The sight of the Black Army was a shock: it was the first time she had seen such an army with her own eyes, outside a vision or dream. It did not compare with the Landrost's forces outside Innail. She realized that the mountain men, deadly and grim though they might be, were a mere rabble in comparison to this. She was not prepared for the dread that rose in her throat at the sight of it—how the long stream of warriors and wagons moved with such tangible, organized purpose toward death and destruction.
I don't like these armies, Irc said, from his perch on Hem's shoulder. Maerad looked up: he was speaking to all of them in the Speech. They make the land frightened. Everything has gone so quiet.
They frighten me, said Hem.
I'll fly over and see how big it is, said Irc.
I wish you wouldn't, said Hem. Some Hull might let an arrow loose and shoot you.
I'll be high up. They can't catch me. Irc launched himself into the air and hovered over their heads. I'm a clever crow.
He soared off, high up as he promised, and Hem followed him with his eyes. "I hope he's as clever as he thinks he is," he said.
"He's certainly as cunning as he thinks he is," said Saliman. "And it would be useful, without any doubt, to know how long we will have to wait before this army passes and we can cross the river safely. For the moment, we're stuck where we are."
They found a cluster of trees where they could conceal the horses, unsaddled them, and settled down to wait. Cadvan rejoined them, his face grim, and Saliman and Hekibel silently brought out some food.
Maerad glanced anxiously at Cadvan, but he did not meet her eyes. Everything was beginning to waver again, as it had not done since she had spoken to Hekibel. The sight of the Black Army had shocked her out of her defenses, and now she thought she could hear, at the edges of her perception, cries of sorrow and terror—a distant chorus of lamentation. She didn't know if what she sensed was her own feelings of fear and dread or a premonition of the disaster that now threatened Lirigon or something else entirely; but she feared that if it became any clearer, if she could hear those voices properly, she would be drowned in an ocean of woe.
"What worries me right at this moment," said Cadvan, "is that a Hull will sense Maerad and send a party up here. I am not sure that even you, Maerad, could keep at bay thousands of soldiers."
Maerad looked up, and for a moment her eyes focused sharply in the present. "They look forward, not from side to side, and we are still quite a distance from them," she said. "They are in a great hurry. I do not think they will notice us."
Cadvan lifted his eyebrows. "I hope you're right," he said. "Although you should know, more than anyone, that the Nameless One will be seeking you as urgently as any victory in Annar, and I find it hard to believe that he would allow his forces to bypass you."
Maerad's face went still for a moment, as she pondered what Cadvan had said. She could sense the Hulls on the other side of the hill as clearly as if they stood in serried rows in front of her, and the attention of none of them was turned their way. What she felt was a terrible, intent purpose directed solely toward speed. "I still think they have not seen us," she said. "They're not keeping a guard up because nobody in their right mind would attack them."
Hem, propelled by a masochistic curiosity, offered to keep an eye on the progress of the Black Army until Irc returned. He shielded himself, and then crawled up to the top of the ridge on his belly, hiding in the thick grass. He lay there watching the Black Army as it marched, like an obscene, many-legged monster, through the empty valley. Irc was right: the countryside was silent, as if the army's presence throttled the songs of birds in their very throats.
When Irc returned, he had a self-satisfied look that made Hem think that he'd taken the opportunity to do some pilfering. The army, Irc told them, was very big.
Any of us could see that with our own eyes, said Hem. How big, do you think?
Very big, Irc repeated. Fives and fives and fives again and again. It took me a long time to fly to the end of it. They are leaving all sorts of treasures by the side of the road.
So Irc had been pilfering, thought Hem with exasperation. His irritation stemmed from anxiety: Irc's curiosity could easily get him into trouble. And Hem couldn't help wishing that he could count past five.
Saliman was listening, his brow creased, and asked Irc if the army stretched back past the bridge that crossed the Usk.
