The Singing (31 page)

An expression of contempt crossed Saliman's face. "I have heard that this is one of the Schools that does not do its duty by the people here," he said. "The Bards here demand tithes with threats, and their services are not offered freely. It is a place where magery is feared rather than respected, and where the

Balance is calculated narrowly, so that it exists only for the self-interest of Bards themselves. Such warping of the Lore brings a sour taste to my mouth." He paused, as if he were about to spit. "I do not know what is happening here now. News is hard to come by from Desor: it was ever a secretive School, and has become more so in recent years. I think we ought to be prepared for anything."

"Should we hide ourselves?" asked Hem.

"We must shield our magery, certainly," said Saliman. "I dearly wish I had Cadvan's talent for disguise; in these parts, black skin is very noticeable. A glimmerspell would hide me from all but Bard eyes; but it's the Bard eyes in particular that I wish to avoid."

"I became quite good at the disguising charm when I was in Sjug'hakar Im," said Hem hesitantly. "Perhaps I could try it on you. It lasts a few days. It might get us past Desor."

Saliman gave Hem a penetrating glance. "Young Hem, I do not know how you did so badly in your studies in Turbansk," he said. "I suppose you are one of those who learns when he sees the necessity, and otherwise kicks over the traces."

Despite himself, Hem blushed. "It mightn't work," he said. "I found it a little easier if I didn't change everything. I could change the color of your skin and hair, for instance."

Saliman laughed. "I think I would probably look ridiculous with white skin and blond hair," he said. "I doubt I'd fool anyone. There is more to being Turbanskian than dark skin, after all. But it's a good idea; we ought to try it, at least. If you show me how to make the lesser spell, I might even be able to cast it myself."

In the end, Saliman cast the spell himself. And, as he had warned, the effect was strange; Hem found a fair-skinned Saliman very disconcerting. Saliman left his hair dark, and refused to cut his braids; he said he would go hooded, if need be. Hekibel watched the whole process with fascination.

"I much prefer the old Saliman," she said. "It makes you look as if you're ill."

"I am too vain to try to look at myself," said Saliman. "It would hurt my pride sadly. But, after all, I have been sick."

They decided to say, if anyone asked them, that they were travelers from Lauchomon who had been caught in the floods. Saliman thought that Desor would most probably be full of refugees from Ifant, and he hoped they could skirt the edge of the Fesse and pass through unnoticed, as just some more homeless people. But Hem saw that he checked his sword was loose in his scabbard when he mounted Usha.

Around midmorning they reached the top of a long rise and found themselves looking down over a wide, shallow valley. Hem studied it with a feeling of growing unease; it was thickly inhabited, with many farms and hamlets, but he could also see some large camps, with rows and rows of tents. At first the sight reminded him of gazing out from the walls of Turbansk during the siege, at the tents of the Black Army; but he also saw smaller areas that seemed to be fenced, with watch-towers at each corner. And that reminded him of the Sjug'hakar Im camp. The countryside was crisscrossed with roads, and even from this distance they could see people moving along them. Some of them seemed to be marching in formation.

"I don't like it," Hem said.

"Aye," said Saliman grimly. "It is long since I was here, and it is much changed. This place no longer looks like a School; it is a city preparing for war. We'll have to move south again, close to the floodplains."

It smells like the Black Land,
said Irc.
That place was full of slaves, and this place seems the same. Shall I go and look around?

Hem nodded, and Irc launched himself from Hem's shoulder and glided down toward the Fesse.

"I think we should back down from this rise," said Hekibel nervously. "We could be seen on the skyline."

Saliman pushed Minna on, but Hem halted Hekibel as she urged Usha to follow him. He was staring south. "What's that?" he said, pointing.

Saliman swung Minna around and stared over the flood-plains that stretched below them. It seemed as if a dark shadow were moving over the plains, stretching back into the haze that hung over the lowlands.

Saliman's knuckles tightened on the reins, but his voice was steady. "If I am not mistaken, Hem, that is an army."

