Maia

53: SELPERRON BUYS SOME FLOWERS

It was not often that Selperron-a merchant of Kabin- came up to Bekla. Indeed, he had done so only twice before in his life; once as a youth, together with his parents, though that, of course, had been many years ago now, and in the same of Senda-na-Say. Selperron was a dealer in oxhides and other animal skins, though he was also not above such side-lines as river shells and the plumes marketed by the Ortelgan forest hunters. For some time past business had been improving. Apart from the buoyant state of the market, however, his elder son was now of an age to be useful in the business, while his second wife (for Selperron had been widowed some four years before) was a brisk, competent woman, as good as a man when it came to dealing with customers and reckoning profit and loss.

For the first time in years, therefore, he had felt able, this summer, to afford time and money for a trip to Bekla, leaving the business in safe hands. It should not, in fact, prove an unduly expensive jaunt (unless he were to make it so), since he had arranged to stay with an old friend, one N'Kasit, a Kabinese in the same line of business, who had rather unexpectedly uprooted himself and gone to Bekla four years before. N'Kasit had been fortunate enough to obtain from General Kembri a contract (though not a monopoly) to supply leather to the army, and was now doing well. Selperron had sent him consignments of hides at profit, for Bekla's selling prices were higher than Ka-bin's; and N'Kasit, during a visit home the year before, had suggested that Selperron should himself accompany his next consignment up to Bekla. Selperron had felt attracted by the idea; and now, in short, the trip had really come about.

The journey, in a convoy of ox-cart carriers, slave-gangers and their wares, three or four other travelers like himself and the usual half-company of soldiers for protection (who cost far too much, but it was that or nothing), had been somewhat wearisome. Once, he might rather have enjoyed it, but Selperron had now reached a time of life (and fortune) when he preferred comfort and good food, and somehow the inns along the road had not proved all that he seemed to remember. Among the slaves there had been a girl who wept continually, and this, too-being

a kindly and impressionable man-he had found a trial.

Once they reached Bekla, however, he had at once felt all the fascination and excitement of earlier days. At the first, distant sight of the slender, balconied towers, the Peacock Wall extending above the lower city and the Palace of the Barons crowning the Leopard Hill beyond, his spirits had soared. Coming in through the Blue Gate, he had been delighted by the tumult and crowds all about him. Forgoing a jekzha-for he fancied the idea of stopping as he pleased to look around him-he had hired a lad with a barrow for his baggage-roll and strolled beside him along the streets, noting not so much the buildings, or even the Tamarrik Gate and the temple, as the goods displayed for sale and the trafficking at the shops and stalls. Merely to see brisk business going on and things being bought and sold gave pleasure to Selperron, and by the time he reached N'Kasit's house, near the western clock tower, he was in even better humor and more than ready to reciprocate his friend's greetings and polite inquiries after his family and old acquaintances in Kabin. The first evening they had dined at home, after which Selperron had slept long and comfortably, undisturbed by any night-sounds of the city.

And now here they were together, idling on a midsummer day, taking their leisure and seeing the sights, the sun pleasantly warm on their backs and the city babble and savors and throngs all around them as they sauntered up the Kharjiz towards Storks Hill and Masons Street. On the bridge over the Monju Brook N'Kasit stopped and they leaned side by side over the parapet, looking upstream to where the water ran glittering round the curve at the base of the Tower of the Orphans. Further down in their direction was a little garden, and here a weeping willow overhung the stream, its branches forming a kind of watery arbor as they trailed in the slack current.

"Did you do well this last Melekril?" asked Selperron after a time. He spoke with appropriately off-hand diffidence-a blend between the natural interest of a business associate and a friend wishing to seem politely but not unduly inquisitive.

"That's-well-quite a difficult question to answer, even two or three months after," replied N'Kasit. "As things have turned out, I'm still overstocked. It's a damned nui-

sance having money tied up in stuff that's been on my hands as long as this."

"Well," answered Selperron, "one beauty of our line of business is that at least stock doesn't go bad on you. That market-girl over there's got to sell her fruit quick, but you and I can always hang on to hides and wait for our return."

"Normally, yes," said N'Kasit, "and as a rule, if a proportion of Melekril stock's not been taken off my hands before the spring festival I'm not much troubled; but this time I was fully expecting to be robbed and possibly murdered into the bargain."

Selperron stared and shook his head, looking suitably concerned. "We heard all kinds of rumors in Kabin, but thank Cran everything stayed quiet enough down there."

"You should just have been up here, then," replied N'Kasit. "After the murder of the High Counselor that night, no one knew what to expect. People were burying their valuables and even sending their wives and children away-those who could afford to. A lot of them were expecting another revolution, like the time when Senda-na-Say was killed."

"But of course it didn't come to that," replied Selperron.

"No: but there was a fair amount of robbery and looting, you see, and some people were saying it must have been organized. And then not long after the murder Santil-ke-Erketlis came out against Bekla, and young Elleroth joined him from Sarkid. So we didn't know but what there mightn't be some sort of heldro bunch organizing trouble here in the city-just as Fornis's supporters did before she came up from Dari getting on for eight years ago. I don't mind telling you, I was scared. There simply weren't enough soldiers here, you see; most of them had just left for the Valderra. I asked for an armed guard for the warehouse, but I never got a man. Think of it-forty or fifty thousand melds' worth of portable stock and only me and a night-watchman! I slept there myself for three or four nights- me and my man Malendik. We had one sword and a knife between us, that's all. But nothing came of it, thank the gods; and as I was saying, about half the stock's still there now, waiting to be sold. Well, it's no good worrying."

Wandering on down the Kharjiz, they came to the foot of Storks Hill and then to the edge of the temple precinct and the Tamarrik Gate beyond. Here they stopped to watch Fleitil and his men on their scaffolding, putting the finishing

touches to big-bellied Airtha of the Diadem, while below, a painter was beginning his task of coloring the relief panels round the plinth, which depicted the seven beatific acts of the goddess. Selperron wondered what proportion of the taxes he had paid last year might have gone into the gold leaf of the goddess's cloak, her jeweled nipples and the silver wire braiding her hair. He himself was not much in favor of spending public money on this kind of thing, but maybe such civic splendors were indirectly good for business-who could tell?

"They say Santil's got all of two thousand men under arms in the Chalcon hills," said N'Kasit after a time.

"I suppose he would have, counting Elleroth's lot," answered Selperron. "But surely that's nowhere near enough to bother the Leopards, is it? After all, he can't really do more than lurk about in Chalcon, playing tip-and-run. He couldn't even consider trying to take Thettit, for instance."

"Maybe not," said N'Kasit. "But all the same, the Leopards have got to take some notice of him, haven't they? Kembri's had to drop his idea of attacking Karnat in Suba, I know that. Thettit's been garrisoned, you know, and that takes men away from the Valderra for a start."

"Was anyone ever arrested for the murder?" said Selperron.

N'Kasit shook his head. "That's the extraordinary thing. Of course, there were hundreds of people coming into the upper city all that afternoon and evening-guests and so on-and I suppose the surveillance at the gate can't have been as strict as usual. After the murder, of course, the whole place was searched from end to end, but there wasn't anyone who couldn't account for themselves."

Selperron chuckled. "That High Counselor-he was basting one of his girls in a boat, or something, wasn't he? A black girl, didn't I hear?"

"Yes, that's right. They had her into the temple for questioning, and that's the last I remember hearing about her. But if they've put her to death it certainly wasn't in public, so I suppose they must have decided she wasn't involved. She was rumored to be some sort of witch or sorceress, I remember hearing. Quite a lot of the young bloods in the upper city were very taken with her at one time; but that was last year. Once the temple got hold of her she just vanished; dead, for all I know. Anyway, no one's any nearer the truth about the murder."

"There've been arrests in Kabin, you know," said Sel-perron. "Eight or nine since the spring, and more than that in Tonilda and north Yelda, so I heard: people who've been acting as messengers between heldro barons and so on."

"They're contenting themselves with arresting little people because they can't spare troops to tackle the bigger ones," said N'Rasit, "that's about the size of it. They'll bring them up here and execute them and hope that'll damp the heldril down until they can spare more troops from the Valderra and mount an expedition against Er-ketlis in Chalcon." '

They turned up Storks Hill, N'Kasit heading for the Caravan Market and "The Green Grove," for he was prosperous enough to be able to afford the best class of tavern, and anxious to show as much to his friend.

"All the same, no great loss, Sencho, was he?" asked Selperron in a cautious undertone, as they came within sight of the colonnade. "He was a foul brute, by all accounts."

"That's true enough, but all the same he's a loss to us, as merchants," said N'Kasit. He grinned sideways at Selperron. "Why not admit it? He only did what we'd all like to do. Wasn't it only last night you were talking about Beklan shearnas and saying you wouldn't mind meeting a nice one?"

"I wouldn't, either," replied Selperron. "Beautiful girls, some of them, a captain of the guard in Kabin was saying only the other day. He told me they-"

"Yes, but the really good ones are impossibly expensive," broke in N'Kasit. "Upper city stuff, you know, and inclined to be choosy with it even then. Sencho didn't bother with shearnas, though. Bought his own girls and kept them for himself."

Selperron fell silent. The truth was that he did indeed take a keen interest in girls, but in a somewhat less carnal way than his friend supposed. To him they were less a means of gratification than one of the most delightful forms of beauty, like jewels or flowers. His head was often turned, but he seldom went further, and in his memory certain girls whom he had never actually possessed tended to stand out as vividly as those he had.

"So a lot of your last year's stock's still in the ware-

house?" he asked, to change the subject. "Do you think the army'll buy it off you soon?"

N'Kasit wrinkled his nose and spat in the dust, "Well- they've given me an advance to secure it, though not nearly as much as I was hoping for. The trouble is, as I was telling you, that the Lord General was expecting a hard summer's campaign in Suba, with quite a bit of wear and tear. There'd have been reinforcements to equip and so on. But as things turned out, Karnat moved first, and Kembri and Sendekar were lucky not to be taken completely by surprise. Amazing thing, that; all on account of one girl, acting entirely on her own. You heard, of course? She saved Bekla, did that lass, nothing less. Saved us all."

"Yes, everyone's been talking about it in Kabin," replied Selperron. "Tonildan girl, isn't she? I know she swam across the river and brought news of the attack in time for Sendekar to put paid to it, but there's a lot I don't really understand. I mean, what was she doing in Suba in the first place, and how did she come to find out about Karnat's plans at all?"

"Nobody knows," answered N'Kasit. "Whatever it was, they've kept that part of it very quiet-the Leopards, I mean. I've got a customer I'm on fairly close terms with, a wine-merchant called Sarget, who's done so well that he actually lives in the upper city now, and he told me that even up there no one really knows. All he could say was that the girl belonged to Sencho at the time he was murdered and she was in the gardens with him the night he was killed-she and the black girl. They were both taken to the temple for questioning, but somehow or other she escaped and actually managed to get as far as Suba-"

"By herself? I don't believe it!"

"Nobody knows whether she had any help or not. All that's known is that she happened to be in Suba."

"She must have had something to do with the murder, don't you think, and been trying to clear out of the empire altogether; to Katria or somewhere like that?"

"Well, that's what anybody would have thought, I suppose; but what happens then? Somehow or other she finds out that the Terekenalt army's going to cross the Valderra at a place Sendekar hasn't got guarded. In the middle of the night, she finds her way alone to the Suban bank of the Valderra and proceeds to swim it. Well, that's not just heroism; that's a basting miracle. No one, man or woman,

could swim it; it's a raging torrent for miles above and below Rallur. Even the soldiers who pulled her out couldn't believe she'd swum it; they thought she must be an Urtan girl who'd been trying to make away with herself."

"But had she swum it, then?"

"She must have, because she knew about Karnat's plan. That's why Sendekar was able to drive him back across the river: otherwise he might very well have reached Bekla in three days. He'd have had complete surprise, you see."

"Well, perhaps she did mean to get out of the empire in the first place, but then, somehow or other, she happened to find out the Terekenalt plan and saw it as a chance to make her fortune."

"Not if it meant swimming the Valderra, Selpo. Gran, you should just see it! I was up in Rallur myself three years ago, buying from the Urtan graziers. That was just before midsummer-this time of year, more or less-and even then it was like nothing so much as a boiling caldron full of axe-heads."

"D'you think perhaps the Terekenalters may have found out she knew, and thrown her in to drown, but somehow or other she just didn't?"

"Well, you can think that by all means, but if I were you I shouldn't be heard saying it. The whole city's crazy about the girl. One of my tanners actually told me he believed she was Lespa come down to save the empire. Made her fortune? Great Cran, she's made her fortune all right! They'd give her the stars if they could!"

"Well, what does she say happened?"

"Sarget told me she's never said a word about it to anyone in the upper city: so probably no one ever will know precisely what happened."

"Oh, how I'd love to see her!" said Selperron. "Just to be able to say I had, back in Kabin, you know."

"I doubt you'll have the chance," replied N'Kasit. "It's not as if it were the spring festival, you see, or the Sacred Queen's birth ceremony. There's not a great deal to bring upper city people down here at this time of year."

"Is she living with one of the Leopards, or what?"

"No; I'm told she hasn't taken a man since she got back. But everyone's expecting her to make a wealthy marriage as soon as she feels ready. She could have anyone she likes, you see, but for the moment she's probably in no hurry. After all, the Council voted her a house, and money,

and Cran knows what besides. I believe the army would have mutinied if they hadn't. Half the officers are said to be wild about her and I don't know that I so very much blame them. After all, they wouldn't have lasted long, would they, if Karnat had got to Bekla?"

During the days that followed, the thought of the miraculous Tonildan whose lonely heroism had saved the empire kept recurring to Selperron. She must be a most remarkable, girl. What did she look like, he wondered, and what could be the real truth behind her incredible exploit? Had she ever been in love? What sort of a girl was she really, alone or among her friends, behind her radiant guise of a savior princess so dazzling that simple folk could actually see her as Lespa incarnate?

"Just suppose," he thought, awake in bed one morning before N'Kasit's servant had come in to call him, "just suppose I happened to meet her, what would I say to her? And what would she say to me, I wonder? I'm not really all that old: forty's no age."

He tried to imagine the Tonildan girl breasting the cataract in the roaring darkness, the whole fate of the empire resting on her shoulders as she struggled on. Suppose it had been he who had pulled her out on the bank, he who had first perceived that she was telling the truth and ordered that she should be taken at once to General Sen-dekar? Sighing, he heaved himself out of bed and began to dress. Tomorrow he had to start the journey home.

"N'Kasit's a good friend," he thought. "I must slip off on my own and buy him a present today-a good 'un, ay. He's really done me very well and I've had a fine time up here. Only I can't help wishing I'd just seen the Tonildan girl. People in Kabin are sure to ask, when I get back."

That afternoon he accompanied N'Kasit to his warehouse. This lay high up in the lower city, south of the Tower of Sel-Dolad and actually abutting on the western ramparts. Like almost every building in Bekla it was of stone, its long rows of recessed bays cool and dusky, the whole place echoing whenever a door slammed or a crate was grounded by the winch. Selperron could not help envying his friend these solid, well-appointed premises which, compared with his own at Kabin, seemed so secure against fire and robbery.

"I only rent the place, of course," said N'Kasit, in reply to his admiring remarks. "And quite enough it costs me,

too. But you know how important it is to keep up an appearance of prosperity-even more here than in Kabin. Can't make money without spending it, can you?"

"Who's the landlord?" asked Selperron.

"It used to be the High Counselor. He owned half the city-or so you'd have thought. He left no heir, of course, so all his property's been taken over by the temple. I don't know whether they'll sell me this place-I've made them an offer-but in point of fact it's the Sacred Queen I'm paying rent to now. So I shouldn't think the temple sees much of that, would you?"

Before Selperron could hear more about this interesting state of affairs, however, the quartermasters of the Be-lishban and Lapanese regiments-whom N'Kasit had been expecting-made their appearance and began discussing such matters as shoe-leather, helmets and shield-facings. As N'Kasit got up to conduct them through the warehouse and show them the various qualities of leather in stock Selperron, taking his opportunity, slipped away as he had planned, merely telling his friend that he would see him back at home for supper.

He had already decided that N'Kasit's hospitality-to say nothing of his own business prospects in the capital- called for nothing less than some kind of gold artifact as a farewell present, and accordingly he made his way downhill towards the Sheldad-the thoroughfare running westward from the Caravan Market-out of which branched the streets of the goldsmiths' and jewelers' quarters. Although he was carrying a considerable sum in coin he was not afraid of robbery, for the streets were well frequented in the cooling afternoon, he did not look a particularly wealthy or likely victim and his business was going to be transacted behind the locked door of a reputable dealer to whom he had been recommended in Kabin.

He was still some way short of the side-street leading to his destination when he became aware of some sort of commotion in front of him, apparently near the point where the Sheldad ran into the Caravan Market. He stopped, looking ahead rather nervously, for after N'Kasit's account of the troubles in the spring he had no wish to find himself caught up in a riot or a street-fight. He hoped, too, that it would not turn out to be prisoners or criminals being led through the streets (for to his credit Selperron was sensitive and hated the kind of ugly jeering and mob cru-

elty that commonly took place at such times). In a few moments, however, he realized that whatever else it might be, this occasion was neither brutal nor violent. The clamor ahead was plainly some sort of acclamation. It had a happy quality, as if those shouting were taking part in some kind of shared delight, such as a homecoming or a wedding. People began running past him, some calling out to others in front. Selperron, excited, ran too, jostling along with the rest.

"What is it?" he panted to an old woman whom he found beside him. "What's all the fuss about, grandmother?"

Beaming, she turned her wrinkled face towards him and toothlessly mumbled something that sounded like "Share flinders." Selperron, mystified, elbowed his way on, finally coming out into the sanded space of the market. He looked about, but could still see very little over the heads of those around him. Suddenly he realized that he was standing beside the plinth of the brazen scales of Fleitil-one of the wonders of the city, which could weigh an ox, a cart and its contents without unloading-and all in a moment had scrambled up it as nimbly as any street lad. A green-uniformed market official shouted angrily to him to come down, but Selperron ignored him, clambering round the plinth to gaze in the direction of the excitement-whatever it might be.

Across the sanded expanse of the market was approaching a jekzha, drawn by two soldiers of the Beklan regiment, resplendent in their undress uniform of scarlet surcoats with silver lacing and Leopard cognizances, but such a jekzha! Its workmanship was so delicate and fine as to create the illusion of a kind of celestial car, lighter than air, floating on the ground as a bubble on a stream. The doors, as well as the foot-rail and screen, all made of gold filigree, put Selperron in mind of the sparkle of gossamer on a clear autumn morning. The slender spokes of the wheels were painted alternately red and blue, so that in turning they merged to form a flickering, vivid purple. From the top of the canopy rose long, bronze-colored plumes-whether of eagle, heart-bird or kynat he could not tell. Nor, for the matter of that, did he spend much time glancing at them, for his eyes were drawn elsewhere as a needle to the north.

Seated in the jekzha was a girl so beautiful that, gazing at her, he was overcome by a sort of stupefaction, as though

he had not hitherto known (as indeed he had not) that any such being could exist. In this moment he was not unlike a small child seeing for the first time a crimson humming-bird, colored lamps at a festival or moonlight upon a lake. This was the stilled amazement of revelation. Yet though startled beyond reflection, he was instinctively in no doubt that this could only be the Tonildan, the savior of Bekla.

Like a flame the sight of her leapt upon him, consuming in an instant all the outworn trivialities about girls littering his memory. He found that he was trembling, and steadied himself with a groping hand upon some random projection of the scales. As the girl drew nearer, it appeared to Sel-perron as though she shed about her a kind of radiance, airy and fertile, like a sunlit drift of pollen from catkins. All gold she seemed-hair, shoulders, arms; and golden sandals enclosing the feet which rested side by side on the rail in front of her; feet made for dancing, surely. They were like golden butterflies: if they happened at this moment to be still, poised fan-like in the sunshine, nevertheless that very stillness implied a kind of tension, the suggestion that it was their nature at any moment to be up and off about their happy mystery of swift play. But that, indeed, was no more than might be said of the girl herself. Her posture, leaning a little forward, one perfect, bare arm resting on the rail beside her, was instinct with a light, quick energy, as though from sheer vitality she might leap suddenly forward, land weightless as a dragonfly and pirouette on the sand.

Most of all he was astonished by her graceful elegance. In talking to N'Kasit, he had formed in his mind a picture of a big, strong girl, hefty, a sort of warrior lass, a hardy survivor in rough places. Sturdy and well-built she was certainly, but with a kind of softness and the air of a merry child, mischievous and innocently sensual as an urchin with a stolen pie. She was smiling on those around her and gazing down from huge, blue eyes; yet a little disconcerted, too, she seemed, as though by no means sure how to maintain her self-possession in the face of such a welcome; and as she turned her head Selperron was deeply moved to see in those eyes a glint of unshed tears.

And well she might, he thought, be moved to the verge of weeping. Round the jekzha, as it was wafted on across the market-place, people were hastening together from

every direction-porters, baggage slaves, hawkers, beggars, guttersnipes, street-traders, nondescript idlers, passers-by like himself and others whose dress-Ortelgan, Belishban or Yeldashhay-denoted them as from the provinces. From all sides came cries of greetings and praise. "May all the gods bless thee, my little swimmer!" called out a brawny market-woman, flinging up her rough, red hands as the jekzha came abreast of her stall. The lovely girl responded with a wave of her hand before turning to her other side to touch the hilt of the sword which a Beklan tryzatt was holding up to her in an improvised gesture of allegiance and devotion.

"Long live the Serrelinda!" shouted a voice from some rooftop. "Serrelinda! Serrelinda!" echoed others, and for a few moments a perfect storm of acclaim broke out round the jekzha, which was forced to a gradual halt in the crowd like a boat grounding on the slope of a sand-bar.

"Come along now, missus! Easy there, sir, please! Easy now!" repeated the soldiers in the shafts, wiping the sweat from their foreheads and grinning about them like men not unused to it all. "Let the young saiyett through, now. We've got to get her home safe, you know!"

"She can have my home!" shouted a young fellow in a leather apron, who was carrying in one hand a newly-turned chair-leg and looked as though he had downed tools and left his work-bench the minute before. "Ah, and mine, bed and hearth!" bellowed a red-haired man in the livery of Durakkon's household.

Helpless to prevail, as it were, against this deluge of benediction, the voices tossing hither and thither about her like gusts of wind, the girl could only smile speechlessly and then, with a charming pantomime of helplessness and frustration, hold out her arms and shake her head in a mute appeal to her well-wishers to let her pass. She was clad, Selperron now noticed for the first time, very simply, in a short dress of white silk, low-cut and gathered at the waist with a gold belt matching the only jewel she was wearing, a brooch in the likeness of a leopard holding a golden lily. As she half-rose in her seat, grasping the rail and leaning forward to speak to her soldiers, he caught sight, along her lower thigh, of a long, livid scar, plainly the vestige of a wound as grievous as any battle-hardened veteran could boast of. Evidently she was not concerned to hide it. Selperron, as he realized why, was carried away

by a surge of adoration and fervor, such as he might have felt in watching some sacred dance performed by the Thlela. If he could have found words, he might perhaps have declared that despite all its folly and vice, there must be something to be said for the human race if it could produce a girl like this.

Such feelings must find expression or else tear him to pieces. Leaping down from the plinth, he ran across the market-place towards the Street of the Armorers where it curved uphill to the Peacock Gate. Here, just at the foot of the hill, a flower-seller was seated, surrounded by her summer wares-tall, maculate lilies in tubs of water; roses and scarlet trepsis, sharp-scented planella, pale gendonnas and ornate, curve-bloomed iris-yellow, blue and white.

"Give me those-and those-and those!" he said, pointing here and there and in his impatience tugging out the bunches with his own hands and piling them into her astonished arms. "Ay, that'll do!"-for the jekzha was fast approaching.

"Wait, sir! Oh, can't ye just wait a minute, now!" cried the old soul, flustered, and torn between annoyance at his haste and gratification at making such a fine sale. "Let me see, that's twenty meld the lilies, fifteen the roses; and this planella, now-"

"Oh, never mind!" cried Selperron. Dragging out his purse, he thrust five twenty-meld pieces into her hand, gathered up the flowers in one great scented, dripping mass and turned about fust as the soldiers reached the foot of the hill. Stumbling forward, he gripped the jekzha's nearside shaft and looked up into the girl's face. At this moment there was nothing in the world but himself and her.

"Saiyett, honor me by accepting these!" he said, lifting up the flowers. "They're nowhere near so beautiful as you, but take them all the same, so that I may never forget you till the day I die."

For a long and terrible instant he waited, standing at the shaft, seeing her initial, startled look and the surprise and uncertainty momentarily crossing her face. Then she smiled full in his eyes, bent forward and took the flowers from him in a single embrace of her open arms. Her neck and shoulders were covered with drops of water and the upper part of her dress was soaked; but of this she took not the least notice. For an instant only she looked away from him to lay the huge, tumbling bouquet beside her on

the seat. Then, once more stooping, she took his face between her two hands and kissed him.

"Happen I shan't forget you, either," she said.

Then the wheel went over his foot. But it was not very heavy, and even though he stifled a quick cry and doubled up his leg, he was hardly aware of the pain, for as the jekzha rolled away up the hill, the girl turned her head, looked back at him and waved.

Selperron was as good as his word. He never saw the Serrelinda again; and he never forgot her for the rest of his life. N'Kasit's present, perforce, was not quite so lavish as he had originally intended, but what matter? He could always give him another next year.

54: HIGH LIFE

The soldiers always began by declining the money which Maia offered them, and always she insisted that they should accept it-a fraction of what she herself could have come by in far less time and without exertion. Among the many privileges conferred upon her together with her beautiful little house beside the ndrthern shore of the Barb, was that of calling upon soldiers to draw her jekzha whenever she had occasion to fare abroad. Otherwise she could certainly never have visited the lower city at all, to go on foot being out of the question, while no jekzha-man or attendant slave could possibly have protected her from the adulation of the common people.

It was seldom that she passed the Peacock Gate, however. The crowds and their devotion half-frightened her, and although she always responded as she knew they wished, yet upon coming home she would find herself exhausted, consumed with a sense of the precarious and unnatural, as though looking vertiginously down from some dizzy pinnacle upon that real world to which she could never descend.

For three weeks and more after the Terekenalt army had been thrown back across the Valderra she had lain gravely ill, scarcely able to tell night from morning, let alone to understand the full import of what she had achieved or of the news which had been proclaimed throughout the army and the city. A frailer girl would have bled to death,

they had told her, or else died from shock and exhaustion. As it was, she had often been in worse pain than she had imagined possible, at times being afraid even to stir, for every least movement seemed to bring agony spurting from an injured limb. What had really carried her througli-as on the river bank with the soldiers-had been the knowledge that she had succeeded-had not Sendekar himself told her so?-had prevented the bloodshed and saved the lives of the Tonildans stationed down the river. Their commander had come on tiptoe to visit her, a gruff, taciturn man standing almost inarticulate beside her bed, trying as best he could to convey their thanks: but she no less than he had found few words, slipping back into half-oblivion even before he was gone. The clamps with which they had fastened her gashed thigh caused her continual discomfort, and she had had to be scolded for worrying at them like an animal.

Her litter-borne return to the city had been secret and nocturnal, for although she was sufficiently recovered to leave fortified Rallur-no place for a convalescent-Sendekar had been advised that she must at all costs be spared the crowding and ovations inseparable from a daylight entry into Bekla. Also, as he-a Yeldashay professional soldier, not on close personal ternis with the foremost members of the Leopard regime-had come to realize, there were those in the upper city who would in any case have sought to prevent it.

Arriving tired out after the trying, five-day journey, Maia had been touched and comforted to find Ogma already installed as her housekeeper, together with old Jarvil, the porter from Sencho's former household, with whom she had always got on well. Ogma-who had, of course, been expecting to be sold on the open market, like the rest of Sencho's slaves-had been even more startled and delighted than Maia by this caprice of fortune (the idea had originated with Elvair-ka-Virrion) and at once set about looking after her devotedly. Thanks largely to her attentions, it was not long before Maia felt well enough to begin the exciting business of ordering her life in Bekla for herself.

She had been surprised-despite her incomparable celebrity, happily and unexpectedly surprised-by the genuine warmth and kindness shown to her by Nennaunir, as also by Sessendris, Kembri's household saiyett. In the days

when she had been a slave at Sencho's she had always assumed (as she had, for example, at Sarget's party) that Nennaunir's friendliness was to a large extent no more than politic-a keeping-in with a girl whom she had perceived to stand well with the Leopards. She had certainly felt this about Sessendris on the night of Elvair-ka-Vir-rion's party-that night when she had first met Bayub-Otal. Not long after her return to Bekla, however, something took place which showed her that (over-influenced, perhaps, by Occula's worldly-wise skepticism) she had in this instance been somewhat too canny.

One beautiful evening, about ten days after her arrival, as she was sitting at the open window of her parlor overlooking the Barb, watching the cranes feeding in the shallows and listening to one of Fordil's hinnarists whom she had hired to play to her (it delighted her to be able, now, to spend money in this way), Ogma came in to tell her that an unaccompanied lady was at the door. It turned out to be Sessendris. Maia, surprised and taken rather unawares, was at first constrained and on her guard. After several minutes, however, she began to feel intuitively that whatever motive the handsome, urbane saiyett might have in coming to see her, she meant her no harm. For a time they conversed of those matters which had all Bekla by the ears-the killing of Sencho, Maia's swimming of the Valderra and Sendekar's capture of the traitor Bayub-Otal in the course of Karnat's retreat. Maia, however, recounted little of her own experiences, and in particular omitted any mention of her journey to Urtah with the Subans or the night crossing at the ford. As the evening light faded from the sky, leaving at last only streaks of pale rose and darkening purple reflected from the windless expanse of the Barb, Ogma brought in serrardoes and a flask of Yeldashay and Maia, sipping and nibbling in the window-seat, fell silent and waited, feeling that someone as experienced as Sessendris should need no further encouragement to bring her to the point of her visit, whatever that might be.

"Well, Maia Serrelinda, savior of Bekla, princess from Tonilda-" Sessendris, seated on a polished stool with up-curved, scrolled arm-rests, leant back against the table, smiling at Maia over her wine-cup-"what now? How does a girl follow up a conquest like yours?"

"Don't know as I've had all that much time to think

about it," answered Maia. "It's all like a dream still: I'm just taking things easy. My leg won't be right for a bit yet, they say, though it's nowhere near as bad as 'twas."

"And who else has been to see you?" asked Sessendris. The question, which might have been typical of idle conversation, was asked in a tone which made Maia look up quickly, sensing something direct and concerned in the saiyett's voice.

"U-Sarget's been," she replied. "Matter of fact, he was here very soon after I arrived: and then Shend-Lador and two or three of his friends, along with Nennaunir. Of course I'm not up to all that much yet, you know. Eud-Ecachlon called only yesterday evening, but I was feeling that done up I had to tell my porter I couldn't see him."

"But the Lord General hasn't been, has he?"

"No."

"Nor the Sacred Queen?"

"Well, no."

Sessendris waited, gazing at her with raised eyebrows.

"You mean-well, but I don't see a great lot in that," said Maia. "I mean, people like, that, if they want to see you, they send for you, don't they? And I dare say they reckon I'm not back to rights yet. Nor I am."

"Yes, but Durakkon came? And you'd never met him before, had you?"

"Oh, I hardly knew what to say!" Maia flushed at the recollection. "He gave me these diamonds-did you ever see the like?" (she touched her neck) "and then he said as he'd come to thank me on behalf of the city and the empire, and that neither he nor anyone could ever-" She brokeoff. "Well, don't matter all he said, but I'll not forget it, tell you that. He put it-well, what you'd call stately. I reckon he deserves to be High Baron. No, I hadn't met him before, but I'd say he's what a High Baron ought to be."

Sessendris shrugged her shoulders and was silent for a little. At length she said, "I've taken a risk coming here, you know. I always pretend I don't hear anything, but of course any good saiyett knows how to pretend that. Let's go on pretending, shall we? For instance, can you tell me- for I simply can't imagine-whose idea it was that you should join Bayub-Otal and leave the city by night for Urtah?"

Maia started. "Bayub-Otal?"

Sessendris smiled. "You thought I didn't know? Who do you suppose took the Lord General's message to let you through that night to the guard commander at the Gate of Lilies? Oh, Maia, you're such a dear, beautiful baby still! You don't really understand anything, do you? Listen: all the common people from here to Paltesh are wild about you. They know you saved us all. They'd give you the moon if they could. And Maia, I'm common people! My father was a baker in Sarkid. I love you too, and I feel grateful to you from the bottom of my heart. But has it occurred to you that there may be people who don't?"

Uncomprehending, Maia was nettled. "Don't know as I ever really thought about it all that much."

Sessendris bit her lip with frustration. "Look; here's a girl who's sent on an utterly desperate assignment. She succeeds beyond anything that could ever have been expected, she's battered almost to death in doing it and saves an army and probably the empire as well. The Leopards vote her a house, servants, money, privileges, attendance by uniformed soldiers. By Airtha! and they just about knew what was good for them, didn't they? If they hadn't, the army'd likely have torn them to pieces. The High Baron, who's at least got the bluest blood in Bekla if he hasn't got anything else, visits her in person to thank her. But the man who actually sent her, and the woman who consented that he should-they don't come. Why not, do you suppose?"

"General Kembri, d'you mean? Well, but he must have everything to do from morning till night, what with the war and that. That rebel baron, Santil What's-his-name in Chalcon, on top of all the rest, and then-"

"Maia, dear, I can't stay much longer: I'll have to go before I'm missed. But I'll ask you something else. How long does the Sacred Queen normally reign, do you know?"

Maia pondered. "Well, I can't just rightly say. Four years, isn't it?"

"And how long has Queen Form's reigned?"

"Well, I suppose two lots of four years: I never really thought about it."

"Start now. This next Melekril her second reign's due to end. She's thirty-four or thirty-five-I forget which: older than any Sacred Queen before her, anyway. The other morning, while I was down in the lower city on the Lord General's business, I overheard two porters talking in the

colonnade. One of them said, 'Why don't they make the Serrelinda Sacred Queen? That'd bring us all the luck in the world, that would, for if ever the gods loved a girl it's her. Must do, else she'd 'a bin dead by his time.' "

Maia laughed. "Why, I couldn't be Sacred Queen: that's crazy! Everyone knows I've been in and out of bed-"

"But Maia, that doesn't matter! The Sacred Queen doesn't have to be a virgin. It certainly wouldn't stop the people acclaiming you; and there are certain Leopards who'd like to get rid of Kembri and put themselves in his place, you know. They'd be quite ready to make use of you if they decided it would serve their purpose. When you were a slave-girl you hadn't any enemies. Now you've saved the army and the city, you have. That's how the world works, dear. But I'm not your enemy, and that's why I'm here this evening."

"General Kembri wouldn't harm me," said Maia. "I'm sure of that. Why, he promised me my freedom and Cran knows what else if only I could do what he wanted, and I reckon he's been as good as his word and all."

"He couldn't dare be anything else, after Sendekar'd told the army what you'd done. And you're quite right to think he hasn't got anything against you personally. But what I'm trying to tell you is that you're a public figure now, and whether you like it or not, you're almost certainly seen as a rival by Fornis, whose position's difficult enough anyway at her age, with her second reign due to end in a matter of months. Fornis can be like a raving maniac when she hates someone, you know. She'd be ready to let Karnat in-burn the city-smash the empire-anything at all, before she'd give up her power. She wouldn't care what she did!"

Maia stood up and began walking to and fro.

"I can't see this, Sessendris. Whatever should Queen Fornis have against me? I've nothing against her! I've never even put myself forward-"

"You're young, you're very beautiful and you're a public heroine; the people used to worship her, and now they worship you. That's what she'll have against you, and she'll be watching Kembri like a hawk to see whether he favors you or not. He might feel himself forced to, you see, by sheer weight of public feeling. 'Maia for Sacred Queen!' And then-"

"I'll go away-I'll leave Bekla-"

"That would be quite fatal, dear. Everyone would be wondering what you might be up to behind their backs. Remember Enka-Mordet. No, it's not that bad, Maia. By all means stay here and enjoy all you've earned. All I'm saying is, take the greatest care. Don't give anyone the remotest grounds for thinking you might be aiming higher, and don't listen to anyone who may suggest to you that you should. And now I'm off; I've stayed too long as it is. Good-night, golden Maia, and may Lespa guard you! Tell Ogma and the porter to forget I came here. No one else saw me."

When Sessendris was gone and Ogma had brought in the lamps, Maia asked her to bring her needlework and sit with her for company. Yet although Ogma (who had never in her life been five miles from Bekla) did her best, talking of this and that and from time to time asking Maia to thread her needle-for her sight was poor-Maia herself was but indifferent company, preoccupied as she was with all that Sessendris had said. At last Ogma, perceiving that her mistress was not herself, but attributing it merely to fatigue and her state of health, suggested bed; and for some reason this homely proposal at last drew from Maia what was really in her heart.

"Ogma, what's become of Occula? Have you heard anything about her?"

Ogma, limping across the room with her work over her arm, stopped and turned.

"No, not once, Miss Maia. Not since-well, not since that last evening, when you both went to the gardens with the High Counselor. But then they took her away to the temple, didn't they?"

"Yes, but is she with the Sacred Queen now, 's far 's you know?"

"With the Sacred Queen, miss?" Ogma was visibly surprised and agitated. "Oh, Cran! If she went to the Sacred Queen anything could have happened to her."

Maia stared at her, frowning.

"You didn't know, miss? The queen's got a terrible reputation that way."

"I always thought there was some as was devoted to her," said Maia, remembering Ashaktis.

"Maybe her own Palteshis," said Ogma, "and any as might just happen to suit her, like. But there's others as she's-well-got rid of, so they say."

The realization that she had been several days in Bekla without making any inquiry about Occula showed Maia more plainly than anything else how weak and shocked she must really have been. She had been sleeping badly, troubled with pain as well as with anxiety about her scars (for she had four or five gashes altogether, though none so grievous as that on her thigh). Again and again she had woken from nightmares of fire in the dark, of roaring water and the boy Sphelthon crying on the blood-drenched ground. Protean they were, these fantasies, casting themselves like amorphous nets round her distressed mind; tormentors continually emerging in new and unexpected guises. The fire would dance before her, its flames murmuring "Sha-greh, shagreh," as they refused to cook her food. The water would become an insubstantial ladder on which she dared not set foot. Or she would be placidly swimming when the wretched boy, a weeping horror, would rise up out of deep water and fasten his bloody mouth on her flinching body. One night of full moon, having lain for two hours afraid to fall asleep again, she had resorted to her old solace, gone down to the Barb and, plunging in near the outfall of the Monju brook, swum half a mile to the Pool of Light, stepping out naked into the gardens before a gaping sentry of the Lapanese regiment. (Ogma had returned his cloak next morning, and this latest story of the Serrelinda lost nothing in the telling.)

But yet another preoccupation she had, besides her own health and recovery. Incessantly she dwelt on the memory of Zen-Kurel, recalling over and over each moment of their brief hours together, from the king's supper table to the daggers lying discarded on the floor and the running footsteps receding into the moonlight. She longed for him; she missed him every hour. Where was he? What had happened to him in the fighting? Had she saved his life? Surely she must have! To have known for certain that she had saved his life would have meant more to her than the knowledge of having saved the army and the Tonildan detachment. Karnat's force had suffered no very heavy casualties in the fighting: Sendekar had told her as much before she left Rallur. The king himself, she knew, was not among the dead, and Zen-Kurel had been one of his personal aides. She imagined him wading into the water, helping to pull the king ashore as the last rope was cut, translating to the king the answers of the few Beklan pris-

oners who had been taken back into Suba; then, perhaps, sent back across the Zhairgen with dispatches for Keril-Katria. Of course he would have distinguished himself. He would no doubt be promoted-though she knew nothing about such things or what he might realistically expect. One thing, however, she was sure of. Whatever his adventures, he would not have forgotten her, any more than she had forgotten him.

The glaring inconsistency of her situation in regard to Zen-Kurel, which would naturally have been the first thing to occur to (for instance) Occula or Nennaunir if they had learned the whole story, did not strike Maia at all. It never once crossed her mind that her exploit must, of course, have come to the ears of all Suba, Katria and Terekenalt, or that Zen-Kurel-if he were still with King Kamat-had good cause not only to curse her very name and his own disclosure to her, but also, if he valued his life, to utter no word of their love to a living soul. Still more extraordinarily, if anyone (such as Occula) had pointed this out, Maia, while she would have been deeply grieved, would nevertheless have remained in no doubt that Zen-Kurel still loved her and had not renounced her in his own mind.

She, for her part, was scarcely ever free from the thought of him. She knew herself to have remained deeply in love with him. How could this be? A man whom she had known and with whom she had made love for perhaps four hours altogether: and she a girl who had, to use her own words, been in and out of bed with half a dozen men, both in the upper and lower city. Yet she herself knew why. Alone of them all, Zen-Kurel had sincerely respected her womanhood'-yes, where even Elvair-ka-Virrion had not, for all his fine words and elegant ways. And then, she had not come to him as a slave-girl, but as the magic Suban princess of the golden lilies. "He asked me to marry him-he meant it-to marry him-" she whispered, swimming down the moonlit Barb.

Yet it was not even this sincere asking that lay at the heart of the matter. Others, no doubt, given the opportunity, might well have asked as much. It was that she herself could, she knew, create so much by loving a man like Zen-Kurel. In the midst of all the danger, uncertainty and squalor of Suba, he had had the power to carry her with nun to a little island of security where they had dwelt together-for just how long was no matter. And thence

had flowed into her a joy, a power and confidence which had enabled her to save thousands of lives. This, amazingly, was Maia's own, personal view of what had happened. Within herself she seemed to carry the seed of a great tree only waiting to grow and flourish, which now could not spring up for lack of soil-his presence. And this was frustration and torment.

There had lain the promise-there for the picking up, like a jewel lying on the ground. For a few hours she had held it in her hand. And by her own deed-the deed that had made her fortune-she had cast it away from her, as she had thrown her clothes into the Valderra. "It's only the beginning, Maia-we'll meet again in Bekla." He had meant that. If she had chosen, she need have done nothing but await their reunion-whenever and wherever it might have taken place.

Why had she, then, by her own deed, made it impossible? Not for luxury, wealth and fame; that much she knew. She would gladly forgo all that to lie once more in his arms in flea-bitten Suba. No, she had done what she did out of her own womanliness-because of Gehta and her dad, because of Sphelthon at the ford, because of the Tonildans downstream of Rallur. Yes, and for Zenka's own sake, too-poor, feather-brained boy, boasting that he'd kill twenty Beklans for her sake! She'd saved his life as surely as anyone else's in the whole silly, nasty business. He might be a bit disappointed now, but if only she could have him to herself for an hour or two she'd soon make him see it different; for a week or two; for a year or two: well, say a lifetime. She could do something, make something out of life with a lad like that, as she knew she never could with a showy gallant like Elvair-ka-Virrion.

When Shend-Lador and his friends had come to see her, she had asked them what news they could give her about the Terekenalt prisoners taken in the fighting. They knew no more, however, than Sendekar had already told her; namely, that there were something like seventy prisoners altogether, Subans, Katrians and Terekenalters, foremost among whom was the traitor Bayub-Otal. All had been sent under guard to the fortress at Dari-Paltesh, where they were to remain until the Lord General could spare time to consider what was to be done with them.

"Some of them are bound to have ransom value, you see, Maia," explained Shend-Lador. "And anyway they've

all got hostage and exchange value against our men who got collared and taken into Suba. The Lord General will sort it out as soon as he's finished off Erketlis."

"But Anda-No-I mean, Bayub-Otal's a son of the High Baron of Urtah. Haven't the Urtans said anything about him?" she asked.

Shend-Lador laughed. "Not much they can say, is there? He was taken red-handed fighting for Karnat against the empire. Oh, no, Maia, you needn't worry: his number's up if anyone's is-public execution in the Caravan Market, I should think. Soon as there's time to spare for it, that is."

He knew the names of no other prisoners, and neither did Sarget or Nennaunir. Durakkon, of course, she had not presumed to question. Nor, lacking Occula, had she disclosed to anyone the true nature of her interest.

During these days of her convalescence, her principal source of information was Ogma, who talked to hawkers at the door and brought back gossip with her shopping from the lower city. One day she returned so eager to talk that she came straight into the parlor and, clumping her way across the room with her basket still on her arm, came to a stop beside the couch on which Maia had been resting in the sunshine.

"Oh, miss, I was buying some vegetables-only we're right out of brillions as well as beans, and they had some nice fruit, all sorts, so I thought well, as you'd given me the money and we're not short nowadays, are we? any more than we were at the High Counselor's, I might as well get some while they were there. And while I was buying them there was this woman come in as I know to talk to-I've met her two or three times in the shops, see- and she's married to a Tonildan, a man from east of Thet-tit, only they've been living here for quite a few years now, and she began telling me-"

Maia got up and half-lowered the slatted blind against the mid-day sun. An air of inattention, she had found, often worked in bringing Ogma to the point.

"Well, this man has friends down Thettit way, miss, and they sometimes come up here on business-buying glass, only that's what he makes and there's none at Thettit, you see-and these men said this woman, that's to say my friend in the shop as I was talking to, they asked her did

she know why Lord Erketlis had declared against Bekla and started fighting?"

"Why, has there been any fighting?" asked Maia. "I thought Lord Erketlis was lying low in Chalcon. He hasn't got all that many men, has he?"

"Oh, well, that's right, miss-at least, I think so-but I mean the real reason why he's started making trouble and declaring against the Leopards an' that."

Maia waited.

"It only shows, miss, doesn't it, as there's justice above?" pronounced Ogma sententiously. "I mean, there's some as brings down judgement on their own heads. That wicked man-of course I know you and Miss Occula had to do what you did; you hadn't got no choice-well, we none of us had, had we? And Miss Dyphna-"

"Ogma," said Maia, "what are you trying to tell me?"

Ogma leant forward, round-eyed. "Miss Milvushina!"

"Milvushina? What about her?"

"Well, we all knew, didn't we, miss, why the High Counselor was at the trouble of getting Miss Milvushina for himself? Because she was what she was-a lady-that's why. And he persuaded the Lord General-it's my belief he did-to send those soldiers to kill her father and mother just so he could have her for-well, for his horrible ways and that. Only I was there in the house all that night when you and Miss Occula was at Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's party- the night when the soldiers first brought Miss Milvushina; and even the tryzatt, he was that disgusted by what he'd been made to do, like, and Terebinthia told me I wasn't to say a word outside and if I did she'd have me whipped and sold-"

"Ogma, what is it you want to tell me?"