No, said Irc. Not that far. But it is still a very long line. And there are dogsoldiers and Hulls and snouts and lots of men. Many are Annaren and they are being driven by whips. I didn't go near any of them. There is too much braintwisting there. It makes me choke.
Hem shuddered, wondering if the army included snouts that he had known in Sjug'hakar Im. It wasn't unlikely; the Hull at the camp had told them that the Nameless One had great plans for them and that they were being marched north.
"Lirigon doesn't have a chance," said Cadvan. He looked ill. "The last thing they would be expecting would be a great army coming up from Ettinor. No doubt the captains aim to arrive by night, and have most of the slaughter over before anyone stirs from their beds."
"They'd have guards, surely," said Hekibel, hesitantly.
"Yes. But they need more than sentries to be prepared for an attack like this."
Hem was listening intently, his dark eyes flickering from face to face. He looked at Irc, who was now attempting to burgle the food bag, since he was sure that his scouting deserved a reward.
Irc, said Hem. Could you outfly the Black Army?
Irc puffed out his chest feathers. Of course. I am the fastest bird in the world.
Hem smiled ironically and put out his forearm. Irc hopped onto his arm, wiping his beak on the sleeve, and Hem brought him close to his chest, stroking his crisp feathers. Do you think you could fly to Lirigon, to warn them about the Black Army? It would be a heroic, brave task.
Irc went silent, and Hem felt the bird's alarm at the thought of leaving him. It kindled his own fears: what if something should happen to Irc? But what else could they do to save Lirigon?
Where is Lirigon? Irc asked at last.
It’s a School at the end of the road. All you'd have to do would be to follow the road. But I think it's a long way. Would it be a brave thing?
Yes. Hem smiled again. Yes, it would. You would save many lives. You would be the bird that saved the city, like the heroes of tales of old.
Irc fixed Hem with his eye, his head cocked to one side. I do not like these armies, he said. J will help to fight them. But if it is a long way, I will miss you. I will fly very fast and come back as soon as I can.
Hem stroked Irc's neck, and he put his head down, enjoying the tickling.
"Irc says that he will fly to Lirigon to warn the city," Hem said to the others. "He could certainly get there quicker than the army. And all he'd have to do would be to follow the road, so he wouldn't get lost."
Cadvan stared at Hem, his face lighting up. "Why did I not think of that?" Then he frowned in thought. "The only problem is that he has to find the right person to speak to. It's no use going all that way if no one listens, and it might be hard to get the right person to listen to a crow—however eminent he is. It would be good if he could carry a letter." He looked at Irc, and asked him in the Speech if he would take something to give to the Bards in Lirigon. Irc cocked his head and cawed assent.
"He's very good at carrying messages," said Hem anxiously, looking at Cadvan. "He helped me so much when I was at Sjug'hakar Im. And in Den Raven."
I am a clever bird, said Irc complacently. And I am the King's messenger.
"Yes, well." Cadvan considered Irc, who met his eye with a bold look, and then smiled. "It is a much better chance than no hope at all. But we have neither pen nor paper."
"I have," said Maerad. She rushed over to her pack and pulled out a small oilskin bag, in which she kept the pen Dernhil had given her a year ago in Innail, a tiny stoppered bottle of ink, and some precious leaves of paper. "I always keep
these, in case—well, in case I find somewhere to practice my writing." She looked ruefully at the bottle, which was almost full. "I haven't had many chances, though."
Cadvan seized the pen and paper, found a flat rock, and wrote a short letter, outlining what they knew about the army. Then, looking to Irc for permission, he folded the letter as tightly as he could, and tied it securely to Irc's leg with a leather thong.
You must find Vaclal of Lirigon, he said. Ask any Bard you see to take you to Vaclal. They will all know who he is, because he is the First Bard. Tell them you have urgent news about the Black Army.
Vaclal, said Irc.
You won't forget the name?
Irc looked scornful at the suggestion, and didn't deign to answer. He bent his neck, pecking experimentally at the letter on his leg, and then flapped onto Hem's shoulder.
