"Shardik" - читать интересную книгу автора (Adams Richard)

18

Rantzay On the edge of the forest, Rantzay knelt over the tracks showing faintly in the hard ground. They led westward, into thick undergrowth, and where they disappeared the bark of a kalmet tree had been slashed white, high up, by the bear's claws. She knew that it was not two hours since Shardik had deliberately lain in wait for and killed a man. In this mood he might well kill again – might lie in wait for those who tracked him or steal, elusive and silent, through the woods until he was behind them and the pursuers became the pursued.

The strain of the past month had told increasingly upon the priestess. She was the oldest of the women who had followed Shardik down Ortelga and across the Telthearna strait, and though her belief in his divine power was untouched by the least doubt, she had felt also – more and more as the days went by – the hardship of the life and the continual fear of death. The young risk their lives heedlessly – often actually for sport – but their ciders, even while they may grow in humility and selflessness, grow also in prudence and in regard for their own lives, those little portions of time in which they hope to create something fit to be offered at last to God. Rantzay, novice mistress and Warden of the Ledges, had not, like Melathys, been caught unawares by the sudden coming of Shardik like a thief in the night. From the moment when the Tuginda's message had reached Quiso, she had known what would be required of her. Since then, day after day, she had been driving her gaunt and ageing body over the rocky hillsides and through the thickets of the island, struggling with her own fear even while she calmed some near-hysterical girl and persuaded her to take part once more in the Singing: or herself took the girl's place and felt yet again the slow response of her muscles to the bear's lithe, unpredictable movements. On Quiso Anthred, the woman struck down and killed among the trees by the shore, had been first her servant, then her pupil and finally her closest friend. Once, in a dream, she had embraced her as her own child and together they had dug up and burned that day in the rains, long ago, when Rantzay's disappointed father, frightened at last by her waking fits, her swoons and the voices that spoke and babbled from her at these rimes, had gone to the High Baron to offer to the Ledges his ugly, unmarriageablc tent-pole of a daughter. She had recalled the dream as she performed the traditional rite of burning Anthred's quiver, bow and wooden rings upon her grave by the Telthearna strait

By what means was Shardik to be brought into the open and drugged insensible: and if the means she chose were faulty, how many lives would be lost with nothing to show? She returned to the girls, who were standing together a little way off, looking down into the valley. 'When did he last eat?'

'No one has seen him eat, madam, since he left Ortelga yesterday morning.'

"Then he is likely to be looking for food now. The Tuginda and Lord Kelderek say that he is to be drugged.'

'Can we not follow him, madam,' said Nito, 'and put down meat or fish with tessik hidden in it?'

'Lord Kelderek says he must not fall asleep in the thick forest If it can be accomplished, he is to return here.'

'He will hardly return here, madam,' said Nito, nodding her head towards the road below.

At the foot of the slope fires were already burning and the sounds came up of many men at work; sudden cries of urgency or warning, the flat ringing of a hammer on iron, the gushing of flame fanned by a bellows, the rasp of a saw, the tap-tap-tap of a mallet and chisel. They could see Kelderek going from one group to another, conferring, pointing, nodding his head while he talked. As they watched, Sheldra left his side and came climbing quickly towards them. Impassive as usual, she showed no excitement or breathlessness as she stood before Rantzay and raised her palm to her forehead.

'Lord Kelderek asks whether Shardik has yet gone far and what is to be done?'

'He may well ask – and he a hunter. Does he think Shardik is likely to stay near that stinking smoke and tumult?'

'Lord Kelderek has ordered that some goats should be driven higher up the valley and tethered on the edge of the forest He hopes that if Lord Shardik can be prevented from hunting or feeding elsewhere, he may perhaps make his way towards them and that you may find means, madam, to drug him there.'

'Go back and tell Lord Kelderek that if it can be done we will find a way to do it, with God's help. Zilth?, Nito; go back to the camp and bring up what meat you can find and all the tcssik that is there – the green leaves as well" as the dried powder. And you are to bring the other drug too – the theltocarna.'

'But theltocarna can be administered only in a wound, madam, and not in food: it must be mingled with the blood.'

'I know that as well as you,' snapped Rantzay, 'and I have already told you to bring it. There are six or seven gall-bladders packed with moss in a wooden box with a sealed lid. Handle it carefully – the bladders must not be broken. I will send back one of the other girls to meet you here and bring you on to join us, wherever we may be.'

The long and dangerous search for Shardik, westward through the forest, continued until after noon, and when at last Zilthe" came running between the trees to say that she had caught sight of the bear prowling along the bank of a stream not far away, Rantzay already felt herself on the point of collapse from strain and fatigue. She followed the girl slowly through a grove of myrtles and out into an expanse of tall, yellow grass buzzing with insects in the sun. Here Zilthe pointed to the bank of the stream.

Shardik gave no sign that he had seen them. He was fishing -splashing in and out of the water and every now and then scooping out a fish to flap and jump on the stony bank before he held it down and ate it in two or three bites. Watching him, Rantzay's heart sank. To approach him was more than she dared attempt. The girls, she knew, would not refuse to obey her if she ordered them to do it But what end would it serve? Suppose they could, somehow, succeed in startling him from the brook, what then? How were they to drive or entice him to return in the direction from which he had come?

She went back to the trees and lay prone, her chin propped on her hands. The girls, gathering about her, waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. The shadows moved over the ground before her eyes and the flies settled at the corners of her mouth. The heat was intense but she gave no sign of discomfort only now and then standing up to look at the bear and then lying down as before.

At length Shardik left the stream and stretched himself out in a patch of great hemlock plants not far from where the priestess was lying. She could hear the hollow sound of the stems as they snapped and sec the white umbels of bloom toppling and falling as the bear rolled among them. The silence returned, and with it the weight of her impossible task and the agony of her determination. In her perplexed exhaustion she thought with envy of her friend, free at last from every burden – from the laborious dedication of the Ledges and the continual fatigue and fear of the last weeks. If one had power to change the past – it was a favourite fantasy with her, though one which she had never shared, even with Anthred. If she had power to change the past at what point would she enter it, to do so? At that night on the beach o? Quiso, a month ago? This time she would not guide them inland, but turn them back, the night-messengers, the heralds of Shardik.

It was dark. It was night. She and Anthred were standing once more on the stony beach with the flat, green lantern between them, splashing the shallow water with their staves.

'Go back!' she cried into the darkness. 'Go back, return whence you came! You should never have come here! I – yes, I myself – am the voice of God and that is the message I am sent to deliver to you!'

She felt Anthred clutch at her arm, but pushed her aside. The windless, moonless darkness was thick about them: only the sky retained a faint trace of light. Something was approaching, splashing slowly and heavily towards the shore. A huge, black shape loomed above her, its lowered head turning from side to side, the mouth open, the breath foetid and rank. She faced it imperiously. Once she and it had gone their several ways, then – ah! then she would return with Anthred to find her girlhood, to turn its course away from Quiso for ever. She raised her arm and was about to speak again, but the presence, with a soft, shaggy slapping of wet feet on the shore, passed by her and was gone into the wooded island.

There was a blinding light and a noise of scolding birds. Rantzay looked about her in bewilderment. She was standing knee-deep in the dry, tawny grass. The sun was thinly covered with a fleece of cloud and suddenly a long, distant roll of thunder ran round the edge of the sky. Some insect had stung her on the neck and her fingers, as she drew them across the place, came away smeared with blood. She was alone. Anthred was dead and she herself was standing in the dried-up, bitter forest south of the Telthearna. The tears flowed silently down her haggard, dusty face as she bent forward, supporting herself upon her staff.

After a few moments she bit hard upon her hand, drew herself up and gazed about her. Some distance away, Nito looked out from among the trees and then approached, staring at her incredulously.

'Madam – what – the bear – what have you done? Are you unharmed? Wait – lean on me. I – oh, I was afraid – I am so much afraid -' 'The bear?' said Rantzay. 'Where is the bear?'

As she spoke, she noticed for the first time a broad path flattened through the grass beside her and on it, here and there, the tracks of Shardik, broader than roof-tiles. She bent down. The smell of the bear was plain. It could have passed only since she had last seen it among the hemlocks. Dazed, she raised her hands to her face and was about to ask Nito what had happened, when she became conscious of yet one more bodily affliction. Her tears fell again – tears of shame and degradation.

'Nito, I – I am going down to the stream. Go and tell the girls to follow Lord Shardik at once. Then wait for me here. You and I will overtake them.'

In the water she stripped and washed her body and fouled clothes as well as she could. On Quiso it had been easier; often Anthred had been able to perceive when one of her fits was coming on and had contrived to help her to save her dignity and authority. Now there was not one of the girls whom she could think of as her friend. Looking back, she caught a glimpse of Nito loitering discreetly among the trees. She would know what had happened, of course, and tell others.

They must not be too long in catching up. Left to themselves the girls would not be steady, and if by some incredible stroke of fortune Shardik were indeed to return whence he had come, nevertheless without herself they could not be relied upon to do their utmost -to death if necessary – to carry out the Tuginda's instructions.

She and Nito had not gone far when she realized that the fit had left her dulled and stupefied. She longed to rest Perhaps, she thought Shardik would stop or turn aside before the evening, and Lord Kelderek would be forced to allow them another day. But each time they came up with one or other of the girls waiting to show them the direction, the news was that the bear was still wandering slowly south-eastward, as though making for the hill-country below Gelt

Evening came on. Rantzay's pace had become a limping hobble from one tree-trunk to the next; yet still she exhorted Nito to keep her eyes open, to make sure of the right way forward and to call from time to time in hope of hearing a reply from ahead. Vaguely, she was aware of twilight, of the fall of darkness and later of moonlight among the trees; of intermittent thunder, far off, and of swift momentary gusts of wind. Once she saw Anthred standing among the trees and was about to speak to her when her friend smiled, laid a ringed finger to her lips and disappeared.

At last in clear moonlight at some mid hour of the night she looked about her and realized that she had caught up with the girls. They were standing close together, in a whispering group; but as she approached, leaning on Nito's arm, they all turned towards her and fell silent To her their silence seemed full of dislike and resentment. If she had hoped for comradeship or sympathy at the end of this bitter journey, she was clearly to be disappointed. Handing her staff to Nito she drew herself up, almost crying out as she put her full weight upon the broken-blistered soles of her feet 'Where is Lord Shardik?*

'Close at hand, madam – not a bowshot away. He has been sleeping since moonrise.'

'Who is that?' said Rantzay, peering. 'Sheldra? I thought you were with Lord Kelderek. How do you come to be here? Where are we?'

'We are a little higher up the valley that you left this morning, madam, and on the edge of the forest. Zilthe came down to the camp to tell Lord Kelderek that Shardik had returned, but she was exhausted, so he sent me back instead of her. He says that Lord Shardik must be drugged tonight.' 'Has any attempt been made to drug him?' No one replied. 'Well?'

'We have done all we could, madam,' said another of the girls. 'We prepared two haunches of meat with tessik and placed them as close to him as we dared, but he would not touch them. There is no more tessik. We can only wait until he wakes.'

'Before I left Lord Kelderek, madam,' said Sheldra, 'a messenger arrived from Gelt, from Lord Ta-Kominion. He sent word that he expected to fight the day after tomorrow and that Shardik must come no matter what the cost. His words were, "The hours now are more precious than stars." '

From the hills to southward the lightning flickered between the trees. Rantzay limped the few yards to the edge of the forest and looked out across the valley. The sound of the brook below wavered on the air. Away to her left she could see the fires of the camp where the Tuginda and Kelderek must at this moment be waiting for news. She thought of the black shape that had passed her in the noon-day night, through the watery shallows of the grass; and of Anthred smiling among the trees, her hands adorned with the plaited rings that she herself had burned by the shore. These signs were clear enough. The situation was, in fact, a simple one. All that was required was a priestess who knew her duty and was capable of carrying it out with resolution.

She returned to the girls. They drew back from her, staring silently in the dimness. 'You say Lord Shardik is close at hand. Where?'

Someone pointed. 'Go and make sure that he is still sleeping,* said Rantzay. 'You should not have left him unwatched. You are all to blame.' 'Madam -'

'Be silent!' said Rantzay. 'Nito, bring me the box of theltocarna.'

She drew her knife and tested it. The sharp edge sliced lightly through a leaf held between her finger and thumb, while the point, with the least pressure upon it, almost pierced the skin of her wrist. Nito was standing before her with the wooden box. Rantzay stared coldly down at the girl's trembling fingers and then at the knife held motionless in her own steady hand. 'Come with me. You too, Sheldra.' She took the box.

She remembered the last time that she and Anthred had walked through fire, in the courtyard of the Upper Temple, on the night when they had led Kelderek to the Bridge of the Suppliants. There was an unreality about the memory, as though it were not hers but some other woman's. The night-sounds seemed magnified about her. The dry forest echoed through caves of dripping water and her body felt like a mass of hot sand. These were symptoms she recognized. She would need to be quick. Her fear was somewhere behind her, searching for her, overtaking her among the trees.

The bear was stretched on its side in a thicket of cenchulada saplings, two of which he had pushed down and snapped in making a place to sleep. A few feet away lay one of the haunches of meat. Whoever had put it there had not lacked courage. The huge mass of the body was dappled with moonlight and leaf-shadows. The shaggy flank, rising and falling in sleep and overlaid with the speckled, moving light, appeared like a dark plain of grass. Before the half-open, breathing mouth the leaves on one of the broken branches sdrred and glistened. The claws of one extended fore-paw were curved upward. Rantzay stood a few moments, gazing as though at a deep, swift river into which she must now plunge and drown. Then, motioning the girls away, she stepped forward.

She was standing against the ridge of Shardik's back, looking over his body, as though from behind an earthwork, at the restless, wind-moved forest. The thunder muttered in the hills and Shardik stirred, twitched one ear and then once more lay still.

Rantzay thrust her left hand deep into the pelt. She could not lay bare the skin and began cutting away the oily hair, matted and full of parasites as a sheep's fleece. Her own hands were trembling now and she worked faster, lifting each handful carefully, cutdng and then drawing it away from under the sharp knife.

Soon she had cut a wide, bristling patch across the shoulder, almost baring the grey, salt-flaked skin. Two or three veins ran across it, one thick enough to reveal the slow beating of the pulse.

Rantzay turned and stooped for the box beside her. Taking out two of the little, oiled bladders, she placed them between the fingertips of her left hand. Then she drove the point of the knife into the bear's shoulder and drew the blade back towards her, opening a gash half as long as her own forearm. Smoothly, without a pause, she pushed the bladders into it, drew the edges of the incision over them, pressed downwards and felt them crush inside.

With a snarl, Shardik threw back his head and rose upon his hind legs. Rantzay, flung to the ground, got up and stood facing him. For a moment it seemed that he would strike her down. Then, lurching forward, he crushed her against his body. A few steps he carried her, hanging grotesquely in his grip. Then, letting her drop, limp as an old garment fallen from a line, he staggered out to the open slope beyond the trees. He rolled on the ground and froth flew from his mouth as he bit and tore at the grass.

Sheldra was the first to reach the priestess. Her left hand had been gashed by her own knife, her tongue protruded and her head lay grotesquely upon her shoulder, like that of a hanged man. When Sheldra put one arm beneath her and tried to raise her a terrible, crackling sound came from the broken body. The girl laid her back and for a moment she opened her eyes. 'Tell the Tuginda – did what she said -'

Blood gushed from her mouth and when it ceased her gaunt, bony body vibrated very lightly, like the surface of a pool fluttered by the wings of a trapped fly. The movement ceased and Sheldra, perceiving that she was dead, drew off her wooden rings, picked up the box of theltocarna and the fallen knife and made her way out to the slope where Shardik lay insensible. 19 Night Messengers The cage had taken all day to complete – if complete it were. On hearing his orders Baltis, the master smith, had shrugged his shoulders, making light of Kelderek, whom he had heard of as a simple young fellow with neither family, wealth nor craft – for in his eyes hunters were not craftsmen. He and his men, being armed with excellent weapons of their own making, had supposed that they were about to play their part in the sack of Bekla – or at any rate the sack of Gelt – and took it ill to be called out of the march and put back on their accustomed work. Kelderek, having tried in vain to bring home to the great, lumbering fellow the vital importance of what he had to do, went back to Ta-Kominion, catching him just as he was about to set out with the advance guard. Ta-Kominion, cursing with impatience, summoned Baltis to him under the tree which bore the body of Fassel-Hasta and promised him that if the cage were not complete by nightfall he should hang like the baron. This was talk that Baltis could understand clearly enough, and he immediately asked for double the number of men he expected to get Ta-Kominion, being in too much haste to argue, allowed him fifty, including two rope-makers, three wheelwrights and five carpenters. As the army wound away up the valley in the thickening, sultry morning, Kelderek and Baltis fell to their work.

Messengers were sent back to Ortelga and before midday all the stored fuel on the island, much of its stock of sawn timber and every piece of forged iron had been carried up to the camp by women and boys. The iron was of different lengths and thicknesses, much of it too short to be of use except as pieces for welding. Baltis set his men to make three axles and as many iron bars as possible, the latter to be of equal length and thickness, pointed and pierced at both ends. Meanwhile the carpenters and wheelwrights, using seasoned wood, some of which had until that morning formed part of the walls, roofs and tables of Ortelga, built a heavy platform of strutted planks, which they raised with levers and mounted upon six spokeless wheels, solid wood to the rims.

By evening Baltis' men had forged, welded or cut sixty bars -disparate, rough-edged things, yet serviceable enough to be driven point-first through the holes drilled round the edges of the platform and then secured with iron pins.

'The roof will have to be wooden too,' said Baltis, looking at the poles sticking up out of the planks and pointing this way and that like a bed of reeds. 'There's no more iron, young man, and none to be had, so no use to fret over it.'

'A wooden roof will shake to pieces,' said the master-carpenter. 'It'll not hold the bear, not if he goes to break it'

'It's not work to be done in a day,' growled Baltis. 'No, not in three days. A cage to hold a bear? I was the first to see Lord Shardik come ashore yesterday morning, barring that poor devil Lukon and his mate -'

'How's the bear to be brought to the cage?' interrupted the carpenter. 'Ah, that's more than we know

'You are here to obey Lord Ta-Kominion,' said Kelderek. 'It is the will of God that Lord Shardik is to conquer Bekla; and that you will see with your own eyes. Make the roof of wood if it must be so, and bind the whole cage round with rope, twisted tight'

The work was finished at last by torchlight and Kelderek, when he had dismissed the men to cat, remained alone with Sheldra and Neelith, peering and probing, kicking at the wheels, fingering the axle-pins and finally testing each of the six bars set aside to close the still open end.

'How is he to be released, my lord?' asked Neelith. 'Is there to be no door?'

'The time is too short to make a door,' answered Kelderek. 'When the hour comes to release him, we shall be shown the way.'

'He must be kept drugged, my lord, as long as possible,' said Sheldra, 'for neither that nor any other cage will hold Lord Shardik if he is minded otherwise.'

'I know it,' said Kelderek. 'We might as well have made a cart to put him in. If only we knew where he is -'

He broke off as Zilthe came limping into the torchlight, raised her palm to her forehead and at once sank to the ground.