"It looks quite big," said Hem. "How are they marching through all that mud? If we go back to the floodplains, we'll run into them. But where is it from? Whose army is it?"

"I can guess," said Saliman grimly. "Although we're too far away to see the banners. Those formations look familiar. But let's move from the skyline here, before anyone sees us."

Dismayed, they turned the horses around and left the rise. They found a copse of ash trees where they felt a little sheltered, and dismounted.

"This is ill luck," said Saliman. "But I think we will have to risk the Fesse, rather than take the almost certain chance of walking into that army."

"Who are they?" asked Hekibel. Her lips were pale. Hem remembered that this would have been her first glimpse of an army on the march.

"If I am right, then it is ill news for Annar," said Saliman. "It surely cannot be from Norloch: why would Enkir send an army up through the south? And I am not sure that Enkir could muster a force of that size, in any case. I fear it is the Black Army; and if that is so, Sharma has sent a force up through

Nudd. Perhaps he has already laid waste to Eleve. Perhaps not: it is a strong School, and they would have had to besiege it, which would have delayed them. And this army has moved swiftly. There had been no rumor of any movement through Nudd when we left Nal-Ak-Burat, and Hared had spies in that region. He feared such a move, a strike into the very heart of Annar, although both of us thought that even Sharma would not take the risk of fighting on three fronts. He feels his arm is strong, and he can strike where he likes."

"Eleve?" said Hekibel, her voice unsteady. "I was there not so long ago ..."

"So," said Hem gloomily. "Sharma marches on Amdridh and lays siege to Til Amon, and now he is already in Annar. What is Enkir doing?"

"Enkir moves in the west, I suppose. Which is why he did not march on Til Amon. I wish I knew more of what is happening in this land! All we can know is that this has been long planned. My guess is that the army marches to Sharma's allies in Desor, and that the plan from there is to take control of North Annar. Cadvan was correct about Desor; but I doubt all the same that he would have predicted this."

A heavy silence fell over them, broken only by Fenek, who was snuffling excitedly at a rabbit hole. Hem studied Fenek, wishing briefly that he was a dog too, with nothing more to worry about than the next meal. An image rose in his mind's eye, one that had haunted him before: he saw, as if from above, lines of fire spreading inexorably through all of Edil-Amarandh, leaving in their wake a desolation of ash.

"Well, we can't stay here," said Hekibel. "So what shall we do?"

"We will have to choose the lesser peril, and enter the Fesse," said Saliman. "It seems an ill choice to me: I do not like the look of those camps, and there are too many soldiers. But I fear that if we encountered the Black Army, we should certainly be in trouble. It is well known that they kill everyone they come across, down to the last infant. But if we move swiftly past the Fesse and stay on the outskirts, perhaps we can thread the needle and pass by both dangers. Perhaps we will be lucky. Perhaps they will be too busy to look very hard at farmers fleeing the floods in If ant."

Perhaps, thought Hem. On the other hand, the Bards of Desor might be particularly watchful and suspicious of strangers, especially if they were planning a surprise attack on North Annar. And he wondered, too, if they had really managed to throw off their scent the Hull that had been following them since Til Amon. He wished he could be sure. He was beginning to feel like a hunted animal being driven into a trap. He looked around at his companions, wondering where Irc had got to. A white crow was too noticeable; he was thinking that, despite Irc's objections, he should dye his feathers again.

"We all look shabby enough to be refugees," he said. "We won't need to disguise ourselves. But I think we should cast a glimveil, myself, and then no one would see us anyway."

Saliman looked dubious. "Glimveils are fine for hiding us in the wilderness," he said. "But they are not so good around many people. There's a risk that someone might accidentally blunder into us and break it, and then we would have no chance of hiding that we are Bards. To my mind, we are safer merely disguising ourselves."

