person, upon whom life used to press with other, lighter fingers than those which he has since learned to endure. With no less a shock did Kelderek feel himself once more the Eye of God, Lord Crendrik the priest-king of Bekla; and recall on the instant the smells of fog and of smouldering charcoal, the sour taste in his mouth and the murmur from behind him as he faced the bars in the King's House, trying to gaze into eyes that he could not meet; the eyes of the condemned Elleroth. Then the fit was gone and he was staring in perplexity at a youth tossing a yellow-haired child in his arms.
At this moment the slave-dealer stood up, calling, 'Eh! Shouter! Bled! Get moving!' Leaving his pack on the ground, he strode down the length of the glade, snapping his fingers to bring the children to their feet and, without speaking again, hustling them into a group at the further end. He stopped beside the tall youth, who stood looking at him with the little girl still held in his arms. She cowered away, hiding her face, and as she did so the youth put one hand on her shoulder.
After a few moments it became plain that the slave-dealer meant to stare the boy down and subdue him without word or blow. Tense and wary, the boy returned his stare. At length, speaking in halting Beklan with a strong Yeldashay accent, he said, 'She's not strong enough to stand this much longer and there's no profit to you if she dies. Why don't you leave her outside the next village?'
The dealer drew his knife. Then, as the boy still waited for his reply, he took from his belt an iron object in the shape of two half-circles, each bluntly barbed at either end and joined together by a short bar. The boy hesitated a moment, then lowered his eyes, pressed his lips together and, still carrying the little girl, walked away to join the other children.
At the same moment a scowling youth, a little older than the rest, with a cast in one eye and a birthmark across his face, came running up to Kelderek. He was dressed in a torn leather tunic and carried a pliant stick as long as his arm.
'Come on, you too,' said the boy in a kind of savage bellow, like a peasant cursing a beast with which he has lost patience. 'Mucking get up, come on.' Kelderek got to his feet and stood looking down at him. 'What do you want me to do?' he asked.
'Don't answer me back,' shouted the boy, raising his stick. 'Get on up there, and look sharp about it, too.'
Kelderek shrugged his shoulders and went slowly towards the group of children at the far end of the glade. There must be, he reckoned, about twenty or twenty-five of them, all boys, their ages varying, as near as he could tell, from fourteen to nine or ten, though of this it was hard to be sure, their condition being so dreadful and their appearance so much more wretched than that of even the poorest children he had ever seen in Bekla or Ortelga. A smell of stale filth came from them and a cloud of flies darted back and forth above their heads. One boy, leaning against a tree-trunk, coughed continually, doubling himself up while a mucous, dysenteric flux ran down the inside of his legs. A fly settled on his ear and he struck at it. Kelderek, following the movement, saw that the lobe was pierced by a ragged hole. He looked at another of the children. His ear, too, was pierced. Puzzled, he looked at the next and the next. In each case the lobe of the right ear was pierced.
The slave-dealer, now carrying his pack, together with a heavy bow strapped to one side of it, passed him and made his way to the head of the gang. Here a second boy was waiting. He also, like the boy who had shouted at Kelderek, was carrying a stick and dressed in a leather tunic. Short and squat, he looked more like a dwarf than a child. His back was bent by some kind of curvature and his long hair covered his shoulders, perhaps to hide this deformity to some extent. As the children began to shuffle forward, following the dealer, Kelderek noticed that all lowered their eyes as they passed this dwarfish boy. The boy for his part stood staring at each in turn, leaning towards them, his body tense, his knees a little bent, as though scarcely able to restrain himself from leaping upon and striking them then and there. Feeling a touch on his back, Kelderek turned and met the eyes of the tall lad, who as he walked was holding the little girl's ankles and carrying her over his shoulder like a sack.
'Take care not to look at Bled as you pass,' whispered the lad. 'If he catches your eye he'll set upon you.' Then, as Kelderek frowned in bewilderment, he added, 'He's mad, or as good as mad.'
Heads averted, they passed the hunched figure and followed the straggling children into the forest. The pace was so slow that Kelderek, as often as it caught, was at leisure to stoop and disentangle his chain. After a little the youth whispered again, 'It's easier if you walk exactly behind the boy in front and put your feet down one directly in front of the other. The chain's less likely to catch then.' 'Who is this man?' whispered Kelderek.