"That was his own death, miss," whispered Ogma, stabbing with her fore-finger, "what he done then, the High Counselor. This friend of mine in the market had it all from her husband's friends down in Thettit. Miss Milvushina, see, she was promised in marriage to Lord Santil-ke-Erketlis-"

"Great Cran!" said Maia, startled at last into full attention. "Ogma, are you sure? She never said a word about it to me or Occula."

"Well, no, miss, likely not," said Ogma. "I mean, Miss Milvushina wasn't never one for telling a great deal at all, was she, if you know what I mean? But now it seems as

Lord Santil's made a proclamation down in Chalcon and Tonilda, telling everyone what he's doing and why, and all such things as that: and the chief of it is, he says that it was all arranged between him and Lord Enka-Mordet that he was to marry his daughter, and it was going to be a public thing as soon as the rains ended, only for what happened to poor Lord Enka-Mordet. And he says-that's to say, in the proclamation he says-that he was the one as had the High Counselor murdered, and that he'll never rest until he's revenged Lord Enka-Mordet and the dishonor that's been done to himself by Miss Milvushina being taken away."

Maia, sitting in the sun-dappled window-seat, considered this in silent wonder.

"It only shows, miss, doesn't it," resumed Ogma, "as the gods above-"

"Where is Milvushina?" interrupted Maia. "I remember now-that's to say I heard-that after the murder Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion took her into his own household, although by law she ought to have gone to the temple. The Sacred Queen was very angry about it."

"She's still with Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion," said Ogma. "He's said as he won't give her up. But that's not all, miss, either." She paused for effect.

"Well?" asked Maia.

"They say-that's to say, there's them as are saying, miss-that the Sacred Queen was for sending her back to Chalcon," said Ogma. "The rumor is that the Sacred Queen told General Kembri that Bekla had enough troubles as it was and to send the girl back and good riddance, But it seems Miss Milvushina said as she didn't want to go, and when the queen said she-was temple property and to be disposed of as such, Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion said no, because she shouldn't never have been enslaved in the first place, so by rights she wasn't a slave at all. So then Queen Fornis got very angry, but when she told General Kembri to see to it, he said he was too busy and anyway it wouldn't make any difference, because Lord Santil wouldn't want her back now she's been-you know. So that's it, you see, miss, and it only goes to show, doesn't it-"

"Then you mean Milvushina's living with Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion now?"

"Oh, yes, miss," said Ogma, "and what's more, they say he's going to command a special band of soldiers they're

raising, to go to Chalcon and put down Lord Erketlis; that's as soon as they're ready. And Miss Milvushina, she's said all along that he's been that good to her in her trouble that she means to stay with him here in Bekla."

And what did all this matter to herself? thought Maia, dismissing Ogma to go and set about cooking dinner. Once, there had been a time when she would have been wild with jealousy and full of resentment against Elvair-ka-Vir-rion. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." "Thank you for my pleasure. It was much the best I've ever had." This was not disillusion on her part, however: it was sheer lack of interest. With her new understanding, her opened eyes, she knew that Elvair-ka-Virrion was no man for her. He had once bedded her; she had enjoyed it; it had been a step up. He was the son and heir of the Lord General, while she was now the most celebrated, acclaimed woman in the empire. And that was all-that was the size of it. What could she and Elvair-ka-Virrion possibly create together, apart from mere physical pleasure? Milvushina was welcome to him. She did not want him. She wanted her Zenka.

She was in a situation of success and wealth such as she could never have dreamed of, and she had been warned that she had powerful enemies-potential enemies, at all events. She had betrayed the confidence of the man she loved, and by doing so had saved thousands of lives. She was revenged on Bayub-Otal as thoroughly as she or anyone could possibly have desired; yet now she only regretted it and pitied him. What a tangle of contradictions!

Ah! she thought, if only I could go and tell it all to that old Nasada! She could see him so clearly in her mind's eye-his fish-skin robe, his bushy eyebrows, his kindly, penetrating stare, his way of really listening to what you told him and then answering something you'd never have thought of for yourself.

"Oh, if only I could talk to Nasada!" she said aloud. "He'd make sense out of all this: he'd help me to know myself. Only I shaH never see him again, that's for sure. And Zenka? Never see Zenka again? Oh, nol"

She burst into tears; but, as is so often the way, having given rein for a time she felt better, and was able to enjoy entertaining Nennaunir to dinner and showing off her new furniture and other possessions.

Nennaunir's news was all of the forthcoming Chalcon expedition.

"There won't be anyone left here, you know, to go to bed with," she said, shaking her head with mock concern and smiling mischievously at Maia across the table. "You've saved the city and ruined the shearnas, Maia. Soon ev-eryone'll be off to stick spears into Santil instead of zards into us."

"But no one's got to go as doesn't want, surely?" asked Maia. "Not from the upper city, anyway?"

"Well, the thing is," answered Nennaunir, "that Kem-bri's doing all he can to make them feel they ought to. As a matter of fact," she went on, dropping her voice and looking over her shoulder for a moment to make sure Ogma was not in the room, "I believe he's more worried than he cares to let people know. Galatalis-you don't know her, do you? A sweet girl, and so pretty; you'd like her, Maia-she was with him a few days ago and she told me he really didn't seem himself at all."

"But he was going to lead the army on the Valderra, surely?" said Maia. "Isn't he going to now, then?"

"Not if I know anything about it," replied Nennaunir. "Before the murder, oh, yes, he meant to take the army into Suba and attack Karnat on his own ground. A nice, offensive summer, my dear, with plenty of honor and glory for whoever was in command. But that's all changed now, you see. What with the trouble in Chalcon and all the unrest growing in the provinces since the murder, Kembri hasn't got the men to spare for attacking Karnat in Suba. He's had to give up that idea and leave the Valderra to Sendekar, with just enough men to hold it defensively. That's my guess, anyway."

Maia told her what she had heard from Ogma about Milvushina and the proclamation of Santil-ke-Erketlis.

"So Sencho signed his own death warrant when he decided to help himself to a baron's daughter for fun?" said Nennaunir. "Good! I've never been more glad to hear of anyone's death. But Santil-he's a danger to all of us, you know, Maia."

"How's that, then?" asked Maia. "He hasn't got the men to make all that much trouble, surely?"

"No, but don't you see, he's openly in arms against the Leopards. No one else in the empire has got as far as that before, not since they've been in power. And as long as

they can't put him out of business, they can't afford to ignore him. There he is, offering at least a full belly to anyone who'll join him. As I see it, the longer he can keep going, the longer he's likely to. Men on the run will go to him instead of to Zeray. Anyone who's got on the wrong side of the Leopards will know where to head for, and there's quite a few of them, I should think, wouldn't you? Elleroth, for one; and Elleroth's the sort of man people will follow."

"Who is this Elleroth?" asked Maia. "I remember, now, the Urtans were talking about him."

"He's the son and heir of the Ban of Sarkid," answered Nennaunir. "I met him once, a year or two back, when he came up here; a very amusing, dashing sort of lad, from all I saw of him. Sarkid's never had slavery, you know, and when the Leopards came into power the Sarkidians made it clear that they were quite ready to quarrel about that if they had to. The House of Sarkid claims to be descended from a legendary hero called Deparioth, who was a slave until he became Ban himself and set all the slaves free. That was hundreds of years ago, of course, but they've always stuck to it like glue. I suppose Sencho and Kembri must have decided that as long as they didn't try to spread their ideas outside Sarkid, it wasn't worth fighting about. But now Elleroth's taken a bunch of his lads to join Santil, and you can bet those diamonds you're wearing, dear-aren't they marvelous? I've never seen bigger, not even the Sacred Queen's-did the city give them to you?"

"Yes, Lord Durakkon gave them to me himself," said Maia, "when he come here to thank me. Made me cry, tell you the truth."

"I don't wonder. Well, we know that's one Leopard who's not going to want anything from you in return, don't we? Where was I? Oh, yes, you can bet your diamonds that Kembri's got a headache about that. He must have decided he can't afford to leave the city himself, what with not having caught Sencho's killers and wondering where the next bit of provincial trouble's going to start. But he's sending Elvair-that's what I heard-with a specially raised force-Lapanese, Ortelgans, Belishbans, all sorts-to rout Santil out and finish him off. The Leopards must be desperate to stop the revolt spreading, I should think, wouldn't you?"

"Then why don't they send Milvushina back?" asked Maia. "I mean, whatever she says, they could make her go, surely?"

"Wouldn't make any difference now," said Nennaunir. "Heldril aren't called heldril for nothing, you know: 'old-fashioned people'. As far as Santil's concerned, she's damaged goods and no wife for him any more. No, it's the insult to his honor that he's angry about. He was betrothed to a baron's daughter and the Leopards enslaved her and took her virginity, when by rights she belonged to him. As far as Santil's concerned, that's that, but he's in honor bound to revenge it. Sencho can't have known she was betrothed to Santil, or even he'd have thought twice, I imagine."

"But if it can't make any difference, Nan, why's Fornis so keen to send her back? Only I was told she regular fell out with Kembri over it."

"Ah!" Nennaunir put a finger to her lips. "Well, I'll tell you what I think I know, Maia, because you're who you are and I've always liked you. But for Cran and Airtha's sake don't go repeating it; I never said anything, did I?"

Maia shook her head.

"Where's your servant?" asked Nennaunir, looking round into the room behind them.

"In the kitchen; asleep, too, if I know anything about her."

"She can't possibly hear us?"

Maia shook her head,

Nennaunir leant forward where she was sitting. "It's my belief that Fornis is almost at her wits' end," she said, dropping her voice. "She's had nearly two reigns as Sacred Queen, and that's something that's never been known before. Her second acclamation was all a put-up job, you know. There were plenty of people who shook their heads- secretly, of course, or they'd have found they'd shaken them off, I dare say-when she got the Leopards to agree to a second reign. Now that's due to end next Melekril, and what does she mean to do next? No one knows. But she'll try to stay where she is, that's my guess. And any girl in the upper city she thinks might be a rival, she'll put her out of the way if she can. Milvushina's a baron's daughter. Elvair-ka-Virrion's made her his consort and apparently Kembri's supporting him. I bet the two of them have decided Fornis is no more use to them-the people would

never agree to a third reign-and they're looking for someone to succeed her as the next Sacred Queen. And if I know anything about it, that someone's Milvushina.

"But that's not the whole size of it, not by a long way. You're in danger yourself, Maia. Yes, you are! I don't want to frighten you, but with a standing and a following like you've got now, I'm certain Fornis must have her eye on you. If I were you I should take great care: don't give her the slightest grounds for thinking you're ambitious."

"I shan't," said Maia. "Sessendris has told me the same already."

Nennaunir nodded. "She's nice; you can trust her. Did she tell you they've just made another lot of arrests in Tonilda? No one important, though-all little people. They're bringing them up to Bekla now."

She was silent for a time, but then suddenly burst out "Fornis! Oh, Cran, she really frightens me! I'm lucky to be here myself; did you know that?"

"No, I never," said Maia. "How could I?"

"Well, I just wondered whether Sednil might have told you anything: about how he came to be doing five years as a branded man, I mean. Poor lad, he's doing it for me, that's the plain truth. But what could I do? I had no choice, else I'd be dead."

"How ever was that, then?" asked Maia.

"It was all along of that Randronoth, the governor of Lapan," said Nennaunir. "He's well-known to have a fancy for very young girls: did you know?"

Maia laughed. "I ought to: I had to spend the night with him once, when he was staying at Sencho's. Sencho offered him his choice and I was the one he picked. He didn't half have a go at me an' all!"

"Ah, yes: Randronoth wouldn't miss the chance of a girl like you. Well, then, you may perhaps know as well, do you, that the Leopards have had their doubts about him for some time? He's not entirely trusted, only they've never been able to prove anything. He really only held on to his governorship this last year or so by keeping in with Sencho. What'll happen to him now is anybody's guess.

"But I was going to tell you about Queen Fornis and Sednil, wasn't I? It happened more than two years ago, when I was still living in the lower city. I'd had a lover for some time before-an officer-but he'd been killed in battle, and after that I had quite a struggle for a bit. For some

reason no one rich or powerful seemed to fancy me. In fact I was seriously thinking of selling myself to Lalloc, if only he'd promise to place me in some wealthy household up here. And it was during that bad time that I took up with Sednil. He's a Palteshi, you know, like me, and we'd first met in Fornis's army, when we were just banzis. He was working for a jewel-merchant in the lower city, but he used to make a bit extra by-well, by helping to get people interested in me-traders coming up to Bekla and so on. We lived together. Sednil was always very good about money; almost too good, really. He'd take money direct from men for introducing them to me-he regarded that as payment for work he'd done himself, you see-but he'd never take a meld of mine. He was terribly proud that way; he used to say he'd rather starve. Still, there was no danger of that, because what with the jewel-merchant and the tips from my visitors he was doing reasonably well.

"He was a lot of comfort in those days, was Sednil, and he was no fool. Saw things straight, you know, and often gave me good advice."

"Ah, he gave me some, too," replied Maia. "What you'd call down-to-earth."

Nennaunir nodded. "Well, one time Randronoth had come up from Lapan to see Fornis and the Leopards on state business, and the next evening he was drinking with some of his own men down in 'The Serpent.' He's always been very free-and-easy among his own men, has Randronoth. And it was while he was there that Sednil fell in with him and managed to get him interested in me. Of course I fairly jumped at it; it was much the best opportunity I'd ever had in my life. Well, you know how it is, don't you? Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This did: I gave him a simply marvelous time; he really wondered which way the moon was going round. Actually, that was when I turned the corner, because later, when I'd got too old to suit his taste, he recommended me to several people in the upper city. But that isn't what I was going to tell you, That night, when he was feeling really contented and satisfied-and still a bit tipsy, too-he gave me a huge great ring he had-for a present, you know. I tried to refuse it, because I was afraid he'd only regret it later and that'd cost me more than the ring could possibly be worth; but he was very insistent and in the end I decided the easiest thing would be to take it.

"It wasn't a girl's ring at all: only a man could possibly have worn it. It was made like a coiled silver dragon with a great ruby in its mouth half as big as your little fingernail. So I thought, "Well, if ever he asks for it back he can have it-always the honest shearna, that's me-and if he doesn't, I'll hang on to it for a year or so and then sell it. So next morning, off he goes as happy as a stag in autumn and I slept for the rest of the day. I'd left the ring lying on my dressing-table.

"Well, early that afternoon Master Sednil came in-he had a key, of course-and the first thing he saw was the ring. He'd never have taken it to sell-not without asking me-but it struck him as absolutely marvelous, and he couldn't resist putting it on and wearing it when he went back to the jewel-merchant's a bit later. He was going to show it off to him, you see. I never woke up until after he'd gone, and even then I didn't miss the ring. I had no idea at all what he'd done.

"Well, he was crossing the Caravan Market when as luck would have it he ran right into that woman of Queen Fomis's-you know, Ashaktis. Apparently the ring-and no one could possibly have mistaken it for any other-had originally been given to Randronoth by Fornis herself; and Ashaktis recognized it. And before Sednil knew what was happening she'd called two of the market officers-they all knew her, of course-and had him arrested and dragged up in front of Fornis.

"Fornis never even asked him what he had to say for himself. She just sent for Randronoth and asked him. Well, naturally, he wasn't going to say he'd given away the Sacred Queen's present to a shearna in the lower city. He said he'd lost it: must have dropped it in the street.

"Sednil was frightened to death, of course. He simply told the queen the truth about where he'd found the ring and asked for me as a witness. But meanwhile Randronoth had got to me first, and I won't tell you how much he gave me to swear I knew nothing whatever about it. I took it, and I've never looked back. But before you think too badly of me, Maia, let me tell you I wouldn't have kept quiet if the Sacred Queen had sentenced Sednil to hang, or to the Gelt mines. I thought he might even be let off altogether- after all, Randronoth hadr got the ring back-but Fornis was cruel as a cat. You could see she was enjoying it. She had him branded in the hand then and there, and she

stayed herself to watch it done; and then she gave him five years' forced service-more than any city magistrate would have given him. And from that day to this I've been doing everything I can, not just to make it easier for him, but to get him set free. Only I daren't try too hard. Fornis- oh, believe me, no girl's safe who risks displeasing Fornis! There've been several girls she's taken a dislike to who've simply vanished. That's why I'm saying, Maia, for Cran's sake be careful!"

"Nan," broke in Maia, "tell me, where's Occula?"

"Occula?" answered Nennaunir. "They took her to the temple for questioning-oh, weeks ago now. That's all I know. She may be dead. But if she is dead, she certainly wasn't publicly executed. Either she's still alive in the temple, or else they killed her there."

"No," said Maia. "No, Nan. I can't tell you how I know- I daren't-but I know for a fact that she was sent for out of the temple by the Sacred Queen."

"Then all I can say is, Cran and Airtha help her!" replied Nennaunir.

Maia began to cry.

55: "WHERE IS OCCULA?"

"I haven't been able to find out anything at all, miss," said Ogma.

It was three days later. Maia, during the night after Nennaunir's visit, had lain awake for several hours, fretting over Occula. Might she perhaps already have died in the hands of the temple authorities, before Ashaktis had brought the queen's message to the chief priest? That would account for no one having seen her or heard anything of her. It seemed more probable, though, that she had been sent to the queen: and if so, then either she was still with her, or else the queen, finding her not to her liking, had dismissed her as she had dismissed Maia. Either that, or else the queen had-what had been her own phrase? "got rid of her".

Maia forced herself to look at the matter calmly. She knew intuitively that she could not go to Fornis and inquire what had become of Occula. This-especially in the light of the warnings she had had from Sessendris and Nennau-

nir-would be not only useless but dangerous. Besides, Fomis herself had assured her that if ever she were to disclose one word of what had passed between them, she should hang. The idea of alluding to it, even obliquely and in private, to this ruthless, cruel woman-and in the dark there rose before her inward sight the mane of glowing, red hair and the dominating, ice-green eyes-frightened her very much: for though Maia knew that she had all Bekla at her feet, she also knew very well that she lacked sophistication and experience, and was not at all sure how far she could safely go in asserting herself. She had been strongly advised to avoid doing anything likely to bring herself to the queen's notice; and with this advice all her own instincts accorded.

Occula, of course, had had many admirers among the young Leopards. Before the murder of the High Counselor she had been-with Terebinthia's connivance-much in demand. But (and this again was Maia's instinctive guess) since the murder and her arrest and disappearance, things had changed. Neither Shend-Lador and his friends, when they had come to see her, nor Sarget, had made any reference to Occula, though none of them could possibly have forgotten that she and Maia had been together in Sencho's household The plain inference was that it was no longer felt to be entirely wise to recall Occula or show any interest in her. Wryly, Maia remembered one of Occula's own favorite maxims. "Never get ill, banzi, and never get into trouble: before you know where you are the water's up to your venda and the bastards are all runnin' like rats."

Besides, if-as she surely would-the queen were to learn that she had been inquiring about Occula in the upper city, notwithstanding that she knew very well whither she had last been summoned, this would be as ill-received and therefore as risky as knocking on the queen's front door.

Early next morning she had taken the only practicable step she could think of. Calling Ogma in before the time at which she herself was usually woken, she took her into her confidence, omitting mention only of her own relationship with the queen. She told her of her anxiety for Occula's life, of her virtual certainty that Form's had taken her from the temple to her own house; of the warnings she had received to keep herself out of the queen's eye;

and of the consequent impossibility of pursuing inquiries on her own account.

"Ogma, dear, do you think you could try to find out something? I mean, do you know any of the queen's servants, or perhaps someone who does?"

"No, that I don't, miss, I'm afraid. I was hardly ever out of the High Counselor's house, you see, and in those days I never went into the lower city. That's why it makes all the difference bein' here with you, only now I-"

"Where's Terebinthia, do you know?" interrupted Maia.

"Oh, she cut and run, miss. Didn't you know? Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion helped her to get out of Bekla quick- he'd paid her a lot, you see, for letting him take Miss Milvushina away with him before she could be sent down to the temple with the rest of us. Yes, the temple people were too late to catch the saiyett. When they asked about her, she'd already gone. I seem to remember she said something about she meant to go south-down Belishba way: that's where she came from, you know. They still want her for letting Miss Milvushina go, only they don't know where she is. Ah, well, but Terebinthia, she was always that artful, wasn't she, miss?"

Nicely set up with all our lygols, thought Maia, letting Ogma run on for a while. And she's one person who probably could have helped me-specially if I'd made it worth her while. She'd have known some girl in Fornis's households-or if she hadn't, she could probably have found me one without exciting suspicion. But Ogma? Looking at the ill-favored, half-crippled girl, not particularly intelligent, clean or tidy; one of the countless army of decent, stupid drudges content to look to their betters for a little security in return for scrubbing the world's floors all their lives, she realized the total impracticability of sending her off to make a friend among Fornis's servants and then discreetly ask about Occula. The very idea was absurd. She tried to imagine Ogma going about to delude Ashaktis. It recalled to her one of old Drigga's most hilarious and delightful stories, in which the ox, while intending to deceive the monkey, unwittingly reveals to that perspicacious animal everything which he supposes he is keeping cleverly concealed.

"Something amuse you, miss?" asked Ogma, with an air of resentment against she could not tell what. Like most people of her sort, the notion that others might be

laughing at her was never very far from poor Ogma's mind.

"Oh, I was only just thinking of old Terebinthia," replied Maia. "That time when the High Counselor told her to-" and hurriedly invented the rest of the episode, to the delight of Ogma, who naturally, had hated the saiyett- a domestic tyrant if ever there was one.

"Well, Ogma, dear, when you're out shopping, just ask around the market and so on, as if you were gossiping about the murder, but don't let on to anyone as it was me was wanted you to, d'you see? I know you were nearly as fond of Occula as what I was, and you must want to find out what's happened to her as much as I do. But just make it look like natural curiosity-don't go trying to get hold of anyone in the queen's house or anything o' that. Only we could both land up in trouble then."

Perhaps these last words of hers had frightened poor Ogma a little too effectively, thought Maia now, listening to the total blank which was all she had to report after three days among the shops and stalls. She might not have been trying particularly hard. Yet the more sinister explanation would not leave Maia's mind: that Occula might have died weeks ago, her body disposed of in some way no doubt well-established between Fornis and Ashaktis, her name no longer spoken, any mark she had made on Bekla obliterated-another item from the High Counselor's liquidated household.

"I haven't been able to find out anything at all." And there was something about the way Ogma spoke which seemed to Maia to carry the meaning "And don't ask me to try any more." Yes, for sure she'd frightened her too much with her talk of the queen; but no more than she'd frightened herself. Fair's fair, she thought; I can't blame her.

But I'll be damned if I'll give it up myself. My Occula! My darling Occula, who saved me from that bastard Genshed and gave me back something to live for, and taught me all I've learned and even took care to send me out of the way before Sencho was killed, although she was half-crazy with fear on her own account! Occula, the only one who ever really loved me; except for-oh, how I wish I could tell her about Zenka! If she's alive, does she know-has she heard-about me? She can't not have. Then why hasn't she tried to send me some message? And thus once again the all-too-likely explanation returned upon poor Maia.

"Ogma, will you tell Jarvil, please, to ask for my soldiers to come this afternoon, as soon as it begins to get cool? I'm going to the temple to see the chief priest, tell them."

Maia took this committal decision as unreflectingly as she had plunged into the Valderra. It was like mucking out the cows: the thing had got to be done and that was all there was to it. The thought that she could still desist, and the implication of what she was going to do-these notions crossed her mind only momentarily, to be brushed aside. How closely Fornis might be in the chief priest's confidence was something that it hardly occurred to her to consider, just as on the river bank she had given herself no time to think.

Having arrived at the temple precinct and been deferentially handed down from her jekzha by Brero, one of her soldiers, she climbed the broad steps to the portico watched by a small crowd, some of whom had followed her from the Caravan Market. The Tamarrik water-clock was just upon four hours after noon and even as she alighted, the purple-lacquered kynat released its silver ball to roll down the spiral and be caught in his cup by the divine child. Once she would have stopped to watch. Nowadays her public status required an air of more detachment and composure. Without turning her head, she passed between the two center columns and, as the acolyte seated at the bronze doors rose and bowed, gave him her most gracious smile (he was no eunuch, she sensed) and asked to see the chief priest.

Nothing could have been more courteous than her reception. A senior priest escorted her up a staircase to a pleasant, cool room on the south side of the temple, sent a slave for serrardoes, thrilsa and Yeldashay, and sat down to converse with her until the chief priest should appear. Maia, who not unnaturally felt herself to have gained a good deal in poise and self-confidence since the days of Sencho, replied to him with what she hoped was restraint and assurance about her own health, the water-ways of Suba, the iniquities of the Chalcon rebels and the certainty of their early defeat by Elvair-ka-Virrion. At length the bead curtains at the doorway clashed lightly (reminding her on the instant of Terebinthia: she nearly found herself springing to her feet) and the chief priest entered, followed by an attendant, who remained standing by the door. The other priest bowed and left them.

Apart from Durakkon, this was Maia's first encounter, since her return, with any leading representative of the Leopard regime. There was no least trace of hostility, but nevertheless she began almost at once to sense that certain atmosphere of which Nennaunir had warned her. Last year she had been just a little girl for the basting, no one's enemy, a nobody whom there was no reason to harm. Now, the chief priest-who had last seen her trembling, dishevelled and filthy from days of imprisonment-was plainly wondering, behind his careful air of being honored by a visit from the city's beautiful heroine, what she wanted from nim and what her real purpose might be. Quite early on in the conversation he contrived to stress the salutary and beneficial detachment of the temple from imperial politics and the value to the city of a priestly order of integrity which served Cran first and the secular rulers second. Maia could not help wondering whether, if he really supposed that she had wanted to sound out his view about herself as a possible successor to the Sacred Queen, she would have been quite such a fool as to come and do it face-to-face in a formal interview of this kind.

"My Guardian," she said, using the correct and formal style of address to the chief priest by ordinary citizens, "it's only a small matter I've come to ask you about. You'll no doubt remember the black girl, Occula, who was brought here the day before I came myself to be-er-prepared for my journey to Suba. You know, I expect, that she and I were close friends: we were in the High Counselor's household together. Now that I've recovered my health, naturally I want to take up with my friends again. May I ask you whether Occula's still here in the temple, and if not, where she is?"

"Well," he replied slowly. "Well-what do you think yourself-don't you think-while these difficult times last- that's something of a matter-isn't it-which ought to remain, perhaps, between the temple and the Lord General? As you know, the girl-your companion, you tell me- was involved in the murder of the High Counselor, wasn't she?"

"It's not for me to contradict you, my Guardian, but I reckon otherwise. In any case, I beg you to take pity on my anxiety about a dear friend to whom I owe more 'n what I can say. At least please tell me whether you positively know her to be dead-that is, whether she died here

in the temple during the time I was gone from the city."

He made no reply, only looking down at the table, patting it with his fingers in a gentle rhythm.

"If she is dead, my Guardian, surely it can do no possible harm to tell me? It seems-well, a small thing to ask, like."

He evidently thought so, too. She could discern in him a certain feeling of anti-climax. This public idol and acclaimed beauty, this new, unassessed and still uncommitted personality in the upper city's endless currents of power-maneuver, had sought him out for a talk. Yet now it transpired that apparently all she wanted to know was the whereabouts of a black concubine.

For an instant she saw him almost imperceptibly shake his head in perplexity. Then he looked up, smiling.

"If I positively knew her to be dead, Serrelinda, I would tell you as much: I hope that helps you."

"Then she is not?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you any more."

"Where is she? Is she-?" But here she checked herself. She dared not even imply that she knew about Fornis.

He smiled again and spread his hands, as though embarrassed by a question that she should really have known better than to ask.

She covered her lapse, speaking of other things, and a few minutes later thanked him and took her leave, the chief priest courteously wishing her all prosperity and summoning yet another priest to escort her from the temple.

"One more-oh, very trifling thing, my Guardian," she said.

He turned at the door.

"There is a young man here, serving a sentence. His name is Sednil. He used to be a friend of someone-well, of someone I know."

He smiled patiently. "I believe-I can't really be certain-that we have three or four men here-of that kind. My officer of the household would know, of course, and I'm sure he'd be very ready to talk with you. It would- er-be most pleasant for him, I'm sure."

He was gone, leaving her, thus put out of countenance, to cover her embarrassment by conversing with the priest. They returned along the corridors and down the staircase.

Arrived in the principal interior court below, where numerous suppliants, priests and servants were coming and going about their business, she had just contrived some

remark about the swallows flitting in and out under the cornice when suddenly she caught sight of Sednil emerging-in a furtive manner, or so it seemed-from a doorway opposite. He was stooping under a great pannier strapped to his back, which appeared to be full of masons' rubble or something of the sort. It was, in fact, a few moments before she recognized him, but in those moments he had nevertheless already attracted her attention by reason of being easily the dirtiest and most wretched-looking person in the whole court. Indeed, it was rather startling to come upon such an object even casually present in a beautiful and imposing place designed and used expressly to confer credit on the city.

Maia, inclining graciously towards the priest as an indication of thanks and farewell, walked swiftly across the court and touched Sednil on the shoulder. Starting and jerking up his head, he plainly did not remember her for a moment. Then, uncertainly, and plainly not in the least knowing what he might have to expect, he said, "Maia! Well-of course I'd heard-" but on the instant broke off, turning away. She had the impression that if it had not been for the heavy basket he would have shrugged his shoulders.

"Sednil, listen; I want to help you-"

"O Cran!" he said. "Don't you start, too-"

"I mean it-"

"-Like Nan and all the rest. Why can't you let me alone?" Yet he made no further move to go.

As she hesitated he said, "I can't stop about here. You'll get me into-"

"Sednil, I must know; where's Occula? Tell me, quickly. Is she still here or not?"

"What's it to you?"

"Oh, Sednil! You want money? Aren't I your friend-"

He gave a quick, bitter laugh and seemed about to reply, but she cut him short.

"At least tell me if you know she's dead. Please!"

"I don't know she's dead."

"Then do you know she's alive?"

As though finally maddened by her insistence-f or she had him by the arm, and under the weight of the basket he could

not break free-he burst out, "She was taken away by the queen's woman-the Palteshi woman. Now will you-"

"When? The same day as I was brought here?"

"No, the day after: the chief priest didn't want-"

At this moment a burly, scowling man in a sacking apron came hurrying out of the doorway near which they were standing, caught sight of Sednil and immediately dealt him a swinging buffet on the side of the head.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing? You know damned well you're not supposed to carry that stuff across this court, don't you? You lot go round the back, where you can't be seen. Just because that's heavy-next time I'll have you whipped-"

Maia, who had never been in a position of authority in her life, had in the first instant felt more cowed and caught in the wrong than Sednil, who looked about as startled as an ox by the all-too-familiar blows of its peasant master. Now, however, like someone suddenly remembering that she has unaccustomed money in her purse and therefore need no longer stand hungry outside the cookshop, she sprang into action. Looking the overseer-or whatever he was-straight in the eye,shesaidfirmly,"Itwasmeascalledtheman:Iwantedto speak to him."

The overseer looked at her in surprise. The intervention of a priest or a noble being within his comprehension, he would have known his proper response, but girls who looked like demi-goddesses, clad in authority and diamonds, had not come his way before. After a few seconds he opened his mouth to reply, but had got no further than "Saiyett-" when Maia stayed him with an uplifted hand. "Please don't trouble yourself further; I shan't keep him a moment. You may leave us now."

She turned back to Sednil. "Then you think she's still with the queen?"

"Yes. Without she's dead she is."

There was a cough at her elbow: she turned to see the priest who had accompanied her down the staircase.

"Er-saiyett-I wonder whether I may perhaps-"

"Well," said Maia to Sednil, "that's what Nennaunir asked me to tell you! And to give you this, with her love."

Thereupon, very deliberately and taking her time, she took out a hundred-meld piece, pressed it into Sednil's hand, put her arms round his neck, kissed both his dirty cheeks and then walked slowly out of the temple.

"Oh, it makes me that wildl" she exclaimed to her soldier, Brero: but when he asked her what, she merely replied "Don't matter," and said no more.

It was during this return journey from the temple that she encountered Selperron and received his gift of flowers. When he first stopped her jekzha she thought, for a split second, that he was an assassin. She recovered herself instantly, but did not altogether forget the moment.

56: A SECRET VISIT

Lying awake before the birds began to sing, listening to the tiny sounds of darkness and feeling the now-familiar throbbing along her half-healed thigh, Maia considered her next step. Obviously, the chief priest must by now have learned that she had spoken with Sednil and what about. No doubt they had had the hundred meld off him too: that would not surprise her in the least.

The unnatural complexity and imponderable danger of her situation enraged as much as it frightened her. Why should she be frustrated in a matter which was entirely innocent and natural? Surely to Cran it ought to be understandable-acceptable at face value-that she should want to know the whereabouts of her greatest friend? Yet evidently it was not; and she had now given the suspicious priests something to fasten on and wonder about. Why exactly might the Tonildan girl be so anxious to get in touch with Sencho's black concubine? Simply because she had been fond of her-well, that might perhaps be all there was to it, and then again it might not. Maia, they knew, had herself spent a night with the queen-after which the queen had immediately sent for Occula. She had no idea of the relations between Fornis and the chief priest. To what extent did they confide in each other? Were they united in distrust of Kembri, or did they fear each other? Did the chief priest know anything about Fornis's private pleasures? Would he tell Fornis that she had been inquiring about Occula? If so, what would Fornis do? These inconclusive reflections, in the half-darkness and solitude before dawn, were enough to frighten any girl.

But if she gave up searching for Occula, what self-respect could she have left? It was not only that she herself needed

Occula and could not bear the thought of continuing her life without at least finding out what had happened to her. Occula, if she was still alive, might quite possibly stand in need of her help. At the very least she had a duty to the gods and to all the sacred obligations of friendship to discover whether Occula was still alive. But how?

Suddenly there came into her head the recollection of Zuno, bowing at the doorway of the queen's supper-room and finding himself confronted by the girl whom he had compelled to trudge seven miles from Naksh in the heat of the day. Zuno owed his present position to Occula, and if anyone in all Bekla had reason to know that the two of them were bosom friends, it was surely he. "You never know when he might not be able to do us a bit of good," Occula had said. It was like one of old Drigga's tales, she thought. All those weeks ago, in Sencho's house, Occula had, in effect, given her a key to keep and told her that one day she would come upon the door it would open. But Occula-why, yes, just like a tale!-had had no idea that it would turn out to be a door behind which she herself was imprisoned.

Maia, like virtually everyone in the Beklan Empire, thought naturally and unconsciously of the world as a kind of divine machine (rather like the Tamarrik Gate) working in conformity with fixed, recurring accordances, correlations and principles. Some of these were, of course, self-evident-as that unusually large flocks of crows presaged ill-fortune, or that conception was more likely when love was made under the full moon. Others, however, were riddling and enigmatic, their homeopathic connections hard to discern; in some cases impossible without personal revelation through the favor of a god. In the old tales-and they, of course, were plainly the revealed truth of the gods, or why else could they have held good age after age?-no deed or occurrence, however apparently casual or improbable of consequence, was without its unforeseen fruition, good or bad. These, old Drigga had explained, were often ironic jokes on the part of the gods at the expense of mortals who had not the common sense or humility to keep their eyes and ears open to divine tidings. Here, obviously, was a clear instance. The real reason why Occula had been prompted to get Zuno his place was that the gods had known that one day the deed would yield advantage. It followed that Occula must still be alive and

that she, Maia, was fated to find her. Greatly comforted by her intelligent arrival at this perception, Maia fell asleep again; and later that morning, after breakfast and a bath, sent Jarvil down to the lower city with a message to the slave-dealer Lalloc that she wished to see him on business as soon as possible. Whether or not Lalloc was in the city she had no idea. For all she knew, he might be anywhere from Herl to Kabin, buying stock or engaging fresh agents. Logically, however-that was, in accordance with the supernatural design perceived by her-he was bound to be on hand; and so it proved. The slave-dealer, dressed and be-jewelled in the florid style she remembered but now, many eventful months later, saw plainly (as she had not before) to be so tawdry and garish as to proclaim him the cheapest of imitation Leopards, presented himself in her parlor early that evening.

Maia, simply dressed in a gray Yeldashay metlan with crimson sandals and a gold chain at her neck, received him smilingly and with a careful avoidance of any condescension or superiority. The evening being warm and cloudless, she took him out to sit on the miniature terrace overlooking the Barb, where Ogma brought sweet wine, honey cakes and the little, sticky jellies calledprions, which came up from Ikat. She had reckoned this sort of thing would probably be to Lalloc's taste and so it evidently proved, for he partook copiously, while giving every sign of feeling that much of the credit for her new standing was attributable to himself.

"Well," he said, after admiring the house and inquiring about her health in a manner so superficial and perfunctory that from any person of breeding it would have been insulting, "so you don't minding doing business, eh, with the man who once soil you?"

"Not in the least, U-Lalloc," answered Maia. "You've never done me any harm as I know of."

"Well, well," said Lalloc, rubbing his hands together so that the rings clicked on his fingers, "I nower harm any of my girls, thot's it. Nower treat anyone bad. Where's the sense; 'cos you nower know where they going to fon-nish up, eh? Now you fonnish up queen of Bekla and we're still good friends, isn't it?"

"I'm not the queen of Bekla, U-Lalloc," said Maia quickly. "I'll thank you to remember that, and not use that kind of talk where I'm concerned, either here or any-

where else. I don't reckon as Queen Fornis'd like it, do you?"

"No, no, of course, jost my joke," replied the slave-dealer, putting his feet up on a stool and helping himself to another handful of prions. "But oil the same, now you're big, important lady-most important ower come from me, I toll you-"

Maia cut him short. "U-Lalloc, I need another good, reliable girl in the house-someone strong, but young enough to be ready to do what Ogma tells her; and I need a man as can help the porter, too."

"Ah, no trobble, saiyett. There's plonty coming in jost now, this time of year. Perhaps you like to comming down tomorrow, see as monny what you like. Or I bring one or two up here-whatever you like. How moch you want to spend, saiyett? Woll, I jost bring up the best, thot's it, eh?"

They talked on for a time, Maia half-serious and asking such questions as occurred to her; for after all, she might in all earnest enlarge her establishment-she could well afford it.

"Well, that's quite satisfactory, U-Lalloc," she said at length, standing up and leaning over the balustrade. "I'll think it over-what you've told me-and let you know. I'm obliged to you for coming up here so promptly. By the way, how's that young man of yours as brought me and my friend up from Hirdo last year? Is he still with you?"

It would be better, she had decided, not to reveal to Lalloc that she knew what had become of Zuno. The less that people-especially people like him-thought she knew about Fornis's household the better.

Lalloc began telling her effusively-again, one would have supposed that it reflected credit upon himself-about Zuno's advancement to the post of personal steward to the Sacred Queen, contriving to suggest that the position was that of a state official rather than a servant. Having let him talk on for a time she said, "Well, I'm sorry he's left your service, U-Lalloc, 'cause now things are going so well with me, I'd have liked to meet him again. He was-" it cost her an effort, but she got it out-"he was good to us on the way up to Bekla, and I'd have liked to give him a little token of esteem."

"Well, that's kind of dofficult, saiyett," replied Lalloc.

"The Sacred Queen-she keep her personal household very private, yoss, yoss."

"Still, I suppose you might sometimes have occasion to go there, U-Lalloc, on business-"

"Ollways when I'm going it's at night, saiyett-"

Yes, thought Maia, with those poor little boys, I'll bet. I wonder how many she's got through in seven years? She said casually, "Well, I s'pose at that rate you can go there without anyone being all that much surprised to see you. So I could just go along with you and see Zuno, couldn't I? No one else need know it's me, of course, 'ceptin' Zuno himself."

Before he could answer she went on, "I'll have to leave you now, U-Lalloc, just for a minute or two: I'll be back directly. While I'm gone you can be having a look at this pretty little carved box. You'll appreciate the workmanship. It's from Sarkid, or so I was told."

She had put eight hundred meld in the box. Probably twice as much as she need have, she thought irritably, taking care to make plenty of noise over going upstairs and calling to Ogma. But hadn't Occula herself once advised, "Always bribe too much, banzi: the gaols are full of people who've offered too little."

The moment she came back to the terrace and before he could speak, she said "Please keep the box, U-Lalloc, as a gift from me. As to the other matter we were talking about, I'll meet you on the shore-just down there, see?- tomorrow night, about an hour after sunset. No one will be able to recognize me, don't worry. I'm sorry I can't stay any longer now." And with this, turning away, she called, "Ogma, will you please show U-Lalloc to the gate and tell Jarvil to get him a jekzha?"

Cran and Airtha! she thought; what have I done? The chief priest knows I've been questioning Sednil; and now this man can say I bribed him to get into the queen's house and see Zuno. What if it all gets back to the queen? Ah, no, but it's fated, else the gods wouldn't have put Zuno there in the first place. Come to think of it, it'd probably be a deal more dangerous to disregard a favor like that from the gods.

There was no moon and only the lightest of breezes stirred the surface of the Barb lapping against its grassy

banks in the dark. The night was so still that Maia, pacing back and forth among the flowering shrubs and clumps of lilies, could hear the faint plashing of the Monju outfall, almost a furlong away beyond the trees. Already-or so it seemed-she had been waiting much longer than she had expected. Perhaps something had happened to prevent the slave-dealer from keeping their appointment? Well, but in that case would he not at least have let Ogma know as much?

The stars were clear, yet Maia, in the solitude, was suddenly overcome by foreboding and dread. Not far away shone the lamps of other houses; the houses of the wealthy, the powerful-yes, and the cunning and ruthless. There came back to her the memory of how once, when she was a little girl delirious with fever, she had lain and watched the walls of the hut ripple, melt and dissolve into smiles- expanses of horrible, silent smiles, merging and reopening until she could bear it no longer and started up in screaming terror. "The heroine of the empire" Durakkon had called her, himself placing round her neck those diamonds, worth more than all the money her father and mother had ever made in their lives. And the retinue of courtiers and officers attending him-oh, how they had smiled and smiled!

Zenka, she thought; Zenka who had made her laugh with delight like a child at a fair, who had taken her with him-the only man who ever had-into a world of joyous, mutual understanding, his love-making the natural expression of his feeling, his delight in her company and his longing to please and protect her. What would she not give to have him standing beside her now and to feel his arm round her waist? O Lespa! she thought, if only I knew Occula was safe, I'd set out barefoot for the Valderra tomorrow and find him, wherever he is. And Nasada-if only I could just find that good old, straight-talking Nasada, he'd know what to do! Ah, to have to go all the way to the Suban marshes to find a man you can trust to tell you the truth!

She heard the sound of a cough, and turned quickly to recognize the bulky outline of the slave-dealer in the dark.

"U-Lalloc?"

"Oh, yoss, little saiyett, you think I'm not comming? No, I wouldn't let onnything going wrong, you don't hov to worry!"

His voice held a kind of jocular, conspiratorial famil-

iarity which she found unpleasant. This was the kind of company, she thought bitterly, which she was now compelled to seek, simply to gain the innocent end of finding her Occula. She wondered how often he arranged clandestine matters of one kind or another in return for money. What grimy tunnel was this along which she was being obliged to creep towards her friend; and to what extent had she put herself in this man's power? Well, either I'll soon have an old head on young shoulders, she thought, or else no head at all.

She still had little idea whereabouts, among the lawns and gardens of the upper city, the Sacred Queen's house might lie. She had last come to it in a state of sleepless exhaustion, and when leaving next day had been in no mood to look about her. She was surprised, therefore, after they had been walking for what seemed less than a quarter of an hour-during which they had met very few passers-by-when the slave-dealer, stopping at the corner of a walled lane, turned to her.

"You put this cloak on now-pull up the hood, yoss, thot's right. You're a girl I'm bringing to soil-no one to see, I'm saying only Zuno ask I bring you for the queen, all right? Then later you're not there, the rest jost think you don't suit, thot's it."

After a minute or two, as she walked on beside him up the lane, he suddenly said, "Genshed; this man in Puhra; he treat you bad?"

Maia stiffened. To her the night when she had cowered from Genshed's knife, to be rescued by Occula in the nick of time, was like something from a vanished world-a world which, thankfully, she would never know again. She had no least wish to make Lalloc a confidant of that memory.

The slave-dealer, however, apparently had his own reasons for persisting. "Occula say he treat you bad. She toll Zuno now she's good friends with the queen, she's gotting him killed."

"So she is alive? She's alive? U-Lalloc, Occula's alive? That's what you're saying? She's alive?"

"Well, you toll her I sond Genshed away. I don't like what he did to you, it's right against all the rules. Still, I don't like he's killed, because thot maybe makes it harder gotting other men for the work, you know? But you toll

her he's gone all right: he's gone so he don't be gotting killed."

She plucked his sleeve. "So she is alive?"

But now they were coming under an arch at the far end of the lane, into a courtyard surrounded by doorways and lit by three or four smoky torches stuck in brackets round the walls. A rotten-sweet smell of garbage, pebbly cobbles underfoot, a distant clatter of dishes, a puff of steam from an open window, a woman's sudden, impatient cry broken short. Yes, this must be their destination all right; the back-quarters of a wealthy house; and little enough it seemed to have in common with the palace to which Ashaktis had brought her that morning in early spring.

Lalloc stopped again. "Now; you jost simple country girl. You don't know onnything what's hoppening. You put the hood found your face, look down at the ground, thot's right." "

He went over to one of the doors and knocked. She followed, eyes on the ground. The grinding of a key in the lock, the rattle of a bolt. "You toll Zuno I come like he's saying. Confidential business."

Still looking down, she let herself be led through the door, up three or four steps and into a small, stone-floored room smelling of oil, corn and sacking. They waited in silence, and she could once more hear from a distance the sounds of the kitchen and scullery. Then the door opened and Zuno's voice said, "U-Lalloc! A most pleasant-ah- surprise. I don't remember that we had any arrangement tonight, but if I can be of any help to you, sir-"

Overcome by a sudden determination to get on with it and be damned, Maia flung back the hood and raised her head to face Zuno. Elegant as ever, not a hair out of place, his livery gleaming in the lamplight, he looked at her blankly for a moment before his eyes widened with surprise.

