The Singing (20 page)

"Sweet lads," said Hekibel. "But their conversation is a trifle limited. To be honest, I don't know a lot about plowshares. Or growing barley. My ma was a tailor in Narimar, in Lanorial, so I only know about buttons."

The chatter in the tavern grew louder and louder as the room became stuffier and stuffier, until Irc began to protest and Hem took him outside. By this time Hem was beginning to regret that he had finished his second mug of wine. It was raining, a light, steady fall, and he leaned against a wall in the porch outside the tavern, taking in long, slow gulps of cold air. Irc ruffled his feathers, and crouched close against Hem's neck.

I don't know why you drink that stuff,
he said.

I like it,
said Hem, and hiccupped.

Humans are stupid.

Hem heroically stopped himself from reminding Irc of how last time he had enthusiastically sipped Hem's beer, and had ended up in almost as bad a way as Hem himself. It wouldn't be worth the aggravation. Hem had, in fact, had to rescue Irc from a wrestle to the death with his own feet. He opened his mouth to defend his species and suddenly stopped: he noticed two people sheltering under a linden tree a little distance away. It was very dark, but he was sure, from the way he stood and his shape, that one of them was Karim. A certain furtiveness in his stance caught Hem's attention.

Yes, birds are much more clever,
continued Irc, who was obviously in an irritable mood.
You humans ...

Shhh,
said Hem, closing the bird's beak with his fingers. Is
that Karim?

Irc cocked his head, his attention caught.
Karim?

Hem opened his Bardic hearing. Now he could hear their voices, although the now-heavy patter of the rain meant, frustratingly, that he couldn't understand what they were saying. One of them was certainly Karim. There was something about the other figure that he did not like at all.

Why's Karim standing out there in the dark talking to a stranger?
said Hem.

Because he's stupid, like all humans are,
said Irc.
Like I said.

As Hem watched, he saw the other man give something to Karim, and heard a faint clink. He was handing over coins, surely. Then Karim was obviously making his farewell, in an unusually obsequious manner, bobbing and bowing. The sight gave Hem a bad feeling inside, and he found that he was suddenly coldly sober. He didn't want to be seen spying, and as Karim turned toward him, he beat a hasty retreat back into the tavern, despite Irc's protests.

The noise and fug were overwhelming after the peace outside, and for a moment Hem reeled, feeling the wine fog his mind again. He couldn't see Saliman at first and pushed through the throng of people, Irc clinging complainingly to his shoulder. Behind him he heard the door open and shut, and a swirl of cold air rushed past him; it was no doubt Karim returning. Hem didn't look back to check. He had spotted Saliman by the hearth, in lively and hilarious conversation with Thorkul and a knot of other villagers.

Saliman had the gift of charm; people flocked to him, attracted by his ease and grace. For a moment Hem paused, reluctant to interrupt; Saliman looked more carefree than Hem could remember. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps Saliman also enjoyed pretending to be merely a player in a traveling troupe, with no more responsibility than the next village, the next show. Perhaps he too sometimes wanted a respite from the burden of defending the Light.

Hem sighed, and pushed his way through until he was next to Saliman, and spoke into his mind.
Saliman?

Without diverting his attention from a ribald story that was being retailed by Givi to gales of laughter, Saliman answered, instantly alert.
What's wrong?

Not here,
said Hem.

Saliman gave him a sharp glance.
Pretend you're drunk,
he said.

Hem slumped a little, plucking at Saliman's sleeve. It wasn't so hard to pretend; the parsley wine was circulating headily through his veins, and it was very hot and noisy in the tavern.

"Hem, boy, you're not going to be sick?" asked Saliman out loud. Hem nodded dolefully, as the villagers laughed good-naturedly at his discomfort.

"Givi makes a wicked wine," said Thorkul, winking. "As delicate as the cheek of a princess, but it has the kick of a mule."

