Alison Croggon - [Pellinor 04]

by The Singing (lit)

  "Hem, remember your manners," said Saliman. "Greet these noble trees. And you, Hekibel."

  Mystified, Hem bowed and made the formal greeting. "Samandalame."

  Hekibel made a graceful bow, looking at Saliman out of the corner of her eye as if she thought he was either out of his mind or playing some elaborate joke.

  "The Light is with us," Saliman said. "This is a Bardhome. We need fear nothing here, and need set no glimveil; we can sleep soundly tonight, blessed by the trees that protect this place."

  Hem and Hekibel looked around them in wonder. At first glance, the grove seemed no different from any other. It was a small dingle, and around it stretched the bare arms of rowans ripening with spring blossom. But as they felt the rich silence of the place rise inside them, it seemed that the air was more lumi­nous among these trees, that the stars shone through their branches more brightly, that the grass between their boles grew softer and greener and more fragrant than beyond their circle. Hem felt his earth sense quicken with a deep gladness like that he had felt in the home of the Elemental Nyanar far south from there in a time now long past, and breathed in deeply. He had been told of such places by Maerad—she and Cadvan had used them sometimes when they had journeyed to Norloch—but he had never seen such a place himself.

  "It couldn't just be chance," said Hem. "Maybe Maerad is helping us somehow."

  "Perhaps," Saliman said, smiling more broadly than Hem had seen in weeks. For a moment he looked like the old Saliman in Turbansk, and Hem's heart lifted. "Or perhaps some Knowing beneath our awareness guided us here. These are ancient places: they were made when the Bards first came to Annar, long before the Great Silence. Whether there is reason or no, I am thankful to the depths of my soul. It is enough, I con­fess, just to be out of that mud; to be safe from the threat of darkness for even one night seems like a blessing beyond hope. And it is healing to sleep beneath these trees. The only disad­vantage is that it is forbidden to light fire here; but I think we can bear the cold."

  Hekibel and Hem exchanged a glance, and threw away their kindling. Hem spread the tent on the ground to keep out the damp, and they slept under the trees, curled up in blankets and cloaks, with Fenek snuggled close by and Irc fluffed up in a branch above them, his head tucked under his wing. All of them slept deeply, without dreams, and awoke refreshed, as if the griefs and travails of the past few days had loosened their grip for those few hours.

  The healer in Hem saw with relief that the haggardness had left Saliman's face. Hem had watched him carefully since he had healed him, concerned that Saliman was on the edge of col­lapse; after such a serious illness, he should have been abed, instead of making a grueling journey through the wilderness. Although he had never complained, Saliman could not hide his weariness from Hem, who noted how his friend's lively expres­sion had been replaced by a grim mask of endurance. Hem thought sadly that an inner light in Saliman had been quenched, and he feared that it might never return. He missed it more than he could say.

  As they packed up their belongings, Hem looked around the grove with regret; he hadn't felt such peace since he and Saliman had ridden through the pine forests of the Osidh Am.

  "One day, I'd like to stay here for a long time," he said as he strapped a pack onto Minna's saddle.

  "And live on nuts and berries and nettles like a hermit, eh?" said Hekibel from the other side of Minna, gently teasing him. "Somehow I can't see it. I think you should try some other things first."

  "There's a lot of things I'd like to try," Hem said somberly. "I'd have liked to stay at the Healing Houses in Turbansk too. But they are probably all rubble now." He scowled down at the saddle. "I hate this war."

  The light in Hekibel's eyes went out, and she fumbled with a buckle, her mouth trembling. Hem was suddenly furious with himself for his thoughtlessness. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm just always finding places I like to be, and then having to leave them. And it's so beautiful here ..."

  Hekibel smiled sadly. "It is. Ah well, Hem, maybe when this is all over, if it is ever over, we can come back and visit, and you can stay as long as you like."

  Now they could journey along the northern edge of the flood-plain, with no need to cross any more mud. They rode swiftly over moorlands dotted with ancient thickets of gorse, where the tough heathers were grazed by flocks of wild sheep and goats. This gradually gave way to a landscape of gentler hills running with many streams, lightly wooded with stands of oak and ash and linden: a pleasant countryside, but lonely. Two days' hard ride brought them into inhabited regions again. They passed a deserted shepherd's hut like the one they had stayed in near Hiert, and then another. Then on the third day they saw thin lines of smoke rising in the distance into the still morning air. Saliman told them they were now at the edges of the Fesse of Desor, one of the largest and most powerful Schools in Annar.

  "Cadvan used to believe that this was one of the Schools that had been corrupted by the Dark," Saliman said, as they broke their fast that morning. Hem glanced at him swiftly; it was the first time Saliman had mentioned Cadvan since they had heard of his death in the letter Hem had received from Maerad in Nal-Ak-Burat. "He thought there were Hulls here. In Turbansk, we did not trust the Bards of Desor. Certainly, the First Circle here has always been one of Enkir's strongest allies."

  "What do you mean?" asked Hekibel.

  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 t
hat 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.