'Good God, don't you know?' answered the boy. 'Genshed – you must have heard of him?'
'Once, in Kabin, I heard that name: but where is he from? He's not a Beklan slave-dealer.'
'He is – he's the worst of the lot I'd heard of him long before I dreamt I'd ever see him, let alone fall into his hands. Did you see him threaten me with the fly-trap just now, when I was trying to speak to him about Shara here?' 'The fly-trap?' replied Kelderek. 'What's that?'
'That thing he's got on his belt. It forces your mouth open -wide open – and you can't shut it. I know, it doesn't sound bad, does it? I thought that once. My father would be ashamed of me, I suppose, but I couldn't stand it again, not another two hours of it.' 'But-' 'Careful, don't let Shouter hear you.'
They fell silent as the scowling youth ran past them to disentangle the chain of a child who had tripped and was apparently too weak to release it for himself. A little later, as they began edging their way forward again, Kelderek said, 'Tell me more about this man and how you came to fall into his hands. You're a Yeldashay, aren't you?' 'My name is Radu, heir of Elleroth, Ban of Sarkid.'
Kelderek realized that he had known from the first who the boy must be. He made no reply and after a little the boy said, 'Don't you believe me?' 'Yes, I believe you. You're very like your father.' 'Why, do you know him?' 'Yes – that is, I've seen him.' 'Where? In Sarkid?' 'In Kabin.' 'Kabin of the Waters? Why, when was he there?' 'Not long ago. In fact, he may be there now.' 'With the army? You mean General Santil's in Kabin?' 'He was, a short time ago.' 'If only my father were here, he'd kill this swine in a moment.' 'Steady,' said Kelderek, for the boy's voice had risen hysterically. 'Here, let me take the little girl. You've carried her long enough.' 'She's used to me – she may cry.'
But Shara, half asleep, lay as quietly on Kelderek's shoulder as she had on Radu's. He could feel her bones. She was very light. For the twentieth time they halted, waiting for the children in front to go on.
'I heard in Kabin,' said Kelderek, 'that you'd fallen into this man's hands. How did it happen?'
'My father was away on a secret visit to General Santil – even I didn't know where he'd gone. I heard from one of our tenants that Genshed was in the province. I wondered what my father would want me to do – what he might be glad to hear I'd done when he came back. I decided not to tell my mother anything about Genshed – she'd have told me not to stir off the estate. It seemed to me that the right thing would be to go and talk to my uncle Sildain, my father's sister's husband. We always got on well together. I thought he'd know what to do. I took my own servant with me and set out.' He paused. 'And you ran into the slave-dealer?' asked Kelderek.
'I acted like a child. I can see that now. Toroc and I were resting in a wood and keeping no look-out at all. Genshed shot Toroc through the throat – he knows how to use that bow. I was still on my knees beside Toroc when Shouter and Bled rushed me and knocked me down. Genshed hadn't any idea who I was – I hadn't bothered to put on any particular clothes, you see. When I told them, Shouter was for releasing me at once, before the whole place came round their ears, but Genshed wouldn't have it. I suppose he means to get back to Terekenalt somehow and then demand a ransom. He'd get more that way than ever he could by selling me as a slave.' 'But evidently he wasn't interested in capturing your servant.'
'No, and it's strange that he's taken you. It's well-known that he deals only in children. He has his market for them, you see' 'His market?'
'In Terekenalt. You know what he does? Even the other dealers won't touch the trade he goes in for. The boys are castrated and sold to – well, to people who want to buy them. And the girls -I suppose -I suppose it must be worse for the girls.' 'But there are no girls here – only this little one with you.'
'There were girls, earlier on. I'll tell you what happened after I was captured. Genshed went on eastwards – he didn't turn back into Paltesh. We never heard why, of course, but I think probably the whole of Sarkid was up behind him, looking for me. All the routes into Paltesh must have been watched. By the time we got into eastern Lapan he had over fifty children altogether, boys and girls. There was a girl, about my age, her name was Reva – a gentle, timid kind of girl who'd never been away from home in her life. I never learned how she came to be sold to Genshed. Shouter and Bled, they used to – you know.'
'Genshed allowed that?'
'Oh, no. They weren't supposed to, of course. But he's not quite sure of them, you see. He can't do without