As Hem stumbled against him, Saliman turned to the others and made his excuses, coaxed Irc onto his own arm, and helped Hem out of the tavern, shutting the door behind them.

They stood on the porch, staring out into the rainy night. Hem checked their surroundings, all his senses alert; he could see no sign of the man Karim had been talking to.

"We could go to the caravan, I suppose," said Saliman.

"Here will do," said Hem. He paused, wondering how to begin. "I don't know, Saliman. I saw something that bothers me. I just came out here for some fresh air, and I saw Karim talking to someone under that tree over there." He pointed. "Something about it gave me a bad feeling. He was talking to a man in a dark cloak—at least, I think it was a man. He was quite tall, but it was too dark to see him properly. I tried to listen to what they were saying, but the rain was too noisy. And I'm sure the other man gave Karim some coins."

"You're certain it was Karim?"

Hem nodded, and Irc gave a chirp of confirmation.

Saliman frowned, staring down at his feet. "It might be something totally innocent," he said at last. "But then again, it might not be. I have never entirely trusted Karim."

"You don't think he's in league with the Dark?" asked Hem, feeling a chill run through him. "He—he doesn't seem ..."

"No, I don't think it's that simple," said Saliman. "I think he is not a bad person. I do think, however, that Karim is weak, and if someone were to offer him money in return for simply reporting on our conversations, or something like that, he would perhaps tell himself that there was no harm in it. Especially if it was quite a lot of money."

Hem was silent for a time. He was struggling with a sudden deep sadness; he liked Karim, and it hurt that he might betray them.

"But—but who would be paying him?"

"Perhaps someone in Til Amon got wind of what we planned. As I said at the time, we don't know anything about the players. Nor do we have any guarantee that he told no one we would be traveling with the players. And he knows we're Bards."

Hem thought of how the players had left the tavern to have dinner with others on the last night in Til Amon. Saliman's request for secrecy from Karim would have alerted him to the fact that they had their own business. As they were Bards, and Saliman was clearly an important Bard, it wouldn't take a lot of thought to work out that someone else might be interested. It was possible, but the thought made Hem feel sick.

"If someone wanted to know where we were, wouldn't it be easier just to follow the caravan?" he said at last. "I mean, it's a pretty easy thing to follow."

"Yes. But perhaps whoever follows wants to know what we are saying as much as he wants to know where we are going. And if that's the case, they will certainly know, of course, that we plan to go to Innail. Though thankfully, they won't know anything else. I think it would be too much to hope that the Dark hasn't put two and two together, and worked out that Hem of Turbansk, who returned from Norloch with Saliman, is the same Hem who escaped from them in Edinur."

Hem felt dread creeping through his veins. "Do you think we're being followed?"

Saliman sighed, and was silent for a time before he answered. "Hem, I have suspected that we are being followed for the past week now. I have sometimes seen a horseman in the distance, far back behind us, and I have not liked the look of him. And I myself saw Karim speaking to a tall man in a cloak in the village before last. It was late and it was dark, but I am almost sure that he was talking to a Hull."

A cold shiver ran down Hem's back. "A Hull?" he whispered. Hem had too many bad memories of Hulls.

"I don't think Karim would know that he was dealing with a Hull," said Saliman. "They would not appear to him as they would to us."

"Still, he would know that anyone who is following us like that doesn't exactly wish us well," said Hem.

A silence fell over both of them, which was broken by two villagers noisily leaving the tavern. They waved cheery farewells before staggering out into the rain. Hem stared broodingly after them, thinking that his impulsive suggestion to join the players hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"What shall we do?" he asked at last.

"I think at some point soon we will have to leave the players," said Saliman. "One Hull alone would not dare to attack us, but I do not doubt—especially as we near Desor and Ettinor— that it would find friends. And that thought I do not like. The other thought I don't like is that they would know we're going to Innail."

