The Crow (27 page)

"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?"

"We do."

Hem gulped. He didn't want to ask his next question. "And – and what if Saliman does not come back?"

"I fully expect Saliman to return." Soron fiddled with his goblet. "I expect him in the dark hours, after the turn of midnight. Whatever happens, we must be well out of here by dawn."

"How do we get out?" asked Hem impatiently.

"There are ways," said Soron. "Your room was not chosen for you idly." But despite Hem's insistent questioning, he would say no more. At last Hem cast himself on a couch, and stared out glumly into the rain. It was completely dark outside now.

More waiting. He couldn't stand it.

Hem spent the next few hours on a knife-edge of anxiety, as time seemed to swell into an infinity of tedium. It was strange, he reflected, this feeling of being at once bored and terrified. The Ernan seemed to be empty; he could hear no movement at all. I suppose everyone has gone down to the ships, he thought, and maybe even now they have left the city. Maybe we're the only people left inside the walls.

He strained to listen for any hint of what was happening outside, but aside from some unidentifiably faint explosions or crashes, he could hear nothing above the steady pelting of the rain and the rare chimes of the water clock. The intervals between the hours seemed far too long; at one stage Hem went to check if there was something wrong with it.

Ire perched on the arm of a chair and, exhausted by his adventure and gorged with food, fell fast asleep. Zelika had emerged from her chamber, dry but still clad in her armor. Her sword was unsheathed, and she sat down and laid it across her knees. She looked at Hem.

"You should put on your fighting gear," she said.

"Why?" asked Hem irritably.

"Just in case. Unlike you, I've seen what is going to come through that gate."

Hem shrugged unenthusiastically. It would pass a bit of time, anyway. Turbanskian fighting gear was not, as armor went, especially heavy, but it was hardly comfortable clothing.

When the midnight bell rang out, Hem began to expect Saliman's return. It made the time pass even more slowly; now every moment dragged. Soron grew restless, and started to pace up and down the room.

The first bell after midnight struck, and still nothing had happened, except that the rain eased off slightly. Its sound was soporific. Hem yawned. He had had an exhausting day, and this nerve-fraying wait was no less tiring. Soron leaned across and offered him a flask.

"Medhyl," he said. "Both of you have some. It guards against weariness. Now we must be most awake."

Hem sipped the Bardic liquor, and felt his exhaustion lift. Then he tilted his head: surely that was the sound of running, far off? He glanced at Soron, and saw that he too was listening.

Yes, he was sure it was running. Many people. And, farther off still, the clash of metal against metal, and faint, confused shouting. Soron stood up, suddenly alert, and disappeared briefly, returning with a pack, which he slung over his shoulders. Zelika looked at them curiously; she did not have Bardic hearing, and did not know what they were listening to.

"Saliman isn't back yet," said Hem nervously.

Soron glanced over at Hem. "I expect him at any moment," he said. "I think now we should go to the Western Chamber. Hem, you had better wake up Ire."

Hem picked Ire up. He opened one eye and gave a soft, protesting caw. Soron took a lamp, and then the children followed him to the Western Chamber. It was a circular, domed room with plaster walls dyed a dull red and decorated with plain golden pilasters, and Soron's lamp threw strange shadows over the walls. Several doors opened from it. It seemed very large and empty after the intimacy of the room they had just left, and their feet echoed unsettlingly on the tiled floor.

In the center of the room, the tiles radiated in a curious pattern from a round black stone, which had a high polish. Soron dropped his bag by this stone, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

"We should have brought some cushions," said Hem.

"I doubt we will be here long," Soron answered.

Zelika said nothing, but looked wary. Now even she could hear noises in the city outside, above the steady fall of the rain.

"Will Saliman be here soon?" asked Hem, his voice cracking.

"I expect so," said Soron imperturbably, covering the lamp. "Whether he is or no, I judge that we cannot wait much longer."

There followed a long, heavy silence, as they sat in the dark chamber in the empty palace. Hem was close to tears; Soron was giving away nothing, but Hem was quite sure that Saliman should have been there by now. Zelika, who had hardly spoken a word all night, sat very still with her naked blade resting on her lap.

