When they’d finished and were pulling their coats on, Galen said, “Now listen to me. We’re making for the old citadel and the ruins of the palace. They should be somewhere to the south, deep within the city. It may take us days. The farther in we go, the more dangerous it will be. Watchpatrols for sure, but I suspect they’ll keep to the wider streets. Even the Watch will be wary of the others here.”
“Is there anyone?” Carys muttered, looking at the dim openings.
“Don’t be a fool. There are thieves, footpads, murderers, all the dregs of the world. And madmen—this place is haunted by them. Other creatures too—beasts swollen and warped by the great Destruction, made savage by the dark. It’s not called the Evil City for nothing.”
Carys pulled a face, then checked her crossbow. Galen drew Raffi aside. “Sense-lines. As many as you can.”
Raffi nodded unhappily. “The trouble is, the buildings—or the dark—something’s confusing me. There are too many echoes here.”
“Try! We’re depending on you now!”
Carys was watching them. Galen picked up the pack and slung it on. Then he stood upright, a tall shadow in the steamy gloom. “Keep close. And keep silent.”
They set off into a narrow alley that stank of decay and skeats—the packs of small wild dogs Raffi had seen once before. Halfway down, it was blocked with fallen timbers; crawling under these they found themselves at a crossroads. Six black lanes led away into gloom like the spokes of a wheel. Everything was silent.
With a quick glance at Raffi, Galen strode into the farthest left. A very quick glance. But Carys had seen it.
Through the next few hours, she came to see that it was Raffi who was leading them. Sensing direction in the eternal gloom of Tasceron was almost impossible—there were no moons and no sunrise, and the labyrinth of buildings was intricate and unknown. But a keeper’s soul was linked with the earth, deep with stone and tree and soil, and they felt the magnetic lines deep inside themselves. Or so they said. So Raffi knew where the south was. But did Galen? Once, when he walked straight past a turning and Raffi had to call him back, she saw something in his face that puzzled and chilled her. A wretchedness. Almost despair.
There was no time to think about it. They soon found that Tasceron was inhabited. Coming around a bend, they heard voices, and pressing back quickly into shadow, they watched a group of armed men cross between the houses. They wore remnants of armor, ill-patched and rusted; some covered with ragged surcoats and jerkins of what looked like skeat fur. Two wore helmets.
These were the Watch. Close up, they were a ragged rabble, but they moved fast, with discipline; their swords were bright and when Raffi saw the grim knot of prisoners they dragged behind, tied wrist and waist, he shivered and pressed back into the doorway.
For a long time the tramp of feet echoed in the ruins. Finally Galen said, “We were lucky they didn’t have hounds.”
After that they moved more carefully. The maze of dark courts and tunnels bewildered Carys; she knew she’d never find her way back. They walked for hours; the world shrank to brick, rubble, stairs, the sad remnants of gardens, blackened and fire-scarred. Once they heard a great roaring far off and stood rigid, but it didn’t come again. Often rats scattered among the broken houses; clouds of biting insects infested some areas, and everywhere the owls hooted: great sooty-gray owls that swooped down the murky alleys silently.
Twice they crossed rivers on bridges that were crumbling to pieces, and between their feet they saw the black oily water racing below the holes. At the second bridge something leaped out and caught hold of Raffi, mumbling snarling words; Galen gave it a swift blow with his staff and it scuttled, crouched low, into the dark.
They ran then, till they were clear of the place.
“What was that!” Carys gasped.
Galen scowled her into silence, listening to their own echoes, endlessly pattering.
“Are you all right?” she whispered to Raffi.
He nodded wearily. “What a place. Can the Crow really be here?”
But Galen was gone, and they hurried after him.
Later they paused briefly to eat, but soon moved on, always keeping to the clearer streets if they could. Some alleys were so evil-smelling, so filled with stench and black mist, that Galen avoided them, despite the time lost.
Then, under one overhanging house, Carys paused. Her boots were coated with slimy weed, making her slip; she scraped it off hastily. Darkness closed over her. She glanced up and stared, paralyzed with astonishment. The thing was black, huge and winged. Its evil face had tiny eyes; hooked talons slashed at her.
“Get down!”
Galen’s yell made her drop. With a whistle of stinking breath the thing swooped over her, its call eerie and wild. Rolling, she jabbed a bolt into the bow. The thing flew back, its claws raked her face; she kicked aside and fired. The creature shrieked, a blot of darkness against the gloom.
“Run!” Galen was yelling. “There are more!”
Scrambling up, she limped after him, fumbling for another bolt, leaping a shattered wall. Looking up made her skin crawl. The sky was infested with the things; they dropped noiselessly, flapping, screeching, so fast she could hardly make them out.
Ahead, the street turned a corner. Racing around it, she caught up with Raffi, ducking with a yell as one of the things screamed low, its claws snatching at her hair. Then she slammed into a wall, hands flat. Turning, she slid to a crouch, jerking up the bow, hearing Galen yell with fury.
The alley was a dead end.
They were trapped.
18
Out of Darkness shall come Light. Pilgrims shall walk on the Roads of the Sky.
Apocalypse of Tamar
RAFFI BUCKLED AGAINST THE WALL next to Carys. She had her bow up; for a second he saw the bolt, then it was gone. But there was so much screeching overhead he couldn’t tell if any of the things had been hurt.
Galen fell beside him, ducking, arms over head. “Lights!” he yelled. “Mind-lights!”
Raffi was appalled. “I can’t!”
“TRY!”
He tried. He searched for his inner eye; it was buried deep in his mind, closed tight. Opening it took an age; dimly, far off, he heard the shrieks of the attacking beasts and Carys yelling with anger. Then he saw a tiny purple light and caught hold of it, made it swell and brighten. It was in the darkness before him, wobbling, expanding; now it was glowing and crackling, and briefly he saw Galen turn, and Carys’s eyes wide in amazement. The pale globe pulsed in the alley, it gleamed on the black wings that drove straight at him. He leaped back, cracked his head on the wall, and staggered, half stunned.
The globe popped like a soap bubble.
Darkness swallowed them; the sky shrieked.
“Do something!” Carys was crouched over Raffi, looking up, her face cut. “You’re the keeper, Galen!” she yelled, furious. “Do something!”
Their eyes met. In that instant she knew, without doubt, that there was nothing he could do. He was powerless.
Then he stood up recklessly, stepping out from the wall.
At once the light came. It came suddenly, a great slot of it streaming out, bright yellow light, the first light they had seen for days, and it dazzled them as it swung open across the filthy alley, spilling on black walls and dead moss, and over Galen, as he spun around, his face sharp with thrown shadow. Above it the black night-things screamed in rage, flashes of talon and wing. Then they swooped and were gone.