The Tuginda moaned, her face twisted as though in pain. He crossed to the bed and knelt to support her with one arm around her shoulders.
"Rest, saiyett. You are among friends. Be at peace."
She was speaking, very low, and he put his ear to her lips.
"Shardik! To find--Lord Shardik--"
She ceased, and again he sat beside her.
His love for Melathys, he knew now, had lain dormant in his heart from the first. The girl on the terrace, her great, golden collar glinting in the flame-light; the girl who had played, immune, with the point of the arrow and the edge of the sword, as a goddess might play with cataracts or lightning; who, uninstructed and unquestioning, had divined the importance of his coming to Quiso--this memory had never left him. Of his admiration and awe for her he had certainly been conscious, but how could he, the ragged, dirty hunter who had fallen senseless to the ground for fear of the magic of Quiso, possibly have suspected, then, that desire also had sown its seed in his heart? To desire a priestess of Quiso--the very thought, entertained, was sacrilege. He recalled the events of that night--the anger of Bel-ka-Trazet, the bewitched landing on Quiso in the dark, the crossing of the swaying bridge over the ravine, the sight of Rantzay and Anthred walking among the glowing embers, and, weighing heavier than all, the burden of the news which he bore. Small wonder that he had not dwelled much upon the nature of his feeling for Melathys. And yet, unregarded, as though germinating its own life independently and alone, deep below his consuming preoccupation with Shardik, his cryptic love had taken root. In his pity for Melathys, he now realized, there had lain an unrecognized satisfaction in finding that human weakness had its part even in her; that she, like any other mortal, could stand in need of comfort and encouragement. Lastly, he recalled the night when the High Baron and he had discovered her flight. "That girl had some sense," the Baron had said. At the sardonic words he himself had felt not only resentment, but also anguish that Melathys, like the golden berries of the melikon, should have proved worthless, have drifted away with the river, to be seen no more. And yet another feeling he recalled which had come into his heart--and how, he wondered, could he possibly have failed to perceive the significance of this?--a sense of personal loss and betrayal. Already, even at that time, he had unconsciously begun to think of her as in some sense his own and, though strong then and confident in his own integrity, had felt neither contempt nor anger at her flight, but only disappointment. Since that night, neither she nor anyone had betrayed him so thoroughly as he had betrayed himself. If she had wept for forgiveness in the graveyard, what was his need?
He thought, too, of his unforced chastity in Bekla; of his indifference to both the luxury at his command and the outward grandeur of his kingship; of his continual sense that there was some truth that he still lacked. The great secret to be imparted through Shardik, the secret of life which he had never found--this, he still knew, was no figment. This he had not confused with his unrecognized love for Melathys. Yet--and now he frowned, puzzled and uncertain--in some mysterious way the two were connected. With the help of the second he might, perhaps, have succeeded, after all, in finding the first.
Just as the Tuginda had warned, the conquest of Bekla had proved to have nothing to do with the truth of Shardik, had served only to impede the search and hinder the divine disclosure of that truth. Now that Shardik was lost forever, he himself had awoken, like a drunkard in a ditch, to the recollection of folly, while the magic girl among the bowls of fire had become a disgraced fugitive, familiar with fear, with lust and violence. Error and shame, he reflected, were the inescapable lot of mankind; yet still it comforted him to think that Melathys too had a part in this bitter inheritance. If, somehow, he could save her life and bring her and the Tuginda to safety, then perhaps he might at last beg the Tuginda's forgiveness and, if Melathys would consent to come with him, journey far away and forget the very name of Shardik, of whom he had proved himself so unworthy.
Hearing Melathys call from beyond the courtyard, he went out and unbarred the door. The girl's news was that Farrass and Thrild, those followers of the Baron whom she herself felt were most to be trusted, were ready to speak with him if he would go to meet them. Asking Ankray to make the journey once again as his guide, he set out to cross Zeray.
Despite all that he had heard, he was unprepared for the squalor and filth, the sullen, half-starved faces peering as he went by, the miasma of want, fear and violence that seemed to rise out of the very dirt underfoot. Those whom he passed on the waterfront were hollow-cheeked and gray-faced, sitting or lying listlessly as they stared out at the choppy water racing down the midstream channel and the deserted eastern shore beyond. He saw no shops and no one plying a trade, unless indeed it were a shivering, potbellied child with a basket, who waded knee-deep in the shallows, stooping and searching--for what, Kelderek could not tell. Upon arriving at his destination, like one awaking from a dream, he could recall few details, retaining only an undifferentiated impression of menace sensed rather than observed, and of hard glances which he had found himself unwilling to meet. Once or twice, indeed, he had stopped and tried to look about him, but Ankray, without presuming in so many words to warn him, had contrived to convey that they would do better to keep on their way.