"It'd be hard to leave without Hekibel noticing, in any case," said Hem. "That's if we want to take supplies. And we can't go without them." He paused and then asked, his voice strained: "Marich and Hekibel don't have anything to do with it, do they? Or do you think—"

"No, I don't think so," said Saliman, patting Hem on the shoulder. "I think we can trust them. All the same, it's as well to be careful."

Hem thought of the three players. He had become fond of all of them, even Karim, and it hurt deeply to think that Karim might be betraying them to the Dark. All the pleasures of the past fortnight turned to ashes in his heart.

"Selling us to Hulls just for coins," he said. "If it's true, I'll never forgive Karim."

"As I said, I think he is not a bad man. Just weak." "And stupid. And greedy."

"Yes, those things too. One day, Hem, you will find that people are often weak and stupid and greedy, including perhaps yourself."

"I wouldn't sell my friends to the Dark," said Hem bitterly. "Why don't we just go? Why don't we leave now?"

"And go where? For the moment, I think we go on as we are. There's little point in leaving now, because we could be just as easily followed as the caravan, and if we are correct, they already know we are heading for Innail. I have not your or Cadvan's talent for disguise, alas, but if need calls, we could use magery and glimveils. In the meantime, I count on you to keep your eyes and ears open. And remember, it could be, as I said, that Karim has a perfectly innocent explanation."

"It doesn't seem likely to me," said Hem. "Why would he hide, otherwise? And anyway, you thought the other person was a Hull. And I saw it too, and something about it gave me the chills."

"Well, then. We watch, and we be wary."

That night, Saliman had arranged for a room for Hem and himself at Thorkul's tavern, which would be more comfortable than sleeping out in the tent. Hem went to bed pleading illness, shortly after his conversation with Saliman. Saliman returned to the tavern. People were leaving; most had to rise with the dawn, and it was well past dark, so it wasn't long before Saliman joined him.

It was wonderful to lie down in an actual bed, even if it was somewhat lumpy, but despite Hem's tiredness and the wine, sleep wouldn't come. Close by, he could hear Irc shifting now and then on his perch at the end of the bed and Saliman's even breathing. Saliman had the facility of dropping off to sleep when he wished, no matter what their circumstances. Hem lay on his back, staring into the darkness, remembering his time in Edinur with the Hulls, and his even worse time in Sjug'hakar Im and Dagra, when he had seen the very heart of the Dark. For the first time since then, he felt afraid.

At last he dropped off into troubled dreams: the old nightmares of the Hulls in Edinur killing the boy Mark in front of him; newer nightmares about the Glandugir Hills, where strange, deadly creatures appeared out of the tangled undergrowth rattling insectile wings; or of dark streets in Dagra, where he was following Karim, who was dressed in a black cloak and always slipping out of sight around a corner just as he was about to catch up with him.

Then, quite suddenly, he heard a voice, like the voice of starlight, and it was as if all the shadows were lifted away.

He stood in a walled garden flooded with warm sunlight. In front of him, beneath a tree covered in white blossom, stood Maerad, holding her arms high, as if she had just made a spell. She was wearing a long red dress, which fell in simple folds about her body, and Hem saw that two of her fingers were missing from her left hand. In his dream, he felt no sense of shock: he simply accepted it, as he accepted the garden and Maerad's presence. Their eyes met and Maerad smiled, lowering her arms. Hem smiled back. He felt entirely happy, warmed through to his marrow with a sense of deep well-being. There was no need to speak, and in that moment he wanted nothing. It seemed they stood together for a long moment, and then the vision faded into a warm, comfortable darkness, and at last he fell into a dreamless sleep.

ONCE the rain came, it didn't stop. The steady gray downpour matched Hem's mood, which was one of unrelieved gloom. Since they had left Thorkul's Place, he felt as if their group had been put under a curse; not unlikely, he thought sourly, if Karim was meeting with a Hull. His sense of hurt at Karim's betrayal was at first softened by his dream about Maerad: the following morning, he had woken well-rested, warmed through with an afterglow of the happiness he had felt in the dream. He thought the dream was a sign that Maerad was expecting him, and it made him feel sure that they were getting closer to finding her.

