The Crow

by Alison Croggon

  "What about my fighting gear?" said Zelika belligerently.

  "That too is on its way. I have not been idle. Farewell! I will return soon."

  He left the room hurriedly, and Zelika turned to watch Hem. Nothing happened for a long time, and she began to feel disappointed.

  "What if they don't answer?" she said at last. "Maybe the deathcrows killed them all. Anyway, where could they have hidden?"

  "Shhhh!" Hem turned from the window with his fingers on his lips. "But – "

  "Be quiet, I tell you!"

  Hem's expression was so fierce, even though he whispered, that Zelika was immediately silenced. In the quiet she heard a small cheep, and Ire cocked his head and cawed inquiringly. Then there was a sudden rushing noise, and the window darkened. For a terrible moment Zelika thought the deathcrows had returned for another assault, but then she saw it was dozens of other kinds of birds. Those that could landed on Hem's arms and head, and the others hovered outside the window or perched in the courtyard outside or in the bedroom. She was confused by their variety: it seemed that every kind of bird she had ever seen was suddenly there, from tiny brown finches to magnificent white egrets, from hook-beaked buzzards to iridescent pigeons, from eagles to crows. But she saw enough to notice there was only one of every kind. A hubbub of birdcalls filled the room.

  Zelika stared in awe; she hadn't known Hem possessed such powers. The boy spoke, and the birds listened, their eyes bright, and then there was another chaos of birdcalls. He spoke again, and the birds took off in another rush of wings, and were gone so suddenly that Zelika blinked.

  Hem turned, his face shining.

  "I told you! I knew they'd help!"

  "So what did they say?" asked Zelika.

  "They are frightened and angry." In his excitement, Hem had forgotten his modesty. He had thrown off his nightshirt and was hurriedly pulling on his clothes. "They fear the deathcrows greatly. They say the deathcrows are not birds at all. I told them that if they work together, they could keep the skies clear. They go now to speak to the other birds, and the falcons and eagles will spy out the deathcrows, to find out where they come from and how many they are. They'll return soon with their answers."

  For once, Zelika couldn't think of anything to say. She had never seen Hem so sure; usually he was a little boastful, a bright veneer of confidence that Zelika guessed sardonically was underlain by uncertainty.

  When breakfast arrived soon after, hot honeyed dohl in silver bowls, and some raw meat for Ire, they all ate hungrily. Hem was restless, keeping one eye on the window, and when a pelican flapped heavily down and perched on the sill, he jumped up immediately to greet it. The huge bird filled the window, its yellow beak almost as long as Hem's arm. They spoke briefly, and the pelican departed, leaping off the sill and spreading its huge black wings. Hem came back to finish his breakfast, his face flushed.

  "It's going to work," he said. "The pelican is the king of them, I think. He calls himself a name that means Feather of the Sun, Ara-kin. The birds gather now. He said the deathcrows are beyond the Black Army, on some hills near a forest and a small lake."

  "That's probably the Jiela Hills," said Zelika, frowning. "I think."

  "He says they prepare for another attack this morning. There are Hulls moving among them. Where's Saliman? He should know this." He waved his spoon impatiently. "The birds of Turbansk are gathering swiftly. I've told them to keep the carrion back from the walls. They can attack them from above, as they fly toward the city. They can't fight them where they are, on the ground, because the Hulls would blast them out of the sky."

  Saliman arrived shortly afterward, followed by two palace aides who carried bundles wrapped carefully in cloth. Hem at once told him what he had done, and Saliman listened in silence. When Hem had finished he said nothing for a time, and simply stared at Hem with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

  "You think like a general, Hem," he said finally. "Well done. It may yet work, the Light willing."

  Hem flushed with pleasure at Saliman's praise.

  "There is news," added Saliman. "The assault on the harbor is beginning, as I thought, even as it also begins on the outer walls. I am in haste: I am needed elsewhere. Here are your arms." He gestured, and the aides came forward and began to place their burdens on the bed. They carried arms and armor in the colors of Turbansk.

  "It was not so hard as it might have been to find some your size," said Saliman. "But remember you bear royal arms – wear them with respect! These were made for the sons of Har-Ytan when they were your age."

