The Crow Read Free Page A

incident for the rest of the day. Nobody laughed at him, nobody. One day he'd make them pay for it...
    A noise of which he had been half aware now forced itself into the forefront of Hem's reverie. Some kind of commotion was going on below his feet. He looked down through the leaves and saw a brawl of feathers on the ground, six or seven crows attacking something in their midst. Consumed by curiosity, he dropped from the branch to the ground, right next to the fight. The crows were so intent on their business that they didn't even notice him. He saw now that they were savagely pecking a white bird that had obviously given up on any idea of escape and was now vainly trying to hide its head under its wing. Blood spotted its feathers where the crows had torn its skin.
    Filled with a swift anger, Hem lifted his hand and cried out in the Speech, "Der ni, mulcharl Begone, carrion!"
    A blue bolt of lightning leaped from his fingers and hit the attacking crows, which screeched in surprise and dismay and flapped off in a stench of scorched feathers. Their victim lay on the grass surrounded by scattered white feathers with blood at their tips, its eyes closed, its breast heaving. Very gently Hem picked it up, feeling its body trembling in his hands. He involuntarily drew in his breath at the bird's lightness: underneath the feathers its body was so small, a mere scrap of life.
    Are you hurt, little one? he asked, in the Speech.
    At the sound of his voice the bird opened its eyes, and then almost immediately shut them again. Hem regretted he hadn't taken notice of the noise sooner; it was likely now the bird would die of shock. He cradled it against his chest, cupping his hands around its head to create a darkness, which at least might make the creature feel less afraid. Though no doubt it was past fear.
    He was thinking that it was probably time he left the garden when an angry cry came from the cloisters behind him. He started, and looked around wildly for a means of escape. A very large man in long green robes was running swiftly toward him, shouting in Suderain. The only quick way out was to swarm up the mango tree and drop down the other side of the wall, but Hem was hampered by the bird, and he didn't want to jolt it by moving quickly. He assessed his chances, cursing, and decided he had no choice but to stand his ground.
    When the man reached him, panting hard with both exertion and anger, he drew back his hand to cuff Hem across his head. The boy flinched and steeled himself for the blow, but the man stopped with his hand still high in the air and stared at him in astonishment and what seemed to be rising anger. Then came a flood of questions, of which Hem understood little, apart from the word Djella, which he knew meant Bard. Hem realized that the reason he hadn't been summarily punished was that the man had recognized the distinctive robes of a student at the Turbansk School. He smiled as ingratiatingly as he could, and said, every time the man paused for breath, "Saliman Turbansk de."
    The man gave Hem a skeptical look, and then grabbed him painfully by his earlobe and pulled him into the house. Hem concentrated on not falling over and hurting the bird he had rescued. He was propelled swiftly through wide hallways and shaded rooms smelling of sandalwood in which he caught glimpses of rich colors, glints of gold and crimson and azure. Finally he went through a large atrium. At the far end the man opened a huge bronze door and stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the street. For a moment Hem thought with relief that was the end of it, but the man still had an unrelenting grip on his ear. He was marched humiliatingly through the streets until they reached Saliman's house, which was thankfully not very far away. There his captor tolled the brass bell and waited stolidly until the door was answered.
    The bewildered minor Bard who opened the door was blasted with a flood of Suderain. She spread her hands to stop the flow,