The Crow (55 page)

A group of snouts from another block was attacking something that he couldn't see. A ghastly gobbling sound tore through the darkness, and then a childish scream, and Hem stood rooted to the ground, unable to move for fear. Then there was a crash of branches from another direction, closer to where Hem was standing, and the Blood Block turned to face it. A Hull running down the track toward them cast another bolt of lightning, and in its sharp illumination Hem, carried forward in the rush, had a brief glimpse of a huge, armor-plated creature like a giant scorpion, at least twice as big as a cow. It scuttled with a terrifying rapidity, its tail tipped by a white sting dripping with venom, trembling evilly over its head. Even as Hem stared, the tail struck out like a flail, quicker than the eye could follow, and stung Slitter. She fell back with a high wail, writhing and frothing at the mouth. In the space of three heartbeats the child was still, her sword dropping from her nerveless hand.

None of the other snouts took the slightest notice of Slitter's fate. They swarmed toward the monster, hacking at its eyes and tail with a furious savagery. They had no thought for their own safety. Hem was too close for comfort: his main instinct was to run away, but he feared, even in this chaos, that someone might notice. He made some stabs toward the creature, keeping as far away from its deadly tail and its merciless fangs and claws as possible.

Then someone slashed off the sting, and the creature arced backward in agony, spewing black blood. Some splashed on two snouts, instantly bringing their skin up in welts. The others rushed forward, stabbing its eyes, and it coiled and uncoiled, lashing out with its claws. They slashed off its legs so it could not run, and then, although the creature was still twitching and gobbling, left it where it was.

Hem felt a great band of pressure ease off his forehead. The will that had driven the snouts into such frenzy had let them go; they were no longer in its thrall. The snouts began to wipe their weapons on the grass, chattering excitedly to each other about the battle and complaining about the acrid stench of the blood. They ignored both the dying beast and their wounded or dead comrades. The first lot of snouts had dispatched the other monster already; its mutilated carcass lay twitching not far away. Hem counted six bodies scattered around the dying monsters. A Hull was relighting the fire with sorcery, and it blazed up into the branches above them.

The snouts cheered at the flame, their eyes flashing with triumph. Now they were just normally ensorcelled, Hem thought; the morralin was not the whole of the binding. The Hulls controlled them as well, when it came to battle. He looked at the wounded snouts, resisting the urge to go and help them; nothing would expose him more quickly than any display of compassion. Hulls were moving toward them already; no doubt they had their own methods of healing.

He sat down by the fire and wrapped his cloak around himself. Reaver came up, grinning.

"Goromants!" he shouted. "We bloody showed 'em. We gave it to 'em!"

Hem tried to look as excited as Reaver and punched his fist into the air. But the boy had already passed him by, to whoop at another snout.

Goromants. Hem had heard the name. He had hoped never to see the reality. It was much worse than any rumor.

He closed his eyes, letting the fire's warmth take away the chill of aftershock. He had never thought he would be glad to be around snouts; but maybe only that kind of frenzy could defeat creatures as fearsome as goromants. Even mutilated as they were, they were not dead. The horrible sounds of their dying ran on endlessly beneath the snouts' celebrations of victory, and colored what little sleep he had the rest of that night.

The goromants were still alive the next day, when the snouts marched on. Passing snouts kicked the twitching bodies, or spat on them. Hem averted his eyes.

It took three days to get through the Glandugir Hills. There were several more attacks, always at night, but they saw no more goromants: once, a swarm of the winged things that Hem and Zelika had killed, another time a pack of wild pigs with two heads. These were driven off with less difficulty than the goromants; when one or two were killed, the others retreated back into the trees. Several more snouts were injured. The walking wounded made their own way, more frightened of being left behind than of their own pain; those too badly hurt to march were quickly killed by Hulls.

In the very middle of the hills, in the darkest places, there were trees that cried out at night, strange mouthless calls that sent shivers down their backs and made even the Hulls anxious. Once a snout cut down a branch for firewood, and the tree shrieked and thrashed its limbs like a beast, and the snout was drenched in a downpour of blood. Hem saw another snout caught by a vine that seemed to lie harmlessly across the path; unwisely he had trodden on it, and the plant had lashed itself around his foot. The snout, screeching and writhing, clutching at branches and tufts of grass, was dragged out of sight with appalling swiftness: the snouts halted, aghast and fascinated, as the boy's cries turned into a high, bubbling scream and then abruptly stopped.

Hem witnessed everything with a growing sense of numbness. He no longer even felt afraid. He needed all his energy simply to stay alive. Now, with no prospect of any respite in Nyanar's enchanted home, and without Ire, he was truly alone. In the black depths of the Glandugir Hills hope sank deep within him, where he could barely touch it.

