by seeking that death, for however events might turn out it seemed certain. If Erkcdis were victorious but nevertheless sent no troops east of the Vrako, either because he had never received Bel-ka-Trazet's message or because it had found no favour with him, then sooner or later he himself would the from violence or sickness, either in Zeray or in the attempt to escape from it. But if Erketlis' troops, crossing the Vrako, were to come upon him in Zeray or elsewhere – and it was likely enough that they would be keeping their eyes open for him – he had Elleroth's word for it that they would put him to death. If Erketlis were defeated, it was possible that Zelda and Ged-la-Dan, coming to Kabin, might send soldiers across the Vrako to seek Shardik. But once Shardik was known to be dead, they would not trouble themselves about his former priest-king. And if the discredited priest-king were to attempt to return from Zeray, whether to Bekla or to Ortelga, he would not be suffered to live.
Never again would he posture and ape the part of Shardik's mediator to the people. Nor ever again could he become the single-hearted visionary who, fearless in his divinely-imparted elation, had walked and slept beside Shardik in the woods of Ortelga. Why, then, despite his resolve four days ago in Ruvit's hovel, despite his unlessencd shame and remorse, did he now find in himself the will to live? Mere cowardice, he supposed. Or perhaps it was that some remaining streak of pride, which had encouraged him to entertain the thought of a deliberate death of atonement, resented the prospect of dying on an Ikat sword or a Zeray criminal's knife. Whatever the reason, he found himself considering whether he might not attempt – however desperate the odds against him – first to bring the Tuginda back to Quiso, and then perhaps to escape to some country beyond the Telthearna. Yet mere survival, he realized as he pondered, was not the whole of the motive which had changed his earlier resolve to die.
Into his mind returned the picture of the beautiful, white-robed girl who had paced by night across the flame-lit terrace above the Ledges of Quiso, the girl whose craven fear in the woods of Ortelga had aroused in himself nothing but pity and the wish to protect and comfort her. She, like him, had found unexpectedly the self- deceit and cowardice in her own heart and, having once, no doubt, believed of herself that Shardik had no more loyal and trustworthy servant, had learned with bitter shame that the truth was otherwise. Since then she had suffered still more. Abandoning Shardik and throwing herself upon the world, she had found the world's misery but never the world's pleasure. Guilt, cruelty and fear must almost have destroyed in her the natural power to love any man or to look for any security or joy from a man's love. But – and here, releasing the Tuginda's hand, he sprang up and began striding back and forth across the room – perhaps that power was not beyond saving; not drowned beyond hope of recovery by one ready to show that he valued it above all else?
The Tuginda moaned, her face twisted as though in pain. He crossed to the bed and knelt to support her with one arm round her shoulders. 'Rest, saiyett You are among friends. Be at peace.' She was speaking, very low, and he put his car 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 dwelt 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 liim 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 both to 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 for ever, 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 water-front were hollow-cheeked and grey-faced, sitting or lying listlessly as they stored 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, pot-bellied 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 lengthways, with one foot up, on a bench, looking warily at Kelderek and continually dabbing with a rag at an oozing sore on his check. '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 leant 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 cast 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?*
