The Crow (43 page)

Now began the most dangerous part of their journey. The camp of child soldiers was reported to be several leagues southeast of The Pit, in the shadow of the Glandugir Hills, which lay before them, humped ominously against the horizon, dark purple under the haze of night sky.

They moved on through an increasingly heavy rain, Hem's sandals slipping on the wet tufts of grass, Ire clinging damply to his shoulder. At least they didn't have to worry about mauls in these conditions, Hem thought; it was hard to keep all his senses alert, though, when he was soaked through and continuously hammered by the rain. There was no prospect, either, of even such shelter as The Pit offered; from now on they camped in the open, relying on their magery and campcraft to keep hidden.

As they approached the hills, the vegetation thickened, and they began to make a better pace; the feathery grasses and shrubs of the Nazar were giving way to larger trees – wild almonds with bitter black fruits, shrunken, deformed cedars, and stands of twisted oak. They encountered a road of beaten earth, churned to mud by the recent passage of carts and feet. Hared paused a long time before he permitted them to go across, questing through the rain for any scent of vigilances or other sorceries.

Hem mentally kicked himself awake, reminding himself that now they were deep in Black Army territory, and tomorrow he and Zelika would have to go on without Hared, depending wholly on their own skills. Hared had been preparing them for this all through their journey from the Caves of Burat, sending each of them in turn ahead of the group to scout for signs of danger and constantly drilling them in their responses; but, even so, the thought of being without Hared to guide them filled Hem with an apprehension he couldn't shake off. As Hared kept reminding them, one mistake could mean death; there was no room for error.

As the sky began to lighten to gray, they found a grove of wild almonds huddled at the base of a large rock shaped almost like a ship. Underneath the low trees was a tangle of thorn-bushes, and they made their camp within the thicket. Beneath the dense outer leaves were thick leafless stems, which gave them a surprising amount of space, and it was comparatively dry, although the ground was covered by prickles. Lit by the ghostly glow of dawn as it filtered through the thick leaves, they ate a melancholy meal. Hem tried not to think of one of Soron's magnificent feasts as he chewed the salty meat. As they ate they spoke together in low voices, and Hared ran them through their plans for the hundredth time.

From this point, Zelika and Hem had to scout southward a league or so, getting as close to the camp as they could. Hared wanted to find out, if possible, how big the camp was, how the Hulls were training the captured children, and where they were being taken.

"If you can find any evidence of other camps, that would be good. But anything you see will be useful," he said. "Do nothing foolhardy; I want you to come back. The dead might not betray anyone, but they can't tell you anything useful either." He grinned, and Hem supposed Hared was making some kind of grim joke. "Remember what I've taught you. You've been good students, I'll give you that; make sure it doesn't all fly out of your heads the instant you meet real danger."

Zelika, who had barely said a word since they left The Pit, nodded seriously. It was as if she were sharpening herself, Hem thought, focusing her will with an iron discipline that impressed him. He knew how single-minded she could be, but he had never seen her so contained.

"I'll meet you back here in three nights' time, and we'll decide our next move from there, depending what you've discovered. If you can't get back yourselves for some reason, send Ire." He looked at the crow and spoke to him:
Remember this place, crow. If the others get lost, you guide them here.

I never get lost,
said Ire, and cawed complacently. 7
am the King's Messenger.

You're the messenger of a pretty poor king, if your livery's anything to go by.
Hared looked over Ire's mottled feathers with sly amusement.
Well, make sure you don't get lost,
he said.
Three nights – I'll meet you here.

Ire ruffled his wings in indignation, but didn't answer back. Hared was one of the few human beings who intimidated him.

After their meal, they prepared for sleep on the prickly ground. Even through Hem's thick cloak the thorns stuck into his skin, and he shifted around restlessly, trying to find a comfortable spot. They were taking watch in shifts; Hared was first. Hem lay on his back and stared upward into the gray tangle of thorns.