"Maia!"

She lost no time. "Zuno, I've come to see Occula. I've come because she's my dearest friend and for no other reason at all. Will you help me?"

She had expected him to prevaricate, to demur, perhaps to need bribing, but to her surprise he showed no least hesitation.

"What you're asking is dangerous, not only for you and Occula but for me too. But I will do it. Fortunately the

queen is at Lord Durakkon's tonight. Half an hour, saiyett, and no more, you understand? Come with me."

Hooded once more, she followed him through the door, up a flight of stairs, along a corridor, up another flight. Suddenly she knew where they were. This was the upper gallery where she had walked with Form's, had taken her in her arms and kissed her. And this-ah, this was the door of the very room in which she had woken and whence Ashaktis had taken her to the bath.

They entered. The room was unchanged, quiet and luxurious, its spacious length dim in the lamplight. A moth which had flown into one of the lamps lay struggling and crawling on the floor.

Occula, dressed in a long, dark-red robe embroidered with gold flowers, was lying on the bed. Her eyes were closed, their silvered lids, which matched the lacquer on her finger- and toe-nails, glittering faintly in the soft light. As Zuno tapped gently on the tiles with his staff she opened her eyes, sat up quickly and looked round at them.

"Banzi!"

Falling on her knees beside the bed, Maia flung her arms round Occula and pressed her face against her shoulder. For long moments she was aware only of Occula's flesh against her cheek; the singular, just-perceptibly granular quality, as of some fine fabric; the remembered smell, sharp and light, like clean coal. As though she were an infant or an animal, these sensations filled her entirely, mindlessly; self-sufficient, comforting and reassuring. Occula, too, was clearly beyond speaking, only rocking her gently to and fro and uttering soft, wordless murmurs of endearment. When at length they released each other, Zuno had gone and the door was closed.

"Is he-he won't-you trust him?" faltered Maia, her fear and anxiety returning once more, inescapable as flies.

Occula only nodded abstractedly, holding her at arm's length by the shoulders and looking at her as though hardly believing in her real presence. Then, with a quick smile, she said "Doan" worry, he's a better lad than you might suppose, banzi. We hold each other up. Oh, Kantza-Mer-ada be thanked for the sight of you! I tried to send you a message-oh, weeks ago. Did you ever get it?"

Maia shook her head.

"Bastards!" said Occula. "Anyway, you're here now. Come on, take that cloak off; lie down and make yourself

comfortable. Cran and Airtha, look at your thigh! What was that? The Valderra?"

"Ah."

"Tell me everythin': I've only heard what they've all been sayin'. I doan' even know how you got into Suba. I suppose Kembri fixed it somehow, did he? But then how the hell did you-"

Maia interrupted her. "No, no, all that'll have to wait, darling. There's so little time. You don't have to worry about me: I'm the one as has to worry 'bout you. Are you safe here, Occula? Only I know I'm the one as got you here: I spoke to the queen, see, 'cos I knew I had to get you out of the temple somehow. Only I've been wondering ever since-"

She stopped, for Occula was staring at her open-mouthed.

"So it was you, banzi! You did it! The rotten bitch, why didn' she ever tell me! And why to Cran didn' I ever think of it for myself? Oh, my precious banzi-"

Only once or twice before had Maia seen her so much softened, so stripped by emotion of her normal air of tough self-possession.

"But how did you get the chance, banzi! Who did you speak to?"

Maia told her of her first sight of Fornis on the night of the murder, of the queen's caprice which had briefly taken her out of Kembri's hands, and of what had followed.

"So you didn' fancy it?" asked the black girl, when she had finished.

"No, I didn't," answered Maia. "Nor I couldn't do it, neither-what she wanted. She soon enough got that all right."

"I doan' blame you," said her friend. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed like the old, undauntable Occula, the canny girl on the way up. "But you reckoned I could, did you?"

Maia hesitated, then laughed too. "Well, I s'pose I reckoned you was a bit more professional, like."

For a moment Occula ground her teeth and her lip curled. "Oh, banzi, how right you were! Yes, I can do it all right. I give every bastin' satisfaction! This year's great success, you might say. My only problem is not to get a little too enthusiastic, you know? That'd be one way to finish my dirty work, wouldn' it? The most expensive way, and you might say what's expense, when it's for the peace of Zai's

soul and the honor of our family? But banzi, I mean to get what I want cheaper than that, believe you me. I'm going to walk up out of the underworld on my two feet, like Kantza-Merada, you wait and see if I doan'."

As Maia, only half-comprehending, looked into the familiar, dark, slightly bloodshot eyes under their silvered lids, she added, "Of course you know everythin' now, doan' you? Pretty well everythin', anyway."

"You mean, what you did-that night-Sencho-"

"Of course."

"Yes, I think so. But Occula, was it planned-well, right from the start? From the Lily Pool?"

"Never you mind about the Lily Pool, banzi. That's neither here nor there. Less you know, less risk you run, right?"

"But you couldn't have known we were going to be sold to Sencho-"

"No, I didn'," replied Occula. "Unless there's somethin' I doan' know about, that was just a bit of luck. Lalloc's no heldro, you can be sure of that: he sold us to Sencho in the way of business. Still-" she grinned-"it wasn' entirely unlikely, was it? Couple of nice girls like us, and old Piggy's well-known tastes."

"But you knew about Zirek, the pedlar?"

"Not a thing, until he started talkin' about Cat Colonna. But after that, of course, and once word had got back where we'd landed up, banzi-"

"Got back? To whom?"

"Why, toUantil, of course."

Maia, lying in her friend's arms, was silent, reflecting. A great many things were becoming clear in retrospect. At last she said, "So it was Meris with Zirek that day, by the Peacock Gate."

She felt Occula nod, and went on, "Where's the two of them got to now, then?"

"I doan' know," said the black girl grimly. "I only hope they're better off than I am, that's all. But I've got another job to do, banzi, you see, before Zai's souFll be at peace. Why d'you think I stayed in the boat when I could have bunked with them? I've not finished yet-not finished the goddess's work."

The next instant she had burst out laughing, rolling over on her back and tugging at Maia's dress. "Come on, sweetheart, let's have a look at you! That Ashaktis woman told

me you'd been ripped from head to foot in the Valderra. Were you?" She pulled the dress over Maia's head, followed by her shift. "Oh, Shakkarn, not a bit of it! Just one or two nice, honorable scars, enough to make a few jolly lads want to kiss 'em better, eh? That's my banzi! What you goin' to be, now you're back? Remember what we used to say at old Piggy's-thousand meld a bounce!"

"I know: but somehow I just don't fancy it, Occula. Anyway I don't need money-not at the moment, any road."

"Doan' talk so wet-headed, banzi. A girl can always do with twice the money she's got: firs' law of the universe. Think of your old age."

"Well, 'tain't just exactly that-" Maia, half-way through dressing again, hesitated. She longed to pour out to Occula the whole story of Suba, to tell her of Zen-Kurel and ask her advice. But was there time? Soon Zuno would return: soon she must be gone.

"No, why the hell should you?" said Occula unexpectedly. "You saved the city, didn' you? Why not stick to your dancin'-for a bit, anyway? You can well afford to."

"But Occula, dearest, how can you be so pleased that I saved the city? If only Karnat had got here-"

"Karnat, banzi? No, 'course we doan' want Karnat takin' Bekla. Santit's goin' to take Bekla-Santil and no one else."

"But what's it to you either way? You're not Beklan."

"No, no. But you know me, banzi; girl on the make- always was. Karnat-I doan' know Karnat an' he doesn' know me. But Santil-I'm one of his most successful agents, aren' I? If only I'm still alive when Santil takes Bekla, he might give me a nice, big piece of thrilsa for helpin' him, doan' you think? A bigger piece than ever Karnat would. Or a pottery cat, even. Pottery cat? Oh, Cran, I almost forgot! Banzi, can you do somethin'; without fail? I was goin' to try and do it some other way, but now you're here it seems providential. Tell me, d'you often go into the lower city?"

"No, not often, but I can do."

"Do you remember the old woman in the sweet-shop, that day you were with Eud-Ecachlon? Well, go down there and tell her to clear out; now, at once! Tell her I said to get out like shit from a goose, right? This last lot

of arrests in Tonilda-oh, never mind. But you must do it tomorrow, banzi! Promise me!"

"But the people, Occula! They always crowd me so. Couldn't I send Ogma? She's with me in my house now, you know."

"Ogma's not the girl to let in on a thing like this: it wouldn' be safe. But if it's not done before this time tomorrow, it'll be too late. It was only the purest stroke of luck I found out myself. Fornis doesn' always keep her mouth shut, thank Cran: 'specially when she's enjoyin' the prospect of a little cruelty. It's not just her life-the-old woman's, I mean-it's a hell of a lot of other people's, too, believe me."

"I'll do it, darling," said Maia.

There was a tap at the door and Zuno returned.

"Precious banzi," said Occula, embracing her, "come again if you can-it's like a drink of water in the desert-but be very careful. Zuno'U let you know when it's safe-" she turned to him-"woan' you?"

"Yes, I will," he said. "But now she must go, and quickly too. The queen's due back any minute."

They reached the foot of the stairs-Maia once more wrapped in the hooded cloak-to find Lalloc chatting with a gray-haired, elderly woman in the stone-floored storeroom.

"You may take this-ah-young woman back with you, U-Lalloc," said Zuno. "I've talked with her, and I'm afraid she wouldn't do for the Sacred Queen."

"Some people don't know when they're lucky," said the old woman drily. She stood up, selected a key from her belt and unlocked the door into the courtyard.

57: MILVUSHINA TRANSFORMED

In her delight and relief at being with Occula once more, the change in her friend had not at once struck Maia. It did so later, however-and forcefully-as she lay awake in her great, soft bed, hearing the scarcely-audible lapping of the Barb and the intermittent calling of plovers from the slopes of Crandor beyond. It was now, in darkness and solitude, that she realized that, more than the warnings of Sessendris and Nennaunir, more than the urbane dis-

simulation of the chief priest, Occula's air of strain and urgency, of having little time to spare in a taut conflict against odds, had stirred in herself a true sense of impending danger. If Occula was afraid, then indeed there must be something to be afraid of. Maia found herself recalling the mysterious, hypnotic ascendancy which the black girl had exercised over Sencho during the last weeks of his life, at one and the same time inducing apathy and soothing petulance, bringing him step by step to a state of dependency on herself in which he had all but connived at his own death. She recalled, too, with an understanding denied to her then, what it had cost Occula spiritually to exert this influence, to exploit Sencho's cunning, vicious temperament so subtly that he had indulged himself in her ministrations without once coming to suspect what awaited him. She remembered the night when, for all the world like some highly-strung hinnarist driven to desperation by an intricate passage, Occula had given way to hysteria in the belief that she had lost her power to prevail upon the High Counselor and incline him to her will.

How much more discerning and deadly an antagonist must be the Sacred Queen! And if Occula was up to the hilt in nothing less than the planned overthrow of the Leopard regime by the heldril, then she, Maia, must even now be standing on the lip of the same abyss. She had supposed-the kindly Sendekar had assured her-that she was returning to fame and fortune, the darling of the city, of all girls in the empire the most to be envied. To the recent warnings of her friends her reply had been, in effect, that she would take good care to sing small and keep out of harm's way. Yet now, at Occula's behest, she had promised to take a step-if only a small one-which, if ever it were to come to light, would condemn her outright as an agent of Santil-ke-Erketlis.

It was all very well for Occula to stress the vital importance of warning the old woman at once. Occula had never seen for herself the sort of thing that happened when Maia went into the lower city. And if, following her visit, the old woman and her son immediately fled, was not some conclusion sure to be drawn? She fell asleep at last resolved upon only one thing. Having given her word to Occula, she would not fail her.

Next morning, as is often the way, the simplest and most practical course entered her head at once. She would go

down to the lower city incognito. She need not take her own jekzha; she could travel veiled-many older women did, especially in the dusty streets of summer-while to the guards at the Peacock Gate it would, surely, seem quite natural if she were to explain that she had grown weary of the crowds pressing about her and wished for once to be able to visit a friend in peace and quiet.

After breakfast she was already beginning her preparations-for the thing' would be best over and done as quickly as possible-when she heard the unknown voice of some servant talking to Jarvil at the door. A minute later Ogma came hobbling up the stairs at her best speed, beginning to speak even before she was in the room.

"Oh, Miss Maia, whatever do you think? It's Miss Mil-vushina-oh, she's down below this minute, miss, and looking so beautiful, oh, you'd never think it was the same girl as was always crying her eyes out at the High Counselor's, such a change for the better, oh, do you remember, Miss Maia-"

"Quiet, Ogma!" said Maia sharply. "She'll hear you. Is she alone?"

"Yes, miss. Only just her maid came with her. And you'd never believe-"

"Then take her in some wine and nuts and tell her I'll be down directly. Then please come back and help me finish dressing. Show the maid into the kitchen."

And what might this portend? she wondered. To be sure, she and Milvushina had never quarrelled and she had often done her best-inadequate as she had always felt it-to comfort the Chalcon girl in a misery and loss so terrible as to lie beyond normal comprehension. Yet for all that, she now realized, her present surprise arose because she had never expected Milvushina to seek her out or particularly want to see her again. They had had little or nothing in common and Milvushina, on account partly of her youthful immaturity and partly of the lonely wretchedness which had made her desperate to hold on to her own identity, had never been very successful in concealing her innate sense of superiority to the Tonildan peasant lass.

And then again, Maia had once or twice been an involuntary witness of obscene humiliations inflicted by Sen-cho on the aristocratic Milvushina-humiliations best forgotten. No, indeed, what possible reason had Milvushina to want to renew acquaintance with herself? Well, pre-

sumably she was about to discover. She had better put on her best front, go downstairs and see.

Wearing her diamonds and a robe of dark-blue silk with a train of jet beads trailing at the hem, Maia entered her parlor to find Milvushina no less splendidly turned out. Her green dress of finely-knitted wool was shot with silver threads which matched the chain binding her black hair, while round her neck was a collar of emeralds with a single ruby in the center. Her big, dark eyes were emphasized at the outer edges with touches of a lighter green, and at her shoulder was a gold, enamelled brooch in the form of a crouching leopard. Immediately upon Maia's entry she sprang up, smiling and stretching out open arms.

Maia's first impression was the same as Ogma's. This was a transformed Milvushina; so much so that for one confused instant she actually wondered whether it could really be the same girl-a measure of the difference which self-respect and happiness (or the lack of them) can make to almost any human face and demeanor. The change lay principally in Milvushina's startling, hitherto-unseen air of animation, energy and alertness, compared with which her bearing at Sencho's was now revealed as uncharacteristic, a mere facade of taut moral courage, a keeping-up of appearances. Maia found herself thinking (her unaided imagination could not have run to it before) that this, no doubt, was the girl for whose hand Santil-ke-Erketlis had lost no time in making an offer; the girl who had not been seen since that morning in the rains when the Beklan soldiers had come down upon her father's house. She, Maia, would probably have to start making her acquaintance all over again-or something precious close to that, anyway.

While she was still upstairs, she had decided that she would be hanged if she was going to let Milvushina condescend to her or get under her skin. Now, however, with her own swift way of responding to the mood of the moment, she felt that she was going to have no need of such defensiveness. Milvushina might have the air of a princess and unconsciously effuse the authority of a baron's daughter, but nevertheless her present feelings towards Maia were evidently as warm as Maia felt her own becoming towards her.

She began, naturally, by praising Maia's heroism, saying that she had felt she could not rest content without coming to add her own thanks to those of the entire city. Yet she

contrived to express this in words which to Maia-who ever since Rallur had been the recipient of so much praise- seemed not only spontaneous and sincere, but original too. When she had responded appropriately and they were beginning to talk of other things, something else struck Maia, inwardly, as extremely amusing; the more so as the joke was against herself. Although Milvushina's manner, which formerly had all-too-often seemed one of condescension and restraint in the presence of an inferior, was not essentially changed, it now appeared to her simply that of a lady by implication sharing with another lady a proper sense of their common superiority. Well, it'sall according, I s'pose, thought Maia, with a wry admission to herself that as usual Occula had been right. Anyone's manner's just how it happens to strike someone else from where they're placed. She's changed all right, but I suppose I must have changed even more.

Not all the emeralds and silver in Bekla, however, could have quenched Maia's rustic curiosity or changed her conversational style to one of dignified restraint and elegant composure. Soon she was taking the lead in quizzing Milvushina about clothes and jewels, about her servants and what kind of hospitality she gave and received in the upper city. To all this Milvushina replied smilingly, cordially and without constraint. It was not long before the two girls (whose combined ages were less than thirty-four) had gone chattering upstairs to look through Maia's wardrobe.

After a while Milvushina, spreading across her lap a transparent, mauve robe embroidered with light and dark butterflies, which she had been admiring, sat down on the end of the bed and looked out across the Barb.

"This must sometimes remind you of Serrelind, I suppose," she said. "Do you ever miss Tonilda?"

"Precious little," answered Maia. " 'Twasn't as if we was exactly in clover, you know. To say the least," she added.

Milvushina, looking up from the enormous eyes, nodded. "I know: but has it ever struck you that at least what you remember's still there? I can understand you not wanting to go back-that wasn't really what I meant when I asked whether you ever missed it. At least it's still there, behind you, like the foot of a staircase-it still exists. Mine doesn't. It's vanished off the face of the earth."

Maia, having considered briefly what reply to make to

this rather unexpected remark, took refuge in tossing it back again.

"Does that make you miss it more, d'you think? Don't know as I'd much care if our old hut was gone-nor my mother neither, if you really want me to be honest. But then it's different for you, isn't it?" She sat down beside Milvushina and took her hand. "I heard tell as-well, as there was those who wanted you to go back to Santil-ke-Erketlis; but you didn't want. Well, and I heard, too, that-well, that things wouldn't have been the same if you had. But suppose they could have been-" She stopped, and then resumed, "Santil-that was what you wanted in the first place, was it? Before-before-you know?"

"Well, yes," answered Milvushina. "It was what my father wanted, you see, and it would have been a very honorable marriage, to a man who's still young and the foremost baron in Chalcon. But now I've done what you and Qccula both did. Since everything's changed and can't be altered, I've made the best of it and changed myself too."

"Are you all that much changed, then?" asked Maia. " 'Course, we didn't know each other a year ago, but just strikes me as now you may have got back to more what you used to be, like."

Two red-and-gray gaze-finches alighted on the windowsill and began pecking at the millet-seed which Maia had sprinkled. To her, feeding the birds was a luxury almost as pleasurable as hiring a hinnarist. Once, there would have been no millet to spare for the likes of her to be feeding to birds.

Milvushina's glance turned quickly towards the finches, then back to Maia with a smile.

"That night-you know-the night of-his-murder- there were two friends of my family up here for the festival."

"Oh, ah," said Maia. "I 'member now; I met them in the gardens with Elvair-ka-Virrion; a brother and sister?"

"That's right. Seld-T'maa and his sister Varriah. Their parents used to be old friends of my father. Did you know that they came to-to the house that night, to see me?"

"Well, funny thing you should ask that, 'cos it so happens Elvair asked whether I thought Terebinthia would let them see you, and I said yes, I reckoned she would."

"She did. They were actually with me-we were talking!

together-when news came of the murder. You can just imagine, can't you? The whole place was in utter confusion: Terebinthia went straight to the gardens. And that was when T'maa said he'd get me out of Bekla. He felt certain he could get me out through the Peacock Gate with himself and Varriah and we'd be off to his father's in northern Yelda."

"Whatever went wrong, then?" asked Maia.

Milvushina laughed. "I refused: or should I say I declined?"

Maia caught her breath. "You never!"

"Well, you see, Elvair and I already understood each other. The night of Sarget's party-that night when you danced; oh, and weren't you good, Maia? I'll never forget it-we-well, we came to an understanding as early as that, really. And as things turned out, the day after the murder he simply came and took me away. Terebinthia-he bribed her an enormous amount to let me go: I was on the temple's inventory of the household, you see. But as it was, that very afternoon I was in Elvair's rooms at the Lord General's house. Terebinthia took the money and got out as quick as she could. I believe the temple are still trying to find out where she's gone."

They both laughed, and Maia shook her head Wonderingly. "Well, there's a tale! Who'd ever have thought! When T'maa asked you, you weren't in two minds at all, then?"

"Not for a moment. You see, there wasn't anything for me to go back to. Oh, I don't mean I'd have been poor. I never really thought about that one way or the other. No, it's just that people in Chalcon don't think about things the way they do here. Never been there, have you?"

Maia smiled. "No, but I've been in Suba. Reckon it can't be all that much different."

"I'm a spoiled bargain, my dear. That's all they'd have seen in me, even though they'd have treated me kindly for my father's sake. Shop-soiled in Bekla." She tossed her head and stamped her foot; at which the finches flew away. "But not to Elvair. I'm not damaged goods to him. And he's all the world to me."

This showed the free-and-easy Elvair-ka-Virrion in something of a new light, thought Maia: yet it sounded genuine enough-he might very well have fallen sincerely in love with this beautiful, high-born girl in her distress,

and determined to save her from degradation and slavery. And for her sake he had gone the length of openly defying the temple authorities. Presumably he-or at any rate his father-could have afforded thirteen or fourteen thousand meld for Milvushina. But to have bought her would have been to accept the contention that she was legally a slave. Yes, and to have people saying, too, that his consort had once been a slave.

"So he really loves you?" she said. "Well, I'm that glad! I am truly."

"He's made life worth living again," said Milvushina. "That's what it comes to. Apart from everything else, he's given me standing and position here in Bekla, and I suppose I wouldn't be human not to like that." She paused. "It's all so strange, though."

"Strange?" asked Maia. "But you're a baron's daughter-?"

Milvushina laughed-the same happy sound which had so much startled Maia at Sarget's party.

"Bekla isn't Chalcon, dear. The kind of standing a Chal-con baron's daughter has is quite different from a Leopard's wife. I've had just as much to learn as ever you can have had, Maia, believe me."

"D'you see much of the Lord General?" asked Maia.

"He's been very kind to me," replied Milvushina. "You know the Sacred Queen tried to make trouble about me and Elvair? She told Elvair to send me back to Chalcon, and when he refused she told Kembri to make me go. But Kembri wouldn't." She picked up a carved onyx rabbit which one of Shend-Lador's friends had given to Maia, and began stroking it. "He says I'm the luck of the empire!"

"Did he say that to Fornis?"

"I don't know," said Milvushina. Then, suddenly, "Maia, are you afraid of her?"

"Yes, I am," said Maia, "and I'll tell you straight, I wouldn't want anyone telling her I'm the luck of the empire, that I wouldn't."

"Well, you are, aren't you? Oh, but Elvair wouldn't let anything happen to me! It's only that-oh, Maia, I do feel so frightened sometimes! I wish Elvair hadn't upset the chief priest and the Sacred Queen, even though I know it was for my honor. He told them straight out that I'd never been a slave-well, and that's true-and he wasn't going

to pay a meld for me. But now, quite soon, he's got to go away, you know, to fight in Chalcon-"

"To fight Erketlis, isn't it? You don't mind that, then?"

"I only met Santil twice in my whole life," answered Milvushina. "And even then it wasn't the two of us alone. That's how things are done in Chalcon, you know. He was very charming, but, oil-it's not like Elvair. How could it be? When Elvair's made his name as a commander-as he surely will-and come back to Bekla, then I'll let myself feel safe and happy. I don't trust Fornis, Maia; not an inch. I have all my food tasted before I eat it. Do you?"

Before Maia could answer, Milvushina suddenly stood up, swaying on her feet, put her hands up to her face and took a few tottering steps across to the window.

"Oh, Maia! I'm so sorry, I think I'm going to be sick!"

She leaned over the sill, retching. Maia, thoroughly frightened by this sudden crisis following immediately upon her talk of the poisoning, jumped up and threw an arm round her shoulders.

"What can I do, dear? Shall I send for a doctor? Ogma! Ogma!" she called hysterically.

"No, no, it's all right, Maia," answered Milvushina quickly. "There's nothing wrong; don't worry. In fact the doctor says it's a good sign. Means everything's going on well." She sat down again. "It's all right. It's passed off." She wiped her sweating forehead and looked up at Maia smiling, one hand on her belly.

Maia stared. "You mean-Elvair's baby?"

Milvushina nodded happily. "No one else's, that's for sure. If you'll stay with me I'll lie down for a little while and then I'd best be getting home." She flung her arms round Maia's neck. "Home! Yes, really home-something I thought I'd lost for ever! Oh, I'll make him such a home before I've done, you see if I don't!"

And now at last Maia did feel real envy, but not on account of Elvair-ka-Virrion. Why should she have her man, she thought, and not me mine? It was only for an instant. The next, she was once more mistress of herself and sat down beside the bed, holding Milvushina's hand and sending Ogma for cold water, a towel and some fresh fruit-juice.

"I'm so glad, dear," she said. "Just think-that night when Occula and me came back and found you alone- who'd ever have guessed it'd all turn out so well?"

58: A NEW SACRED QUEEN?

Durakkon was walking with Kembri and Elvair-ka-Virrion on the western ramparts-one place where they could be in the open air with no personal bodyguard and without fear of being overheard. The sun was setting, and below them, on their left, the Beklan plain stretched away fifty miles to the hills of Paltesh, now blackly outlined against a red evening sky. Here and there, in the hollows of its gentle undulations, villages showed as patches canopied with drifts of smoke in the windless air. From below came up the hum of the lower city, the countless, distant noises that comprised it merging "into a general, evening grayness of sound, like reflections on a distant lake. A few hundred yards in front of them the Tower of Sel-Dolad rose high above the ramparts, the facets of its topmost balcony-a lofty bloom raised on a slender stem-catching the sunset light and momentarily gleaming here and there in their eyes as they strolled on, absorbed in talk. Each sentinel, as they passed, faced about from looking out over the plain and saluted, extending his right forearm across his chest.

"Well, I don't care," said Durakkon, deliberately looking away from Kembri and letting his gaze rest on the distant, square bulk of the Gate of Lilies below and ahead, "I'm glad the filthy brute's dead. How can it possibly have been in the public interest for a man like that to exercise power? Associating with him was too high a price to pay for anything he did for us. We're better off without him."

"Oh, come, sir," replied the Lord General. "You must admit he was very successful in what he set out to do. He had a great flair for the work, you know. It's not just anyone who can succeed at that sort of work-picking the right men, knowing where to send them, being able to sift the information that comes in, tell what's important and what isn't and so on. We're going to have a job to replace him, I'm afraid. The great pity is that he kept nearly all he knew in his own head. After more than three months our intelligence is still going limping."

"Well-" Durakkon gestured impatiently. "Have you had any important information recently from the provinces?"

"The most important piece of news we've received," replied Kembri, "is that Karnat himself s gone back across

the Zhairgen into Katria. Apparently he's got some trouble over in western Terekenalt which he thinks requires his personal attention. According to my information it's likely to keep him occupied for the rest of the summer. He's left troops in Suba, of course, but his personal departure means that there won't be any further attempts to cross the Val-derra for the time being. That's all to the good. We can leave Sendekar to watch the Valderra, keep a regiment or two in Bekla in case of trouble elsewhere and use the rest against Santil-ke-Erketlis in Chalcon."

"What do you mean-trouble elsewhere?" asked Du-rakkon. "Why should there be any trouble elsewhere?"

"I'm not entirely happy about Urtah," said Kembri. "You'd have thought this last attempt of Karaat's would have taught him a lesson, wouldn't you-made them realize who their friends are? But according to the reports I'm getting, half of them are sorry Karnat didn't succeed. I don't know how Sendekar sees it, but I certainly wouldn't want to make an attack into Suba with the Urtans behind me in their present state of mind."

"But the old High Baron-he's reliable enough, surely? He always has been."

"Yes, sir. He wouldn't want rebellion and of course he's out to stop Urtah provoking us too far. But all the same, he signed the letter they've just sent us about Bayub-Otal. He and Eud-Ecachlon; both of them signed it."

"What does it say?" asked Durakkon. (It should, he felt inwardly, have been sent to him personally.)

"It asks for the release of Bayub-Otal on their guarantee that he'll give no further trouble; or failing that, that we should spare his life while they come and talk to us about it."

"It's quite understandable that the old High Baron should send a letter like that," said Durakkon. "Bayub-Otal's his son by the only woman he ever loved."

"Oh, I know that," replied Kembri, impatience and disrespect once more creeping into his tone, as it always did after a short time with Durakkon. "But to ask that of us he must be going senile. Bayub-Otal's as guilty as he can be of deliberate, premeditated treason against Bekla. If we don't execute him we can never execute anyone again."

"Then why haven't you executed him already?" asked Durakkon.

"Because I've stood the thing on its head to turn it to

our advantage," answered Kembri. "I've had a reply prepared for you to sign, sir, which says that we'll spare his life for the moment-keeping him in Dari-Paltesh, of course-just as long as we can feel sure of the loyalty of Urtah. So there he'll stay until further notice-unless, indeed, we decide to bring him up to Bekla. He's our best hostage as long as the old man's alive. Whether Eud-Ecachlon'll feel the same when he succeeds his father is another matter."

They had drawn almost level with the Tower of Sel-Dolad, and Durakkon stopped for a moment, looking down towards a low, extensive, flat-roofed building lying just south of the tower and abutting the ramparts themselves.

"What's that place?" he asked. "Do you know?"

"It's a depot for hides and leather, sir," replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "I was there myself with my quartermaster yesterday, picking up a bit more stuff for our trip to Chal-con. A man called N'Kasit rents it from the temple."

"There's access to the ramparts from there, at a pinch, isn't there?" said Durakkon. "Anyone who climbed up would only have to go a short way along these walls to get into the upper city."

"I know," replied Kembri. "It's the only place like that in the whole of Bekla, though. I've sometimes thought of having it pulled down, but it's uncommonly solid, and it makes an excellent depdt; we wouldn't find another half so good. I've talked it over, actually, with the castellan, and we agreed that the best thing would be to keep a sentry here all the time and leave it at that. Anyway," he resumed, turning away to continue their walk, "so much for Urtah and Bayub-Otal. At least if they're no help I doubt they'll be any hindrance to us for the time being."

To be told that something had already been considered and a decision reached was usually enough for Durakkon, who when it came to detail was as mentally lazy as many other idealistic people with high principles. He asserted himself by standing still, waiting for Kembri and Elvair-ka-Virrion to come back to him, and then raising a fresh subject.

"Chalcon," he said to Elvair-ka-Virrion. "You mean to lead the expeditionary force there yourself, in person?"

"Yes, sir," replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "In fact, I'm as good as ready to leave."

"It won't be an easy task," said Durakkon, "not in that

kind of country; and of course Erketlis and his people know it inside out."

"Oh, I've already thought of that, sir," said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "I've drafted half-a-dozen reliable men from Chalcon into the force. They know the country every bit as well as Erketlis himself."

"You're confident, then?" asked Durakkon, with a smiling, rather avuncular manner. He did not altogether dislike Elvair-ka-Virrion, partly on account of his good looks and style, and partly on account of the confident energy and youthful exuberance he brought to whatever he took in hand, from giving a banquet to raising a regiment. "Dear me, I wish I could still run upstairs like that!" he had said to him one day, after Elvair-ka-Virrion, returning from a hunting expedition, had dashed two steps at a time up the main staircase of the Barons' Palace to greet him.

"I've got the finest body of men in the empire, sir," replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "I'd lead them into the Streels ofUrtah!"

"Quiet!" said Kembri quickly. "Don't talk like that, Elvair: I don't care to hear that sort of thing." Durakkon, with pursed lips, looked away as though nothing had been said; and after a few moments Elvair-ka-Virrion, abashed at his unfortunate lapse but recovering himself, continued, "I'm quite sure, sir, that with the quality of men I've got, we'll be able to drive right through Chalcon and make it impossible for Erketlis to maintain any sort of armed force there: and he won't be able to get away to Ikat or Sarkid. Somewhere or other we'll be bound to encounter him and destroy him. I don't know whether he'll be looking for a battle, but I certainly shall."

Durakkon smiled indulgently but encouragingly. "Well, it all sounds excellent, young man. You don't think perhaps he ought to have someone a little more experienced with him?" he said, turning to Kembri.

"I think he'll do very well on his own, sir," answered Kembri.

For the Lord General's purposes it was important that his son should return to Bekla a successful leader in his own right-if possible a public hero. His plans for the future required not only followers whom he could control and trust absolutely, but also that they should command popular support. Elvair-ka-Virrion was well-liked in Bekla, but in the eyes of the people he was still no more than a

young hopeful who had yet to make a name for himself. The time and opportunity were now at hand.

"When do you leave?" asked Durakkon at length. "Is that decided?"

"The day after tomorrow, sir," said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "We ought to reach Thettit in three-and-a-half days quite comfortably. A day's rest, and then straight into Chalcon. Back in two months," he added, looking round at the High Baron with a light-hearted grin.

"That will be," said Kembri pausingly, "that will be a little time before-or should I say in good time for?-the acclamation of the new Sacred Queen." As Durakkon said nothing he went on, "That's going to be-well, an important business, isn't it? I'm sure you're as anxious as I am, sir-as we all are-to see it turn out-er-in the right way."

The sun had dropped behind the hills and dusk was rapidly falling. Already lamps were beginning to shine out in the city below. Durakkon turned about and they began pacing back along the wall, now seeing before them the majestic front of the Barons' Palace crowning the Leopard Hill with its ranks of slender spires.

Durakkon walked on in silence, as though awaiting something more. At length, however, as the Lord General did not continue, he said, "I think you'd better tell me straight out, Kembri, what it is you have in mind."

"I, sir?" answered the Lord General. "I've nothing whatever in mind but what's right and traditional: the choosing of a new Sacred Queen by popular acclaim. I merely said I hoped it would turn out well."

"Don't try to make a fool of me!" retorted Durakkon angrily. "I want to know whether you mean to try to have Fornis acclaimed for a third reign and if not, whether you've got any other woman in mind."

"Well, do you think Fornis is likely to be acclaimed for a third reign, sir?" asked Kembri.

"No, I don't," replied Durakkon. "A woman well over thirty. Even a second reign's something that's never been known before: to try to bring about a third reign would be disastrous-utter folly. The people have some genuine religious faith left, if you haven't, and they'd see k as virtually provoking the gods to lay waste the city."

"I agree, sir," said Kembri. "So who'd be best? Not to mince words, we need a Sacred Queen we can rely on."

"One you can control, you mean, Kembri?"

"I didn't say that, sir. I said one we can rely on, in these difficult times, not to start going her own way or getting up to anything behind our backs. The girl must be beautiful, of course-the people regard that as no more than what's due to the god-and ideally she ought to be someone who already commands wide popularity in the lower city as well as the upper."

"I suppose you're thinking of the Tonildan child, are you? The one they call the Serrelinda?"

"Well, she'd certainly be one possible choice," replied Kembri noncommittally. ;

"I liked her when I met her," said Durakkon. "She's- well, she struck me as typical of the sort of ordinary, decent people I wanted to help when I became High Baron."

Kembri was silent.

"But frankly, I'd be almost sorry to see her pushed up into a position like that," went on Durakkon. "Because it'll be dangerous, Kembri; you know it will. Fornis isn't going to-"

"There is another possibility, of course," said Kembri, interrupting him. "And I'd certainly like to meet your wishes, sir, if we can: about not supporting the Tonildan, I mean."

It was almost too dark, now, for him to see Durakkon's face, but nevertheless he turned and looked at him, halting a moment on the rough, uneven stones of the rampart-walk.

"I'm thinking of another girl. Sencho wasn't popular, of course: in fact he was hated. And what he got for himself out of the killing of Enka-Mordet-well, of course it didn't come out for some time, but when it did, a lot of people were so angry that I sometimes wonder whether he could have continued to get away with it if he'd lived. He'd have had to let the girl go."

"But what's this got to do with-" began Durakkon.

"So naturally there's been a great deal of public sympathy for his wretched victim," went on Kembri. "Especially when my son told the temple authorities that she'd never legally been a slave at all, and that he was ready to defy both them and Fornis on her account. A very beautiful girl, Milvushina; and, of course, one whose acclamation as Sacred Queen would have an excellent effect in pacifying

Chalcon and bringing a lot of the heldril there round to our side."

"But her association with your son?" said Durakkon.

"Well, precisely, sir: I think that would be likely to go down very well with the people. The victorious young commander and his beautiful Sacred Queen: it would be just the sort of thing they'd like. But anyway, there you are; two excellent candidates from the Leopard point of view. Either would suit us, though on balance I think Milvushina would be the better choice."

"I-well, I suppose so," replied Durakkon rather uncertainly. :

There was renewed silence as they walked on, reaching at length the steps leading down from the ramparts about three hundred yards west of the palace. Here Kembri halted, looked round to make sure the sentinel was not in hearing, and murmued, 'So you'll-er-speak to-"

"Speak?" answered Durakkon. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, someone's going to have to tell Fornis that a third reign as Sacred Queen is out of the question. And there's no one who can perform that task with authority except the High Baron of Bekla."

There was a long pause. At length, "She has no legal power, sir," ventured Elvair-ka-Virrion, in a tone which was meant to be encouraging yet sounded anything but.

"No; she has her own power, though," answered Durakkon dolefully. Then, recovering his dignity as though with an effort, he said, "Well, Lord General, I'll think it over, and let you know how and when I mean to go about it. You may both leave me now."

The Lord General and his son bowed and descended the steps. Durakkon, turning away from them, remained alone, gazing out from the walls at Lespa's stars now twinkling more brightly above the darkening plain.

59: THE PRISONERS

Two hours before this, Maia had set about her task of taking Occula's message to the old woman in the sweetshop.

In the event it proved easier than she had dared to hope. Nonetheless, she took a little while to find the shop; and

the jekzha-man (who did not know who she was) had to be placated with extra money for all his stumbling up and down. Finally she made him go as far as Eud-Ecachlon's old lodgings, near the Tower of the Orphans-she could remember that all right, recalling the afternoon when she had acquitted herself so well-and then retrace his steps as though returning to the upper city.

Ah yes! and there, sure enough, was the sweet-shop, on the opposite side of the street, just before it came out into the Sheldad. Today, in fine summer weather, it had a different look, as revisited places often do; yet there was no doubt about it. Maia stopped the jekzha, crossed the street and went in.

The old woman was sitting behind her scales, and her lad could be heard clumping about somewhere in the back. A big, portly man, who looked like an upper servant, was making a great to-do over buying all manner of sweet-meats-no doubt for some supper-party of his master's- and it was plain that the old woman meant to take her time over obliging so good a customer. Maia waited. After a minute or two the lad appeared and came up to her, but she only shook her head, pointing and murmuring something about "your mother."

At last the self-important butler was done and strutted out, pocketing his list and giving an address in the upper city to which the stuff was to be delivered that day without fail. Maia went up to the old woman while she was still bowing and smiling behind him in the doorway.

"Good evening, mother," she said in a low voice, "and may Colonna and Bakris bless you. Last time we met, you told me I shouldn't never have come, so I'll be a bit quicker today. Occula-the black girl who was arrested when the High Counselor was killed-she's still alive and sends you greetings. She says you're to get out now, at once, without stopping for anything."

"I've been expecting it," replied the old woman. "Did she say where?"

Maia, shaking her head, produced a ten-meld piece. "How about Urtah? Now sell me some sweets-anything you like-for the jekzha-man to see when I come out, and I'U be gone."

Two minutes later she was back in her jekzha, out in the Sheldad and turning left towards the Caravan Market. After a few moments, however, she realized that they were

not making any progress. Something ahead had halted the traffic and everybody seemed to be being pressed back against the shop-fronts on either side of the street. Her jekzha-man, jostled by four or five cursing porters, staggered a moment against another, righted himself, slewed round on the axis of one wheel and halted, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Can't you go on?" she said impatiently. "I want to get home."

"Got to wait a bit, saiyett, I'm afraid. Here's the soldiers coming now, see 'em?"

She looked up the highway. Two files of soldiers were approaching, one on either side of the road; but very oddly, for they were side-stepping, facing outwards and pressing the people back against the walls with their spears held sideways. From further up, in the direction of the Caravan Market, there could now be heard a raucous clamor-ugly and malign, it sounded-coming gradually nearer, until one could distinguish individual, strident voices, like nails sticking out of the head of a cudgel.

"Oh, whatever is it?" she asked, frightened. The man did not answer and she rapped sharply on the rail. "What is it? Tell me!"

"Won't be more'n a minute or two, I dare say, saiyett," he answered. "I reckon they're bringing in the prisoners from Tonilda-them heldro spies. I heard tell as they'd be here today."

Even as he spoke she saw, across the heads in front of her, a tryzatt appear from the left, walking slowly yet somehow tensely and impatiently up the center of the paved thoroughfare. Behind him came perhaps a dozen soldiers, spaced out on either side and carrying not spears, but leather whips coiled in their hands. They looked harassed and stretched to the limit, as men might look after hours spent in policing a plague-stricken town or struggling to bring home a leaking boat in bad weather. Their dust-grimed faces were streaked with sweat. They glanced continually this way and that and from moment to moment one or another would fling out his arm, pointing quickly, or call a hasty warning to a companion.

Yet it was not at the tryzatt nor yet the soldiers that Maia stared aghast, but at those walking between them- if walking it could be called. Singly-in twos and threes- in huddling, flinching groups like driven animals-little by

little there came into view a dreadful procession. No wounded of a defeated army, stumbling from the battlefield, could have presented so terrible a sight. All were ragged, gray-faced, hollow-cheeked, staring about them either in deadly fear or else in a glazed, unseeing stupor of despair worse than any fear. Among them were a few women, one or two of whom might once have been attractive; and these, with their filthy faces, matted hair and look of exhausted misery, filled Maia with unspeakable anguish, so that she began to tremble and her head swam; so much worse they seemed than the rest, so much more a distorted travesty of what they must once have been. One man, tall and bony in his tatters, seemed to be attempting bravado, swaggering along alone and apparently trying to sing. As he came closer, however, it became plain that he was mad and virtually oblivious of his surroundings. Two more, as they limped forward, were supporting a woman between them and staggering from side to side. A fourth, with wrists chained together, was holding his hands in front of him and elbows to his sides, swaying in a kind of grotesque rhythm like a cripple trying to dance. Among them all-how many? Forty, fifty?-there was not one whom children would not have been terrified to see coming up a village street.

As they came on down the Sheldad, with its multi-colored shops and ornate, stylish buildings, the crowd on either side broke into jeering and brutal laughter. A tradesman, lifting the pole which he used for raising and lowering the pent-shutter of his shop, jabbed with it, over the shoulders of the soldiers, at the man who was trying to sing. Missiles showered upon the prisoners-garbage, broken pieces of wood, a stone or two, an old shoe, a dead rat. One who tripped and fell was pelted until the nearest soldier, with a kind of rough sympathy, pulled him to his feet and supported him for a few yards, so that his tormentors were obliged to desist. Over all the hubbub carried the sharp, intermittent voice of the tryzatt, looking over his shoulder and continually urging his men to keep the prisoners closed up and moving.

Maia, cowering in the jekzha, felt as though trapped in a nightmare. It was all she could do not to get out and run away. This kind of cruelty was entirely foreign to anything in her nature. The whipping of Meris had been altogether different-for one thing, those whom she considered her

superiors had been in deliberate control of it-from this unforeseen, frenetic, all-enveloping savagery. Intuitively she knew that these people were going to die. One had only to look at them: they could never come back from the place where they were. Some might well be close to death now: they looked it. Animals could not have suffered like this, for their owners, if only out of consideration for their own gain, would never have allowed animals to be treated half so badly.

And then, suddenly, she caught her breath; mouth open, hands pressed either side of her chin, rigid with incredulous, unspeakable horror; with a shock even beyond screaming. For it was Tharrin out there in the road: Thar-rin lurching, tottering, wild-eyed, a long streak of blood down one side of his face, dragging his feet in broken sandals, suddenly flinging up one arm and ducking away from nothing, from an anticipated missile that he had only imagined. For one long moment-as though to put her in no doubt-he turned his head and stared full at her, but with no more recognition than a crazed cat looking down from a burning roof. Never in her life had she seen so appalling a look on any human face. Even if it had not been Tharrin's, it would have been enough to put her beside herself.

After a white-how long?-they were gone, followed by a rag-tag of urchins running behind, shouting with glee. The crowd broke up, the jekzha moved on. They were turning into the Caravan Market before the jekzha-man realized that Maia was sobbing hysterically.

"Yes, nasty business, saiyett, ain't it?" he remarked paternally over his shoulder. "I don't go a lot on it meself. But you've no need to take on that way, y'know. They're all villains, the 'ole lot of 'em, else they wouldn't be there."

"Where-where are they going?" she faltered, digging her nails into her palm and forcing herself to speak with something approaching self-control.

"Oh, it'll be the Old Jail," he answered. "The one down in the Shilth."

"Where's that?"

"The Shilth? That's the butchers' quarter, saiyett, about half-way between here and the Sel-Dolad Tower. Rough-ish kind of neighb'r'ood, that is, 'specially at night."

"Take me there, please."

"What's that, saiyett? Did you say take you there?"

"Yes, please."

He stopped, looking back at her puzzled.

"Now, you mean?"

"Yes, please."

He hesitated. "Saiyett, it's none of my business, but-"

"Please do as I ask: or if you prefer, get me someone else. I realize I've kept you rather a long time already."

She passed him down ten meld, at which he nodded, shrugged and turned back into the Sheldad.

During the next twenty minutes the facade which presented to the city the buoyant, resourceful and heroic Ser-relinda crumbled, exposing a shocked and panic-stricken girl of sixteen, as devoid of worldly-wisdom as of dissimulation. Yet though she sat trembling and weeping in the jekzha, never for a moment did it occur to Maia to go home and concern herself no further with the condemned wreck who had once been her lover. On the contrary, by the time they had turned off the Sheldad and begun picking their way uphill through the fetid, fly-buzzing lanes of the Shilth, Maia had in effect been stripped of every coherent thought save her determination first to see Tharrin and then to do everything in her power to save him.

Outside the walls of the jail-a dirty, ill-repaired but nonetheless very solid group of buildings, once a shambles, enlarged and converted some years before to meet the Leopards' need for another prison-she paid off the jek-zha-man and told the gatekeeper that she wished to see the governor. The gatekeeper, an aging man with conjunctive, mucous eyes, did not trouble himself to look directly at her while telling her that it was out of the question. She repeated her request peremptorily.