"You'd better keep your mouth shut then, Hem," said Hekibel. "You're no good at accents, and you sound exactly as if you're from Edinur. I think Saliman and I can convince people that we're from Lauchomon." She still looked pale, but her lips were set in a determined line. "Well, I suppose that the sooner we start, the sooner we'll be through, and the Black Army isn't going to wait for us to pass. Though I think we should stay south as long as we can."

Saliman nodded. They remounted the horses and began to ride along the south side of the rise, keeping a wary eye on the army. It was still little more than an ominous blur through the haze, but it looked all too close to Hem. It was hard to see how fast it was moving, but with any luck it would be hampered by the mud.

Soon the ground leveled out and they began to enter the edges of the Fesse, losing sight of the army in the floodplains. They passed an outlying hamlet, and then another, and then found themselves following a track that led westward. Before long the track widened into a well-used if muddy road, with broad grassy verges, and they picked up their pace. Now they began to encounter people, the first they had seen for days. At first they were mostly poor farmers or itinerants, some carrying baskets of turnips or onions or driving geese or goats, but as the day wore on, they passed many people who were walking by laden mules or oxen or driving wagons.

Saliman looked about him keenly as they rode, his expression grim.

"I was last in these parts some ten years ago," he said. "Desor has changed much since. And not for the better. It was once a kindly place, like Innail, but all I can see in its heart now is the makings of war." He waved his hand north and west, where they could see the encampments through the haze. "Those do not look to me like refuges for the homeless."

It wasn't long before they began to pass camps of a different kind—desolate, temporary settlements filled with those who had fled the floods. Empty-eyed people huddled in primitive shelters made from sheets or blankets or branches scavenged from the woods. It seemed that Saliman's guess was correct: Desor was full of refugees from the floods. Nobody was interested in three more weary travelers. There was no sign, as Saliman commented sardonically, that the Bards of Desor were offering any help to them; rather, the travelers received surly looks from the locals, and more than once villagers spat as they passed, and one threw a stone at Fenek, who was innocently sniffing a tree.

"Why did they do that?" asked Hekibel in amazement, as Fenek came yelping to heel, his tail jammed between his legs. "He wasn't doing any harm, and he's obviously with us."

"They do not want us here," said Saliman. There was no expression in his voice. "They are poor, and have no food to share. The tithes are heavy in this Fesse."

Hem said nothing. Irc returned later, his feathers bristling with alarm. He had also seen the army in the distance, and had flown as close as he dared to spy out what he could.

It's the Black Army for sure,
he told Hem.
You can smell them. Iron and fear and braintwisting.

Hem shuddered.
Keep close,
he said.
I don't want you getting into any trouble, Irc.

There are many Hulls. You can feel them in the wind. It is like death is walking through the plains.
Irc wiped his beak on Hem's hair, and Hem sensed the crow's fear melding with his own. After their time in Den Raven, neither of them was eager to run into Hulls again.

Are they getting stuck in the mud, like we did?
asked Hem.

The army is moving much faster than you,
said Irc.
If you grew wings you might outfly them. They are using dogsoldiers to pull heavy things through the mud, and whips. They are very cruel.

Hem's heart sank into his boots. He relayed Irc's news to the others, who greeted it in gloomy silence, looking across the wide Fesse. The road they were following was veering northward, where they could see the gray spires of the School of Desor. To the west, shadowy in the haze that obscured the horizon, they could just see a purple smudge of hills. As he gazed toward them, Hem felt a pulse of urgency, and for a moment he saw vividly the path toward Maerad, almost as he had seen it when she summoned him, shining straight across the Fesse.

"Maerad's in those hills," he said, pointing. "It's not so far to go—if we can get through."

"Those are the Hollow Lands," said Saliman soberly. "A melancholy wilderness, but I tell you, they will seem like a perfumed garden after Desor. This place oppresses my spirits more than Den Raven. It was once a great School, a haven of the Light. And now it stinks of corruption."

