the battle at II Dara, and he is hard pressed. For the moment, you are needed here."
"Why did you want me to stay here, then, if I'm not to go with you?" said Hem passionately. "I don't want to stay behind – "
"I'm not leaving Turbansk," said Zelika, her eyebrows drawn into a stubborn line.
Saliman sighed. "Hem, Zelika, that is my order and my desire, and it is only if I do not return. I will not argue." Hem returned Saliman's stern, dark gaze with a despairing anger, his heart burning. "You stayed here, Hem, because my Knowing told me that there is a part you must play in this story, although I do not perceive what it is. It does not do for a Bard to go against his Knowing, even if it seems grievously mistaken: that is one lesson I have learned in a long and sometimes dangerous life. But if I am not here, there will be no one to guide you. Fate has many forkings, and some are darker than you are able yet to understand. And I must tell you clearly, as clearly as I can, that if I do not return from II Dara, my foresight tells me that your remaining in Turbansk would do great damage to the Light, and to Maerad: and therefore I order you to leave."
"How could I harm Maerad?" asked Hem, bewildered and hurt. He had thought Saliman let him stay because he loved him, but now it seemed he spoke of a colder decision.
"That has not been vouchsafed to me." Saliman's face softened, and he leaned forward, lifting up Hem's chin so he was forced to look into his eyes. "Hem," he said softly in the Speech. "Be sure I love you, more I expect than you know. It cost me dear to allow you to stay here, with all the forces of the Black Army marching on this city: I desire your death as little as my own."
Hem was taken by surprise. He was still fragile after the previous night's dream, and only just stopped himself from bursting into tears. Saliman had never said anything so openly to him, and much as Hem longed for Saliman's love, it also bruised him. And it made him feel more afraid that Saliman might not return: perhaps it was a kind of farewell.
Zelika had been listening impatiently; she did not understand what Saliman had just said. "That doesn't count for me," she said fiercely. "I won't leave. You'd have to tie me up and put me in a barrel to get me on that ship."
"Nevertheless," said Saliman calmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, "if I do not return from II Dara, you will leave Turbansk."
Zelika folded her lips into a tight line, and said nothing more. Hem glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what she would do. He doubted whether anyone could make Zelika do anything.
* * * *
Hem and Zelika forewent their lesson. Saliman left for II Dara shortly after the morning meal, and he farewelled the children in the garden. Hem waited for him, looking around with new eyes at this garden he had come to love. It seemed almost unbearably frail, as if it could be swept away in the next moment, and this vision made the colors more clear, the outlines sharper, its beauty more poignant. Although the day was already beginning to heat up, the garden was still cool, and would stay cool until evening; it was well shaded, with many glossy broad-leafed trees and flowering vines. Birds and some little golden monkeys chattered in the trees. In the center, surrounded by white marble paving, was a pool, wherein swam many golden fish, their fins turning lazily under the water crocus. There were several benches around the garden, which would normally have been full of young students, either talking or studying, but now, except for Hem and Zelika, the garden was empty and its beauty was touched with melancholy. Hem didn't feel like talking, and waited by the pool, staring gloomily into the clear water.
Before long Saliman entered the garden, in the full arms of the mounted Sun Guard of Turbansk. He wore a corslet of hardened ceramic scales enameled in blue, and his arms were protected by blue-stained leather vambraces. On his breast,
"Why did you want me to stay here, then, if I'm not to go with you?" said Hem passionately. "I don't want to stay behind – "
"I'm not leaving Turbansk," said Zelika, her eyebrows drawn into a stubborn line.
Saliman sighed. "Hem, Zelika, that is my order and my desire, and it is only if I do not return. I will not argue." Hem returned Saliman's stern, dark gaze with a despairing anger, his heart burning. "You stayed here, Hem, because my Knowing told me that there is a part you must play in this story, although I do not perceive what it is. It does not do for a Bard to go against his Knowing, even if it seems grievously mistaken: that is one lesson I have learned in a long and sometimes dangerous life. But if I am not here, there will be no one to guide you. Fate has many forkings, and some are darker than you are able yet to understand. And I must tell you clearly, as clearly as I can, that if I do not return from II Dara, my foresight tells me that your remaining in Turbansk would do great damage to the Light, and to Maerad: and therefore I order you to leave."
"How could I harm Maerad?" asked Hem, bewildered and hurt. He had thought Saliman let him stay because he loved him, but now it seemed he spoke of a colder decision.
"That has not been vouchsafed to me." Saliman's face softened, and he leaned forward, lifting up Hem's chin so he was forced to look into his eyes. "Hem," he said softly in the Speech. "Be sure I love you, more I expect than you know. It cost me dear to allow you to stay here, with all the forces of the Black Army marching on this city: I desire your death as little as my own."
Hem was taken by surprise. He was still fragile after the previous night's dream, and only just stopped himself from bursting into tears. Saliman had never said anything so openly to him, and much as Hem longed for Saliman's love, it also bruised him. And it made him feel more afraid that Saliman might not return: perhaps it was a kind of farewell.
Zelika had been listening impatiently; she did not understand what Saliman had just said. "That doesn't count for me," she said fiercely. "I won't leave. You'd have to tie me up and put me in a barrel to get me on that ship."
"Nevertheless," said Saliman calmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, "if I do not return from II Dara, you will leave Turbansk."
Zelika folded her lips into a tight line, and said nothing more. Hem glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what she would do. He doubted whether anyone could make Zelika do anything.
* * * *
Hem and Zelika forewent their lesson. Saliman left for II Dara shortly after the morning meal, and he farewelled the children in the garden. Hem waited for him, looking around with new eyes at this garden he had come to love. It seemed almost unbearably frail, as if it could be swept away in the next moment, and this vision made the colors more clear, the outlines sharper, its beauty more poignant. Although the day was already beginning to heat up, the garden was still cool, and would stay cool until evening; it was well shaded, with many glossy broad-leafed trees and flowering vines. Birds and some little golden monkeys chattered in the trees. In the center, surrounded by white marble paving, was a pool, wherein swam many golden fish, their fins turning lazily under the water crocus. There were several benches around the garden, which would normally have been full of young students, either talking or studying, but now, except for Hem and Zelika, the garden was empty and its beauty was touched with melancholy. Hem didn't feel like talking, and waited by the pool, staring gloomily into the clear water.
Before long Saliman entered the garden, in the full arms of the mounted Sun Guard of Turbansk. He wore a corslet of hardened ceramic scales enameled in blue, and his arms were protected by blue-stained leather vambraces. On his breast,
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