The Crow (22 page)

Saliman stood up. "Zelika, I am not going to argue with you. If I need to lock you in a cage to keep you in the city, I will do so."

Zelika stood to face him, her lips drawn back from her teeth in a snarl, her nostrils quivering, and drew herself to her full height. Despite her slight figure, her rage made Hem quail. Ire discreetly retreated to the far wall; he was already familiar with Zelika's temper. "How dare you?" she said, with a quiet intensity that was more fearsome than shouting would have been. "How dare you speak to me like that? I will do as I like. You can't stop me."

The observing part of Hem watched Zelika with admiration, even as he warily got out of the way. She scarcely came up to Saliman's chest, yet she spoke with all the hauteur and arrogance of a queen.

"Zelika, of course I can stop you," said Saliman mildly. "I could pick you up with one hand, and I am not nearly so big as a dogsoldier. You would last outside the gates for about the space of three breaths, and before you died you would not make the smallest dint in the armor of the smallest warrior in Imank's ranks. You are not going."

For a moment, Zelika stood absolutely still. All her hauteur had fallen away, and her bottom lip trembled, as if she held back tears. Then something flashed in her eyes, and almost quicker than Hem's eye could follow, she had grabbed Saliman's arm. The Bard was too surprised to move, and with a strange twist, she seemed to pick him up bodily, and throw him across the table.

Ire cawed in alarm, as dishes and a carafe smashed on the floor and water splashed over the walls and furnishings. Saliman landed heavily on the floor and Zelika stood over him, breathing hard, crouched in a fighting pose. Hem backed against the wall, staring in mingled horror and astonishment. Saliman looked very angry indeed, and Hem wondered whether it might not be wiser to leave the room altogether. But before he could decide, Saliman had somehow leaped to his feet, as if he were pulled up by strings. Zelika whipped around to kick him, but he moved even more quickly than she did. She fell to the floor with a crash, and Saliman twisted her arm behind her back. Zelika writhed furiously, trying to loosen his grip, and he pulled her arm up savagely. She gasped in pain, and then seemed to collapse and lay without struggling further, her chest heaving.

"It is not wise," said Saliman evenly, "to try those tricks on me. Do not think, Zelika, that kindness equates to weakness. It does not."

A thick silence fell over the room, broken only by Zelika's panting.

"Will you attack me again?" Saliman asked.

Zelika shook her head. Slowly, he let go of her arm and she sat up, her curls straggling over her face, her black eyes bright with hate.

"Now, will you listen?"

Zelika stared at him. "You should not insult me," she said.

"I did no more than say truth. Did I not? You saw the dog-soldiers in Baladh, Zelika. If you so wanted revenge, why did you not attack them then? Why did you not harry the Black Army as they marched here? You had every chance: no one would have stopped you."

Now Zelika stared blankly at the floor, and Hem felt his heart constrict with pity. All her rage and hatred had evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, and she suddenly seemed like a small, very forlorn child.

"I was too afraid," she whispered. "And it made me ashamed."

"There is no shame in understanding what is the case." Saliman brushed some remnants of food off his robes. "You would have been swatted as easily as a fly, and your death would have made no difference at all. That is no way to seek revenge. So no more arguing; I do not wish to waste my time wrestling with a berserk child. I am your captain, and like a good soldier you will do what I command."

Zelika's bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

"Yes?"

"Yes," she said sulkily.

"Good. Well, first we ought to tidy up this mess. And after that, you will listen to what I have to say."

All three of them cleared up the remains of their meal – which had been flung all over the room – in silence. (Ire quietly stole the rest of the torua while no one was looking.) When the chamber was in some good order, if still a little damp, Saliman sat down on the cushions, waving the two children to do likewise.

"What an interesting evening we are having," he said pleasantly. "A change from our recent glum meals, anyway. All right, Zelika, I admit that you are not so bad at unarmed combat. You have given me a couple more bruises, which, frankly, I could do without. What you did not know is that I am counted among the best in the city, and if you had not surprised me, you would not have had a chance." He gave her a sly look. Zelika, uncertain whether he was mocking her, scowled down at her hands.