"Come on, now, lovey, run away," he said, scratching himself and breathing garlic over her. "It's no good, you know-you'd never be able to pin it on him, anyway. Do you know how many girls have come here trying, eh?"

Maia lowered her veil and threw back the hood of her cloak.

"I've no time to waste, and I'll be damned if I'm going to bribe you a meld! I'm Maia Serrelinda, from the upper city, and if you don't take me to the governor at once, I'll see to it that the Lord General himself learns that you refused to do as I asked."

He stared at her, a stupid man taken aback, resentful but slow to react.

"You say you're the Serrelinda-her as swum the river?"

"Yes, I am. And don't have the impertinence to ask me why I'm here: that's no business of yours. Are you going to do as I say, or not?"

"Well," he muttered. "Well. Just that it's awkward, that's all." He seemed to be trying to weigh up which would be worse for him-to refuse her or to risk the governor's displeasure. At all events this was what his next question suggested.

"You can't-well-tell me what it's about, saiyett?"

"Certainly. I wish to see a prisoner."

His face cleared. "Oh, you didn't say. If it's n'more'n that-" She waited. "Only he's busy with the prisoners himself, saiyett, y'see. Don't know what he'll say. Still, I'll take you-"He turned away and she, following, stepped through the postern door to one side of the barred gate, which was promptly closed behind her.

He was striding ahead across the yard, swinging a stick in one hand, but she-to some extent brought to herself by her annoyance-retained enough self-possession not to hurry after him, so that after a little he was obliged to wait until she came up with him at her own pace.

The governor was a big, fleshy man with silver earrings and a beard dyed chestnut. He, too, evidently supposed at first that her errand must lie at his own door, for he began "Well, my dear, but you shouldn't have come here, you know." He drew up a rickety bench for her beside the table in a little, bare room looking out on an equally bare and dismal courtyard. It was twilight now and turning slightly chilly. Seeing him grope and fumble once or twice to close the window, she realized that his sight must be poor. Yet really so poor, she wondered, that he could not tell whether or not he had ever seen her before?

"We have never met," she said coldly. "I am Maia Serrelinda, a personal friend of the Lord General Kembri B'sai."

Instantly he had taken his cue, bowing and leering.

"Friend of the Lord General? Oh, friend of the city, saiyett, friend of the empire! And let me assure you, you have a friend in me, too, if I'm not presuming. To what- er-to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Maia, not unnaturally, could tell a lecher when she saw one, and realized with a touch of relief that this part of her task at least was going to be relatively easy.

"Sir, I want to see-"

"Ob-Pokada, saiyett, Pokada's my name; that's if you care to use it, of course."

"U-Pokada, I need to talk to one of the prisoners who were brought in from Tonilda a little while ago."

His face fell. "Oh. I see. Well, naturally, saiyett, I'd always prefer to oblige a beautiful lady like yourself if I could. If only it had been someone who's here for theft or frauds-that sort of thing, you know. But political prisoners: no one's ever allowed to see political prisoners. That's a strict rule."

She got up and stood beside him, pretending to be weighing her words, letting her body's scent steal over him and slowly drawing through her fingers the sijk kerchief she carried at her wrist. After a little she murmured, "Well, I suppose-I suppose no one need know, U-Pokada. I mean, only you and me; I shan't tell anyone."

He hesitated. "Well, saiyett-"

In, a few minutes he had talked himself into promising that he would see what he could do tomorrow.

"No, it must be now, U-Pokada: I want to see him now, and then I'll go away and no one else will know at all."

It was getting dark in the room. He went to the door and called for lamps, continuing to look down the passage until they were brought by a disheveled old woman whose head jerked with a continual tic. When she had gone he came back and laid a hand on Maia's wrist, slightly clenching his fingers as he did so.

"Saiyett, it's risky. I oughtn't to do this; but you know- well, 'Beauty's a key to unlock every door'. " He hummed a moment, delighted with himself for having hit on so apt a phrase. The line came from a popular tavern song of the day.

"Is it a man?" She nodded. "His name?"

"Tharrin. From near Meerzat, in Tonilda."

"Your friend? A lucky-oh, well" (he laughed) "he would be a lucky man if only he wasn't here, eh? But you've made me a lucky man, saiyett. Oh, yes, indeed!"

At the door he stopped. "I have to ask: you haven't brought him poison?"

She looked up in amazement, wondering whether she had heard aright. "Poison?"

He nodded.

"Brought him poison? Why ever should you think that?"

"Well, sometimes, you know, saiyett, prisoners-especially political prisoners-want to die quickly, and their friends want to help them. I have to see that doesn't happen."

She had heard tell of such things, but to find herself dealing with them in all earnest made her feel still more strange and bemused. She tried to collect her thoughts. The man needed convincing: the most convincing thing, it seemed to her, would be the truth.

"U-Pokada, I mean to get this man released. I have influence. That won't harm you, will it?"

"Harm me? Oh-no, saiyett, not in the least." He paused, apparently searching for something more emphatic. "No, no, I should be gladl Whatever would please you would please me. Wait here, I beg you, and be patient. I don't know the man, you understand, but I'll find him."

Alone, she waited in the empty room for what seemed a long time. It grew quite dark outside. She thought of Luma, sitting lethargic for hour after hour on the kilyett as it drifted down the Nordesh. She herself could not sit still, now pacing up and down, now opening the window and leaning out to pick fragments off the grimy creeper below the sill. Surely by now the man had had long enough to find anyone in the prison? Could he have betrayed her- sent a messenger, perhaps, to the chief priest? Should she go now, quickly? Yet if he had in fact betrayed her, to run away would avail her nothing.

The door opened behind her and she turned, but could not see clearly across the bright patch of light from the two lamps standing on the table between. As she came back to the bench the door closed and then she heard the lock click. Tharrin was standing before her, shivering in the stuffy room, not raising his eyes from the floor.

She had forethought that he was bound to look bad at close quarters; but not that he would smell worse than any animal (animals groom themselves), that the rims of his eyes would be crusted, his beard matted with old crumbs and dried spittle and that he would mutter and shake ceaselessly, cringing and wringing his hands like an old beggar.

"Tharrin," she said timidly-for it seemed almost as though she were interrupting some horrible dialogue between unseen beings-"Tharrin, it's Maia."

He made no answer and she put a hand on his wrist. "It's Maia, Tharrin."

Now he looked up, peering with half-closed eyes, as though through some kind of haze or distance between them.

"Maia? Oil-I remember." He seemed about to say more, but then suddenly began to cry, or rather to whimper, dry-eyed and cowering, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders as though standing out in heavy rain.

"Tharrin-oh, poor Tharrin-listen to me! You must listen to me, you must trust me! I'm going to help you; believe me, I'm going to get you out of here, Tharrin. But I can't do it unless you'll talk to me. There's things I've got to know. Come on, sit down here and talk to me."

As she pulled him gently by the arm he suddenly screamed, but so weak and puny a sound that it would scarcely have startled a bird. Drawing him down beside her on the bench, she could feel his ribs and backbone under his tattered robe. She recognized the robe. It was the one he had been wearing when they parted on the quay at Meerzat.

"Tharrin, dear, listen to me. I know just how you feel, because I've been through it, too. But I can help you: I've got money and influence: I'm a friend of powerful people; I'll save you. But to do that, I've got to know what's happened. Tell me what they say you've done."

"Sencho," he muttered after some moments. "Sencho was too clever for us, wasn't he?"

"Sencho's dead, dear: weeks and weeks ago." She wondered whether Pokada might be eavesdropping.

"Yes, of course," he said. He looked up at her piteously. "They're going to torture us, Maia: you can't know what it's like to wake and sleep day after day with the thought of that. People-people went mad coming up from Thettit. Made no difference: they're here just the same. Every day you wake up you remember-" He rocked himself backwards and forwards on the bench. She could see the lice crawling in his hair.

"Listen, Tharrin. Do you realize that I've become famous and rich? If I ask to talk to the Lord General, he'll see me; very likely the High Baron himself would see me. Do you know that?"

He nodded listlessly. "Oh, yes, I'd-I'd heard. 'Maia swam the river.' I knew it must be you." Then, with no change of tone, "The bread's all green and moldy, you know."

She realized that after many days of ill-treatment and

fear he had in all actuality become incapable of sustained thought-that his mind must spend all its waking time in virtually ceaseless flight from what it could not endure to apprehend. She wondered what his dreams could be like. Yet she would not allow herself to weep: this was no time for weeping.

"You were working secretly for the heldril in Tonilda, weren't you? Isn't that right?"

A nod. She took his hand in hers.

"That's where all that money used to come from? The money you used to give Morca? The money you spent on me?"

Another nod. "I never thought-" he whispered.

"You took messages to Thettit? And to Enka-Mordet and people like that? And you brought messages back, did you?"

"Money for us at home. More money than I could have got any other way." He paused. Then, "Can't you kill me, Maia? Haven't you got a knife or something?"

"No, dear, no such thing. I'm going to get you out of here safe, I promise you." She forced herself to kiss his cheek. "Ipromise! Now listen to me, Tharrin, because this is very important. I'm going to speak to some of my powerful friends, and p'raps they'll want to see you; I don't know. If we're going to save you-and we are-you've got to pull yourself together and get ready to put on a good appearance. Now I'm going to call in that head jailer or whatever he calls himself, and pay him to see you get everything you need. A bath and some clean clothes and proper food, and a comfortable bed. I'll bet he can fix all that if he wants to, and I'm going to see to it as he does want to. But you've got to trust me, Tharrin. You've got to be your own best friend. Come on, now, it's not too late to pull yourself together. This is Maia, your golden fish in the net; remember?"

"Yes, I remember. But I-I let you go. The slave-traders; I never even tried-"

"Never mind, dear. No need to talk about that now. You just stand up and try to look as manly and strong as you can, because I'm going to call him in and tell him what we need. You cheer up, now. Everything's going to be all right."

She had about three hundred meld with her. It was not a very great deal, but it would do for a start and she could

promise more. She went to the door, rapped firmly on it and called "U-Pokada!"

60: PILLAR TO POST

It was not easy, even for the Serrelinda, to get hold of the Lord General at so busy and troublous a time. He was not at his house the following morning, though she arrived there so early that the steward-as she could perceive- was embarrassed, his slaves being still at work in the reception rooms and the place not yet ready to receive callers and petitioners. Both the Lord General, he told her, and the young Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion were already gone to the Barons' Palace; he understood that later in the morning they meant to go down to the lower city to review the troops leaving for Thettit tomorrow. The lady Milvushina, however, was upstairs in Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's rooms. Should he tell her the saiyett had come?

It had not previously crossed Maia's mind to tell Milvushina of her trouble. Thinking quickly-the man in his scarlet uniform standing deferentially before her-she realized that she had no great wish to do so. No great wish? She hesitated. What did she mean in thus replying to herself?

Milvushina had gone out of her way to show herself a friend; to speak of herself and her situation without reserve; to make common cause with Maia, warn her, talk of her own anxieties and expectations. If Maia were to tell her now of Tharrin she would-oh, yes, certainly she would-show every sympathy and probably even promise to put in a word. She would be all benevolence. Yet in her mind would arise, unexpressed, a picture of the grubby little peasant girl tumbled on the shore by her mother's fancy man. In a word, it wasn't what Milvushina would say, but what she wouldn't say, which made Maia reluctant to tell her her trouble or ask for her advice. Often, although we may not be ashamed in our own hearts-may even be proud or glad-of something we have done, because by our own standards it was genuinely good-good, if you like, to ourselves and to the gods, who understand everything-yet nevertheless we still feel troubled by the idea of it becoming known to someone else whom we feel

to be inflexibly different in outlook from ourselves. "Oh- she just wouldn't understand." "So you're ashamed?" asks an inward voice. No, no, inward voice; don't be so simplistic. Do you think there is only one color in the spectrum; or that some animal is universally "unclean" because one out of the world's countless religions has always maintained so? It is, rather, just that her values are not ours; that's all.

Maia, somewhat to her own surprise, heard herself asking to see Sessendris. The man raised his eyebrows slightly, bowed and requested her to be so good as to accompany him.

Sessendris was dressed in a long white apron, making bread, her beautiful arms covered with flour to the elbow.

"Maia!" she said, looking up with a smile and tossing back her hair. "How nice! You must wonder what in Cran's name the Lord General's saiyett thinks she's doing in the bakery. The truth is I enjoy it, and no one else in this whole house can make bread as well as I do. So you've caught me out, my dear. Now don't you go telling the whole upper city that the Lord General's saiyett's a baker, or you'll probably have me hanging upside-down!"

This unintentionally grisly pleasantry brought the tears to poor Maia's eyes. Apart from her initial collapse in the jekzha the previous afternoon, she had until now stood up pretty well to the shock and strain of the past fifteen hours; perhaps the better because the squalor, vulgarity and sordid ugliness, which to someone like Milvushina would have been almost the worst of it, were things she had grown up with. Now, however, she wept, standing unreplying in front of Sessendris with the tears running down her cheeks. Sessendris, nodding to the kitchen-maid to leave them, sat down beside her on the flour-sprinkled table.

"It's nasty," said the saiyett, when she had heard it all. "The truth is, the world's nasty, Maia Serrelinda. Haven't you learned that yet? You ought to, I should have thought, after a few months with Sencho."

"I'm-I'm getting to know, I reckon."

"And you want to try to alter it, do you?"

"But Sessendris, surely they'll pardon him, won't they? I mean, if I ask them? They're always saying as I saved the city, and if-"

"Why d'you want him pardoned?" interrupted Sessendris. "Do you still love him?"

"No," replied Maia, so instantly and emphatically that the saiyett, nodding, was drawn to say, "I see: you love someone else, do you? Well, never mind about that for now. But in that case why do you want him pardoned? From what you've told me, he's as guilty as he can be, and he never lifted a finger to try to help you when you'd been sold as a slave: and he could have, couldn't he?"

"How could he?" asked Maia.

"Why, at the very least he could have gone to one of his heldro masters and asked him to follow you up. That's what happened with Missy upstairs, as I dare say you know; but by that time she didn't want it. Anyway, suppose you were to get him handed over to you, what would you do with him?"

"I haven't thought yet. Send him home, I suppose."

"To get into more trouble? He's been in and out of scrapes all his life, by what you've told me. He'll never change. You must know that, Maia, if you're honest. I just can't understand-well, what your idea is."

"To save him from suffering," said Maia.

"You're such a sweet, kind girl," said Sessendris. "D'you know, I used to be like you, believe it or not? You haven't grasped as much as I thought you had. Now you listen to me. You've gone up in the world. I've gone up in the world too: not like you-you've had a shower of stars poured into your lap-but still, I'm a long way above where I started. And when that sort of thing happens to you, you simply can't afford to be the person you once were. You can't be two people. You've become a new person and you've got to be her. To the upper city you're as good as a princess. Suppose you start begging for the life of this five-meld wastrel, the Leopards aren't going to think any the better of you, are they? They'll just think you can't tell shit from pudding."

"I'll go down into the lower city! I'll appeal to the people-" Maia was angry now as well as tearful.

"My dear, the people-they'd like it even less. Surely you can see that? The very last thing they want to think is that you're one of themselves. You're the magic Ser-relinda, the girl who fooled King Karnat and swam the river. No one's good enough for you! And there you'd be, pleading for a-well, never mind. But you're living in the real world, Maia-the only one there is-and the world's been good to you. You've got to learn to accept it as it

is." Sessendris stood up and once more began tossing the flour. "I'm sorry my advice is nasty medicine. But drink it! It'll do you good. The other won't, believe you me."

At the Barons' Palace she was obliged to wait for some time. Officers-some of whom she knew, others she had never seen before-were coming and going and there was an atmosphere of males intent upon male matters, in which she felt unhappily intrusive and out of place. She was touched when the Tonildan captain-the very one who had come to thank her in Rallur-catching sight of her alone and obviously ill-at-ease, excused himself to three or four companions with‹ whom he was about to leave and kept her in countenance by sitting down and conversing with her-as best he could, for he was none too ready of tongue-until a smooth and courtly Beklan equerry not much older than herself came up and begged her to accompany him to the Lord General.

In the Beklan Empire, maps-insofar as the term is appropriate-took-the form of rough models, more-or-less to scale, built up, from local knowledge and eye-witness reports, either on trestles and boards or simply on the ground, with clay, twigs, pebbles and the like. Kembri and Elvair-ka-Virrion were standing at a plank table laid out to represent Chalcon, the Lord General pointing here and there as he talked. Elvair-ka-Virrion, dressed in a Gelt breastplate over a purple leather jerkin, looked up and smiled at Maia as warmly and gallantly as on that far-off afternoon when he had seen her for the first time in the Khalkoornil.

"Maia! Are you here to join up? Come to Chalcon and help us beat Erketlis! Then we'll make you queen of Ton-ilda and give you a crown of leopards' teeth. How about it?"

She smiled, raising a palm to her forehead. "Happen I'd be less help than hindrance, my lord. All the same, there is something you can give me; cost you a lot less trouble an' all." Seeing Kembri also smiling, she added, "Reckon you must know as I've come to ask for something. Hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

This was the first time that Maia had met with the Lord General since the day when she had been released from arrest by the intervention of the Sacred Queen. He looked

strained and tired, but his manner, as he put down the stick he had been using as a pointer and took her hands in greeting, at first seemed friendly and well-wishing enough. She could not help thinking that Nennaunir had been rather hard on him. While it would certainly have been nice if he had come to visit her together with the High Baron, he must have had lots more important things to do. (Maia was of course vague about military matters, but tended to think of them as necessarily occupying soldiers from morning till night and often longer than that.)

"I haven't had any chance before, Maia," said Kembri, "to thank you for what you did in Suba. I thank you now. You'll remember I always told you that you might very well become free sooner than you could imagine."

Somehow, as women can, she could tell that his words lacked real warmth and sincerity. For some reason, her success and fame were not particularly congenial to him. She felt mortified. There was no time to bother about that now, however. "If you really are grateful, my lord," she said, "please do something for me. It's not a lot to ask. There's a prisoner among those as came in last night-"

She had had opportunity, since leaving Sessendris, to take thought and prepare her story along less ingenuous lines. Tharrin was her dear stepfather. He had been the family's sole prop and mainstay in their poverty on the Tonildan Waste. She owed so much to him. When she had been enslaved he had sought her in vain-she had learned as much last night-and for her part she believed him innocent. If only his life were spared, she would see to it that he went home to those who desperately needed him and never fell foul of authority again.

When at length she had finished there was a pause. "But if this man was such a good father to you all, Maia," asked Elvair-ka-Virrion at length, "how was it that you came to be enslaved?"

" 'Twas poverty,, my lord-sheer hard times," answered Maia. "We was nigh on starving, see-"

"So he made ready money by acting as a rebels' courier," broke in Kembri. "Well, you may believe him innocent, Maia, but I can tell you that we know-Sencho knew-that every one of those prisoners is guilty twenty times over."

Maia said nothing, and after a few moments he went on, "Do you remember the day when we first talked about

Bayub-Otal; the day you told me about the High Counselor and Milvushina?"

"Yes, my lord; I remember very well."

"So you won't have forgotten our talking about adventurers and their need to see clearly and not deceive themselves into thinking that just because they happen to have struck lucky, they can get away with anything."

"I'm not deceiving myself, my lord. It's only that I can't bear the thought of my stepfather being-being tortured and put to death."

"Tortured? Put to death?" said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "Whatever do you mean?";

"Why, he told me himself, my lord-I saw him in the jail last night-as he knew he was to be tortured-"

"The man's a fool, then," said Kembri shortly, "or more likely the soldiers have been amusing themselves by telling him tales." He picked up his stick and turned back to the map.

"Oh, don't be sharp with her, father," said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "A girl like her deserves better. Maia, let me explain. You ought to know-who better?-that human bodies are worth money. We only execute people if they're worth nothing-or if they've become so infamous that they have to be made a public example. These prisoners-they've got value as slaves. Provided these people answer our questions and tell us everything we need to know, they've got nothing to fear beyond being sold as slaves. You can probably buy your step-father if you want to. In fact, I think the prisoners have already been apportioned. There's a roll somewhere, father, isn't there?"

"Over there." Kembri nodded towards another table.

"Apportioned?" asked Maia. "What's that, then?"

"Why, when a batch of prisoners like this comes in," said Elvair-ka-Virrion, "strictly speaking their lives are all forfeit. But any Leopard who wants can put in a bid for so many at a price, and then they belong to him and he has the disposal of them. They can be sold, or given away, or just kept as slaves in his household-whatever he decides. Ah, yes, here's the roll. What did you say your stepfather's name was?"

"Tharrin, of Meerzat."

"I see. Yes, here he is. Oh!" Elvair-ka-Virrion, whose manner had seemed full of reassurance, suddenly stopped short and put the roll back on the table. After a few mo-

ments he said, "Well, if I were you, Maia, I should try to forget about this."

"Why, what do you mean, my lord? Who-who's got Tharrin, then?"

"The Sacred Queen," replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "He's one of eight prisoners marked for her personal disposal. I'm sorry, Maia. When the Sacred Queen has the disposal of prisoners, you see, that's usually-well, rather different, I'm afraid."

"But-but I could still buy Tharrin, my lord, couldn't I? From the queen?"

"You could try, certainly," said Kembri, "but if I were you I shouldn't." He went to the door and summoned the young staff officer. "Bahrat, the Serrelinda's leaving now. Show her to the door, will you? and then come back yourself."

Two porters opened the double gates and her soldiers drew the Serrelinda's jekzha into the garden court of the Sacred Queen's house. Dew was still lying on the lawn, the western side of which sparkled in the sun now well risen above the opposite rooftop. A green-and-white-plu-maged memmezah, red-billed and red-legged, was running here and there, foraging over the grass and now and then breaking into short, low flights. In one corner stood a little grove of purple-flowering lam bushes-somewhere between shrubs and trees-and among these four or five small, gray-green monkeys were leaping here and there, suddenly chasing one another and as suddenly breaking off. Bees droned among the flowerbeds. A peacock, trailing its tail, wandered pausingly across a narrow, stone-paved path and disappeared behind a low wall on its further side. There was a scent of lilies and of moist greenery and from time to time, from somewhere beyond the light pattering of the fountain, a blue-finch repeated its little, falling song.

Maia walked in the garden while her soldier Brero went to make inquiries. After a little she paused in the shade, leaning against a blossoming cherry tree. Looking up at the side of the palace facing her, she could recognize the gallery, with its trellised arcading, where she had embraced the Sacred Queen in the moonlight. Suddenly, as she stood gazing, a girl's scream sounded from above. It seemed like

a cry of pain rather than of fear, and was quickly cut short, as though whoever uttered it had either been silenced in some way or had controlled herself. Maia wondered whether the girl-whoever she might be-had burned herself or dropped something heavy on her foot. At any rate it wasn't Occula-she could tell that. She fingered her diamonds nervously; chewed a blade of grass and picked at the cherry bark. Then, hearing the sound of a footstep on the path, she turned to see Brero coming towards her.

Somewhat to her surprise, the man told her that he had been given to understand that the queen would see her immediately. She followed him round the lawn and past the monkeys' grove to a stone doorway above which, in a recess, a little statue of Frella-Tiltheh the Inscrutable stood pointing downward at the sprouting tamarrik seed. Inside was a long, cool hall, elegantly tiled in red and white, where slim, fluted columns rose to a coffered ceiling. Scented shrubs were standing here and there in leaden troughs, and at the far end rose a staircase.

Zuno, waiting at the foot of these stairs, bowed to Maia without speaking and motioned to her to ascend. Arrived at the stairhead, she at once recognized the corridor where Form's had tackled the guard-hound with her bare hands. Passing the actual spot, she noticed several scratches still remaining on the polished boards. Then they were climbing to the second story.

Zuno stopped outside the queen's bedroom and knocked. After a few moments the door was opened by a woman- an obvious Palteshi-whom Maia had not seen before. She gave her name and the woman nodded to her to enter.

Fornis, half-naked in a pale-green dressing-robe embroidered with waves and fishes in silver, was seated at a dressing-table of inlaid sestuaga-wood. Open before her was a kind of cabinet full of jars of ointment, boxes of creams and unguents and bottles of lotion and perfume. Her shoulders and bosom were lightly sprinkled with an adhesive, golden powder which guttered where it caught the light. In one hand she held the heavy, carved comb with which she had combed Maia's hair in the bathroom, while with the fingertips of the other she was lightly rubbing an orange-tinted rouge into the skin round her cheekbones. As Maia raised her palm to her forehead, the queen turned her head and looked up at her over her shoulder.

Once again Maia saw, with that tremor which often comes

upon us in the moment that we realize that we had forgotten the precise appearance of someone remembered with deep emotion-love, hatred or fear-the blazing hair, the ice-green eyes, the creamy skin, the buxom body at one and the same time opulent yet lithe and agile as an athlete's. Again she sensed the latent energy like a coiled spring, and the domineering, rapacious vitality which, striking upward through the leaves like a physical force, had literally thrown her off balance as she stood poised above the Barb.

Looking into those eyes, Maia knew that she was afraid. This was not Folda, the woman with whom she had eaten and drunk and whom she had failed to gratify. This was the legendary Queen Forms, who carried within her the power to confront warriors, to outface monarchs and barons, subdue the priesthood and set at nought-with impunity, as it seemed-the very gods themselves. Princess of Paltesh she might have been born, and Sacred Queen of Airtha she might have become; yet ultimately her power stemmed not from these titles, but from some inscrutable, transcendental source compared with which mere human attributes were trifles; a source whose servants, once sent into the world, were authorized to stick at nothing. This power-so it appeared to Maia now-must have grown in Fornis like a tree. She had not always been thus; yet the seed had been born with her. Now it was full-grown. Ah; so tall that men-and women, too-could hang upside-down from the branches.

"Good morning, Maia," said the Sacred Queen, somehow contriving, by her near-nakedness and casual pursuance of her cosmetic activities, to reduce to vain, pretentious triviality Maia's silk dress and diamond necklace. "I trust you've been enjoying yourself since your return to Bekla."

"Yes, thank you, esta-saiyett," replied Maia, by the queen's tone put beyond doubt that there was to be no sort of renewal of a friendly relationship between them.

She was about to go on to inquire after the queen's health and well-being when she became aware of a kind of struggling commotion taking place further down the room. Looking over Fornis's shoulder, she now saw Ashaktis seated astride a bench, beside which was standing a dark, hirsute young man in a leather jerkin.

It was not at either of these, however, that Maia looked

for more than a moment, but at the figure between them; a dark-haired, big-built girl, stripped to the waist, who was kneeling on the floor. Ashaktis, leaning forward and gripping her wrists, was holding her prone along the length of the bench. The girl's back was criss-crossed with bloody weals; and in the moment that Maia took in the scene, the young man struck her again with a thin, pliant stick on which blood was glistening. At this the girl flung back her head, showing a plain, rustic face contorted with pain, and Maia saw that she had a marked cast in one eye. She recognized her then, in spite of the distortion caused by the gag in her mouth. It was Chia, the Urtan girl with whom she and Occula had fought and then made friends in Lalloc's slave-hall.

"Oh, esta-saiyett, please!" Maia, who from the first had felt all embarrassment at standing beside the queen lolling in undress, now fell on her knees at her feet.

"Whatever's the matter?" Fornis, peering in the mirror while with one finger she rubbed the rouge in just below her eye, spoke with an air of slightly irritated surprise.

"I beg you-please spare that girl, esta-saiyett, as-as a favor to me. I don't know what she's done, but-"

"My dear Maia, neither do I: I haven't the faintest idea. That's a kitchen-maid, or something of the kind, I believe."

"But I knew her once, esta-saiyett: that's why I'm asking."

"Knew her?" Fornis, frowning, looked perplexed to the point of annoyance, as though Maia had used some inappropriate or unintelligible word.

"Yes, esta-saiyett; when I was a slave, I knew her."

"Oh, when you were a slave. I seel" She raised her voice slightly. "Shakti, Maia wants you to let that girl go; apparently she used to know her when she was a slave. Just send her back wherever she came from, will you?"

At that moment Maia felt certain that either Ashaktis or Fornis herself had known-probably the poor girl had boasted about it in the kitchens-of her own acquaintance with Chia, and that the beating had been deliberately arranged as soon as Fornis had learned that Maia was downstairs and asking to see her.

As Ashaktis pulled the girl to her feet, threw her clothes round her and nodded to the young man to drag her out of the room, Fornis turned back to the dressing-table and

began polishing her nails with a strip of bone bound in soft leather. Maia waited for her to speak, but she said nothing and after a minute or two laid the bone aside, stood up, opened a wardrobe and began looking through the gowns hanging there.

I'm the Serrelinda, thought Maia: I'm the Serrelinda. If I could swim the Valderra- Yet in her heart she knew that such thoughts had no real validity. If Fornis wanted the Valderra swum, she would simply order two people to go and do it; and if they drowned, two more.

"Esta-saiyett," she said, "I've come to ask you-to talk to you, if you'll very kindly hear me, about a man called Tharrin."

"A man called Tharrin?" said Fornis, looking up sharply as though Maia had discourteously interrupted her. She paused. "I think you mean a man called Sednil, don't you?"

Maia, momentarily startled and discomposed, hesitated. The green eyes rested upon her with a cool yet expectant stare.

"No, esta-saiyett," said Maia, keeping her voice steady with an effort. "Tharrin's a Tonildan political prisoner, and I'm told by the Lord General as he's one that's your property. He happens to be my step-father-my mother's husband-and I've come to beg you to be so good as to- to enter into my natural feelings, like, and let me buy him from you. You'd be doing me and my mother and sisters the greatest kindness."

"Did you have a pleasant talk with the chief priest the other day?" asked Fornis rather absently, taking a gown out of the closet and holding it up against her body as Ashaktis came back into the room.

"Yes, thank you, esta-saiyett." She did not know what else to say.

"You've been quick enough to come here this morning. It didn't occur to you before to come and ask me about your friend Occula, rather than the chief priest?"

"No, esta-saiyett: well, only I didn't feel it would be right to presume on our earlier acquaintance in that way. I reckoned as you might not like it."

"I see. But you don't feel that now, over this-this- Tharrin?"

"Yes, I do feel it, esta-saiyett, very much. I've been afraid to come, 'cos I didn't want to displease you. Only

he's my step-father, see, and I owe him a lot, and the Lord General told me as there wasn't any other way 'ceptin' to ask you."

Fornis beckoned to Ashaktis to help her on with the gown. Maia stood unspeaking. After a time the Sacred Queen shook out her skirt and then sat down for Ashaktis, kneeling before her, to put on her sandals.

"I suppose you know, don't you," she said, without looking at Maia; "perhaps your friend Sednil, or somebody like that, will have told you, what sort of prisoners are normally allocated to the Sacred Queen and why?"

"No, esta-saiyett." Her voice came in a frightened whisper.

"Those who are known to have been so basely treacherous and criminal that they can't decently be sold into slavery are allotted to the temple for sacrifice. There are eight such prisoners in the group brought in yesterday- seven men and a woman. Naturally I don't know their names, but with your wide acquaintance among those sort of people I expect you do."

"No, esta-saiyett. All I know is as the Lord General told me that Tharrin was-was out of his hands, 'cos he belonged to you."

There was another long pause while Fornis took off the sandals, tried on another pair and then began washing her hands in a basin held by Ashaktis.

"What extraordinary company you seem to keep, Maia," she said at length. "Kitchen-slaves, lower city shearna's pimps-I don't know. But of course if your step-father's a criminal and a traitor, I dare say that accounts for it."

In spite of her terror, it occurred to Maia that she might very well have replied that the queen herself was among those who had sought her company. She said nothing.

"Well, so you want to buy this-person," said Fornis. "However, it's from the temple, not from me, that you'll have to buy him, as I've explained. And we don't drive bargains with the Lord Cran, do we?"

"I'm only asking to pay a fair price, esta-saiyett. I'm not suggesting bargaining."

"I see. And what would be a fair price, do you think?"

"I don't know, esta-saiyett."

"Neither do I, for no one has ever had the temerity to make such a request before. I shall have to think it over carefully: you may come back in three hours' time."

Maia knew that the queen was hoping she would lose her self-possession and plead for an immediate reply- perhaps weep. She raised her palm to her forehead and left the room.

Zuno was standing at the foot of the lower staircase. As they were crossing the hall side by side he murmured almost inaudibly, "What is it that you came to ask her?"

She hesitated, and he added, "You can trust me, I assure you."

"My step-father-from Tonilda-he's a prisoner-one of the lot that's to die, so she said. I came to ask her to let me buy him." =

They were close to a little alcove at the further end of the hall, near the door by which she had entered. Zuno, looking quickly round, drew her into it and stood facing her.

"What did she answer?"

His manner startled her. This was a new Zuno, his customary air of supercilious detachment set aside, a man dealing with her directly and speaking to a fellow-being.

"She says she'll think it over. I'm to come back in three hours."

"You couldn't-er-forget about it, I suppose?"

She shook her head. "Couldn' do that, no."

"You owe your step-father a lot?"

"Whatever he's done, I can't just stand by and let that happen to him."

Zuno was silent for some moments, gazing out into the garden. At length he said, "And how did she treat you?"

"Bad. I'm afraid of her. I mean, she could have said yes or no straight out; but she's cruel, isn't she? It's-I don't know-it's not so much what she does as what she is that frightens me. I don't understand it-I've never done her no harm!"

"You'd better understand several things, Maia, before you decide to go any further with this business. Before you went to Suba, she and Kembri were still on good terms. She believed he meant to see that she was acclaimed Sacred Queen for a third reign: Ashaktis told me as much. But when he allowed his son to help himself to Milvushina and then refused point-blank to send her back to Chalcon, Fornis guessed at once-she's very quick and shrewd- that he must have the idea of getting Milvushina acclaimed Sacred Queen instead."

He stopped, listening, and then looked quickly out of the alcove for a moment.

"Well, what of it?" asked Maia, made fearful by his tension and anxious, now, only to end this conversation and leave the house.

"When she sent you back to the temple to go to Suba," said Zuno, "that was by way of obliging Kembri. Her idea was that he could have you back and make use of you on the understanding that Milvushina would either be returned to Chalcon or else-well, put out of the way. She thought you'd probably die anyway, you see. But what happened was that Kembri refused to part with Milvushina and then you came back as-well, what you are now. She knows, now, that Kembri must intend to supersede her. Actually, he has no alternative: the people would never acclaim her for a third reign. Oh, she knows how to keep up appearances, but secretly she must be desperate. And she knows, too, who are her rivals. Kembri would prefer Milvushina: but left to themselves the people would undoubtedly prefer you."

Maia nodded. "I'd been warned already, come to that, only I never just 'zactly seen it quite so clear as what you've put it now."

Zuno gazed in silence over her head as though what she had said did not really call for a reply. In memory she saw again the aloof young dandy whose fastidious hauteur had outfaced the brigands on the highway. She took his hand and smiled.

"But you're not afraid of her, are you, U-Zuno?"

"I? Oh, I find her most tedious. The truth is, she's reached a state of mind in which she's the deadly enemy of virtually any young woman in the upper city who commands popularity. If I could help you, Maia, I would. But now you tell me you're actually soliciting favors from her." He shrugged his shoulders. "That's playing into her hands. I can only advise you that I wouldn't want to offer myself as a plaything for her ingenuity. If I were you, I should desist. I say that as a friend."

Two slaves, carrying brooms and pails of water, were approaching down the hall. Zuno, nodding and murmuring "Certainly, saiyett, I quite understand," bowed and held open the door.

61: THE QUEEN'S PRICE

It was from this hour that Maia began more and more frequently to imagine Zen-Kurel present at her side. Crossing the lawn to her jekzha and smiling, with a pretense of unconcern, to her soldiers as they scrambled up from the shade under the wall, she found herself making believe, childlike, that he and she were together, heads close as they talked, his arm round her waist. Brave, warm, a shade rash, a shade immature, infinitely likable, himself somewhat, perhaps, in need of a loyal friend with a cool head, Zenka was admonishing her, in his eager, confident voice, not to be afraid of the Sacred Queen or her spiteful capers (yes, that was his phrase, "spiteful capers"), because he would protect her and see that she came to no harm. "And you don't mind that I'm doing this for Tharrin?" she asked him, as he sat with her in the jekzha, one hand gently caressing her scarred thigh. "Of course not! I certainly wouldn't think much of you if you didn't." "And what's to become of him when we've set him free?" "Why, he's to go home and keep out of trouble, what else? Once we're married-" "Oh, Zenka, we're to be married?" "Yes, of course. What's the point of waiting any longer?" "Oh, Zenka-" "And I'm proud of you, Maia. I'm really proud that you weren't afraid of the Sacred Queen."

Walking by the Barb-for she could find no appetite for the meal poor Ogma had prepared-a fresh thought occurred to her, affording a curious, paradoxical comfort. She realized, now, that the reason why she had been excited by the punishment of Meris was that, unconsciously, she had been jealous of her-oh, Lespa! only to think of it now!-as Sencho's favorite. Yes, envious of that, and also of her experience, competence and brassy sophistication. Meris was tough. Of her own accord she had chosen to lead a life of crime and violence-she'd derived satisfaction and amusement from using her looks to lure men to disaster. If anyone could stand a good smacking, it was Meris. And had she not had her revenge on Sencho- literally pressed down and running over, one might say? Besides, she herself-Maia-had changed much since Suba: she would not feel now as she had then. The Maia who had attended Sencho at the Rains banquet had been a mere child. Yet that chlid, too, would have been horrified

by the prisoners in the Sheldad and by coming upon poor Qua as she had that morning. "You're not even cruel, are you?" Form's had said to her. No, she wasn't.

There was, clearly, very little that did not reach the ears of Fornis. Was it not highly probable that she might have heard something from Sencho-or even, perhaps, from Terebinthia-about her, Maia's reaction to Meris's whipping which had misled her into thinking that Maia was just the girl to suit her? Once' Sencho was dead she had certainly wasted little or no time. Yet it had taken her even less time to realize that she had been mistaken. "You're naturally pure; one day it'll catch up with you-if you live that long." "I'll live, Zenka," she said aloud. "Oh, I'll live! And I'll find you again, believe me." For nowhere in all her imaginings was there a particle of doubt that he had no more forgotten her than she him.

It was time to return to Fornis's house. She walked back along the edge of the reed-beds, beyond which a grebe, black-crested and ochre-necked, was swimming with its chicks on its back. One day I'll swim the Zhairgen to Katria, she thought, and Zenka'll be waiting for me on the bank.

The Sacred Queen, she was informed, was down at the archery butts behind the house; and thither Ashaktis conducted her. She said little or nothing on the way and Maia, for her part, offered no more than the few words necessary to ensure that Ashaktis could not say that she had behaved discourteously. The mown field, flanked on one side with pinnate-leaved, white-umbelled brygon trees, stretched away to the Peacock Wall, under which stood the targets-life-sized effigies of Katrian soldiers, their arms stiff as scarecrows' in the sunshine.

Fornis, now dressed, as though for hunting, in a green jerkin and leather breeches, paused briefly as she saw Maia approaching and then, having spent a few moments in adjusting the leather guard on her left wrist and forearm, fitted an arrow, drew and loosed at a target. The arrow hit its mark precisely. Maia stood waiting while the queen shot six more with equal precision. Then, leaning on her bow, she unstrung it and laid it down beside the remaining arrows on the trestle table beside her.

"You've come to speak to me?"

"No, esta-saiyett, for I've nothing more to say," replied

the invisible Zenka through Maia's lips. "I've simply come as you asked me, to hear your decision."

"About your brother, is it?"

"My step-father, esta-saiyett."

"Ah, yes. I couldn't remember, I'm afraid. Well, you must know this man, I suppose. What do you think he's worth?"

At this Maia's heart leapt. Apparently the queen was at least ready to sell Tharrin on some kind of terms.

"I can't say, esta-saiyett: I've no experience, I'm afraid."

"The man's life's dedicated to Cran," said the queen, as though deliberating. "But of course we must try to oblige you, Maia, if possible."

"Thank you very much, esta-saiyett: I'm most grateful, and so will he be."

"I've gone so far as to discuss the matter with the chief priest" (I wonder whether she really has? thought Maia) "and we feel that, remembering your valuable services to the city, the god would probably be content to forgo this sacrifice in return for-shall we say?-ten thousand meld."

She turned aside and began examining the fletching of one of the arrows.

So the game had entered another stage; and the silly mouse had afforded sport by showing, for a moment, that it had really supposed it was going to escape. Little or no experience as Maia had, she knew enough to be certain that Tharrin-an unskilled man in poor condition and over forty years old-was not worth a fifth of the sum the queen had named. She herself, as an outstandingly beautiful and almost untouched girl of fifteen, had been sold for fifteen thousand. Ogma, if she had not been given to the Serre-linda as a gift, might have been expected to fetch about eight hundred.

Yet the queen's game was far more ingenious than a mere promise followed by deprivation: that would have lacked subtlety. She had weighed to a nicety Maia's innate warmth of heart and genuine determination to save Tharrin if she could. With the special circumstance that Tharrin was temple property, a kind of deodand, it was possible publicly to justify the enormous sum demanded. But cleverer still, it would be just within Maia's power to raise it, provided she was ready to sacrifice most of what She possessed-her jewels, her silver and so on. However, there was an alternative way to get the money, as Occula would

undoubtedly have reminded her; and this, she thought, she would certainly pursue.

"Very well, esta-saiyett. I'll buy him from the temple for that sum."

"There's only one condition," said the queen, smiling, "which is unavoidable, I'm afraid, remembering that the executions are due to take place tomorrow morning. I shall need to receive the whole sum from you in coin by this time tomorrow at the latest."

Clearly, it had occurred to the queen no less readily than to Maia herself that, given time, and as the most adulated and desired woman in the city, she could have procured the money by the same means as Nennaunir would have procured it; though this would have been a somewhat lengthy undertaking. To advance her such a sum at twenty-four hours' notice, however, would be beyond the means of any friends she possessed; beyond the means, indeed, of virtually anyone in the upper city.

A little distance away, a cat had appeared on top of the wall bordering one side of the field. Fornis, picking up her bow again, strung it and then, almost without aiming as it seemed, shot an arrow which passed between the top of the wall and the cat's belly. As the cat leaped out of sight she tossed the bow to Ashaktis, clicking her tongue with annoyance.

"That's enough for today, Shakti," she said. "My wrist's getting tired. Tell Occula to get the bath ready and call the little boys."

With this she and Ashaktis turned away, leaving Maia alone in the field.

Having returned along the quiet, sunny avenues flanked by flowering trees, stone walls and trim gardens, Maia, as she entered her house, was met by Ogma with the news that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion was waiting to see her.

As she came into the sunny parlor overlooking the Barb he sprang up from the window-seat and took both her hands in his own so eagerly that he almost seemed about to swing her off her feet.

"Maia! I was determined to wait until you came back! What a charming house this is they've given you! I do hope you're happy here, and getting well over your injuries- your honorable wounds, I ought to say. I only wish I had a few like yours to boast about-you're ahead of me there,

I'm afraid-for the time being, anyway. But you're looking marvelous! More beautiful than ever."

He had changed out of his military gear and was now dressed with all his usual flamboyance, plumed and blazoned like a kynat. She showed him over the house and the little garden, strolled with him down to the shore and back and then poured him wine as he sat once more by the window. She wondered what his reason might be for coming to see her. A few months ago she would have been in no doubt; but that, of course, was before Milvushina had joined his household. Milvushina-another enemy of the Sacred Queen: what subtle trap might be in preparation for her? Yet she, at least, had powerful protectors. The thought of her own insecurity was beginning to frighten her.

"Don't you think so, Maia?" asked Elvair-ka-Virrion.

She recollected herself with a blush. "I'm sorry, my lord: please forgive me. I'm afraid I'd just let my mind wander for a moment, kind of. What were you saying?"

He paused, looking at her over his wine-cup with an air of the most sincere concern and commiseration, so that she found herself for a moment remembering old Nasada. At length he said, "Maia, I don't know how you think of me, but I've always felt for you very sincerely, and not just since you became the Serrelinda, either. I'd like to think you feel I'm your friend. Anyway, I can tell when you're not yourself. You're still worrying, aren't you, about your step-father-that business you came to talk about in the palace this morning? What's happened? You don't want to drop it, but you're frightened of the queen; is that it?"

She looked up at him with brimming eyes.

"I'm not afraid of the queen. I'm notl"

"Don't be silly. Everyone is. Durakkon is, even my father-everyone."

Slowly, and with hesitation-for she felt keenly not only her powerlessness to help Tharrin except at the cost of almost all she had gained, but also that the queen had succeeded only too well in making a fool and a dupe of her-she began to tell him what had happened since she had left the Lord General. When she spoke of how she had returned to the queen at noon Elvair-ka-Virrion whistled. -

"You mean you went back there a second time and held her to her word?"

"Well, yes: s'pose you could sort of put it like that."

"You realize there's probably not a man in my entire regiment who would have dared to do that? She might have put an arrow through you or just had you thrown down a well: oh, yes, she might, Maia, believe me."

"Reckon she must 'a been savin' up, then, for something a bit more entertaining, like," said Maia bitterly. She finished her story, this time telling frankly about her seduction by Tharrin. "Poor Tharrin's nothing to me any more and never will be, but I can't just stand by and do nothing. Nor I can't see as it'd do the Leopards any harm to let him go. He's had that much of a fright, he'd never do nothing like that n'more; you can count on it." She paused. Then, "Do you know anyone as'd buy this house today for ten thousand meld down?"

"You really are that serious?"

"Yes, I am."

He paused, reflecting. At length he said, "You know I'm leaving tomorrow to lead the campaign in Chalcon? I'm giving the usual part)?-a barrarz-tonight. All my officers will be there, of course-including Shend-Lador- and a lot of other people you know; Sarget for one; oh, and Randronoth, the governor of Lapan-you know him, don't you?"

"I ought to: I had to bed with him once at Sencho's."

"Oh, he'd have liked that, Randronoth would. Well, Milvushina will be there, of course, and Otavis and Nen-naunir. Your friend Fordil's bringing his drums and hin-naris along, and everyone's hoping you'll dance. That was what I came for-to ask you particularly. But in the light of what you've been telling me, I've just had another idea that may appeal to you. I think it'll work, provided we can get everyone in the right mood. I'm ready to do everything I can to help you in this business, Maia, I promise you."

She gazed back at him, half-smiling in response to his smile, uncertain, puzzled but intrigued.