He told Saliman about it as they broke their fast. "I'm sure it means that she's alive," he said. "It wasn't an ordinary dream. It was like the dreams I had about Nyanar ..." Nyanar was the Elidhu whom Hem had encountered in the Suderain. His enchantment had lifted Hem into another, earlier age, and Hem remembered it as if it were at once a dream and quite real.

Saliman listened attentively, but all he said was, "I hope you're right, Hem. I really hope you're right." In those words, Hem heard all Saliman's doubts: his uncertainty that they would, after all, find Maerad, that they were even following the right path. After that, the warmth of the dream dissipated all too quickly.

And they were certainly dogged by ill luck. After it had rained for three days solid, Marich and Karim, whose relationship was edgy at the best of times, had a violent argument over something so trivial that neither of them could remember the original point of conflict, and were now refusing to speak to each other except through a third party. The third party was usually Hekibel, who was exasperated with both of them. The dog, Fenek, bit Karim on the hand, and the wound had to be bound. Even the horses, great, patient beasts whom Marich tended lovingly, were ill-tempered, and one of them kicked Marich in the thigh, giving him a bad bruise that would have crippled him if Saliman had not tended it.

After their conversation about Karim, Hem and Saliman kept more to themselves, but in the general gloom this was scarcely noticed. It was miserable camping in their tent: it might, as Hem remarked, keep out the rain, but it wasn't designed to be a boat. One night, setting it up in the dark when they were exhausted after a day's hard traveling, they unwittingly placed themselves in a dip. They woke up in a freezing puddle, their blankets soaking. Once their blankets were wet, they couldn't dry them properly. They hung them in the caravan, where they filled the small space with a musty, damp smell.

Aside from anything else, the tedium was suffocating. The weather made performances, or even rehearsals, impossible. The five travelers were forced on one another's company in the claustrophobic space of the caravan all day long, though Hem chose, as much as possible, to sit outside with whoever was driving the caravan. It was usually Saliman, who for his own reasons wanted to keep his eye on the road; there wasn't much competition, as it was cold and wet work. Hem only came in when he was damp to the bone, or if Hekibel had had enough of the poisonous atmosphere in the caravan and wanted a break. If Karim happened to take a shift, he avoided Karim's company as much as was humanly possible.

They mostly passed the time by playing a complicated game with sheep knucklebones, which Marich kept in the caravan for just such occasions. But Karim wouldn't play if Marich was in the game; instead, he would sit outside the group, maintaining a steadfast pose of mortal offense, which effectively dampened any enjoyment the others might otherwise have had. There was a tension between Marich and Hekibel too, which Hem didn't understand; he guessed that perhaps Marich was jealous that Hekibel enjoyed Saliman's company. If so, Marich never seemed to resent Saliman, whom he probably spoke to more than anyone else. Hem was bored by these adult squabbles, which mostly mystified him. They seemed an awful waste of time.

To make matters worse, there were no villages for many leagues, so there was no chance of getting out of the caravan and seeking relief from other company. Without magery, it was impossible to light a fire and Saliman was very reluctant to use Bardic powers unless it was absolutely necessary, fearing to attract attention. Karim was heard to wonder out loud what the use of Bards were, if they wouldn't use their magery, and even muttered about hangers-on. Only Irc seemed unaffected by the general irritability: he stayed away from Fenek, stole some more gems from the players' cupboards, and ate as much food as he could get his claws on.

Saliman had other concerns. Just after the rains began they passed the crossroads where the South and West Roads intersected, which marked the rough boundary between Lauchomon and the region called Lukernil. Saliman had feared real trouble here. If the Black Army was marching toward Annar, the chances of encountering it were high, and he also thought it likely that scouts or spies would be posted near the crossroads. He cast a glimveil of illusion over the caravan, and maintained a constant vigilance; but they saw nothing living nearby except some wet goats and a few rooks.

