The Crow (53 page)

The effect of Hem's raid on the Blind House was immediate and dramatic. Training was suspended the next day as all the blocks were thoroughly searched. Nothing was found: Hem had expected this and guarded against it. After the Hull left Blood Block Two the night before, Hem had mentally run through his possessions, in case something might betray him. The only things that might have caused suspicion were the cloth packets of morralin that he had stolen from the kitchens, but he had been wary enough to hide them in the hut and had buried them under a glimveil near the vegetable gardens. Slowly and painfully, he had cleansed his pallet of any possible sign of magery; there had not been enough to be sensed from a distance, but if a Hull had inspected it closely it might have picked up faint vibrations that would have given him away. Then he had slept briefly, too worn out and afraid even to contemplate trying to speak to Ire.

He was glad he had been cautious, difficult though it had been at the time. The Spider led the searches, and Hem trembled lest the Hull turn its attention directly on him. The Spider's abilities were of a kind that could sense barriers and shields, and it might well pierce his fragile pretense. The consequences of that didn't bear thinking about. He stood outside Blood Block Two with all the other snouts from the Blood Block while the Spider painstakingly searched their hut. The snouts had been pulled from their beds so early that they had not had time to cut their arms and smear their marks on their foreheads, and they stood in the watery winter sunlight, confused and a little frightened.

"They're looking for the spy, that's what they're doing," whispered a small girl. She glanced scornfully across the yard to the other blocks and sniffed. "Well, they won't find it in Blood Block, that's for sure."

Hem was too tired even to be afraid. He just stood and watched vacantly.

"It's probably Slasher," said Reaver, digging Hem in the ribs with his elbow. "Fancy the spike, eh, Slasher? Cur kill would be too good for you, that's for sure." He spat with disgust.

Despite himself, Hem felt his innards clutch with panic. He smiled idiotically, as if he didn't quite understand, but he couldn't hide the unease in his eyes.

"Yes, it's probably Slasher. I'll go and tell the Spider now. Big rewards, he said."

A snout Hem particularly disliked, a weaselly boy with crossed eyes, laughed sadistically. "Come on, Slasher, we'll take you in."

This time Hem really was afraid; he didn't want to be the focus of this attention, with the Spider so close. "No, Tooth, no, I would never spy!" he protested, as Tooth and some of his cohorts gathered around him, grinning. "Don't say that! I'm loyal, aren't I, Reaver? Aren't I?"

He played the butt of the joke, as he often had over the past days, praying that the snouts would soon get bored. Reaver merely sniggered, and the other snouts lost interest; a camp commander had her eyes on them, and even though she was not a Hull, she made them nervous. They scowled and scuffed the dirt with their feet.

It seemed a very long time before the Spider emerged with the other Hulls, nodded to the commander, and moved on to Blood Block Three. Hem felt relief wash through him, leaving him tingling and light-headed. They must not have found anything.

He heard later that a secret package had been found in the camp, which contained powerful spells. Wild rumors swept through Sjug'hakar Im. The spells were reported to be curses that would turn their marrow into hot lead as they slept, or at a word from the spy (who was by now a powerful sorcerer) would become invisible spiders that would enter their ears and eat their brains. Others said that enchanted weapons had been found buried in the vegetable garden. Hem translated the whispered gossip to mean that the Spider had found his packages of morralin. If the news was true, it frightened him: he had put a strong glimveil over them, and had thought they were safe. Hem realized that the only thing that really protected him was his anonymity among the hundreds of snouts: the Spider would be most unlikely to examine them one by one.

He wondered how long it would be before someone connected his arrival at Sjug'hakar Im with the spy. Perhaps he was insignificant enough to fall beneath the view of the master Hulls; the Hull who had interviewed him when he arrived was, he realized now, very low-ranking.

The block searches finished at midday, and the snouts were summoned to assemble in the training yard. There was a head count, which took a very long time. Then the Spider addressed them, but its speech was short and uninformative. It said that the snouts were to march to Dagra the following day.

That night Hem and Ire had their first real argument. Ire was horrified that Hem planned to leave with the snouts for Dagra, and angry when Hem ordered him to go back to Hared and wait for him to return.

