The Crow (17 page)

In his excitement, Hem's voice rose and he woke Zelika, who turned over and then sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sure the birds would help us. They've all had to hide. Where are they? Couldn't they help us? And there are at least as many of them as the deathcrows – "

"What are you talking about, Hem?" said Zelika.

"Even if the birds could help us," said Saliman, "there is no time to gather them. Already Imank is making the first move. The Black Fleet threatens us, as I feared, and the forces of Den Raven move now on the city walls. And many people sicken from the plague the deathcrows brought with them; the healers are hard pressed – "

"I've got time!"

Zelika scrambled out of bed and stood next to Hem. "I think it's a good idea," she said. "I could help too, since you won't let me fight. You promised me armor," she said reproachfully. "And I haven't got any."

"You can't speak to birds," said Hem scornfully.

Zelika cast him a look of dislike. "So? I could still help. But it would make a difference, wouldn't it? Unless you think those deathcrows are all dead. They get in the way of the archers, don't they? How can anyone defend the city when they've got these horrible crows raining down on their heads? It's a really good idea."

"What is there to lose?" said Hem.

Both the children stared at Saliman, their eyes shining.

Saliman put up his hands to silence them. "All right, all right! Yes, you're quite correct, Zelika. The deathcrows impede us, and if we could stay their attacks it would help us considerably. But first, Hem, let me look at you. I can't believe that you have recovered so quickly."

Hem consented with bad grace to sit down on the bed while Saliman felt his forehead and pulse and inspected his irises. When he had finished, he shook his head.

"I know I'm a good healer," he said. "But you must have some special strength, Hem. I can't see anything wrong. Unless this disease runs its course very quickly."

"I told you I was fine," said Hem crossly. Ire cawed sharply. "And we're hungry, and I don't know where my clothes are. But I should speak to the birds first. We don't have any time... But I can do that now!"

He ran to the window and wrenched open the metal grille, and, putting forth all his summoning power, called out in the Speech,
Where are you, birds of Turbansk? Come to me!
He paused, listening, and then called out again. Ire jumped from the chair and perched on his shoulder, but this time Hem did not shrug him off.

Saliman was shaking his head, but he was smiling. "I'll leave you to your summoning, Hem. Breakfast is on its way here, never fear. For you, too," he added, looking at Ire. "Your clothes are at the end of the bed, Hem, if you care to look. Many things call me now, and I cannot stay."

"What about my fighting gear?" said Zelika belligerently.

"That too is on its way. I have not been idle. Farewell! I will return soon."

He left the room hurriedly, and Zelika turned to watch Hem. Nothing happened for a long time, and she began to feel disappointed.

"What if they don't answer?" she said at last. "Maybe the deathcrows killed them all. Anyway, where could they have hidden?"

"Shhhh!" Hem turned from the window with his fingers on his lips. "But – "

"Be quiet, I tell you!"

Hem's expression was so fierce, even though he whispered, that Zelika was immediately silenced. In the quiet she heard a small cheep, and Ire cocked his head and cawed inquiringly. Then there was a sudden rushing noise, and the window darkened. For a terrible moment Zelika thought the deathcrows had returned for another assault, but then she saw it was dozens of other kinds of birds. Those that could landed on Hem's arms and head, and the others hovered outside the window or perched in the courtyard outside or in the bedroom. She was confused by their variety: it seemed that every kind of bird she had ever seen was suddenly there, from tiny brown finches to magnificent white egrets, from hook-beaked buzzards to iridescent pigeons, from eagles to crows. But she saw enough to notice there was only one of every kind. A hubbub of birdcalls filled the room.

Zelika stared in awe; she hadn't known Hem possessed such powers. The boy spoke, and the birds listened, their eyes bright, and then there was another chaos of birdcalls. He spoke again, and the birds took off in another rush of wings, and were gone so suddenly that Zelika blinked.

Hem turned, his face shining.

"I told you! I knew they'd help!"

"So what did they say?" asked Zelika.

"They are frightened and angry." In his excitement, Hem had forgotten his modesty. He had thrown off his nightshirt and was hurriedly pulling on his clothes. "They fear the deathcrows greatly. They say the deathcrows are not birds at all. I told them that if they work together, they could keep the skies clear. They go now to speak to the other birds, and the falcons and eagles will spy out the deathcrows, to find out where they come from and how many they are. They'll return soon with their answers."