All the same, Saliman was troubled by how unusually deserted the West Road was, and his sharp eyes noted signs that the others missed: the rubbish left by passing soldiers on the side of the road, or a house in the distance that had been burned to the ground, leaving only its blackened chimneys pointing dolefully to the sky. He said nothing of these sightings, not even to Hem, but he kept a glimmerspell on the caravan all the time now, and no matter how tired he and Hem were, they laid a glimveil over the camp every night.

The only positive aspects were that now they were traveling rapidly toward Innail, and there was no sign of the stranger who had been following them. Saliman didn't believe that the Hull— if it was a Hull—had abandoned their trail, but he was glad to have at least that sense of oppression lifted, even if temporarily.

After a week the rains lifted, although the clouds hung in heavy purple swags, promising more. For the moment, the travelers were happy not to hear its constant hammering on the roof of the caravan, and Karim and Marich even exchanged some courteous words. That day, they reached the ford over the Imlan River. Past the crossing, they entered the region called Ifant—rich, fertile lowlands that ran all the way to the Weywood—and from here the West Road hugged the Imlan all the way to Innail. The river, fed by the heavy rains, rushed brown and swollen over the ford, and the travelers contemplated it gloomily.

"How are we going to cross that?" asked Marich, shaking his head.

"We have to turn back," said Karim. "Look at it! We'll be swept away and drowned, for certain."

"We can't turn back," Marich said flatly. "There's nowhere to turn back to. And Hiert is only a league or so from the ford. We could stay at the tavern there, and dry off."

"I think we could make it," said Saliman thoughtfully. He stood with his arms crossed, studying the surface of the water. "I know this ford. It's not as deep as it looks, and although the current is dangerous, I think the caravan is heavy enough to stand against it. I think if I cast a fastening charm on it, to stabilize it more, we could get over without mishap."

For Hem, there was no question: they had to cross. The thought of tracking back over the miserable countryside they had just crossed was unbearable; and he was sure that Maerad was in front of him, not behind. Right now, he was willing to risk his neck just to escape the caravan. His fascination with the life of a player had evaporated entirely over the past week.

The others listened seriously to Saliman, and Hem studied their faces. He realized that Saliman had become the actual leader of their little band; the others, even Karim, deferred to his advice. Perhaps, he thought, that was why Karim had been so irritable recently, even though Saliman had been unfailingly polite to him, and had never once challenged his authority.

After some more discussion, they decided to risk the ford. Hem and Hekibel climbed into the caravan, Hekibel holding a protesting Fenek, and Karim took the reins. The horses balked at going into the water, and in the end Saliman and Marich led them, plunging into the water up to their waists. The river was very strong, rushing swiftly over the flat stones of the ford. If it hadn't been for Saliman's fastening charm the men might well have lost their footing and been swept away; but the caravan stayed steady and they emerged safely on the other bank.

Saliman and Marich were shivering with cold and Hekibel shooed them into the caravan to change into some drier clothes. When they moved on, everyone was more optimistic than they had been in days. Hem's gloom lifted: soon he would be sitting by a real fire, in warm clothes, with a hot meal in front of him. And if their luck held, they could be in Innail in less than a week. Maerad might be there, waiting ...

Even when the rain started again, sweeping the road before them with heavy swathes of gray water, it didn't dampen his spirits. Hem remembered his dream about Maerad. Yes, they were getting closer, they would find her, he was sure. He turned his face to the road with newly kindled hope.

They hadn't gone far before Marich noticed that one of the horses, Usha, was limping heavily. He and Saliman examined her, and found the inner part of her hoof was bruised. There was a nasty cut on her fetlock as well, suggesting that she had been hit by something in the river, a stone flung by the current perhaps, as they crossed. Saliman managed to ease the pain slightly, and attended to the cut, but both Marich and Saliman realized that Usha really needed to be taken out of harness and rested. On the other hand, she would be much better off resting in a stable than stopping in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain.

