of anything to say. He began to amuse himself by talking the most absurd nonsense he could think of, and then by creatively abusing Zelika.
When she chose to exercise it, Zelika had admirable self-control; she limited herself for the most part to correcting his grammar and pronunciation. But she did slap him once, bursting into a storm of tears, when he called her a "skinny cat." Hem was puzzled: it was by no means the worst thing he had said to her. It was a long time before he found out that it was the insult her brothers had used, when they wished to tease her.
Ire was bored by the lessons, and provided some entertainment by flapping onto Zelika's head and trying to pull out her hair, or creeping underneath her chair and pecking her feet at inappropriate times. When he disgraced himself by soiling one of her sandals, which she subsequently put on, he was banished altogether. Hem was very regretful, especially after the sandal incident, which amused him vastly; but he did learn much more quickly if Ire was not there.
In fact, although he did not admit it to Zelika, Hem was grateful for the distraction; the lessons relieved his boredom and dissipated the fear that otherwise filled his thoughts. He never regretted that he hadn't left with the other students, but this didn't stop him from feeling a deepening trepidation. Sometimes, as much as he dreaded its arrival, Hem wished the Black Army would hurry up, just to break the mounting suspense that filled Turbansk with a strange, dreadful anticipation. It seemed as if the whole city trembled, holding its breath, on the edge of doom.
V
T HE W ALL O F I L D ARA
Hem dreamed. He was at the top of the Red Tower and Maerad was standing next to him. They both looked over the Turbansk Fesse, but in his dream vision he could see much farther: he saw past the mountains of the Osidh Am to Norloch, and across the whole of Annar. Tiny figures marched in ranks along the Bard Roads, and columns of smoke rose over all the landscape, and he knew, with a chill in his heart, that Annar was at war. With dread he looked east, toward Den Raven, and everywhere was devastation, grove and field and village and city burned and ruined. Then it seemed that the clouds of distance lifted away, like fog in the morning sun, and very clearly he saw the citadel of Dagra in miniature, standing by the shores of a lake of black still water. Gripped in the vision, Hem shuddered: he didn't want to look anymore, but he could not stop.
The city of Dagra was arranged in a half circle parody of the Annaren Schools, with straight roads connected by circular avenues radiating from a central tower. It sprawled from the feet of high, stony mountains the color of dried blood. The main streets were lined by tall, blank-faced towers of stone, and behind them, in a tangle of small streets and alleyways, was a chaos of dwellings and workhouses, grim buildings with small slit windows, flat-roofed and often many-storied, bulging oddly where extra rooms had been added on to the original structure.
Nothing green grew there, to soften the rock and dust, and no waters flowed save a meager, dark river running into the black lake. Figures swarmed in the streets. Unwillingly Hem's eyes traveled up the radiating streets to their hub: he knew that at the center was the Iron Tower, the fortress of the Nameless One. Its grim battlemented shadow stretched over the sad city beneath its feet, and even its shadow filled him with a loathing so strong that his gorge rose. But some will forced him to look, and at last he lifted his eyes and saw.
The Iron Tower was founded on the roots of the Osidh Dagra, the Dagra Mountains, and loomed over the surrounding plains. It seemed taller than any tower that Hem had seen, taller even than Norloch, and was wreathed in spirals of noxious vapors, staining the sun's rays so they fell lividly onto the city beneath. Buttressed by massive iron wings, it towered from a wide base of
When she chose to exercise it, Zelika had admirable self-control; she limited herself for the most part to correcting his grammar and pronunciation. But she did slap him once, bursting into a storm of tears, when he called her a "skinny cat." Hem was puzzled: it was by no means the worst thing he had said to her. It was a long time before he found out that it was the insult her brothers had used, when they wished to tease her.
Ire was bored by the lessons, and provided some entertainment by flapping onto Zelika's head and trying to pull out her hair, or creeping underneath her chair and pecking her feet at inappropriate times. When he disgraced himself by soiling one of her sandals, which she subsequently put on, he was banished altogether. Hem was very regretful, especially after the sandal incident, which amused him vastly; but he did learn much more quickly if Ire was not there.
In fact, although he did not admit it to Zelika, Hem was grateful for the distraction; the lessons relieved his boredom and dissipated the fear that otherwise filled his thoughts. He never regretted that he hadn't left with the other students, but this didn't stop him from feeling a deepening trepidation. Sometimes, as much as he dreaded its arrival, Hem wished the Black Army would hurry up, just to break the mounting suspense that filled Turbansk with a strange, dreadful anticipation. It seemed as if the whole city trembled, holding its breath, on the edge of doom.
V
T HE W ALL O F I L D ARA
Hem dreamed. He was at the top of the Red Tower and Maerad was standing next to him. They both looked over the Turbansk Fesse, but in his dream vision he could see much farther: he saw past the mountains of the Osidh Am to Norloch, and across the whole of Annar. Tiny figures marched in ranks along the Bard Roads, and columns of smoke rose over all the landscape, and he knew, with a chill in his heart, that Annar was at war. With dread he looked east, toward Den Raven, and everywhere was devastation, grove and field and village and city burned and ruined. Then it seemed that the clouds of distance lifted away, like fog in the morning sun, and very clearly he saw the citadel of Dagra in miniature, standing by the shores of a lake of black still water. Gripped in the vision, Hem shuddered: he didn't want to look anymore, but he could not stop.
The city of Dagra was arranged in a half circle parody of the Annaren Schools, with straight roads connected by circular avenues radiating from a central tower. It sprawled from the feet of high, stony mountains the color of dried blood. The main streets were lined by tall, blank-faced towers of stone, and behind them, in a tangle of small streets and alleyways, was a chaos of dwellings and workhouses, grim buildings with small slit windows, flat-roofed and often many-storied, bulging oddly where extra rooms had been added on to the original structure.
Nothing green grew there, to soften the rock and dust, and no waters flowed save a meager, dark river running into the black lake. Figures swarmed in the streets. Unwillingly Hem's eyes traveled up the radiating streets to their hub: he knew that at the center was the Iron Tower, the fortress of the Nameless One. Its grim battlemented shadow stretched over the sad city beneath its feet, and even its shadow filled him with a loathing so strong that his gorge rose. But some will forced him to look, and at last he lifted his eyes and saw.
The Iron Tower was founded on the roots of the Osidh Dagra, the Dagra Mountains, and loomed over the surrounding plains. It seemed taller than any tower that Hem had seen, taller even than Norloch, and was wreathed in spirals of noxious vapors, staining the sun's rays so they fell lividly onto the city beneath. Buttressed by massive iron wings, it towered from a wide base of
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