Not long afterward, they heard footsteps that sounded as if they were in the Ernan itself. Zelika started up, holding her weapon, followed more slowly by Soron and Hem, who were listening intently. Hem was sure it was one person, running toward the south door of the chamber. Saliman? He gulped, and wondered whether he should draw his sword. Soron looked equally uncertain. It was very unnerving, not knowing what approached them; Hem stood rigidly, his arms straight by his sides, torn between hope and fear. The steps were moving closer, echoing unnaturally loudly in the empty palace, but they seemed sure of where they were going; it could not be an enemy, surely, as an enemy would be lost...

At last a figure burst into the room. Even in the darkness, Hem knew at once it was Saliman, and he cried out in relief. The Bard paused by the doorway, squinting into the chamber, and walked toward them. As he approached them, Soron held up the lamp briefly, letting fall a little light, and Hem saw with horror that Saliman seemed to be covered with blood; his face was splashed with it, and his armor mired and blackened.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, running up to Saliman.

"Not much," said Saliman, and his teeth flashed in the gloom as he briefly smiled. "I am glad to see you, Hem. Is everyone here?"

"Palindi has not come. Nor Jerika," said Soron, naming Bards whom Hem knew only by sight.

"Palindi is dead," said Saliman shortly. "Jerika was fighting down by the harbor; she could not make it past the markets now. They are all on fire. I only just got through in time. I pray she is on one of the outward ships." He swayed, and passed his hand over his brow. "Soron, there is very little time. Can you begin the opening? I need to recover myself. Then I will help, if need be."

Soron, whose face had crumpled in distress at Saliman's news, nodded and took a deep breath. Zelika watched curiously as the Bard gathered his power and began to glow with magery.

Now the ugly noise of fighting was louder, and she looked up swiftly, like a hunting wolf sniffing danger, and moved to guard the west door. Hem remembered that he also had a sword. He walked reluctantly to the door closest to Zelika, drawing his weapon, and stared through into the gloom beyond, his nerves humming with tension.

Soron began to chant in the Speech in a low, musical voice, and as he did, the black stone in the center of the floor also began to glow. Hem had never really thought of Soron as a Bard; he had seen him in the kitchens, making the best seedcakes in the Suderain, stolid and dependable and friendly, as different from the mercurial Saliman as it was possible to be. But now he remembered that Soron was much more than a cook; and the hair bristled on the back of Hem's neck as he sensed the power the Bard was exerting.

Hem hoped the spell, whatever it was for, would not take long. There were definitely people in the palace now, and coming from the Hilan Gate, not far from them, he could hear fighting and shouting, and the sound of things being smashed. No one was coming their way yet, but it was only a matter of time... Saliman started up and began to chant with Soron, melding their powers together. Almost at once the stone blazed as bright as lightning, leaving an afterimage that made Hem temporarily blind. Then it was dark again. Saliman stood up, staggering.

"Hem, Zelika, here, quickly! This will not last long." They ran to the center of the room. Where the polished stone had been, a deep hole now opened in the center of the floor. Soron had already dropped down, and they could see him below them, carrying the lamp, which he had partly uncovered. It was quite a long drop: maybe three spans. Hem hesitated for the briefest moment, and Saliman said sharply, "Jump! Now!" and pushed him down. He landed heavily, jarring his legs.

Ire leapt off Hem's shoulder in alarm, having a bird's dislike of enclosed spaces, but Saliman said so fiercely,
Down! Follow the boy!
that instead of fussing, as he would normally have done, he dived straight into the hole in the ground. He landed on Hem's shoulder and clung there, hiding his eyes under his wing. Zelika jumped after Hem, landing gracefully, and Saliman followed her.