Farrass, a tall, thin-faced man, dressed in torn clothes too small for him and carrying a club at his belt, sat lengthwise, with one foot up, on a bench, looking warily at Kelderek and continually dabbing with a rag at an oozing sore on his cheek.
"Melathys says you were the Ortelgan king of Bekla."
"It's true, but I'm seeking no authority here."
Thrild, dark, slight and quick-moving, grinned where he leaned against the window ledge, biting a splinter of kindling wood between his teeth.
"That's as well, for there's little to be had."
Farrass hesitated, reluctant, like everyone east of the Vrako, to ask questions about the past. At length, shrugging his shoulders like a man deciding that the only way to have done with an awkward job is to get on with it, he said, "You were deposed?"
"I fell into the hands of the Yeldashay army at Kabin. They spared my life but sent me across the Vrako."
"Santil's army?"
"Yes."
"They're at Kabin?"
"They were six days ago."
"Why did they spare you?"
"One of their principal officers persuaded them. He had his reasons."
"And you chose to come to Zeray?"
"I fell in with an Ortelgan priestess in the forest, a woman who was once my friend. She was seeking--well, seeking Bel-ka-Trazet. She's lying sick now at the Baron's house."
Farrass nodded. Thrild grinned again. "We're in distinguished company."
"The worst," replied Kelderek. "I want only to save my life and the priestess's--by helping you, perhaps."
"How?"
"That's for you to say. I've been assured of death if I fall into the hands of the Yeldashay army a second time. So if Santil accepts Bel-ka-Trazet's offer and sends troops to Zeray, it's likely to turn out badly for me unless you can persuade them to give me a safe-conduct out of here. That's the bargain I'm hoping to drive with you."
Farrass, chin on hand, looked at the floor, frowning and pondering, and again it was Thrild who spoke.
"You mustn't overestimate us. The Baron had some authority when he was alive, but without him we've less and less. We're safe ourselves for the time being and that's about as far as it goes. It's little regard the Yeldashay would be likely to have for any request we made of them."
"You've already done us a good turn," said Farrass, "by bringing news that Santil's at Kabin. Did you hear whether he ever received the Baron's message?"
"No. But if he thinks that there are fugitive slave traders this side of the Vrako it's quite possible that Yeldashay troops have already crossed it. Whether or not, I think you should send him another messenger at once, and at all costs try to hold things together here until you get an answer."
"If he's at Kabin," replied Farrass, "our best hope, though it may not be yours, will be to go there ourselves, with Melathys, and ask him to let us go on to Ikat."
"Farrass here never really believed in the scheme for Santil to come and take Zeray," said Thrild. "Now the Baron's dead I agree with him. The Baron would have had the place ready to offer--we haven't. We'd do better to get out now and go and meet the Ikats at Kabin. You must understand our position. We don't pretend to keep law and order. A man in Zeray is free to murder and steal as long as he doesn't become so dangerous that it's safer for us to kill him than let him alone. All but a few of the men in this place have committed some serious crime. If they were to learn that we'd invited Ikat soldiers to come and take the town, they'd up and go for us like cornered rats. It's not worth our while to try to carry on with the Baron's plan."
"But there's no wealth in Zeray. Why do they kill and steal here?"
Thrild threw up his hands. "Why? For food, what else? In Zeray, men starve. The Baron once hanged two Deelguy for killing and eating a child. In Zeray, men eat caterpillars--dig mud-skapas out of the river to boil for soup. Do you know the gylon?"
"The glass-fly? Yes. I grew up on the Telthearna, you know."
"Here, at midsummer, the swarms cover the river inshore. People scoop them up in handfuls and eat them thankfully."
"It's only because those of us who supported the Baron know that we must either keep together or die," said Farrass, "that none of us has so far tried to take his woman. A quarrel among ourselves would mean the end of all of us. But that can't last. Someone's bound to try soon. She's pretty."