  Hem stared at the gear, his attention suddenly caught. The light through the window struck off the golden sun emblazoned on the shields, and he blinked, dazzled.

  "Hem, Zelika, if you wish to see what is happening you can climb the Red Tower. I will be at the harbor, but do not seek me unless you have real need, and send Ire if you do. The aides here, Ja-Rel and Han, will show you the gates of the Ernan if you seek them. Remember which gate you enter by, or it will take you long to find your way back here... I must go. Remember what I say!"

  Saliman gave Hem a hard, urgent stare, as if he wished to say more than words or time allowed. Hem blinked, feeling a sudden gathering of grief in his chest. With a sharp pang, he wondered if he would see Saliman again. Things seemed to be moving too quickly: there was not enough time for anything. The Bard hurriedly embraced the children, kissing each on the forehead, and departed almost at a run. Hem and Zelika stared at each other.

  "I have never owned arms so fine!" Zelika said, her eyes sparkling. "Let's get dressed."

  Hem knew how to arm himself from his swordcraft lessons, but the aides assisted him gravely as if he were a fine lord. He found it a little disconcerting. And this time putting on battle gear had a special significance; he was not about to attack a classmate with a bamboo sword, but might soon find himself fighting for his life. He shuddered involuntarily as the cold mail met his skin. The corslet of blue ceramic scales was much lighter than those he was used to, and the round shield was also light. He looked at it closely; it was made of some very strong metal he didn't recognize. He strapped on leather greaves and vambraces, both dyed blue, and tied the blue-dyed sandals to his bare feet. He refused the golden helm, and put the fine mail gauntlets in a leather bag at his waist. Lastly he strapped on a shortsword.

  Zelika tried the balance of her sword. "It is a good weapon," she said, and she smiled. It was a smile that sent a chill down Hem's spine; he had not seen this expression on Zelika's face for some days, and had almost forgotten it. Now all her gentleness had gone, and in its place was a cold savagery. "Better than a cooking knife, eh, Hem?" She slashed the air with the sword. "I wager this edge will unstring some necks."

  Hem studied his own sword. It was, he could see, a fine weapon, with the steel folded and tempered by master metal-smiths to an edge that would cleave a hair. Swordcraft was a skill that he enjoyed, the only classes at the Turbansk School for which he had displayed talent and application. But he did not feel the same bloodthirstiness as he saw in Zelika. He wondered why: the Dark had murdered and enslaved his family too, and had destroyed his life. He hated the Dark as much as he hated anything. All the same, he could not feel Zelika's strange delight at the prospect of battle; when he saw that gleam in her eyes, he believed that she was speaking truth when she said she didn't care whether she died.

  All of a sudden, he felt weighed down by a huge, inconsolable sorrow. He looked dubiously at his sword, and sheathed it.

  "We'd better move," he said. He turned to speak to Ire. Can you be a messenger, my friend? Tell the birds where they can find me.

  Ire gave a sharp cry and flew out of the window.

  "I wish I had the Speech," said Zelika. She strapped her shortsword to her waist and then stared at Hem. "What's wrong?"

  Hem shrugged, and half turned away. "I don't know," he answered.

  Zelika studied his face for a moment, and drew her lips into an impatient line. "We're all sad," she
said. "Everybody has something to be sad about. But right now, I think it is better to be angry." She jammed her helm on her head, and strode out of the door.

  Hem squared his shoulders and followed her more slowly, studying her straight, determined back. Even after days of spending almost all his time with Zelika, he still found her very hard to read.

  The aides in the Ernan and the Red Tower guards told Hem and Zelika that Saliman had sent instructions that the two children were to be allowed the freedom of the city. Hem pondered this as they made the long climb up the stairs. He wondered what Saliman expected of him. Perhaps it was simply trust.

  Saliman had made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of Zelika's desire to be a fighter, and Hem had expected a stand-up argument about it. Perhaps Saliman had wisely deduced that the only way to keep Zelika out of battle was to lock her up. Or maybe he thought that when it came to the point, Zelika would be more sensible than her words suggested. Hem himself wasn't very confident about that: he had seen the madness in Zelika's eyes when she spoke of the Black Army, and he thought no reasoning would hold her back from her desire for revenge.