"You did land quite heavily," said Hem. He still felt a little stunned by the force of Zelika's temper, and watched her nervously, wondering if she was going to erupt again.

"I did," said Saliman. "Zelika is correct on one point: for those who are skilled in the arts of arbika-el, size is immaterial."

"I can fight," said Zelika, under her breath. Although she had been beaten, she didn't look in the least chastened. "I am the last of the House of II Aran."

"The House of II Aran is a family with many famed fighters, from a city that is a byword for warriors," said Saliman, glancing at Hem. "Most of Zelika's celebrated ancestors were a little bigger than she is, however, when they attained their fame."

Now Zelika was certain he was laughing at her, and her scowl deepened. Strangely, Hem thought, Saliman looked more cheerful than he had in days; the contretemps with Zelika seemed to have lifted his spirits.

"Nay, Zelika, don't frown so terribly." Saliman leaned forward and cupped her cheek in his hand. "You deserve a little teasing, after that display. I mean you no insult. Despite your skills in arbika-el – which I am very glad to know about – what I said earlier about how useful you would be in any foray outside the city remains true. I will not have you throwing away your life for no reason. I have other plans for you."

Despite herself, Zelika gave him a curious glance. "What plans?" she asked.

"It is now five nights from the full dark of the moon. We will make our assault from the walls and on Imank's navy three nights hence. We aim to win back the seaways, and gain some time in which all those who yet remain in the city can retreat over the Lamarsan Sea, back toward Car Amdridh. The retreat has been long planned, ever since we knew there would be a siege. But that is not the way I will go, and I think you two should come with me."

Hem's interest quickened. "Which way do you go?" he asked.

"North to Annar, eventually/' said Saliman. "I think, Hem, that is your way; I do not feel I can give you to another's care, although I have thought of sending you to Car Amdridh with Oslar."

Hem gave an involuntary cry of protest.

"Hem, in many ways that would be the most sensible plan, and Oslar has asked for you to come with him," Saliman said. "But there are many strands of fate working now, and we must follow the right ones, and choose as well as we are able between one thing and the next. They are not easy choices; at the best of times it is very hard to know what is right. But nevertheless, I think that you must stay with me, and that we must find Cadvan and Maerad. You came south only so you would be safe; well, you are no safer here than in Annar, even if it is already ravaged by war. I see no reason for you to stay in the Suderain."

At the thought of seeing Maerad again, all the breath seemed to leave Hem's body.

"And what about me?" asked Zelika, her brows drawn together in a dark line. "Why should I go to Annar?"

"Because I say so," said Saliman quietly.

Zelika looked up and met his dark gaze. She said nothing for a moment, her face unreadable, and then, to Hem's amazement, slowly nodded.

"I will be a good soldier," she said. "For now."

In the coming days, the weather continued hot and breathless. The sun rose in a blue sky and sucked the moisture out of everything, and a punishing dry wind blew from the southern deserts. Night brought no relief, and even the cool interiors of the Healing Houses began to heat up, as the stone walls absorbed the sun during the day. If Hem went into the courtyard and stood in the fountain until he was dripping wet, he would be almost dry by the time he walked back inside.

His routine continued unchanged, in its strange parody of everydayness, but now he began to feel an increasing tension prickling the city. He still felt heavily depressed when he woke, and when he rested, exhausted after a day spent with the wounded, the dread that underlay everything would pounce on him. But he was too tired to remember his dreams, which was perhaps just as well.

On the second night the heat was unbearable. There was no escape anywhere, and despite his weariness he couldn't sleep and tossed restlessly in bed. At last he got up and walked into the courtyard outside his room, to look at the stars. There were no stars at all, but he was too tired and hot to wonder where they were; the blackness enclosed him with an oppressive languor. Not the smallest breeze stirred the black leaves of the trees, or cooled the sweat that made his skin slick and itchy.