'Forgive me, lord,' she said, drawing her bow from her shoulder and laying it beside her. 'We have been following Lord Shardik all day and I am exhausted – with fear even more than with fatigue. He went far -' 'Where is he?' interrupted Kelderek.

'My lord, he is sleeping on the edge of the forest, not an hour from here.'

'God be praised!' cried Kelderek, clapping his hands together. 'I knew it was His will!'

'It was Rantzay, my lord, who brought him back,' said the girl, staring up at Kelderek as though even now afraid. 'We came upon him at noon, fishing in a stream. He lay down near the bank and we dared not approach him. But after a long time, when it seemed that there was nothing to be done, Rantzay, without telling us what she intended, suddenly stood up and went out into the open where Lord Shardik could sec her. She called him. My lord, as I live, she called him and he came to her! We all fled in terror, but she spoke to him in a strange and dreadful voice, rebuking him and telling him to return, for he should never have come so far, she said. And Shardik obeyed her, my lord! He passed by her, where she stood. He made his way back at her command.'

'God's will indeed,' said Kelderek with awe, 'and all that we have done is right. Where is Rantzay now?'

'I do not know, my lord,' said Zilthd, almost weeping. 'Nito told us we were to follow Lord Shardik and that Rantzay would overtake us. But she did not, and it is many hours now since we last saw her.'

Kelderek was about to send Sheldra up the valley when a challenge and answer sounded from further along the road. After a pause they heard footsteps and Numiss appeared. He, too, was exhausted; and did not ask Kelderek for leave to sit before flinging himself to the ground.

'I've come from beyond Gelt,' he said. 'We took Gelt easy – set it on fire – not much fighting but we killed the chief and after that the rest of 'em were willing enough to do what Lord Ta-Kominion told 'em. He talked to some of 'cm alone and I dare say he asked them what they knew about Bekla – how to get there and all the rest of it. Anyway, whatever it was -'

'If he gave you a message, tell me that,' said Kelderek sharply. 'Never mind what you heard or suppose.'

'This is the message, sir. "I expect to fight the day after tomorrow. The rains can be no later and now the hours are more precious than stars. Bring Lord Shardik no matter what the cost." '

Kelderek jumped up and began pacing to and fro beside the cage, biting his lip and smidng his clenched fist into his palm. At length, recovering himself, he told Sheldra to go and find Rantzay and, if Shardik had been drugged, to bring back word at once. Then, fetching some brands to start a fire, he sat down by the cage, with Numiss and the two girls, to wait for news. None spoke, but every now and again Kelderek would look up, frowning, to mark the slow time from the wheeling stars.

When at last Zilthe started and laid a hand on his arm, he had heard nothing. He turned to meet her eyes and she stared back at him, holding her breath, her face half fire-lit, half in shadow. He too listened, but could hear only the flames, the fitful wind and a man coughing somewhere in the camp behind them. He shook his head but she nodded sharply, stood up and motioned him to follow her along the road. Watched by Neelith and Numiss they set off into the darkness, but had gone only a little way when she stopped, cupped her hands and called, 'Who's there?'

The reply, 'Nito!', was faint but clear enough. A few moments later Kelderek caught at last the girl's light tread and went forward to meet her. It was plain that in her haste and agitation she had fallen – perhaps more than once. She was begrimed, dishevelled and grazed across the knees and one forearm. Her breath came in sobs and they could see the tears on her cheeks. He called to Numiss and together they supported her as far as the fire.

The camp was astir. Somehow the men had guessed that news was at hand. Several were already waiting beside the cage and one spread his cloak for the girl across a pile of left-over planks, brought a pitcher and knelt down to wash her bleeding grazes. At the touch of the cold water she winced and, as though recalled to herself, began speaking to Kelderek.

'Shardik is lying insensible, my lord, not a bowshot from the road. He has been drugged with theltocarna – enough to kill a strong man. God knows when he will wake.' 'With theltocarna?' said Neelith, incredulously. 'But-'

Nito began to weep again. 'And Rantzay is dead – dead! Have you told Lord Kelderek how she spoke to Shardik beside the stream?' Zilthe nodded, staring aghast.

'When Shardik had passed her and gone, she stood for a time stricken, it seemed, as though, like a tree, she had called lightning down to her. Then we were alone, she and I, following the others as best we might. I could tell -I could tell that she meant to the, that she was determined to die. I tried to make her rest but she refused. It is not two hours since we returned at last to the edge of the forest All the girls could see her death upon her. It was drawn about her like a cloak. None could speak to her for pity and fear. After what we had seen by the stream at noon, any one of us would have died in her place; but it was as though she were already drifting away, as though she were on the water and we on the shore. We stood near her and she spoke to us, yet we were separated from her. She spoke and we were silent. Then, as she ordered, I gave her the box of theltocarna, and she walked up to Lord Shardik as though he were a sleeping ox. She cut him with a knife and mingled the theltocarna with his blood: and then, as he woke in anger, she stood before him yet again, with no more fear than she had shown at noon. And he clutched her, and so she died.' The girl looked about her. 'Where is the Tuginda?'

'Get the long ropes on the cage,' said Kelderek to Baltis, 'and set every man to draw it. Yes, and every woman too, except for those who carry torches. There is no time to be lost. Even now we may be too late to reach Lord Ta-Kominion.'

Less than three hours later the enormous bulk of Shardik, the head protected by a hood made from cloaks roughly stitched together, had been dragged with ropes down the slope and up a hastily-piled ramp of earth, stones and planks into the cage. The last bars had been hammered into place and the cage, hauled in front and pushed behind, was jolting and rocking slowly up the valley towards Gelt. 20 Gel-Ethlin It could surely be no more than a day – two days at the most -thought Gel-Ethlin, to the breaking of the rains. For hours the thundery weather had been growing more and more oppressive, while rising gusts of warm wind set the dust swirling over the Beklan plain. Santil-ke-Erketlis, commander of the northern army of patrol, being taken sick with the heat, had left the column two days previously, returning to the capital by the direct road south and entrusting Gel-Ethlin, his second-in-command, with the task of completing the army's march to Kabin of the Waters, down through Tonilda and dience westward to Bekla itself. This would be a straightforward business – a fortification to be repaired here, a few taxes to be collected there, perhaps a dispute or two to be settled and, of course, the reports to be heard of local spies and agents. None of these matters was likely to be urgent and, since the army was already a day or two behind time for its return to Bekla, Santil-ke-Erketlis had told Gel-Ethlin to break off as soon as the rains began in earnest and take the most direct route back from wherever he happened to find himself.

'And high time too,' thought Gel-Ethlin, standing beside his command banner with the falcon emblem, to watch the column go past. 'They've marched enough. Half of them are in no sort of condition. The sooner they get back to rain-season quarters the better. If the stagnant water fever hit them now they'd go down in cursing rows.'

He looked northward, where the plain met the foothills rising to the steep, precipitous ridges above Gelt. The sky-line, dark and threatening, with cloud hiding the summits, appeared to Gel-Ethlin full of promise – the promise of early relief. With luck their business could be decently cut short in Kabin and one forced march, with the rains and the prospect of home-coming to spur them on, would see them safely in Bekla within a couple of days.

The two Beklan armies of patrol – the northern and the southern -customarily remained in the field throughout the summer, when the risk was greatest of rebellion or, conceivably, of attack from a neighbouring country. Each army completed, twice, a roughly semicircular march of about two hundred miles along the frontiers. Sometimes detachments saw action against bandits or raiders, and occasionally the force might be ordered to make a punitive raid across a border, to demonstrate that Bekla had teeth and could bite. But for the most part it was routine stuff – training and manoeuvres, intelligence work, tax collection, escorting envoys or trade caravans, road and bridge mending; and most important of all, simply letting themselves be seen by those who feared them only less than they feared invasion and anarchy. Upon the onset of the rains, the northern army returned to winter in Bekla, while the southern took up its quarters in Ikat Yeldashay, sixty miles to the south. The following summer the roles of the armies were reversed.

No doubt the southern army was already back in Ikat, thought Gel-Ethlin enviously. The southern army had the easier task of the two; their route of march was less exhausting and the dry season was less trying a hundred miles to the south. Nor was it only a question of work and conditions. Although Bekla was, of course, a city beyond compare, he himself had found, last winter, an excellent reason – in fact, for a soldier, a most time-honoured and attractive (if somewhat expensive) reason – for preferring Ikat Yeldashay.

The Tonildan contingent, a particularly sorry-looking lot, were marching past now, and Gel-Ethlin called their captain out to explain why the men looked dirty and their weapons ill-cared for. The captain began his explanation – something about having had the command wished on him two days ago in place of an officer ordered to return with Santil-ke-Erketlis – and while he continued Gel-Ethlin, as was often his way, looked him sternly in the eye while thinking about something completely different.

At least this summer they had not had to go trapesing over the hills of Gelt and into the backwoods. Once, several years ago, when he was still a junior commander, he had served on an expedition to the south bank of the Telthearna; and a dismal, uncomfortable business it had been, camping among the gloomy forests, or commandeering flea-ridden quarters from some half-savage tribe of islanders living like frogs in the river mists. Fortunately the practice of sending Beklan troops as far as the Telthearna had almost ceased since their intelligence reports from the island – what the devil was it called? Itilga? Catalga? – had become so regular and reliable. One of the less ape-like barons was secretly in the pay of Bekla and apparently the High Baron himself was not averse to a little diplomatic bribery, provided a show was made of respecting his dignity and position, such as they were. During the recent summer marches Santil-ke-Erketlis had received two reports from this place. The first, duly passed on to headquarters at Bekla, had resulted in instructions being returned to the army that once again there was no need to send troops into inhospitable country so far afield. It had, in fact, contained nothing worse than news of an exceptionally widespread forest fire that had laid waste the further bank of the Telthearna. The second report had included some tale of a new tribal cult which it was feared might boil over into fanaticism, though the High Baron seemed confident of keeping it under control. Bekla's reactions to the second report had not yet found their way back to the northern army, but anyway, thank God, it was now too late in the season to think of sending even a patrol over the hills of Gelt. The rains were coming any day – any hour.

The officer had finished speaking and was now looking at him in silence. Gel-Ethlin frowned, gave a contemptuous snort, suggesting that he had never heard such unconvincing nonsense in his life, and said he would inspect the contingent himself next morning. The officer saluted and went off to rejoin his men.

At this moment a messenger arrived from the governor of Kabin, sixteen miles to the east. The governor sent word that he was worried lest the rains should begin and the army withdraw to Bekla before reaching him. During the past ten or twelve days the level of the Kabin reservoir, from which water was brought by canal sixty miles to Bekla, had sunk until the lower walls had become exposed and a section had cracked in the heat. If a disaster were to be prevented the repair work ought to be carried out at once, before the rains raised the level again: but to complete the job in a matter of a day or two was beyond local resources.

Gel-Ethlin could recognize an emergency when he was faced with one. He sent at once for his most reliable senior officer and also for a certain Captain Han-Glat, a foreigner from Terckenalt, who knew more than anyone in the army about bridges, dams and soil movement. As soon as they appeared he told them what had happened and gave them a free hand to select the fittest troops, up to half the total strength, for a forced march to Kabin that night. As soon as possible after getting there they were to make a start on repairing the reservoir. He himself, with the rest of the men, would join them before evening of the following day.

By late afternoon they were gone, the soldiers grumbling but at least not mutinous. There was a good deal of limping and their pace was slow. Still, that was less worrying than the thought of the probable condition they would be in when they got to Kabin. Presumably, however, Han-Glat would need a few hours to survey the reservoir and decide what needed to be done, and this in itself would give them some rest. At any rate he, Gel-Ethlin, could hardly be criticized by headquarters in Bekla for the way he had gone about the matter. As night fell he went the rounds of the sentries and bivouacs – a shorter task than usual, with his command down to half-strength – heard the casualty reports and authorized a handful of genuinely sick men to be sent back to Bekla by ox-cart; ate his supper, played three games of tvari with his staff captain (at which he lost fifteen meld) and went to bed.

The following morning he was up so early that he had the satisfaction of rousing some of his officers in person. But the low spirits of the men gave him much less satisfaction". The news had got round that they were in for not only a forced march to Kabin, rains or no rains, but also for plenty of work when they got there. Even the best troops are apt to take it hard when ordered to do something arduous after having been led to believe that their work is virtually finished, and Gel-Ethlin had deliberately retained his second-best. Himself a sturdy, energetic man, staunch in adversity, he could hardly contain his annoyance at the stupidity of the soldiers in being unable to realize the serious nature of the news from Kabin. It was only with difficulty that three or four of his senior officers were able to convince him that it was hardly to be expected that they would.

'It's a curious thing, sir,' said Kapparah – a leathery fifty-five-year-old who had survived a lifetime's campaigning and prudently turned all the loot that had stuck to his fingers into farmland on the borders of Sarkid – 'it's always struck me as a curious thing, that when you're asking men to give a little extra, the amount they're genuinely able to give depends on the reason. If it's defending their homes, for instance, or fighting for what they believe is theirs by right, they'll find themselves able to do almost anything. In fact, if it's a matter of any sort of fighting, they're nearly always able to give a good deal. They can understand that, you see, and no one wants his mates to think he's a coward, or that he dropped out while they went on. Those kinds of thoughts are like keys to a secret armoury. A man doesn't know what he's got inside until the key opens it. But to repair the reservoir at Kabin – no, they can't grasp the importance of that, so it's a key that doesn't fit the lock. It's not wont, sir, it's can't, you know.'

The camp had been struck, the columns were drawn up ready to march and the pickets, who had been fed and inspected at their posts, were being called in last of all, when the guard commander brought in a limping, blood-stained hill-man. He was little more than a boy, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring about him and continually raising one hand to his mouth as he licked the bleeding gash across his knuckles. Two soldiers had him under the armpits or he might well have turned tail.

'Refugee, sir,' said the guard commander, saluting Bekla-fashion, with his right forearm across his chest, 'from the hills. Talking about some sort of trouble at Gelt, sir, as near as I can make him out.'

'Can't stop for that sort of thing now, guard commander,' said Gel-Ethlin. 'Turn the fellow loose and get your men fallen in.'

Released by the soldiers, the hill-man at once fell on his knees in front of Kapparah, whom he probably took for the senior officer present. He had babbled a few words in broken Beklan – some-thing about 'bad men' and 'fire' – when Kapparah stopped him by speaking to him in his own language. There followed a swift dialogue of question and answer so incisive and urgent that Gel-Ethlin thought it better not to interrupt. Finally Kapparah turned to him.

'I think we'd better get the whole story out of this man before we set off for Kabin, sir,' he said. 'He keeps saying Gelt's been taken and burned by an invading army and he will have it that they're on their way down here.'

Gel-Ethlin threw out his hands with a questioning look of mock forbearance and the other officers, who did not particularly like Kapparah, smiled sycophantically.

'You know what we're up against at Kabin, Kapparah. This is hardly the time -' He broke off and began again. 'Some terrified peasant lad from the hills who'll say anything

'Well, that's just it, sir; he's not a peasant lad. He's the chief's son, run for his life, it seems. 'Says the chief's been murdered by fanatics in some religious war they've started.' 'How do we know he's the chief's son?' 'By the tattooing on his arms, sir. He'd never dare to have that done just to deceive people.' 'Where are these invaders supposed to have come from? 'From Ortelga, sir, he says.'

'From Ortelga?' said Gel-Ethlin. 'But at that rate we should have heard-'

Kapparah said nothing and Gel-Ethlin thought the problem over quickly. It was an awkward one. In spite of there having been no recent report from Ortelga, it was just possible that some sort of tribal raid really was going to be made on the Beklan plain. If it took place after he had marched away to Kabin, ignoring a tribesman's warning uttered in the hearing of his senior officers – and if lives were lost – He broke off this train of thought and started another. If the great reservoir were breached and ruined in the rains for lack of an adequate labour force, after he had marched away towards Gelt on the strength of a hysterical report made by a native youth in the hearing of his senior officers – He stopped again. They were all looking at him and waiting.

'Bring the boy to that shed over there,' said Gel-Ethlin. 'Let the men fall out, but see that they stay in their companies.'

Half an hour later he had concluded that the story was one that he could not ignore. Washed and fed, the youth had recovered himself and spoken with restraint and dignity of his own loss, and with consistency of the danger that was threatening. It was a curious and yet convincing talc. An enormous bear, he said, had appeared on Ortelga, probably fugitive from the fire beyond the Telthearna. Its appearance was believed by the islanders to herald the fulfilment of a prophecy that Bekla would one day fall to an invincible army from the island and had started a rising, led by a young baron, in which the previous ruler and certain others had been cither killed or driven out. Gel-Ethlin perceived that this, if true, would account for the failure of the Beklan army's normal flow of intelligence. Yesterday afternoon, the youth continued, the Ortelgans had suddenly appeared in Gelt, set it on fire and murdered the chief before he could organize any defence of the town. Fanatical and undisciplined, they had swept through the place and apparently subdued the townspeople altogether. Several of the latter, their homes and means of livelihood destroyed, had actually joined the Ortelgans for what they could get. Surely, said the young man, there could never have been men more eager than the Ortelgans to go upon their ruin. They believed that the bear was the incarnation of the power of God, that it was marching with them, invisibly, night and day, that it could appear and disappear at will and that it would in due course destroy their enemies as fire burns stubble. On the orders of their young leader – who was evidently both brave and able, but appeared to be ill – they had thrown a ring of sentries round Gelt to prevent any news getting out. The youth, however, had climbed down a sheer precipice by night, escaping with no more than a badly-gashed hand, and then, knowing the passes well, had come over twenty miles during six hours of darkness and daybreak.

'What a damned nuisance!' said Gel-Ethlin. 'Which way does he think they're likely to come, and when?'

The young man apparently thought it certain that they would come by the most direct route and as quickly as they could. Indeed, it was probable that they had already started. Setting aside their eagerness to fight, they had little food with them, for there was virtually none to be commandeered in Gelt. They would have to fight soon or be forced to disperse for supplies.

Gel-Ethlin nodded. This agreed with all his own experience of rebels and peasant irregulars. Either they fought at once or else they fell to pieces.

'They don't sound likely to get far, sir,' said Balaklesh, who commanded the Lapan contingent. 'Why not simply go on to Kabin and leave them to fall apart in the rains?'

As is often the way, the wrong advice immediately cleared Gel-Ethlin's mind and showed him what had to be done.

'No, that wouldn't do. They'd wander about for months, parties of brigands, murdering and looting. No village would be safe and in the end another army would have to be sent to hunt them down. Do you all believe the boy's telling no more than the truth?' They nodded. .'Then we must destroy them at once, or the villages will be saying that a Beklan army fell down on its job. And we must reach them before they get down the hill-road from Gelt and out on the plain – partly to stop them looting and partly because once they're on the plain they may go anywhere. We might lose track of them altogether and the men are in no state to go marching about in pursuit. There's even less time to be lost now than if we were going to Kabin. Kapparah, hang on to the lad; we'll need him as a guide. You'd all better go and tell your men that we've got to get to the hills by the afternoon. Balaklesh, you take a hundred reliable spearmen and start at once. Find us a good defensive position in the foothills, send back a guide and then push on and try to find out what the Ortelgans are doing.'

