The Crow

by Alison Croggon

  II Hanedr and Juriken both sat without speaking for a time in a room that seemed much darker than it had before. II Hanedr lifted his head and Zelika, glancing shyly over from the wall, saw that tears stood in his eyes. She was shocked and embarrassed that such a captain, to Zelika a real hero, should be seen in such a moment, and she stared down at Ire.

  At least the crow had enough sense to be quiet here, she thought. Suddenly overcome by remorse for how she had treated him, and for her whole sorry, futile adventure, she sat down, crossing her legs, and gently untied the thong with which she had bound his feet.

  To her surprise, Ire did not move at first. The truth was that she had tied his feet so tightly that he could hardly feel them and he was, in any case, bruised and sore. Then, finally realizing he was free, Ire hopped away from her lap, and fell over.

  Biting her lip, Zelika reached out to catch him. She feared she had broken his legs; Hem would never forgive her. Ire let out a sharp caw and stabbed at her hand, shuffling away from her.

  I suppose I don't deserve any better, thought Zelika. I am nothing. I am nothing but shame. She hid her face in her hands.

  Ire hobbled to the other side of the room, where he watched Zelika warily. II Hanedr spoke to Juriken and also left the guardroom. Now there were only Zelika, Juriken, and Ire.

  The Bard sat in silence for a time, and then sighed and stood up.

  Now, White Crow, he said to Ire in the Speech. Your friend will be waiting for you, fearing you are dead.

  I didn't want to come here, answered Ire sulkily. She brought me. And now my wings hurt and my feet hurt.

  Juriken laughed. I am sorry for that, he said. But nevertheless, we must leave here. I have business at the Ernan, and it will rain soon.

  Rain?

  Juriken crossed the room, squatted next to Zelika, and put his hand on her head. She didn't look up, but a feeling of peace spread from his touch. She began to feel a little better.

  "Zelika," said Juriken softly. "Forget your pride. This is no time for such things. You will have to come with me. No foolishness, now."

  The girl nodded meekly, and stood up, her armor rattling too loudly in the small room. Juriken, she noticed, wore no armor, just the plain red robe he always wore.

  Ire felt too bruised to fly, and did not dare to sit on Juriken's shoulder, so he had to swallow his pride and sat on Zelika's. She did not push him off, as he half expected she might.

  Juriken led the girl along the inner walkway, away from the West Gate, and entered another tower. They climbed another small spiral stairway, until they emerged onto another inner wall, this one higher up. Panting, Zelika followed him up a short flight of steps and found she was in a small roofless lookout. Here it was quieter than at the West Gate, although the constant noise of the Black Army, the drums and trumpets and shouts that had underlain Zelika's life for weeks now, was still loud. Juriken glanced up into the sky, his face briefly illuminated by lightning, and Zelika involuntarily followed suit. The sun had vanished beneath the horizon, its last glow gilding the thick clouds that pressed down on them.

  The archers in the lookout bowed their heads and moved aside for Juriken, and the Bard stepped up to the parapet and looked over it.

  "We will watch from here, for a time," said Juriken. "Then I must return to the Ernan, where you are supposed to be already."

  Ire flew up to the wall, and then flapped back in alarm as an arrow zipped over their heads with an unpleasant whirring sound. Juriken said something that Zelika couldn't understand, and the air seemed to change around her, gaining a brief, strange luminosity.

  "The Black Army does not sleep. This will protect us from stray arrows," he said. Zelika looked at him dubiously; she was still a little suspicious of Bardic magery. Then she stood on her tiptoes, and found she could just see over the edge of the parapet.

  Before the walls, there was an empty space for some two hundred spans. Then there was a thicket wall of tall, black shields and, behind them, a long row of tents. And then another row, and another, stretching back until they vanished into the thick dusk. Between the tents, Zelika could see figures walking. It all looked very still and orderly.

  "Watch the West Gate," said Juriken. "And look also to the north."