I go now, he said.
Be careful, said Hem. I do not want to lose you. Don't do anything silly.
I will be clever, said Irc. I will be the King's messenger and a hero and I will save the city. Farewell, my friend. I will fly faster than the wind and I will see you soon.
Then he launched himself into the air, describing a series of graceful arabesques to underline the sense of occasion. Hem watched him until he vanished into the distance. A new pain lodged itself in his heart. He wondered if he would ever see Irc again. Even if he got to Lirigon and back safely, would Hem still be alive when he returned? And what would Irc do if Hem died?
Cadvan cleared his throat. "May the Light lift his wings, and protect him," he said. "If the King's messenger saves Lirigon, I'll personally give him seven new titles."
"If he does save Lirigon, he'll be unbearable," said Hem. "But I love him for it, all the same. I just hope he's all right." Despite himself, his voice cracked.
Saliman put his hand lightly on Hem's shoulder. "Do not underestimate Irc's cunning," he said gently. "I'd wager a lot of gold on his safe return."
"You'd have to give half of it to Irc. Though the Light knows what he would do with it, except to stuff it in a hole in some old tree," said Hem.
He met Saliman's eyes and smiled crookedly. Saliman was the only one who really understood how much he loved his boastful friend. For all his undoubted intelligence, Irc was just an ordinary crow, as vulnerable as any other small creature to the accident and malice of the wider world. Hem remembered, with a sudden painful vividness, his first sight of Irc: a scrawny, awkward fledgling, being pecked unmercifully by his fellows. He had grown into a strong, handsome bird, but he was still only a bird. And now he was flying into the darkening clouds of evening, a tiny speck of life lost to sight in the huge sky; and much of Hem's heart had gone with him.
XX
THE HUTMOORS
T
HEY didn't dare to cross the valley until after midnight, long after the final ranks, followed by a trail of laden wagons, had disappeared down the dark road toward Lirigon. Gradually, as the Black Army vanished into the north, the ordinary noises of the night reasserted themselves, but the travelers did not relax. The tension seemed rather to increase as the shadows deepened into nightfall; they spoke only in whispers, and most of the time did not speak at all.
It seemed that Maerad had been correct that they would not be noticed. Although Saliman and Cadvan were both on full alert, once the Black Army had disappeared they detected no whiff of sorcery, no hint of the presence of Hulls or any other creature of the Dark. But there was still a palpable sense of threat; the empty night stretched out around them like a predatory animal. Clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the moon, and there was a smell of rain, but no rain fell. The wind rustled restlessly through the trees and the horses stamped and snorted as they dozed, but otherwise there was no sound.
Hem and Hekibel napped, huddled against the gnarled roots, while Saliman and Cadvan kept watch. Maerad said nothing at all: now her attention was turned westward. When the army had passed, she climbed to the top of the valley and stared toward the Hutmoors as if she were searching for something, her face white, her eyes blazing. No one asked her what she was looking for. There was something fierce in her stance that forbade questions.
They saddled the grumbling horses and moved cautiously south. Here the Usk ran swiftly between deep banks, and the only crossing was the bridge that carried the Bard Road north from Ettinor, in the shadow of the northern edge of the Broken Hills. They followed the river, while keeping it in sight to their right, and their way was rocky and uneven. Saliman, Cadvan, and Hem were forced to make magelights to light the horses' steps, using simple veiling charms to hide them from unfriendly eyes, but it seemed to Hem that the magery drained him more than it should.
Hem's earth sense was stirring; or at least, he thought it was his earth sense. He felt an overpowering urge pulling him toward the Hutmoors. It was impossible to ignore and seemed to grow with every moment. He wondered if perhaps migrating birds might feel something similar, when they returned to their spring nests in the north: an exact knowledge, a desire like hunger that ran through every fiber of their being, pulling them to a particular place. Journeying south along the Usk, they were actually moving farther away from where they had to be, and the knowledge weighed him down with reluctance, even though he knew in his rational mind that it was the only way they could get across the river.