  Climbing the Red Tower was tiring at the best of times, but in full armor it was hot and exhausting. Long before they reached the top, Hem was wondering if his legs would hold out. Zelika was climbing steadily before him, and only pride stopped him from calling for a rest. Even pride didn't stop him from sitting down awkwardly when they finally reached the watch at the top, breathing hard and wiping away the sweat that sheeted down his face. His hair was soaked, as if he had jumped into a pond. It was still early, and although the day was already growing hot, this high up the air was cooled by a soft breeze. It wasn't long before Hem recovered his composure and was able to remember why he had climbed there.

  The golden dome that topped the Red Tower gave a welcome shade. Beneath the dome was the watch, a square floor surrounded by low walls that permitted an unimpeded view in every direction. Four guards stood there, one at each wall, and two lightly armored messengers. They all turned to look when the children emerged from the stairs, but after nodding in greeting took no further notice of them.

  As Hem stood up, Ire swooped into the shade, landed on his shoulder, and nibbled his ear.

  I've told the pelican, Ara-kin, he said. He says I am now his messenger. Ire seemed inordinately pleased. The birds will find you here.

  Thank you, my friend, said Hem, and stroked Ire's head with his finger. Then he asked a question that had been bothering him. Do the crows harry you?

  Ire puffed out his feathers a little smugly. They do not harry the messenger of the King, he answered.

  The King? repeated Hem, confused. Did the birds mean him? But then he realized Ire must mean Ara-kin. Anyway, what is happening out there?

  Look, said Ire.

  Even as Ire spoke, the guard looking west turned to one of the messengers and said sharply, "Deathcrows! Coming from the west!" The messenger leaped to her feet, preparing to run, but the guard put up his hand to stay her. "Something else. Flocks of birds... but they are not crows. I do not know what they are. They're very high up. Very strange – it is not the season for such flocking. And they are flying toward the deathcrows. What does this mean? Perhaps they prepare to attack the enemy, though I do not credit it. Report it, anyway."

  The messenger nodded and vanished down the stairs to the Ernan, Hem supposed. But he and Zelika rushed eagerly to the west wall and stared hard into the distance, screwing up their eyes against the bright sunlight.

  He could see that there was movement at the city walls: large siege engines were being wheeled toward the defending towers, and something was happening at the West Gate. Arrows flew through the air, catching the sunlight as if they were on fire, and he could see the occasional flash of magery or sorcery. But Hem stared impatiently beyond the walls, wanting to know what was happening farther afield.

  It was a while before they spotted the deathcrows. The guard's starglasses meant he could see farther than Hem and Zelika could. But eventually, behind the mass of the army that filled the Turbansk Fesse, they made out a black, swirling mist rising up out of the hills and moving toward the city. Closer, but dwindling into the distance, they saw with a thrill in their hearts the birds of Turbansk. They were flying much higher than the deathcrows, well out of range of the Black Army's arrows. Ire was bobbing up and down on Hem's shoulder with excitement. Hem resisted the urge to tear the starglasses out of the guard's hands: it was very frustrating not to be able to see clearly.

  As they watched, the two clouds of birds, one light, one dark, met in midair. It wasn't until they were close together that Hem could see that the Turbansk birds outnumbered the deathcrows. He started to hop from one foot to another, biting his lip. As they neared their destination, the Turbansk flock divided into two, and then swiftly encircled the deathcrows. For a moment the two forces were clearly visible, and then they seemed to fuse into one.

  "They are attacking the deathcrows!" said the soldier next to him, letting down his starglasses in astonishment. The other guards looked over from their watch.

  "I don't believe it," said another, but looking west he confirmed it for himself. "By the Light!"

  The first soldier put the starglasses to his eye again. "The Light willing, they will prevail. I cannot tell... it is just a confusion out there... no, it looks as if the other birds are retreating. No, they are high again, but the deathcrows seem fewer, they do not head this way, anyway..."

  It was agonizing. Hem's eyes were watering with the strain of trying to see, and his heart hammered in his ears. Now that the two flocks were embroiled together, he couldn't see which was winning. He could see tiny red flashes arcing upward from the battlefield, and he thought that maybe Hulls were trying to drive off the birds that attacked the deathcrows.