We're marching through the Glandugir Hills, Ire,
said Hem.
You don't want to follow me there. It's far too dangerous.

I want never to go back there,
answered Ire. In their mindtouch, Hem saw vague images of the things that had frightened Ire when he had followed the snouts, the day that Zelika had been captured: trees that swayed of their own volition, flowers with teeth, beasts with two muzzles or five eyes.
I did not go far. Farther in it would be much worse.

I don't want anything to happen to you,
said Hem.
So go back to Hared.

You think only of yourself,
Ire said.
You don't care about me.

Stung, Hem said nothing for a while. He realized fully for the first time how difficult Ire was finding his demands, how it must feel as if he were abandoned. At last he said,
I do care about you, Ire. I couldn't do without you. I just can't leave Zelika. I can't. And it's a chance to find out what's really happening with the snouts. If I go to Dagra, I can bring back news that Hared couldn't possibly get otherwise.

I think Zelika is dead,
said Ire.
You chase a haunt, and we will both die for nothing.

She's not dead,
Hem said fiercely.

How do you know?

I can feel her,
said Hem.

What do you feel?
said Ire angrily.
You have not seen her. You have not spoken to her. Are you all braintwisted? You've spent too long with the warped ones. So what if you find out what the Dark is planning? If you go into the dark land you will not come back.

I'll come back,
said Hem, with a confidence he did not feel.
Of course I will.

You can't go.
Hem felt Ire's alarm running through him.

I must.
Underneath, Hem felt a sudden appalling emptiness open up at the thought of going into Den Raven without Ire, with no chance of even this small contact. Hem tried to focus his mind, to give the clean contours of an order.
Go back to Hared, Ire. Tonight.

Your head's full of feathers,
Ire hissed back.
You're sick like everything here.

Hem's mind briefly flooded with Ire's anger and fright and desolation, and then he was suddenly pushed out. Hem tried to mindtouch again a few times, but the crow wouldn't respond. Miserable and cold, at last he tried to settle down to sleep. His muscles ached after spending the afternoon preparing for the next day's journey: the Hulls were dismantling the entire camp, packing all that could be carried, and then in the evening there had been another counting. It had been a hard day, and tomorrow would be even harder.

Hem lay still, depressed beyond anything he had ever felt. He saw the justice of some of the things Ire had said. If he were killed, he would never see Ire again, nor Saliman. And Maerad was already alone enough, after Cadvan's death... He would lose everything that mattered to him, including his own life. Was it really worth the terrible risk he was taking?

Perhaps Ire was right,
he thought to himself. But, at the same time, he knew that he could not abandon Zelika. He thought of the mind he had touched so briefly when he had searched the camp. She was here, somewhere; he just had to find her. Ire was wrong to say she was dead.

In Dagra, he might have a real chance of finding out what the Nameless One planned for the child army.
Great plans,
the Spider had said; Hem thought that this meant that they must be planning to use the snouts to attack Annar, and probably sooner rather than later. If he could discover exactly what the strategy was, he would be helping Hared and Saliman, and all those of the Light who were fighting so desperately against the Black Army. Even a small advantage could make the difference, could stave off total defeat.

Most importantly of all, he would be helping Maerad.

That final thought decided him. Maerad, too, was in great peril. How could Hem risk any less?

That night, he dreamed of a landscape covered in deep snow. He was a beast running on all fours, his mouth tingling with the fresh, clean scent of the chilly air. He felt muscles ripple under his skin, full of an untapped energy, and his heart lifted: he could run forever, faster and faster, toward the pale sun that hung coldly over the purple mountains hazed in the distance. It was a dream of pure freedom. He ran for the sheer joy of it, toward a horizon far beyond his sight.