Within an hour the sky had clouded over from one horizon to the other and the west wind was blowing steadily. The red dust filled the soldiers' eyes, ears and nostrils and mingled grittily, beneath their clothes, with the sweat of their bodies. They marched with cloths or leather bound over mouths and noses, continually screwing up their eyes, unable to see the hills ahead, each company following that in front through the thick helter-skelter of dust which piled itself like snow along the windward sides of rocks, of banks, of the few sparse trees and huts along the way – and of men. It got into the rations and even into the wine-skins. Gel-Ethlin marched behind the column on the leeward flank, whence he could check the stragglers and keep them in some sort of order. After two hours he called a halt and re-formed the column in echelon, so that when they set out again each company was marching downwind of that immediately behind it. This, however, did little to relieve their discomfort, which was due less to the dust they raised themselves than to the storm blowing over the whole plain. Their pace diminished and it was not until a good three hours after noon that the leading company reached the edge of the plain and, having reconnoitred half a mile in either direction, found the road to Gelt where it wound up through the myrtle and cypress groves on the lower slopes.

About a thousand feet above the plain the road reached a level, green spot where the ghost of a waterfall trickled down into a rock-pool; and here, as they came up, the successive companies fell out, drank and lay down in the grass. Looking back, they could see the dust-storm on the plain below and their spirits rose to think that at least one misery was left behind. Gel-Ethlin, grudging the delay, urged his officers to get them on their feet again. The afternoon had set in dark and the wind over the plain was dropping. They stumbled on wearily, their footsteps, the clink of their arms and the occasional shouts of orders echoing from the crags about them.

It was not long before they came to a narrow gorge, where two officers of the advance party were awaiting them. Balaklesh, the officers reported, had found an excellent defensive position about a mile further up the road, beyond the mouth of the gorge, and his scouts had been out ahead of it for more than an hour. Gel-Ethlin went forward to meet him and see the position for himself. It was very much the sort of thing he had had in mind, an upland plateau about half a mile wide, with certain features favourable to disciplined troops able to keep ranks and stand their ground. Ahead, to the north, the road came curving steeply downhill round a wooded shoulder. On the right flank was thick forest and on the left a ravine. Through this bottleneck the advancing enemy must needs come. At the foot of the shoulder the ground became open and rose gently, among scattered crags and bushes, to a crest over which the road passed before entering the gorge. Balaklesh had chosen well. With the crags as natural defensive points and the slope in their favour, troops in position would take a great deal of dislodging and it would be extremely difficult for the enemy to fight their way as far as the crest. Yet unless they did so they could not hope to pursue their march down to the plain.

Gel-Ethlin drew up his line on the open slope, with the road running at right-angles through his centre. There would be no need for his weary men to break ranks or advance until the enemy had shattered themselves against his front.

Under the still thickening clouds, the lowest vapours of which were swirling close above them, they waited on through the clammy, twilit afternoon. From time to time there were rolls of thunder and once lightning struck in the ravine half a mile away, leaving a long, red streak like a weal down the grey rock. Somehow the men had got wind of the magic bear. The Yeldashay spearmen had already produced a doggerel ballad about its hyperbolical (and increasingly ribald) exploits; while at the other end of the line some regimental buffoon seized his chance, capering and growling in an old ox-hide, with arrow-heads for claws on his fingers' ends.

At last Gel-Ethlin, from his command post on the road half-way down the slope, caught sight of the scouts returning down the hill among the trees. Balaklesh, running, reached him quickly. They had, he reported, come very suddenly upon the Ortelgans, who were advancing so fast that they themselves, already tired, had barely been able to get back ahead of them. As he spoke, Gel-Ethlin and those about him could hear, from the woods above, the growing hubbub and clatter of the approaching rabble. With a last word about the supreme importance of not breaking ranks until ordered, he dismissed his officers to their posts.

Waiting, he heard drops of rain beating on his helmet but at first could feel none on his outstretched hand. Then, filling all the distance, an undulating gauze of rain came billowing over the edge of the ravine from the left. A moment later the view below became blurred and a kind of growling sigh rose from the lines of soldiers on either side. Gel-Ethlin took half-a-dozen steps forward, as though to see better through the moving mist of rain. As he did so a band of shaggy-haired men, half-savage in appearance and carrying various weapons, came tramping together round the curve of the road below and stopped dead at the sight of the Beklan army confronting them. 21 The Passes of Gelt To burn Gelt had been no part of Ta-Kominion's intention. Nor could he find out who had done it, each of the barons denying all knowledge of how or where the fire had begun. Ta-Kominion, with his personal followers, had readied the wretched little square in the centre of the town to find two sides already ablaze, the body of the chief lying with a spear in the back and a crowd of Ortelgans looting and drinking. He and Zelda, with a handful of the steadier men, beat some sort of order into them and – there being no water in the place except what could be scooped from two wells and one shrunken mountain-brook – checked the fire by breaking up the huts down-wind and dragging away the posts and straw. It was Zelda who pointed out that at all costs they must prevent any of the townspeople from carrying the news down to the plain. Guards were set on all roads and paths leading out of the town, while a young man named Jurit, to whom Ta-Kominion had that morning given Fassel-Hasta's command, led a reconnoitring force down the steep southward road to find out what lay before them.

Ta-Kominion sat on a bench in one of the dim, fly-buzzing huts, trying to convince four or five frightened, speechless town elders that he meant them no harm. From time to time he broke off, frowning and groping for words as the walls swam before his eyes and the sounds from outside rose and fell in his cars like talk from beyond a door continually opening and closing. He moved restlessly, feeling as though his body were wrapped in stiff ox-hides. His wounded forearm throbbed and there was a tender swelling in his armpit. Opening his eyes, he saw the faces of the old men staring at him, full of wary curiosity.

He spoke of Lord Shardik, of the revealed destiny of Ortelga and the sure defeat of Bekla, and saw the dull disbelief and fear of reprisal and death which they could not keep from their eyes. At last one of them, shrewder perhaps than the rest, who must have been calculating the probable effect of what it had occurred to him to say, replied by telling him of the northern army of patrol under General Santil-ke-Erketlis which, if he were not mistaken – as well he might be, he added hastily, his cunning peasant's face assuming an expression of humility and deference – was due at this time to cross the plain below on its circuit to Kabin and beyond. Did the young lord mean to fight that army or would he seek to avoid it? Either way, it seemed best not to remain in Gelt, for the rains were due, were they not, and – he broke off, acting the part of one who knew his place and would not presume to advise the commander of so fine an army.

Ta-Kominion thanked him gravely, affecting not to be aware that it mattered little to those standing before him whether he went forward or back, so long as he left Gelt If the old man had meant to frighten him, he had reckoned without the blazing faith in Shardik that filled every heart in the Ortelgan army. Probably the elders supposed that he intended only to raid one or two villages in the plain and then escape back over the hills with his booty -weapons, cattle and women – covered from pursuit by the onset of the rains.

Ta-Kominion, however, had never from the outset intended other than to seek out and destroy all enemy forces, whatever their strength, that might lie between himself and Bekla. His followers, he knew, would be content with nothing less. They meant to fight as soon as possible, since they knew that they could not be defeated. Shardik himself had already shown them what became of his enemies, and to Shardik it would make no difference whether his enemies were treacherous Ortelgan barons or patrolling Beklan soldiers.

The thought of the Beklan army, with which the crafty elder of Gelt had thought to dismay him, filled Ta-Kominion only with a fierce and eager joy, restoring to him the will-power to drive on his sick body and feverish mind.

Bowing to the old men, he left the hut and paced slowly up and down outside, heedless of the stinking refuse and the scab-mouthed, mucous-eyed children begging among his soldiers. Not for one moment did it occur to him to deliberate whether or not he should fight. Lord Shardik and he himself had already decided upon that. But on him, as Shardik's general, fell the task of deciding when and where. Even this did not occupy him long, for all his thoughts led to one and the same conclusion – that they should march straight on towards Bekla and fight the enemy wherever they might meet him on the open plain. There was scarcely any food to be commandeered in Gelt and the events of the afternoon had shown him how little real control he had over his men. The rains might come at any hour and despite Zelda's cordon the news could not long remain secret that Gelt had fallen to the Ortelgans. More immediate than all these, because he felt it within his own body, was the knowledge that soon he might become incapable of leading the army. Once the battle was won his illness would matter little, but his collapse before they fought would bring to his men misgiving and superstitious dread. Besides, he alone must command the battle. How else to become lord of Bekla?

Where was the Beklan army and how soon could they hope to meet it? The elders had said that the distance to the plain was about a day's march, and he could expect the enemy to seek him out as soon as they had news of him. They would be as eager for battle as himself. In all probability, therefore, he could expect to fight on the plain not later than the day after tomorrow. This must be his plan. He could make no better, could only offer to Lord Shardik his courage and zeal to use as he would. And to Shardik it must remain to delay the rains and bring the Beklans in their path.

Where was Shardik and what, if anything, had Kelderek achieved since he left him? No two ways about it, the fellow was a coward: yet it mattered little, if only he could somehow or other contrive to bring the bear to the army before they fought. If they won – as win they would – if indeed they came at last to take Bekla itself – what would Kelderek's place be then? And the Tuginda -that futile yet disturbing woman, whom he had sent back to Quiso under guard – what was to be done with her? There could be no authority that did not acknowledge his own. Get rid of them both, perhaps, and in some way alter the cult of Shardik accordingly? Later there would be time to decide such things. All that mattered now was the approaching battle.

Feeling suddenly faint, he sat down upon the rubble of a burned hut to recover himself. If, he thought, this sickness had not left him by the time the battle was over, he would send for the Tuginda and offer to reinstate her on condition that she cured him. Meanwhile, he could only rely on Kelderek to exercise authority in her name. But it was important that the fellow should be urged on to complete his task.

He stood up, steadied himself against the still-standing door-post until the surge of giddiness had passed off, and then made his way back to the hut. The elders had left and, calling his servant Numiss, he gave him a brief message to carry to Kelderek, stressing that he expected to fight within two days. As soon as he had made sure that the man had his words by heart, he asked Zelda to see to his safe conduct through the pickets and himself lay down to sleep, giving orders that all was to be ready for the march to continue at dawn next day.

He slept heavily, undisturbed by the looting, raping and drunkenness that broke out again at nightfall and continued unchecked, none of the barons caring to run the risk of trying to stop it. When at last he woke, he knew at once that he was not merely ill, but worse than he had been in his life before. His arm was so swollen that the bandage was pressing into the flesh, yet he felt that he could not bear to cut it. His teeth chattered, his throat was so sore that he could scarcely swallow and as he sat up pain throbbed behind his eyes. He got up and staggered to the door. Gusts of warm wind were blowing from the west and the sky was thick with low cloud. The sun was not to be seen, but nevertheless he knew that it must be well after dawn. He leant against the wall, trying to summon the strength to go and rouse the men who should have been obeying his orders.

It was not until an hour before noon that the army at last set out Their pace was slow, several of the soldiers having burdened themselves with such loot as they had been able to come by – cooking-pots, mattocks, stools, the sorry and valueless possessions of men poorer than themselves. Many marched with aching heads and curdled stomachs. Ta-Kominion, no longer able to conceal his illness, walked in a confused and troubled dream. He scarcely remembered what had happened that morning, or what he had done to get the men on their feet He could recall the return of Numiss, with his report that Shardik had been drugged at the cost of a priestess's life. Kelderek, so the message ran, hoped to overtake them by nightfall. The last nightfall, thought Ta-Kominion, before the destruction of the Beklan army. When that was done, he would rest

The narrow road wound along the sides of steep, wooded ravines sheltered from the wind, against rock-faces where the brown ferns drooped for rain. For a long time the sound of an invisible torrent rose up from below, through mists that swirled hither and back, but dispersed no more than did the cloud above. All was solitude and echo, and soon the men ceased to sing, to jest or even to talk beyond a few words in low voices. One tattered fellow, loosing an arrow, hit a buzzard as it swooped above them and, proud of his marksmanship, slung the carcase round his neck until, as the parasites began to creep from the cooling body, he slung it over a precipice with a curse. Once or twice, looking out across the tops of trees, they caught glimpses of the plain below, and of tiny herds of cattle galloping among the windy dust-clouds. In superstitious dread of these wild hills they pressed on, many glancing uneasily about them and carrying their weapons drawn in their hands.

The straggling horde covered more than two miles of the track and there were no means of passing orders save by word of mouth. Between two and three hours after noon, however, when they had descended below the mists and the higher hills, a halt took place without any order being given, the several companies and bands coming up to find the vanguard fallen out and resting in an open wood. Ta-Kominion limped among the men, talking and joking with them as though in a trance, less to encourage than to let them see him and try to learn for himself what fettle they were in. Now that they had left the sheer solitudes which had disquieted and subdued them, tiieir ardour was returning and they seemed as eager as ever to join battle. Yet Ta-Kominion – who as a lad of seventeen had fought beside Bel-ka-Trazet at Clenderzard and three years later commanded the household company which his father had sent to Yelda to fight in the slave wars – could sense how green and unseasoned was their fervour. In one way, he knew, this might be counted to the good, for in their first battle men spend what they can never recover to spend again, so that that battle – even for those for whom it is not the last – may well be their best But the toll taken of such inexperienced fervour was likely to be high. From such troops little could be expected in the way of disciplined manoeuvre or steadiness under attack. The best way to use their rough, untrained quality would be simply to bring them quickly to the plain and let them assault the enemy in full strength and on open ground.

A spasm seized him and the trees before his eyes dissolved into circling shapes of yellow, green and brown. Somewhere far off, it seemed, rain was beating on the leaves. He listened, but then realized that the sound lay within his own ear, as full of pain as an egg is full of yolk. He had a fancy to break it open and watch the thick, fluid pain spill over the ground at his feet.

Someone was speaking to him. He opened his eyes yet once more and raised his head. It was Kavass, his father's fletcher, a decent, simple-minded man, who had taught him his archery as a boy. With him were four or five comrades who – or so it seemed to Ta-Kominion – had prevailed upon Kavass to come and ask the commander to settle some difference between them. The fletcher, who was tall, as tall as himself, was looking at him with respectful sympathy and pity. In reply he grimaced and then managed to force a wry smile.

'Touch of the fever, sir, eh?' said Kavass deferentially. Everything about him – his stance, his look and the sound of his voice -tended to confirm Ta-Kominion in his leadership and at the same time to emphasize their common humanity.

'Seems like it, Kavass,' he answered. His words boomed in his own head, but he could not tell whether in fact he was speaking loud or low. 'It'll pass off.' Clenching his teeth to stop them chattering, he missed what Kavass said next, and was about to turn away when he realized that they were all waiting for him to reply. He remained silent, but looked steadily at Kavass as though expecting him to say something more. Kavass seemed confused.

'Well, I only meant, sir – and no disrespect, I'm sure – when he came ashore that morning, when you was with him, whether he told you he'd appear again, like – that he'd be there to make sure we won the battle,' said Kavass.

Ta-Kominion continued to stare at him, guessing at his meaning. The men became uneasy.

'Nothing to do with us,' muttered one. 'I said as 'twas nothing to do with us.'

'Well, only it's like this, sir,' pursued Kavass. 'I was one of the first beside you that morning, and when Lord Shardik went over the water, you told us he knew Ortelga was as good as taken and he was off to Bekla – to show us the way, like. And what the lads was wondering, sir, was whether he's going to be there to win for us when we come to fight?'

'We're bound to win, aren't we, sir?' said another of the men. 'It's the will of Shardik – the will of God.'

'How do you know?' said a fourth, a surly, sceptical-looking fellow with blackened teeth. He spat on the ground. 'D'you think a bear talks, eh? 'Think a bear talks?'

'Not to you,' replied Kavass contemptuously. 'Of course he don't talk to the likes of you – or me either, for the matter of that. What I told you was that Lord Shardik had said we was to march on Bekla and that he was going there himself. So it stands to reason he's going to appear when we fight the battle. If you don't place no reliance on Lord Shardik, why are you here?'

'Well, it's all according, ain't it?' said the man with the blackened teeth. 'He might be there and then again he might not. All I said was, Bekla's a strong place. There's soldiers -'

'Be quiet!' cried Ta-Kominion. He walked across to the man as steadily as he was able, took his chin in his hand and lifted his head as he tried to focus his eyes on his face. 'You blasphemous fool! Lord Shardik can hear you now – and see you as well! But you will not see him until the appointed time, for he means to test your faith.'

The man, twenty years older than Ta-Kominion at least, stared back at him sullenly without a word.

'You can be sure of this,' said Ta-Kominion, in a voice that could be heard by everyone near by. 'Lord Shardik intends to fight for those that trust him. And he will appear when they fight – he will appear to those that deserve it! But not to those who deserve a wood-louse for a God.'

As he stumbled away he wondered yet again how long Kelderek would need to overtake them. If all went well it might be possible, while the army encamped that night, to discuss with Kelderek how best they could make use of Shardik. Whatever might be disclosed afterwards by Baltis and the other men who were now with Kelderek, Shardik must appear to the enemy in awe-inspiring power – he must not be displayed insensible and drugged. Also, it would be better to keep him away from the men altogether until he was revealed at the proper time, which would presumably be immediately before the battle. Yet Ta-Kominion knew that he himself would not be able to retrace even a mile of the road tonight. If Kelderek did not reach the army he would have to send Zelda back to find him and speak with him. As for himself, he could not go on much longer without a rest. He must lie down and sleep. But if he did so, would he be able to get up again?

The march was resumed, the army following the road through the wood and down the hillside beyond. Ta-Kominion took up a place in the middle of the column, knowing that if he remained in the rear he would not be able to keep up. For a time he leaned on Numiss's arm until, perceiving that the wretched man was exhausted, he sent for Kavass to take his place.

They went on through the darkening, sultry afternoon. Ta-Kominion tried to estimate how far ahead the vanguard might be. The distance down to the plain could not now be more than a few miles. He had better send a runner to tell them to halt when they reached it. Just as he was about to call the nearest man he slipped, jolted his arm and almost fell down with the pain. Kavass helped him to the side of the track. 'I'll never get there, Kavass;' he whispered.

'Don't worry, sir,' replied Kavass. 'After what you told the lads, they'd fight just as well, even if you did have to sit it out, like. That's got round, you know, sir, what you said back there. Most of them never actually saw Lord Shardik when he came ashore on Ortelga, you see, and they're keen to fight just to be there when he shows up again. They know he's coming. So even if you was to have to lay down for a bit-'

Suddenly there reached Ta-Kominion's cars a confused, distant clamour, echoing up from the steep woods below; the familiar, gutteral cries of the Ortelgans and, clearly distinguishable at rhythmic intervals, a higher, lighter sound of other voices, shouting together. Underneath all was the thudding, trampling noise of a tumultuous crowd.

Ta-Kominion knew now that he must be delirious, for evidently he could-no longer tell reality from hallucination. Yet Kavass seemed to be listening too. 'Can you hear it, Kavass?' he asked.

'Yes, sir. Sounds like trouble. Part of that noise isn't our lads, sir.'

Commotion was working back along the column like flood water flowing up a creek from the main river. Men were running past them down the hill, looking back to point and shout to those behind. Ta-Kominion tried to call out to them but none regarded him. Kavass flung himself at a running man, stopped him by main force, held him as he gabbled and pointed, flung him aside and returned to Ta-Kominion.

