The Crow (25 page)

"So, what's going on here?"

Somebody lifted her helm from her head. Outraged, Zelika looked up into the hard, weather-beaten face of Inhulca of Baladh, the Bard she had briefly met weeks ago on the top of the Red Tower. She opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it again. He was regarding her with open amusement.

This stung Zelika's pride; she realized how ridiculous she must look holding an outraged bird, like a peasant woman at a market. She dared not let Ire go, because he would at once go back and tell Hem. So she hung on to the heavy bird, pretending that he was not there, and stared defiantly back at the Bard, who was studying her with lively interest.

"You're the little girl from Baladh, no?"

At "little girl," Zelika felt like spitting. She turned to walk away, almost in tears of anger. It was all going wrong. But Inhulca was too quick for her, and caught her arm in a grip that she could not shake off.

"And that bird you have there, that is
Lios Hlaf's
crow, isn't it? I think you should not treat it so harshly; some here have reason to be grateful to this creature."

"He's just a little sneak," said Zelika hotly. "He followed me here. He's nothing better than a dirty spy."

"Perhaps." The amusement vanished from Inhulca's face as suddenly as if a light had been extinguished. "But I think the bird is probably correct to be suspicious. What are you doing here? You have no business at the gate."

Zelika drew herself up to her full height. "I have every right to avenge my family/' she said. Even holding a squawking Ire, she achieved a surprising measure of dignity.

Inhulca regarded her with raised eyebrows. "And what family is that?" he asked.

"The House of II Aran," said Zelika arrogantly. "You are Baladhian; you will understand my right."

Inhulca was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Ire and said in the Speech,
Hold your tongue, bird. She is not going to kill you. If she were, she would have already broken your neck.

Ire was so surprised he stopped screaming at once, and twisted his head around to stare at the Bard who had spoken to him.

"You are in the ward of Saliman of Turbansk, if I remember rightly," Inhulca said. "I think that he would not be pleased to know that you are here."

"He's not my family," said Zelika. "You have no right..." She struggled against his grip, but could not loosen it.

"You are a child," he said.

"I'm not a child!" Zelika shouted.

"A child," Inhulca repeated coldly. "And despite your illustrious house, you very obviously have no idea what battle entails. An inexperienced soldier in a battle like this one can cost lives. Even one life at our own hands is too much." He glared at Zelika with such ferocity that even she quailed. "Do you understand?"

She gulped.

"Do you understand?" His grip tightened on Zelika's arm, and she nodded.

"And you are a nuisance. I cannot leave you here. And I do not trust you." Inhulca contemplated her briefly and seemed to reach a decision.

"You will come with me. Quickly, time is running short, and the rains will soon begin, if I am any judge of weather."

He gave a couple of peremptory orders to the soldiers who stood nearby, and then led a resisting Zelika, who still carried Ire, at a trot through the crowd to a turret near the West Gate. Inside it was close and hot, and Zelika felt sweat trickling down her back as Inhulca pushed her up some dark, winding stairs to a room two floors up. Inside, grouped around a plain wooden table on which stood a jug and goblets, were the First Bard Juriken, Har-Ytan, and two others. They turned curiously when Inhulca entered with his strange charges.

"A couple of unexpected arrivals," said Inhulca shortly, casting Zelika's helm onto the table. "I must return to my rank. These are Saliman's, I believe; I leave them here, for your decision." He finally let go of Zelika's arm, and said to her: "Remember what I said."

Zelika scowled at him blackly. Ire, dangling forgotten and bruised by her side, gave a small caw, and unconsciously she lifted him up and cradled him in her arms.

"Very gracious," said Inhulca sardonically. "I hope we will both live to see the day that you will remember this, and thank me." He nodded to the others, and left swiftly.

Zelika stood awkwardly, feeling her anger drop away, to be replaced by something like shame. Juriken and Har-Ytan were staring at her in astonishment and irritation.

"Zelika of the House of II Aran, why are you here?"

Har-Ytan's voice was not raised, but the force of her displeasure cowed Zelika like nothing else had. She bowed her head, suddenly overwhelmed by humiliation. She realized that they thought her exactly the same as a naughty child who unwittingly drops and breaks a precious object, because it knows no better.

"I came to fight, Your Brightness."

