“He threw himself into the river.”
“We both know of sane men who have thrown themselves at death, M’Lord.”
“But only at great need! Surely he was mad to do such a thing.”
“Unless he knew the river held less danger to him than we suppose.”
Which simply brought the whole question back to Azkun himself. The man was a walking riddle, if he was still walking and not drowned.
They had enough wood and the sun was dipping. Grath had kept the fire going even though he had been busy. Drinagish had changed his clothes and washed himself in a nearby stream. All there was left to do was to wait.
“I had hoped for a hot bath this evening,” complained Drinagish, “but here we are still in the wilds waiting for a madman who is probably dead.”
“Yes,” murmured Grath, “and we sleep armed for yet another night.”
A look from Hrangil silenced them both and Menish bade them build up the fire.
“You need not concern yourself with sleeping armed, Grath,” Menish grinned half-heartedly. “You'll be on watch most of the night to see if Azkun returns.” But his grin faded quickly. He was too beset by mysteries to be cheerful.
So they watched and waited. Menish and Hrangil by the fire where Menish was careful to keep his leg warm, and the others on watch among the trees around their camp site. Menish had warned them to be careful that Azkun, if he came, was not harmed. There were too many things he might be capable of. And as he sat and stared into the fire, listening to it crackle and pop, he remembered the look of ghastly terror on Azkun’s face just before he ran away. It was not the look of a blasphemed god. It was the look of a hunted animal.
Two hours after sunset Menish heard a scuffle and a cry. It came from the direction Drinagish had gone, but it was not Drinagish’s voice. He heard the heavy footsteps of Althak plunging through the trees towards it. Grath’s silent shadow slipped through the camp, Bolythak crashed through the trees from the other side. Another scuffle.
Menish fretted. What were they doing? Hrangil regarded him as if he had ordered the execution of his only love. But before he could clamber to his feet Azkun emerged from the shadows of the trees.
He entered the firelight as one caught in a trance. He was hurt. A gash snaked across his forehead like the brand of a victim and his left arm hung limply at his side. One side of his face was swollen with bruises. But he made no acknowledgement of his injuries. He approached the fire as if there were nothing else in the world. Althak was on his heels. He did not have to compel him forward. Azkun ignored them all.
But he was hurt. Menish was on his feet before Azkun reached the fire.
“Hrangil, pass that ambroth.” Menish examined the gash on Azkun’s forehead even as he sat and resumed his dumb stare into the fire. The cut was not deep, something had grazed away the skin. He poured some of the liquor into it, washing away the blood-caked grime. Crimson drops oozed from it.
His arm was more serious. Menish felt it carefully and could not find any broken bones, but it hung so limply that he was not sure. Hrangil produced a spare shirt from one of the packs and Menish improvised a sling. All the while Azkun was biddable but mute. He stared at the fire.
Menish checked him for other injuries. Apart from bruising, he seemed whole enough. But he was cold to the touch, and in that chill Menish saw danger. A man could die of cold in these mountains, and Azkun had the look of one who held his grip on life loosely.
“Grath, we need hot food quickly, get some ambroth warmed first. We'll see if he will drink it.” Meanwhile Althak stripped off Azkun’s damp clothing and wrapped him in blankets.
Hrangil hardly moved. He sat across the fire from Azkun and stared silently. Menish understood. He so wanted this man to be Gilish, but who could accept a maimed god? His indecision was furrowed on his brow.
Presently Grath had heated ambroth over the fire while Drinagish and Bolythak saw to roasting some of the meat. Menish held the bowl to Azkun’s lips but he ignored it. The fire held all his attention. Menish gently forced his head back and poured it into his open mouth.
That restored him. He was jerked from his trance by the necessity of coughing. He choked and spluttered so violently that Menish thought he had done him more damage. But after a moment he came to himself; he resumed his stare at the fire, but something in his eyes told Menish that he was now aware of his companions.
“Why did you run?”
Azkun turned towards him slowly, as if he were reluctant to admit to Menish’s presence. A vague smile had stolen across his face, but it faded when his eyes fell on Menish. He swallowed awkwardly, as if what he were about to say were something he would rather keep inside himself.
“I ran from you, from all corruption. But there is corruption everywhere. The river is corrupt, the mountains, all of you.” He spoke calmly and quietly as if he were a priest revealing a great truth to simple folk. Then he turned back to the fire. “But the fire is pure.”
“‘ With my eyes I behold corruption, but in my heart I remember the fire, for fire is pure,” echoed Hrangil. Menish recognised one of the early passages of the Mish-Tal and groaned inwardly. But Azkun had not answered his question.
“In what way are we corrupt?”
“You killed the pig.” Still he spoke calmly, but behind his voice lay the scream of anguish and the look of horror before he had run away. Menish noticed something else.
“You were gone by then. How did you know about the pig?”
“I saw them kill it.” His stare at the fire was something determined now, as if he could burn away pain. “I saw them,” his voice dropped to a whisper. Words such as these would not be spoken out loud. Menish strained to hear him over the crackling of the fire. “I saw their knives and lust in their hearts. A stab,” he winced, “in its side and another,” he pointed to his throat, “and it died.” His hand covered his mouth even as he said the word.
Menish had hunted pigs and other animals since he was old enough to ride. The feelings of the pig had never concerned him.
“But it was just a pig, we hunt them for food.”
Azkun winced again.
“Only for food?”
“Of course…” began Menish, then he stopped. “You don't eat. Is that what you mean? We appall you because we kill for food. To you it is a thing we do for pleasure. Am I right?”
Azkun nodded dumbly.
“It's not what you think. We kill because we must eat. Sometimes we must kill because if we did not we would be killed ourselves, sometimes we kill because of pride or greed, these things are regrettable. But today we killed because we must eat.”
“Therefore,” he shuddered as he spoke. “Therefore I ran from corruption.”
Menish was both exasperated and aware of Azkun’s pain, though he did not really understand. He had tended his hurts with his own hands and in return he had received only an accusation of the crime of eating flesh. His irritation made him want to force answers from the man with his sword, but he could not do that. Hrangil would never forgive him for one thing and, besides, one does not hold a guest at sword point when he has committed no crime.
And he really was aware of Azkun’s pain. He had said that they were corrupt, he had run from them, had risked the river’s violence to escape. And he had returned to the fire. Broken and weary, he had been drawn from the night to the fire he loved. Such things touched Menish. Azkun had already paid a price to return, and he had Thalissa’s eyes. Menish felt he owed him something.
There was nothing more he could do for Azkun just now, he was content with his fire. He did not any of want the meat they were roasting. But Hrangil ached beside him. Menish wanted to do something to ease his friend.
“Did not Gilish renounce flesh at one time?” he asked him in a low voice. Hrangil turned worried eyes towards him.
“Indeed, Sire. At the building of the Lansheral he declared he would not eat meat until it was completed.” Hrangil replied warily.
Menish laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell us, then, of the building of the Lansheral.”
Hrangil hesitated as if he no longer trusted Menish, but he rose to his feet and stood before the fire. He