With a pang, he thought of Saliman and wondered how he and Soron were faring. Well, there was no time for regret now. He had decided on this course, he had chosen it against Saliman's advice, and now there was no turning back. He simply had to do the best he could. And then his thoughts moved to Maerad, now guideless on her own quest. Where was she? Was she still alive? He found himself suddenly listening with all his strength, as if he could catch through the hundreds of leagues that separated them some faint echo of her voice; but he heard nothing except the dry whisper of the wind in the trees.

* * * *

They left the thorn thicket as soon as darkness fell the following night. Hared bid them leave without ceremony. "Good luck/' he said. "I'll see you soon." Hem was grateful for his brusque-ness; it somehow made everything more ordinary, as if they were simply about to perform some mundane task. Hem and Zelika glanced at each other, took deep breaths, and stole out into the night.

Tonight there was no rain, and a thin new moon threw tangled shadows over their path. The children planned to head south through the edges of the Glandugir Hills. They had been warned not to go too deeply into the hills, as they were perilous with weird, half made creatures – beasts that, like the death-crows, had been twisted awry by the poison in the land. They crept along under the cover of the trees, checking and recheck-ing their surroundings. Ire flew overhead, hopping from tree to tree and acting as a lookout. Hem kept in mindtouch with him, so they were in continual silent conversation.

They made good progress through the first half of the night, and when they paused for a quick meal, Hem said as much to Zelika. She frowned at him. "Don't test our luck," she whispered. "We have a long way to go yet."

Zelika's caution was borne out a little later when a winged creature crashed out of a tree in front of them with a hoarse scream, knocking Hem to the ground. Ire screeched as Hem rolled instinctively, somehow drawing his sword. He sprang back to his feet, his heart hammering, but before he could do anything, Zelika had slashed its head off, and the thing collapsed to the ground in a twitching tangle of limbs and dry, insectile wings. It was the size of a large dog and its naked skin glowed slightly, emanating an eerie reddish light. Hem saw with a shudder that it had long, savage teeth, and it seemed to have too many legs.

He didn't have time to register anything else, as another appeared out of nowhere, suddenly filling the blank air in front of him. It snapped at his face and Hem felt its teeth clash together, almost grazing his ear, as he ducked and thrust out his shortsword. It reared backward and fell to the ground with a scream, transparent matter spraying from one of its eyes, and Hem brought his sword whistling down through the air and split its head in two as Ire burst out of the leaves above, ready to defend his friend. The thing made horrible slobbering noises as it twitched in its death agony, but Hem took no notice; he was looking into the dark trees, wondering if anymore were coming. The woods were ominously silent.

After a while Zelika wiped her blade and put it back in her scabbard.

"Are you all right?" she said.

Hem nodded. He was only bruised.

"We'd better get away, then. That made a terrible noise; who knows what heard us."

"I wonder what they were?"

"Some filth. Hared warned us. Come
on."

They went swiftly, without looking back. Hem took a deep breath, trying to settle his jangling nerves; he was beginning to feel a delayed shock. Zelika's mouth was set in a firm line, and she seemed unshaken; Hem wished he felt as steady.

That was no beast,
said Ire scornfully into his mind.
That was an unbeast. Twisty and nasty.

Keep your eye out for more,
Hem said.
It's your watch, the trees. You should have seen that.

It hid itself,
Ire answered.
It twists the shadows.

Doubling his alertness, Hem thought about what Ire had said. He was troubled that he hadn't had any sense of the creatures before they were attacked, and even more by how the second one had so suddenly appeared in front of him. Whatever they were, these creatures had strong powers of concealment: glimveils, probably, from what Ire had said. The hair on his neck bristled, as if they were being watched by something unseen, but, he thought, it could also be simple fear. He didn't like these woods. He thought that the trees moved when there was no wind.

His nausea became much worse after that encounter, but he pushed it away by sheer will. He scented sorcery, but not close by; and the sound of footsteps marching some way off made them hide for a long time, fearing their skirmish had been heard by guards. But, slowly and steadily, they made progress.