' 'Can't make it out altogether, sir, but there's some sort of fighting down there, or at least that's what he said.'

'Fighting?' repeated Ta-Kominion. For a few moments he could not remember what the word meant. His vision had blurred and with this came the curious sensation that his eyes had melted and were running down his face, while still retaining, though in a splintered manner, the power of sight. He raised his hand to wipe away the streaming liquid. Sure enough, he could no longer see. Kavass was shouting beside him. 'The rain, sir, the rain!'

It was indeed rain that was covering liis hands, blurring his eyes and filling the woods with a leafy sibilance that he had supposed to be coming from inside his own head. He stepped into the middle of the track and tried to make out for himself what was going on at the foot of the hill. 'Help me to get down there, Kavass!' he cried.

'Steady, sir, steady,' replied the fletcher, taking his arm once more.

'Steady be damned!' shouted Ta-Kominion. 'Those are Beklans down there – Beklans – and our fools are fighting them piecemeal, before they've even deployed! Where's Kelderek? The rains – it's that bitch of a priestess – she's cursed us, damn her! – help me down there!'

'Steady, sir,' repeated the man, holding him up. Hobbling, hopping, stumbling, Ta-Kominion plunged down the steep track, the clamour growing louder in his ears until he could plainly discern the clashing of arms and distinguish the cries of warriors and the screams of the wounded. The woodland, he saw, ended at the foot of the hill and the fighting, which he still could not make out clearly, had been joined in the open, beyond. Men with drawn weapons were running back among the trees. He saw a great, fair-haired fellow pitch to the ground, blood oozing from a wound in his back.

Suddenly Zelda appeared through the leaves, calling to the men about him and pointing back into the open with his sword. Ta-Kominion shouted and tried to run towards him. As he did so he felt a sharp, clutching sensation pass through his body, followed by a cold rushing, a crumbling and inward flow. He blundered into a tree-trunk and fell his length in the road. As he rolled over he knew that he could not get up – that he would never get up again. The flood-gates of his body had broken and very soon the flood would cover hearing, sight and tongue for ever.

Zelda's face appeared above him, looking down, dripping rain on his own. 'What's happened?' asked Ta-Kominion.

'Beklans,' answered Zelda. 'Fewer than we, but they're taking no chances. The ground's in their favour and they're simply standing and blocking the road.'

'The bastards – how did they get up here? Listen – everyone must attack at the same time,' whispered Ta-Kominion.

'If only they would! There's no order – they're going for them all anyhow, just as they happen to come up. There's some have had enough already, but others are still out there. It'll be dark in less than an hour – and now the rain -'

'Get them – all back – under the trees – re-form – attack again,' gasped Ta-Kominion, contriving to utter the words with an enormous effort. His mind was drifting into a mist. It did not surprise him to find that Zelda had gone and that he was once more facing the Tuginda on the road to Gelt. She said nothing, only standing submissively, her wrists tied together with a soaked and filthy bandage. Her eyes were gazing past him at the hills and at first he thought that she must be unaware of his presence. Then, with a conclusive and sceptical glance, like that of some shrewd peasant woman in the market, she looked into his face and raised her eyebrows, as much as to say, 'And have you finished now, my child?'

'You bitch!' cried Ta-Kominion. 'I'll strangle you!' He wrenched at the bandage; and the deep, suppurating wound along his sword-arm, which for more than two days had been pouring poison into his body, burst open upon the rain-pitted dust of the track where he lay. For a moment he jerked his head up, then fell back and opened his eyes, crying, 'Zelda!' But it was Kelderek whom he saw bending over him. 22 Tie Cage Throughout the latter part of the night and on into the dawn that appeared at last, grey and muffled, behind the clouds piled in the cast, Baltis and his men slowly hauled the cage above the forests of the Telthearna. Behind and below them the miles of tree-tops -that secluded, shining haunt of the great butterflies – appeared, like waves seen from a cliff-top, to be creeping stealthily down-wind. Far off, the line of the river shone in the cloudy light with a glint dull as a sword's, the blackened north bank dim in the horizon haze.

The bear lay inert as though dead. Its eyes remained closed, the dry tongue protruded, and with the jolting of the boards the head shook as a block of stone vibrates on the quarry floor at the thudding of rocky masses falling about it. Some of the dusty, footsore girls clung to the ramshackle structure to steady it as it went, while others walked ahead, removing stones from the track or filling ruts and holes before the wheels reached them. Behind the cage plodded Sencred, the wheelwright, watching for the beginnings of play in the wheels or sagging in the axle-trees, and from time to time calling up the rope-lines for a halt while he checked the pins.

Kelderek took his turn at the ropes with the others, but when at length they stopped to rest – the girls pushing heavy stones for blocks behind the wheels – he and Baltis left the men and walked back to where Sencred and Zilthe stood leaning against the cage. Zilthe had thrust her arm through the bars and was caressing one of the bear's fore-paws, with its curved sheaf of claws longer than her own hand. 'Waken, waken to destroy Bekla,

Waken, Lord Shardik, na kora, na ro,' she sang softly, rubbing her sweating forehead against the cool iron.

Full of sudden misgiving, Kelderek stared at the bear's corpse-like stillness. There seemed not the least swell of breathing in the flank and the flies were settling about the cars and muzzle. 'What is this drug? Are you sure it has not killed him?'

'He is not dead, my lord,' said Zilthc, smiling. 'Seel' She drew her knife, bent forward and held it under Shardik's nostrils. The blade clouded very slightly and cleared, clouded and cleared once more; she drew it back and held the flat, warm and moist, against Kelderek's wrist.

'Theltocarna is powerful, my lord; but she who is dead knew -none better – how it should be used. He will not die.' 'When will he wake?' 'Perhaps this evening, or during the night I cannot tell. For many creatures we know the dose and the effect, but his body is like that of no other creature and we can only guess.' 'Will he eat then? Drink?' 'Creatures that wake from theltocarna are always dangerous. Often there is a frenzy more violent than that before the trance, and then the creature will attack anything that it encounters. I have seen a stag break a rope as thick as one of these bars, and then kill two oxen.' 'When?' asked Kelderek wonderingly.

She began to tell him of Quiso and the sacred rites of the spring equinox, but Baltis interrupted her. 'If what you're saying's true, then those bars won't hold him.'

'The roof's not stout enough to hold him either,' said Sencred. 'He's only got to stand upright and it'll smash like a pie-crust.'

'We've been wasting our time,' said Baltis, spitting in the dust. 'He might as well not be the other side of those bars at all. He'll get up and go when he wants. But I'll tell you this, I'll go first.' 'We shall have to drug him again, then,' said Kelderek.

'That would certainly kill him, my lord,' put in Sheldra. 'Theltocarna is a poison. It cannot be used twice – no, not twice in ten days.' There was a murmer of agreement from the other girls.

'Where is the Tuginda?' asked Nito. 'Is she with Lord Ta-Kominion? She would know what to do.'

Kelderek made no answer but, walking back up the track, began getting the men to their feet again.

An hour later the going became easier as the ascent flattened off and the road grew less steep. As near as he could judge from the confused, murky sky, it was about noon when at last they came into Gelt. The square was littered as though after a riot There was scarcely a living creature to be seen, but a smouldering reek hung in the air and a smell of garbage and ordure. A solitary, ragged urchin loitered, watching them from a safe distance. 'Smells like a herd of bloody apes,' muttered Baltis.

'Tell your men to eat and rest,' said Kelderek. 'I'll try to find out how long the army's been gone.'

He crossed the square and stood looking about him in perplexity at the shut doors and empty alleys beyond. Suddenly he felt a sharp, momentary pain, like the sting of an insect, in the lobe of his left ear. He put his hand to the place and drew it away with blood between finger and thumb; and in the same instant realized that the arrow that had grazed him was sticking in the doorpost across the way. He spun round quickly, but saw only another deserted lane running between closed doors and shuttered windows. Without turning his head, he stepped slowly backwards into the square and remained watching the blank, silent hovels for any sign of movement

'What's up?' asked Baltis, coming up behind him. Kelderek touched his ear again and held out his fingers. Baltis whistled. 'That's nasty,' he said, 'Throwing stones, eh?'

'An arrow,' said Kelderek, nodding at the doorpost Baltis whistled again.

At that moment with a grating sound upon the threshold, a nearby door opened, and a bleary, dirty old woman appeared. She was hobbling and staggering beneath the weight of a child in her arms. As she came nearer Kelderek saw with a start that it was dead. The old woman tottered up to him and laid the child on the ground at his feet. It was a girl, about eight years old, blood matted in her hair and a conjunctive, yellow discharge round the open eyes. The old woman, bent and muttering, remained standing before him.

'What do you want grandmother?' asked Kelderek. 'What's happened?'

The old woman looked up at him from eyes bloodshot with years of crouching over wood fires.

'Think no one sees. They think no one sees,' she whispered. 'But God sees. God sees everything.'

'What happened?' asked Kelderek again, stepping over the child's body and grasping the stick-thin wrist beneath the rags.

'Ay, that's right, better ask them – ask them what happened,' said the old woman. 'You'll catch 'cm if you're quick. They're not gone far – they're not gone long.'

At this moment two men came striding side by side round the corner. They kept their eyes fixed before them and their faces bore the tense, resolute expression of those who knowingly run a risk. Without speaking to Kelderek they grasped the old woman's arms and began leading her away between them. For a moment she struggled, protesting shrilly.

'It's the governor-man from Bekla! The governor-man! I'm telling him -'

'Now just you come along, mother,' said one of the men. 'Just come along with us now. You don't want to be standing about here. Come along now -'

They shut the door behind them and a moment later came the sound of a heavy bar falling into place.

Kelderek and Baltis left the child's body on the ground and returned across the square. The men had formed a ring round the girls and were looking nervously about

'I don't think we ought to stop here,' said Sencred, pointing. 'There's not enough of us to make it safe.' A crowd of men had gathered at the far end of a lane leading off the square, talking and gesticulating among themselves. A few were carrying weapons.

Kelderek took off his belt, laid his bow and quiver on the ground and walked towards them.

'Careful,' called Baltis after him. Kelderek ignored him and walked on until he was thirty paces from the men. Holding his hands open on either side of him, he called, 'We don't want to hurt you. We're your friends.'

There was a burst of jeering laughter and then a big man with grey hair and a broken nose stepped forward and answered, 'You've done enough. Let us alone, or we'll kill you.' Kelderek felt less afraid than exasperated. Try and kill us, then, you fools I' he shouted. 'Try it!'

'Ah, and have his friends come back,' said another man. 'Why don't you go and catch your friends up? They've not been gone an hour.'

'I'd say, take his advice,' said Baltis, who had approached and was standing at Kelderek's shoulder. 'No point in waiting till they work themselves up to rush us.' 'But our people are tired,' answered Kelderek angrily.

They'll be worse than that, my boy, if we don't get out of here,' said Baltis. 'Come now – I'm no coward and neither are those lads of mine: but there's nothing to be gained by staying.' Then, as Kelderek still hesitated, he called out to the men, 'Show us the way, then, and we'll go.'

At this, like a pack of pic-dogs, they all took a few wary steps forward; and then began shouting and pointing southwards. As soon as he was sure of the way, Kelderek drew a line in the dust with his foot and warned them not to cross it until the Ortelgans were gone.

'Ay, we can leave Gelt without any help from you,' shouted Baltis, laying hold of the ropes once more to encourage his weary men.

They plodded slowly away, the townspeople staring after them, chattering together and pointing at the huge, brown body stretched behind the bars.

Outside the town the road fell away downhill. Soon it became so steep that their task was no longer to drag the cage after them but rather to control its downward course. Coming to a broad, level place above a long slope, they turned it about and took the strain on the ropes from behind. At least the ground, dry and gritty, gave good foothold and for a time they made better speed than during the morning. A mile or two below, however, the road narrowed and began to wind along the rocky side of a ravine, and here they were forced to let the cage down foot by foot, straining backwards while Sencred and two or three of his men used poles to lever the front wheels this way and that. At one place, where the bend was too sharp, they had to set to work to broaden the track, prising out the rocks with hammers, iron bars and whatever came to hand, until at last they were able to shift an entire boulder and send it plummeting over the edge into long seconds of silence. Further on, two of the men slipped and the rest, cursing and terrified, were jerked forward and nearly pulled off their feet.

Not long after this, Kelderek saw that play had increased in the wheels and that the whole structure had shifted and was no longer true on the frame. He consulted Baltis.

'It's not worth trying to right it,' answered the smith. 'The truth is, another hour or two of this is going to shake the whole damned thing to pieces. The frame's being ground Like corn, d'ye see, between the road below and the weight of the bear above. Even careful work couldn't stand up to that for ever, and this lot had to be done quick – like the loose girl's wedding. So what d'ye want, young fellow – are we going on?'

'What else?' replied Kelderek. And indeed for all their hardship and near exhaustion, not one of the men had complained or tried to argue against their going on to overtake the army. But when at last they had done with the precipices and the steep pitches and were resting at a place where the road broadened and entered an open wood, he allowed himself for the first time to wonder how the business would end. Apart from the girls, who were initiates of a mystery and in any case would never question anything he told them to do, no one with him had any experience of the strength and savagery that Shardik could put forth. If he were to waken in the midst of the Ortelgan army and burst, raging, out of the flimsy cage, how many would be slaughtered? And how many more, through this, would become convinced of his anger and disfavour towards Ortelga? Yet if Baltis and the rest, for their own safety, were told to abandon Shardik now, what could he himself say to Ta-Kominion, who had sent word that Shardik must be brought at all costs?

He decided to press on until they were close behind the army. Then, if Shardik were still unconscious, he would go forward, report to Ta-Kominion and obtain further orders.

But now it became a matter of finding men with enough strength left to pull on the ropes. After the past twelve hours some were scarcely able to put one foot before the other. Yet even in this extremity, their passionate belief in the destiny of Shardik drove them to stumble, to stagger, to hobble on. Others, in the very act of pulling, fell down, rolling out of the track of the wheels and gasping to their companions to give them a hand. Some set themselves to push behind the cage, but as soon as it gathered a little speed, fell forward and measured their length on the road. Sencred cut himself a forked crutch and limped on beside his splayed wheels. Their pace was that of an old man creeping the street, yet still they moved -as a thaw moves up a valley, or flood-water mounts in minute jerks to burst its banks at last and pour over the land. Many, like Zilthe, put their arms through the bars to touch Lord Shardik, believing and feeling themselves strengthened by his incarnate power.

Into this bad dream fell the rain, mingling with sweat, trickling salty over puffed lips, stinging open blisters; hissing through the leaves, quenching the dust in the air. Baltis lifted his head to the sky, missed his footing with the effort and stumbled against Kelderek. 'Rain,' he grunted. 'The rain, lad! What's to be done now?'

'What?' mumbled Kelderek, blinking as though the smith had woken him. 'The rain, I says, the rain! What's to become of us now?' 'God knows,' answered Kelderek. 'Go on – just go on.*

'Well – but they can't fight their way to Bekla in the rain. Why not go back while we can – save our lives, eh?'

'No!' cried Kelderek passionately. 'No!' Baltis grunted and said no more.

Many times they ground to a stop and as many times found themselves moving again. Once Kelderek tried to count their lessening numbers, but gave up in confusion. Sencred was nowhere to be seen. Of the girls, Nito was missing, Muni and two or three more. Those who were left still kept beside the cage, daubed from head to foot with rainy mud churned up by the wheels. The light was failing. In less than an hour it would be dark. There was no sign of the army and Kelderek realized with desperation that in all probability his band of fireless stragglers would be forced to spend the night in the wilderness of these foothills. He would not be able to keep them together. Before morning they would be shivering, sick, mutinous, victims of panic fear. And before morning, if Zilthe were right, Shardik would awaken. Baltis came up beside him again.

'It's a bad look-out, y'know, young fellow,' he said between his teeth. 'We'll have to stop soon: it'll be dark. And what's to be done then? You and I'd better go on alone – find the young baron and ask him to send back help. But if you ask me, he'll have to come back out of it himself if he wants to stay alive. You know what the rains are. After two days a rat can hardly move, let alone men.' 'Hark!' said Kelderek. 'What's that noise?'

They had come to the top of a long slope, where the road curved downhill di rough thick woodland. The men on the ropes stood still, one or two sinking down in the mud to rest. At first there seemed to be no sound except, all about them, the pouring of the rain in the leaves. Then, faintly, there came again to Kelderek's ears the noise he had heard at first – distant shouting, sharp and momentary as flying sparks, voices confusing and overlaying one another like ripples on a pool. He looked from one man to the next. All were staring back at him, waiting for him to confirm their single thought 'The army!' cried Kelderek.

'Ay, but what's the shouting for?' said Baltis. 'Sounds like trouble to me.' Sheldra ran forward and laid her hand on Kelderek's arm. 'My lord I' she cried, pointing. 'Look! Lord Shardik is waking!'

Kelderek turned towards the cage. The bear, its eyes still closed, was haunched on the rickety floor in an unnatural, crouching position, suggesting not sleep but rather the grotesque posture of some gigantic insect – the back arched, the legs drawn up together under the body. Its breathing was uneven and laboured and froth had gathered at its mouth. As they watched it stirred uneasily and then, with an uncertain, stupefied groping, raised one paw to its muzzle. For a moment its head lifted, the lips curling as though in a snarl, and then sank again to the floor.

'Will he wake now – at once?' asked Kelderek, shrinking involuntarily as the bear moved once more.

'Not at once, my lord,' answered Sheldra, 'but soon – within the hour.'

The bear rolled on its side, the bars clattered like nails on a bench and the near-side wheels lurched, splaying under the massive weight. The sounds of battle were plain now and through the shouting of the Ortelgans they could discern a rhythmic, intermittent cry – a concerted sound, hard and compact like a missile. 4Bek-la Mowt! Bek-la Mowt!'

'Press on!' shouted Kelderek, hardly knowing what he said. 'Press on! Shardik to the battle! Take the strain behind and press on!'

Fumbling and stumbling in the rain, they unfastened the wet ropes, hitched them to the other end of the rickety bars and pushed the cage forward down the slope, checking it as it gathered momentum. They had gone only a short distance when Kelderek realized that they were closer to the battle than he had supposed. The whole army must be engaged, for the din extended a long way to right and left. He ran a short distance ahead, but could see nothing for the thick trees and failing light. Suddenly a little knot of five or six men came running up the hill, looking back over their shoulders. Only two were carrying weapons. One, a red-haired, raw-boned fellow, was ahead of the others. Recognizing him, Kelderek grabbed his arm. The man gave a cry of pain, cursed, and aimed a clumsy blow at him. Kelderek let go and wiped his bloody hand on his thigh. 'Numiss!' he shouted. 'What's happened?'

'It's all up, that's what's happened! The whole damned Beklan army's down there – thousands of 'em. Get out of it while you can!' Kelderek took him by the throat 'Where's Lord Ta-Kominion, damn you? Where?' Numiss pointed.

'There – lying in the bloody road. He's a goner!' He wrenched himself free and vanished.

The cage, following down the hill, was now close behind Kelderek. He called to Baltis, 'Wait – hold it there till I come back!' "Can't be done – it's too steep!' shouted Baltis.

