Alison Croggon - [Pellinor 04]

by The Singing (lit)

  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."

  XV

  DESOR

  A

  FTER 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 a
t 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."

  "I heard no threat," said the Bard. "And if you disobey me, you will know what threat is. Dismount."

  The Bard lifted his hand, intending perhaps to freeze them with a charm, but Saliman moved first. A blast of magery erupted from Saliman's outstretched hands and knocked the Bard to the ground. Usha reared in fright, and Hekibel gasped, staring at the Bard, who lay white and unmoving on the ground next to Fenek's corpse. The two soldiers, taken completely off guard, stood with their mouths open. Instantly another blast of magery shattered the gate to splinters, and Saliman, his dis­guise fully broken by the force of his own magery, was already through it on Minna at full gallop.

  Hem, the only person who wasn't taken wholly by sur­prise, spurred Usha on. The terrified horse bolted after Minna, completely out of control, as Hem threw his arms around Hekibel's waist and Hekibel desperately clutched the reins, try­ing to stay on. Hem looked back over his shoulder and glimpsed the two soldiers hurriedly mounting horses and shouting, and more soldiers running up from somewhere. Then he concen­trated on not falling off Usha, praying that she wouldn't fall lame again, not now.

  He snatched another look: the two soldiers were in pursuit, their mounts at full gallop down the road. They had a good lead, but Hem realized that it was inconceivable that Usha and Minna, already tired after a
day's hard riding, would be able to outpace fresh horses. Usha was no longer bolting blindly, and Hekibel now had some control. She steered her off the road after Saliman, who was riding over an unfenced field toward a dark wooded hill. Usha was blowing hard, and Hem wasn't sure how much longer they could keep going. He glanced back again: the soldiers were drawing close, and he thought at least one of them had a bow. Belatedly he remembered that he ought to make a shield, and somehow managed to cast the charm, even at their bruising pace.

  Then at last they were in the shelter of the trees, but now their ride became even more terrifying. Hem could hardly bear to look as the horses plunged through dead bracken that brushed against their bellies, barely missing the trees. There was no way of seeing the ground: if the horses stepped in a hole or stumbled over a tree root, they could break their legs, which would spell disaster. A branch almost swept Hem off Usha's back, giving him a stinging lash across his cheek, and Hekibel hissed at him to keep low. Saliman was turning Minna sharply, constantly changing direction, and Hekibel rode in his wake, concentrating on following his movements. The noise of the horses crashing through the undergrowth meant that Hem could hear nothing of their pursuers, but he thought that they surely couldn't be far behind. He had by now completely lost his sense of direction.

  They came across a small stream and Saliman rode down its sharp banks and urged Minna into the water. Usha snorted and followed her. Now they slowed down, trotting slowly upstream, the shallow water frothing around the horses' fet­locks. The rushing of the water covered any noise they made, and Hem began to relax a little. They had gone some distance before Saliman took Minna up the opposite bank. Here there was a close-knit grove of ancient, wide-boled oaks, growing so close together that their branches entwined and swept down low to the ground. They were newly in leaf, the fresh green making a delicate, close-meshed tent. Here they dismounted and led the horses into the shade.