For once, Zelika couldn't think of anything to say. She had never seen Hem so sure; usually he was a little boastful, a bright veneer of confidence that Zelika guessed sardonically was underlain by uncertainty.

When breakfast arrived soon after, hot honeyed dohl in silver bowls, and some raw meat for Ire, they all ate hungrily. Hem was restless, keeping one eye on the window, and when a pelican flapped heavily down and perched on the sill, he jumped up immediately to greet it. The huge bird filled the window, its yellow beak almost as long as Hem's arm. They spoke briefly, and the pelican departed, leaping off the sill and spreading its huge black wings. Hem came back to finish his breakfast, his face flushed.

"It's going to work," he said. "The pelican is the king of them, I think. He calls himself a name that means Feather of the Sun,
Ara-kin.
The birds gather now. He said the deathcrows are beyond the Black Army, on some hills near a forest and a small lake."

"That's probably the Jiela Hills," said Zelika, frowning. "I think."

"He says they prepare for another attack this morning. There are Hulls moving among them. Where's Saliman? He should know this." He waved his spoon impatiently. "The birds of Turbansk are gathering swiftly. I've told them to keep the carrion back from the walls. They can attack them from above, as they fly toward the city. They can't fight them where they are, on the ground, because the Hulls would blast them out of the sky."

Saliman arrived shortly afterward, followed by two palace aides who carried bundles wrapped carefully in cloth. Hem at once told him what he had done, and Saliman listened in silence. When Hem had finished he said nothing for a time, and simply stared at Hem with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

"You think like a general, Hem," he said finally. "Well done. It may yet work, the Light willing."

Hem flushed with pleasure at Saliman's praise.

"There is news," added Saliman. "The assault on the harbor is beginning, as I thought, even as it also begins on the outer walls. I am in haste: I am needed elsewhere. Here are your arms." He gestured, and the aides came forward and began to place their burdens on the bed. They carried arms and armor in the colors of Turbansk.

"It was not so hard as it might have been to find some your size," said Saliman. "But remember you bear royal arms – wear them with respect! These were made for the sons of Har-Ytan when they were your age."

Hem stared at the gear, his attention suddenly caught. The light through the window struck off the golden sun emblazoned on the shields, and he blinked, dazzled.

"Hem, Zelika, if you wish to see what is happening you can climb the Red Tower. I will be at the harbor, but do not seek me unless you have real need, and send Ire if you do. The aides here, Ja-Rel and Han, will show you the gates of the Ernan if you seek them. Remember which gate you enter by, or it will take you long to find your way back here... I must go. Remember what I say!"

Saliman gave Hem a hard, urgent stare, as if he wished to say more than words or time allowed. Hem blinked, feeling a sudden gathering of grief in his chest. With a sharp pang, he wondered if he would see Saliman again. Things seemed to be moving too quickly: there was not enough time for anything. The Bard hurriedly embraced the children, kissing each on the forehead, and departed almost at a run. Hem and Zelika stared at each other.

"I have never owned arms so fine!" Zelika said, her eyes sparkling. "Let's get dressed."

Hem knew how to arm himself from his swordcraft lessons, but the aides assisted him gravely as if he were a fine lord. He found it a little disconcerting. And this time putting on battle gear had a special significance; he was not about to attack a classmate with a bamboo sword, but might soon find himself fighting for his life. He shuddered involuntarily as the cold mail met his skin. The corslet of blue ceramic scales was much lighter than those he was used to, and the round shield was also light. He looked at it closely; it was made of some very strong metal he didn't recognize. He strapped on leather greaves and vambraces, both dyed blue, and tied the blue-dyed sandals to his bare feet. He refused the golden helm, and put the fine mail gauntlets in a leather bag at his waist. Lastly he strapped on a shortsword.

Zelika tried the balance of her sword. "It is a good weapon," she said, and she smiled. It was a smile that sent a chill down Hem's spine; he had not seen this expression on Zelika's face for some days, and had almost forgotten it. Now all her gentleness had gone, and in its place was a cold savagery. "Better than a cooking knife, eh, Hem?" She slashed the air with the sword. "I wager this edge will unstring some necks."