The dream shifted to a vivid, brief memory of Maerad, standing in a long, crimson robe in Nelac's sitting room in Norloch. She was lifting a glass of laradhel to her mouth, and laughing at some witticism of Saliman's. Then suddenly Hem's father, Dorn, was standing in the room with them, and Maerad turned to greet him, smiling and unsurprised. In his waking life, Hem couldn't remember what his father looked like: he had been too young when he died. But he knew it was Dorn. He was a big man, taller than Saliman, with a shy, charming smile. He wore a blue robe richly embroidered with gold thread, and his face was dark and handsome, with the same olive skin as Hem's own. Hem was filled with a sudden, radiant joy.

There was a new strength inside him when he woke in the cold, dim light before dawn, and looked around at the squalid hut that had been his home for the past two weeks. He no longer felt that he had spent his whole life in rooms like this one, thick with the stale smell of despair and unwashed human beings. A stubborn hope flowered deep inside him. There was the Elidhu, who was helping him for his own mysterious reasons, and there was Maerad; he was not as alone as he had felt.

That morning the Hulls held yet another counting. They were anxious about the spy, Hem supposed; and maybe they feared that a snout might have escaped the Blind House and was hiding among the others. For the first time since his terrible incursion into that place, Hem thought about the other children who had been imprisoned there. He had avoided thinking about the Blind House: it was too horrific, too pitiful to contemplate. What had happened to those children? Even if Zelika were not there, should he have rescued them? He had been as cruel as any Hull: he had ignored their suffering and terror; he had thrust them aside like objects and then simply abandoned them to their fate. The thought of what he had done filled him with guilt. Was this what he was doing to Ire as well? Was he becoming, without realizing it, something he hated?

Suddenly, he found himself longing with all his soul to speak with Saliman. Saliman would understand how torn he felt, would help him see more clearly what it was he was doing. Even just to see Saliman's smile, the way he would toss his head back as he laughed, so his braids fell down his back like a black, shining river, how he would sketch pictures in the air with his hands as he spoke...

But now the counting was finally over. Hem stirred dully, ready to march back to Blood Block Two to get his pack, but the Spider was speaking, its voice coiling intimately in Hem's ear like a soft, deadly snake.

"My little curs," said the Spider caressingly. "My sweet little bloodmasters. You will be very happy to know that we have found the louse in our midst, the spy in our belly."

Hem snapped to attention, in his shock forgetting momentarily that he was supposed to be Slasher, and the Hull nearest to him swung around with a sudden alertness, questing. Cursing, Hem shored up his shield and emptied his head. He could not afford a single mistake: every day he stayed here his situation became more perilous. He cheered boorishly with the other snouts – although his skin was iced with a sweat of fear – and he saw to his relief that the Hull had turned away.

Furtively Hem traced his path to the fence: perhaps if he covered himself with a glimveil he might make it there, and be able to scramble over it. But he didn't like his chances, with a thousand snouts and the Spider baying after him. He tried to control his panic and to focus on what the Spider was saying.

"Before we leave for Dagra, we will deal with this recreant scum," said the Hull. "Bring the traitor forward!"

Hem tensed for flight, expecting to be grabbed: but then he realized that a shackled figure was already being dragged into the training ground. With an overwhelming astonishment, he saw it was a Hull. The snouts were as dumbstruck as he was: the bloodthirsty growl that had risen when the Spider announced the discovery of the spy died away into blank silence. There would be no cur kill today: Hulls could not be killed by any ordinary means.

It could not be a scapegoat if it was a Hull, Hem thought hurriedly. It must be a real spy. Was it one of Hared's allies? With his mouth open, he watched as the Hull was thrown to its knees in front of the Spider. It stayed perfectly still, its head cowled by its black cloak. With a gesture of contempt, the Spider ripped off the cloak. For the briefest moment, Hem recognized the Hull he had seen on his first night, the glimmerspelled image of a beautiful woman. Then there was a gasp from the snouts, and Hem knew the glimmerspell had been destroyed. For the first time, the snouts were seeing the true horror of a Hull.

"See what a traitor is, my little curs?" said the Hull, with a bitter edge to its voice. "Dry skin on dry bones, no more. Yea, even as they live, they are dead. This one sneaks to another master and even as our Master stretches out his glorious hand in conquest, plots to ride our power and wrest it from us. She spies for Imank, the Black Captain, who even now proves his disloyalty. And this cannot be borne!"