Hem sat under a tree, listening to the cicadas, which were very loud tonight, the harsh cry of some night bird, the clicking and booming of the frogs, the night chatter of monkeys squabbling in the trees. It was deceptively peaceful, but his skin crawled with a strange restlessness, as if he were expecting something to happen any minute. If he listened hard, he could hear underneath the ordinary night noises the faint thunder and bray of battle noises, and he knew that as he sat there, people were struggling, that they were hurting and dying; but now it all seemed very far away. He leaned back against a tree, looked up, and swallowed. He would like some water. He would get some in a moment. He felt too heavy to move.

Then he sat up, sniffing, suddenly alert. Something had shifted, but he did not know what it was. Then a blessedly cool wind whispered against his naked chest, nuzzling him gently. He breathed out with inexpressible relief, stretching his arms and standing up, letting the wind play around his body and dry him off. For a time, the relief of that coolness was all he could think about.

The breeze swiftly picked up. Then there was a sudden gust of a stronger wind, ruffling his hair, and above him a rumble of thunder. Hem felt his hair prickle and stand on end. There was going to be a storm.

He wondered briefly if the Bards of Turbansk had planned this, or the Black Army, or if it was nothing to do with either of them, just the weather breaking in its natural pattern. He didn't know enough about the weather of Turbansk to be sure. Then he decided he didn't care. He stood in the garden, letting his skin drink in the delicious cool air, waiting for rain to fall. But there was no rain, and the cool breeze seemed to caress him in farewell and then disappeared. The heat sprang back, like a beast that had been lying in wait for its prey. Hem sighed with disappointment, and remembered how tired he was. He walked back to his chamber, fell on his bed, and slept.

The next day it seemed, if anything, even hotter, although the sun was hidden behind slate-gray battlements of cloud that stretched from one horizon to another. They bore down on Turbansk heavily, rumbling ominously with thunder. Every now and then a charge of sheet lightning would leap up from the south horizon, throwing a livid glare over the city.

Hem hadn't seen Saliman at all for the past two days, although he left daily messages at the Ernan, to let the children know that he was still alive. Zelika was still coming to the Healing Houses, patiently helping in the easier work, cleaning and making bandages and splints and medicines. She had been quiet and thoughtful after her confrontation with Saliman. The two children, as had become their recent custom, broke their fast silently together, yawning. They were preparing to leave the Ernan when Saliman entered the room. He was in full armor, and in a great hurry.

"Good, you're still here," he said shortly. "You will be needed at the Healing Houses today; Oslar has to arrange for all the wounded to be carried to the harbor. Then come back here and wait. I will come for you."

"Is it going to rain?" said Hem, stupidly he thought, once the words had left his mouth.

"Yes," said Saliman. "I doubt the clouds will break today, though. It will be a bad night. Oslar will send you back at the third bell, and there will be a supper set for you. I want you to wait until I come here."

"What if you don't?" said Zelika, her voice sharp and tight, as Saliman was leaving. It was the question on Hem's lips, but he did not dare to ask it. "What if something happens to you?"

"If I do not come for you, someone else will. Do not fear. Put on your armor, and pack anything you want to take with you. Be ready." He turned and looked intensely at Hem, his face stern, and said in the Speech,
Now it finally begins, Hem. There is no time for lament or sorrow or fear. If you love me, do as I wish, and remember that I love you and need you to be strong. If I do not come back, you will be taken care of. I will see you tonight, the Light willing. Expect me in the darkest hours.

Hem nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. Saliman turned and vanished out of the door.

"What did he say?" said Zelika.

"He said that it begins, and that we have to do what he says," said Hem, staring after Saliman. Despite himself, his voice wavered. Maybe that's it, he was thinking; Saliman really thinks this time that he may go to his death. And he never said a proper good-bye...

Zelika pursed her lips. "About time," she said. And then, feeling as if his legs were made of water, Hem walked to the Healing Houses with her.

There was no sense of peace there today; the Houses were all ordered bustle. Wounded people were being lifted onto litters and carried down to the harbor through the alleys, even as others, newly wounded, were being carried in from the walls. Orderlies were loading huge baskets of supplies onto donkeys. Hem was immediately busy, dispensing madran or binding limbs so that they would not be damaged by movement. He noticed that the bandages he was given were made of strange materials, instead of undyed muslin.