When the sky began to lighten, they stopped. They found a camp like the one they had slept in the night before. Once they stopped walking, Hem dropped to his knees and was overwhelmed by a bout of dry retching. Zelika watched him with concern, saying nothing.

"It's all right," he said at last, sitting up. "It's just that this place makes me feel sick. It's poisoned here."

"You have to eat," said Zelika. "Otherwise you won't be able to walk."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat."

Zelika put some plain biscuit into his limp hands. Hem met her unrelenting stare, swallowed, and began slowly to chew.

After an uncomfortable sleep interrupted by false alarms, they continued their journey. Both Hem and Zelika were very tense. Fearing more attacks by the Glandugir creatures, they stayed as close to the edge of the tree line as they dared, keeping in sight the lighter strip of the dirt road that ran parallel to their course. Twice that night patrols of dogsoldiers marched past, close enough for Hem to smell them – a mixture of iron, fire, sorcery, and stale sweat that made him flinch. There was no rain to cover them, but the night was chill, and clouds hurried over the waxing moon, which rode high in the sky. Once a lone rider, perhaps a Hull messenger, galloped south, its black cloak billowing behind. At each sighting the children hid in foliage that seemed pathetically inadequate cover, trembling for fear that their presence would be sensed.

According to Hared's instructions they were to come across the camp soon, and should be able to overlook it from the hills. They had been told not to approach it too closely, nor take any risks; whatever they saw from their vantage point would have to be enough. "No heroics," he had said. "Heroes tend not to return."

Hem noticed that the clearings they crept through now were not natural: once he stumbled over a tree stump, almost completely covered by brambles and evergreen creepers. Trees here had been cut down to build something. And at the darkest hour of the night they came over a rise and saw a spot of red fire on the plains beneath them. They squinted and made out the darker outlines of a camp against the black landscape. They had reached their destination. If it hadn't been for the single guard fire, they might have passed it altogether in the dark.

Now they needed to make a hide, so they could watch unobserved. Hem found a thicket on a small hillock that he thought was perfect for their needs, but Zelika said it was too close to the road. They had a brief but furious argument, conducted entirely in whispers, before they settled on another thicket without such a good view of the camp, but a bit farther back toward the trees.

They spent a bit of time arranging their hide – fussily placing water bags where they were most convenient and pushing back bramble branches – before they had something to eat. Hem tiredly cast a strong glimveil, the magery draining the remains of his strength. He could feel the tension thrilling through Zelika: now that they had reached their goal, her body was pulsing with excitement. Hem felt no excitement at all, only a dull dread that seeped through his exhaustion. He didn't argue when Zelika said she would keep first watch, and simply lay down to sleep with Ire in his usual place at his neck.

When Zelika woke him the sun had just risen, flooding the hills with a bleak, pale light. Hem blinked, feeling that it had been days since he had walked openly in daylight. Ire gave a sleepy peep and flew up into a tree above their heads. Hem pushed himself on his elbows to the front of the hide and peered through the narrow opening. Now he could see the camp properly, he was shocked by its size; it was much bigger than he had imagined. Long huts stood in rows inside what seemed to be a roughly built stockade with a high spiked fence. Dogsoldiers stood guard on high platforms above the fences. Inside, he could see groups of figures forming complicated patterns; he thought they were probably practicing battle maneuvers. Faint shouts floated toward them on the still air.

"Training," whispered Zelika. "They've been marching since before dawn."

"You can't really see from here," said Hem.

"We can see well enough," Zelika answered tartly. "Remember what Hared said about heroes. It's good that it's not raining; the light's very clear. I'm tired; wake me up if anything happens."

She crawled back into their hide and Hem stayed where he was, watching the camp, thinking that he would feel much safer if it were raining. Despite his glimveil, the clear light made him feel very exposed. He spent his time trying to count how many people might be in the camp, and mentally noting everything he saw, storing it in his memory. It was hard to tell if the figures he saw were children; he could tell dogsoldiers from humans at this distance, but not much else. The games that Hared had forced them to play in Nal-Ak-Burat did not seem so pointless now; he knew he would remember everything accurately.