"To fight in this last desperate stand is not an honor we give to children." Har-Ytan's voice was cold and hard. "There are many great warriors who offered their services tonight, and who were assigned to duties elsewhere, where they are more needed. Each one of them was more worthy than you."

"Yes, Your Brightness." Zelika bowed her head, feeling her ears burning with shame.

Without speaking to her further, Har-Ytan turned away. Zelika felt about as big as a thumb. She looked around the room, wondering where she could sit. It was a very small, windowless room, probably a guardroom, and there was nowhere to hide. Nobody took any notice of her, and perversely it made her feel more in the way. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"The weather will soon break, Fountain of the Light," said Juriken, with a gentleness in his tone that made Zelika look up.

"Yes." Har-Ytan stood very still, and for a moment it seemed to Zelika that her form was surrounded by a nimbus of light. She stood tall and stern and graceful, in the shining blue and gold of Turbansk battle dress, and Zelika thought she had never seen anyone look so beautiful, or so sad. Then slowly Har-Ytan drew her sword, and held it in front of her eyes so the blade gleamed in the dim lamplight.

"I go now, into the Dark," said Har-Ytan. "I shall not return. May my blade bite deep into its heart."

She met Juriken's eyes, and they exchanged a deep look. To Zelika's surprise, the Bard stepped forward and embraced the Ernani, and kissed her on the mouth. He stood back, and bowed his head.

"Go then, my Queen. May the Light go with you."

Har-Ytan was flanked by her two senior captains: the Captain of the Sun Guard, II Hanedr, and Menika, the chief warrior of Har-Ytan's personal chamber. Menika was a tall, thin, very dark, very tough woman, whom Zelika had never heard speak. II Hanedr knelt before Har-Ytan, and she briefly laid her hand on his head.

"My Queen," he said. "It pains me sore."

"Aye, it does, II Hanedr," said Har-Ytan. "But would you have me countenance the slaughter of all the flower of my city? I must give thought to afterward, as must you, if we are not to lose for all time. You must guide my son, and lead my people hence."

II Hanedr kissed her hand, and then wordlessly embraced Menika. Then the two women walked out of the guardroom and onto the inner wall, where a walkway ran over the top of the West Gate. Zelika heard a faint cheer rising from outside, which was drowned in a long rumble of thunder.

II Hanedr and Juriken both sat without speaking for a time in a room that seemed much darker than it had before. II Hanedr lifted his head and Zelika, glancing shyly over from the wall, saw that tears stood in his eyes. She was shocked and embarrassed that such a captain, to Zelika a real hero, should be seen in such a moment, and she stared down at Ire.

At least the crow had enough sense to be quiet here, she thought. Suddenly overcome by remorse for how she had treated him, and for her whole sorry, futile adventure, she sat down, crossing her legs, and gently untied the thong with which she had bound his feet.

To her surprise, Ire did not move at first. The truth was that she had tied his feet so tightly that he could hardly feel them and he was, in any case, bruised and sore. Then, finally realizing he was free, Ire hopped away from her lap, and fell over.

Biting her lip, Zelika reached out to catch him. She feared she had broken his legs; Hem would never forgive her. Ire let out a sharp caw and stabbed at her hand, shuffling away from her.

I suppose I don't deserve any better,
thought Zelika.
I am nothing. I am nothing but shame.
She hid her face in her hands.

Ire hobbled to the other side of the room, where he watched Zelika warily. II Hanedr spoke to Juriken and also left the guardroom. Now there were only Zelika, Juriken, and Ire.

The Bard sat in silence for a time, and then sighed and stood up.

Now, White Crow,
he said to Ire in the Speech.
Your friend will be waiting for you, fearing you are dead.

I didn't want to come here,
answered Ire sulkily.
She brought me. And now my wings hurt and my feet hurt.

Juriken laughed.
I am sorry for that,
he said.
But nevertheless, we must leave here. I have business at the Ernan, and it will rain soon.

Rain?

Juriken crossed the room, squatted next to Zelika, and put his hand on her head. She didn't look up, but a feeling of peace spread from his touch. She began to feel a little better.

"Zelika," said Juriken softly. "Forget your pride. This is no time for such things. You will have to come with me. No foolishness, now."

The girl nodded meekly, and stood up, her armor rattling too loudly in the small room. Juriken, she noticed, wore no armor, just the plain red robe he always wore.