"Let's just have another stroll down that pretty garden of yours," said Elvair-ka-Virrion, draining off his goblet and picking up his plumed hat from the table, "and I'll tell you what it is I've got in mind. Cheer up: I think we may beat Fornis yet."

62: THARRIN'S DISCLOSURE

She had sent Ogma down to the prison to say she was coming, and this time was received with the respect appropriate to the Serrelinda. Seen in the bright afternoon sunshine, from the window of Pokada's stuffy little room, the courtyard, like that of a barracks, and the ugly blocks seemed more arid and dismal than ever. Not a bush or bloom, not a blade of grass; even the creeper below the window-sill, she now realized, was dead. The sun, shining from a clear sky into this squalid, bare place served-so it seemed-only to stress its isolation and lack of all natural beauty-tree, flower or bird-song. Nowhere, in the still heat, was there a trace of any animate thing. Why, 'tis like being struck deaf, she thought. Everything's here, 'ceptin' for something missing that's enough to drive you mad.

Pokada, with a singular lack of tact, had asked her, in preliminary conversation, whether she was acquainted with Lalloc; to which she replied merely with a cold stare. This, however, had not been sufficient to discourage the jailer from running garrulously on about his own association with the slave-dealer. After a minute or two it dawned on Maia that he was actually proud of it, and was boasting of his acquaintance with someone who in his world figured as an illustrious citizen. Lalloc, it appeared, was a not infrequent visitor on business at the jail and had often shown himself most affable. "Obf, yes, saiyett; oh yes," went on Pokada, "we're not without our distinguished connections here, you know. Why, one day last year the Sacred Queen herself honored us with a visit."

"What she want to come here for, then?" Maia was momentarily startled out of her assumed composure.

"Oh, to select a man, you know, saiyett; a prisoner- for some purpose connected with the sacred office, she told me. Very conscientious, the Sacred Queen, I've always understood. No, no, you mustn't think of us here as just a bunch of old turnkeys, you know. 'Why, you're quite a civic functionary, Pokada,' U-Lalloc was kind enough to say to me once. Yes, a civic functionary-"

Maia, not without a certain bitter amusement, deliberately copied the detached manner which (not least because of its effectiveness) had so often irritated her in Milvushina; so that after a little more one-sided chat the jailer took

the hint and left her. Sitting on the bench, her arms before her on the table, she let her head droop and fell into a reverie from which she was roused by the opening of the door.

Tharrin was already looking better. For a start he was clean-or as clean, thought the new Maia, as people like him ever were. His hair was combed and she thought it quite probable that it might even be free of lice. He still looked gaunt and ravaged, a man who had undergone a dreadful ordeal, but the eyes that met hers now contained some self-possession-even expectancy-rand after a moment he actually contrived a sort of half-smile as well. He was wearing presentable, if rough and mended, clothes and his nails had been trimmed and were no longer black. As soon as he perceived-which he did as quickly as a dog-that her mind was free of calamity, his manner began to assume a faint, residual hint of the former strolling rascal-ah, there's no real harm in him, to be sure-the tom-cat renowned for always falling on his feet. Oh, of course, it had been the very devil of a scrape, don't you know; worst he'd ever been in, matter of fact; there'd been times when he'd thought it was all up with him, honest. But girls had their uses, and somehow something always seemed to turn up lucky for a lad like him. Wouldn't you just know it?

Maia saw all this as clearly as Occula would have seen it. She knew that she would never want Tharrin again in a hundred years: yet she had hazarded her standing and risked her safety on his account, and was determined to go on doing so as long as necessary. Why? She knew why. He was an integral part of herself-of where she had come from and what she was-he was part of the furniture of her life. "No, I'm just not going to get rid of that there old bench. It belonged to my mum and I like it, so there. More you goes on about it, more I'll stick."

She smiled, and motioned him to sit down opposite her.

"Tharrin, I'm as certain as I can be that this time tomorrow you'll be free."

She wasn't, of course: she only hoped to Cran she was right. But there was no point in "perhaps" and "maybe" and "if only I can." What he desperately needed was confidence and peace of mind. For him, uncertainty would be almost as bad as hopelessness, sitting in this place with nothing to do all day, waiting and thinking.

Across the table, he grasped her hand in both his own, smiling almost jauntily.

"Maia! I knew you could do it! You're the most wonderful girl! I'll never, never forget what you've done for me. My beautiful, golden fish!"

You bastard, she thought. You came home and found I'd been carted off to Bekla and you never lifted a finger even just to find out what had become of me. Beautiful, golden fish my venda! And yet I can't-how funny-help feeling a sort of affection mixed up with contempt.

But now it was time to get down to business and no messing.

"Tharrin, what do you mean to do once you're free? Will you go back to mother and the girls and take up where you left off, or do you want to take them away and start somewhere else?"

He paused. Well, her question certainly must have come a bit sudden, of course; but unless she was very much mistaken, his mind hadn't been altogether free from the notion that he might just baste off and try his luck somewhere else.

"You do mean to go back to mother, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Maia, of course! Oh yes, naturally. Have to look after them, yes; oh, always do that."

"You see," she said, smiling and stroking his hand, "you'll be sort of on parole, Tharrin. If you-well, you know, if you was to get into any more trouble-I know you won't- but they'd take you in again, and I wouldn't be able to help you a second time. You do understand, don't you?"

He understood all right: she was pretty sure of that. What an extraordinary fellow he was, she thought. Talk about volatile! Just escaped from death by torture and in a wink he was almost sprightly, and then within the minute he was disappointed at being foiled in a little dodge to go off on the loose. Ah, to the rebels in Chalcon, very like. She'd bet anything that that had already occurred to him. Yet for the life of her she couldn't entirely dislike him. He'd got-well, humanity, kind of.

"Dearest," she said, still holding his hand "-and I must call you that, even though we're not lovers any more- you've got to realize I've got a fair old bit of influence now."

He laughed. He even slapped his thigh-at which his threadbare breeches gave off a puff of dust.

"I know! 'Maia swam the river: Maia saved the city.' I wonder what they said down at 'The Safe Moorings,' don't you? I haven't been there for weeks, so I can't tell." He paused. "In some ways it's a pity you did save the city, golden Maia. If you hadn't, Karnat would have been in Bekla by now."

"Don't you give me that!" she flashed at him. "If I hadn't, three hundred Tonildan boys'd be laying dead and done in Paltesh, and that'd have been just for a start! Anyway, Tharrin, don't you try and act up to me as you've got political principles about heldril and Leopards, nor none of that old moonshine. What you did was done for money, and you basting well know it. Not but what you weren't always generous with it," she added, relenting a little. "I'll give you that."

"Kept a roof over our heads," he muttered, his eyes on the floor.

"Well, just you see as you go on doing that, else I'll know the reason why."

At that he looked up at her, straight and serious.

"Maia, I can't see why you should be bothering yourself so much about Morca; that I can't. She sold you into slavery, didn't she? A real dirty trick that was."

The picture this called into Maia's mind-namely, of Morca as she had last seen her-prompted her next question.

"Is she all right? What was the baby-a boy?"

"No, another girl. Yes, she's all right as far as I know. Was when I left for Thettit, anyway. I was arrested in Thettit, you know. All the same, it's bound to have been rough on them with me gone. I dare say Kelsi and Nala-"

"Oh, I blame myself, that I do! I'll give you some money to take back, Tharrin. And just you mind it gets there, too, d'you see? Well, I know mum sold me, and that was cruel, I don't deny; but I can't say as she hadn't had that to make her, in a manner of speaking; and besides, her condition at the time and all. She was that upset, she did a lot more to me than what she need have; but all the same, look where it's got me-and when all's said and done she is my mother."

Tharrin, getting up, walked across to the bright glare of the window and stood dark against the light. After a pause he said, "I don't know what she'd say, Maia, but I reckon it's high time you were told."

"Told? Told what?"

"That she's not your mother. You didn't know that, did you?"

"Not my mother?" Maia was at a complete loss. Had his sufferings turned his wits, or what? Tharrin said na more, and at length she asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I'll tell you." He came back and sat down. "I'll tell you all about it, just as she told it to me. Listen, Maia. Do you know how long ago your-well, your father and mother; I'll call them that for now-were married?"

" 'Bout twenty year now, isn't it? But Tharrin, I want to know, what d'you mean-"

"Listen! Yes, your father and Morca were married about twenty years ago. And there were no children. A fanner needs children, doesn't he? He needs labor. A farmer without children's an unfortunate mail. But there were no children; and two years went by, three years, four and never a sign. Morca felt bad, even though your father never spoke a harsh word. It was a bad time-bad as could be, she said. It got to prey on her mind. No children-that's a bitter misfortune to bear, by all accounts.

"But I'll go on. One night in the rains it was pitch-dark and nothing but mud everywhere-well, you know how it is along Serrelind. The two of them had had supper and were just going to bed when suddenly they heard a noise outside-something quite big, stumbling about. They thought it must be a beast got loose.

"Your father went out with a lamp, but he couldn't see what it was and then the rain put the lamp out. And at that moment, in the dark, someone clutched his legs and there was a woman on the ground, crying and begging for help. He just picked her up and carried her indoors, all wet through as she was and all her clothes and her hair just one mass of mud, Morca said. They pulled the sodden clothes off her and washed her and put her into bed.

"She was only a young lass. I don't know how old- Morca didn't say-but not much older than you are now, I suppose. It was much as ever they could understand her, 'cos she was a Suban-a marsh-frog. Ah, but she was a regular pretty girl for all that, Morca said. Or she would have been, only she was in such a state; and she was pregnant. She was more than that; she was going to drop it any minute, she was going into labor. Oh, they were in a right taking, I'll tell you.

"Morca said she never asked her to account for herself. It was no time for that. But then the girl began talking of her own accord. She said her elder sister had been murdered in Suba-murdered by the wife of the High Baron of Urtah, she said: house burned in the night with her in it and her young son too. She said her sister had been some famous dancer and the High Baron had been her lover. That was why the wife had murdered her. And she herself had only learned of this that very morning, while she was out of her own house, gone down the village-I don't know, gone to buy salt or something, I think Morca said. She and her husband were living in eastern Urtah, not far from the highway between Gelt and Bekla. She never said where she first met him or how they came to be living there. Anyway, the girl had no sooner heard this than someone else came running up and told her her own husband was dead-can you imagine it? They'd come upon him-some more of the High Baron's wife's men had-in his own home and killed him, just because he was the husband of the younger sister of this What's-her-name, this dancer in Suba. And now the men were going through the village, looking for her.

"Well, of course she was terrified out of her life, this poor girl. And she was all the more terrified because there wasn't anyone she felt she could trust. Well, I mean, a Suban girl, a marsh-frog come to eastern Urtah; you can just picture it, can't you? She'd be a real fish out of water, wouldn't she? Anyway, she panicked. She ran out of the village just as she was and went east across the Plain. She wasn't making for anywhere in particular. Once she got to the highway, of course, she ought to have tried to get to Bekla, but she didn't. I suppose she must have thought these men might follow down the highway looking for her. She just kept on east across the Tonildan Waste.

"Well, I've reckoned it since as she must have done twenty-five miles across the Waste, poor girl, and her in that state! Anyway, at last, in the dark and the rain, she collapsed outside your father's door.

"They went and got Drigga from up the lane and she and Morca did everything they could. And at one point they thought they'd pulled her through, Morca said. You'd been born-"

"Me?"

"Yes, you'd been born and everything seemed all right:

but then she just bled and bled until she died, Morca said. But you were as bonny as could be."

Maia was crying.

"Well, your father-I'll go on calling him that-he thought that after what the girl had told them, the less got out the better, or there might be some more of these Urtan men- these murderers-coming to look for you, d'you see? That queen-baroness-whatever she was-she meant business, that was clear enough. And old Drigga, she agreed. So what happened was, they buried the poor girl and no one the wiser-she's down by that big ash-tree beside the lake-"

"Oh, Tharrin! That ash-tree? My tree?"

"Yes, she is. And they gave it out-and old Drigga backed them up, said as she'd been in the know all along- that the baby was Morca's. Well, quite believable; I mean, it doesn't always show all that much with the first baby, does it? And Morca was ready with some story about having sworn a vow to Shakkarn that if only he'd take away her trouble, she wouldn't tell a soul until everything had gone off all right.

"So the long and short of it was they brought you up as their own daughter. But they never told you, because you'd have let on, wouldn't you?-children always talk-and they were still afraid of this woman and what might happen. But apparently she died herself quite soon after you were born, so they needn't have worried; but they never knew that, you see. You don't get to hear all that much in country places, do you? and I suppose it never occurred to them to make inquiries. Anyway, that's the truth for you at last. Morca's not your mother."

Maia was weeping so intensely that for a little while she could not speak. At last she said, "I always wo-wondered why Drigga was so good to me. She was always-well, sort of specially kind. Oh dear, oh dear!"

Tharrin made no reply and she, at length getting her feelings a little more under control, went on, "So-at that rate, then-I'm sister's daughter to this famous No-this famous Suban dancer?"

"Yes. Whoever she may have been: for it's all a long time ago now, isn't it? Anyway, you did Morca some good, didn't you? Four children she's borne since then and healthy as anybody's, even if they are all girls."

Maia stood up. She must be alone to think.

"Thank you for telling me. Have you got everything you need, Tharrin? Are they good to you? Here's a hundred meld. Is there anything else you want? Tell me."

"No, nothing. I'll be fine till you come back. Cran bless you, Maia! How can I ever thank you?"

"Well, I'll be back before noon tomorrow, and then you'll be free! You can count on that, so sleep well." She kissed him warmly, feeling her tears wet against his face. "Good-bye for now."

On the way out, neither Pokada nor anyone else remarked on her weeping. This was a place where people often wept and after all, she had not told any of them that Tharrin was going to be released.

63: THEBARRARZ

What-even though it may involve neither pain nor danger-is more bewildering and agitating than to learn something of the greatest importance about oneself-something entirely unsuspected and highly extraordinary; verging on the unique: fo find oneself in a situation which very few indeed (and none available to talk to) can have been called upon to face? Some there be who have found themselves heirs to kingdoms; others the sudden possessors of some hitherto undreamt-of knowledge or truth. Others again have stumbled, all unawares, upon some huge discovery, daunting, of incalculable import. Visions have been vouchsafed to simpletons, landfalls made by the lost and desperate, revelations bestowed upon purblind stumblers in the dark. My very self is changed for ever; I am not and can never again be the person I was. Why me, God, why me? My dazzled, peering eyes cannot make out the import, the perspective: a fly on the window-pane or a far-off mountain? But first and foremost, God, am I beneficiary or victim?

Maia sat in her garden above the Barb. From time to time she beat with the flat of her hand upon the seat-slats beside her, staring out unseeingly across the water. Again, she sprang up and began pacing back and forth over the grass; then gripped the rail of the fence with both hands and rocked herself backwards and forwards. To Ogma, peeping from an upstairs window, it was plain that her

mistress must have learned something to upset her: no doubt an affair of the heart, she thought with sluggish, lukewarm envy (for such things lay so far beyond Ogma's horizon that she had little real idea of them), yet for the life of her she could not imagine who it might be. Well, she knew that Maia was to attend Elvair-ka-Virrion's bar-rarz that night. No doubt more would become clear later, for to give her her due Miss Maia had never been one to make herself out better than anybody else, to act standoffish or keep secrets.

In Maia's heart there was a kind of fighting. Part was inflamed with excitement by what Tharrurhad told her, part full of trepidation, exposed and fearful as a fledgling just flown from the nest. She was, in fact, in a state of shock. Again and again she called before her mind's eye that grim, long-ago night which Tharrin had described to her-the exhausted girl, in mortal terror, stumbling on through the mud and rain she knew not whither, her belly big with-with herself! She, too, had taken part in that dreadful journey towards death-and life! She saw her dear father-Ah, no! Now her father no longer-striding in out of the darkness with the lass in his arms: Morca staring in bewilderment and consternation: the dim-lit vigil over the sweating, babbling girl: Drigga heating water, making up the fire, comforting, reassuring. Then her thoughts leapt to the ash-tree by the lake-her own tree, from which she had so often dropped blissfully down into the water, to swim away, to escape from her drudgery and chores. Where exactly could the grave be? She called the surrounding ground before her mind's eye. There was nothing to see, no mound-well, no, they'd have made sure of that. Could it be that bit over by-But then she began to cry again and couldn't think straight any more.

Her father was not her father. And Kelsi and Nala and little Lirrit-oh, she'd been so fond of Lirrit, she'd been the one she really loved best-they weren't her sisters at all! And Morca? Well, at least that made what she'd done a bit more understandable. They mustn't be left alone, they mustn't go in want. She'd send them money. And Tharrin-she'd need to keep an eye on Tharrin: send one of her soldiers back to Serrelind with him: ah, make sure he got there and all, and the money too.

And she herself? She was a Suban-a marsh-frog! Well, half, for sure, anyway. But her real father-had he been-

a Suban? No, not if they'd been living in eastern Urtah: he'd have been an Urtan. Where exactly was the village? It shouldn't be difficult to find out-they'd not have forgotten the murder after as little as sixteen and a half years. There'd be people there who'd known her father and mother.

Nokomis! She was sister's daughter, then, to the fabulous, legendary Nokomis! Well, that explained a whole basting lot, as Occula would no doubt have remarked. And more than that, she and Bayub-Qtal were cousins! And before the implications of this, poor Maia fetched up literally at a standstill and all of a shake, like a boat in the eye of the wind. "Oh, it's all too much at one go, that it is!" she said aloud, as though declaring to the gods that she was just not going to play any more. She sat down on the grass and began chewing daisies; and a few minutes later Ogma came to tell her that dinner was ready.

Today she could eat all right. Both horror and uncertainty had left her. She knew what she meant to do, and her confidence was only slightly less than her determination. After the meal, telling Jarvil to admit no one, she lay down on her bed, escaping into sleep with the relief of a slave pitching a heavy load off his back and not caring which way up it landed, either.

When she woke, Ogma was rattling pails in the bathroom and a beaker of milk, its top covered with muslin, was standing on the table beside her bed. The sun was setting and the swifts were darting and screaming high up in the cooling air. A passer-by called to someone in the quiet road outside. A scent of planella drifted in from the garden. Suddenly it seemed to Maia that some god was revealing to her a truth-that the world was not, in fact, transfixed upon a few sharp, pyramidal points of great matters. Rather, it was supported easily upon countless passing moments, a myriad diurnal trivia, like the host of befriending butterflies in old Drigga's story, who carried the wandering princess up and over the ice mountain.

She drank the milk and stretched luxuriously, smelling the planella, admiring again the workmanship of the onyx rabbit and listening to the sound of water pouring into the bath. "I'm not cold or hungry or ill," she thought, "and I've got me." Somewhere outside, the blue-finch sang his little phrase, "Never never never never let-you-fear." It

was the only one he knew. She laughed, sat up and swung her feet to the floor. She'd show them!

She would wear the cherry-colored robe with the bodice of crystals-one of four or five which they had given her on her return to the city (for the authorities, having taken over Sencho's great mass of possessions and effects, had been weeks in disposing of them, and she had returned in time to be offered her pick of the wardrobe). The cherry dress had been lucky on the night of the senguela: it would be lucky now. For the rest, her diamonds and a spray of planella in her hair (which she would comb out loose over her shoulders) would do very well. Sixteen-year-old Maia had no need to wonder what Fornis might keep in her cabinet of unguents.

Coming downstairs in the rose-and-saffron half-light reflected from the Barb, over which the bats were already flittering, she found her two soldiers-summoned by Ogma-waiting to take her to the Lord General's house. She gave them ten meld apiece and told them to go and drink it. "Half a mile up the Trepsis Avenue, on an evening like this? I'm walking!" At this their eyes opened wide, for in the upper city the only women who walked in public were slaves. But the Serrelinda-well, for the matter of that she might have been going to swim it (oh, yes, they'd heard that story all right) and no one would have had a word to say.

"But when shall we come to the Lord General's to bring you home, then, saiyett?" asked Brero. "You needn't," she said. "I'll send you a message tomorrow morning." At which he clapped his hand over his mouth to suppress an appreciative guffaw. She didn't mess about, did she, the little saiyett? Someone or other wasn't half going to be lucky.

The avenue seemed as full of scents as a flowerbed of summer bees, stirring and mingling, here and gone. Roses, lake water and planella, wood-smoke and dew, clipped grass and a sharp, resinous smell from where someone was sawing logs. She, the Serrelinda, was floating to her destination on the fragrance of the world, like the butterfly princess on her magic quest. She was on her way to save poor old Tharrin from the Sacred Queen. Ah, and after that she'd have to start thinking about Bayub-Otal and all. Shakkarn alive! He, the rightful Ban of Suba, was not only her liege lord but her own kith and kin! And anyway, even

setting all that aside, she'd begun to think rather differently of him since Suba and since Nasada. Funny, she thought, how you get to altering your ideas about people as you.find out a bit more about them. Like Milvushina.

Am I beautiful, Zenka? Zenka, am I the girl you can feel proud of? You never had the chance to show me off, Zenka, did you; to feel proud of your sweetheart in public, among other Katrians? "You're the most beautiful girl in the world," he answered. "I'm always with you, all the time: I'll never leave you." She broke off a spray of yellow Claris trailing over a wall beside her. "Take this, my darling," he said, "and wear it for me: if I knew of anything more beautiful to give you, I would. Well, we're on active service now, you know. Have to grab what we can get." Oh, thank you, Zenka! I love you so much! Oh, do you remember how we chose a dagger? And you said-

From behind her sounded the soft flit-flat, flit-flat of a jekzha-man's feet in the dust and then a girl's voice, "Maia! What in the world are you doing here?"

It was Nennaunir, wrapped in a gossamer-thin, azure cloak, a crystal-and-gold ring on one finger of the hand that held the rail as she leant towards Maia, her high-piled hair set now not with one but apparently about five garnet combs.

Maia laughed. "Walking to Elvair's party."

"Walking? You're out of your mind! Where are your soldiers, for Cran's sake?"

"I sent them off to get drunk."

"Whatever for?"

" 'Cos I wanted to walk."

Nennaunir shook her head and looked serious. "It won't do you any good, Maia-not in the long run it won't- doing eccentric things like going about on foot in the upper city. I mean that as a friend. You've got a position to keep up, my lass. You can't just take it into your head to go strolling up the Trepsis Avenue in the twilight, loaded with diamonds. People may even start thinking you're a human being. Get in here with me, come on."

Meekly Maia obeyed, settling herself comfortably beside Nennaunir as the man went on. The shearna seemed drenched in kepris-in the confined space of the jekzha it was quite overpowering-and this reminded Maia that she herself had forgotten to put on any scent. Never mind, she

thought. There's sure to be some flowers; I can always pick up a jasmine wreath or something.

"I called round for you, as a matter of fact," said Nen-naunir, "and Ogma told me what you'd done, so I was looking out for you. That girl, by the way," she went on after a few moments, "I don't think she's quite what you need, Maia, to be honest. Please don't take this the wrong way, but a girl as young as you are needs someone sharper and-well, knowledgeable about people and affairs and what's going on. It's a great pity you couldn't have kept that woman Terebinthia to look after you. I'm sure she'd have been delighted, if only it had been put to her."

"She might have been, but I shouldn't."

"Why, was she a bitch?"

"Hard as nails and mean with it. The house-slaves all hated her; always sniffing about. I used to feel she was like water round a boat: you always had to be taking care to keep her outside, kind of. Oh, no, Nan, I couldn't never have done with her-not after I'd had to obey her at Sen-cho's and do what she told me. Surely you can see that?"

"Well, p'raps. But all the same, Maia, just you and that poor little club-footed ninny together in that house-I'm not happy about it. Oh, I'm sure she's first-rate in the market; and she cooks a nice meal, I don't say she doesn't. But the upper city's a tricky place, and she's not at all the right sort to be personal slave to a young and inexperienced girl shot up into a big public position. I warned you only the other day: there's all kinds of unscrupulous people who'd like to make use of you; to say nothing of possible enemies. You ought to get yourself someone older and shrewder, someone who can see what's what and keep you straight. I wish I had, years ago; I'll tell you that."

"I'll think about it, Nan: really I will." Maia, like most of us when some more experienced friend criticizes arrangements which we had thought suitable enough but now begin to have sneaking doubts about, felt resentful, but had no wish to fall out with a good friend like Nennaunir.

"For instance," went on Nennaunir, turning her sleek, shining head and looking Maia over appraisingly, "Terebinthia would never have let you go to a. barrarz dressed like that. Whose idea was that-yours or Ogma's?"

"Mine. Whatever's wrong with it? I wore this at Sarget's party in the Barons' Palace and-"

"I know, darling. I was there-remember? But it's not right for a barrarz."

"What is a barrarz? Elvair was on saying that-'a bar-rarz -

Nennaunir silently drove one fist twice into the other palm, like a girl tried close to the point of outburst.

"So Ogma didn't know about a barrarz? Honestly-"

"Don't be cross, Nan: just tell me. There's a first time for everything, you know."

"First time?" replied the shearna. "I'm worried about you, that's all. There can be situations where a girl only has to be wrong once, you know."

"But is a barrarz one of them?"

Nennaunir burst into soft, happy laughter.

"No, fortunately not. Of course you'll do very well as you are, Maia dear. I didn't mean to be a cat, truly. You're very lucky-you'll always look marvelous; for quite a few years, anyway. I heard you met King Karnat dressed in nothing but your shift and a bunch of golden lilies. Is that true?"

Maia stared. "How on earth did you know that? I never told a soul!"

"Oh, news travels, dear; news travels." Then, before Maia could question her further, she went on, "Anyway, a barrarz: Cran help me, I should know! I've been to enough of them. It's the custom in Bekla-and elsewhere, for that matter-the night before soldiers are leaving on active service, for the commander to give a party for his officers-and some of the tryzatts too, sometimes. Well, it's apt to become a pretty rowdy affair, as you can imagine. They boast and shout and sing and drink themselves silly and naturally they generally get to basting the girls as well. The thing is, they're usually in a mood to be pretty open-handed-you know, ready to spend what they've got before they go. Many a good lygol I've had at a barrarz, though I admit I generally earned it right enough. I lost my virginity at a barrarz, actually-the one Kembri and Han-Glat gave in Dari-Paltesh before they marched on Bekla seven years ago."

"So how do you dress for a barrarz, then?"

"Like a soldier's doxy, dear. At an upper city barrarz as classy as this one's going to be, it's fancy dress, really; but my job's to amuse people, after all."

Leaning back in the jekzha, she opened the azure cloak.

The flimsy, pale-green robe she was wearing beneath it was not only transparent, but in some curious way seemed less to cover than to display and intensify the smooth whiteness of her body. Crowning each of her breasts was a slightly convex silver figure, about two inches high, representing a laughing cherub. At their groins the craftsman had left holes in the silver, and through these Nennaunir had drawn her nipples. At her waist, beneath and not outside the robe, was a silver girdle, its clasp fashioned in the likeness of a naked nymph leaning backwards, half-reclining on her elbows. The aperture between her lustrous, up-drawn thighs was superimposed lipon Nennau-nir's navel.

"Clever workmanship, isn't it?" said the shearna, drawing Maia's fore-finger down to feel the smooth, weighty quality of the silver.

"But will all the girls be got up this kind of style?" asked Maia.

"Oh, no, I shouldn't think so," replied Nennaunir. "I just thought it'd be fun to wear these tonight: I got them in Ikat about two years ago. But here I've been chattering away and giving you all sorts of bad advice, and I nearly forgot what I really wanted to talk about-why I came round for you. Listen-this is terribly important. I believe a real chance has come up to get Sednil out of the temple; that is, for you to, if only you'll give it a try. Will you, dearest Maia? It would mean everything to me, and I'll always do you a good turn if ever I can."

"Me get him out?" said Maia. "How?"

Nennaunir paused for a few moments, gazing across the road at a wide, sloping bank of scented tigris, over which the moths were darting and hovering like tiny hummingbirds. At length she said, "You told me you once spent the night with Randronoth, when you were still at Sen-cho's."

"Yes, I did," said Maia. "What about it?"

"Tell me, how did you get on with him?"

"Well, I don't just rightly know how to answer that," said Maia. "He didn't half enjoy himself, and he said as much, both to me and to old Sencho; but then men like that generally do enjoy theirselves, don't they, whether you do or not? I mean, they don't bother much about any give-an'-take. Far as I was concerned, it was all just part of what we had to do, like."

"Well, whatever you may have thought at the time, it seems you really blew his ears apart for him that night," said Nennaunir. "Of course, Randronoth's a notorious baby-snatching goat-I'm too old for him, now; he usually likes them about fourteen-but apparently even he'd never known anything like you in all his basting life."

"Very nice of him, I'm sure," said Maia. "Can't remember doin' anything as I thought such a great lot of myself."

"No, of course not; how could you? But can you remember anything else about Randronoth?"

Maia, reflecting, frowned. "Well, I don't just exactly know what you're on about, Nan, but I do remember one thing as struck me. He was very much taken with the clothes and jewels as I was wearing, and he asked me whether I had any idea what they might have cost: he reckoned it must 'a been all of seven thousand meld, he said. So I says, "Well, what you got in your arms now cost more 'n twice that"-which was true enough an' all. Only that seemed to get him going more than anything else. Seemed as if just the very idea of what I'd cost and what the clothes had cost and what the jewels had cost was enough to drive him wild."

"Yes, well, I'm surprised, because to tell you the truth Randronoth's already given me his own version of this; I mean, without exactly knowing what he was saying; just while he was telling me how marvelous you were. That man's got a kind of obsession about extravagance, though I don't believe he's ever realized it-not consciously. Randronoth loves to feel that there's any amount of wealth and expense tied up with his basting-it gets him excited. Give him some little banzi behind the hedge at a village festival and he wouldn't want her-probably couldn't do it. But Lalloc could doll the same girl up in a gold net and jewels and offer her for far too much, and Randronoth's zard would be splitting his breeches. It's a funny world, isn't it? That was what really led to all that trouble over poor Sednil, you see. I didn't want Randronoth's damned ring: as I told you, it wasn't a girl's ring at all. But it was the most valuable thing he happened to have with him, so he had to give it to me: it was part of the thrill; and to do him justice he never seems to regret these little larks afterwards. Even his bribe to keep me quiet was far more than it need have been."

"But what about Sednil, then?" asked Maia.

"Well, now we come to it, pet; and if you don't like it, just say so; I shan't mind. Randronoth's up here again. He comes up every summer, you know, like all the provincial governors, to hand over his tax money. That's why he's brought so many soldiers with him. I hear they've drunk 'The Serpent' dry already and now they're starting on 'The Green Grove'. Anyway, he came round to see me and all he could talk about was you."

She paused, but Maia said nothing.

"He said he wanted you more than anything he'd ever wanted in the world," continued Nennaunir. " "The lovely, inaccessible Serrelinda.' He knew you weren't a shearna, so could I help him-would I speak to you?"

"But-but why ever didn't he come and ask me himself, at that rate?" asked Maia.

"It seems he did," replied Nennaunir. "He went to your house this afternoon, but your porter sent him packing- said you weren't to be disturbed on any account. More or less told him to go and jump in the Barb, I gather."

"I was asleep. I'd said as I didn' want to see anyone."

"Oh-well, apparently Randronoth took it to mean you didn't want to see him."

"Well, that's quite right," said Maia. "I don't feel inclined for anybody nowadays; not just at present."

Nennaunir was no less swift than Sessendris had been. "Someone you fancy, is there? Someone who's not here?"

"Well, maybe-I don't know, really, Nan. Only I just don't feel like becoming a shearna for the present, that's all."

"Well, that's sensible enough. Who'd work if she hadn't got to? But listen-I asked Randronoth whether he'd be ready to do something out of the ordinary if only he could go to bed with you, and of course he said oh yes, he'd drink the Zhairgen dry and walk backwards to Zeray and half a dozen other stupid things. So then I reminded him about Sednil and said did he think that if he put his mind to it he could get him out of the temple; and he said he was pretty sure he could."

"How?" asked Maia.

"Well, you see, he's got quite a few branded men working for him in Lapan; all the provincial governors have. And if he were to have a word with the household officer of the temple, who's in charge of the labor there-and slip

him a few hundred meld, I dare say-he could probably fix up an exchange. A body for a body-why should anyone else care? Then once Sednil's been down in Lapan for a bit, Randronoth could probably arrange to have him discharged. Anyway, that's what he said and I think he'd keep his word-he's always been straight enough with me- if only he can get what he wants. And what he wants is you."

Before Maia could answer they had arrived at the terrace flanking the door of the Lord General's house, where a group of girls and young officers were standing together in the sunset, drinking and talking as they waited for supper to be announced. Their arrival was the signal for Shend-Lador and a half a dozen others (among whom Maia recognized the big, bearded man whose breeches she had pulled about his knees in the Barb) to come crowding round their jekzha, shouting greetings and compliments and holding out willing hands to help them down.

"We'll talk about it later, Nan," whispered Maia quickly. "I'll try and help if I can, honest. Just let me think it over."

Nennaunir nodded and at once, with the air of having never a care in the world, leapt headlong from the jekzha as lightly as a hare, to be caught by the bearded man, whom she immediately kissed and allowed to carry her up to the terrace with her arms round his neck.

Maia followed somewhat more sedately. Elvair-ka-Vir-rion himself came forward to hand her down and Milvushina-who, Maia noticed with relief, was dressed as demurely as herself-embraced her and led her over to where several porous, earthenware pitchers of wine, beaded with moisture, were standing in the shade under the terrace wall.

"Elvair's told me about your plan," she murmured. "I hope you'll succeed, Maia, with all my heart. You ought to: you seem to grow more beautiful every day. Being a public heroine obviously suits you."

Maia inquired about the baby.

"Oh, I'm fine," answered Milvushina. "Sick as a cat every morning, and back-ache to go with it. The doctor says they're all good signs: the worse you feel, the more it shows he's getting all he needs."

"It's a he, then?" smiled Maia.

"Elvair's been sacrificing to Airtha every third morning for a month," said Milvushina. "He dedicated his sword

today, and swore to make over all his Chalcon spoils to her; prisoners, too. I never said anything, but I don't really want to see Santil become a temple slave: he's a very honorable, upright man, you know…Everyone in Chalcon admires him. I don't think he ought to be humiliated."

"You're in no doubt he'll be captured, then?" asked Maia.

"Elvair's certain it'll all be over in two months," replied Milvushina.

As they talked on, Maia gradually became aware that at this, the first party she had attended since her return to the city, she was plainly regarded as virtually a different girl from the Tonildan who had been one of Sencho's concubines. Nennaunir, a goblet in one hand, was already surrounded by young officers, among whom she was laughing and chattering with all her customary animation. A little further along the terrace stood the composed, elegant figure of Dyphna, talking gravely with Fordil and Sarget. They were evidently conferring about music, for every now and then Fordil, nodding or questioning as he did so, would beat a rhythm with one hand upon the table beside them. She glimpsed Otavis, too; still as startlingly beautiful as at the Rains banquet, but now dressed, for the barrarz, in a kind of provocative imitation of traditional Deelguy dress, with loose, gauzy breeches, two gold hoops round her neck and her hair in thick plaits fastened below each shoulder to cover her otherwise bare breasts. Several other shearnas were present-she recognized the black-eyed, merry little girl whom she had seen snubbed at the Rains banquet by Kembri's steward-and more were arriving, as well as several ladies who, tike Milvushina, were evidently wives or sweethearts. There must, Maia thought, now be over a hundred men gathered on and near the terrace, yet none- as would undoubtedly have been the case last year-had come up to her of his own accord. Once she caught, from a little distance, a low voice, "That's the Serrelinda, look- the girl in red." It seemed as though the entire company were filled with a kind of constraining awe of the girl who had saved them all from Karnat of Terekenalt.

A moment later, however, a man's voice behind them greeted first Milvushina and then herself. Turning, she saw Randronoth of Lapan. Plainly, here was one man who was neither daunted by the Serrelinda nor too respectful to

look her up and down with the air of a boy scarcely able to contain himself before a bowl of strawberries.

"We met last year, Maia, at the High Counselor's: I hope you haven't forgotten." His eyes gazed into hers with a confident directness which said, "I certainly haven't: and I don't believe you will have, either."

She paused, smiling, yet uncertain how to reply. She had no wish-as much for Milvushina's sake as her own- for him to begin talking of Sencho's household. But before she could speak he went on, "The death of the High Counselor was a terrible shock to me. When the news reached us in Lapan I could scarcely believe it at first."

The three of them had conversed for no more than a short time when suddenly, bowing to Milvushina and asking her, somewhat perfunctorily, to excuse him, he took Maia's arm, led her some yards along the terrace and, halting beside the wall, turned to face her.

"Maia! Listen to me, Serrelinda! There's nothing I've ever wanted in my life so much as-"

But at this moment she felt her arm taken yet again: Elvair-ka-Virrion was beside them.

"Lord Randronoth, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I must take Maia away from you-for a little while, at any rate. My Ortelgan officers are Very anxious to meet her, and-well, you know a commander's responsibilities-such a bore-but this is a barrarz and I have to consider my combatants first, as I'm sure you'll understand."

It was said jokingly, yet Maia could nevertheless sense a slight taunt in his tone of voice, even as she saw the look, quickly quenched, of disappointment and chagrin on Randronoth's face. Next moment she was walking beside Elvair-ka-Virrion across the terrace, among the general concourse now going in to supper.

The barrarz was evidently not to be held in the panelled hall on the second story, where the Rains banquet had taken place. The guests were being conducted to a less ornate, stone-floored room on the ground floor. It occurred to Maia, in the light of what Nennaunir had told her about the boisterousness to be expected on these occasions, that the Lord General had probably had in mind the risk of damage to his property. There was, for instance, no statuary in this hall and no display of such ornamentation as vases or carved lamp-stands. The chairs, tables and benches were strong and plain and the unfringed cush-

ions of the couches were all made of the same stout, green growth. Nonetheless, there was ao cause for anyone to feel that Elvair-ka-Virrion was stinting his hospitality. Great quantities of cold meat, together with bread, fruit, nuts, cheeses, peeled eggs, cucumbers, gherkins and the like were already spread across the tables, and as the slaves hurried in and out, smells of roasting drifted into the hall from the adjacent kitchens. Maia had never seen such a display of wine-jars. Also-and this, as always, delighted her-there were flowers everywhere, sprays, garlands and bouquets, filling the place with color and perfume. As a background to the guests' entry, Fordil and his men, already established on a low platform to one side, had struck up a repetitive, plaintive strain which, after a few moments, she recognized through the babble and hum of talk as an old Tonildan air, "The Island of Kisses". She had forgotten it-hadn't heard it for many a long day-not since leaving home, in fact. To encounter it unexpectedly here-found, as it were, in an old drawer of the heart- filled her with pleasure and a sense of propitious luck.

"Did you really mean it about the Ortelgans?" she asked Elvair-ka-Virrion, looking back at him as she reached across the table for some sprays of jasmine to take the place of the scent she had forgotten. "I didn't know they was soldiers at all: didn't know there was an Ortelgan regiment, even."

"Well, you're quite right; they're not regulars," he answered, helping her to trim the jasmine and fasten it in her hair. "But you see, their High Baron, Bel-ka-Trazet, wants to feel he can count on our help against the Deelguy if ever they should need it, so he's sent me five hundred Ortelgans under a young man called Ta-Kominion-a baron's son. I gather he had a bit of a job persuading some of his barons to go along with the idea-not all of them love us, you know-but Ta-Kominion himself seems a good lad. He's very young, it's true, but he's a good leader and a regular fire-eater; he can't wait to get to Chalcon."

He took her arm again as they threaded their way among the benches and couches, where stewards were seating the guests, towards the upper part of the hall.

"The Ortelgans'll feel enormously flattered to have the Serrelinda seated with them for supper, and that'll be all to the good from my point of view. But Iwas thinking of you, too, Maia-" he smiled, and gave her a quick kiss

on the shoulder-"I really was. Ta-Kominion's a very impulsive, susceptible sort of lad, and I know his father's rich enough. There's one of their barons here, too, though he's not part of the Chalcon contingent; a man called Ged-la-Dan, who's made a fortune out of eshcarz and ziltate from the Telthearna. His men dive for it, you know. It just crossed my mind that the Ortelgans'll probably be able to bid quite a lot if they want to."

"It's very good of you, Elvair, to be at all this trouble on my account."

He laughed. "Feeling nervous?"

She shook her head. "Never. Oh, no, there's nothing as I-"

Suddenly she stopped, staring in front of her and as quickly turning her head away in revulsion. Some thirty feet off, beyond a group of young Beklan officers and their girls, was sitting the same hideously disfigured man whom she had last seen in the gardens of the Barb on the night of the High Counselor's murder. This, she now recalled Occula telling her, was Bel-ka-Trazet, the High Baron of Ortelga. She forced herself to look at him again. In this clearer light his face appeared even more ghastly, the left eye askew and pulled horribly down the cheek, half-lost beneath a great, seamed ridge of flesh running from nose to throat. As he spoke to the two men beside him his lips twisted crookedly, and she saw him pause for a moment and collect himself, grimacing as though the very act of utterance were a trial.

"Oh, Elvair," she said, "that Bel-ka-Trazet-oh, I don't mean to-only it's enough to make anyone take on bad. You surely don't mean that he-that you want me to-"

"No, don't worry, Maia," answered Elvair-ka-Virrion. "You can take it from me that Bel-ka-Trazet won't be putting himself forward as far as you're concerned. He's very proud, you know-severe and harsh even with him-self. They say he never makes advances to women, because he'd rather not think they might be pitying him. Would it upset you to help a cow to calve?"

"No, 'course not."

"Well, it would a lot of girls. But then you're used to it, you see. This is much the same. It won't bother you to be in his company after a little while. I like the man, myself. Grim he may be, but he's always been honest with us; and

incidentally he's one of the best hunters in the whole empire."

He led her across to the Ortelgans, and as he began speaking to Bel-ka-Trazet she glanced aside to see the other two men staring at her in the way to which she had become accustomed. The High Baron bowed, taking her hands in his own, and she forced herself to look directly at him and smile as naturally as she could.

"I'm honored to meet you, saiyett," he said, speaking with a peculiar, grating ring in his voice, so that she guessed that his throat, too, must have been injured. "There's no one in Ortelga who hasn't heard of what you did for the empire in Suba. Perhaps, a little later, if you haven't grown tired of telling the story, my friends and I might be privileged to hear it."

There were murmurs of agreement from his two companions. The older man, Ged-la-Dan, struck her unfavorably; a typical Ortelgan, unsmiling, dark and thick-set, looking less like a nobleman, she thought, than a butcher or a drover; however, there was nothing servile about his manner and he was dressed as richly as anyone in the room, with an elaborately-pleated, purple veltron and four or five strings of polished ziltate and penapa encircling his bull neck. By contrast, Ta-Kominion seemed a mere boy- barely eighteen, she guessed-fair-haired and very tall, with an eager, restless look, a ready smile and something compelling and persuasive in his manner which conveyed the impression that he placed unbounded confidence both in himself and in whomever he was speaking to. It was as though his eyes were saying, "I know I can rely on you: I know you're my friend, and I'm heartily glad of it." She felt a kind of generous warmth in him which made the prospect of supper with the Ortelgans more agreeable than it had seemed a few minutes before. Within her, the invisible Zen-Kurel instantly approved, assuring her that had things been different he and this man might have become good friends and comrades-in-arms. I can see why they've sent him to go with Elvair, she thought. Reckon I'd follow him all right if I was a soldier. #

She now saw that there was a girl with them; but whether wife, mistress or shearna it was hard to tell. She, too, was dark; slightly built and quick-moving; pretty enough, with an intense, wide-eyed look-nervous, perhaps, thought Maia, of so many strangers and of the unusual surround-

ings. (It did not occur to her that she might also be nervous of the Serrelinda.) She smiled, but in response the girl merely gazed at her for a moment before dropping her eyes.

As Elvair-ka-Virrion, after speaking a few more words to Bel-ka-Trazet and the others, left her with the Ortel-gans, she turned enquiringly towards Ta-Kominion. "Your friend?"

"Yes, this is Berialtis," he answered, putting the girl's hand into Maia's. "She's a very wise girl. She can tell you all about the Ledges, if you like."

"I don't want to talk about the Ledges," said the girl quickly.

"The Ledges?" Maia was mystified.

"Berialtis grew up on Quiso," said Ta-Kominion, "but she didn't fancy becoming a priestess-sensible lass-so she went back to Ortelga. She's come along to look after me while we help Elvair to tidy up in Chalcon."

"You'll be a bit of a traveler time you're done, then; same as me," said Maia to the girl.

Herself feeling amiable enough, she was nevertheless aware that for some reason the girl did not like her. Could this be merely resentment-envy-she wondered; or did Berialtis perhaps suppose that she might have designs on Ta-Kominion? Somehow, she felt intuitively, neither of these explanations quite fitted. There was something else about the girl-a kind of general detachment and preoccupation, hard to define exactly, but as though she were not, for some reason or other, heart-and-soul in the occasion. Yet she was evidently a free woman and no slave. She was expensively, if rather quietly, dressed, in a plain blue robe and matching sandals which must have cost a good deal, and she had just spoken to Ta-Kominion as no slave-girl would. But if she was a shearna, why this inappropriate aloofness and lack of warmth, the very reverse of Nennaunir or of any competent professional? Perhaps this was the best Ortelga could put up in the way of a shearna? Probably it wasn't so very different there from Suba. This girl was just a variant of Luma, only she happened to be pretty. (But I'm a Suban, she thought yet again: O Shakkarn, I'm a Suban!)

As they seated themselves and the slaves began serving food and drink, Maia entered upon her task of making herself agreeable to Bel-ka-Trazet. She soon perceived

what Elvair-ka-Virrion had meant. This must once have been a warm-spirited, accomplished young nobleman, full of ardor and enjoyment of his own ability and of the promise before him. He felt his disfigurement bitterly-however could it have happened? she wondered. Elvair-ka-Virrion had spoken of his skill as a hunter: a wild beast, then, perhaps?-but he'd be damned if anyone was going to be given the slightest cause either to pity or reject him because of it. Authority, self-possession, restraint, formidability, irreproachable correctness; these were the weapons with which he compelled the respect of his own people-no doubt a rough, superstitious lot who, unless he could make them fear, trust and admire him, would probably regard him as a man accursed. These were his harsh comforters, the tutelary demons who companioned him and gave meaning and purpose to his ravaged, deprived life. He lived with eyes in the back of his head. "Look at Trazet trying to exploit his affliction." "Look at Trazet making up to that shearna. Wonder how she's feeling, poor girl?" No one was going to be given any least opportunity even to think things like this, let alone to utter them. What was it that Elvair-ka-Virrion had said-he was turning his island into a fortress? He's turned himself into a fortress an' all, she thought.