  Zelika stared to her right, and drew in her breath sharply. From here, they had a clear view to the gates. There, where the fighting had always been thickest, there were no tents. There was the same space before the gates, where the Black Army kept out of bowshot, and then the line of shields. As Zelika watched, a fiery missile arced into the sky, smashed into the city walls, slid down, and exploded on the ground outside in a red bloom of flame. A huge siege engine stood farther back, a sinister outline against the sky, and another behind it. The sky flashed, and in its livid light Zelika saw that the whole ground was a mass of moving figures, which seemed to seethe like a single, threatening creature under the heavy clouds. Now it was almost dark, and the fires behind the enemy lines flared bloodily.

  There was another roll of thunder. Zelika's hair prickled all the way down her back; she was beginning to think that she would burst with tension. Why was nothing happening? Then she saw a sudden flurry of arrows and other missiles from above the West Gate.

  "It's beginning," said Juriken. "Watch."

  A long, high note rang out over the field: the flourish of a trumpet. Briefly its pure music sang defiantly against the darkness and fire, and then faded away. The trumpet call stirred Zelika's blood – not with the desire to kill, but with a sudden lifting of her heart that was entwined with an almost intolerable sadness. It was in that moment that she understood what it meant if Turbansk really was about to fall to the Black Army. She wondered why the fires had become blurred, and then realized that, despite herself, she was crying.

  Then it seemed as if the trumpet was answered, as another flourish sounded to Zelika's left. Wondering, she looked along the walls toward the North Gate. She turned to Juriken, a question forming on her lips. He glanced at her, and smiled grimly.

  "We do not attack only on one front," he said. "Imank might think it a trap."

  As the trumpet notes died away, the North and West Gates began to open. And as they opened, the Turbanskian forces flooded out into the field with an amazing swiftness, illuminated by the almost constant flickering of the lightning: two seas of dull gold and blue and silver pushing against the somber darkness. Zelika saw the blue-and-gold banner of Turbansk standing out in the wind, and also the silver sword of Baladh, the crimson horse that was the symbol of the Alhadeans. First came the horses: ranks of Alhadean and Bilakean archers, and a rank of the mounted Sun Guard. After them marched the foot soldiers. They seemed so many that Zelika blinked. The Black Army seethed and swirled, as captains reacted to the attack and marshaled their forces to meet the two prongs of the Turbanskian ranks, and a faint shouting reached Zelika's ears. The front ranks of the riders crashed into the line of shields, and the Black Army shivered under the impact, and fell back.

  It was hard to make out what was happening in the gathering darkness; Zelika followed the banners, which shone dully, the gold sun and the silver sword and the red horse, as their forces spread and met and began to fight on a single front. In the initial shock of their attack, the Turbansk forces pushed through to one of the siege engines, and as she watched, the huge machine slowly toppled over, crushing many people beneath it. The soldiers around Zelika cheered, but Zelika made no sound, biting her lip so hard that she drew blood. Where was the crimson horse? The sun banner had vanished; it had fallen. No, it was risen again; perhaps the herald had been killed, and another had picked it up. Zelika knew that Har-Ytan would not be far from the banner. The fighting was now very fierce, but it seemed that unbelievably, step by step, the Turbanskian forces were driving back the Black Army. It could only be sheer will: they were hopelessly outnumbered, and yet their line stood unbroken.

  But even as she watched, Zelika saw great beasts coming from the back lines toward the Turbanskian f
orces, beasts that breathed gouts of flame and had huge blades jutting from shoulder and snout and knee joint, ridden by figures that were themselves wreathed with fire. They carelessly trampled the smaller figures of the Black Army as they forced their way forward to the front line. Zelika drew in her breath sharply; these were the irzuk, beasts made of iron and flame ridden by dogsol-diers. She had seen them at Baladh, and knew that no warrior, no matter how strong, could withstand them. But behind them marched things she could not name that froze her heart. These were dark manlike creatures that stood thirty spans tall or more, yet for all their size were hard to fix in the eye: they seemed to be woven out of shadow and vapor, and their movements were more sinisterly threatening than even the irzuk. They seemed to wade through the fighting soldiers as if through shallow water, and where they walked, all – foe or ally – fell to the ground. As they approached the front lines, the bright banners of Turbansk wavered and retreated.