AFTER that conversation, Hem, Saliman, and Hekibel pressed on in silence. The track they had been following was broader and flagged with stone, and although it meant they could ride more swiftly, they were all nervous: it clearly led straight toward Desor and, worse, to the army camps. They passed rough barriers erected across the roads at regular intervals. Hem noticed with a sinking heart that the soldiers were not stopping anyone who was heading toward Desor, but they questioned everyone who traveled the other way. Only once did the captain of a small band of six soldiers signal them to halt and demand to know their business. Saliman told him they were seeking friends who had taken refuge in Desor.

"The rabble will be cleared out soon," the captain said, looking hard at Hekibel in a way that made Hem feel deeply uncomfortable. "I hear that wayfarers must soon report to camps. If you're wise, you'll go there first, before the orders come out."

"We do not plan to stay," said Saliman. "We are honest folk, not thieves."

"Mayhap," said the captain. Hem looked at his men, a motley bunch carrying new, crudely made weapons, and reflected that they did not seem like soldiers at all, but more like brigands. "We're all honest men here, eh, Mindar?" He nudged the man next to him in the ribs, and they both laughed. There was something menacing in their laughter, and Hem was relieved when the captain lost interest in them and waved them on.

After that, they kept a sharp eye out for a way to cut across country. There were open fields on either side of them, but when they turned down a lane that led through them, an angry farmer sent them back, ordering them off his land. The hounds growling at his heels emphasized his demand, and they turned back, their hearts heavy.

"There are walls everywhere in this place," Saliman said, after a fruitless search. "And I feel them closing in on us. Ever this road draws us closer to Desor . .. Perhaps we can trespass over the fields by night, little as I like the idea. If we find no way off this road, I think we must go back. Or stop somewhere likely, if we can, and wait until nightfall."

A light rain began to fall, adding to their gloom. Hem was becoming more and more anxious. Saliman was right—Desor was a trap. He was beginning to feel sick. Remembering the nausea he had suffered walking through the Glandugir Hills, he wondered uneasily whether his earth sense was waking inside him. There was nothing like that poison here, but he had felt an increasing sense of dread since he had entered the Fesse, as if ominous shadows pressed on his mind. It was most likely the presence of Hulls; or it could be that he felt the Black Army, but he was sure a shadow hung as heavy before them as behind. The air carried a faint, bitter taste that dried out his mouth, a taste like sorcery. Uneasily he checked his shield again; if a passing Hull sensed any trace of magery, all of them would be in trouble.

Hekibel called them to a halt at the brow of the next hill. "If we do not stop soon, we will not be able to," she said. "The closer we come to Desor, the more perilous our path becomes. What say you, Saliman?"

Saliman drew up beside Hem and Hekibel. "I fear you're right," he said. "I think we should continue to the brow of the next hill and see if anything is promising from there. If not, I say we retrace our steps. I think no wanderers are permitted to set up camp here; I have seen none for a long time, although there were plenty of people earlier. And remember what that captain said."

Over the hill, the ground swept down to a wide, flat area, like a shallow bowl in the earth, which perhaps had once been pleasant farmland or forest. Now it had the denuded, forlorn look of a freshly cleared landscape, scarred with rough, muddy roads. There was a walled town to the east, which Saliman said was Bregor, the next largest town in the Fesse to Desor itself. From the very edge of its walls stretched a city of tents, staked neatly in long lines. Hem caught his breath: this was already a mighty army, much bigger than he had imagined when looking from the rim of the Fesse.

Hekibel looked on it with wide eyes. "So many!" she whispered to Hem. "Where did they all come from? And what are they for?"

Saliman was staring at the camp blankly. "By the Light," he said. "I had no idea that such an army had been gathered here. Desor has been busy indeed. They can't all be from the Fesse; they must be from Ettinor too, or farther afield."

"Are they there to defend the Fesse, do you think?" asked Hem, his voice wavering.

"It would be a comfort to think so, Hem, but I fear there are Hulls there. Surely you can feel their presence? I think rather that they are waiting for the Black Army to join their forces, and that we are looking on the beginning of the Nameless One's campaign on North Annar."