They stood in a narrow stone passage, scarcely wide enough for the four of them. Their breathing echoed harshly from the walls. Hem looked up anxiously; there was a loud crash very near, and a hoarse scream. It would be easy to see where they had gone; it would be easy to follow them. But the moment the thoughts occurred to him, the hole above them sealed itself up. It wasn't like a stone door grinding shut: the stone, which had not been there, was suddenly there again, solid and immovable above their heads. Ire gave a faint caw of dismay. Soron uncovered the lamp a little more, and all four gazed at one another in the yellow light.

"That was a near thing," said Saliman. "Nearer than I'd have liked."

"We made it," Soron answered painfully. "Some of us."

Saliman clasped his shoulder. "Aye, some of us. Some of us. It has been a black night, Soron. As black as I'd feared it would be. Well, if we are to survive the night past this moment, we must be far from here by dawn. We have a long way to go."

For the first time in days, Hem began to feel cold. He wished he hadn't put his armor on; apart from being uncomfortable, it clanked noisily in the narrow passage. And he was so tired.

Saliman led them on without even a pause for rest. Soron walked beside him, carrying the lamp, and behind them came Hem and Zelika. They were in a narrow stone passage with a smooth floor and walls; every now and then they passed strange carvings, detailed pictures of lions and horses and men in chariots, which stood out in relief against the walls. Hem had no time to look at them, although they sparked his curiosity. "What is this place?" he asked once.

"It is called the Passage of the Kings," said Saliman. "There are three entrances from the Ernan, and they lead to the Lamarsan Caves, where we will be soon. The knowledge of these entrances is secret, and only the First Bard and the Ernani know where they are, and how to open them. Har-Ytan gave the telling of it to Soron and myself, when we made the plans for this night. We will not go to the Caves of Light, which open to the Lamarsan Sea, but by darker ways that are known to few."

They didn't speak any further. Saliman was hurrying them as fast as they could go, and it took all their energy. Twice they passed the mouths of other passages that Hem presumed were from the other entrances in the Ernan, and there Saliman halted briefly, listening. Hem too sent out his hearing, wondering what Saliman was listening for, but he could hear nothing, apart from a faint rumble, very faint indeed, like a deep groan of rock.

Hem quickly lost all sense of time; he felt that he had been walking forever through this dark passage, with the shadows from the lamp ahead falling back around them, and his legs as heavy as stone. Zelika walked beside him, her mouth set in a straight, determined line. He knew she was as tired as he was, but she would not betray any sign of it.

After a long time, they left the carved passages and passed into natural caves. Here it was harder to walk, as the ground was uneven and sometimes the roof came down so low even Zelika had to stoop. Hem, Zelika, and Saliman stopped very briefly to take off their armor, and shove it into their packs; it was made so craftily that the scales folded up surprisingly small, and it was light to carry.

Now a thin layer of damp shone back from the walls in the lamplight, and Hem could hear the sound of running water, muffled through rock, in the distance. An underground river, he supposed. They were passing through a bewildering maze of rock: other caves ran into theirs at strange angles, from above or below, and icicles of limestone sometimes hung down from the roof, or tripped him up where the patient dripping of years had built a white column. Hem was now all but stumbling with weariness. Ire clung glumly to his shoulder, completely silent. This in itself was unusual; almost nothing could keep Ire quiet for long. But Hem could feel the rapid beat of Ire's heart where the bird pressed against his neck. Ire was terrified of the darkness, of this awful still place, where there was no sky and no wind.

Sometimes they came to a place where five or six passages branched off. Saliman chose his direction unerringly, as if he knew exactly where he was taking them. How could he know, if he had never been in these caves before? Could he make a mistake? Saliman was, after all, very tired. Hem began to worry what might happen if he made a wrong turn: they could wander through these caves forever, and never see the light again.

He was also concerned by the faint rumble that he had heard earlier. He was sure it was getting louder. He had no idea what it could be, but all his Bardic instincts were ringing little bells of alarm. Although Hem had never been underground before, he was almost certain that this noise was not right. The very rock seemed to be complaining. Like Ire, he began to think that all he wanted to do was to get out of the caves and see the sky again. Now his whole body was hurting, as if all his muscles were made of bruises, but the fear whispering at the back of his mind kept him moving: one step, and then another step, and then another...