else's."
Hem, depressed by Saliman's reply, didn't answer, and Saliman opened one eye and stared at him. "Forgive me, Hem; I should not jest. I am so weary, and the storm has not even hit."
"You must rest," said Hem sternly, with his new authority as a healer.
Saliman smiled wanly. "We will be ready soon," he said. "Then I will rest. For a short time."
Over the next few days the black smudge of smoke in the east grew closer and the Healing Houses began to empty. All the sick were to leave Turbansk, even the worst injured, although Hem saw the anxiety on the healers' faces as the patients were placed on the special litters that were to transport them. He knew they should not be moved, but he also understood that it was impossible for them to stay in Turbansk. Many healers went with them, to care for them on their long journey to Car Amdridh, although Oslar and Urbika were among those who stayed behind, and, very suddenly, there was little for Hem to do. He spent a day in the Bardhouse, bored and lonely but too depressed to go out, feeling a sense of doom growing inside him. His patience seemed to have disappeared with his work at the Healing Houses, and he was even irritable with Ire. That evening he asked if he could go with Saliman the next day "Perhaps I could help?" he said. "Ire was really useful in the Healing Houses, too..."
Saliman studied Hem's face. "It might be as boring as anything you are doing here," he said. "But yes, I should have thought of it myself. It is a little gloomy waiting alone for war to break over your head. Of course you can come."
So the next day Hem became Saliman's shadow, as he had in his first week in Turbansk, except this time the slender boy had a white bird on his shoulder. The Bards and captains and city consuls did not object, if they seldom took notice of him, and the sick panic that had begun to stir in Hem's stomach eased back slightly. When he looked into the faces of the men and women who talked so earnestly, at their determination and strength, he did not see how they would be defeated.
As a member of the First Circle of Bards, one of the ruling bodies of Turbansk, Saliman was in charge of many aspects of the city's defense, and by the end of the day Hem began to understand why Saliman had been so tired. That day he went to several different meetings at the School and the Ernan – the great palace that stretched gracefully under the shadow of the Red Tower – listening to reports from scouts and the captains who had been attacking the raiders on the Lamarsan Sea with fire boats, and conferring with the other leaders of Turbansk to coordinate strategy. If any of them thought it odd that Hem was present, they didn't say so.
Hem hadn't been inside the Ernan before, and was awed. Most of its riches had been stripped and sent away to Car Amdridh, but it still possessed a breathtaking grandeur that surpassed even Norloch. Norloch was a high citadel built into the living rock above the Norloch Harbor, tower above tower of white stone topped by the Crystal Hall of Machelinor, and it spoke of majesty and authority. The Ernan was not a tower but an ancient palace, and it was built for pleasure. It had been added to and changed by successive rulers over countless centuries until it was the largest single building in the city surrounded by wide gardens planted with perfumed trees and rare flowers.
The palace spiraled inside high walls of stone, room after graceful room connected by archways or doors wrought of brass or iron in intricate grilles. The floors were of polished marble or mosaics of glazed tiles, depicting abstract patterns of flowers or stars. The rooms opened onto countless courtyards, each different: one contained nothing but white sand, raked into patterns, with black stones placed carefully upon it to induce contemplation; another held a fountain and a lawn of a pungent herb that refreshed the mind when it was walked upon; yet another was full of roses of every color,
Hem, depressed by Saliman's reply, didn't answer, and Saliman opened one eye and stared at him. "Forgive me, Hem; I should not jest. I am so weary, and the storm has not even hit."
"You must rest," said Hem sternly, with his new authority as a healer.
Saliman smiled wanly. "We will be ready soon," he said. "Then I will rest. For a short time."
Over the next few days the black smudge of smoke in the east grew closer and the Healing Houses began to empty. All the sick were to leave Turbansk, even the worst injured, although Hem saw the anxiety on the healers' faces as the patients were placed on the special litters that were to transport them. He knew they should not be moved, but he also understood that it was impossible for them to stay in Turbansk. Many healers went with them, to care for them on their long journey to Car Amdridh, although Oslar and Urbika were among those who stayed behind, and, very suddenly, there was little for Hem to do. He spent a day in the Bardhouse, bored and lonely but too depressed to go out, feeling a sense of doom growing inside him. His patience seemed to have disappeared with his work at the Healing Houses, and he was even irritable with Ire. That evening he asked if he could go with Saliman the next day "Perhaps I could help?" he said. "Ire was really useful in the Healing Houses, too..."
Saliman studied Hem's face. "It might be as boring as anything you are doing here," he said. "But yes, I should have thought of it myself. It is a little gloomy waiting alone for war to break over your head. Of course you can come."
So the next day Hem became Saliman's shadow, as he had in his first week in Turbansk, except this time the slender boy had a white bird on his shoulder. The Bards and captains and city consuls did not object, if they seldom took notice of him, and the sick panic that had begun to stir in Hem's stomach eased back slightly. When he looked into the faces of the men and women who talked so earnestly, at their determination and strength, he did not see how they would be defeated.
As a member of the First Circle of Bards, one of the ruling bodies of Turbansk, Saliman was in charge of many aspects of the city's defense, and by the end of the day Hem began to understand why Saliman had been so tired. That day he went to several different meetings at the School and the Ernan – the great palace that stretched gracefully under the shadow of the Red Tower – listening to reports from scouts and the captains who had been attacking the raiders on the Lamarsan Sea with fire boats, and conferring with the other leaders of Turbansk to coordinate strategy. If any of them thought it odd that Hem was present, they didn't say so.
Hem hadn't been inside the Ernan before, and was awed. Most of its riches had been stripped and sent away to Car Amdridh, but it still possessed a breathtaking grandeur that surpassed even Norloch. Norloch was a high citadel built into the living rock above the Norloch Harbor, tower above tower of white stone topped by the Crystal Hall of Machelinor, and it spoke of majesty and authority. The Ernan was not a tower but an ancient palace, and it was built for pleasure. It had been added to and changed by successive rulers over countless centuries until it was the largest single building in the city surrounded by wide gardens planted with perfumed trees and rare flowers.
The palace spiraled inside high walls of stone, room after graceful room connected by archways or doors wrought of brass or iron in intricate grilles. The floors were of polished marble or mosaics of glazed tiles, depicting abstract patterns of flowers or stars. The rooms opened onto countless courtyards, each different: one contained nothing but white sand, raked into patterns, with black stones placed carefully upon it to induce contemplation; another held a fountain and a lawn of a pungent herb that refreshed the mind when it was walked upon; yet another was full of roses of every color,
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