Hem stared at the camp, his mouth open. Inside, he was beginning to feel panicky. The force of Maerad's summoning had been growing in intensity since he had seen the Hollow Lands and known them to be his destination, and it clashed with their need for caution. Now, seeing the huge army in front of them, that urgency flared more strongly. He felt like jumping the walls to their right and galloping across the fields, dogs or no dogs.

He dragged his gaze away from the encampment, and looked west—and spotted what they had been searching for all afternoon: a wide road that led west.

"But there's a road!" he said, pointing. "Right in the middle of that hamlet there . . . and it leads off this one, look, toward those hills..."

Saliman followed his eyes. "Aye, Hem," he said. "But we will have to go perilously near that army to turn down that way. I am very reluctant to venture any nearer to Bregor. I am thinking that we should retrace our steps and make camp for the night, and wait our chance to cross some quiet fields."

"But it leads exactly the way we have to go!" said Hem. He didn't like the idea of going back at all; turning away from the summoning would be like swimming upriver against a hard current. Saliman caught the urgency in his voice, and gave him a swift, penetrating glance.

I
have to,
said Hem desperately, mindtouching Saliman. J
can see where we have to go. We can't turn back.

Saliman nodded. "Let's go back over this hill and discuss what we should do," he said out loud. "A hasty decision might destroy us, Hem. It is better, I think, to take a little longer and arrive, rather than hurry and not arrive at all."

They decided to stop by the road and have a meal, since they had not eaten since the morning, and discuss their next move. They hastily took out some food, anxiously keeping an eye on the road. There were not many people passing now, and those who did were mostly soldiers. Every time a soldier's eye rested on them, Hem felt himself tense: it was only a matter of time, surely, before they were stopped and questioned again.

While all three of them (and all of the beasts) wanted to get out of Desor as quickly as possible, they couldn't agree on how best to go about it. Saliman and Hekibel were for turning back. Hem passionately disagreed. He argued that they couldn't afford to lose any time at all, especially now they knew that open war in Annar was at hand. And he also feared that if they turned back, they could well run into the Black Army on the road.

"And what about the Hull that was following us?" he said. "I don't feel at all certain that we shook it off in the floodplains, Saliman; and we left tracks that a blind man could follow in all that mud. We might run into Hulls that are actually hunting us if we turn back. I think we have to go forward."

Saliman frowned in thought, and sighed. "I fear you're correct, Hem. Perhaps Irc could scout for us on the position of the Black Army I'd feel better if I knew how far away it is."

"Me too," said Hekibel. "On my life, I do not want to go any closer to Bregor. There are not enough people on the road for us to hide. I don't like it at all."

"There's nowhere safe," said Hem restlessly. "I hate this stinking, rotten place. It's a prison." He looked across at the road, where a patrol of soldiers was passing. "And the longer we stay by the side of the road, the sooner someone will bother us. Whatever direction we're going, we're less obvious if we're on the move."

In the end, Saliman agreed, with a heavy sigh, that the risks of turning back were as high as going forward, and the risks of stopping by the road and thereby attracting unwelcome notice were perhaps the greatest of all. he flew off, with stern instructions from Hem to stay out of trouble and to discover whether the Black Army had reached the Fesse. The others resumed their journey. It was now late afternoon, and they pushed the horses on. They hadn't discussed where they should stop that night, partly because none of them knew whether they should stop at all, but at some point they would have to rest. The farther they were from Bregor, the better. Hem tried not to look at the camp: the sight filled him with dread.

Before long they reached the hamlet where the road forked, and turned west. The road was deserted, and the houses they rode past looked empty. Hem felt more uneasy with every step they took.

"There's a barrier," Hekibel said in a low voice. "I thought there would be. And we can't turn back; they've seen us. Remember to stay quiet, Hem."

The barrier, a roughly made wooden gate across the road, was next to a grim building that looked like a barracks. It was manned by two bored soldiers, who were squatting by the gate playing knucklebones. They stood up slowly as the travelers approached. Saliman nodded pleasantly in greeting.