The High Baron's face was incapable of adopting the normal expressions which commonly complement speech, yet soon she began to find his conversation full of interest and his company absorbing. Her beauty-which, she knew, constrained so many men because of their self-conscious sense of their own desire for her-plainly caused him no more of a tremor than Fordil's hinnari would bring to a man tone-deaf. Yet he was neither detached nor incurious; and this was flattering. He quickly set about establishing to his own satisfaction that peasant or no, she was no fool. And this discovery once made, he showed his respect for her by talking more freely and making his conversation more demanding. They spoke of Terekenalt and Katria, of King Karnat (with whom, he told her, he had hunted leopards) and the water-ways of Suba. He asked her for opinions, and seemed to weigh them as seriously as he might those of his own barons. She found herself talking to him of Meerzat and Serrelind, and then even of her life in Sencho's house; for here, she felt, was a man without contempt for another's misfortune; one who, on the con-

trary, actually admired suffering and loss which had not been allowed to defeat the sufferer. To him, as to no one else she had met-unless indeed it was Nasada-all human beings, men or women, slave or free, evidently came alike. That was to say, he had slight regard for their rank or station, but treated them in accordance with his own estimation of their capacities. Unlike Nasada, however, he had little use for compassion. She recalled that he was widely renowned as a hunter. Perhaps, she thought, he saw men and women as he might see a quarry. The courageous, resourceful and adroit-these he respected and felt to be worth contending with. The timorous or slow were merely tedious and a waste of time.

Now and then Ged-la-Dan, by contrast uncouth and insensitive, put in a few words, sometimes complimenting her on something which did not deserve a compliment or again, asking her some question which unconsciously revealed a half-envious and half-contemptuous notion of her life in Bekla as a kind of stream of luxurious and extravagant frivolity, and of herself as a girl available to anyone who could pay. Her response to this was a blend of Occula and Nennaunir-part worldly-wise banter, part simulated warmth. Yet Ta-Kominion, she sensed, could perceive very well that she was thus employing the courtesan's skills to humor a boor. He, for his part-a young man in the company of his elders-said little, but his eyes seldom left her, so that she found herself feeling an altogether un-shearna-like sympathy for Berialtis. True, she herself had come with a motive, and to this end she spared no pains to arouse the two Ortelgans. Yet she wished that, in accordance with the usual way of things, there could have been a third girl in the company. Perhaps Bel-ka-Trazet disdained such concessions to convention: no one need bother themselves to provide a girl for him. Or perhaps Elvair-ka-Virrion had been over-zealous to leave her a free hand. Still, it was becoming clear that conventions were going to matter less and less as the barrarz got under way. Several of the guests were fairly drunk already, and she had seen Nenoaunir and another girl whose name she did not know openly walking here and there among the tables, graceful, pausing and predatory as herons in a stream.

As the feasting began to draw to an end and she got up to fetch the Ortelgans a tray-full of sweet things from the central table already filled by the slaves, there suddenly

broke out a roar of acclaim and elation, and some ten or twelve young officers wearing the wolf cognizance of Be-lishba sprang up and made their way purposefully to the center of the hall, not far from where she was standing. By no means sure what they might be up to, she made haste to get out of their way.

Having pushed the central table to one side and rather blusteringly persuaded several people near-by to move their benches and couches to make an open space, the young men formed up in a line. Then, Unking arms and taking their time from the tallest of their number, whose bare chest was tattooed with two fighting leopards in red and blue (he could have done with some soap, thought Maia, wrinkling her nose as she made her way back to the Or-telgans), they began to sway and intone all together, gesturing as they did so with uniform, rhythmic motions.

Happening to meet Nennaunir-who had thrown off her cloak to display her transparent robe and silver ornaments to full advantage-she smiled and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Oh, it's an old Belishban custom, dear," said the sheama. "A kind of wild warriors' dance: they call it a straka. In the old days they always used to do it before a battle: I thought somehow we wouldn't get off without one."

The leader had begun a series of what seemed to be chanted adjurations to his followers, though these were in no language even remotely known to Maia.

"Kee-a, kee-a, kee-a! U-ay kee-a, u-ay kee-a!"

"Ah, hi hal" responded his comrades, side-stepping as one.

"Bana, bana, bana! Hi-po lana, hi-po lana!"

"Bah, way mal"

They sniffed at the air like hounds, baring their teeth and tossing their heads as they stamped and turned, grimacing fiercely, clapping their hands and brandishing imaginary spears.

Gradually the ferocity and pace of the dance increased. Their wide-stretched eyes glittered, they stooped their shoulders and bent their heads towards the floor, growling and snarling as they uttered the responses. They turned about with upstretched arms, then paired off and made believe to stab and savage one another. At times the leader's utterances would cease and then, after a moment's silence, they would burst all together into a kind of de-

monic chorus, as inarticulate yet plain in meaning as the baying of wolves.

The unhesitating unanimity with which they pounded the floor, clapped, suddenly paused to thrust out their tongues or slap their buttocks before resuming their ritual clamor, was hypnotic and infectious, stirring the onlookers until the hall was filled with battle-cries, yells of approbation and the hammering of knives and goblets on the tables. The Belishbans, leaving the center of the room, began to prance and stamp their way in a line among the tables, making believe to stab the men and drag the girls away as they maintained their chanting. At length, nearing the door that led out onto the terrace, the leader, suddenly introducing a quicker, pattering chant-"Willa-wa, willa-wa, willa-wa"-snatched the beautiful Otavis-who happened to be the girl nearest to hand-almost out of the arms of Shend-Lador and tossed her bodily to his followers. As two of them caught and held her, the others closed about her in a group, whereupon the whole crowd, setting up a kind of quivering motion with their shoulders, formed a rotating circle about her as she was carried out of the room in their midst.

Maia, who had watched the whole extraordinary act with the breathless absorption always aroused in her by any dance-she would have liked to join in, or at least to have had the chance to learn it-turned to her companions to see Ta-Kominion grinning with excitement and obviously as much affected as herself.

"Oh, that was just about something! I've never seen the like of that before," she said. "Have you?"

"Only once, and that was at Herl, when I was no more than about nine."

"Can you do it?"

He shook his head. "Oh, no; it's not half as easy as it looks. You have to be a Belishban to be able to do it properly. It's the desert blood in them, they say. They used to do it out in the Harridan desert, where the sound carries for miles, to let the enemy know they were coming."

"What enemy?"

"Oh, any old enemy," answered Ta-Kominion, fondling her shoulders. "I'm glad we're going to have them with us: I don't think Erketlis is going to care for them at all,

do you? What do you think of them, my lord?" he asked, turning to Bel-ka-Trazet. "Fierce enough for you?"

The High Baron paused, laying aside his unfinished apricots in sweet wine with an air of having made a sufficient concession to the practice of eating such rubbish.

"Why don't you tell that young Elvair to take along a herd of bulls to drive at the enemy?"

"Oh, you do them an injustice, my lord, I'm sure. There's a lot more to them than that."

"I'd be glad to think so," replied Bel-ka-Trazet. Ta-Kominion waited respectfully, and after a few moments the High Baron went on, "What happened at Clenderzard, Ta-Kominion; do you remember?"

"The Deelguy thought they'd beaten us, my lord, but we made fools of them."

"Do you remember me forbidding your father to attack them?"

Ta-Kominion roared with delighted laughter and at once turned to Maia as though she were the perfect companion with whom to share the joke.

"My father had us all lined up in a wood, Maia, and we were just going to dash out to meet the Deelguy when the High Baron here came up through the trees. 'You'll do no such thing-no such thing!' My father said, 'Why, my lord, we'll all be taken for cowards.' 'No such thing! No such thing!' "

Even Ged-la-Dan was grinning. It had evidently become a legend on Ortelga. "So what happened then?" asked Maia politely, since it seemed to be expected of her.

"Why, so then the Deelguy came rushing in among the trees, but they couldn't get to grips with us. They couldn't see properly after the bright light outside, you see. Besides, they're plains people; they're not used to woodland at all and they got confused. We broke them up into groups and made a horrible mess of them. Oh, but I'll never forget my father's face, my lord! 'No such thing! No such thing!' " Still laughing, he reached across the table and refilled Maia's goblet.

"When you get to Chalcon you'll do well to remember my advice to your father."

Bel-ka-Trazet's low, hoarse voice rasped like a hoof on dry stones. "I asked you, didn't I, whether you wanted to lead this expedition, and I gave you a fair and honorable chance to refuse?"

"You did, my lord; but I didn't refuse, did I?"

"We have to keep in with Bekla," said Bel-ka-Trazet, "so we've agreed to send five hundred men against Er-ketlis. Either you'll gain experience, Ta-Kominion, or you'll be no great loss to Ortelga."

"Thank you, my lord," replied Ta-Kominion happily. He seemed, Maia thought, quite used to this sort of thing from the High Baron.

Bel-ka-Trazet leant forward and gripped his wrist so hard that he winced. "You're a reasonably good leader, Ta-Kominion-the men trust you-but you're very young. See your men come back alive, that's all: not everything's to be achieved by rushing head-down at the enemy. Remember the wood at Clenderzard. And if you should have to get them out on your own-"

"Get them out, my lord?"

"If you have to get them out on your own, which wouldn't surprise me at all," said Bel-ka-Trazet, "get out through Lapan. It's further, but you'll be safer than if you try to get out through Tonilda. In Tonilda they hate the Leopards."

Ta-Kominion was about to reply when there was a further distraction. The Belishbans had come back into the hall, carrying Otavis shoulder-high in their midst. It was plain that she had made a hit among them while they had been out on the terrace. Excited and full of self-assertion among strangers, they felt that they had won a prize and meant to show it.

"Give her back!" yelled Shend-Lador, playing up to them, clenching his fists and squaring up in mock rage.

"Not on your life!" answered the tattooed leader. "She's a soldier now, this girl! She's too good for you! She's joining up with us!"

"We'll have to initiate her," cried another of them, "if she's to be a Belishban officer. Isn't that right, boys?"

There was a general outburst of agreement, above which the leader shouted, "What's it to be?"

"Toss her in a blanket!" bellowed a voice.

"Yes! Yes!" they cried. "Get a blanket! Send her up to Lespa!"

Shend-Lador and two or three of his friends began protesting and were obviously ready to quarrel in earnest; but Otavis, sitting on high among the Belishbans, only shook her head, laughing. "No, let me alone, Shenda! Don't be

a spoilsport! You don't think I'm afraid, do you? What's the bounty?" she called down to one of the Belishbans.

"What bounty, sweetheart?"

"When you join up as a Belishban officer, of course! How much d'you get?"

"Oh, I see. Five hundred meld we get when we join."

"Right!" said the beauty, taking off her earrings and necklace and passing them down to him. "Just look after those for me, then. Five hundred meld, and don't forget it, any of you!"

After a few more unavailing protests from the young Leopards, two slaves were sent out and returned with a woven coverlet taken from some bedroom near-by. The Belishbans spread it on the floor and Otavis, as lightly and readily as though she were going to make love, lay down on her back, folding her arms under her breasts.

As eight of the Belishbans, four on each side, stooped to grasp the edges of the coverlet, hiding Otavis from view, Maia turned to Ta-Kominion.

"It's crazy! She'll be hurt for certain! Can't you go and ask Elvair to stop it?"

He shook his head. "If she'd said she didn't want to do it, I would; but she's a clever girl. She's after her five hundred meld, isn't she? And a bit more than that, if I know anything about it."

Before Maia could answer there broke out among the Belishbans a quick, chantey-like chanting. As it culminated, Otavis suddenly appeared flying upward, her gauzy Deelguy breeches billowing, one of her plaits come adrift to expose the breast beneath. She seemed entirely in command of herself and showed no least sign of fear as she went up about ten feet and then, her body tilting a little to one side, fell back into the taut coverlet among yells of delight.

"Higher this time!" shouted one of the Belishbans. "Come on, get some zip into it, boys!"

Again Otavis shot up, this time with so much force that she actually half-vanished for a moment into the vaulted dimness above the lamplight. As, flushed and dishevelled, she fell back into the coverlet without having uttered a sound, cheers and applause broke out all over the hall, and Elvair-ka-Virrion called "That'll do!"

"No, no!" shouted the big Belishban leader, holding up his hand as though exercising the authority of the frissoor

(which he never asked forethought Maia). "Three times! Three times it's got to be, before she's an officer! Let her go, boys!"

"The beam! Mind the beam, you fools!" yelled Elvair-ka-Virrion suddenly. But Otavis had already been heaved out of the coverlet, this time in a kind of half-crouching posture which suggested that she had not been entirely ready.

The vault of the hall was spanned, at a height of about fifteen feet, by tie-beams, and straight towards one of these the shearna (Cran, she must weigh next to nothing! thought Maia) was sailing up as lightly as a squirrel. At Elvair-ka-Virrion's cry she turned her head, instantly saw her danger and flung out her hands. Then, as deftly as if she had intended it from the outset, she caught the beam, let her body swing down until she was hanging vertically, paused a second and then dropped back into the outspread coverlet. A moment later she had climbed out and was standing among the Belishbans, smiling as she deliberately wiped her grimy hands on the leader's cheeks.

A perfect tumult of acclaim broke out, lasting for almost,.a minute. Elvair-ka-Virrion, striding forward, embraced Otavis and kissed her.

"Right, that's it! Now-where's her lygol?" he shouted, turning to the surrounding Belishbans. "This is going to cost you all forty meld apiece, and I never saw it better earned in my life!"

"Ay, it damned well was, too!" answered one of them, slamming down four ten-meld pieces on the table. Drawing his knife, he offered it hilt-first to Otavis and knelt at her feet. "Give me a ringlet, saiyett! Gut me off a curl to take to Chalcon and I'll wear it every day till I come back!"

"Why, at that rate she'll have none left!" cried the leader, also falling on his knees. But Otavis, smilingly raising them to their feet and returning the knife, merely strolled across to the table, called to a slave to bring some warm water and stood rinsing her hands while the Belishbans, one after another, put down their money.

"You've lost her, Shend-Lador," said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "They'll never let her go now!" The shearna, however, shook her head and, having beckoned to Shend-Lador to come and pick up the money for her, kissed her hand to the Belishbans and led him out of the hall at a run.

"Good lass! She knows what she wants after that little lark!" said Ta-Kominion approvingly.

Ged-la-Dan grunted and drained his goblet. "So do I." Reaching out a hand, he grasped Maia's ankle where she sat curled up on the couch. "Listen, my girl, I don't know how mudi-"

Before he could say more, however, Elvair-ka-Virrion was beside them, cooling his flushed face with a painted fan and bowing to Bel-ka-Trazet.

"I've come to borrow Maia, my lord. It won't be a real barrarz, you know, unless she dances for us."

Maia, glad of the opportunity to be elsewhere, got up readily enough, excused herself to the Ortelgans and went across to where Fordil and his men were sitting cross-legged among their outspread battery of leks, zhuas and plangent strings. As the master-musician rose to meet her, smiling with obviously sincere pleasure, she found herself thinking that she could have lived happily enough as a professional dancer, devoted from dawn till dusk to the service of the gods, falling asleep each night tired out with the worship of holy movement; wind and stream, fire and cloud; Lespa's contented slave. Might her aunt Nokomis even now, perhaps, be pausing a moment, in some celestial dance among the stars, to look down on her niece and bless her?

"Not the senguela tonight, U-Fordil," she said, stooping to kiss his brown, wrinkled hands and gray-stubbled cheeks. "It's got to be something simpler and shorter, that they can afi follow. I'm sure most of them know precious little about dancing."

"But they know about beautiful girls, don't they, sai-yett?" he answered. "What was that old Tonildan tale you danced for me in your house, the day I came up to play to you? I could follow that easily enough, even though I'd never seen it before. Didn't you tell me you made it up yourself?"

"Oh, Tiva'? Yes, I made that up, U-Fordil. That's to say, I heard the story when I was little from an old woman at home, and I just made up the dance for fun."

"Well, anyone could enjoy that, saiyett, the way you did it for me. And if we just keep one of those Tonildan dance-rhythms going on the drums and I follow you with the hinnari, this lot aren't going to find fault, are they?-

not in this mood and not with someone like you to look at."

She had first begun to devise the dance in Sencho's house during Melekril last year, at the time when Occula had been encouraging and teaching her. It had been rudimentary enough then, but the idea had stayed with her and grown in her imagination, so that since returning from Suba she had rounded it out and turned it into something at least approaching a finished dance. It was old Drigga's tale of Tiva, the fisher-girl of Serrelind; how, at his desperate plea, she had spared the life of a great fish she had caught one day in her nets; and of what had ensued. Certainly, she thought, anyone ought to be able to follow it, and it should go down well enough. Smiling and nodding to Fordil, she walked back to the middle of the hall, where at Elvair-ka-Virrion's order the slaves were already beginning to move the tables for her. She waved them away. She had already decided how she was going to present this, and it wouldn't need all that much space.

As soon as she had received the frissoor from Elvair-ka-Virrion, she took up her position standing on a couch on the dais and picked up the embroidered coverlet in which Otavis had been tossed-for it had been left lying on the floor. She tried its weight. It was a shade heavy, certainly, but not more than she could manage gracefully. The lamps would do as they were. She signaled to Fordil, and as the zhuas began their rolling imitation of a long swell on Lake Serrelind the hinnari took up again, very quietly, "The Island of Kisses."

Maia stood aloft on the couch, one hand shading her eyes, the other behind her on the tiller. She was Tiva, the girl from Meerzat who, when her fisherman father died, had rejected all suitors, determined to carry on his business on her own account. Again and again she flung out the coverlet into the surrounding water, and each time she hauled it in, the pattering leks reflected her excitement in the catch, which she sorted and slung either overboard or into the well of the boat. As she worked she swayed, feet apart to keep her balance on the tilting planks, and constantly flung back her hair in the sharp wind.

At first there had been a certain amount of chatter and inattention among the audience, many of whom were still full of Otavis. But as Fordil, most skilled and responsive of accompanists, gradually began to play louder, and the

beat of the zhuas, becoming slower and heavier, suggested Tiva's arrival above deep water, the interruptions gradually died away. While she was throwing out the anchors fore and aft and then setting her weighted ledger-lines on either side of the boat, Maia could sense that she had them entirely with her.

Then followed the sudden running out of the line, the startled realization that she had hooked something really big (the drummers' efforts here were masterly), the prolonged struggle of playing the fish and finally her incredulous, staring wonder as at last it broke surface some distance from the boat.

At this point one of Shend-Lador's friends, who had clearly had a good deal to drink and was equally clearly longing to be caught by the Serrelinda, jumped up and took it upon himself to become the fish. Maia, secretly irritated-for he was a clumsy lad, without presence or grace-nevertheless went along with this, playing the big fish as it ran among the couches and dived headlong for refuge beneath the great rock of a table. At last, bringing it gasping alongside, she whispered to the young man to be so good as to leave it at that; and covered his departure by a convincing struggle to get the real, imaginary fish into the coverlet-net and haul it aboard,

Then followed the fish's agonized plea for his life, Tiva's pity for him and her final agreement to spare him and plunge with him to his palace in the depths of the lake to receive her reward. Maia simulated the struggles of the fish by jerking movements of her own arm as she held him down, and convincingly suggested his difficult speech by bending her head, ear close to the table-top, frowning as she tried to comprehend the sibilant, fishy whispering.

The plunge overside in a pellucid, splashing glissando from the hinnari, the slow, groping descent into the green depths and the arrival at the bottom of the lake-these Maia executed with the style of a swimmer as well as of a dancer. Then she was weaving among the weedy couches and rocky benches, in and out, following the great fish through the underwater twilight. She had been half-expecting one or other of the young men to grab at her or otherwise to intrude on and spoil what she was trying to express, but on the contrary the hall was now completely silent, save for the deep beat of a single zhua and a sudden

patter from the leks as a shoal of little, silver fishes darted past her in the gloom.

The fish king's gift of the magic, restorative stone, the regaining of her boat and its return to land-all this Maia enacted more simply and directly than she would have done if she had been dancing merely for her own pleasure, for she knew that this audience would become restive if she were to make it too long.

Then Fordil himself, having realized that there was no other way, spontaneously came forward to enact the king's herald, crying silently through cupped hands to this side of the hall and that, proclaiming with mounting anxiety and desperation the news of the king's mortal illness. He was just about to depart in despair when Maia came forward, humbly offering to do all in her power to cure the king. The herald at first rejected her, but she persisted with gentle confidence, and at last was escorted to the royal palace.

The lack of a king defeated even Maia's ingenuity. However, it mattered little. Holding the unseen magic stone aloft before her in her cupped hands and thereby contriving to suggest that it was both heavy and a thing of awe-inspiring and miraculous power, she vanished slowly, step by step, into the twilight beyond the lamps-the shadowy recesses of what she hoped her audience would perceive to be the royal bed-chamber. Then, after a pregnant pause, during which the zhuas, first suggesting the slow, labored breathing of the sick king, gradually quickened to become his restored, healthy heart-beat, Fordil's men, at a cry of triumph from Tiva off-stage, burst into cries of joy. Thereupon Maia reappeared, crowned with flowers, to perform a whirling dance of elation and triumph, which she brought to an end by kneeling in tranquil adoration over the dark waters of the lake, head bent and arms outstretched in homage and thanks to the great Lord Fish.

The music ceased and Elvair-ka-Virrion came forward to take her hand and lead her back to her couch. Everyone was applauding, everyone seemed eager to touch her for luck and to call out praise and congratulations. Yet suddenly she found herself, with a quick flutter of dread, remembering Tharrin, hunched in his cell in the lower city, awaiting her return and placing all his hopes on her. The night's real venture was still to come. "Forgive me, Zenka,"

she whispered. "And great Shakkarn, blow your divine breath into their loins: make them burn for me!"

Ta-Kominion received her rapturously and insisted on accompanying her back across the hall to thank Fordil and give him his lygol. When he saw Maia hand over four hundred meld the young Ortelgan's eyes widened, yet he said nothing. Maia, for her part, felt that she had never given away anything with a gladder heart. Her gratitude to Fordil knew no bounds.

A sudden thought struck her. "U-Fordil, did you ever see Nokomis?"

"Nokomis?" He nodded. "Once, saiyett. It's-oh, nearly thirty years ago now: I was still an apprentice. My master and I spent ten days in Kendron-Urtah."

"What was she like?"

He shrugged, spreading his hands. "What can I say? I suppose since then not a single day's gone by without my remembering her. At least it's freed me from the miseries other people seem to carry about with them."

"Funny old fellow, isn't he?" said Ta-Kominion as they returned. "He may look like an old beggar who's been tidied up and made presentable, but I'll bet he's got plenty salted away from all that twangling he does."

Nennaunir would have let it go: the Serrelinda was young enough to feel indignant.

"He's a great artist, my lord! He's in the service of the gods!"

"Ah! And you too?" Ta-Kominion's smile was friendly but mischievous.

"Well, of course I'm not in the Thlela, no. I never had the chance, and anyhow I'm not that good. But I'd like to dance for the gods-"

"What gods?" It was Berialtis who had spoken, and Maia, turning towards her, saw her dark eyes, wide and unsmiling, fixed on her with an expression somewhere between condescension and contempt.

"What sort of a question's that, then?" flared Maia. "Am I s'posed to answer it?"

"Your gods!" cried Berialtis. "Your gods don't exist! Their worship's nonsense! And as for your Sacred Queen-"

"Berialtis!" The file-like rasp of Bel-ka-Trazet's voice frightened Maia. It had no effect, however, upon the Or-telgan girl, who seemed not even to have heard the High

Baron as she continued to speak in an utterance almost trance-like and no longer directed specifically at Maia.

"God's truth flows from the Ledges of Quiso. There's healing there for the sick, comfort and wisdom for the wretched and lost. Bekla possessed that wisdom once, until greed and corruption destroyed it. A Sacred Queen whose business is whoring with a brazen image-"

The girl's voice had risen. People near-by were turning to stare.

"Berialtis," said Bel-ka-Trazet, "if you want to go home alive, be quiet!"

"But Lord Shardik will return to his faithful people," continued Berialtis, speaking now in a kind of sibylline monotone, "on that good night the children are taught to pray for. The Power of God will shatter the idolatrous baubles of the Tamarrik Gate, and once again his priest-king will walk through the streets of Bekla. God will reveal his truth through Lord Shardik and the Chosen Vessels-"

"Ta-Kominion!" said Bel-ka-Trazet, in a tone as minatory and unnerving as anything Maia had heard in her life, "you brought this girl with you. If you value your life and hers, get her out of here before I have to speak again!"

Ta-Kominion had been staring at Berialtis with a kind of rapt attention, apparently oblivious to all else and hanging on her every word. Even Maia, though she had only the vaguest idea what the girl was talking about, could not help thinking that this divinatory passion-or whatever it was-was very becoming to her dark, intense style of beauty. Might that, perhaps, be the real reason behind this carry-on? The High Baron's voice, however, would have penetrated the trance of a sleep-walker.

"My lord," muttered Ta-Kominion as though against his will, "the girl's only speaking the trutli-"

"And this is no time for it!" hissed Bel-ka-Trazet, rising to his feet and standing over Ta-Kominion like some ghoul of nightmare. "If you do not-"

What might have happened next Maia was never to know, for at this moment Elvair-ka-Virrion appeared once more beside them. She had not felt so much relieved to see anyone since the night when she had recovered consciousness among the soldiers on the bank of the Valderra.

"Maia," said Elvair-ka-Virrion, smoothly ignoring the altercation, of which he could hardly have failed to be

aware, "I think I'd be inclined not to wait any longer before starting our little venture. Otherwise they'll all be too drunk and a lot of them may have made-well, other arrangements, you know. What do you say?"

"I'd be glad to, my lord."

For the second time she jumped up, smoothing down the skirt of the cherry-colored robe. Ta-Kominion and the High Baron seemed too much preoccupied with each other to notice her, and she was about to leave without more ado when suddenly Ged-la-Dan grabbed her by the wrist.

"Where are you going this time, girl?"

She gave him her most dazzling smile. "You'll see in a moment, my lord."

"I want you here. You just understand, now, I'm not a poor man. I can-"

Elvair-ka-Virrion interrupted him.

"Well, Ged-la-Dan, if you've taken such a fancy to Maia, that may turn out to be very fortunate for you, as you'll see in a minute. But first of all I've got to take her with me-for the best of reasons. Sorry!"

Thereupon he took her arm and led her back towards the center of the room, leaving Ged-la-Dan with some spluttering protest dying on his lips.

The barrarz was momently becoming more disorderly and rowdy. A group of Palteshi officers, linked arm-inarm and swaying back and forth, were singing a bawdy song in chorus, with Nennaunir and the little, dark-eyed shearna in their midst. One of them grabbed at Maia as she passed.

"A girl of renown, from the top of the town: Dari town, Dari town, that's where we laid her down-"

Elvair-ka-Virrion, seizing his arm, bent it back to make him let go and whisked Maia away, passing Shend-Lador and his friends, one of whom was doing his best to drink a goblet of wine standing on his head.

Elvair-ka-Virrion leaped onto a table, kicked a space among the knives and dishes and then, beckoning to the chief steward, took his staff of office and hammered on the table for silence. As soon as the babble and clamor had partly subsided he shouted, "Listen! I've just this moment been told of a magnificent surprise for all of you!

Something you weren't expecting! This is really going to make you glad you came!"

"We're glad now!" bawled Shend-Lador; at which there were shouts of assent.

"Well, then, you listen to me!" repeated Elvair-ka-Virrion, once again pounding with the staff. "There are going to be a lot of surprises in the next month or so-but they're all going to be unpleasant ones for Santil-ke-Erketlis. This is a pleasant one-for all of youl"

He had their attention now. He's clever, thought Maia, putting it as he's only just heard of a surprise: say that, always makes anyone want to know what it is.

"We've had one victory this year already," went on Elvair-ka-Virrion, "when we saw Karnat off at Rallur. He got his feet wet in the Valderra and had to go back to Suba to dry them." (Laughter and cheers.) "And we all know, don't we, who we owe that to? Sendekar!"

At this there was more cheering, broken after a few moments by a shout from the far end of the hall.

"What the hell d'you mean-Sendekar? He didn't swim the Valderra!"

"Maia's victory!" cried a girl's voice. (That's Otavis, thought Maia: good for her!)

"Yes! Maia's victory!" replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "Of course it was Maia's victory! Sendekar's not here tonight, more's the pity, but Maia is, and she's got something for Bekla that even Sendekar hasn't!"

At this there was more laughter. Someone called out "Whatever can that be?" while someone else miaowed like a cat.

"Expeditions like this cost money, believe it or not!" went on Elvair-ka-Virrion. "All your arrows and shields and spears have to be paid for, and we can't squeeze all the money out of the wretched peasants."

"You've got all old Sencho's money, haven't you?" shouted Ta-Kominion.

"Yes, but not his belly," replied Elvair-ka-Virrion. "It burst, and made a mess from here to Chalcon: that's what we've got to go and clear up. Now will you all listen? As you know, we've none of us been able to see a great deal- not nearly as much as we'd like-of Maia Serrelinda since she came back from the Valderra. She's been recovering from her honorable wounds and enjoying a well-earned rest. But as you've all seen, she's here tonight. And she's

come on purpose to help Bekla! Maia, come up here, beside me!" He stretched out his hands. "Here she is! The bravest and most beautiful girl in the empire!"

Maia, having taken his hands, was jumped up onto the table. Elvair-ka-Virrion stood her in the brightest patch of lamplight.

"Maia isn't a shearna, although there must be hundreds of people who wish she was. She doesn't need to be a shearna, because the Council have voted her the income she deserves for saving us all!"

At this the cheering broke out in an even more heartfelt tone. Maia's dance had already delighted everyone, but now that they had been reminded of her heroism and saw her, as it were, displayed before them as a living epitome of the beauty and desirability of womanhood, it was as though fresh admiration came gushing spontaneously from depths of feeling hitherto unplumbed.

"So!" shouted Elvair-ka-Virrion above the uproar. "So- you must all have thought that this beautiful girl was as far beyond you as Lespa. But, entirely out of her love and devotion to the city, she herself has decided otherwise."

Now there was silence; or the nearest thing to silence with which he had been heard so far. One or two people even called impatiently to others to stop talking, and a slave who was clattering some dishes was hustled out of the hall by the steward.

"I'm not saying the Council's stinted us for money," said Elvair-ka-Virrion. "They haven't. And I'm certainly not saying that this expedition of ours is ill-found. It's not. But any little jaunt of this kind can always do with more money, if only to provide for emergencies. And that's what's coming our way now, thanks to this splendid girl.

"We're all soldiers here, so I'll be plain; and that'll save time, for which some lucky devil's going to be grateful, as you'll realize in a minute. Maia's told me that she'll spend the night-and she's particularly asked me to say that she'll spend it warmly and generously-with whichever one of you puts up the most money for our expedition. In other words, the favors of Maia Serrelinda-which will probably never be availabl; to any of you again, since she's not a shearna and isn't planning to become one-are up for auction tonight, and tonight only; and she's assured me that she's not going to keep one meld of it for herself."

Taking Maia's hand, he raised her arm over her head.

Then, above the fresh outburst of excitement spreading through the hall, he called out, "Come on, then! Where's my first bid?"

This was the moment which Maia had been awaiting with some misgiving. From the first she had wondered whether Elvair-ka-Virrion's plan would work, and only her determination to save Tharrin at all costs had induced her to agree to it. It was not that she doubted the effect of her own beauty. This she had now come to accept, just as a champion athlete or wrestler must, if his daily life and dealings with other people are to make any sort of sense, realize and acknowledge that in this respect he is above the rest and that from the public point of view that is his raison d'etre. When necessary she could-at all events to friends like Milvushina or Nennaunir-speak of it without self-consciousness; and she had learned to handle gracefully unexpected incidents like the homage of Selperron. But she also knew that men mostly prefer to admit to and pursue their desires privately, or at any rate only among their friends. If Elvair-ka-Virrion had negotiated an assignation for her she would have felt no qualms, and this was what she had in fact suggested while they were walking by the Barb that afternoon. He, however, had objected that it would be impossible at the very large sum she was trying to raise. Besides he, a prince of Bekla, could hardly tout and pander on her behalf. If, however, the thing could be put across as a kind of game, played in the libertine surroundings of a barrarz, that would be another matter. This proposal she had accepted gratefully. Yet would they really, she had wondered, even at a barrarz, and even for the Serrelinda, be ready to put their lust on display and openly bid against one another for her embraces?

She need not have worried. She had under-estimated either their concupiscence or her own allure, or both. Instantly, as Elvair-ka-Virrion asked his question, Ta-Kom-inion sprang to his feet.

"A thousand meld!"

This-about four months' wages for a farm-hand or a laborer-coming from so young a man, plainly struck the company as a flamboyant flourish rather than a serious offer. There was more laughter, mixed with ironic cheering, and someone, imitating a drill tryzatt on parade, shouted, "Quicker than that, my man! Quicker than that!"

Before anyone else could speak Elvair-ka-Virrion called

out, "You'd better all realize that although this may be a barrarz, we're completely in earnest. Anyone who makes a bid will be held to it; and there's one other thing I forgot to say. The money's to be paid tonight, either in coin or else in something of indisputable value, like jewels or gold."

"I said a thousand meld and I damned well meant it!" cried Ta-Kominion. "I'll say it again-a thousand meld!"

At this moment Maia noticed that four or five slaves were extinguishing the lamps round the outer edges of the hall, while others were removing those on the tables nearby. It must have occurred to Elvair-ka-Virrion that his potential customers would feel more unconstrained in a dim light.

"Two thousand meld!"

That rough voice, she knew, was Ged-la-Dan's. The thought of having to spend the night with this sweaty, boorish Ortelgan, who had pulled her by the ankle and called her "My girl" within an hour of meeting her, filled her with revulsion. O Cran, she thought, I'd rather be back with old Sencho! At least he used to have baths. O Lord Shakkarn, don't let it be him!

There was no more laughter or cheering now. It had suddenly come home to the company that this had at least the makings of a highly dramatic matter. Just as a crowd, gathered round to banter and laugh at two men quarreling, cease their raillery when the first actual blow is struck, so these roisterers had become vigilant and attentive upon hearing Ged-la-Dan's counter-bid. Although most of them were youngsters lacking anything approaching the means to take part, this only made it all the more exciting. To watch wealthy people competing seriously for a rich prize, which only one of them can attain, to the chagrin of the rest-this has aroused and attracted onlookers for thousands of years, and always will.

Maia, glancing sideways, saw Nennaunir bite her un-derlip and turn her head towards the man beside her with a quick, wide-eyed look of excitement. Directly beneath the table on which she was standing, a broad-shouldered tryzatt who looked like a Yeldashay was staring up, never taking his eyes off her as he tapped and tapped unconsciously with one hand on the table-top beside him.

"Three thousand meld!" shouted Ta-Kominion.

"Be quiet, boy!" snarled Ged-la-Dan.

The lighting round the edge of the hall had now become

so dim that Maia could not see clearly, but it appeared as though some sort of scuffle had broken out. A dish clattered on the floor: then Ta-Kominion's voice, quick and gasping, said "By the Ledges, if you don't-"

"Silence!" This was unmistakably Bel-ka-Trazet, who after a short pause came composedly forward into the brighter light, grasping Ta-Kominion's arm firmly in his own. A pretty, brown-haired girl in a yellow robe gave a little cry and sprang away at the sight of his face, whereupon the High Baron of Ortelga calmly sat down where she had been reclining, motioning to Ta-Kominion to sit beside him.

"You'll excuse us, my lord," he said to Elvair-ka-Virrion in his strained, rasping voice. "My friend here said three thousand meld and he's perfectly serious. Pray continue."

"Three thousand meld!" echoed Elvair-ka-Virrion. "Three thousand meld for the favors of the most beautiful girl in the world! Come now, gentlemen, haven't you got blood in your veins!"

"Yes, but not gold!" shouted one of the Belishbans.

They seemed to be conferring among themselves. Their dialect was unfamiliar to most Beklans, but to Maia, who had lived and worked with Meris, it was plain enough.

"-and then we'll draw lots."

"Well, no wrangling afterwards, then."

"You game, Yerdo? Two hundred each?"

After some more muttering the big leader, breaking away from the group, took a step towards Elvair-ka-Virrion and called out "Four thousand meld!"

At this there were cries of disbelief and protest, but he added quickly, "My lord, my friends and I are making this bid between us. Then we'll draw lots among ourselves to see who's the lucky man."

Suddenly Maia realized that the business had become one of local pride-just as Elvair-ka-Virrion had foreseen that it might. The Belishbans were determined to secure her for themselves if they could; when they returned to Herl, at least one of them must be able to boast that he had made love with the one and only Serrelinda-he and he alone of all those under Elvair's command. It was certain that there was no other girl throughout the empire, however beautiful, who could have had this sort of effect upon her admirers, be they never so ardent. As she grasped this she blushed down to her neck and for all she could

do the tears started to her eyes. In her mind's eye she could see the green-and-white stretch of the Serrelind waterfall, the scarlet trepsis-bloom and the long-stalked lilies in the shadows. "You dazzle me-reckon I'll dazzle you!

" 'Why was I horn? Ah, tell me, tell me, Lord Cran! Isthar, is thai a steer-' "

"Speak to them, Maia," whispered Elvair-ka-Virrion. "They'll all go crazy now, if only you can make them."

Stretching out open arms, she looked from one flushed, eager face to another; yet not a word could she say. Laughing, and quickly dashing the tears from her eyes, she pulled the sprays of jasmine from her hair and tossed them down among the Belishbans. Still she said nothing: but the mere sight of her, tongue-tied and overcome by their adulation, the tears wet on her glowing cheeks, was enough to accomplish Elvair-ka-Virrion's purpose. All round the hall could be heard mutterings and whispers as little groups of men began consulting among themselves-Beklans and Palteshis, Tonildans, Lapanese, Urtans and Yeldashay.

"She's too good for Belishba!" shouted a gray-haired man with the look of a veteran and a golden fountain embroidered across his robe. "Kabin shall have her! Four thousand five hundred!"

"Six!" answered one of the Belishbans immediately.

"Four thousand seven hundred!"

It was at this instant that Maia, in the act of bending forward to accept a goblet which one of the young men was holding up to her, became once more aware of Ran-dronoth. The governor of Lapan was seated on the end of a near-by couch, elbow on knee and chin on hand, gazing at her as though there were no one else in the hall. A slave who was going round with a full wine-jar, stopping beside him, spoke to him twice, but Randronoth appeared neither to see nor hear him. There was no companion or girl with him, and this isolation emphasized and heightened the intensity with which he was regarding her. After a moment, with no movement or alteration of his gaze, he said quietly, "Five thousand meld."

No sooner had he spoken than Maia felt certain that she had been continually in his thoughts ever since the night which he had spent with her; and that if that encounter were to have taken place now-many long months, several

men and much garnered insight and experience later-she would certainly have recognized it for what it was; the inception of nothing less than an all-absorbing physical obsession. He was a man whose thoughts ran continually upon coupling, dominated by an inward concept not of ideal womanhood, of companionship or even of a girl able to amuse him or do him credit in public, but simply of a certain visual semblance and certain physical characteristics which excited him beyond all measure. And to this fantasy she-and in all his experience she alone-conformed entirely. This she could now perceive as plainly as if he had told her in so many words. What had haunted him since that night had been simply his physical recollections of her-visual, tactile; possibly even olfactory, too, for the matter of that. And despite-or perhaps because of-his ready opportunities for pleasure elsewhere, these had set up in him a relentless craving which her subsequent renown and exaltation had only served to inflame, for they had made him suppose the chance of actually basting her again to be gone for ever. Yet tonight, at the barrarz, it had suddenly reappeared, like a hunter's quarry given up for lost but now come wandering randomly, unexpectedly back out of the forest. At whatever cost, he was not going to let it go again.

He would be a procurer's dream, she thought: a man utterly in the grip of a specific and compulsive desire. There were no lengths to which he might not go.

Ah, but was there anyone else, any competitor to push him as far as she was hoping? His bid seemed to have altered the entire tone of the proceedings. The laughter and ribald gaiety had now drained away entirely, as though Randronoth had cracked a fountain-basin. Plainly many of those present-the provincial soldiers if not the Beklan girls-were feeling a shade uneasily that things had gone beyond anything they were used to or had ever experienced. Five thousand meld for a night with a girl-even the Serrelinda! Well, they'd heard tell of the extravagances of the Leopards and the vices of the upper city. Here they were, in all reality. And what, pray, might be going to happen next?

"Five-thousand-meld," said Elvair-ka-Virrion slowly and deliberately. "Well, of course that's not a trug more than Maia's worth, ladies and gentlemen-she's as far beyond value as the Tamarrik Gate-but at the same time

it's a good deal by the standards of simple human beings like you and me. So from now on I shall be taking bids in thousands. As you know, that's the custom in Bekla when bidding reaches this sort of level, whether for jewels or gold or anything else. Now, who'll offer-"

He was interrupted by the crash of an overturned bench and a sudden commotion from the dimness beyond the lamplight. A cry of protest was followed by a snarling reply; "Well, get out of the way, then!" and a moment later Ged-la-Dan came striding forward, his hand clenched on his goblet. Raising it towards Maia, he drank off the contents, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, looking directly at Randronoth, said, "Six thousand meld!" as though striking a blow.

Randronoth, who had never once taken his eyes off Maia, did not even turn his head. Outwardly he appeared entirely calm, his hands lightly clasped between his open knees as he remained seated on the end of the couch, tapping one foot to the rhythm of the barely-audible hin-naris. Turning her head to meet his gaze, Maia suddenly felt as though, after looking out across the glittering surface of a lake, she had leaned over the gunwale to stare directly down into the depths below; a place of predatory silence, its nature utterly distinct from the windy, sunny world of the Belishbans and of Ta-Kominion. To this man there was no passion so serious as lust.

Randronoth took his time-partly, perhaps, with the intention of riposting to Ged-la-Dan's outburst with a pose of deliberate nonchalance. Yet also, Maia felt, he was savoring the moment inwardly and enjoying it for its own sake. She was in no doubt at all that he would continue to bid. Now that he had taken the vital step; had surrendered all prudence, jumped, into the raging cataract of his own desire and left all else behind him on the bank, he had become like a man lost in music or prayer. To himself his surroundings were as nothing. He had, of course, heard Ged-la-Dan, but felt him as a stimulus rather than an obstacle.

Looking inquiringly at him, Elvair-ka-Virrion waited. A deeper silence fell. At length Randronoth, as though deliberately dropping a pebble into a pool, said quietly, "Seven thousand," and fell to examining his fingernails.

In the same instant Maia felt Elvair-ka-Virrion's hand on her shoulder. Before she could guess his intention he

had loosed and pulled the cord at her neck. The cherry-colored robe slid to her waist and then to her ankles, dropping as smoothly and readily as on the night when she had danced the senguela. She was standing in her diamonds, her shift of transparent muslin and a pair of silver sandals.

If there was one girl in Bekla able to take this kind of surprise in her stride it was Maia. Nennaunir-even Oc-cula-would probably have felt impelled to respond provocatively, or perhaps to simulate embarrassment as a trick to tantalize her audience still further. Maia appeared not even to notice that the robe had fallen. Her hands did not move, nor did she turn her head to look at Elvair-ka-Virrion standing behind her. Only, she shrugged slightly and then smiled, as though on balance amused and relieved to find herself disencumbered of the robe, which seemed to have fallen from her as naturally as autumn leaves from a tree, disclosing more clearly its essential, pliant grace.

Serene and natural indeed she looked. Yet human desire is also natural, and Maia, standing as good as naked before two hundred men, could no more have failed to disturb them yet further than the smell of approaching thunder can fail to make uneasy the beasts of the wild. The young soldiers, unmindful of their own girls, pressed forward, jostling and staring, some in their excitement stumbling over benches or into one another. Maia, still smiling, gazed calmly down upon the throng of upturned faces bobbing and dodging hither and thither below her as men moved sideways or stood on tiptoe, instinctive and self-forgotten as children in their eagerness to see her more closely.

Randronoth, however, neither moved nor altered his expression. One might almost have supposed that he had been expecting the robe to fall. Either he was in no haste to gaze at her nakedness, so clearly was its recollection fixed upon his mind, or else-and more probably, thought Maia-to him, the sight was one not to be diluted by being shared with others. He could not stop this display, yet he would have no part of it. He meant to feast alone, in his own good time. Although she felt no desire or affection for him, she could not but be moved by so consuming an infatuation. If she were not much mistaken, he was ready to ruin himself for her. A more hardened girl might have felt contempt, but what Maia felt was something akin to fear. To be the possessor of such power was frightening;

and the man's obsession, too, was frightening in itself. This isn't like the others, she thought-Kembri, Sencho, Elvair. They were just enjoying themselves; but this man'll stop at nothing, nothing at all. 'Tain't natural. Might it not even, in some way or other, prove downright dangerous to let him have what he wanted?

Only for a moment did she think thus. Then she recalled Tharrin, weeping with terror in Pokada's stuffy little room; and the cruel eyes of the Sacred Queen staring contemptuously into her own. As she turned her head away from Randronoth to assume once more her role of the transcendent yet tormentingly flesh-and-blood paragon of desire, a girl's voice-Nennaunir's-suddenly called "Maia, look out!"

The shearna, who, together with four or five young Bek-lan officers, had pressed forward almost to the foot of the table on which Maia was standing, had been the first to see her danger. Ged-la-Dan, glaring with rage, the sweat standing on his forehead, had snatched up a knife which some slave had overlooked in clearing away and was lurching forward, his thick-set bulk sending four or five men stumbling this way and that. Reaching the table, he grabbed and pulled at it, so that Maia would have fallen if Elvair-ka-Virrion had not flung his arm round her. The Ortelgan, glaring upward, leaned forward for a moment as though to clutch her round the legs. Then, straightening up, he turned on Randronoth, still seated impassively on his couch, took a step towards him and roared, "Eight thousand! Eight thousand! And let that do, damn you, unless you want-"

Elvair-ka-Virrion hit him across the back of the neck with the steward's staff, and he flung up his hands, his voice cut short. One of his penapa necklaces broke, and the big, rosy-pink stones (like a lot of half-sucked sweets, thought Maia) were scattered over the floor.