  "Mauls," said Juriken, watching closely at her elbow. "Haunts of shadow and mist and disease summoned by the sorcerers. We expected them: they are deadlier by far than dog-soldiers, and neither iron nor fire will hurt them. The Bards will keep them back for a time, if they can. But the mauls cannot withstand rain."

  He stared up at the dark clouds, as if commanding them to burst, and as he spoke a warm drop of rain fell on Zelika's face. Then another. In a few moments, with a blinding suddenness, the rains came down.

  She squinted desperately through the rain, but it was so heavy that she could barely see a hundred spans. Ire squawked in protest and jumped onto Zelika's shoulder, trying to nestle in underneath her hair.

  "We will not see anymore," said Juriken, shouting over the roar of the rain, although he too stared into the gray darkness, as if his sight could pierce its thick curtains by its sheer intensity. Then, with a sudden resolve, as if he had finally made his mind up about something that had been troubling him, he took her elbow and guided her back into the turret. The rain was not so loud inside. Zelika gasped with relief at being out of the downpour, and brushed her soaking hair out of her eyes.

  "What's going to happen?" Zelika turned to Juriken, all her previous complaints forgotten. A thin stream of water poured down her face and off the end of her nose and chin.

  "Many people will die, are dying now, on both sides. And most of them will not deserve such deaths as they will suffer." Juriken turned to look at Zelika, and for a moment it was as if he had forgotten that he was speaking to a young girl. His face was haggard, and his shoulders sagged with weariness or grief. "Tell me, Zelika, does a slave deserve to die? For Imank drives many slaves: those forces are not merely Hulls."

  "They're attacking us," Zelika said, puzzled by Juriken's words. "I don't feel sorry for them. They want to kill us."

  Juriken's gaze focused on Zelika, as if he returned from some inner distance.

  "Aye, Zelika," he said gently. "Nevertheless, fear and lies and hatred and despair are all enslavements, and are to be pitied. Well. May the Light keep them all." Wiping away the water, he passed his hand over his face, and Zelika saw with astonishment that it was trembling.

  Zelika suddenly wondered how old he really was: she had heard Bards were long-lived. Juriken suddenly seemed hundreds of years old. But he gave her no time to ponder.

  "Now we must hurry," Juriken said. "We must go back to the Ernan, where you will wait with Hem, whom I assume has done what he has been told to do; and thence I will go to my own tasks."

  As he spoke, there was a huge crash, and the tower walls shook. Ire flapped up in alarm, and settled shakily back onto Zelika's shoulder. Right now, he just wanted to get as far away from the city walls as he possibly could; being there was giving him a very bad feeling.

  "What was that?" asked Zelika, her eyes huge and dark in the torchlight.

  "Imank seizes the chance," said Juriken, "and will take it in claws of iron. The Hull thinks that we sought to drive its army off; and the gates are now open and the spell barriers can be broken. That was magefire that has been thrown against the walls. Imank brings in the big weapons now."

  "What if the gates fall?" asked Zelika. As if a shield had fallen from her, all her pride and anger had vanished; and underneath she found she was afraid, terribly afraid, as she had not been before. She remembered the dogsoldiers in Baladh, the slaughter she had witnessed there, and her heart fluttered in her throat like a trapped butterfly.

  "The gates will fall," said Juriken expressionlessly. "The wager is that they will not fall just yet. The Light willing, all will go well now. The Light willing... Now, we must go!"

  XI

  THE CAVES OF LAMARSAN

  They hurried through the dark, empty streets. There was no wind; the rain fell straight and heavy, soaking them to the skin. Rivers ran in the stone gutters, and the trees drooped in the deluge, as if they were all weeping. They are mourning the city, Zelika thought, as if they know what is going to happen here.

  There was a strangeness in Juriken's manner that filled Zelika with a dread beyond the fear she already felt. Even Ire was uncharacteristically quiet, and simply clung grimly to Zelika's hair, trying not to fall off her shoulder as he was bumped around in their haste. At last they reached the gate to the Ernan. To Zelika's disquiet, the gate was unguarded, and the Bard and his strange companions passed unchallenged through the spirals of atriums and courtyards and rooms into the wide Western Chamber of the palace. It was not far from there to Hem's room.