'Wedge it then!' answered Kelderek over his shoulder. 'Ta-Kominion's here -' 'Too steep, I tell you, lad! It's too steep!'

Running down the hill, Kelderek glimpsed beyond the trees a rising slope of open, stony ground, over which Ortelgans were streaming back towards him. From further away, steady as a drumbeat, came the concerted shouts of the enemy. He had not gone half a bow-shot before he saw his man. Ta-Kominion was lying on his back in the road. The downhill flow of rain, with its flotsam of twigs and leaves, was dammed against his body as though beneath a log. Beside him, chafing his hands, crouched a tall, grey-haired man – Kavass the fletcher. Suddenly Ta-Kominion screamed some incoherent words and tore at his own arm. Kelderek ran up and knelt over him, his gorge rising at the smell of gangrene and putrefaction.

'Zelda!' cried Ta-Kominion. His white face was horribly convulsed, its shape that of the skull beneath and only more ghastly for the life that flickered in the eyes. He stared up at Kelderek, but said nothing more.

'My lord,' said Kelderek, 'what you required has been done. Lord Shardik is here.' Ta-Kominion uttered a sound like that of a mother beside a fretful child, like that of the rain in the trees. For an instant Kelderek thought that he was whispering him to silence. 'Sh!Sh-sh-ardik!' 'Shardik has come, my lord.'

Suddenly a snarling roar, louder even than the surrounding din of battle, filled the tunnel-like roadway under the trees. There followed a clanging and clattering of iron, sharp cracks of snapped wood, panic cries and a noise of dragging and scraping. Baltis' voice shouted, 'Let go, you fools!' Then again broke out the snarling, full of savagery and ferocious rage. Kelderek leapt to his feet. The cage had broken loose and was rushing down the hill, swaying and jumping as the crude wheels ploughed ruts in the mud and struck against protruding stones. The roof had split apart and the bars were hanging outwards, some trailing along the ground, others lashing sideways like a giant's flails. Shardik was standing upright, surrounded by long, white splinters of wood. Blood was running down one shoulder and he foamed at the mouth, beating the iron bars around him as Baltis' hammers had never beaten them. The point of a sharp, splintered stake had pierced his neck and as it swayed up and down, levering itself in the wound, he roared with pain and anger. Red-eyed, frothing and bloody, his head smashing through the flimsy lower branches of the trees overhanging the track, he rode down upon the battle like some beast-god of apocalypse. Just in time Kelderek threw himself against the bank. Spongy and sodden, it gave way beneath his weight and he sank backwards into the mud. The cage thundered past him, grinding over the very spot where he had been kneeling, and the three near-side wheels, each as thick as a man's arm, passed across Ta-Kominion's body, crushing a bloody channel through clothing, flesh and bone. Still further it went, driving through the Ortelgan fugitives like a demon's chariot until, striking head-on against a tree-trunk, it tilted forward and smashed to pieces. For a few moments Shardik, thrown upon his back, thrashed and struggled for a footing. Then he stood up and, with the point of the stake still embedded in his neck, burst through the trees and on to the battlefield. 23 The Battle of the Foothills Gel-Ethlin looked right and left through the falling dusk and rain. His line remained unbroken. For well over an hour the Beklan troops had simply stood their ground, repulsing the fierce but piecemeal attacks of the Ortelgans. At the first onslaught, delivered unhesitatingly and with fanatical courage by no more than two or three hundred men, he had concluded with relief that he was not opposed by a large force. Then, as more and still more of the Ortelgans emerged from the woods, jostling and pushing their way into a rough-and-ready battle-line that spread to right and left until it was as long as his own, he saw that the youth from Gelt had spoken no more than the truth. This was nothing less than an entire tribe in arms, and altogether too numerous for his liking. Soon one attack after another was breaking upon his line, until the slope was covered with dead and crawling, cursing wounded. After some anxious time, however, it became clear that the enemy, who had come upon him as unexpectedly as he had intended, possessed no effective central command and were merely attacking under individual leaders, group by group as each baron might decide. He realized that although he was probably outnumbered by something like three to two, this would not in itself bring about his defeat as long as the enemy lacked all real co-ordination and discipline. He need do no more than defend and wait. All things considered, these remained the best tactics. His army was at half strength and that the weaker half; the poor condition of the men, after several days' marching in the heat, had been aggravated by their pummelling in the dust and wind that morning; and the slope below was becoming more muddy and slippery at every moment. As long as the Ortelgans continued to make sporadic attacks here and there along the line, it was an easy matter for the Beklan companies not engaged on either side to turn inwards and help to break them up. By nightfall – soon, now – his troops might well have had enough, but what it would be best to do then would depend on the state each side was in. His most prudent course might be to return to the plain. It was unlikely that these irregulars would be able to follow them or that they would even be able, now that the rains had broken, to keep the field. Their food supplies were probably scanty, whereas he had rations – of a sort – for two days and, unlike the enemy, would have the opportunity to commandeer more if he retreated into friendly country.

Stand firm until darkness, thought Gel-Ethlin, that's the style. Why risk breaking ranks to attack? And then come away, leaving the rain to finish the job. As he watched the enemy, among the trees below, re-forming for a fresh attack under the command of a dark, bearded baron with a gold torque on one arm, he thought the idea over and could see nothing wrong with it: and if he could not, presumably his superiors in Bekla would not. He ought not to risk his half-army, cither by attacking unnecessarily or by keeping it out in these hills in the rains. His part should be that of a sound, steady commander; nothing flashy.

And yet – he paused. When they got back to Bekla, Santil-ke-Erketlis, that brilliant opportunist, would probably smile understandingly, sympathize with him for having been obliged to come away without destroying the enemy, and then point out how that destruction could and should have been effected. 'You a commander-in-chief, Gel-Ethlin?' Santil-ke-Erketlis had once said, good-humouredly enough, while they were returning together from a drinking-party. 'Man, you're like an old woman with the housekeeping money. "Oh, I wonder whether I might have beaten him down another meld – or perhaps if I'd gone to that other man round the corner -?" A fine army strikes Like the great cats, my lad -swiftly and once. It's like the wheelwright's work – there comes a moment when you have to say, "Now, hit it." A general who can't see that moment and seize it doesn't deserve victory.' Santil-ke-Erketlis, victor of a score of engagements, who had virtually dictated his own terms at the conclusion of the Slave Wars, could afford to be generous and warm-hearted. 'And how does one seize the moment?' Gel-Ethlin had asked rather tipsily, as they each seized something else and stood against the wall. 'By never stopping to think of all the things that can go wrong,' Santil-kc-Erketlis had replied.

Another attack came up the slope, this time straight towards his centre. The Tonildan contingent, a second-rate lot if ever there was one, were breaking ranks with a kind of nervous anticipation and advancing uncertainly downhill to meet it. Gel-Ethlin ran forward, shouting, 'Stand fast! Stand fast, the Tonilda!' At least no one could say that he had a thin word of command. His voice cut through the din like a hammer splitting a flint. The Tonilda fell back and re-formed line, the rain pouring off their shoulders. A few moments later the Ortelgan attack came rushing across the last few yards and struck like a ram against a wall. Weapons rang and men swayed back and forth, panting and gasping like swimmers struggling in rough water. There was a scream and a man stumbled out of the line clutching his stomach, pitched forward into the mud and lay jerking; resembling, in his unheeded plight, a broken fish cast up and dying on the shore. 'Stand fast, the Tonilda!' shouted Gel-Ethlin again. A red-headed, raw-boned Ortelgan fellow burst through a gap in the line and ran a few steps uncertainly, looking about him and waving his sword. An officer thrust at him, missed his body as he moved unexpectedly and wounded him in the forearm. The man spun round, yelling, and ran back through the gap.

Behind the line Gel-Ethlin, followed by his pennant-bearer, trumpeter and servant, ran to his left until he was beyond the point of attack. Then, pushing through the front rank of the Deelguy mercenaries, he turned and looked back at the fighting on his right The din obliterated every noise else – the rain, his own movements, the voices of those about him and all sounds from the wood below. The Ortelgans, who had evidently now learned – or found a leader with enough sense – to protect the flanks of their assault, had broken through the Tonildan line in a wedge about sixty yards broad. They were fighting, as they had all the evening, with a kind of besotted ferocity, prodigal of life. The trampled, muddy ground which they had won was littered with bodies. His own losses, too, were mounting fast – that was only too plain to be seen. He could recognize some of the men lying-on the ground, among them the son of one of Kapparah's tenants, a decent lad who last winter had acted as his go-between to the girl in Ikat. The attack had become a dangerous one, which would have to be halted and thrown back quickly before the enemy could reinforce it. He turned and made towards the nearest commander in the line – Kreet-Liss, that cryptic and reticent soldier, captain of the Deelguy mercenaries. Kreet-Liss, though anything but a coward, was always liable to turn awkward, an ally suddenly afflicted with difficulty in understanding plain Beklan whenever orders did not suit him. He listened as Gel-Ethlin, whom the noise obliged to shout almost into his ear, told him to withdraw his men, bring them across into the centre and counter-attack the Ortelgans.

'Yoss, yoss,' he shouted back finally. 'Bad owver ther, better trost oss, thot's it, eh?' The three or four black-ringleted young barons standing about him grinned at each other, slapped some of the rain out of their gaudy, bedraggled finery and went to get their men together. As the Deelguy fell back Gel-Ethlin found himself unable, in the failing light, to attract the attention of Shaltnekan, the commander adjacent to their left, whom he wanted to close up and fill the gap. He sent his servant across with the order and as he did so thought suddenly, 'Santil-ke-Erketlis would have sent the Deelguy out in front of the line, to attack the Ortelgans' rear and cut them off.' Yes, but suppose they had proved not strong enough for the job and the Ortelgans had simply cut them to pieces and got out? No, it would have been too much of a risk.

Young Shaltnekan and his men were approaching now, their heads bent against the rain driving into their faces. Gel-Ethlin went to meet them, flailing his arms across his chest, for he was wet through to the skin.

'Can't we break ranks and attack them, sir?' asked Shaltnekan, before his commander could speak. 'My lads are sick of standing on the defensive against that bunch of flea-bitten savages. One good push and they'll break up.'

'Certainly not,' answered Gel-Ethlin. 'How do you know what reserves they may have down in those woods? Our men were tired when they got here and once we break ranks they could be fan-game for anything. We've nothing to do but stand fast. We're blocking the only way down to the plain and once they realize they can't shift us they'll go to pieces.'

'Just as you say, sir,' answered Shaltnekan, 'but it goes against the grain to stand still, when we might be driving the bastards over the hills like goats.'

'Where's the bear?' shouted one of the men. It was evidently a newly-invented catch-phrase, for fifty voices took it up. "E isn't here!' "E's in despair!' continued the joker. "E wouldn't dare!' 'We'll comb 'is 'air!'

'They're still in good spirits, sir, you sec,' said Shaltnekan, 'but all the same, there's one or two good men have been cut up today by those river-frogs and the boys are going to take it very hard if they're not allowed to have a cut at them before it gets too dark.'

'And I say stand fast!' snapped Gel-Ethlin. 'Get back into line, that man!' he shouted to the buffoon who was playing the part of the bear. 'Dress the front rank – sword's length between each man and the next!' 'Stand and bloody shiver,' muttered a voice.

Gel-Ethlin strode to the rear, feeling his wet clothes clammy against his body. The twilight was deepening and he was obliged to look about for some moments before he caught sight of Kreet-Liss. He ran towards him and arrived just as the Deelguy went forward into their attack. The concerted, rhythmic cry of 'Bek-la Mowt!' Bek-la-Mowt!' was taken up along the whole line, but broke off in the centre as the Deelguy closed with the enemy. It was plain that the Ortelgans were ready to pay dearly to hold the gap they had made. Three times they repulsed the mercenaries, yelling as they stood astride the bodies of their fallen comrades. Many were brandishing swords and shields taken from the dead of the decimated Tonilda, and each time an enemy was cut down the Ortelgan opposing him would stoop quickly to snatch the foreign arms which he believed must be better than his own – though both, as like as not, had been forged from iron of Gelt.

Suddenly a fresh Beklan attack fell upon the Ortelgan right and again the steady, bearing cry of 'Bek-la Mowt!' rose above the surrounding clamour. Gel-Ethlin, who had been about to order Kreet-Liss to attack once more, was peering to It's left to make out what had happened, when someone plucked his sleeve. It was Shaltnekan. 'Those are my boys attacking them now, sir,' he said.

'Against orders!' cried Gel-Ethlin. 'What do you mean by it? Get back-'

'They're going to break in a moment, if I know anything about it, sir,' said Shaltnekan. 'Surely you won't stop us pursuing them now?' 'You'll do no such thing!' replied Gel-Ethlin.

'Sir,' said Shaltnekan, 'if we let them off the field in any sort of order, what's going to be said back in Bekla? We'll never live it down. They've got to be routed – cut to bits. And now's the time to do it, or they'll be off in the dark.'

The Ortelgans were running back out of the gap as Shaltnekan's attack drove in their right flank. Kreet-Liss and his men followed them, stabbing the enemy's wounded as they advanced. A few minutes later the original Beklan line was restored and Gel-Ethlin, peering, could make out to his left the gap where Shaltnekan's company had left their place. There could be no denying that it had been a fine stroke of initiative: and no denying, either, that there was a good deal of force in the argument that the enemy's escape, after the mauling they had suffered, would probably be ill-received in Bekla. To destroy them, on the other hand, would establish his reputation and silence any possible criticism on the part of Santil-ke-Erketlis.

The Beklan officers, obedient to orders, had halted their men on the original defensive line and the Ortelgans were streaming down the slope unpursucd, several supporting their wounded or carrying looted Beklan equipment As Gel-Ethlin watched them, a voice spoke from the ground at his feet. He looked down. It was the tenant lad from Kapparah's farm near Ikat He had raised himself on one elbow and was trying to staunch with his cloak a great gash in his neck and shoulder.

'Go on, sir, go on!' gasped the boy. 'Finish them offl I'll take a letter down to Ikat tomorrow, won't I, just like old times? God bless the lady, she'll give me a whole sackful of gold!'

He pitched forward on his face and two of Shaltnekan's men dragged him back behind the line. Gel-Ethlin, his mind made up, turned to the trumpeter.

'Well, Wolf,' he said, addressing the man by his nickname, 'no good you standing there doing nothing! Break ranks – general pursuit. And blow hard, so that everyone can hear it!'

The trumpet had hardly sounded before the various Beklan companies began racing down the slopes, those on the wings scattering widely and trying to turn inwards towards the road. Every man hoped to beat his comrades to the plunder – such as it might be. This was what they had marched through the wind for, withstood the attacks for, shivered obediently for in the rain. True enough, there would be little or nothing to take from these barbarians except their fleas, but a couple of slaves would fetch a good price in Bekla and there was always the sporting chance of a baron with gold ornaments, or even a woman among the baggage behind.

Gel-Ethlin ran too, among the foremost, his pennant-bearer on one side of him and Shaltnekan on the other. As they reached the foot of the slope and came close to the edge of the wood, he could see, among the trees, the Ortelgans once more forming line to meet them. Evidently they meant to go down fighting. For the first time he drew his sword, tie might as well strike a blow or two on his own account before the business was done.

From close at hand, somewhere inside the wood, there came a loud grinding, rumbling sound which grew nearer and changed to a smashing and splintering of wood and a clashing of iron. Immediately after, there sounded above all the tumult a savage roaring, like that of some huge beast in pain. Then the boughs burst apart in front of him and Gel-Ethlin stood rigid with horror, bereft of every feeling but panic fear. The ordinary course of things seen and comprehended; the senses, that five-fold frame of the world; the unthinking, human certainty of what can and cannot reasonably happen, upon which all rational living is based – these dissolved in an instant. If a rag-draped skeleton had come stalking out of the trees on bare, bony feet, invisible to all but himself, and made towards him with wagging head and grinning jaws, he could not have been more stupefied, more deeply plunged into terror and mental chaos. Before him, no more than a few yards away, there stood, more than twice as tall as a man, a beast which could have no place in the mortal world. Most like a bear it looked, but a bear created in hell to torment the damned by its mere presence. The cars were flattened like a cat's in rage, the eyes glimmered redly in the failing light and streaked, ochreous foam came frothing from between teeth like Deelguy knives. Over one shoulder – and this drove him almost mad with fear, for it proved that this was no earthly creature – it carried a great, pointed stake, dripping with blood. Blood, too, covered the claws curving from the one paw raised above its head as though in some horrible greeting of death. Its eyes – the eyes of a mad creature, inhabiting a world of cruelty and pain – looked down upon Gel-Ethlin with a kind of dark intelligence all too sufficient for its single purpose. Meeting that gaze, he let his sword drop from his hand; and as he did so the beast struck him with a blow that crushed his skull and drove his head down through his shoulders.

A moment later Shaltnekan fell across his body, his chest broken in like a smashed drum. Kreet-Liss, stumbling on the wet slope, made one thrust with his sword before his neck was ripped open in a fountain of blood. And this sword-thrust, wounding it, drove the creature to such a frenzy of murderous destruction that every man ran shrieking as it ploughed its way up the crowded slope, seeking whom to tear and destroy. The men on the wings, halted and crying out to learn what had happened, felt their bowels loosen at the news that the bear-god, more dreadful than any imagined creature from the nether wastes of fever and nightmare, had indeed appeared, and had recognized and killed of intent the General and two commanders.

From the wavering Ortelgan line there rose a triumphant shout. Kelderek, limping and staggering with exhaustion, was the first man to emerge from the trees, shouting 'Shardik! Shardik the Power of God!' Then, with yells of 'Shardik! Shardik!', which were the last sound in the ears of Ta-Kominion, the Ortelgans poured up the slope, hacking and thrusting anew through the broken Beklan centre. A few minutes afterwards Kelderek, Baltis and a score of others reached the mouth of the gorge beyond the ridge and, heedless of their isolation, faced about to hold it against any who might try to force an escape. Of Shardik, vanished into the falling darkness, there remained neither sight nor sound.

Within half an hour, when night put an end to the bloodshed, all Beklan resistance had been quenched. The Ortelgans, following the terrible example which had redeemed them from defeat, showed no mercy, killing their enemies and stripping their bodies of weapons, shields and armour, until they were as well-found a force as had ever swept down upon the Beklan plain. A few of Gel-Ethlin's men succeeded in escaping towards Gelt. None found his way past Kelderek, to regain the plain by the road up which they had marched that afternoon.

With the clouded, rainy moon rose the white smoke of fires coaxed into life by the victors to cook the plundered rations of the enemy. But before midnight the army, urged forward by Zelda and Kelderek so fervently that they stayed not even to bury the dead, were limping on towards Bekla, outstripping all news of their victory and of the total destruction of Gel-Ethlin's force.

Two days later, reduced to two-thirds of their strength by fatigue and the privations of their forced march, the Ortelgans, advancing by the paved road across the plain, appeared before the walls of Bekla; smashed in the carved and gilded Tamarrik gate – that unique masterpiece created by the craftsman Fleitil a century before – after storming it for four hours with an improvised ram at a cost of over five hundred men; overcame the garrison and the citizens, despite the courageous leadership of the sick Santil-ke-Erketlis; sacked and occupied the city and began at once to strengthen the fortifications against the risk of counter-attack as soon as the rains should end.