A girl screamed, and there were cries of anger and contempt. The Belishban captain grabbed another knife and rushed at Ged-la-Dan, shouting something incomprehensible and getting close enough to spit in his face before two of his comrades dragged him back.

"Damned Ortelgans!" called a voice from somewhere beyond the lamps. "Why don't you go home and jump in the Telthearna?"

It was at this moment, while Maia hung trembling in

Elvair-ka-Virrion's arms and Ged-la-Dan still stood facing Randronoth (who looked alertly up at him but made no move) that Bel-ka-Trazet came forward. As calmly as though breaking a dead stick from a tree, he took the knife from Ged-la-Dan's hand, whispered something in his ear and then turned to Elvair-ka-Virrion.

"I must beg your pardon, my lord, on behalf of my companions and of Ortelga." He paused, and for a moment his horrific face appeared yet more distorted as he struggled with his feelings. "You'll realize that this is no easier for me to say than it would be for" (he swept the room with a gesture) "for anyone else. Please accept my apology. Let us now forget this incident and proceed."

His self-control and resolute air of propriety was in such marked contrast to what had gone before as to have an immediate effect. Most of those present, angry and contemptuous though Ged-la-Dan's behavior had made them, could still appreciate what this must be costing him and feel themselves in favor of sparing his feelings. An intensely proud man, he was doing what had to be done, and hating every moment of it.

As he broke off Nennaunir, looking, in her erotic trinkets, the very epitome of a wanton, tripped demurely forward, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on his slashed, twisted lips.

"Of course we understand, my lord, and all of us gladly accept your apology. I know I'm speaking for everyone here."

She is a clever girl, thought Maia: she really is. They'll remember that; the girl who embraced Bel-ka-Trazet of her own accord and kissed him.

But now Nennaunir was speaking to her. "All right, Maia darling? Going on? We're all enjoying it if you are."

Even though she was well aware that this was four-fifths the adroitly acted self-advancement of an experienced courtesan, Maia could not help feeling grateful. No doubt the shearna would have been only too delighted to be standing where she herself was standing now, but if this were so, any envy she might be feeling was under full professional control. Ever since her own return to Bekla, Maia reflected, Nennaunir had never said a spiteful word to her, either in public or in private, and had always been ready with friendly advice.

She smiled. "I'm fine, Nan, thanks."

Thereupon she nodded to Elvair-ka-Virrion, who kissed her cheek before releasing her and turning back to Bel-ka-Trazet.

"And your friend's bid, my lord: shall we forget that, too?"

"By no means," replied Bel-ka-Trazet. "It was made, and I will accept personal responsibility for it."

"Well, then," continued Elvair-ka-Virrion smoothly, turning to Randronoth, "I have eight thousand offered, it seems, and that's against you, my lord."

The governor of Lapan nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. Suddenly Maia was filled with dismay. The enormous sum reached had apparently daunted even Randronoth. He was not going on; and who could blame him? And she-O dear Lespa! she would have to spend the night either with Ged-la-Dan or with Bel-ka-Trazet. Biting her Up, she struggled with a rising nausea. She began to salivate, and quickly emptied her mouth under pretense of drinking again from her empty goblet. O Shakkarn! she prayed silently, Shakkarn, only save me! I can't face it!

Once again Elvair-ka-Virrion addressed Randronoth.

"Would you like a little time to consider, my lord? Shall we have a short interval now?"

Immediately Randronoth rose to his feet. For one agonizing instant Maia thought that he was about to walk out of the hall. For several moments he paused, as though to relish the last morsel of the occasion (the most extravagant, surely, in which even he could ever have participated, thought Maia). At length he answered, "No, thank you. It's for everyone else, not for me, to take time-to regret what they've let slip." Then, with Elvair-ka-Virrion looking inquiringly at him, as though for formal confirmation of what he had just implied, he added almost casually, "Nine thousand meld."

A long murmur, as of completion or fulfillment, ran through the hall. Maia, whispering, put her hand quickly on Elvair-ka-Virrion's arm. "For Cran's sake stop now, Elvair! I can't take no more! I'd rather find the other thousand myself!"

"Sure?" asked Elvair-ka-Virrion.

"Yes, my lord! I just can't stand n' more, not now I can't."

Elvair-ka-Virrion nodded, smiled and turned towards the guests as though to address them again. However, he

had no need. It was clear that the legendary auction of the Serrelinda-for legendary it became in Bekla, and indeed throughout the whole empire-was concluded. Friends and sycophants were gathering round the governor of Lapan, addressing him with the half-congratulatory and half-envious admiration usually shown by people towards a man who has done something which, though they may consider it reckless and foolhardy, they cannot help wishing they had had the gall to do themselves.

Randronoth, however, plainly wanted none of this. It was not for show or notoriety but for that incomparable body (mounted by Sednil for nothing in a dusty attic of the temple) that he had bid nine thousand meld. As a slave handed him his cloak he raised his hand unsmilingly to those around him, walked over to where Maia was still standing beside Elvair-ka-Virrion on the table and, climbing up beside them, put the cloak round Maia's shoulders. Having stooped and picked up the cherry-colored robe, he was about to help her down when Elvair-ka-Virrion stayed him.

"The money, my lord? A mere detail, of course, but we need to know-"

"She shall have every last meld in coin by dawn tomorrow," answered Randronoth. "Where would you like it brought, saiyett?"

"To my house, please," replied Maia.

Now that the horrible prospect of Ged-la-Dan had been lifted from her, she felt light as a summer cloud. She'd done it! Fornis was defeated, Tharrin was saved! All that remained was to spend the night with Randronoth. Weary though she now felt, his craving, she knew, was such that little more than acquiescence would suffice. Smiling in her relief, she kissed him warmly and lingeringly, cheek and lip. "Let's go there now-now-shall we?" And then, with a sudden rush of spontaneous ardor, "Oh, thank you, my lord, for-for winning! I'm that glad as 'twas you!"

Yet during the hours that followed-those hours during which Randronoth seemed almost demented, so that even after his desire had spent itself once, twice and again he could not let be, but must still be caressing and touching her with hands, lips, tongue; embracing and fondling as though the gratification of his lust had been a mere pre-

liminary to the more serious business of satisfying some even deeper need-she could not help wondering, as it would never have occurred to her to wonder last year in Sencho's house, what it was that he supposed he had bought. Her feelings were in no way engaged: her heart was far away; she was indulging him like a child, and this not because she had any particular wish to hold back or give him short weight, but because that was all she had it in her to do. Such as she had to give she was giving him- and little enough to her it seemed. Yet of this shortcoming-a mantled sun, a clouded sky-he was plainly unaware. He knew no better. The strings were not in tune, but this he could not perceive. Once, dropping off to sleep, she dreamed vividly that Zen-Kurel had come into the room and was standing silently beside their bed. She started up with an anguished cry, but Randronoth only laughed, took her by the shoulders and fell to kissing her breasts. Yet hadn't her distress been obvious? she thought, once more acquiescing. Well, if it had not, perhaps that was all for the best.

Throughout the whole night, though he was unfailingly courteous and also showed himself considerate and adept enough, she was roused no more than once, and that at the outset; and this impersonal, animal want once met, fell back upon the kind of pretense that Occula had taught her to employ with the High Counselor. It was not difficult: she remained sincerely amiable and compliant, for the thought of Tharrin saved burned like a bright lamp in her heart, filling it full of tolerance-pity, even-for this poor, besotted man, who could see yet not reach her, his heart like a moth on a lighted window-pane.

64: THE MORROW MORN

Maia, who had slept again for an hour, woke soon after first light to see Randronoth, at her dressing-table, wetting his fingers to quench the smoking lamp-wick he had just blown out. As soon as she spoke he crossed the room, knelt at the foot of the bed, took one of her feet between his hands and began kissing it. She stroked his cheek with the other. "You're up early."

"I'm happy," he answered.

How early, she was wondering, could she practicably expect to gain access to Fornis to ask for Tharrin's order of release? Well, she would simply go to the house as soon as she could, and if that was too early, she'd sit and wait.

He looked up at her, smiling, "I can't do any more- more's the pity. Once I could have."

"Forty-one's no age, Randro." Then, fearing that he might suppose that she had known men of his age more virile, she added, "You've shown me that already. It's silly to try and force yourself, after we've had such a nice time." She patted the still-warm place beside her. "Come back and lie down. There's something I want to ask you; something that's very important to a great friend of mine."

"Which friend?"

"Nennaunir. You knew her very well at one time, didn't you? You saw her yesterday and talked about me?"

"Oh, she told you, did she?" For the first time he seemed displeased. "You've only to tell a girl something, and it goes buzzing about the city like a bluebottle."

"But darling, don't be silly; of course she told me. It was to help you! She told me you'd said you wanted me terribly, and would she speak to me about it? That was why I arranged for the auction at the barrarz, so that you could have me." (He'd believe this, she felt sure; and anyway it was near enough true.) "I'm not touching a meld of the money, you know."

Lying down once more beside her, he made no reply, only looking at her with an expression of disbelief.

"It's true, Randro. The money, that's between you and the Leopards-or the army-or the temple. One of them, anyway: how should I know? But it's not for me at all."

"Well, I heard Elvair said that, but I didn't believe him."

"Well, you can. All I'm asking for, on my own account, is the same as Nan asked you for-to get poor Sednil exchanged out of the temple: to take him down to Lapan and see if you can't discharge him early."

He frowned. "Sednil? What's Sednil to you? Why do you so particularly want me to take all this trouble over Sednil?"

At this she burst out at him. "Cran and Airtha, Randro, it's easy enough to see you've never been in trouble, let alone a slave! Can you imagine what it's like to be someone else's property? To possess nothing of your own, to have

no rights at all, no say in where you go or what you do or even whether you live or die? That boy's as innocent as you and me" (and a damned sight more than you, she thought) "and if it hadn't been for that stupid ring of yours, as you gave to Nan, he'd be free today. He's Nan's friend and he's my friend. People like us, who've been down on our luck and seen bad times, we try to help each other. Is that so very hard to understand?"

"Oh, I love to see you get angry!" he said. "You really drive me crazy, Maia! All right, I'll get the boy exchanged, I promise you, and I'll have him discharged within three months. I was wrong: put your arms round,me. No, you stay on top. Oh, gods! Ah!"

Later he said, "You know I have to go back to Lapan today? Why don't you come with me? I'll make you-"

Gravely, she shook her head. "No, dear, that's impossible. Don't press me."

"I don't know how I'm going to live without you, Maia. It could easily drive me to desperation, d'you know that?"

"You say that now, Randro; but there's others. You can pretend otherwise."

"Not like you. I've never known anyone like you, Maia. I'll find some reason to come back soon. But if I do get Sednil released-and you can give Nennaunir my word for that-will you spend another night with me as soon as I can get back to Bekla? I shall be eating my heart out until then."

In spite of all she knew of him, she could not help feeling touched. The truth was that Maia had never quite been able to accept the effect of her beauty as something for which she bore no responsibility. (This was why she had behaved so generously and warmly to Selperron in the Caravan Market.) She knew that when Randronoth said that his longing made him feel desperate, he was speaking no more than the truth, and she felt not only sorry for him, but sorry also to have been the cause of it. In a way, she felt that she had wounded him for her own ends and ought perhaps to make some restitution. After all, she had quite deliberately set out to exploit his infatuation, and it had cost him enough.

"Well-"

He gripped her hand. "Yes?"

A promise with no date for fulfillment is always perilously easy to grant, especially for the young. Maia's mind

was running with excitement and pleasure on the release of Tharrin. She felt full of the elation of success. It had been a desperate venture and she had pulled it off. But she owed this to Randronoth-to his obsession and his reckless extravagance. Besides, to refuse would only upset him-just when everything had gone off so well. Nennau-nir was going to be delighted, and she herself-well, she felt more than rich enough in spirit to give him a kind answer.

"Yes, darling, of course I will: only you must keep quiet about it. This auction was one thing, but if it gets round that you're counting on going to bed with me next time you come to Bekla, that'll be-well, I mean-I'd be-"

He smiled. "Compromised?"

"Something o' that. Any road, I wouldn't want everyone knowing: so just you remember."

Suddenly she sat up in alarm, listening. "Whatever's that downstairs?"

What she had heard was heavy knocking at the outer door. There followed JarviFs voice and another male voice answering. Randronoth, also listening, nodded unperturbed.

"That'll be two of my men, bringing your money. I sent them orders last night, before we left the barrarz."

"You mean it's really down there? Nine thousand meld, in coin? Oh, Randro! Thank you! Thank you!"

She kissed him more warmly than she had throughout the entire night. "Oh, I must go down and see it!" Jumping out of bed, she flung her robe round her. Then, turning back to him with shining eyes, "Of course it's not that I don't trust you! You know that. It's just that-oh, I'm so glad! I'm so happy about it!"

He frowned, puzzled. "But you just said you weren't going to get any of it for yourself. Maia, what's all this about? Has it got you out of a mess or something?"

She kissed him quickly. "I'll answer that if you'll answer me another. Nine thousand meld-in ready money. Where did it come from?"

That had stopped him in his tracks all right; she could see that. He paused.

"Never ask me, Maia; you leave that to me. I'm hopelessly in love with you: I had to have you. That's enough for you-and best for you, too, believe me. Come on, I'll go downstairs with you and make sure it's all there. Then

we'll have breakfast-I need it-and after that I'll have to go. I wonder whether you'll ever realize how much you've given mei"

She had given him nothing, she thought. He had sought pleasure, he had found pleasure, but she had not bestowed it. How strange that he should be in no doubt that he had acquired something which she had not conferred; and more, that he should be so much dominated by this unreality! Just so, old Drigga had once told her, might two people be together and one see a ghost while the other could not.

The Sacred Queen's garden was no less fresh and morning-scented than on the day before. The peacock was busy among a handful of cornseed which a gardener's boy was scattering on the sunny lawn, while from somewhere out of sight, behind the purple lam bushes, sounded the clicking of a pair of shears.

Maia, without waiting to announce her arrival, made her way round to the stone doorway. Direct prayers were never offered to Frella-Tiltheh-the unknown and unknowable-but for a full minute or more she stood silently, with bowed head and outstretched palms, beneath the niche containing the cowled figure of the goddess; so long, indeed, that at length Brero, waiting behind her, put down the box containing the money and turned aside to watch a squirrel in a near-by tree.

When at length she knocked, Zuno opened the door almost immediately. Pausing only a moment to glance towards the soldier in attendance behind her, he led the way across the red-and-white tiled hall and up the staircase. Plainly, she thought, her arrival had been expected; no doubt the events of the night were already known to the Sacred Queen.

At the top of the stairs he turned and said, "You're to go straight in. She's due at the temple soon, you see, and she won't-" He hesitated. "She certainly doesn't mean to be late."

The bedroom door was standing open. Maia stopped in the entrance, looking in. Fornis was bustling about the room, moving hastily from one place to another, yet to all appearances doing nothing in particular. She seemed both excited and preoccupied. As Maia watched, she spread out her hands in front of her, examining first one side and then

the other. Next moment she picked up her comb and looked in the mirror, but almost at once put it down, went across to the window and stood tapping her fingers on the sill. She was wearing a deep-purple robe embroidered with gold thread and her hair, piled high, was enclosed within the sacred crown of Airtha. Now, at close quarters, Maia recognized the great emerald which Occula, in the temple, had known for her father's. Of Ashaktis there was no sign: the Sacred Queen was alone.

Maia coughed and made a slight movement. Form's, turning, for an instant, looked slightly startled, actually seeming not to recall who she was. Next moment, however, smiling cordially and graciously, she had come forward and taken the hand which Maia had raised to her forehead. Her own hand felt hot and sweating, and before speaking she passed her tongue once or twice across her dry lips.

"Maia! How delightful to see you again! I'm glad you've managed to come early: I should have been most disappointed to miss you; only I have to go out very soon, you see. Never mind: do sit down for a moment and make yourself comfortable. What a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Her completely unexpected air of geniality and warmth left Maia-for some moments, at all events-speechless. Faced with any other woman who might have had the effrontery to adopt such a manner, following upon what had passed between them the day before, she would have found sufficient self-confidence to answer her as she deserved. But this was the Sacred Queen: nor was it only consciousness of her power and authority which threw Maia into confusion. There emanated from this extraordinary woman an almost hypnotic dominance and self-possession, so that quite possibly, if she had pointed to the moon and said, "Oh, look at the sun!" a hearer's first reaction might well have been to wonder whether there was something wrong with his own eyes or even with his own mind. Just so Maia, for a fleeting instant, found herself wondering whether yesterday's encounter in the archery field had really taken place, and then-since it had-whether perhaps it might have been with someone else and not with the queen. Then, and only then, did it occur to her that the queen was entertaining herself. It amused her to treat people- particularly those who were helpless before her-with flagrant inconsistency, and to see how they responded while trying to keep themselves in countenance.

"Esta-saiyett," she began, "since you're in a hurry I won't keep you any longer'n what I need to. I've brought-"

"Oh, come now, there's not all that much of a rush, Maia," replied Fornis, motioning her towards one of the big, carved chairs and patting her forearm reassuringly. "Do you know, I feel quite full of curiosity about you? Do tell me-" and at this she leaned forward with every show of interest-"did you go to Elvair-ka-Virrion's bar-rarz for the Chalcon expedition?"

Did I-? But she must know every last thing about it, thought Maia. '

"Yes, esta-saiyett, I was there for a time."

"And I suppose it was great fun, was it? Lots of young men from all over the empire? I expect you danced, didn't you? I've heard about your dancing."

"Yes, esta-saiyett: Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion asked me to dance."

"What did you dance?"

She wants to see me lose control. She wants to see me break off short and start in about Tharrin and the money before she does.

"I danced an old Tonildan tale, esta-saiyett, about Lake Serrelind."

"How charming! And the Ortelgan baron-er-what is his name, now?-he enjoyed it?"

"Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, esta-saiyett?" (That was one to her, she thought: obviously Fornis had meant Ged-la-Dan.) "He didn't actually say as much, but I believe he may have."

"But Randronoth did?"

"I'm sure he did, esta-saiyett."

"Yes." She smiled. "I'm sure he did. Well, of course, that's one of the delightful things about Randronoth. As Sencho once remarked to me, he's always extraordinarily easy to please. He's perfectly happy with almost anything. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, esta-saiyett." She might have replied more, but meeting the cold, green stare above the smiling mouth, fell silent for very dread. Fornis was like the Valderra: it had not occurred to her till now that she might not get out alive.

There followed a short silence. "Well," said Fornis sud-

denly, "I expect you'd like to talk about your step-father and the money, wouldn't you?"

"Thank you, esta-saiyett. I've got the money outside: ten thousand meld. Shall I ask my man to bring it in to you here?"

Fornis, still gazing at her with every appearance of sympathetic concern, nodded. Then she stood up briskly.

"No, no, I'll see to it; don't trouble yourself, Maia."

She went out the open door and Maia heard her walk down the corridor and call to Zuno. Her own pulse, she now realized, was beating very fast and she felt breathless. She wondered whether this had been apparent to the queen. Together with her fear of Fornis there had come upon her a vague but none the less disquieting presentiment-sprung no doubt from Fornis's cat-and-mouse affability-that some trick was about to be played on her. She tried to think what it could be. Fornis might say the money was short: she might take the money and refuse her the reprieve: or she-she might give her the reprieve and then have her murdered before she left the house. In sudden panic, Maia stood up and ran to the window. Perhaps she could climb down and get away before Fornis returned.

At this moment Brero came into the room-burly, familiar, smiling, the very embodiment of reassurance. In her unreasoning fear-the kind of fear Fomis so readily engendered-she had not considered what his presence here implied. Even Fornis could not hope to get away with the murder of a veteran of the Beklan regiment-or with cheating her before his eyes. True, he did not know the ins and outs of the business, but nevertheless he was-he could be-a witness.

"Brero," she said quickly, leaving the window and crossing the room to where he was standing, "I want you to stay close beside me, please, until we go. Don't leave me on any account, do you see?"

He looked surprised, aggrieved: probably he took it for a reproach. "Well, of course, saiyett; if that's what you say. I only stayed outside 'cause it was the Sacred Queen's bedroom, like. I mean to say-" He broke off, but then resumed, "Reason I come in now, saiyett, she told me to say would you please just step outside and join her?"

She nodded and smiled, and he followed her into the corridor.

Fornis was seated at a narrow table beneath one of the

windows overlooking the garden, while Zuno, kneeling at her feet beside the open box, was counting the money. As Maia approached he closed the box and stood up, nodding corroboratively.

The Sacred Queen, who had beside her sealing-wax and a lighted candle, forthwith set about affixing her seal to a small sheet of parchment lying on the table. Maia, who had never seen this done before, watched intently as For-nis, with practiced ease, melted the wax at the flame, dropped a round patch at the foot of the written parchment, wetted the seal with her tongue and pressed it down. The impress, precisely formed, depicted Airtha leaning over the sleeping Cran.

Forms picked up the parchment, shook it back and forth a few times to cool the wax and then handed it to Maia with a smile and a benign inclination of her head.

"There you are, my dear: and now I expect you'll want to be off, won't you? I certainly must be: you'll excuse me, I'm sure."

Getting up, she faced Maia for a moment, graceful, elegant and majestic. Though not an exceptionally tall woman, to Maia she seemed to rise above her like a tree, multifold, instinct with a quality of pliant, tense motion. She felt the Sacred Queen kiss her cheek and then saw her walking away with quick, agitated steps towards the stair-head.

The parchment felt cool, smooth and slightly greasy. Its very unfamiliarity seemed to confer upon it a magical, talismanic quality. Nevertheless she looked at it doubtfully, for not one word-not a brush-stroke-of what was on it could she read. Yet this alone-this thing of power- comprised all that she had sought and gained from her long night's work. Unless there was some trick, this was the actual instrument that would save Tharrin's life.

The queen was gone. Maia turned to Zuno, still standing beside her.

"Zuno, please tell me: is this really and truly an order of release for Tharrin, and is it-well, is it all right?"

He took it from her and read it through deliberately. There were no more than five or six lines in all.

"What is the prison governor's name, do you know?"

"Pokada."

"Then it's entirely correct. It's addressed to him, it says

Tharrin' and the seal's her own and no one else's. You've only to take it down there."

"Oh, Zuno, I can't believe it! Somehow or other I thought she'd-oh, I'm so glad! Oh, thank you, Zuno, thank you! Give my fondest love to Occula, won't you, and say I'm sorry I didn't see her?"

With this she turned and, closely followed by Brero, hurried down the corridor, down the stairs, across the hall and out into the garden, the parchment still clutched in her hand.

At the Peacock Gate she dismissed Brero and his mate, put on her veil and took the first jekzha she saw. To be sure, there would not be a great many idlers about the streets of the lower city this morning. Almost everyone who could would have gathered at or near the Blue Gate to watch Elvair-ka-Virrion and his men set out for Chal-con, but nevertheless she did not want to run any risk of being hindered on her way to the prison.

What would it be best to do, she wondered, once Tharrin had been handed over to her? Presumably he would simply be released to walk out through the prison gate: then she would have him entirely on her own hands. She couldn't take him back to her house in the upper city; that would never do. On the other hand, if she were to put him up at "The Green Grove" or "The Serpent" while she arranged for his return to Serrelind, there was always the risk-and no use pretending there wasn't-that he might skedaddle. Thinking it over, she decided the best thing would be to pay Lalloc to look after him for a day or two. He wouldn't be able to bunk from Lalloc's. Not very dignified, certainly, but really and truly he had no claim to expect more.

And she'd see him right. She'd see them all right; even Morca! Only, Tharrin was damned well going to do his fair share of getting the family back on an even keel again. She'd send a reasonable amount of money every month- ah! paid through Some reliable person in Meerzat an' all- always provided he remained with the family, stayed out of trouble and did his fair share of keeping the place up together. Yes, that was the sort of thing to arrange. She might, perhaps, be able to manage something through the father of that poor lad Sphelthon killed at the ford. She'd

done right by him even before she'd returned to Bekla, borrowing from Sendekar enough to pay a messenger to go to Meerzat and tell his parents; and in reply had received an unexpectedly dignified and touching letter from the father (Sendekar had read it to her) who had turned out to be a clerk in the provincial government and obviously a most respectable man.

There did not seem to be many butchers or meat-merchants at work as her jekzha came up through the Shilth; though she had to wait some minutes-her jekzha-man taking care to keep well back-while a herd of bullocks were driven past on their way to the shambles. Getting down at the gate of the jail, she gave the man ten meld and told him to wait, saying that she did not expect to be more than a few minutes.

The mucous-eyed gatekeeper looked her over as listlessly as before.

"The governor, saiyett? Can't say, I'm sure. Only it's an execution morning, see? and that always means extras-"

She felt too light-hearted to be angry. Smiling, she gave him five meld.

"We've had all this before, haven't we? Just take me to U-Pokada's room, and then go and tell him as I want to see him very urgently."

In the little, bare room she sat down and waited, impatient for nothing, fretting for nothing, as content with the present moment as someone who has just completed a long journey or finished reaping a field. She held the parchment in her hands, turning it this way and that and admiring the clear impress of the seal. Well, Cran and Airtha had been good to her, she thought. Perhaps, after all, even the Sacred Queen might not be without her good side. Nine thousand meld! Had any girl ever gone for as much, she wondered, in all the yesterdays of Bekla?

When Pokada came in she almost ran forward to take his hands before recalling the proper dignity of the Ser-relinda. He had halted just inside the doorway, staring at her unsmilingty, his mouth drawn down in a startled, grotesque expression of dismay. He was roughly dressed-as roughly as any laborer-in an old, stained leather jerkin, sacking breeches and a torn woolen cap. His arms were bare to the elbow and down one forearm ran a long scratch, still bleeding, which he kept wiping with a dirty cloth.

"Saiyett-you must understand-I can't-not now-"

She held up one hand to silence him. Then, bowing triumphantly-making a little pantomime of it-she gave him the sheet of parchment.

"Read that, U-Pokada, please. Oblige me, U-Pokada, by reading that!"

Peering, he held it up to the light, saw the seal and started. Maia watched as his eyes traveled back and forth, slowly making out the few lines. Like enough, she thought, he wasn't much more used to reading than what she was. When he had finished he said nothing, only laying the parchment down on the table and staring at the floor without moving.

"Well, come on, U-Pokada," said Maia at length. "It's plain enough, surely? Only I got a jekzha waiting, see?"

"Saiyett," said Pokada, still avoiding her eyes, "the man is dead."

"Whan" cried Maia. "What the hell do you mean, dead?"

"He hanged himself in his cell this morning."

"I don't believe you! This is some trick to try to get money out of me or something! You just take me to him, now, and hurry up about it!"

As he said no more, she ran to him and beat her fists on his chest. "It's not true! Not true! Come on, say it!"

"I think you'd better come and see for yourself, saiyett. I'm sorry."

Bewildered, still disbelieving him because she was unable to take it in rather than because she thought he was lying, Maia followed the governor out of the room and then walked beside him down a stone-walled passage of which she noticed little or nothing. They came to a heavy, iron-bound door, and this he opened with a key at his belt. Beyond was a dimmer light, doors with grilles and an all-pervading, foul smell. A man appeared and spoke to Pokada, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"U-Pokada, this Urtan woman-"

"Not now," answered Pokada, brushing him aside. "Ask Tortil or someone; I'm busy."

At the end of the passage they reached a row of eight or nine doors, all standing open. An old man was sweeping with a broom. As Pokada came up he moved aside and stood respectfully against the wall.

"Have they all gone?" asked Pokada.

"Yes, U-Pokada. Oh, yes, some time ago now: I'm just

getting straight. That one who went for you, we had to break his-"

"All right, never mind," replied Pokada. "Go and get on with something else: I'll tell you when to come back. Well, go on!" he said, as the old man hesitated. He pointed to one of the open doors. "He's still there, is he?"

"Well, that's it, U-Pokada, yes. Only there hasn't been time, you see-"

"Never mind. Do as I say: go on up the other end."

In the doorway of the cell Pokada faced about, momentarily preventing Maia from entering.

"Saiyett, this isn't a pretty sight. All my men have had their hands full this morning, getting the queen's prisoners out to the temple. There's been no time to do more than take him down and lay him on the bed."

She answered nothing. She believed him now; her mouth was dry; she felt sick. A moment later he had stepped inside the cell and she followed him.

Tharrin's body was lying on a narrow plank bed in the further corner. The clothes were those she had seen the day before and he still looked, as he had then, tidy and clean. Yet in the horror of recognition she noticed nothing of this. His head was twisted to one side, the neck distorted and encircled by a livid ring of bruised flesh. In places blood, now darkly clotted, had oozed from the chafed skin. The tongue protruded and the eyes were wide and fixed. One or two flies were walking on the face, which had already assumed a rigid, waxen quality. One arm hung down, the backs of the clenched fingers touching the floor. As she looked away, moaning and holding her hands to her mouth, Maia noticed a length of rope, one end of which was knotted round a bar of the high window. The lower end was still tied in a running noose.

Half-fainting, she fell on her knees beside the bed, took the cold hand in her own and tried to lay it across the body; but the arm was stiff and resistant.

She began to cry, stroking his other hand and kissing the mutilated neck and bared shoulders. He was cool and smooth as the parchment and stiff as a frosted branch. As the reality came flooding more deeply into her she wept passionately, on and on because it was easier than stopping, because she was afraid to think what would happen when she stopped. She felt consumed with pity for poor, shiftless Tharnn and the ugly squalor of his end. As she

remembered his arms around her in pleasure, his easy laughter and the game of the golden fish in the net, her grief burst out yet more intensely, prostrating her so that she laid her head on his chest, grasping his shoulders and crying as though to sob the breath out of her body.

At last Pokada, putting his hands under her armpits, pulled her, still weeping, to her feet. As he made to wipe her face with the cloth at his belt she flung away from him, setting her back against the wall of the cell and glaring at him from reddened eyes that still poured tears.

"You killed him! You killed him! I'll see you hang upside-down for this!"

She was shouting hysterically, and he took a step towards her.

"Don't think you can kill me too! There's them as knows I'm here!"

"Saiyett, I give you my word I didn't kill him and nor did any of my men. He killed himself."

"But he knew I was coming! He knew I was coming today to get him out! He couldn't have killed himself!"

Pokada hesitated. After a few moments he said, "Saiyett, you'd better come back to my room. This is no place for us to talk."

"Talk? You think I want to talk to you? I want to see you dead and damned, you bastard, and I will, if it's the last thing I do!"

Now he suddenly assumed a kind of stilted, homespun dignity and authority, like that of a gate-porter or a domestic steward. Perhaps, after all, he had not been made governor of the prison for nothing.

"Saiyett, little as you may wish it, I must request you to come back to my room, for I have something to say to you of a private nature. I regret to inform you that you have no choice, for the gates are locked and I can't let you leave until you've heard me. I've no wish to hurry you, however. You can either come with me now or stay here and come as soon as you feel ready."

"Very well," she said, "I'll come. But before I do-" She pointed to Tharrin. "Bring someone now-now!-to close his eyes and lay him out properly. And then see that he's treated decently and burned as he should be. I'll pay for everything. Will you promise me that?"

"Yes, saiyett: in fact I'll go and see to it at once." He went out, and she heard him call a name: there were foot-

steps and muttered instructions, too low for her to catch the words.

They walked back together in silence. Once Maia stopped short, clutching the governor's arm as from somewhere not far off sounded a scream. He only grasped her wrist and led her on, through the iron-bound door and back down the passage to his room. Here she was overcome by a fresh seizure of grief; but now, from very exhaustion, she wept almost silently, sitting at the table, her head on her arms. At length, regaining some degree of composure, she said in a voice of cold accusation, "U-Pokada, when I first came here, the day before yesterday.'you asked me whether I'd brought poison, and told me as you had to make sure prisoners didn't kill themselves."

He nodded, looking at her with pursed lips, like a man with something on his mind and unsure whether to tell it or not.

"Tharrin had no reason to hang himself. So if one of your men didn't hang him, who did, and why? And how did he get a rope?"

Still he said nothing, and she burst out, "I warn you, U-Pokada, I'm going to make a public matter of it. I'm going to see you ruined for this." She snatched up the parchment, which was still lying where he had left it on the table. "Here's a pardon, sealed by the Sacred Queen herself, for a man who was in your charge-"

He was trembling now, the big, fleshy hulk of a man, fear written all over him, even his silver earrings shaking in his head.

"Saiyett-saiyett-"

"Yes?" But he said no more. "Well, what?"

"Saiyett, I tell you-what I'm going to tell you-it-it puts my life in your hands. I tell you, and perhaps you get me hanged upside-down-if I tell you-"

"You mean you did murder him?"

"No, saiyett, no? I didn't murder him, no! I'll tell you the truth, I'll trust my life to you because I believe what everybody says, that you're a kind-hearted, good lady. Once you know the truth, then you're not going to be angry any more, you're not going to ruin me, because you're just and fair-"

She stamped her foot. "Stop this stupid nonsense! Say what you have to say and get on with it!"

Pokada, having shut and locked the door, went over to

the window, which he closed after peering outside. Then he sat down on the bench beside the table.

"Saiyett," he whispered, "do you know a Palteshi woman in the upper city? A woman close to the Sacred Queen?"

"Ashaktis, do you mean? A dark, middle-aged woman, with a Palteshi accent?"

"Sh! Saiyett, sh! We've got to whisper-"

Still angry, but nevertheless affected by his fear, she lowered her voice. "Well? What about Ashaktis, then?"

"Saiyett, it was very early this morning: it was only just light. I was up, with two of my men, preparing for the executions. Only there are things we naves to see to-the priests come-well, I don't need to tell you about that. But then Elindir, the man on the gate, he comes and beckons me to one side, so no one else can hear, and he says there's a woman come; and then he gives me a note with the queen's seal which says I'm to see her at once. But Elindir says she won't come further than the gate."

He stopped, as though expecting Maia to reply. She said nothing and after a few moments he resumed.

"I went to the gate-house and there was the woman all muffled up-her face, too-nothing I could know her by again except her voice, her Palteshi accent. She said no one was to know that she'd gone into the prison. She hid behind a curtain while I called Elindir and told him she'd left. She told me to do that, and then to send him away again on some errand.

"Then she showed me another note from the queen, saying that I was to take her to the prisoner Tharrin in his cell. No one was to see her on the way. So I sent away the two men who were waiting for the priests, and took her to Tharrin myself. He was sleeping, saiyett, and when I woke him he smiled and said 'Is it Maia come?'

"The woman told me to go away and wait up the passage, by the far door. And then after-oh, not very long, saiyett-five minutes, I suppose-she came back up the passage and she said 'Now give me back both those notes.' So then she had both the notes herself, you see, and I took her back to the gate and let her out. And the last thing she said, saiyett, she said 'If the queen gets to hear one word from any living soul about my coming here, you'll hang upside-down, do you understand?'

"And then, not ten minutes later, we found Tharrin dead, just like you saw. Seven years, saiyett, seven years

I've been governor here and not one condemned man has ever been able to kill himself before."

Still Maia said nothing. "Saiyett, I've told you because you said you'd see me ruined. But now you know the truth, you won't want to do that, will you? If the Sacred Queen gets to hear-"

"No, I won't say anything, U-Pokada," replied Maia listlessly. She stood up. "I'll go now. Come to the gate with me, please."

"Saiyett," he said, "there's one thing you can comfort yourself with. At least you saved him from worse: he didn't have to go to the temple. And you and I, We're no worse off, are we, as long as we both say nothing?"

Her jekzha was gone, and rather than wait while another was fetched she put up her veil and walked away, down through the reeking lanes of the Shilth towards the Shel-dad. Whether anyone spoke to her or tried to accost her she had no idea. In the Sheldad she found a jekzha and returned to the upper city.

65: A GLIMPSE DOWN THE PIT

The knife-blade was strong-too strong to bend or break on bone-and its point was very sharp. When she had told him that she would only need it for an hour, Brero had lent it to her without asking any questions. It was belted on her left side and her cloak hid it completely.

She had put her diamonds in their box and buried it in the garden. She would have liked to give them away-to Occula or even to Nennaunir-but that would have meant explanations and anyway there was no time. Delay was the last thing endurable now.

Nevertheless she set out on foot, partly because she did not want her soldiers to be accused, later, of having known where she was going, but principally because she wanted to feel herself alone with her purpose, deliberate and silent, pacing down the avenues and flower-bordered walks of the upper city. Behind her the Barb glinted in the midmorning sunshine and the gray-green shadows on Crandor deepened as the sun moved southward above the summit.

I was born dirt-poor, she thought. I was sold for a slave;

and I shall have died mistress of my own house in the upper city. Nothing's going to alter that.

This time she did not make her way to the garden of the queen's house, but straight to the further gate, where the porter, recognizing the Serrelinda as readily as would any other servant in the upper city, was prompt to accept both her five meld and her telling him that she had an appointment to see U-Zuno.

Slowly, as though in a dream, she walked across the courtyard towards the side, stone front-the way she had come with Ashaktis on the morning when the Sacred Queeri had taken her from Kembri. She met no one, but this did not surprise her. If, as she believed, the gods had appointed her their agent, then the gods would ensure that she was not hindered.

Climbing the broad steps, she paused a few moments before raising and letting fall the heavy, bronze knocker. It was bigger than her own hand, made to represent a crouching leopard. The sound, plangent and resonant, pleased her. Just so should the arrival be announced of an emissary of retribution.

Yet it was not Zuno but a very ordinary servant who opened the door; a middle-aged, stooping, gray-bearded man; some house-slave, it would seem, who had merely happened to be working near-by, for he was wearing a sacking apron, in the front of which he had stuck his duster and hearth-brush.

"Her Sacred Majesty's-" he began, before she had spoken.

"Are you the servant whose duty it is to answer this door?" she asked, staring at him coldly and haughtily.

At this the poor wretch clearly felt himself-and whatever authority he might have tried to exercise-at a disadvantage.

"Well, no, not exactly, saiyett. But you see, it's early for anyone to be calling, and what with the doings at the temple and that, they weren't expecting-that's to say, the doorkeeper-"

– Had slipped away for a drink and a chat, she thought. It might have been fore-ordained. She gave the man two meld, at which he stared and bobbed his head.

"It doesn't matter: I shan't be more than a few minutes. I wish to speak with Her Sacred Majesty's personal stew-

ard. I know where to find him, so you can get back to your work."

She made her way along the jade-green colonnade, from the central ceiling of which hung the huge, winged figure she dimly recalled from the morning of her first arrival. It was, she now saw, an image of Canathron of Lapan, that vindictive dragon-god with serpent's head and condor's wings, flying inviolate through the midst of his nimbus of flames-fire being his natural element. Canathron was not worshipped in Bekla, except by such immigrant merchants and craftsmen as had come there from Lapan, and Maia could only guess that this must be an old treasure of the house; a gift, perhaps, or relic of some reign of a former Sacred Queen who had been Lapanese. She walked beneath it with mistrust and apprehension. She knew nothing of Canathron, except that he was reputed to be pitiless to his enemies. Might he in some way, perhaps, be a tutelary guardian of the house? Yet not even Canathron-no god or goddess whatever-would condone the unspeakable treachery and wickedness which she had come to avenge at the cost of her own life. At this thought she raised her eyes boldly to his jeweled ones staring down, held his gaze a moment and then passed on to the foot of the staircase.

Climbing the two flights to the gallery at the top of the house, still she met no one. She had been half-afraid of coming upon the lad with the great hound, but all was quiet as could be. Knowing her way, she went along the corridor to the door of the queen's bedroom, laid her hand on the hilt of her knife and strode in without knock or call.

Occula was lying on the bed, playing with a white kitten: she was alone in the room. As Maia entered she started, and the kitten, taking fright, jumped down and ran away.

"Banzi! What the hell are you doin' here?"

"Where is she?" asked Maia.

"Banzi, have you gone out of your mind? Who let you in? Tell me what you're doin' here."

"Where is she?"

"D'you mean Fornis?" All in a moment Occula had leaped up, seized Maia by the shoulders, pulled open her cloak and disclosed the knife in its sheath. As she tried to take it from her Maia resisted fiercely, biting at her wrists. For fully a quarter of a minute the two girls struggled silently. Finally Occula stood back, panting.

"Banzi, just you give me that bastin' knife and get out of here! D'you realize she'll be back any minute and if she finds you here with that thing she'll have the perfect reason to see you put to death!"

"That's one thing she'll never see," answered Maia, "because I'm going to kill her first."

"Oh, for Cran's sake!" cried the black girl. "You never used to be such a damn' fool! Who let you in? Who knows you're here?"

"Don't matter. Once she's dead they can all do what they like. Or I will first."

Occula buried her face in her hands and moaned.

"O Kantza-Merada! I can't make you go if you woan'- not without bringin' the whole place round us. Will you come with me to another room?"

Maia shook her head.

"But what's put you out of your senses like this, banzi? At least tell me that." She moaned again. "D'you realize every minute you stay here- Banzi, my own dear little banzi, for the sake of everythin' there's ever been between us, tell me what's happened, only be quick about it!'

Maia told her of all she had done to save Tharrin, of her visit to the prison that morning and of what Pokada had told her about the earlier, clandestine visit of Ashaktis. As she spoke of seeing Tharrin's body in the cell she began to cry again but then, dashing away the tears and clenching her fists, she ended, "And now the gods have appointed me to kill her: that's for sure. Otherwise, how did I get in here so easy?"

"Banzi," said Occula, taking her hands, "you're wrong; and I'll tell you for why. I'm the one that's goin' to kill her; same as I killed Sencho. I'm the one the gods have appointed to put an end to these wicked people. I'm goin' to do it in my own way and my own good time; and when I'm done I'll walk out alive-you wait and see if I doan'. But it's a tricky business-for anyone that wants to stay alive, that is. The difference between you and me is, I know what I'm doin' and you doan'; not a bastin' thing. You'd just be throwin' your life away for nothin', because I'm goin' to get Miss Folda, and that damned Shakti woman, too. And I'm half-way there, banzi; I'm half-way there now! Doan', doan' go and throw your life away just because of poor Tharrin. She's guilty of far, far more than

killin' Tharrin. She's guilty of every wickedness under the sun; murder, and treachery, and fraud-"

"Fraud!" cried Maia. "Poor Tharrin put that clean out of my head! Ten thousand meld!"

"You're better off without that lot, banzi, believe me. There's certain to be trouble, but at least you'll be able to say you never touched a meld of it. Now answer me: do you want to die horribly and quite unnecessarily for ten thousand meld and a poor man you can't help any more?"

Maia was silent. The telling of her bitter story to her dearest and most trusted friend had done much to set things in proportion and to bring home to her impulsive heart the grim reality of the price she had thought herself ready to pay for revenge on the Sacred Queen. To die by torture or to stab herself to the heart: neither would bring poor Tharrin back to life; and as for Randronoth's nine thousand meld, well, it had never been hers and she had never reckoned it would be. Anger and humiliation at being hoodwinked and tricked by Fornis-were these, perhaps, as much a part of her motive as her grief for Tharrin? Her resolution began to waver.

"Banzi, love," said Occula, "there's no time to lose. She'll be back any minute, and if I know anythin' about it she'll be like a goat on the loose. You doan' know what she's like after these little sprees down at the temple. I can hardly stand it myself, an' that's sayin' somethin'. If she finds you- Banzi, give me that knife, and then I'll call Zuno to get you out of here. I suppose the knife's your soldier's, is it? I'll get it sent back later, somehow or other."

Maia was about to give Occula the knife when the black girl, who had gone over to the open door, suddenly turned, facing back towards her with an expression of utter terror and dismay.

"Banzi! She's back! She's only just along the corridor! O Cran save us, she'll be here in a minute!" She looked frantically round the room. "Get in there, quick! Get in that closet and doan' make a sound!"

Maia, with no feelings now but panic and desperation, slipped into the closet and lay down as Occula pushed the door shut. A few moments later the Sacred Queen entered the room.

It was clear that Fornis was wrought-up and in some kind of abnormal state. Her eyes were wide and her lips glistening and parted. She was panting and flushed and

her hands trembled. As the black girl turned away from the closet and took a step towards her she mouthed "Oc-cula! Yes!" in a kind of swift gasp, and then stood waiting, apparently for some attention there was no need to specify.

Occula at once went to the door and closed and locked it. Returning, she faced the queen and in a contemptuous tone, as though rebuking a slave, said "You're dirty! There's blood on your arms, you bitch!"

"Lick it off!" replied Fornis quickly. "Lick it off, Occula, lick it off!"

Occula complied, the queen holding out her arms, staring before her and standing still as a post while she did so.

The closet door had swung slightly ajar, but Maia, though terrified of discovery, did not dare to pull it to, for the queen was only two or three yards away from her. Form's, however, seemed in no frame of mind to notice anything. As Occula finished what she had been told to do, she sank to her knees on the floor, wiping her wet arms on her face and salivating down her chin.

"Well, and did you enjoy yourself down at the temple?" asked Occula in the same insolent tone, standing over her with her hands on her hips.

"OhJ-Two of them I did myself-how they screamed!" The queen clasped Occula round the waist. "Get on with it, Occula! Hurry up!"

Occula spat in her face, pulled off the crown of Airtha, walked across to the mirror and adjusted it on her own head. Coming back, she ran her hands through the queen's elaborately-dressed hair, disheveling it until it hung round her shoulders in an unkempt tangle, and then, stooping, gripped the hem of the purple robe and tugged it roughly over her head.

Fornis, her lips twisted in an unnatural grimace, remained kneeling on the floor. Occula, opening a drawer, took out a coarse, sacking smock-the kind of garment commonly worn by kitchen-slaves too mean ever to appear except among their own kind-a floor-cloth and a hearth-brush. She was closing the drawer when Fornis, with a kind of moaning excitement, prompted her. "My shift, Occula, my shift!"

The black girl, crossing the room in two strides, seized the top of her embroidered silk shift between her hands, ripped it from hem to shoulder and tossed it into a corner.

Then, flinging the smock and implements on the floor, she went over to the dressing-table, sat down with her back turned and began polishing her nails.

Eagerly and hastily the queen put on the sacking smock, which was stained, ragged, and so rank that Maia could smell it from where she was crouching in the closet. Beggars in the lower city smelled less disgusting. Dragging over an earthenware jar of water standing in the far corner of the room, Fornis began washing the floor on her hands and knees.