"Afternoon," said the tallest soldier, a man with the fair skin and blue eyes of northern Annar. "Can I ask where you are traveling, this fine day?"

"Good morrow, kind sirs," said Saliman. Hem noticed that he gave the soldier a surprised look, as if he thought he recognized him and then decided that he was mistaken, and that he had suddenly changed his accent. He was no longer using the dialect of Lauchomon, but of Desor. "We are traveling home, after a long journey."

"No one passes this point," said the soldier. "You should have heard the orders from the School."

"We've been a-visiting in Hiert, and got caught in the floods there," Saliman said. "We've heard no orders. The wife and I left the young ones in charge of the farm, and they expect us this day."

It seemed for a moment as if the soldier would accept Saliman's story and open the gate, and Hem breathed a sigh of relief; but the second soldier was examining them suspiciously.

Hem didn't like his face: whereas the first had a bluff, open expression, if not very intelligent, this one looked like a ruffian.

"And where is this farm?" said the second. "I don't recall your face, and I'm from these parts. I'm sure I'd recognize your woman, if I'd seen her before." He leered at Hekibel, and Hem, sitting behind her on the horse, felt her body tense.

"We have a farm by the edges of the Hollow Lands," said Saliman, without a flicker of hesitation. "Not much of a home, perhaps, but a man might scratch an honest living there. And I'm somewhat eager to get back there, if you'll excuse us. We're late already."

A third soldier came out of the shed and sauntered up behind the first two, and Hem saw to his alarm that his sword was drawn. He could tell by this last man's air of authority that he was the leader of the three. Fenek backed toward the horses, and began to growl, baring his teeth.

"Dismount," said the third. "I am the captain of this region. The orders are that no one passes west of here without express permission. I need to see your note of passing, or you'll go no farther this day."

The second soldier sneered. "You wait on our pleasure, peasant," he said. "Perhaps we'd like to get to know your lady a little. Eh, Brant?" He nudged the first soldier, who looked uncomfortable, and walked up to Usha and grabbed Hekibel's thigh, sliding his hand up her leg. Usha shied and almost reared, and the soldier let Hekibel go and laughed. "She seems a handy type, to be sure. We could have a bit of fun together, eh?"

Saliman's eyes blazed with anger. He made no reply, but Hem saw with alarm that he had almost lost control of himself: his disguising charm had briefly slipped and wavered, so that for a moment his real face had shown through. At the same time, Fenek, whose growls had been getting louder, leaped at the throat of the man who had touched Hekibel.

The captain lazily extended a hand. Nothing seemed to happen, but Hem felt a brief pulse of magery, and Fenek fell limply to the ground, his body crumpled, his tongue lolling between his teeth, his lips drawn back in a frozen snarl. Hem realized, with a thrill of dread, that the captain was a Bard. Not a very powerful Bard—he had only a faint glow of magery about him—but he certainly wasn't a Hull. He had never seen a Bard act with such careless savagery before, and even as disaster loomed over them, it shocked him.

"You killed my dog!" he shouted, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to say anything. "You rot-faced murderer!"

"Be quiet, brat," said the Bard. "Or I'll do the same to you."

Hekibel leaned over to the soldiers, pleading, a sob of desperation in her voice. "I'm begging you, sirs, to let us through. I'm sorry my dog went for you—he was protective, he looked after me, and I've had him since I was a child. Surely to kill him like that before my eyes is enough punishment. My young ones are expecting us, and they're all alone ..."

"Serves you right for taking a trip in wartime," snapped the Bard. "Do you think I care about your stinking bastards? If, in fact, this farm exists."

"What do you mean,
if
it exists?" said Saliman roughly. "Are you calling me a liar?"

The Bard gave him a glance of contempt. "I said, dismount," he said, his voice hard.

Don't get off the horse, whatever you do,
said Saliman into Hem's mind.
And get ready to run.

"1
don't feel safe about it, begging your pardon," said Saliman evenly. "You just killed my dog, and one of your men threatened my wife."