorn-bushes, and they made their camp within the thicket. Beneath the dense outer leaves were thick leafless stems, which gave them a surprising amount of space, and it was comparatively dry, although the ground was covered by prickles. Lit by the ghostly glow of dawn as it filtered through the thick leaves, they ate a melancholy meal. Hem tried not to think of one of Soron's magnificent feasts as he chewed the salty meat. As they ate they spoke together in low voices, and Hared ran them through their plans for the hundredth time.

  From this point, Zelika and Hem had to scout southward a league or so, getting as close to the camp as they could. Hared wanted to find out, if possible, how big the camp was, how the Hulls were training the captured children, and where they were being taken.

  "If you can find any evidence of other camps, that would be good. But anything you see will be useful," he said. "Do nothing foolhardy; I want you to come back. The dead might not betray anyone, but they can't tell you anything useful either." He grinned, and Hem supposed Hared was making some kind of grim joke. "Remember what I've taught you. You've been good students, I'll give you that; make sure it doesn't all fly out of your heads the instant you meet real danger."

  Zelika, who had barely said a word since they left The Pit, nodded seriously. It was as if she were sharpening herself, Hem thought, focusing her will with an iron discipline that impressed him. He knew how single-minded she could be, but he had never seen her so contained.

  "I'll meet you back here in three nights' time, and we'll decide our next move from there, depending what you've discovered. If you can't get back yourselves for some reason, send Ire." He looked at the crow and spoke to him: Remember this place, crow. If the others get lost, you guide them here.

  I never get lost, said Ire, and cawed complacently. 7 am the King's Messenger.

  You're the messenger of a pretty poor king, if your livery's anything to go by. Hared looked over Ire's mottled feathers with sly amusement. Well, make sure you don't get lost, he said. Three nights – I'll meet you here.

  Ire ruffled his wings in indignation, but didn't answer back. Hared was one of the few human beings who intimidated him.

  After their meal, they prepared for sleep on the prickly ground. Even through Hem's thick cloak the thorns stuck into his skin, and he shifted around restlessly, trying to find a comfortable spot. They were taking watch in shifts; Hared was first. Hem lay on his back and stared upward into the gray tangle of thorns.

  With a pang, he thought of Saliman and wondered how he and Soron were faring. Well, there was no time for regret now. He had decided on this course, he had chosen it against Saliman's advice, and now there was no turning back. He simply had to do the best he could. And then his thoughts moved to Maerad, now guideless on her own quest. Where was she? Was she still alive? He found himself suddenly listening with all his strength, as if he could catch through the hundreds of leagues that separated them some faint echo of her voice; but he heard nothing except the dry whisper of the wind in the trees.

  * * * *

  They left the thorn thicket as soon as darkness fell the following night. Hared bid them leave without ceremony. "Good luck/' he said. "I'll see you soon." Hem was grateful for his brusque-ness; it somehow made everything more ordinary, as if they were simply about to perform some mundane task. Hem and Zelika glanced at each other, took deep breaths, and stole out into the night.

  Tonight there was no rain, and a thin new moon threw tangled shadows over their path. The children planned to head south through the edges of the Glandugir Hills. They had been warned not to go too deeply into the hills, as they were perilous with weird, half made creatures – beasts that, like the death-crows, had been twisted awry by the poison in the land. They crept along under the cover of the trees, checking and recheck-ing their surroundings. Ire flew overhead, hopping from tree to tree and acting as a lookout. Hem kept in mindtouch with him, so they were in continual silent conversation.

  They made good progress through the first half of the night, and when they paused for a quick meal, Hem said as much to Zelika. She frowned at him. "Don't test our luck," she whispered. "We have a long way to go yet."

  Zelika's caution was borne out a little later when a winged creature crashed out of a tree in front of them with a hoarse scream, knocking Hem to the ground. Ire screeched as Hem rolled instinctively, somehow drawing his sword. He sprang back to his feet, his heart hammering, but before he could do anything, Zelika had slashed its head off, and the thing collapsed to the ground in a twitching tangle of limbs and dry, insectile wings. It was the size of a large dog and its naked skin glowed slightly, emanating an eerie reddish light. Hem saw with a shudder that it had long, savage teeth, and it seemed to have too many legs.