Thus, in what must surely have been one of the most extraordinary and unpredictable campaigns ever fought, fell Bekla, the capital of an empire of subject provinces 20,000 square miles in extent. Of those provinces, the furthest from the city seceded and became enemies to its new rulers. The nearer, rather than face the rapine and bloodshed of resistance, put themselves under the protection of the Ortelgans, of their generals Zelda and Ged-la-Dan and their mysterious priest-king Kelderek, styled Crendrik – the Eye of God. Book III Bekla 24 Elleroth Bekla, city of myth and conjecture, hidden in time as Tiahuanaco in the Andes fastness, as Petra in the hills of Edom, as Atlantis beneath the waves! Bekla of enigma and secrets, more deeply enfolded in its religious mystery than Eleusis of the reaped corn, than the stone giants of the Pacific or the Kerait lands of Prester John. Its grey, broken walls – across whose parapets only the clouds come marching, in whose hollows the wind sounds and ceases like the trumpeter of Cracow or Memnon's statue on the sands – the stars reflected in its waters, the flowers scenting its gardens, are become like words heard in a dream that cannot be recalled. Its very history lies buried, unresolved – coins, beads and gaming-boards, street below street, shards below shards, hearth beneath hearth, ash under ash. The earth has been dug away from Troy and Mycenae, the jungle cut from about Zimbabwe; and caged in maps and clocks are the terrible leagues about Urumchi and Ulan Bator. But who shall disperse the moon-dim darkness that covers Bekla, or draw it up to view from depths more lonely and remote than those where bassogigas and ethusa swim in black silence? Only sometimes through tales may it be guessed at, those tokens riddling as the carved woods from the Americas floating centuries ago to the shores of Portugal and Spain: or in dreams, perhaps, it may be glimpsed – from the decks of that unchanging navy of gods and images that sails by night, carrying its passengers still in no bottoms else than those which bore, in their little time, Pilate's wife, Joseph of Canaan and the wise Penelope of Ithaca with her twenty geese. Bekla the incomparable, the lily of the plain, the garden of sculpted and dancing stone, appears from its mist and dusk, faint as the tracks of Shardik himself in forests long consumed.

Six miles round were the walls, rising on the south to encircle the summit of Mount Crandor, with its citadel crowning the sheer face of the stone quarries below. A breakneck flight of steps led up. that face, disappearing, at a height of eighty feet, into the mouth of a tunnel which ran upwards through the rock to emerge into the twilight of the huge granary cellar. The only other entry to the citadel was the so-called Red Gate in the south wall, a low arch through which a chalybeate brook flowed from its source within to the chain of falls – named the White Girls – that carried it down Crandor's gradual southern slope. Under the Red Gate, men long ago had worked to widen and deepen the bed of the brook, but had left standing, two feet beneath the surface of the water, a narrow, twisting causeway of the living rock. Those who had learned this padi's subaqueous windings could wade safely through the deep pool and then – if permitted – enter the citadel by the stairway known as the Vent

It was not Mount Crandor, however, which drew the gaze of the newcomer to Bekla, but the ridge of the Leopard Hill below, with its terraces of vines, flowers and citrous tendriona. On the crest, above these surrounding gardens, stood the Palace of the Barons, the range of its towers reflecting light from their balconies of polished, rose-coloured marble. Twenty round towers there were in all, eight by the long sides of the palace and four by the short; each tapering, circular wall so smooth and regular that in sunlight not one stone's lower edge cast a shadow upon its fellow below, and the only blackness was that within the window-openings, rounded and slitted like key-holes, which lit the spiral stairways. High up, as high as tall trees, the circular balconies projected like the capitals of columns, their ambulatories wide enough for two men to walk side by side. The marble balustrades were identical in height and shape, yet each was decorated differently, carved on each side, in low relief, with leopards, lilies, birds or fish; so that a lord might say to his friend, 'I will drink with you tonight on the Bramba tower,' or a lover to his mistress, 'Let us meet this evening on the Trepsis tower and watch the sun set before we go to supper.' Above these marvellous crow's-nests the towers culminated in slender, painted spires – red, blue and green – latticed and containing gong-toned, copper bells. When these were rung – four bells to each note of the scale – the metallic, wavering sounds mingled with their own echoes from the precipices of Crandor and vibrated over the roofs below until the citizens, thus summoned to rejoice at festival, holiday or royal welcome, laughed to feel their ears confounded in sport as the eye is confounded by mirrors face to face.

The palace itself stood within its towers and separate by several yards from their bases. Yet – wonderful to see – at the height of the roof, that part of the wall that stood behind each tower sloped outwards, supported on massive corbels, to embrace it and project a little beyond, so that the towers themselves, with their pointed spires, looked like great lances set upright at regular intervals to pierce the walls and support the roof as a canopy is supported at the periphery. The voluted parapets were carved in relief with the round leaves and flame-shaped flower-buds of lilies and lotus; and to these the craftsmen had added, here and there as pleased them, the likenesses of insects, of trailing weeds and drops of water, all many times larger than the life. The hard light of noon stressed little of these fancies, accentuating rather the single, shadowed mass of the north front, grave and severe as a judge presiding above the busy streets. But at evening, when the heat of the day broke and the hard shadows fled away, the red, slanting light would soften the outline of walls and towers and emphasize instead their marvellous decoration, so that at this hour the palace suggested rather some beautiful, pleasure-loving woman, adorned with jewels and flowers, ready for a joyous meeting or homecoming beyond compare. And by the first light of day, before the gongs of the city's two water-clocks clashed one after the other for sunrise, it had changed yet again and become, in the misty stillness, like a pool of water-lilies half-opened among the dragon-flies and sipping, splashing swallows.

Some way from the foot of the Leopard Hill was the newly-excavated Rock Pit, immediately above which stood the House of the King, a gaunt square of rooms and corridors surrounding a hall -once a barracks for soldiers, but now reserved for another use and another occupant. Close by, grouped about the north side of the cypress gardens and the lake called the Barb, were stone buildings, resembling those on Quiso, but larger and more numerous. Some of these were used as dwellings by the Ortelgan leaders, while others were set aside for hostages or for delegations from the various provincial peoples, whose comings and goings, with embassies to the king or petitions to lay before the generals, were incessant in this empire at war on a debatable frontier. Beyond the cypress gardens a walled road led to the Peacock Gate, the only way through the fortified rampart dividing the upper from the lower city.

The lower city – the city itself, its paved streets and dusty alleys, its odours and clamour by day, its moonlight and jasmine by night, its cripples and beggars, its animals, its merchandise, its traces everywhere of war and pillage, doors hacked and walls blackened with fire – does the city too return out of the dark? Here ran the street of the money-changers and beyond, on either side of a narrow avenue of ilex trees, stood the houses of the jewel-merchants – high, barred windows and a couple of strong fellows at the gate to enquire a stranger's business. The torpid flies about the open sweet-stalls, the smells of leather and dung and spices and sweat and herbs, the fruit market's banks of gaudy panniers, the rostra, barracoons and blocks of the slave market with its handsome children, its cozening foreigners and outlandish tongues, the shoe-makers sitting absorbed at their tapping and stitching in the midst of the hubbub, the clinking street-walkers strolling nowhere in particular with their stylized gait and sidelong glances, the coloured flowers in the water, the shouting across a street of the news of a sale or an offer, in cryptic words revealing nothing except to their intended hearer; the quarrels, the lies, the promises, the thieves, the long-drawn crying of wares on notes that the years have turned into songs, the streets of the stonemasons, carpenters, weavers, of the astrologers, doctors and fortunetellers. The scuttling lizards, the rats and dogs, the fowls in coops and the pretty birds in cages. The cattle market had been burned to the ground in the fighting and on one of the sagging, open doors of the temple of Cran someone had daubed the mask of a bear – two eyes and a snarling muzzle, set between round cars. The Tamarrik gate, that wonder second only to the Palace, was gone for ever -gone the concentric filigree spheres, the sundial with its phallic gnomon and nympholeptic spiral of hours, the incredible faces peering through the green leaves of the sycamore, the great ferns and the blue-tongued lichens, the wind-harp and the silver drum that beat of itself when the sacred doves alighted at evening to be fed. The fragments of Fleitil's masterpiece, constructed in an age when none conceived it possible that war could approach Bekla, had been gleaned from the rubble secretly and with bitter tears, during the night before Ged-la-Dan and his men supervised the building, by forced labour, of a new wall to close the gap. The two remaining gates, the Blue Gate and the Gate of Lilies, were very strong and entirely suited to Bekla's present and more dangerous role of a city that scarcely knew friend from foe.

On this cloudy spring morning the surface of the Barb, ruffled by the south wind, had the dull, broken shine of an incised glaze. Along the lonelier, south-eastern shore, from which pasture-land, enclosed within the city walls, stretched away up the slopes of Crandor, a flock of cranes were feeding and squabbling, wading through the shallows and bending their long necks down to the weed. On the opposite side, in the sheltering cypress gardens, men were strolling in twos and threes or sitting out of the wind in the evergreen arbours. Some were attended by servants who walked behind them carrying cloaks, papers and writing materials, while others, harsh-voiced and shaggy as brigands, broke from time to time into loud laughter or slapped each other's shoulders; betraying, even while they tried to hide it, the lack of ease which they felt in these trim and unaccustomed surroundings. Others again clearly wished to be known for soldiers and, though personally unarmed, in deference to the place and the occasion, had instructed their servants to carry their empty scabbards conspicuously. It seemed that a number of these men were strangers to each other, for their greetings, as they passed, were formal – a bow, a grave nod or a few words: yet their very presence together showed that they must have something in common. After a time a certain restlessness – even impatience -began to show among them. Evidently they were waiting for something that was delayed.

At length the figure of a woman, scarlet-cloaked and carrying a silver staff, was seen approaching the garden from the King's House. There was a general move in the direction of the gate leading into the walled road, so that by the time the woman reached it, forty or fifty men were already waiting there. As she entered some thronged about her; others, with an air of detachment, idled, or pretended to idle, within earshot. The woman, dour and stolid in manner, looked round among them, raised in greeting her hand, with its crimson wooden rings, and began to speak. Although she spoke in Beklan, it was plain that this was not her tongue. Her voice had the slow, flat cadence of Telthearna province and she was, as they all knew, a priestess of the conquerors, an Ortelgan.

'My lords, the king greets you and welcomes you to Bekla. He is grateful to each of you, for he knows that you have the strength and safety of the empire at heart. As you all know, it was..'

At this moment she was interrupted by the stammering excitement of a thick-set, lank-haired man, who spoke with the accent of a westerner from Paltesh.

'- Madam Sheldra – saiyett – tell us – the king – Lord Crendrik – no harm has befallen him?

Sheldra turned towards him unsmilingly and stared him into silence. Then she continued,

'As you all know, he intended to have received you this morning in audience at the Palace, and to have held the first meeting of the Council this afternoon. He has now been obliged to alter this intention.'

She paused, but there was no further interruption. All were listening with attention. The distant idlers came closer, glancing at each other with raised eyebrows.

'General Ged-la-Dan was expected to reach Bekla last night, together with the delegates from eastern Lapan. However, they have been unexpectedly delayed. A messenger reached the king at dawn with the news that they will not be here until this evening. The king therefore asks your patience for a day. The audience will be held at this time tomorrow and the Council will commence in the afternoon. Until then you are the guests of the city, and the king will welcome all who may wish to sup with him in the Palace an hour after sunset.'

A tall, beardless man, wearing a fox-fur cloak over a white, pleated kilt and purple damask tunic blazoned with three corn-sheaves, came strolling elegantly along the terrace and turned his eyes towards the crowd as though he had just noticed them for the first time. He stopped, paused a moment and then addressed Sheldra across their heads in the courteous and almost apologetic tone of a gentleman questioning someone else's servant,

'I wonder what might have delayed the general? Perhaps you can be so kind as to tell me?'

Sheldra made no immediate reply and it seemed that her self-possession was not altogether equal either to the question or to the questioner. She appeared to be not so much considering the question as hoping that it might go away, as though it were some kind of pestering insect. She betrayed no actual confusion but at length, keeping her eyes on the ground, she turned, avoiding the tall man's gaze in the manner of some governess or duenna in a wealthy house, out of countenance to find herself required to respond graciously to unsought attention from friends of the family. She was about to leave when the newcomer, inclining his sleek head and persisting in his kindly and condescending manner, stepped smoothly through the crowd to her side.

'You see, I am most anxious to learn, since if I am not mistaken, the General's army is at present in Lapan province, and any misfortune of his would certainly be mine as well. I am sure that in the circumstances you will excuse my importunity.'

Sheldra's muttered answer seemed appropriate less to a royal messenger than to some gauche and sullen waiting-woman in a yeoman's kitchen.

'He stayed with the army, I think -I heard, that is. He is coming soon.'

'Thank you,' replied the tall man. 'He had some reason, no doubt? I know that you will wish to help me if you can.' Sheldra flung up her head like a mare troubled by the flies.

'The enemy in Ikat – General Erketlis – General Ged-la-Dan wished to leave everything secure before he set out for Bekla. And now, my Lords, I must leave you – until tomorrow -'

Almost forcing her way past them, she left the garden with clumsy and less-than-becoming haste.

The man with the corn-sheaves tunic strolled on towards the shrubbery by the lake, looking across at the feeding cranes and toying with a silver pomander secured to his belt by a fine gold chain. He shivered in the wind and drew his cloak closer about him, lifting the hem above the damp grass with a kind o? stylized grace almost like that of a girl on a dancing-floor. He had stopped to admire the mauve-stippled, frosty sparkle on the petals of an early-flowering saldis, when someone plucked his sleeve from behind. He looked over his shoulder. The man who had attracted his attention stood looking back at him with a grin. He had a rugged, somewhat battered appearance and the sceptical air of a man who has experienced much, gained advancement and prosperity in a hard school and come to regard both with a certain detachment.

'Mollo!' cried the tall man, opening his arms in a gesture of welcome. 'My dear fellow, what a pleasant surprise! I thought you were in Terekenalt – across the Vrako – in the clouds – anywhere but here. If I weren't half-frozen in this pestilential city I'd be able to show all the pleasure I feel, instead of only half of it.'

Thereupon he embraced Mollo, who appeared a trifle embarrassed but took it in good part; and then, holding him by the hand at arm's length, as though they were dancing some courtly measure, looked him up and down, shaking his head slowly, and continuing to speak as he had commenced, in Yeldashay, the tongue of Ikat and the south.

'Wasting away, wasting away! Obviously full of tribesmen's snapped-off arrow-heads and rot-gut booze from the barracks of beyond. One wonders why the holes made by the former wouldn't drain off some of the latter. But come, tell me how you happen to be here – and how's Kabin and all the jolly water-boys?'

'I'm the governor of Kabin now,' replied Mollo with a grin, 'so the place has come down in the world.'

'My dear fellow, I congratulate you! So the water-rats have engaged the services of a wolf? Very prudent, very prudent.' He half-sang a couple of lines. A jolly old cattle-thief said to his wife, (San, tan, tennerferee) 'I mean to live easy the rest of my life -' 'That's it,' said Mollo with a grin. 'After that little business of the Slave Wars we got mixed up in -' ' When you saved my life -'

'When I saved your life (God help me, I must have been out of my mind), I couldn't stay in Kabin. What was there for me? My father sand-blind in the chimney corner and my elder brother taking damned good care that neither Shrain nor I got anything out of the estate. Shrain raised forty men and joined the Beklan army, but I didn't fancy that and I decided to go further. Arrow-heads and rot-gut – well, you're right, that's about it.' 'Boot, brute and loot, as it were?'

'If you can't steal it, you've got to fight for it, that's it I made myself useful. I finished up as a provincial governor to the king of Deelguy – honest work for a change -' 'In Deelguy, Mollo? Oh, come now -'

'Well, fairly honest, anyway. Plenty of headaches and worries -too much responsibility -'

'I can vividly imagine your feelings on discovering yourself north of the Telthearna, in sole command of Fort Horrible -'

'It was Klamsid province, actually. Well, it's one way of feathering your nest, if you can survive. That was where I was when I heard of Shrain's death – he was killed by the Ortelgans, five years ago now, at the battle of the Foothills, when Gel-Ethlin lost his army. Poor lad! Anyway, about six months back a Deelguy merchant comes up before me for a travel permit – a nasty, slimy brute by the name of Lalloc. When we're alone, "Are you Lord Mollo," says he, "from Kabin of the Waters?" "I'm Mollo the Governor," says I, "and apt to come down heavy on oily flatterers." "Why, my lord," says he, "there's no flattery."' 'Flottery, you mean.'

'Well, flottery, then. I can't imitate their damned talk. "I've come from spending the rainy season at Kabin," he says, "and there's news for you. Your elder brother's dead and the property's yours, but no one knew where to find you. You've three months in law to claim it" "What's that to me?" I thought to myself: but later I got to thinking about it and I knew I wanted to go home. So I appointed my deputy as governor on my own authority, sent the king a message to say what I'd done – and left'

'The inhabitants were heart-broken? The pigs wept real tears in the bedrooms?'

'They may have – I didn't notice. You can't tell them from the inhabitants, anyway. It was a bad journey at that time of year. I nearly drowned, crossing the Telthearna by night.' 'It had to be by night?' 'Well, I was in a hurry, you see.' 'Not to be observed?'

'Not to be observed. I went over the hills by way of Gelt – I wanted to see where Shrain died – say a few prayers for him and make an offering, you know. My God, that's an awful place! Idon't want to talk about it – the ghosts must be thicker than frogs in a marsh. I wouldn't be there at night for all the gold in Bekla. Shrain's at peace, anyway – I did all that's proper. Well, when I came down the pass to the plain – and I had to pay toll at the southern end, that was new – it was late afternoon already and I duiught, "I shan't get to Kabin tonight – I'll go to old S'marr Torruin, him that used to breed the prize bulls when my father was alive, that's it." When I got there – onlv myself and a couple of fellows – why, you never saw a place so much changed – servants by the bushel, everything made of silver, all the women in silk and jewels. S'marr was just the same, though, and he remembered me all right. When we were drinking together after dinner I said, "Bulls seem to be paying well." "Oh," says he, "haven't you heard? They made me governor of the Foothills and warden of the Gelt pass." "How on earth did that come about?" I asked. "Well," says he, "you've got to watch out to jump the right way in a time of trouble – it's a case of win all or lose all. After I'd heard what happened at the battle of the Foothills, I knew these Ortelgans were bound to take Bekla: it stood to reason – they were meant to win. I could see it plain, but no one else seemed able to. I went straight to their generals myself – caught 'em up as they were marching south across the plain to Bekla – and promised them all the help I could give. You sec, the night before the battle the best half of Gel-Ethlin's army had been sent to Kabin to repair the dam – and if that wasn't the finger of God, what was? The rains had just begun, but all the same, those Beklans at Kabin were in the Ortelgans' rear as they marched south. It's not the sort of risk any general can feel happy about. I made it impossible for them to move – took my fellows out and destroyed three bridges, sent false information to Kabin, intercepted their messengers-" "Lord," says I to S'marr, "what a gamble to take on the OrtelgansI" "Not at all," says S'marr. "I can tell when lightning's going to strike, and I don't need to know exactly where. I tell you, the Ortelgans were meant to win. That half-army of poor old Gel-Ethlin's simply broke up – never fought again. They marched out of Kabin in the rain, turned back again, went on half-rations – then there was mutiny, wholesale desertion. By the time a messenger got through from Santil-ke-Erketlis, a mutineers' faction was in command and thev nearly hanged the poor fellow. A lot of that was my doing, and didn't I let this King Crendik fellow know it, too? That was how the Ortelgans came to make me governor of the Foothills and warden of the Gelt pass, my boy, and very lucrative it is." All of a sudden S'marr looks up at me. "Have you come home to claim the family property?" he asks. "That's it," I said. "Well," says he, "I never liked your brother – griping, hard-fisted curmudgeon – but you're all right. They're short of a governor in Kabin. There was a foreigner there until recently – name of Orcad, formerly in the Beklan service. He understood the reservoir, you see, and that's more than the Ortelgans do – but he's just been murdered. Now you're a local lad, so you won't get murdered, and the Ortelgans like local men as long as they feel they can trust them. After what's happened they trust me, naturally, and if I put in a word with General Zelda, you'll probably be appointed." Well, the long and short of it was, I agreed to make it worth S'marr's while to speak for me, and that's how I come to be governor of Kabin.'