He struggled to stay alert, to keep looking for Zelika among the snouts, but his perceptions narrowed to his immediate surroundings. His hunger was constant and only abated by severe cramps in his belly; a lot of the time he didn't want to eat at all, and forced himself to chew his pitiful rations, reminding himself that he could not afford to become too weak. He eked out his supplies so they would last the journey, but even so there would not be enough to get him to Dagra. He would have to begin thieving again.

When they emerged from the forest, Hem stared incuriously, blinking in the sudden light, over a dun landscape that stretched out from the lower hills. The forest shrank into isolated stunted trees, and then into the low thorny shrubs that studded the sparse grasslands. The track meandered over arid plains toward a smudge on the horizon that might be a small town. Dagra, he knew, was far in the north.

Hem felt only a dull relief. At that moment, he never wanted to see another tree in his life.

XXII

D
AGRA

If it had not been for Ire, Hem might not have survived the next seven days. There had been times in the hills when he had thought that he could not go on, when he fiercely regretted that he had not escaped Sjug'hakar Im when he had had the chance. With the bleak clarity of despair, he examined his plans and justifications – his idea that he would be assisting Hared and the Light against the Nameless One, or that he had any chance of finding and rescuing Zelika – and realized that they were the purest folly. He had been insanely arrogant to think that he could enter Den Raven and not only survive, but escape and return to his friends. His death, he thought, was only a matter of time.

And now it was too late to turn back.

The first night out of the Glandugir Hills he was trying to sleep, twisting and turning against the hard ground, when something inquiringly stroked his mind. He started, looking wildly around him, thinking that a Hull had discovered his presence; but then he realized that no Hull could feel like that. Only one creature in the whole world had that particular touch: Ire, the White Crow,
Lios Hlaf,
his friend.

Recklessly, for it was very perilous with Hulls nearby, Hem fashioned a mageshield and sent out a summoning to Ire. The crow answered immediately, and Hem felt he was very close, not more than a hundred spans away.

Hello, featherbrain,
said Ire.
Are you sorry now?

Ire!
Hem felt as if his insides were melting with relief and gratitude and joy.
By the Light, what are you doing here?

I thought someone ought to come and make sure you didn't do anything stupid,
said Ire.
Someone clever. Like me.

Hem was so overwhelmed he could not say anything, but in the intimacy of mindtouching his feelings were very clear.

I knew you'd he sorry,
said Ire smugly.
Hared wants to kill you, but he said you'd probably be killed before he could get to you, which makes him very regretful.

The thought of Hared's impotent fury stopped the whirl of Hem's emotions, and he almost snorted with laughter.

Oh, Ire,
he said.
You shouldn't have followed me. But I am so glad you did, so glad.

Hared thought I should. He says I am a very clever and brave bird.
Hem could almost see Ire's feathers swelling with pride.

But – but how did you get through the forest?
asked Hem, smiling at his friend's vanity.

I didn't. I flew over it. Not going there again. I knew I'd find you this end. And I have a message from Hared that I must tell you. Now the snouts have left, he's going to look at the camp, and he said he is going to meet us at Sjug'hakar Im in three times four days, plus two.

That meant fourteen days, by Ire's counting. It would cut it close, but he might just make it, if he escaped the snouts at Dagra. If he moved swiftly with magery, he could possibly avoid capture, traveling on his own. There was no doubt it would be perilous, but all of a sudden, Hem felt anything was possible. A friendly voice in this terrible place was unimaginable, but here it was.

Can you just follow the snouts, then?
said Hem.
You'll be all right?

Yes,
said Ire.
I am a clever bird.

You are. And brave and wonderful.
Hem could feel something waking nearby, and added hurriedly,
I must go, Ire.

I'll be watching you, featherbrain.

The mindtouch closed. But that night, Hem slept well, undisturbed by bad dreams.

It was seven days' hard march to Dagra. Although the hazards of the Glandugir Hills were now behind them, their journey was not without peril. Den Raven was, Hem began to realize, a country in the grip of some kind of civil war. As they moved into more populated regions, they began to encounter groups of armed soldiers guarding bridges and crossroads. Most of the time they were waved through without challenge, but once there had been a brief skirmish, during which the Hulls had killed the guards. After that, without explanation, the snouts were marched back the way they had come, and took another road. Hem tried to eavesdrop on the Hulls to discover what was happening, but it was too difficult, and so he was forced, like all the other snouts, to speculate. He assumed that they had almost run into hostile territory – that of those loyal to Imank rather than the Nameless One.

To Hem's surprise, most of the land was not diseased like the Glandugir Hills. He had expected that his sickness would continue all the way to Dagra, but, to his overwhelming relief, his cramps eased to a slight nausea. His physical misery was mostly limited to exhaustion and hunger and cold. The weather stayed clear, but that meant nights of frost, when the snouts would fight viciously for the warmest places, closest to the fires, and they would wake with their blankets stiff with rime.