At the same time he was troubled by a deep unease that he couldn't quite identify. The shadows seemed darker than even this dark night warranted, full of desolate cries that sounded below the threshold of his hearing; and he felt a loathing creep insidiously into his mind that had nothing to do with his anxiety about their direction. It was as if he sensed the edges of a presence, a premonition that something or someone was coming closer and closer. Perhaps, he thought glumly, it was just his fear about what might happen. For he was very afraid, in a way that he hadn't felt since he had been in Dagra.
They had not gone far when Maerad screamed. The sound went through Hem like a knife. He turned in time to see Maerad, her hands covering her eyes, topple off Keru's back onto the ground. He scrambled off Usha in a single movement, drawing his shortsword and scanning the night for enemies; but he could see no sign of attack, and there was no sound except Maerad's harsh panting as she lay on the ground, her hands covering her face.
Cadvan, who was closest, reached Maerad first. Keru was sniffing her rider in simple astonishment, her ears pricked, her nostrils flaring.
She fell off my back, Keru said, as Cadvan reached her.
Maerad took her hands from her eyes reluctantly and slowly sat up, blinking.
Keru pushed her gently with her nose. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?
Maerad seemed stunned, and at first did not respond; then she gave a laugh that sounded like a sob, and reached up and patted Keru's nose. No, my sweet, it is not your fault, she said. I just fell.
Cadvan tilted up her chin and looked searchingly into her face. Maerad met his eyes as if the sight of him were a spar she was clutching in a stormy sea to save her from drowning.
"So," he said. "What happened?"
"I just fell off," she said.
"I have never seen you 'just fall off a horse in a year of riding with you," he said, with gentle skepticism. "What is wrong, Maerad?"
For a moment his heart chilled, because Maerad seemed to look right through him as if he weren't there. Her face was so pale that her skin seemed translucent; Cadvan fancied that he could see the delicate globe of her skull. Then she focused on his face and blinked.
"I can't see," she said at last. "I mean, I keep seeing too many things and then I can't see."
"Is it the dead?"
Maerad met his eyes, and something within her gaze flinched at his words as if they pained her. "Yes. And other things. I don't—I don't know what they are. Or who they are."
Cadvan nodded, although he had only the vaguest idea what she meant. The one thing that was clear to him was that Maerad could no longer ride. He thought for a moment, and suggested that Hem ride Keru
, while Maerad rode with him on Darsor. Hem, who was watching anxiously, began to talk softly to Keru, stroking her nose. She already approved of Hem, and had no objections to carrying him.
Maerad said nothing further, and Cadvan didn't press her. Obediently she climbed onto Darsor behind Cadvan, putting her arms around his waist. She breathed in his familiar smell, which was slightly spicy, like pepper, and leaned her cheek against his back. He was the one solid thing in a world that seemed to be falling away beneath her feet. It was such a relief to close her eyes.
"This way, I can grab hold of you before you fall," Cadvan said over his shoulder as they started on their way again. "In theory, at least."
"I won't fall," Maerad said, and tightened her arms around him.
Maerad didn't know what was happening to her. Since she had seen the Black Army marching through the valley—a monstrous killing machine bent on destruction—it was as if something had slipped in her mind. The instability of vision that had tormented her over the past few days was rapidly increasing: she changed dizzyingly from one state to another without reason or warning. One moment she was fearful, the next completely unafraid; in one instant she was acutely aware of everything that moved in the landscape around her, down to the smallest field mouse, and in the next a great black abyss seemed to yawn before her, drawing her in with a terrible gravity and filling her vision like blindness. She had fallen off Keru when she had first glimpsed that abyss: she had put her hands over her eyes in horror, forgetting that she was on horseback. For the first time since leaving the Hollow Lands, she wished she could escape into sleep, but sleep was a place so far away that she couldn't even imagine what it must be like.
Pellinor 04: The Singing Page 38