'I see. And you commune with the reservoir from the profound depths of your aquatic knowledge, do you?'

'I've no idea how to look after a reservoir, but while I'm here I mean to find someone who has and take him back with me, that's it.'

'And is he up here now for the Council, your charming old bull-breeding chum?' 'S'marr? Not he – he's sent his deputy. He's no fool.' 'How long have you been governor of Kabin?'

'About three days. I tell you, all this happened very recently. General Zelda was recruiting in those parts, as it happened, and S'marr saw him the next day. I'd not been back home more than one night when he sent an officer to tell me I was appointed governor and order me to come to Bekla in person. So here I am, Elleroth, you see, and the first person I run into is you!' 'Elleroth Ban – bow three times before addressing me.'

'Well, we have become an exalted pair, that's it. Ban of Sarkid? How long have you been Elleroth Ban?'

'Oh, a few years now. My poor father died a while back. But tell me, how much do you know about the new, modern Bekla and its humane and enlightened rulers?'

At this moment two of the other delegates overtook them, talking earnestly in Katrian Chistol, the dialect of eastern Terekenalt. One, as he passed, turned his head and continued to stare unsmilingly over his shoulder for some moments before resuming his conversation.

'You ought to be more careful,' said Mollo. 'Remarks like that shouldn't be made at all in a place like this, let alone overheard.'

'My dear fellow, how much Yeldashay do you suppose those cultivated pumpkins understand? Their bodies scarcely cover their minds with propriety. Their oafishness is indecently exposed.'

'You never know. Discretion – that's one thing I've learnt and I'm alive to prove it.'

'Very well, we will indulge your desire for privacy, chilly though it may be to do so. Yonder is a fellow with a boat, yo ho, and no doubt he has his price, like everyone in this world.'

Addressing the boatman, as he had Sheldra, in excellent Beklan, with scarcely a trace of Yeldashay accent, Elleroth gave him a ten-meld piece, fastened his fox-fur cloak at the throat, turned up the deep collar round the back of his head and stepped into the boat, followed by Mollo.

As the man rowed them out towards the centre of the lake and the choppy wavelets began to set up a regular, hollow slapping under the bow, Elleroth remained silent, staring intently across at the grazing land that extended from the southern side of the King's house, round the western shore of the lake and on to the northern slopes of Crandor in the distance. 'Lonely, isn't it?' he said at last, still speaking in Yeldashay. 'Lonely?* replied Mollo. 'Hardly that.'

'Well, let us say relatively unfrequented – and that ground's nice and smooth – no obstacles. Good.' He paused, smiling at Mollo's frowning incomprehension.

'But to resume where we were so poignantly interrupted. How much do you know about Bekla and these bear-bemused river-boys from the Telthearna?' 'I tell you – next to nothing. I've had hardly any time to find out.'

'Did you know, for example, that after the battle in the Foothills, five and a half years ago, they didn't bury the dead – neither their own nor Gel-Ethlin's? They left them for the wolves and the kites.'

'I'm not surprised to hear it. I've been on that field, as I told you, and I've never been so glad to leave anywhere. My two fellows were almost crazy with fear – and that was in daylight I did what had to be done for Shrain's sake and came away quick.' 'Did you see anything?'

'No, it was just what we all felt. Oh, you mean the remains of the dead? No – we didn't stray off the road, you sec, and that was cleared soon after the battle by men who came down from Gelt to do it, so I heard.'

'Yes. The Ortelgans, of course, didn't bother. But it wasn't really to be expected that they would, was it?'

'By the time the battle was won the rains had set in and night was falling, wasn't that it? They were desperate to get on to Bekla.'

'Yes, but no Ortelgan did anything after Bekla had fallen either, although there must have been plenty of coming and going between Bekla and their Telthearna island. I find that terribly tedious as a subject for contemplation, don't you? It bores me to distraction.' 'I hadn't considered it before in quite that way.' 'Start now.'

The boat, turning, had followed first the southern and then the eastern shore of the Barb and as it approached them the cranes flew up in a clattering, white-winged flock. Elleroth bent his head over the bow, idly running one finger through the water along the outline of his own shadow as it moved across the surface. After some time Mollo said, 'I've never understood why the city fell. They took it by surprise and smashed in the Tamarrik gate. Well, all right, so the Tamarrik gate was military nonsense. But what was Santil-ke-Erketlis doing? Why didn't he try to hold the citadel? You could hold that place for ever.'

He pointed back at the sheer face of the quarry, three quarters of a mile away, and the summit of Crandor above.

'He did hold it,' answered Elleroth, 'right through the rains and after – getting on for four months altogether. He was hoping for some relief from Ikat, or even from the troops at Kabin – the ones your trusty bull-breeding friend attended to. The Ortelgans let him alone for a long time – they'd come to have a healthy respect for him, I dare say – but when the rains were over and he was still there they began to worry. They needed to put an army in the field towards Ikat, you see, and there was no one to spare to keep Santil contained in the citadel. So they got rid of him.' 'Got rid of him – just like that? What do you mean? How?'

Elleroth struck the surface lightly with the edge of his hand, so that a thin, pattering crescent of water-drops flew backwards along the side of the boat.

'Really, Mollo, you don't seem to have learnt much about military methods during your travels. There were plenty of children in Bekla, even if all of them weren't children of the citadel garrison. They hanged two children every morning in sight of the citadel. And of course there were plenty of mothers, too, at liberty to go up to the citadel and beg Erketlis to come to terms before the Ortelgans became even more inventive. After some days he offered to go, provided he was allowed to march out fully armed and proceed unmolested to Ikat. Those terms the Ortelgans accepted. Three days later they tried to attack him on the march, but he'd been expecting something of the sort and succeeded in discouraging them quite effectively. That happened near my home in Sarkid, as a matter of fact.'

Mollo was about to reply when Elleroth, seated at the boatman's back, spoke again, without any alteration in his quiet tone.

'We are about to run into a large floating log, which, will probably stave in the bow.' The boatman stopped rowing at once and turned his head. 'Where, sir?' he asked, in Beklan. 'I don't see anything.'

'Well, I see that you understand me when I am speaking Yeldashay,' replied Elleroth, 'but that is not a crime. It seems to have turned even more chilly, and the wind is fresher than it was. You had better take us back, I think, before we catch the Telthearna ague. You have done very well – here are another ten meld for you. I'm sure you never gossip.' 'God bless you, sir,' said the boatman, pulling on his right oar.

'Where now?' asked Moilo, as they stepped ashore in the garden. 'Your room – or mine? We can go on talking there.'

'Come, come, Mollo – the arrangements for eavesdropping will have been completed days ago. Dear me, those amateur instructors of yours in Deelguy! We will have a stroll through the town – hide a leaf in the forest, you know. Now that priestess woman who addressed us this morning – the one with a face like a night-jar -would you say that she -'

They made their way downhill, by way of the walled lane, to the Peacock Gate, and were shut into the little, enclosed chamber called me Moon Room while the porter, unseen, operated the counter-poise that opened the postern. There was no way between the upper and lower cities except through this gate and the porters, vigilant and uncommunicative as hounds, opened for none whom they had not been instructed to recognize. As Elleroth followed Mollo out into the lower city, the gate closed behind them, heavy, smooth and flat, its iron flanges overlapping the walls on either side. For a few moments they stood alone above the din of the town, grinning at each other like two lads about to plunge together into a pool.

The street of the Armourers led downhill into the colonnaded square called the Caravan Market, where all the goods coming into the city were weighed and checked by the customs officers. On one side stood the city warehouses, with their loading and unloading platforms, and Fleitil's brazen scales, which could weigh a cart and two oxen as easily as a sack of flour. Mollo was watching the weights being piled against forty ingots of Gelt iron when a grimy-faced, ragged boy, limping on a crutch, stumbled against him, stooped quickly sideways with a kind of clumsy, sweeping bow, and then began to beg from him.

'No mother, sir, no father – a hard life – two meld nothing to a gentleman like you – generous face – easy to sec you're a lucky man – you like to meet a nice girl – be careful of rogues here – many rogues in Bekla – many thieves – perhaps one meld – need a fortune teller – you like to gamble perhaps -1 meet you here tonight – help a poor boy – no food today -'

His left leg had been severed above the ankle and the stump, bound in dirty cloth, hung a foot above the ground. As he shifted his weight the leg swung limply, as though there were no strength from the thigh down. He had lost a front tooth, and as he lisped out his monotonous, inexpressive offers and entreaties, red betel-stained spittle crept over his lower lip and down his chin. He had a shifty-eyed, wary look and kept his right arm slightly bent at his side, the hand open, the thumb and fingers crooked like claws.

Suddenly Elleroth stepped forward, gripped the boy's chin in his hand and jerked up his face to meet his own eyes. The boy gave a shrill cry and tried to back away, pouring out more words, distorted now by Elleroth's grip on his jaw.

'Poor boy, sir, no harm, gentleman won't hurt a poor boy, no work, very hard times, be of service -' 'How long have you followed this life?' asked Elleroth sternly. The boy stammered with eyes averted.

'Don't know, sir, four years, sir, five years, done no wrong, sir, six years perhaps, whatever you say -'

Elleroth, with his free hand, pulled up the boy's sleeve. Bound round the forearm was a broad leather band and thrust beneath it by the blade was a handsome, silver-hiked knife. Elleroth pulled it out and handed it to Mollo.

'Didn't feel him take it, did you? That's the worst of wearing one's knife in a sheath on the hip. Now stop howling, my boy, or I'll see you flogged before the market warden -' 'I'll see him flogged, howling or no,' interrupted Mollo. 'I'll -'

'Wait a moment, my dear fellow.' Elleroth, still grasping the boy's chin, turned his head to one side and with his other hand thrust back his dirty hair. The lobe of the car was pierced by a round hole about as big as an orange pip. Elleroth touched it with his finger and the boy began to weep silently.

'Genshed u arkon lowt tha?' said Elleroth, speaking in Terekenalt, a tongue unknown to Mollo. The boy, who was unable to speak for his tears, nodded wretchedly. 'Genshed varon, shu varon il pekeronta?' The boy nodded again.

'Listen,' said Elleroth, reverting to Beklan. 'I am going to give you some money. As I do so I shall curse you and pretend to hit you, for otherwise a hundred wretches will come like vultures from every hole in the market. Say nothing, hide it and go, you understand? Curse you!' he shouted, gripping the boy's shoulder and pushing him away. 'Be off, get away from me! Filthy beggars -' He turned on his heel and walked away, with Mollo beside him.

'Now what the devil -?' began Mollo. He broke off. 'Whatever's the matter, Elleroth? You're surely not – not weeping, are you?'

'My dear Mollo, if you can't observe a knife vanishing from its sheath on your own hip, how can you possibly expect to observe accurately the expression on a face as foolish as mine? Let us turn in and have a drink – I feel I could do with one, and the sun's become rather warmer now. It will be pleasant to sit down.' 25 The Green Grove The nearest tavern in the colonnade, whose sign proclaimed it to be 'The Green Grove', was out of the wind but warmed nevertheless, at this early time of the year, by a charcoal brazier, low enough to keep floor draughts from chilling the feet. The tables were still damp from their morning scrubbing and the settle, facing towards the square, was spread with brightly-coloured rugs which, though somewhat worn, were clean and well-brushed. The place appeared to be frequented chiefly by the better kind of men having work or business in the market – buyers, household stewards, caravan officers, merchants and one or two market officials, with their uniform green cloaks and round leather hats; There were pumpkins and dried tendrionas hanging in nets against the walls and pickled aubergines, cheeses, nuts and raisins set out in dishes. Through a door at the back could be caught a glimpse of the courtyard, with white doves and a fountain. Elleroth and Mollo sat down at one end of the settle, and waited without impatience.

'Well, Death, don't come along just yet,' cried a long-haired young caravaneer, flinging back his cloak to free his arm as he drank and looking over the top of his leather can as though half-expecting that unwelcome personage to make a sudden appearance round the corner. 'I've got a bit more profit to make down south and a few more jars to empty here – haven't I, Tarys?' he added to a pretty girl with a long black plait and a necklace of silver coins, who set down before him a plate of hard-boiled eggs in sour cream.

'Ay, likely,' she answered, 'without you get yourself killed int' south one trip. Profit, profit – happen you'd go to Zeray for profit.'

'Ay – happen!' he mimicked, teasing her and spreading out a row of foreign coins, one under each finger, for her to take whatever was due in payment. 'Help yourself. Why don't you take me now, instead of the money?'

'I'm not that hard up yet,' retorted the girl, taking three of the coins and coming across to the settle. Her eyelids were stained with indigo and she had pinned a bunch of red-flowering tectron in her bodice. She smiled at Mollo and Elleroth, a little unsure how to address them, since on the one hand they were strangers and clearly gentlemen, while on the other they had been an audience for her little flirtation with the caravaneer.

'Good morning, my dear lass,' said Elleroth, speaking as though he were her grandfather and at the same time looking her up and down with an air of open admiration which left her more confused than ever. 'I wonder whether you have any real wine, from the south – Yeldashay, perhaps, or even just Lapan? What we need to drink on a morning like this is sunshine.'

'There's none come in a long while, sir, more's t' pity,' answered the girl. 'T'is the war, y'see. We can't get it.'

'Now Pm sure you're underrating the resources of this splendid establishment,' replied Elleroth, putting two twenty-meld pieces quietly into her hand. 'And you can always pour it into a jug, so that no one else knows what it is. Ask your father. Just bring the best you've got, as long as it's – er – well, pre-bear, you know, prebear. We shall recognize it all right, if it's from the south.'

Two men came through the chain-curtained entrance and called to the girl in Chistol, smiling across at her.

'I suppose you have to learn a lot of languages, with so many admirers?' asked Mollo.

'Nay, they've to learn mine or I'm doon with them,' she smiled, nodding, as she left, to Elleroth, to show that she would do as he had asked.

'Ah, well, I suppose the world still takes a lot of stopping,' said Elleroth, leaning back on the settle, snapping a pickled aubergine and throwing half into his mouth. 'What a pity so many furious boys persist in trying! Will it suit you if we go on talking Yeldashay, by the way? Pm tired of speaking Beklan, and Deelguy is beyond me, I fear. One advantage of this place is that no one would think it unduly odd, I believe, if we were to converse by coughing down each other's necks or tapping the table with very large tooth-picks. A little Yeldashay will be all in the day's work to them.' 'That boy,' said Mollo, 'you gave him money, after he'd stolen my knife. And what was that hole in his ear? You seemed to know what you were looking for all right' 'You have no inkling, provincial governor?' 'None.'

'Long may you continue to have none. You met this man Lalloc, you told me, in Deelguy. I wonder, did you ever hear tell of one Genshed?' 'No.'

'Well, curse the war, then!' shouted a man who had just come in, evidently in reply to some remark of the landlord standing before him with compressed lips, shrugged shoulders and hands held out on cither side. 'Bring us any damn' thing, only be quick. I'm off south again in half an hour.' 'What's the news of the war?' called Elleroth across the room.

'Ah, it's going to get rough again now the spring's here, sir,' answered the man. 'There'll be nothing coming up from the south now – no, not for some months, I dare say. General Erketlis is on the'move – likely to drive up east of Lapan, so I've heard.'

Elleroth nodded. The girl returned with a plain earthenware jug, leather beakers and a plate of fresh radishes and watercress. Elleroth filled both cans, drank deeply and then looked up at her open-mouthed, with an exaggerated expression of astonishment and delight. The girl giggled and went away.

'Better than we might have expected,' said Elleroth. 'Well, never mind about the poor boy, Mollo. Put it down to eccentricity on my part. I'll tell you one day. Anyway, it's got nothing to do with what we were talking about on the lake.'

'How did they get their bear back?' asked Mollo, crunching a radish and spreading out his legs towards the brazier. 'What I heard – if it's true it frightens me, and no one's ever told me it's not – was that the bear smashed through the Beklan line and killed Gel-Ethlin as if it knew who he was. That's one thing they can all tell you in Deelguy, because there was a Deelguy contingent in the Beklan army and the bear killed their commander at the same time – tore his throat out You must admit it's all very strange' 'Well?'

'Well, then the bear disappeared as night was falling. But you know where it is now – there, up the hill.' He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

'This man Crendrik – the king – he spent the whole of the following summer tracking it down,' replied Elleroth. 'As soon as the rains ended he went out with his priestesses or whatever they call them and worked over the whole country from Kabin to Terekenalt and from Gelt to the Telthearna. He used to be a hunter, I believe. Well, whether he was or not, he found the bear at last, in some very inaccessible part of the hills: and he fired the whole hillside, including two wretched villages, to force it down to the plain. Then he made it insensible with some kind of drug, hobbled it with chains

'Hobbled it?' interrupted Mollo. 'How on earth do you hobble a bear?'

'They'd learned that no cage could hold it, so I was told, so while it was drugged they fastened its legs to a choke-chain round its neck, so that the more it kicked the more it throttled itself. Then it was dragged to Bekla on an open, wheeled platform in less than two days – something like sixty miles. They had relays of men to take over from one another and never stopped at all. Even so it nearly died -didn't terribly care for the chains, you see. But it only goes to show, my dear Mollo, how much importance the Ortelgans attach to the bear and to what lengths they're prepared to go in anything that concerns it. Telthearna diving-boys they may be, but they're evidently inspired to great heights by that animal.' 'They call it the Power of God,' said Mollo. 'Are you sure it isn't?'

'My dear Mollo, what can you mean? (Let me fill up that leather thing you have there. I wonder whether they have any more of this?'

'Well, I can't account for all that's happened in any other way. Old S'marr feels the same – he said they were meant to win. First the Beklans fail to get any sort of news of what's happened, then they go and split their army in two, then the rains break, then the bear kills Gel-Ethlin just when he's got them beaten and no one in Bekla has the least warning until the Ortelgans are down on them -are you really saying that all that's mere coincidence?'