  Then he saw the lighter flock climb back into the air, withdrawing. And now there was no sign of a black mist beneath it.

  "The deathcrows... the deathcrows have vanished!" said the soldier. "They've just gone!"

  "They killed them. They killed the deathcrows!" said Zelika. "Hem, it worked! It really worked!"

  Hem stared again into the distance. Now the flock of Turbansk birds was flying slowly back toward the city. It was smaller, he thought, than it had been. But the soldier was correct: there was no sign of the deathcrows behind them. He was filled with a wild elation, and turned to hug Zelika, who was dancing, whooping with joy, while Ire plunged through the air in his own celebration.

  Now all the guards were staring at the children. "Do you know about this, Lios Hlaf?" the first soldier said, using Hem's nickname. He stared curiously at the boy.

  "The birds of Turbansk fight with us," answered Hem, his face glowing. "They fear the deathcrows as much as we do."

  "That is clever," said another guard. "But alas, it will not be enough."

  "No. But each little bit helps, Inurdar," said the first guard. "You said yourself only yesterday that the deathcrows were a curse beyond the hurt they do us."

  Hem and Zelika sobered, remembering that the defeat of the deathcrows was only a small part of the battle for Turbansk. For a moment they had felt as if they had won the war.

  A sudden boom sounded from the harbor beneath them. They became aware that they could hear the cacophony of battle, faint at this distance, but still clear. He and Zelika exchanged swift glances, and ran to the south wall of the watch.

  From this side, the Red Tower dropped sheer down to the Lamarsan Sea. To their right stretched the walls and towers of Turbansk Harbor. Looking down, Hem had an aerial view of a vicious sea battle.

  The boom they had heard was from a ramming ship that had smashed into one of the walls of the harbor. It was driven by sorcery, Hem could see, not by wind or oars; it moved too nimbly in the water. Even as they watched, the ship backed swiftly from the wall and drove toward it again. This time they saw the wall give, and one of the smaller towers, newly built and not as solid as the others, half collapsed
. Stones tumbled down the side of the wall and splashed into the water. Hem saw some tiny human figures fall with them, and with a sudden constriction of his throat remembered that Saliman was defending the harbor.

  Those who fell had little hope of being rescued: he saw bowmen on the black ships shooting them in the water.

  "That's what Saliman said Imank would do," said Zelika at his shoulder. "He said there would be attacks from sea and land. And Imank planned to send the deathcrows too, to make defense impossible. Well, there are no deathcrows to help them."

  "It's bad enough," said Hem. He could not take his eyes off the harbor.

  There were three ramming ships, protected by perhaps half a dozen fighting dromonds, one of which was already broken in two and floated directionlessly on the water, its front half in flames. Standing well back from the immediate battle was a fleet of ships with black sails and figureless black shields painted on their sides. On the deck of each dromond stood dozens of soldiers, so that each ship seemed to bristle with spears.

  The dromonds nearest the harbor were in battle with ten Turbanskian ships, which were smaller than those of the Black Army, and more maneuverable; they also, Hem could see, were driven by magery. They were aiming to break the ramming ships, but these were well protected by the enemy dromonds. Then, with a deadly whistling noise, something catapulted from a tower by the harbor and one of the black ships burst into flame. The harbor walls seemed to be raining fire. The black ship blazed so suddenly, from its prow to its stern, that Hem blinked; he couldn't see where the fire came from. He could see people jumping from the deck of the burning ship into the water. Some missed their mark and fell into the sea, sending up great gouts of steam, but others hit three of the black dromonds and one of the ramming ships. The Turbansk ships broke through the line of dromonds and two of them attacked one of the remaining ramming ships, breaking its hull so that it began, with a strange slowness, to list and then sink.

  The final ramming ship shot backward, away from the harbor walls, and dodged the Turbansk dromonds. Hem could see that the remaining black ships were also withdrawing toward the waiting fleet. But this time he felt no elation: his eyes were fixed on dozens of figures he could see struggling in the water. He could not tell which were defenders and which were attackers. One of the Turbanskian dromonds was sending down ropes to pull survivors out of the water, but Hem could already see that most of those in the water were fated to drown. He looked away from the smoking wrecks up into the clear blue sky, feeling sick.