  Zelika slowed down as they neared it. She had not thought of what she would say to Hem. He would be angry with her, and she did not like the idea. Since her dressing down by Har-Ytan, Zelika felt as if she had no skin, as if all her feelings were raw flesh. She could not bear it if Hem were angry with her too. She knew he had every right – she had lied to him, and she had nearly killed the bird who was his dearest friend. But, she reminded herself, lifting her chin, she was Zelika of the House of II Aran. If she had acted with dishonor, she must take her punishment without complaint.

  When they entered the room, Hem and Soron stood up, and Hem ran toward them, his face alight with relief. Ire cawed and flew to Hem's shoulder and gently pecked his ear. Hem tickled the crow's neck, his lips trembling.

  "Greetings, Juriken," said Soron gravely, coming to meet the Bard. "I see you bring two who have been sorely missed."

  "Aye," said Juriken. "I am glad to see that you and Hem, at least, are here. Forgive my shortness: I must meet II Hanedr here, and then be gone to the School. The Light go with you!"

  "And with you, Juriken," said Soron. He took Juriken's hand, and looked soberly into his face, and his expression changed. Quite suddenly, he embraced him. "It has been one of the joys of my life, knowing you, these past years. You have been a good friend to me. I fear we shall not meet again, this side of the Gates."

  Juriken met his gaze. "I think not, brother. In these darkening times, many things will pass, never to come again. Farewell, Soron."

  The two Bards stood in silence for a few moments longer, as if they spoke without words. Then Juriken turned to Hem and Zelika.

  "Farewell, you two children," he said. "I think that perhaps Har-Ytan was right, when she said that the dreams of our young may lead the way through the shadows that beset us. If she is right, I deem that it will go hard with you. May fate be kind to you both."

  Hem swallowed and nodded, and without saying anything further, Juriken left the room. Staring after him, Hem thought that the First Bard had aged since he had last seen him. Yet the Bard sense in him also perceived a strength in Juriken that he had not seen before, a great resolve wound to such a pitch that Hem felt something like awe. He wondered, not without a flicker of fear, what it was that Juriken was planning to do.

  Soron returned to the couch where he had been waiting and turned his face away, looking through the open doorway into the rainy darkness. Hem stared at Zelika, who was standing humbly before him, her head bowed, her face hidden in her dripping, straggling hair, waiting resignedly fo
r him to shout at her.

  But Hem did not shout. As Zelika stood forlornly in her soaked battle dress, all her pride in tatters, Hem found that his anger had completely evaporated. There was an uncomfortable silence, while Hem waited for Zelika to speak. In the end, he realized that Zelika would not say anything because she felt too humiliated. Impulsively, he stepped forward and clumsily hugged her.

  "I'm glad you're back," he said gruffly.

  Zelika nodded, still not meeting Hem's eyes, but she held him tightly for a moment before she let him go.

  She tied my legs up! Ire hissed in his ear. She was bad to me!

  Maybe, Hem answered. But she is sorry now.

  Now Ire was out of the rain, he was not so disposed to forgiveness. He ruffled his feathers. But there was something in Hem's voice that told him that he should not argue.

  "What now?" said Hem restlessly.

  Soron turned, his gentle face somber. "We wait," he said. "Perhaps Zelika could dry herself off. She is somewhat damp."

  Zelika shook herself, and disappeared into an adjoining chamber, and Ire hopped down and inspected with interest the food that Hem had put aside, looking upward questioningly.

  Go ahead, said Hem. I saved it for you.

  The crow started gulping down the food, and Hem looked closely at Soron.

  "It wasn't a coincidence that we met on the way here, was it?" he asked.

  Soron smiled slowly. "Nay, Hem. I have instructions, like everyone else."

  "And yours are to look after me?"

  "In part." Soron stood up and went to the table, where a jug of wine stood still untouched after their meal. "I think some wine will not go astray, eh? Not enough to fuddle our wits, but enough to pass the time."

  Hem shook his head. "Not for me," he said. "You know more than you are saying, Soron," he added.

  "If I do, then I will tell you in good time."

  "But now we wait for Saliman?"