Ire felt too bruised to fly, and did not dare to sit on Juriken's shoulder, so he had to swallow his pride and sat on Zelika's. She did not push him off, as he half expected she might.

Juriken led the girl along the inner walkway, away from the West Gate, and entered another tower. They climbed another small spiral stairway, until they emerged onto another inner wall, this one higher up. Panting, Zelika followed him up a short flight of steps and found she was in a small roofless lookout. Here it was quieter than at the West Gate, although the constant noise of the Black Army, the drums and trumpets and shouts that had underlain Zelika's life for weeks now, was still loud. Juriken glanced up into the sky, his face briefly illuminated by lightning, and Zelika involuntarily followed suit. The sun had vanished beneath the horizon, its last glow gilding the thick clouds that pressed down on them.

The archers in the lookout bowed their heads and moved aside for Juriken, and the Bard stepped up to the parapet and looked over it.

"We will watch from here, for a time," said Juriken. "Then I must return to the Ernan, where you are supposed to be already."

Ire flew up to the wall, and then flapped back in alarm as an arrow zipped over their heads with an unpleasant whirring sound. Juriken said something that Zelika couldn't understand, and the air seemed to change around her, gaining a brief, strange luminosity.

"The Black Army does not sleep. This will protect us from stray arrows," he said. Zelika looked at him dubiously; she was still a little suspicious of Bardic magery. Then she stood on her tiptoes, and found she could just see over the edge of the parapet.

Before the walls, there was an empty space for some two hundred spans. Then there was a thicket wall of tall, black shields and, behind them, a long row of tents. And then another row, and another, stretching back until they vanished into the thick dusk. Between the tents, Zelika could see figures walking. It all looked very still and orderly.

"Watch the West Gate," said Juriken. "And look also to the north."

Zelika stared to her right, and drew in her breath sharply. From here, they had a clear view to the gates. There, where the fighting had always been thickest, there were no tents. There was the same space before the gates, where the Black Army kept out of bowshot, and then the line of shields. As Zelika watched, a fiery missile arced into the sky, smashed into the city walls, slid down, and exploded on the ground outside in a red bloom of flame. A huge siege engine stood farther back, a sinister outline against the sky, and another behind it. The sky flashed, and in its livid light Zelika saw that the whole ground was a mass of moving figures, which seemed to seethe like a single, threatening creature under the heavy clouds. Now it was almost dark, and the fires behind the enemy lines flared bloodily.

There was another roll of thunder. Zelika's hair prickled all the way down her back; she was beginning to think that she would burst with tension. Why was nothing happening? Then she saw a sudden flurry of arrows and other missiles from above the West Gate.

"It's beginning," said Juriken. "Watch."

A long, high note rang out over the field: the flourish of a trumpet. Briefly its pure music sang defiantly against the darkness and fire, and then faded away. The trumpet call stirred Zelika's blood – not with the desire to kill, but with a sudden lifting of her heart that was entwined with an almost intolerable sadness. It was in that moment that she understood what it meant if Turbansk really was about to fall to the Black Army. She wondered why the fires had become blurred, and then realized that, despite herself, she was crying.

Then it seemed as if the trumpet was answered, as another flourish sounded to Zelika's left. Wondering, she looked along the walls toward the North Gate. She turned to Juriken, a question forming on her lips. He glanced at her, and smiled grimly.

"We do not attack only on one front," he said. "Imank might think it a trap."

As the trumpet notes died away, the North and West Gates began to open. And as they opened, the Turbanskian forces flooded out into the field with an amazing swiftness, illuminated by the almost constant flickering of the lightning: two seas of dull gold and blue and silver pushing against the somber darkness. Zelika saw the blue-and-gold banner of Turbansk standing out in the wind, and also the silver sword of Baladh, the crimson horse that was the symbol of the Alhadeans. First came the horses: ranks of Alhadean and Bilakean archers, and a rank of the mounted Sun Guard. After them marched the foot soldiers. They seemed so many that Zelika blinked. The Black Army seethed and swirled, as captains reacted to the attack and marshaled their forces to meet the two prongs of the Turbanskian ranks, and a faint shouting reached Zelika's ears. The front ranks of the riders crashed into the line of shields, and the Black Army shivered under the impact, and fell back.