  He didn't have time to register anything else, as another appeared out of nowhere, suddenly filling the blank air in front of him. It snapped at his face and Hem felt its teeth clash together, almost grazing his ear, as he ducked and thrust out his shortsword. It reared backward and fell to the ground with a scream, transparent matter spraying from one of its eyes, and Hem brought his sword whistling down through the air and split its head in two as Ire burst out of the leaves above, ready to defend his friend. The thing made horrible slobbering noises as it twitched in its death agony, but Hem took no notice; he was looking into the dark trees, wondering if anymore were coming. The woods were ominously silent.

  After a while Zelika wiped her blade and put it back in her scabbard.

  "Are you all right?" she said.

  Hem nodded. He was only bruised.

  "We'd better get away, then. That made a terrible noise; who knows what heard us."

  "I wonder what they were?"

  "Some filth. Hared warned us. Come on."

  They went swiftly, without looking back. Hem took a deep breath, trying to settle his jangling nerves; he was beginning to feel a delayed shock. Zelika's mouth was set in a firm line, and she seemed unshaken; Hem wished he felt as steady.

  That was no beast, said Ire scornfully into his mind. That was an unbeast. Twisty and nasty.

  Keep your eye out for more, Hem said. It's your watch, the trees. You should have seen that.

  It hid itself, Ire answered. It twists the shadows.

  Doubling his alertness, Hem thought about what Ire had said. He was troubled that he hadn't had any sense of the creatures before they were attacked, and even more by how the second one had so suddenly appeared in front of him. Whatever they were, these creatures had strong powers of concealment: glimveils, probably, from what Ire had said. The hair on his neck bristled, as if they were being watched by something unseen, but, he thought, it could also be simple fear. He didn't like these woods. He thought that the trees moved when there was no wind.

  His nausea became much worse after that encounter, but he pushed it away by sheer will. He scented sorcery, but not close by; and the sound of footsteps marching some way off made them hide for a long time, fearing their skirmish had been heard by guards. But, slowly and steadily, they made progress.

  When the sky began to lighten, they stopped. They found a camp like the one they had slept in the night before. Once they stopped walking, Hem dropped to his knees and was overwhelmed by a bout of dry retching. Zelika watched him with concern, saying nothing.

  "It's all right," he said at last, sitting up. "It's just that this place makes me feel sick. It's poisoned here."

  "You have to eat," said Zelika. "Otherwise you won't be able to walk."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Eat."

  Zelika put some plain biscuit into his limp hands. Hem met her unrelenting stare, swallowed, and bega
n slowly to chew.

  After an uncomfortable sleep interrupted by false alarms, they continued their journey. Both Hem and Zelika were very tense. Fearing more attacks by the Glandugir creatures, they stayed as close to the edge of the tree line as they dared, keeping in sight the lighter strip of the dirt road that ran parallel to their course. Twice that night patrols of dogsoldiers marched past, close enough for Hem to smell them – a mixture of iron, fire, sorcery, and stale sweat that made him flinch. There was no rain to cover them, but the night was chill, and clouds hurried over the waxing moon, which rode high in the sky. Once a lone rider, perhaps a Hull messenger, galloped south, its black cloak billowing behind. At each sighting the children hid in foliage that seemed pathetically inadequate cover, trembling for fear that their presence would be sensed.

  According to Hared's instructions they were to come across the camp soon, and should be able to overlook it from the hills. They had been told not to approach it too closely, nor take any risks; whatever they saw from their vantage point would have to be enough. "No heroics," he had said. "Heroes tend not to return."

  Hem noticed that the clearings they crept through now were not natural: once he stumbled over a tree stump, almost completely covered by brambles and evergreen creepers. Trees here had been cut down to build something. And at the darkest hour of the night they came over a rise and saw a spot of red fire on the plains beneath them. They squinted and made out the darker outlines of a camp against the black landscape. They had reached their destination. If it hadn't been for the single guard fire, they might have passed it altogether in the dark.

  Now they needed to make a hide, so they could watch unobserved. Hem found a thicket on a small hillock that he thought was perfect for their needs, but Zelika said it was too close to the road. They had a brief but furious argument, conducted entirely in whispers, before they settled on another thicket without such a good view of the camp, but a bit farther back toward the trees.