'Yes, I am,' replied Elleroth, dropping his whimsical manner and leaning over to look straight into Mollo's face. 'An over-civilized people grow complacent and careless and leave the door open for a tribe of fanatical savages, through a mixture of luck, treachery and the foulest inhumanity, to usurp their place for a few years.' 'A few years? It's five years already.'

'Five years are a few years. Are they secure? You know they're not. They're opposed by a brilliant general, with a base as near as Ikat. The Beklan empire is reduced to half of what it was. The southern provinces have seceded – Yelda, Belishba, arguably Lapan. Paltesh would like to secede and daren't. Deelguy and Terekenalt are both enemies, so far as they can spare time from their own troubles. The Ortelgans could be overthrown this summer. That Crendrik – he'll end in Zeray, you mark my words.'

'They're reasonably prosperous – there's plenty of trade still in Bekla.'

'Trade? Yes, what sort of trade, I wonder? And you've only to look round you to see how badly even a place like this is affected. What used to bring more prosperity to Bekla than anything else? Building, masonry, carving – all that sort of craftsmanship. That trade is ruined. There's no labour, the big craftsmen have quietly gone elsewhere and these barbarians know nothing of such work. As for the outer provinces and the neighbouring kingdoms, it's only a very occasional patron who sends to Bekla now. Plenty of trade? What sort of trade, Mollo?' 'Well, the iron comes in from Gelt, and the cattle -' 'What sort of trade, Mollo?*

'The slave trade, is that what you're getting at? Well, but there's slave-trading everywhere. People who lose wars get taken prisoner -'

'You and I fought together once to keep it at that. These men are desperate for trade to pay for their war and feed the subject people they're holding down – desperate for any sort of trade. So it's no longer kept at that. What sort of trade, Mollo?'

'The children, is that what you're getting at? Well, if you want my opinion -'

'Excuse me, gentlemen. I don't know whether you're interested, but I'm told the king is approaching. He'll be crossing the market in a few moments. I thought as you gentlemen seem to be visitors to the city -'

The landlord was standing beside them, smiling obsequiously and pointing out through the entrance.

'Thank you,' replied Elleroth. 'That's very good of you. Perhaps -' he slid another gold piece into the landlord's hand – 'if you could contrive to find some more of this excellent stuff – charming girl, your daughter – oh, your niece? Delightful – we'll return in a few minutes.'

They went out into the colonnade. The square had become hotter and more crowded and the market servants, carrying pitchers and long aspergils of bound twigs, were walking hither and thither, laying the glittering, sandy dust. At a distance, above, the north front of the Barons' Palace stood in shadow, the sun, behind it, glinting here and there upon the marble balustrades of the towers and the trees on the terraces below. As Mollo stood gazing in renewed wonder, the gongs of the city clocks sounded the hour. A few moments afterwards he heard, approaching by the street down which he and Elleroth had come that morning, the ringing of another gong, softer and of a deeper, more vibrant pitch. People were drawing aside, some leaving the square altogether or slipping into the various doorways round the colonnade. Others, however, waited expcctantly as the gong drew nearer. Mollo edged his way between those nearest to him and craned his neck, peering over the beam of the Great Scales.

Two files of soldiers were coming down the hill, pacing slowly on cither side of the street. Although they were armed in the Beklan style, with helmet, shield and short-sword, their dark eyes, black hair and rough, unkempt appearance showed them to be Ortelgans. Their swords were drawn and they were looking vigilantly about them among the crowd. The man bearing the gong, who walked at the head of and between the two files, was dressed in a grey cloak edged with gold and a blue robe embroidered in red with the mask of the Bear. The heavy gong hung at the full extent of his left arm, while his right hand, holding the stick, struck the soft, regular blows which both announced the king's approach and gave their step to the soldiers. Yet the beat was not that of marching men, but rather of solemn procession, or of a sentinel pacing on some terrace or battlement alone.

Behind the man with the gong came six priestesses of the Bear, scarlet-cloaked and adorned with heavy, barbaric jewellery – necklaces of ziltate and penapa, belts of inlaid bronze and clusters of carved, wooden rings so thick that the fingers of their folded hands were pressed apart Their grave faces were those of peasant girls, ignorant of gentle ways and accustomed to a narrow life of daily toil, yet they carried themselves with a dark dignity, withdrawn and indifferent to the staring crowd on either side. At their centre walked the solitary figure of the priest-king.

It had not occurred to Mollo that the king would not be carried -either in a litter or on a chair – or drawn in a cart, perhaps, by caparisoned and gilt-horned oxen. He was taken unwares by this curious lack of state, by this king who walked through the dust of the market-place, who stepped aside to avoid a coil of rope lying in his path and a moment after tossed his head, dazzled by a flash of light reflected from a pail of water. In his curiosity he climbed precariously on the plinth of the nearest column and gazed over the heads of the passing soldiers.

The train of the king's long cloak of blue and green was raised and held behind him by two of the priestesses. Each blue panel bore in gold the mask of the Bear and each green panel the emblem of the sun as a lidded and radiant eye – the Eye of God. His long staff, of polished zoan wood, was bound about with golden filigree; and from the fingers of his gauntlets hung curving, silver claws. His bearing, that neither of a ruler nor a warrior, possessed nevertheless a mysterious and cryptic authority, stark and ascetic, the power of the desert-dweller, and the anchorite. The dark face, haggard and withdrawn, was that of a man who works in solitude, the face of a hunter, a poet or a contemplative. He was young, yet older than his years, going grey before his time, with a stiffness in the movement of one arm which suggested an old injury ill-healed. His eyes seemed fixed on some inward scene which brought him little peace, so that even as he looked about him, raising his hand from time to time in sombre greeting to the crowd, he appeared preoccupied and almost disturbed, as though his thoughts were struggling in disquiet with some lonely anxiety beyond the common preoccupations of his subjects – beyond riches and poverty, sickness and health, appetite, desire and satisfaction. Walking like other men through the dusty market-place in the light of morning, he was separated from them by more than the flanking soldiers and the silent girls; by arcane vocation to an ineffable task. As Mollo watched, there came into his mind the words of an old song: What cried the stone to the chisel? 'Strike, for I am afraid I' What said the earth to the ploughman? 'Ah, the bright blade 1*

The last soldiers were receding at the far end of the square; and as the sound of the gong died away the business of the market resumed. Mollo rejoined Elleroth and together they returned to The Green Grove and their place on the settle. It was now less than an hour to noon and the tavern had become more crowded but, as is often the way, this added to their seclusion rather than otherwise. 'Well, what did you think of the kingly boy?' enquired Elleroth.

'Not what I expected,' answered Mollo. 'He didn't strike me as the ruler of a country at war, that's the size of it'

'My dear fellow, that's merely because you don't understand the dynamic ideas prevalent down on the river where the reeds all shiver. Matters there are determined by resort to hocus-pocus, mumbo-jumbo and even, for all I know, jiggery-pokery – the shades of distinction being fine, you understand. Some barbarians slit animals open and observe portents revealed in the steaming entrails, yum yum. Others scan the sky for birds or storms. Ebon clouds, oh dear! These are what one might term the blood-and-thunder methods. The Telthearna boys, on the other hand, employ a bear. It's all the same in the end – it saves these people from having to think, you know, which they're not terribly good at, really. Bears, dear creatures – and many bears are among my best friends – have to be interpreted no less than entrails and birds, and some magical person has to be found to do it. This man Crendrik-you are right, he could neither command an army in the field nor administer justice. He is a peasant – or at all events he is not of noble birth. He is the wonderful What-Is-It who stepped out of the rainbow – a familiar figure, dear me yes! His monarchy is a magical one: he has taken it upon himself to mediate to the people the power of the bear – the power of God, as they believe.' 'What does he do, then?'

'Ah, a good question. I am glad you asked it. What, indeed? Everything but think, we may be sure. I have no idea what methods he employs – possibly the bear piddles on the floor and he observes portents in the steaming what-not. How would I know? But a crystal ball of some kind there must surely be. One thing I know about the man – and this is genuine enough, for what it's worth. He possesses a certain curious ability to go near the bear without being attacked; apparently he has been known even to touch it and lie down beside it As long as he can go on doing that, his people will believe in his power and therefore in their own. And that no doubt accounts, my dear Mollo, for his having the general air of one finding himself in a leaking canoe with a vivid realization that he cannot swim.' 'How so?'

'Well, one day, sooner or later, the bear is fairly sure to wake up in a bad temper, yes? Growl growl. Biff biff. Oh dear. Applications are invited for the interesting post That, in one form or another, is the inevitable end of the road for a priest-king. And why not? He doesn't have to work, he doesn't have to fight: well, obviously he has to pay for it somehow.'

'If he's the king, why does he walk through the streets on his own two feet?'

'I confess I'm not sure, but I conceive that it may be something to do with his being different in one respect from others of his kind. As a rule, among these roughs, the priest is himself the manifestation of God. They kill him now and then, you know, just to keep him in mind of it Now here, the bear is the divine creature and the gentle-man we have just been admiring represents, as long as he can keep on going near it, a proof that the bear means him, and therefore his people, good and not harm. The bear's savagery is working on their side and against their enemies. They have cornered it until it, as it were, corners him. It may well be the whole point that he is plainly vulnerable and yet remains unharmed – a magic trick. So he takes pains to show that he is indeed a real and ordinary human being, by walking through the city every day.'

Mollo drank and pondered in silence. At last he said, 'You're like a lot of men from Ikat -'

'I come from Lapan, from Lapan, jolly man: from Sarkid, actually; but not from Ikat.'

'Well, like a lot of the southerners. You think everything out trust in your minds and in nothing else. But people up here aren't like that. The Ortelgans have established their power in Bekla – ' 'They have not'

'They have, and principally for one reason. It's not just that they've fought well, and it's not that there's already been a great deal of inter-marriage with Beklan girls – those are just things that follow from the real reason, which is Shardik. How is it that they've succeeded against all probability, unless Shardik is really the power of God? Look what he did for them. Look what they've achieved in his name. Everyone who knows what happened -' 'It's lost nothing in the telling -'

'Everyone feels now what S'marr felt from the outset – they're meant to win. We don't reason it all out like you; we see what's before our eyes, and what's before our eyes is Shardik, that's it'

Elleroth leant forward with his elbows on the table and bent his head, speaking earnestly and low.

'Then let me tell you something, Mollo, that you evidently don't know. Are you aware that the whole worship of Shardik, as carried on here in Bekla, is knowingly contrary to the Ortelgans' traditional and orthodox cult, of which this man they call Crendrik is not and never has been the legitimate head?' Mollo stared. 'What?' 'You don't believe me, do you?'

'I'm not going to quarrel with you, Elleroth, after all we've been through together, but I hold authority under these people – they've made my fortune, if you like, that's it – and you want me to believe that they're -' 'Listen.' Elleroth glanced round quickly and then continued.

'This is not the first time that these people have ruled in Bekla. Long ago they did so; and in those days, too, they worshipped a bear. But it was not kept here. It was kept on an island in the Telthearna – Quiso. The cult was controlled by women – there was no priest-king, no Eye of God. But when at last they lost Bekla and fell from power, their enemies were careful to see that no bear remained to them. The chief priestess and the other women were allowed to stay on their island, but without a bear.' 'Well, the bear's returned at last. Isn't that a sure sign?'

'Ah, but wait, good honest Mollo. All is not told. When the bear returned, as you put it – when they acquired this new model – there was a chief priestess on the island – a woman with the reputation of being no fool. She knows more about disease and healing than any doctor south of the Telthearna – or north of it either, I should think. There's no doubt that she's effected a great many remarkable cures.'

'I think I've heard something about her, now you mention it, but not in connection with Shardik.'

'At the time when this bear first appeared, five or six years ago, she was the recognized and undisputed head of the cult, her office having descended regularly for God only knows how long. And this woman would have nothing to do with the attack on Bekla. She has consistently maintained that that attack was not the will of God but an abuse of the cult of the bear; and consequently she has been kept in virtual imprisonment, with a few of her priestesses, on that Telthearna island, even though the bear – her bear – is being kept in Bekla.' 'Why hasn't she been murdered?'

'Ah, dear Mollo, the penetrating realist – always straight to the point. Why, indeed, has she not been murdered? I don't know, but I dare say they fear her as a sorceress. What she has undoubtedly retained is her reputation as a healer. That was why my brother-in-law travelled a hundred and fifty miles to consult her at the end of last summer.' 'Your brother-in-law? Ammar-Tiltheh is married, then?'

'Ammar-Tildieh is married. Ah, Mollo, do I see a slight shadow cross your face, stemming, as it were, from old memories? She has the kindest memories of you, too, and hasn't forgotten nursing you after that wound which you were so reckless as to get through saving me. Well, Sildain is a very shrewd, sensible fellow -I respect him. About a year ago he got a poisoned arm. It wouldn't heal and no one in Lapan could do it any good, so at last he took it into his head to go and see this woman. He had a job to get on the island – she's kept pretty well incommunicado, it seems. But in the end they let him, partly because he bribed them and partly because they saw he'd probably die if they didn't He was in a bad way by that time. She cured him all right – quite simply, apparently, by applying some sort of mould; that's the trouble about doctors, they always make you do something revolting, like drinking bats' blood – have some more wine? – but while he was there he learned a little – not much -about the extent to which these Ortelgans have abused the cult of the bear. I say not much, because apparently they're afraid that the priestess's very existence may stir up trouble against them and she's watched and spied on all the time. But Sildain told me more or less what I've told you – that she's a wise, honourable and courageous woman; that she's the rightful head of the cult of the bear; that according to her interpretation of the mysteries there was no sign that they were divinely intended to attack Bekla; and that this man Crendrik and that other fellow – Minion, Pinion, whatever he called himself – appropriated the bear by force for their own purposes and that everything that's been done since then has been nothing but blasphemy, if that is the right term.' 'I wonder still more why they haven't murdered her.'

'Apparently it's rather the other way round – they feel the lack of her and they haven't yet given up hope of persuading her to come to Bekla. In spite of all he's done, the Crendrik man still feels great respect for her, but although he's sent several times to beg her to come, she always refuses. Unlike you, Mollo, she won't be a party to their robbery and bloodshed.'

'It still doesn't alter their extraordinary success and the confidence with which they fight. I've got every reason to support them. They've made me governor of Kabin and if they go, I go.'

'Well, they've left me as Ban of Sarkid, if it comes to that. Nevertheless, the number of hoots I give for them is restricted to less than two. Do you think I'd sell the honour of Sarkid for a few meld from these dirty, murderous -'

Mollo laid a hand on his arm, and glanced quickly sideways without moving his head. The landlord was standing just behind the settle, apparently absorbed in trimming the wick of a lamp fixed to the wall. 'Can we have some bread and cheese?' said Elleroth in Yeldashay. The landlord gave no sign that he understood.

'We have to go now, landlord,' said Elleroth, in Beklan. 'Do we owe you anything further?'

'Nothing at all, good sirs, nothing at all,' said the landlord, beaming and presenting each of them with a small model, in iron, of the Great Scales. 'Allow me – a little souvenir of your visit to "The Green Grove". A neighbour makes them – we keep them for our special customers – gready honoured – hope we shall have the pleasure on another occasion – my poor house – always glad

'Tell Tarys to buy herself something pretty,' said Elleroth, putting ten meld on the table.

'Ah, sir, too kind, most generous – she'll be delighted – a charming girl, isn't she? No doubt if you wished -' 'Good morning,' said Elleroth. They stepped out into the colonnadc. 'Do you think he may perhaps make a point of hiding his linguistic abilities from the common light of day?' he asked, as they strolled once more across the market.

'I'd like to know,' answered Mollo. 'I can't help wondering why he trims lamps at noon. Or why he trims lamps at all, if it comes to that, seeing its women's work and he has that girl to help him.' Elleroth was turning the ugly little model over in his hands.

'I feared it – I feared it He must take us for utter fools. Does he think we can't recognize the Gelt iron-mark when we see it? So much for his neighbour who makes them – weighed in the Great Scales and found non-existent.'

He placed the model on a window-sill overlooking the street and then, as an afterthought, bought some grapes from a nearby stall. Having put a grape carefully into each scale, he handed half the remainder to Mollo and they walked on, eating grapes and spitting out the pips.

'But does it really matter whether the fellow understood you or not?' asked Mollo. 'I know I warned you when I saw him standing there, but that's become second nature after all these years. I can hardly believe you could be accused on his evidence, let alone convicted of anything serious. It'd be bis word against mine, anyway, and of course I can't remember hearing you say anything whatever against the Ortelgans.'

'No, I'm not afraid of being arrested for that sort of thing,' answered Elleroth, 'but all the same, I've got my reasons for not wanting these people to know my true feelings.' 'Then you'd better be more careful.' 'Indeed, yes. But I'm rash, you know – such an impetuous boy!' 'I know that,' replied Mollo, grinning. ''Haven't changed, have you?'

'Hardly at all. Ah, now I recall where we are. This brook is the outfall of the Barb, which runs down to what was once the Tamarrik Gate. If we follow it upstream along this rather pleasant path, it will bring us back close to the Peacock Gate, where that surly fellow let us out this morning. Later on, I want to stroll out beyond the Barb as far as the walls on the east side of Crandor.' 'What on earth for?'

'I'll tell you later. Let's talk of old times for the moment Ammar-Tiltheh will be delighted to hear that you and I have met again. You know, if ever you had to leave Kabin, you'd always be welcome in Sarkid for as long as you liked to stay.'

'Leave Kabin? I'm not likely to be able to do that for at least a year or two, though you're very kind.'

'You never know, you never know. It's all a question of what you can – er – bear, as it were. How straight the smoke is going up; and the swifts are high, too. Perhaps the weather is going to be kinder during our stay than I dared to hope.' 26 The King of Bekla The bare hall, built as a mess for common soldiers, was gloomy and ill-ventilated, for the only windows were at clerestory level, the place having been intended for use principally at evening and after nightfall. It was rectangular and formed the centre of the barracks building, its four arcades being surrounded by an ambulatory, off which lay the store-rooms and armouries, the lock-up, lavatories, hospital, barrack-rooms and so on. Almost all the bays of the arcades had been bricked up by the Ortelgans nearly four years ago and the raw, un-rendered brick-work between the stone columns not only added to the ugliness of the hall but imparted also that atmosphere of incongruity, if not of abuse, which pervades a building clumsily adapted for some originally-unintended purpose. Across the centre of the hall, alternate flag-stones of one course of the floor had been prised up and replaced by mortar, into which had been set a row of heavy iron bars with a gate at one end. The bars were tall – twice as high as a man – and curved at the top to end in downward-pointing spikes. The tie-bars, of which there were three courses, overlapped one another and were secured by chains to ring-bolts set here and there in the walls and floor. No one knew the full strength of Shardik, but with time and the full resources of Gelt at his disposal, Baltis had been thorough.

At one end of the hall the central bay of the arcade had been left open and from each side of it a wall had been built at right angles, intersecting the ambulatory behind. These walls formed a short passage between the hall and an iron gate set in the outer wall. From the gate a ramp led down into the Rock Pit.

Between the gate and the bars the floor of the hall was deep in straw and a stable-smell of animal's manure and urine filled the air. For some days past Shardik had remained indoors, listless and eating little, yet starting suddenly up from time to time and rambling here and there, as though goaded by pain and seeking some enemy