Hem studied his own sword. It was, he could see, a fine weapon, with the steel folded and tempered by master metal-smiths to an edge that would cleave a hair. Swordcraft was a skill that he enjoyed, the only classes at the Turbansk School for which he had displayed talent and application. But he did not feel the same bloodthirstiness as he saw in Zelika. He wondered why: the Dark had murdered and enslaved his family too, and had destroyed his life. He hated the Dark as much as he hated anything. All the same, he could not feel Zelika's strange delight at the prospect of battle; when he saw that gleam in her eyes, he believed that she was speaking truth when she said she didn't care whether she died.

All of a sudden, he felt weighed down by a huge, inconsolable sorrow. He looked dubiously at his sword, and sheathed it.

"We'd better move," he said. He turned to speak to Ire.
Can you be a messenger, my friend? Tell the birds where they can find me.

Ire gave a sharp cry and flew out of the window.

"I wish I had the Speech," said Zelika. She strapped her shortsword to her waist and then stared at Hem. "What's wrong?"

Hem shrugged, and half turned away. "I don't know," he answered.

Zelika studied his face for a moment, and drew her lips into an impatient line. "We're all sad," she said. "Everybody has something to be sad about. But right now, I think it is better to be angry." She jammed her helm on her head, and strode out of the door.

Hem squared his shoulders and followed her more slowly, studying her straight, determined back. Even after days of spending almost all his time with Zelika, he still found her very hard to read.

The aides in the Ernan and the Red Tower guards told Hem and Zelika that Saliman had sent instructions that the two children were to be allowed the freedom of the city. Hem pondered this as they made the long climb up the stairs. He wondered what Saliman expected of him. Perhaps it was simply trust.

Saliman had made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of Zelika's desire to be a fighter, and Hem had expected a stand-up argument about it. Perhaps Saliman had wisely deduced that the only way to keep Zelika out of battle was to lock her up. Or maybe he thought that when it came to the point, Zelika would be more sensible than her words suggested. Hem himself wasn't very confident about that: he had seen the madness in Zelika's eyes when she spoke of the Black Army, and he thought no reasoning would hold her back from her desire for revenge.

Climbing the Red Tower was tiring at the best of times, but in full armor it was hot and exhausting. Long before they reached the top, Hem was wondering if his legs would hold out. Zelika was climbing steadily before him, and only pride stopped him from calling for a rest. Even pride didn't stop him from sitting down awkwardly when they finally reached the watch at the top, breathing hard and wiping away the sweat that sheeted down his face. His hair was soaked, as if he had jumped into a pond. It was still early, and although the day was already growing hot, this high up the air was cooled by a soft breeze. It wasn't long before Hem recovered his composure and was able to remember why he had climbed there.

The golden dome that topped the Red Tower gave a welcome shade. Beneath the dome was the watch, a square floor surrounded by low walls that permitted an unimpeded view in every direction. Four guards stood there, one at each wall, and two lightly armored messengers. They all turned to look when the children emerged from the stairs, but after nodding in greeting took no further notice of them.

As Hem stood up, Ire swooped into the shade, landed on his shoulder, and nibbled his ear.

I've told the pelican, Ara-kin,
he said.
He says I am now his messenger.
Ire seemed inordinately pleased.
The birds will find you here.

Thank you, my friend,
said Hem, and stroked Ire's head with his finger. Then he asked a question that had been bothering him.
Do the crows harry you?

Ire puffed out his feathers a little smugly.
They do not harry the messenger of the King,
he answered.

The King?
repeated Hem, confused.
Did the birds mean him?
But then he realized Ire must mean Ara-kin.
Anyway, what is happening out there?

Look,
said Ire.

Even as Ire spoke, the guard looking west turned to one of the messengers and said sharply, "Deathcrows! Coming from the west!" The messenger leaped to her feet, preparing to run, but the guard put up his hand to stay her. "Something else. Flocks of birds... but they are not crows. I do not know what they are. They're very high up. Very strange – it is not the season for such flocking. And they are flying toward the deathcrows. What does this mean? Perhaps they prepare to attack the enemy, though I do not credit it. Report it, anyway."