Hearing a movement behind him, Kelderek leapt about. But the man who had returned was still unarmed.
'Now ye must go, sir,' he whispered, staring at Kelderek and trembling as at the supernatural. 'I never seen the like of this before, but I know what's appointed if ever they comes alive from the Streel. Now that ye've seen, ye'll know that the creature's passed beyond us and our power. It's the will of God. Only, in His name, sir, spare us and go!'
Upon this all three fell to their knees, clasping their hands and looking at him with such patent fear and supplication that he could not tell what to make of it.
'There's none will touch ye now, sir,' said the first man at last, 'neither we nor any others. If ye wish, I'll go with you, any way ye please, as far as the borders of Urtah. Only go!'
'Very well,' replied Kelderek, 'you shall come with me, and if any more of you dung-bred bastards try to betray me, you'll be the first to die. No – leave your spear and come.'
But after some three miles he turned loose his wretched, abject hostage, who seemed to fear him as he would a risen ghost; and once more went on alone, following warily the distant form of Shardik wandering northward across the vale.
35 Shardik's Prisoner
Little by little the knowledge grew upon Kelderek that he was a vagabond in strange country, without friends, far from help, straitened by need and moving in danger. It was not until later still that he realized also that he had become the prisoner of Shardik.
It was plain that the bear had been further weakened by its latest wound. Its pace was slower, and although it continued towards the hills – now clearly visible on the northern horizon – with the same resolution, it stopped to rest more often and from time to time showed its distress by sudden wincings and unnatural, sharp movements. Kelderek, who now feared less the sudden onset of its swift, inescapable charge, followed it more closely, sometimes actually calling, 'Courage, Lord Shardik!' or 'Peace, Lord Shardik, your power is of God!' Once or twice it seemed to him that Shardik recognized his voice and even took comfort from it.
The night came on sharp and although Shardik rested for several hours, lying in full view on the open ground, Kelderek for his part could not remain still, but paced about, watching from a distance until, when the night was nearly over, the bear suddenly got up, coughing pitifully, and set off once more, its laboured breadiing clearly audible across the silence.
Kelderek's hunger grew desperate and later that morning, seeing in the distance two shepherds settlng a fold of hurdles, he ran half a mile to them, intending to beg anything – a crust, a bone – while still keeping Shardik in sight. To his surprise they proved friendly, simple fellows, plainly pitying his want and fatigue and ready enough to help him when he told them that, although bound by a religious vow to follow the great creature which they could see in the distance, he had desperate need to send a message to Bekla. Encouraged by their goodwill, he went on to tell them of his escape the day before. As he finished he looked up to see them staring at one another in fear and consternation. 'The Streels! God have mercy!' muttered one. The other put half a loaf and a little cheese on the ground and backed away, saying, 'There's food!' and then, like the man with the spear, 'Do us no harm, sir – only go!' Yet here, indeed, they were more prompt than Kelderek, for thereupon both of them took to their heels, leaving their trimming-knives and mallets lying where they were among the hurdles.
That night Shardik made for a village and through this Kelderek passed unchallenged and seen of none, as though he had been some ghost or cursed spirit of legend, condemned to wander invisible to earthly eyes. On the outskirts Shardik killed two goats, but the poor beasts made little noise and no alarm was raised. When he had eaten and limped away Kelderek ate too, crouching in the dark to tear at the warm, raw flesh with fingers and teeth. Later he slept, too tired to wonder whether Shardik would be gone when he woke.
The singing of birds was in his ears before he opened his eyes, and at first this seemed natural and expected, the familiar sound of daybreak, until he recalled, with an instant sinking of the heart, that he was no more a lad in Ortelga, but a wretched man alone and lying on the Beklan plain. Yet on the plain, as well he knew, there were scarcely any trees and therefore no birds, save buzzards and larks. At this moment he heard men talking near by and, without moving, half-opened his eyes. He was lying near the track down which he had followed Shardik in the night. Beside him the flies were already crawling on the goat-leg which he had wrenched off and carried away with him. The country was no longer plain-land, but an arboreous wilderness interspersed with small fields and fruit orchards. At a little distance, the wooden rails of a bridge showed where the track crossed a river, and beyond lay a thick, tangled patch of woodland.
Four or five men were standing about twenty paces off, talking together in low voices and scowling in his direction. One was carrying a club and the others rough, hoe-like mattocks, the farming peasant's only tool. Their angry looks were mixed with a kind of uncertainty, and as it came to Kelderek that these were no doubt the owner of the goats and his neighbours, he realized also that he must indeed have become a figure of fear – armed, gaunt, ragged and filthy, his face and hands smeared with dried blood and a haunch of raw flesh lying beside him.
He leapt up suddenly and at this the men started, backing quickly away. Yet peasants though they were, he had still to reckon with them. After a little hesitation they advanced upon him, halting only when he drew Kavass's sword, set his back against a tree and threatened them in Ortelgan, caring nothing whether they understood him, but taking heart from the sound of his own voice.
'You just put that sword down, now, and come with us/ said one of the men gruffly. 'Ortelgan – Bekla!' cried Kelderek, pointing to himself.
'It's a thief you are,' said another, older man. 'And as for Bekla, it's a long way off and they'll not help you, for they've trouble enough of their own, by all accounts. You're in the wrong, now, whoever you are. You just come with us.'
Kelderek remained silent, waiting for them to rush him, but still they hesitated, and after a little he began to retreat watchfully down the track. They followed, shouting threats in their patois, which he could barely understand. He shouted angrily back and, feeling with his left hand the rails of the bridge close behind him, was about to turn and run when suddenly one of them pointed past him with a triumphant laugh. Looking quickly round, he saw two men approaching the bridge from the other side. Evidently there had been a wide hunt for the goat-robber.
The bridge was not high and Kelderek was about to vault the parapet – though this could have done little more than prolong the hunt – when all the men, both those in front of him and close behind, suddenly cried out and ran, pelting away in all directions. Unassailable and conclusive as nightfall on a battlefield, Shardik had come from the wood and was standing near the track, peering into the sunlight and miserably fumbling at his wounded neck with one huge paw. Slowly, and as though in pain, he made his way to the edge of the stream and drank, crouching not more than a few paces from the further end of the bridge. Then, dull-eyed, with dry muzzle and staring coat, he limped away into the cover of the thicket.
Still Kelderek stood on the bridge, oblivious of whether or not the peasants might return. At the commencement of this, the fourth day since he had left Bekla, he felt an almost complete exhaustion, beyond that merely of the body, a total doubting of the future and a longing, like that which comes upon the hard-pressed soldiers of an army which is losing, but has not yet lost, a battle, at any cost to desist from further struggle for the moment, to rest, let come what may, although they know that to do so means that the fight can be renewed only at greater disadvantage. The calf muscle of his right leg was strained and painful. Two of Mollo's stab wounds, those in his shoulder and hip, throbbed continually. But more dispiriting even than these was the knowledge that he had failed in his self-appointed task, inasmuch as Shardik could not now be recaptured before he reached the hills. Looking northward over the trees, he could see clearly the nearer slopes, green, brown and shadowy purple in the morning light. They might perhaps be six, eight miles away. Shardik too must have seen them. He would reach them by nightfall. Weeks – perhaps months – would now have to be spent in hunting him through that country – an old bear, grown cunning and desperate by reason of earlier capture. There was no remedy but that the Ortelgans would have to undertake the most wearisome of all labour – that which has to be performed in order to put right what should never have gone amiss.
That morning he had escaped certainly injury; possibly death, for it was unlikely that the rough justice of the peasants would have spared an Ortelgan: and who now would believe that he was the king of Bekla? An armed