Marich and Saliman huddled together under a tree and discussed what to do, watched anxiously by the other travelers. In the end, they decided to push on carefully to Hiert, where they could find stabling for the horses and shelter for themselves. The risk was that Usha might break down entirely on the way, but if all went well, they would make it before dusk.

Usha, understandably enough, was reluctant to move at all once they had stopped, but with a little persuasion the caravan began to roll on slowly. The horses plodded miserably on, braced against the downpour, and Hem felt his heart sinking down into his boots again as he looked out over the dripping, rain-swept landscape. The Imlan to their right looked dangerously swollen, running almost to the height of its banks and in places spilling over them. He wondered what would happen if it kept raining.

He was soaked to the skin, but he stayed out in front with Saliman. Despite the cold, the atmosphere was more pleasant outside. Inside Karim and Marich were bickering again, and

Hekibel was silently mending some costumes, pushing her needle through the material with a rather pointed savagery. Irc was perched on the bench beside Hekibel, watching the needle. He was hoping that he might get a chance to steal it if she looked away; and he hated the rain.

The shadows were lengthening when they came around a bend in the road and saw a cluster of stone buildings gathered on each side. Hiert at last! Hem had seldom been so glad to see anything in his life. Now they could get out of the rain, and dry out their clothes. The horses, sensing that they were close to their destination, picked up their pace, and before long they were pulling up in a large yard behind the village's tavern. Saliman and Marich hastily began to unharness the horses, while Karim went inside to negotiate some stabling rates, or so he claimed, although Hem thought he just wanted an ale.

"Check in the stables for any spare stalls," Saliman said to Hem. "I want to stable these poor beasts right away, and I can't see an ostler. We'll talk to the owner afterward. I know him; he's a good man, and he won't mind."

Hem nodded and ran into the stables. For a moment he stood dripping in the entrance, breathing in the good smell of horses and straw; it was such a relief to be out of the constant assault of the rain. The stables were completely empty.

"There's plenty of space," he called out to Saliman.

"Good," said Saliman shortly. He led Usha into the stable. "Whoa, girl—you'll be fed soon. Go inside, Hem, and get warm. I'll join you in a moment."

Hem nodded, grabbed his pack from the caravan, and dashed into the tavern. He walked down the flagged hallway that ran from the back door to the front, leaving behind him a trail of wet footprints. The lamps were not yet lit, and the hallway was almost completely dark, but he groped his way through the shadows to the taproom at the front. Through the gloom he saw that there was a fire laid in the hearth, but no one had lit that either. Aside from Hekibel, nobody was there.

"Where is everybody?" asked Hem. "Where's Karim?" "He went upstairs to see if he could find the tavern owner," said Hekibel. There was a tremor in her voice. "It's strange— nobody seems to be about."

Hem's heart sank as he looked around the room. It was not as dark in here as in the passageway; the last chill light of day spilled grayly through the diamond-paned windows. There was a stale smell in the air, as if the room had been empty for some time. A dish of beans, half eaten, lay on a table nearby, and a chair was pushed back as if someone had suddenly stood up. Another chair nearby had fallen over. A mug was broken and spilt on the floor, the beer dried in a dark stain, and several other cups, half drunk, had been left where they stood, scattered on small tables around the room. There seemed to be a thin layer of dust over everything.

"I wonder what happened here?" he said. "I don't know," said Hekibel. "But it's a bit—a bit strange." "Well, I'm cold." Hem walked over to the fire and pointed his hand at it.
"Nor!"
he said. Instantly the fire began to blaze, as if it had been burning for hours. He and Hekibel drew close, stretching out their freezing hands to the flames. Steam began to rise from Hem's drenched clothes. With the noise of the rain outside, the room suddenly seemed a cozy refuge.