After about a minute Occula stood up in a leisurely manner, stretched her arms above her head, yawned and began to stroll towards the door. Reaching the queen she stopped, paused a moment to watch her and then kicked her in the stomach.

"You filthy slut! What the menstrual hell are you supposed to be doin'?"

"I've been told to wash the floor, please, saiyett," replied Fornis in a low voice, without raising her eyes. "I hope my noble lady won't-"

"Wash the floor, you turd!" cried Occula, kicking her again. "You're not fit to wash a pig's venda! Haven' I told you I woan' have the floor washed like that? Haven' I? You zard-faced lump of dung!"

Paddling her bare feet in the film of water on the floor, she deliberately wiped one of them across the queen's face and then, putting it under her chin, pushed her roughly backwards, so that she measured her length in the grimy mess.

Fornis lay prostrate, shuddering with excitement. "Oh, saiyett, sSiyett! Please forgive me-I meant no harm-I'll do it all again-don't whip me, saiyett!"

"How dare you speak to me in that insolent way!" shouted Occula, kicking over the jar and stamping her foot so that dirty water was splashed into the queen's face. "I told you what would happen if you spoke to me like that again!" With this she picked up the sopping floor-cloth, wrung it out over the queen's shoulders, seized her by the hair, jerked her head back and stuffed it into her mouth. Then, pulling up her own skirt, she drew her hand between her legs and slapped the queen across the face.

As Fornis turned on her back, convulsing ecstatically, Occula plucked out the cloth, drew to one side and left her to ber own devices. At length, her spasm of luxury

subsiding, the queen once again rolled over in the morass on the floor, clasping the black girl by the ankles and whispering, "More! More, Occula! More! Oh, you're marvelous! No one's ever been able to do it like you!"

"Like me, you disgustin', vile whore? You foul cow!" yelled Occula, trampling on her back. "I'll teach you to lie there like a sow in shit, askin' for more! I saw you the other day, bastin' with the garbage-slave behind the midden! You thought no one could see you, but I saw you there, wrigglin' about in the muck on your hands and knees! You're not fit to live with ordinary, decent people! I'm going to chain you up to a kennel in the yard, with 'Please shit on me!' written over the top!"

"Oh, saiyett! Oh, saiyett!"

"I'll'saiyett'you, you pig!"

Thereupon Occula, pulling up the smock round the queen's waist, beat her six or seven times with the flat of her hand across her bare buttocks, until she shrieked with pain.

"Now turn over, you nasty trollop! Right over, on your back! I want to look at you! No, do it properly, damn you!" shouted Occula, kicking and spitting on her again. "Get those fat thighs apart, miss, before I have them well whipped!" Then, as the queen obeyed her, she seized the hearth-brush and thrust the handle between her legs until it disappeared.

Fornis screamed, squirming. "Oh, be careful, Occula! Be careful! You'll injure me! You're hurting me!"

"Hurtin' you?" cried Occula, kneeling down beside her, pulling out her breasts and biting her nipples. "Hurtin' you? If I have any more insolence I'll stuff a nutmeg-grater up you and work it in and out. You beastly, stinkin' animal! I'd sell you for ten meld, but no one would buy you! You're not a human bein' at all; why, you wouldn' even make a decent piss-pot!"

And with this she straddled over Fornis, squatted down and urinated in her face, the queen babbling incoherently as she did so.

"Now clean me up! No, not with the cloth, you ape! Do what the apes do, and hurry up about it! I want to feel your-"

But at this Fornis once again discarded every vestige of control, losing all ability to sustain any longer her part in the revolting game and writhing on the floor in a perfect

transport of voluptuous pleasure. From this second ecstasy she returned only very gradually, twitching where she lay and drawing long, shuddering breaths, as though she had run a race and was now utterly spent.

"Had enough?" asked the black girl, as the queen at length opened her eyes, drew out the hearth-brush and feebly tossed it to one side.

"Oh, Occula! Yes, enough now! Oh, that was wonderful! O Cran, but you really must be more careful! You've hurt me-"

"If I was more careful, you wouldn' enjoy it, would you?" replied Occula composedly. Fetching a bowl of clean water and a towel, she once more knelt beside the queen and wiped her face.

"Oh, yes, yes, that's true! You know, don't you? O Cran, I needed that! Oh, if only you'd been at the temple-"

"Let me get this thing off you now," said Occula, biting her lip.

"I won't have it washed!" said Fornis quickly. "That's the one that-"

"No, all right; but you'll need a bath, Folda. I told them to have it ready: Shakti'H be there now. You go along while I get cleaned up here. Sure you've had enough, now?"

"Oh, my black savage!" whispered Fornis, embracing her. "Who sent you to me? D'you realize no one else in the whole empire would dare to treat the Sacred Queen to a quarter of that! That stupid little Maia-she was no good! Not even after six months of Sencho! Oh, I've played a nice game on her, the little nitwit! I'll tell you all about that later. Oh, Occula, what a good day it was for me when I got you out of the temple! You really enjoy it, don't you?"

Occula smiled. "Yes, in my own way, Folda, I do enjoy it."

"In your own filthy, dirty, black way. I love you! You're evil! You're a witch, aren't you?"

Occula, staring back at her, nodded gravely.

"You made that Urtan boy stab himself with a knife that wasn't there. I wish I'd seen that."

"I wish you had."

"You're frightening-you're splendid, Occula! You really understand about cruelty, don't you? Aaah!" The queen

stretched luxuriously. "I'm quite tired! Bath now, and then I'm going to have a nice sleep. What a delightful day!"

She stood up, slipped on the robe Occula was holding up for her, kissed her and ran out of the room. For some moments the black girl stood looking after her, then came back and pulled the closet door wide.

It was clear enough that she had been affected by what she had had to do. As Maia scrambled out, she shut her eyes for a few moments, leaning her sweating forehead on her forearm and retching; then, recovering herself, turned to Maia with a finger on her lips.

"Now get out of here, banzi," she whispered. "Doan' stop for anythin'! The knife you can leave to me. Zuno's at the top of the stairs; I've just seen him. He'll get you out by the back. Go on now-move!"

Dazed and speechless, Maia ran. Zuno guided her downstairs and as far as the gate behind the palace, but outside, in that same back lane along which she had walked by night with Lalloc, she suddenly came over faint, sank down and vomited. She felt feverish and hardly knew where she was going. Her own madness-Randronoth's-the queen's-all seemed blazing and burning in her bead like meteors in a demented void. She was glad to accept the help of a kindly passer-by-some elderly house-slave returning from an errand-who, asking no questions and not even recognizing her, gave her his arm as far as the thoroughfare and saw her into a jekzha.

66: AND ANOTHER

"-I'm sincerely sorry. I'm sorry in many ways. But of course, your position in the empire will always remain a most honorable one; I hope you won't think anything else for a moment. We're very grateful to you; we always shall be."

Durakkon, looking out the window of the queen's reception room and picking with his finger-nail at the skin down one side of his thumb, paused for a reply. Fornis, however, said nothing and after some moments the High Baron reluctantly turned to meet her eyes. To all appearances she was waiting for him to continue. He had no more to say-indeed, in his tension and embarrassment he had

already repeated himself, regretting and extenuating to an extent consistent, perhaps, with the manners of a nobleman but scarcely with the authority of the High Baron of Bekla. So potent and disconcerting, however, was the Sacred Queen's silent self-possession and air of not, as yet, having heard anything worth the time she had had to spend in listening, that Durakkon-actually against his own better judgement-found himself speaking again.

"You've done a great deal for t!$ empire, esta-saiyett. There can be no one who's not fully aware of that. I know you'll understand that it wouldn't be possible-that the people themselves wouldn't accept-a Sacred Queen of- er-well, of the degree of maturity-" He broke off. "Of course, you'll realize that Sacred Queen is one thing and Saiyett Fornis, ruler of Paltesh, is another. One's no more than an appointment-almost nominal-just for a fixed term. The other's what you actually are and always will be. There's no reason whatever for you to feel-er-well, in any way dispossessed."

Still Fornis made no reply. They were both standing by the window and her eyes-though she was directly facing the late afternoon sunlight-looked steadily and unblink-ingly into his own.

"Well, that's all I have to say, esta-saiyett, and I must say I'm glad to have finished saying it." He laughed selfconsciously. "It's not always easy for me to-well, to carry out the duties of the High Baron. You've heard me very patiently. Thank you. If I can help you in any way at the end of this year-"

The Sacred Queen laid her hand on his arm. "You suppose that you will depose me."

From her inflection, it might or might not have been a question. Durakkon found himself answering it.

"I've explained to you, esta-saiyett, that there's no question of deposition-"

He broke off, but spoke again as a thought occurred to him. "Perhaps you would like to hear the Lord General and the Council-"

At this Fornis burst into a peal of laughter. "Perhaps you would like to hear the Council, would you? What they think of you?"

Suddenly she was grave once more. "Master Durakkon-may I call you Firebug, since everyone else does and we have known each other so long?-I am the Sacred

Queen of Airtha, the intermediary of the gods. It is for me to say what will happen to you at the end of this year- to you and those of your fellow-conspirators who may still be left. Sencho, of course, is no longer a problem."

"Conspirators? And pray, esta-saiyett, were you not also a conspirator, since that's the word you've chosen?"

"Did you come here to waste my time playing stupid games with words?" answered the queen. "Well, I'm not altogether surprised: that's about all you've ever been fit for these past seven or eight years. Still, it's as well you did come, since it enables me to tell you what's going to be done and what part you'll play. At the end of this year, you will abdicate as High Baro-"

Durakkon bowed coldly. "I'll leave you, esta-saiyett: you're plainly not yourself. Kindly think over what I've said and let me know when you're ready to talk with me again. For the time being-"

Suddenly Fornis took a step towards him, so that they were nearly touching each other. Durakkon almost threw up a hand to defend himself. When she spoke, it was in a hissing whisper.

"If regard is not paid to what I say, innocent people are going to suffer."

"Esta-saiyett," said Durakkon, with all the force at his command, "I rule here. I am sorry to be obliged to remind you of it."

"And you know, of course, that half the Council want to get rid of you?" she asked. Turning on her heel, she walked away from him towards a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. "You can hardly blame them, after all. The empire's full of disaffection as things are, and it hardly helps when the High Baron's universally known to be an ineffective dupe who commands no respect whatever."

"It will do you no good to talk in this way, esta-saiyett," said Durakkon. "Remember, too, that if you compel me to take action against you, it will be in neither your interest not the public interest."

"The public interest?" cried Fornis, her eyes for the first time bright with anger. "Oh, yes, you've always had the public interest so much at heart, haven't you? You were going to do so much for the empire, weren't you? So much for the common people!" She fixed on him a look of such evil malevolence that he stared back at her appalled. "You really make me laugh! Why, the peasants-yes, the very

beggars, too-they curse your name! You want proof? Do you seriously believe you'd be safe in any province of the empire without a guard? And as for the lower city, why don't you try walking by yourself as far as the Tower of Leaves one nice, dark evening? Do you really think you'd get there and back alive?"

"Silence, esta-saiyett!" cried Durakkon. But she had touched him on the raw, and the very fact that he spoke again showed it. "I have more support as High Baron than you as Sacred Queen, and that I may have to prove to you."

"Oh!" she answered. "Oh, I see! Yes, really, what a lot they all think of the High Baron and his wonderful family! You did say 'Silence,' didn't you? That will be quite convenient, since I've something to show you, and I can keep quiet while you read it instead of talking nonsense to me."

She unlocked a drawer in the cabinet and, without the least hesitation or searching, took out a sheet of written parchment, which she put into his hand.

"Of course, that's only a copy," she said, "but I'm sure the Lord General will show you the original if you ask him."

"What is this, esta-saiyett?" said Durakkon. "I don't wish-"

"Well, if you read it you'll know, won't you?" she said, and sat down in the window-seat.

He was about to give it back to her when his eye caught, written on the sheet, the name of his younger son. Startled, he read on.

"-embarrassing and extremely awkward if we were obliged to tell the High Baron in so many words that this young man is a grave liability as an officer. Yet he-" Here Durakkon came to the foot of the page. He hesitated a moment, then turned it and read on: Fornis watched him as he did so.

"Yet he has twice, now, shown himself unfit for action and you will understand that merely in the interests of discipline-to say nothing of the safety of others-I cannot retain him in his present command. I suggest that in the circumstances perhaps the most advisable and discreet course would be a transfer, with promotion, to the fortress at Dari-Paltesh-"

The letter, being a copy, was unsealed, but Durakkon could feel no doubt that it was authentic and that the writer

was Sendekar. Naturally, he remembered very well his son's promotion and appointment to the staff of the fortress about eighteen months earlier. Kembri had congratulated him on the lad having been selected for so honorable a post. "Now he's proved himself in the field, we feel he's exactly the sort of young man we need at Dari. It's a responsible position-"

How many people knew this shameful truth? Was it common knowledge throughout the army? How many other lies had been told to him? He could hardly keep tears from his eyes, for he had always greatly loved his younger son- a gentle, kindly young man-and felt proud of him. Clutching the parchment between trembling fingers, he looked up at the woman who had thus deliberately wounded him to the heart and now sat enjoying his misery.

"This document, esta-saiyett; it-it's no business of yours. It doesn't concern you in any way. How did you-?"

"Oh, do keep it," she said lightly. "You're welcome: I don't particularly want it. I'm sure it's of more use to you than to me."

She was still sitting by the window. Silently, he laid the parchment beside her and was about to go when she spoke again.

"Would you care to see a note which your wife wrote to Spelta-Narthe?"

"Spelta-Narthe?" he said. "Who is Spelta-Narthe?"

"Oh, no one at all. He's a slave: Elvair-ka-Virrion's huntsman. But he's very-er, accomplished and well-liked by a number of ladies, I understand. It's rather surprising that he can read, don't you think?-or perhaps not, all things considered."

Without another word Durakkon left the room. Outside, one of the queen's waiting-women-dark and middle-aged, with the high coloring of a Palteshi-raised her palm to her forehead. After a moment he realized that she must have asked him some question.

"What?" said Durakkon. "What did you say?"

"Your escort, my lord. Are you leaving her Sacred Majesty now? Do you wish me to summon your escort?"

"Oh-thank you," answered Durakkon abstractedly. However, it had slipped his mind that he had already dismissed his escort some time ago, since before arriving he had accepted an invitation to supper with the Sacred Queen.

He waited nearly half an hour alone in an ante-room while a runner was sent to recall them.

67: SUPPER WITH MILVUSHINA

The summer advanced. Pink water-lilies and beds of tiny-flowered, yellow meleda came into bloom along the shallows of the Barb, while the flocks of cranes which frequented it every spring departed in their thousands for the north, leaving the lake to ibis, egret and heron. Dragonflies, bronze and green, hovered in the sunny gardens and the bullocks grazing on Crandor's lower slopes could often be seen tossing their heads or suddenly leaping, tormented by gnats and clegs. In the middle of the day the only birds to be heard were the blue-finch and the little damazin, whose monotonous "Treachree, tfeachree, treachree!," from his high song-post among the zoans, seemed the very sound of the still, hot sunlight. The bright flowers of the melikon tree-"False Lasses," as the peasants called it- shed their petals and began to turn to the glinting, golden berries which, though they looked so fine, were of no use to man or beast.

To and from the upper city, rich men came and went on profitable journeys-to their farm-lands in the provinces, to the timber forests of Tonilda, the silk and jewel markets of Ikat Yeldashay or the iron foundries of Gelt. Shearnas entertained and made money. Wealthy wives, alone with time on their hands, spent their days gossiping and over-eating, spending long hours in the cool bath or naked on the massage-couch, fancying themselves in love with others' husbands, or covertly visiting supposedly secret places of assignation well-known to every winking slave in their households. The Monju brook shrunk in its bed. Daily, messengers brought news from the frontiers and the Council deliberated in the Barons' Palace on the Leopard Hill.

In the lower city, droves of cattle and of slaves arrived in dusty clouds, both by way of the Gate of Lilies and the Blue Gate: wounded soldiers returned from the fronts and companies of recruits marched out under veteran tryzatts. Fleitil and his men put the last, finishing touches to the great statue of Airtha in the temple precinct. The beggars

and cripples sat scratching themselves in the shade, ragged children pilfered from the stalls and the pilgrims murmured their prayers and made their offerings before the Tamarrik Gate. Lalloc, who had replaced Zuno with Megdon from the Puhra depot, ordered him to sort out the prettiest girls from among the provincial consignments and prepare them for private sale in the upper city. In reply to his inquiries as to the present whereabouts of Genshed-for Occula had been insistent to learn what might have become of him following his flight-Megdon could tell nothing except that he had said he meant to clear out of the empire altogether and try his luck in Terekenalt. The old woman's sweet-shop was in new hands, repainted and smartened up. The gold and silversmiths were enjoying an excellent season, while the Street of the Armourers had more business up and down its steep length than the oldest could recall. No traveler from a distant land could have discerned that this was the heart of a realm where rebellion and civil war lay germinating behind the fac.ade of mercantile prosperity.

Maia, still unable in her heart to feel any inclination for a lover, was nevertheless finding refusal even harder than before. The story of her auction had spread through the provinces, and although most, perhaps, of the wealthy visitors to the upper city were content-or at any rate appeased-merely to see the fabled Serrelinda, there were always some who (especially after they had caught a glimpse of her: for she was hanged if she was going to live the life of an anchorite) could not resist trying their luck.

There were many callers at her house by the Barb, and although no one offered her nine thousand meld (no one having nine thousand meld to offer), several men, sending passionate letters through Ogma or Jarvil, promised large sums in return for no more than an hour of her time. One young Belishban nobleman, who had been most persistent, at last stabbed himself one night outside her gate, but fortunately was picked up by his friends and taken home to recover. Gifts and flowers Maia accepted, although, remembering Milvushina's warning, she never ate sweetmeats or anything which had not been bought and prepared by Ogma. Letters she ignored and money her servants had orders to refuse. After a few weeks her attendant soldiers, at her own request, were increased to three, the third being necessary to protect her from spontaneous demonstrations

like that of Selperron, some of which were of a less acceptable nature.

She began to go about more and accepted a number of invitations, mostly to small supper-parties and the like given by Nennaunir, Otavis, Dyphna and other reputable shear-nas eager to show themselves her friends. Yet on such occasions she always asked her hostess to make it clear beforehand to the male guests that her favors were not available and that in this respect she would be displeased not to be taken at her word.

The upper city, of course, was sadly denuded of young men by the wars. Sarget the wine-merchant, however, at whose party in the Barons' Palace she had danced the senguela, became a good friend, perceiving and appreciating as he did her sincere love of music. On several evenings Maia found herself one of no more than four or five guests whom this quiet, unassuming man had invited to listen to Fordil and his players until a late hour. In this way she learned much, for Sarget would ask Fordil not only to play but to talk about his art, or perhaps to explain the intricacies of some composition-his own or another's. She never danced, however, at these supper-parties-only at her shearna friends'-for as often as not Sarget would have invited one or two members of the Thlela, and she knew well enough the difference between such natural grace and vivacity as she possessed and the life-long discipline and skill of dedicated professionals.

Yet with all these distractions, the recollection of Zen-Kurel never left her. That is to say, the conviction that Zen-Kurel was her lover refused to be relegated to the past. She could not think of him as gone, as nothing but a memory. Often she recalled what Occula had said to her in Sencho's house about work and pleasure. Poor Maia! she thought one day, in one of her rare indulgences of self-pity: reckon there's been a lot more on the work side than what there has on t'other. To only two men had she ever given her heart together with her body, and one of those had been no more than a green girl's introduction. To have loved Tharrin was hardly matter for poignant reminiscence: left to herself at home she'd have grown out of him-oh, yes-soon enough. Ah, that was just nature, she thought: any girl begins by feeling herself in love with the man who takes her virginity. That was why she still wept for him, why he still visited her dreams with his livid

throat and his poor, staring eyes. But of course there had never been-never could have been-any notion of partnership or marriage between herself and Tharrin.

But her tears flowed also when she dwelt upon the brief hours which she and Zen-Kurd had spent together. She had fallen into a habit of recalling, of dwelling upon every least detail-things of no moment whatever; how in explanation she had tapped out a dance-rhythm with her fingers on his chest; how she had dropped one of the daggers and he had picked it up; the healed scar on his forearm which she had meant to ask him about and then forgotten-for all the world like some old man, with little left now to occupy his time, continually handling the petty treasures and souvenirs hoarded in his room. Yet this preoccupation was not of her own wisli-or not entirely. There were plenty of times when she reminded herself of everything which common sense so cogently suggested. Why not forget? She was a public figure in a realm hostile to Katria. Zen-Kurel might already have put her out of his thoughts. And even setting that aside, on grounds of sheer probability it seemed all the world to nothing that she and he would never meet again. He might even be dead. Wasn't she as lucky as she could well be, the Ser-relinda? It was open to her to pick and choose where she would. She could marry a powerful Beklan noble and live secure for the rest of her hfe.

And yet-and yet, she could not tell why, but she felt certain that Zen-Kurel was not dead. And with Maia, who no more weighed rational probabilities or assessed likelihood than any other girl in the half-civilized and superstition-dominated empire, intuitive certainty differed little from informed knowledge. And she was equally sure that he had not forgotten her, for if she knew how she felt, then she knew how he felt. "And I'm no enemy of Katria, nor yet of Terekenalt," she used to say to herself. "I'm a Suban marsh-frog!" This, of course, was pure quibbling, for originally Suba had been bitterly hostile to annexation by King Karnat. But after the initial shock of what poor Tharrin had revealed to her Maia had first absorbed, then accepted and finally come to cherish as a delicious secret her exotic origins in that remote marshland whither she had actually been and hardly anyone else in Bekla had. Naturally, she also cherished the thought of Nokomis, just as anyone throughout the entire human race feels proud of

a famous and distinguished forebear. No, she was no Ton-ildan and no Beklan either; and therefore no enemy of K.atria.

Reason as she would, she remained convinced that she and Zen-Kurel were fated to meet again, though when and where she could not imagine. So persistently did this notion haunt her that one bright noonday, when the city walls seemed wavering in the heat and most of its people dozing in the shade, she went down to the temple and asked-as did many on occasion-for a seer to read the omens for her.

The man to whom she was conducted was a handsome young priest-no eunuch, but on the contrary possessed of a warm, reassuring manner; so that she found herself liking and (rather to her surprise) trusting him. He began by asking her to tell him, in confidence and without reservation, the entire matter on her mind, but this she felt unable to do.

"There's someone I hope to meet again," she said. "I believe I shall, but I want to know when and how."

"A man or a woman?" he asked, smiling.

"Well-a man."

"Where is he?"

She shrugged. "I wish I knew. Far away."

"So is there no ordinary, day-to-day likelihood of your paths crossing?"

She paused, troubled by the question. Yet there could be only one answer. "No."

"Do you believe that he will seek you out?"

"He would, but it's not in his power. He won't have forgotten me, I know that."

"Saiyett, if the god and I are to help you, you must make the effort to be frank. Do you love this man? Who is he?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you no more. Here's the money. If you can help me, I shall be grateful: else we'll have to leave it."

He nodded equably, accepting her at her word, and proceeded to the usual astrological questions about her age and the approximate dates of her first menstruation and loss of virginity. This done, he asked her to throw a handful of brightly-colored sticks-red, blue and green- into a basin of sand; then to look at a sheet of gnarled bark and tell him what likenesses she perceived on its

surface. At length he left her, retreating into a little alcove where he stood for several minutes in silence.

"This is all the god vouchsafes," he said at last, returning to where she sat waiting. "It's little enough, but then you have told me so little, saiyett. You will meet this man again if you yourself seek him; and else not. Also the god says, 'Opportunity is all.' "

" 'Opportunity is all'?" she repeated, looking up at him in perplexity.

He bowed. "I wish you well, saiyett. Believe me, I have done my best for you."

Anyone might have said as much, she thought, going over it in her mind while Ogma prepared a coot bath and laid out for her two or three robes from which to choose for the evening. She had been invited to supper by Mil-vushina and, since she had been expressly told that no one ehse would be there, was naturally curious to know what she was to hear-or to be asked.

Anyone might have said as much. Still, that was nothing unusual. After all, doctors frequently advised, "Go to bed until you feel better" and lawyers (or so she had heard) often said, "You have a weak case and might as well not proceed"; and took their fees for saying those things. Well, to hear from a professional nothing more than the obvious at least clarified your mind and stopped you thinking in circles. "If you seek him…" Yet how was she to do that? "Opportunity is all." Was she to make it, then?

"Zenka," she asked silently, "won't you tell me, darling?" But for once he made no reply in her heart, only smiling as he had smiled in the lamplight at Melvda when he had promised that he would always love her and begged her never to forget him.

Rather abstractedly, she selected a plain robe of very pale gray and a contrasting necklace of tawny ziltate beads from the Telthearna; a present from some admirer. No doubt, she thought, their price had lined some Ortelgan pocket; perhaps Ged-la-Dan's.

Milvushina received her warmly and affectionately. The old reserves which had at one time constrained their relationship had entirely vanished, due-or so Maia felt- not only to their closer acquaintance and happier fortunes, but also to a certain mutual dependence which each felt without actually saying as much. Milvushina, an aristocrat to her finger-tips but nevertheless a girl from the back of

beyond, her man gone to the wars and her servants all Beklan, often found herself, even now, somewhat out of her depth. From Maia she could seek advice without breach of confidence or loss of dignity. Maia, for her part, was more than glad of a friend who, unlike the shearnas, was not for ever concerned with men, basting and the material advantages to be gained therefrom. Nennaunir and Otavis were warm-hearted, unenvious and the most easy-going and tolerant company imaginable, yet she not infrequently felt-to her own surprise and self-annoyance-that there were things about which she could not speak to them. Nennaunir, who admired her success, was plainly ready to stand by her anywhere; would have lent her money if she had needed it, lied for her or spoken up in her defense against anyone. Yet she could not have talked to Nennaunir about Zen-Kurel.

Milvushina was another matter. Although Maia had not as yet spoken to her of Zen-Kurel, she had come to feel that one day, when she was ready, she would probably find sympathy and understanding. What she felt to be their common bond was a sense of deep personal integrity transcending superficial contamination. Whatever had befallen Milvushina, whatever had been done to her, she plainly regarded as past and over, and her true self as remaining intact despite it. Her devotion to Elvair-ka-Virrion was no matter of expediency or eye-to-the-main-chance. In her own eyes she had neither come down in the world nor (like Nennaunir) up in it: she was Elvair-ka-Virrion's consort and the willing mother of his unborn child. With all this Maia felt herself entirely in sympathy.

Milvushina received her wearing a dark-blue, loose-bodied gown of Yeldashay silk on which was embroidered in gold thread a likeness of Airtha the mother almost identical to that which Maia had seen last year in the long gallery of this very house. Smiling, she put her hands behind her back and drew it close for a moment, to show Maia the swell of her belly beneath.

"Enjoying it?" asked Maia, passing an admiring hand over the curve.

Milvushina nodded happily, poured wine for them both and led her into the cool, flower-scented supper-room.

Maia, naturally, asked first about the latest news from Elvair-ka-Virrion and the Chalcon expedition, and of this Milvushina spoke with every appearance of cheerfulness,

giving-very convincingly-the impression of having heard nothing which she could not mention in the hearing of the slaves.

"In the last letter I had-that was three days ago-he said they were a good thirty miles or more into Chalcon and sending out patrols to find Santil's main force. It's very difficult country, he says-" Milyushina laughed-"well, I could have told him that-and it's not always easy to get supplies through. Apparently at least one baggage-train's been ambushed."

"What d'you reckon's going to be the rights of it, then?" asked Maia.

"Well, if you really want to know, I think it'll all come to little or nothing," answered Milvushina. "I told Elvair as much myself. In those hills Santil can keep out of the way for as long as he likes-I should imagine-and then of course he's got the people on his side. I felt quite sure Elvair would have trouble feeding an army that size once they really got any distance into Chalcon. If you ask me, they'll be back before the end of the summer and no one much hurt on either side. But they'll have lots of rip-roaring stories to tell, won't they? Men always do."

They talked of other things. After supper, however, when the sun had set, the slaves had brought in the lamps and left them together and she was sitting at her embroidery frame, Milvushina came back to the war in a rather different vein.

"I didn't want to say this before," she said. "I know slaves get to hear everything anyway, but I don't want them saying they heard it from me. I can't help worrying, Maia. Elvair says the whole country's bitterly hostile, even though he's had it proclaimed everywhere that they've no quarrel with anyone except Santil. I told him how it would be. My father was very well-liked, you see; and besides- well, I think they're angry about me, too."

" 'Tain't all that surprising," said Maia.

"Elvair says arrows come flying out of the trees, bridges get broken, sentries are found strangled-all that sort of thing-and never an enemy to be seen. But what in Cran's name did he expect?"

"Has he told Kembri all this, or just you?" asked Maia.

"I don't know what he's told Kembri," said Milvushina. She paused, holding up two contrasting strands of yellow to the lamp. "It's so hard to tell in this light, isn't it? Which

one would go better with the green, d'you think?" And then, as Maia pointed to one of them, "But I know what Kembri told me, only this morning. Not about Chalcon- about Urtah."

"Uriah?" said Maia. "What about Urtah, then? You mean as there's trouble there, too?"

"So Kembri was saying," answered Milvushina. "You know, of course, don't you, that the Urtans have been pressing for Bayub-Otal to be pardoned and released? Kembri's still holding him in Dari-Paltesh, to make sure his father keeps the province quiet; I don't know for certain, but it's my belief he's told the old man secretly that he will release Bayub-Otal as soon as things have quietened down and people have begun to forget about what happened in Suba."

She refilled Maia's goblet. "But the High Baron of Ur-tah's one thing, you know, and the Urtans themselves are another. There are a lot of people there who hate the Leopards and aren't content to wait. There's been trouble; no actual rebellion yet, but the next thing to it, and naturally Kembri's worried. There's unrest in Belishba, too. Apparently the governor's written to Kembri that there's so much heldro opposition to the slave quotas there that unless they're reduced he can't undertake to go on keeping law and order. It's the open fighting in Chalcon that's sparked all this off; I'm certain of that. I only wish to Cran the Leopards had left Santil alone and Elvair was safe back in Bekla. To tell you the truth, Maia, the whole thing's troubling me very much."

She was silent for a time, and Maia was silent too, listening to the distant cry of the watchman on the Peacock Wall and the thin "twink, twink" of bats hunting above the dark garden outside.

At length Milvushina resumed. "But actually, none of this is really what I wanted to talk to you about, Maia dear. There's something else; something nearer home that concerns you as much as me."

"Oh, ah?" Maia waited with some little apprehension.

"Do you remember," went on Milvushina, "one day when we were at your house, I told you I was afraid of Fornis?"

"Ah; on account of Elvair'd taken you away from old Sencho's," said Maia. "Nor he wouldn't send you back to Chalcon when she told him."

"Well, it's worse now," said Milvushina. "Durakkon's told Fornis officially that at the end of this year she'll have to cease to be Sacred Queen."

"Don't see as he could have done anything else," replied Maia. "I mean, her time's up anyway; more than up, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can guess how much she likes the idea. And meanwhile everyone's begun talking about who's to succeed her."

She gazed questioningly at Maia.

"Well, come to that, Sessendris was on about this to me-oh, weeks ago now," said Maia.

"What did she say?"

"She said there was plenty of people in the lower city as'd like to see me acclaimed Sacred Queen, and I said that was silly. So then she said some of the Leopards would be ready to try it on if they thought it would be to their own advantage, like, and go down well with the people."

Milvushina nodded. "And Kembri himself wants it to be me."

"Yes, Nennaunir told me that Kembri and Elvair would likely have the same idea about you, but I didn't know whether to believe her or not. Do you want to be Sacred Queen? 'Cos I don't, I'll tell you that much."

Milvushina shook her head. "No, I don't. Before Fornis it wouldn't have mattered all that much. But you see, Maia, during the last eight years Fornis has given the Sacred Queen so much real power that the whole thing's become absolutely vital to anyone who wants to rule Bekla."

"Well, far's I'm concerned, you can have it," said Maia, smiling.

"Oh, you still don't see, do you?" replied Milvushina almost frantically. "It doesn't matter what Durakkon said to Fornis: she won't go unless she's actually forced to, and she's as cunning and cruel as a whole army of devils! You and I-we're both in danger-in real danger-from her; but you most, because Kembri's protecting me. Oh, Maia, I'm so afraid she's thinking up some horrible plan to put you out of the way!"

At this Maia, weeping, poured out the whole story of Tharrin's death, omitting nothing. Milvushina listened without interrupting, her needle laid aside. As Maia ended she said, "I knew your real reason for the auction at the

barrarz, because Elvair told me. But I didn't know the rest. The cruel woman! How vile and wicked!"

"What d'you reckon Ashaktis told Tharrin, then?" asked Maia.

"That you were dead-that you weren't coming-that you'd deserted him-whatever would make him despair. And of course she brought the rope."

"Milva, couldn't we say-I mean, sort of both announce publicly-as we don't neither of us want to be Sacred Queen?"

"Oh, no; that would only look ridiculous-I mean, before either of us has actually been put forward. All we can do is wait, and be terribly careful." She hesitated; then suddenly said, "Oh, Maia, don't go home tonight! Stay and sleep here!"

For the life of her Maia could not share such desperate and immediate anxiety as this. "But-well, but I mean, I'll have to go home some time, Milva. I can't stay here for ever, can I?"

"Never mind; just stay tonight. I'd feel happier if you did. We'll sleep together, like last year when you used to comfort me." She embraced Maia. "You can comfort me again: I need it, I can tell you."

Maia could only accept, and send Brero back with a message to Ogma.

The following morning the two girls were awakened by Milvushina's Beklan maid, a competent, handsome woman named Lokris. Bringing in a tray of milk, fruit, butter and fresh-baked bread, she asked Milvushina, "Have you heard the news, saiyett?"

"From Chalcon, do you mean?" asked Milvushina apprehensively. "What's happened, Lokris?"

"No, not from Chalcon, saiyett. I only asked because I thought you might not have heard last night. It seems the Sacred Queen's left Bekla for Paltesh. She went yesterday evening, but the Lord General wasn't informed until several hours after she'd gone. Her chamberlain, Zuno, came here with a message very late. Apparently he'd had orders not to deliver it earlier. She said she wanted to be among her own people for a while."

"How did you come to hear this, Lokris?" asked Milvushina.

"Well, saiyett, we get to hear things, of course, but as you know, I don't go chattering as a rule. Only I thought-

well, I thought this was something you might like to know about quickly."

68: MAIA COMMISSIONS A SEARCH

The news that Form's had left Bekla for Paltesh filled both the upper and lower cities, from the poor to their rulers, with speculation. The interest was of that unquiet kind which people feel when they suspect that a public occurrence is likely to affect their personal lives. One thing above all that the Sacred Queen was known for was a woman of decision; of action, energy and vigor. (It was common knowledge, for example, that an entire night without sleep was nothing to the Sacred Queen.) It was also known that she often did the unexpected, devising moves that could hardly have been anticipated. Finally, she was a great confronter and outfacer, always ready and more than ready to beard anyone at all and overcome them by sheer force of spirit and power of rejoinder. Both Kem-bri and Durakkon had good cause to know this, to say nothing of the chief priest, various provincial governors and countless smaller fry down to the wretched dog-boy. If Fornis had left Bekla for Paltesh, therefore, it would certainly not be out of a nostalgic desire for a quiet holiday among her own countrymen. She must have some purpose, and as to what it might be there was much talk and guessing among the common people, to whom she remained what she had always been-a magical figure, intrepid, dazzling and numinous, her known cruelty rather adding to her goddess-like standing (for are not the gods crudest of all?) than otherwise. (It is a curious fact that lack of pity is often condoned in people admired for their personal courage.) At the same time, the impossibility of her continuing as Sacred Queen was not disputed. Such a thing would be impious and accordingly most unpropitious, inviting the anger of the gods. Fornis herself must know this, and therefore presumably (thought the people) had no wish to incur divine retribution. Most in the lower city had hitherto supposed that she would either return to Dari to rule Paltesh, or else that she would accept some honorable religious appointment conferred by the High Baron, such as controller of sacred statues, images and mural paintings

throughout the empire. Everyone, of course, remembered her march upon the city nearly eight years before, but this she could not be expecting to repeat.

Both Durakkon and Kembri, however, would have been glad to feet sure of this. They were among those-that is to say, virtually everyone-to whom it had never occurred that Fornis would leave the city. Now that she had, the very fact was reason for disquiet. Fornis could be up to anything, and that she was up to something was certain. The lower city, who saw her only from a distance and, as it were, on her own terms, had scarcely any notion of the extraordinary blend of shrewd cunning and violent passion given to all extremes which made up her character. "That woman," Kembri had once said to Durakkon, "would be capable of plotting to ruin herself and the world, as long as it destroyed her enemies and sated her pride." Now, with the queen gone, Durakkon, still aghast and wretched from his glimpse of some of the grisly weapons in her secret armory, could only await the outcome with misgiving. To command her return would be futile, for the secular power could claim no ultimate authority over the comings and goings of the Sacred Queen. Indeed, the only possible effect would be to prolong her absence. But then again, that? Might that in fact be relatively the safer course? (There could be no such thing as absolute safety for any enemy of Fornis.)

Maia, however, shared none of this disquiet; for her there was only the simple, delightful knowledge that the queen was gone. She had not realized how badly she had been afraid of Fornis, or in how many respects her fear had been affecting her life. She had in fact been afraid whenever she made new friends, afraid to entertain in her own house, to go freely about the upper city, to enjoy to the full her public popularity. Now, like an animal venturing little by little out of concealment, she began gradually to do all these things. She gave a party for thirty guests (the limit, she reckoned, for her house, and of course she had to hire extra servants for the occasion). Among those who came were one or two of the first wounded officers back from Chalcon, and little good it was that they had to tell. Guided by Nennaunir and Otavis as to who would be suitable, she began to invite a few of her better-connected admirers to call on her for wine and talk. Maia, of course, was no brilliant conversationalist, but she was

a good listener, lively and quick to both sympathy and laughter, and with these qualities added to great beauty no girl has ever been able to go far wrong. By listening, too, she learned a good deal about affairs in the provinces, and began to understand what Kembri had meant by saying that men were apt to speak more freely and indiscreetly in the company of a beautiful girl whom they wished to impress. Indeed, she heard one or two things which she guessed that the Lord General would have been most interested to learn. However, she had not seen him since the morning when she had gone to the Barons' Palace to plead for Tharrin, and anyway she no-longer regarded herself as his agent. As far as she was concerned, that had come to an end on the banks of the Valderra. She no longer had any need to better herself by bearing tales. Also, she felt intuitively that she had fallen out of favor with Kembri, and this she attributed to his having decided upon Milvushina and not herself for Sacred Queen. That, however, troubled her little, for she did not believe that he would go the length of seeking her life or her ruin.

So she fared abroad, and bought fine clothes, and slept till noon when she chose, and dined or supped with Sarget, and with Bodrin the Gelt iron-master, and such Leopard lords as her friends approved; and shed tears of rapture as Fordil's fingers called forth from the hinnari a divine sorrow in which all her own-and the world's-was dissolved. In the moment of awakening, and before ever her sleepy mind had fastened upon the actualities of the coming day, it would be filled with a delightful assurance that all was well. All, indeed, until she thought of Tharrin's ashes blowing on the easterly wind-ah! whither? Towards that remote west-Suba, Katria, Terekenalt-which somewhere in its immensity contained her own Zen-Kurel. She, the Serrelinda, who had saved the city, had been made a victim of the Sacred Queen's cruelty, wronged and cheated beyond anything that any honest heart should brook unavenged. And incomparably fortunate though she might be, she yet lacked the simple luck of thousands of peasant lasses whose lot lay far beneath her own; namely, to laugh and chide and bed and wake with her rightful man.

"Zenka! Zenka!"

"Did you call, miss?" said Ogma, coming into the steamy, perfumed bathroom where she lay naked as a bride and lonely as a widow.

"Oh, don't mind me, Ogma," answered Maia, stretching for a towel to wipe her wet face. "I'm all upside-down this morning! Dreams-star-gazing-never mind." She broke off. "Oh, but listen-I want to go down to the silk market later, will you tell Brero? There's a new trader up from the south: Otavis thought we ought to take the opportunity."

"Opportunity, miss? Strikes me you're not taking all what you might." For Ogma had been completely bowled over by Randronoth and the dawn delivery of the nine thousand meld (which she supposed to have been safely stowed somewhere or other) and had continually in her mind the prospect of a whole succession of lustful governors, councilors, merchants and what-not, whose tips to the Serrelinda's lady's maid (for Randronoth had been liberal) would carry her as far beyond her wildest dreams as ever Maia had been carried beyond hers. Nor, perhaps, could she-who had so often seen Maia return tousled from the couch of Sencho-altogether be blamed for wondering why on earth her mistress seemed too fastidious either to make three times as much money as any shearna in Bekla, or (if that was not to her fancy) at least to set about achieving a noble and wealthy marriage. There could be only one explanation.

"Miss?"

"Yes, Ogma?" Maia stepped out of the bath, flinging back her head and shoulders as she toweled her back. Then, as Ogma hesitated, "Well, what?"

"D'you reckon they're going to make you Sacred Queen at the end of this year?"

In the freezing silence that followed her question, the wretched girl stammered, "Well, miss, I-I only just- only people keep saying-I mean, there's them as-"

"Get outV cried Maia, hurling the towel at her. "Get out! And if ever you dare to talk to me like that again I'll have you sent to Zeray, d'you understand? ZerayF'

As Ogma, flabbergasted-for Maia was almost always the most easy-going and conversable of mistresses-stumbled out of the room, Maia flung herself across the massage-couch, sobbing, beating her clenched fists in the cushions and swearing as fluently as Occula herself.

"Opportunity!" whispered Zen-Kurel in her mind's ear. "Aren't you the girl who had the wit to dress herself in golden hiies to meet the king? D'you suppose I've for-

gotten; d'you suppose I could ever forget my princess of opportunity? Only find the opportunity, Maia!"

After a time she dried her eyes, dressed and went pensively down to breakfast in the sunny garden. Half an hour later, the silk trader temporarily forgotten, she was lying in a low-slung hammock with one foot on the grass when Nennaunir, all diaphanous gauze and perfume, burst into the garden with a fervor like that of a hound welcoming a returning master. Before she rightly knew what was happening, Maia found herself embraced and so smothered with kisses that she could hardly find breath to greet the shearna or ask what it was all about..

At length Nennaunir rose from her knees beside the hammock and stood looking down at her with a smile that broke into the outright laughter of pure joy.

"You-you miracle-worker!" said the shearna, wiping tears from her eyes. "You conjuress! How d'you do it- m'm?"

Maia, feeling good-humored enough but a shade impatient of this unexplained transport, was visited by a touch of the Occulas.

"Well, on my back, mostly, but sometimes I-"

Nennaunir, grasping her two hands in her own, swung her to and fro in the hammock.

"Oh, Maia, thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart! What more-what more can I say?"

Maia looked up at her frowning, and shook her head.

"You mean to say you don't know?" asked Nennaunir.

"That's 'zackly what I do mean to say. What you on about?"

"It's Sednil! Sednil! He's back, he's back in Bekla! He's freel Randronoth's given him a release token! And now the queen's gone, he's got nothing to be afraid of! I suppose you didn't arrange that too, by any chance, did you?"

Maia jumped up.

"Sednil; free? Oh, Nan, I'm so glad! Well, good old Randronoth-I never guessed he'd be that quick! I reckon he's a lot better than what he's given credit for; some ways, anyhow. What happened, then? Tell me! When did Sednil get back? Did he come straight to see you or what?"

"No, dear; I went to see him. Well, he couldn't possibly hope to get admission to the upper city, could he? He reached Bekla early yesterday morning. He'd been three days walking from Lapan. He was in rags-good as-and

he had two meld on him. And then by sheer luck he overheard someone in the market saying look, that was the Serrelinda's servant-girl over there buying vegetables, so he went up to her and gave her his two meld to come and tell me. So it was your Ogma who brought me the news. That was why I was so surprised you hadn't heard."

"So'm I. 'N then what?"

"Well, I went straight down, of course, and there he was, waiting by the Scales in the Caravan Market. My dear, we've hardly been out of bed for the last twenty-four hours! But I've got him some reasonable lodgings down near the Tower of the Orphans, and given him enough money to buy some decent clothes. He's started looking for work already." For a moment Nennaunir looked troubled. "I only hope he'll find something, and not get into any more trouble."

"But surely, now, you can keep him going as long as ever he needs, can't you?" asked Maia.

"Yes, of course I could," replied Nennaunir, "if only he'd have it. But I told you before, didn't I? He's a very funny lad that way, is Sednil. That's partly why I'm so fond of him, I suppose. He won't take money from anyone unless he reckons he's earned it himself. D'you know he's actually tallied up everything I've paid out for him? As far as he's concerned it's a loan and he means to pay it back, every last meld. That's what's worrying me: I don't think he's going to find it all that easy. I'm never sure how much you know, Maia dear, about Beklan ways; but it's usually rather difficult for branded men to get respectable work. Silly, I call it, because often, of course, it only drives them back to crime."

Ogma came into the garden to clear away the plates.

"Ogma," said Maia, "Miss Nennaunir tells me you saw her friend Sednil in the market yesterday, just after he'd got back from Lapan."

Ogma looked startled and somewhat confused. "Why, yes, that's right, miss: he came up and spoke to me."

"It didn't cross your mind that I might be interested to know he was back?"

"Why, no, miss; I can't say as that occurred to me at all," replied Ogma, in a tone of defensive indignation. "Why, I didn't even know as you knew him!" Then, as Maia remained silent, she added, "I hope you're not thinking as I acted wrong, miss, in not telling you? It never

even entered my head. He didn't look-well, to tell you the plain truth, miss, and I don't want to speak out of turn, but he didn't look at all like someone as you'd-that's to say-" Conscious of Nennaunir's eyes on her, she became even more disconcerted. "I'm sure I'm very sorry, saiyett, if I-"

Maia laid a hand on her arm. "No, it's all right, Ogma. You weren't to know I knew him, and nobody's cross. Just forget all about it. I think Miss Nennaunir's staying to dinner" (Nennaunir nodded, smiling) "so we'll have those pigeons U-Sarget sent, shall we? That's if you think they've hung long enough? How do you think they ought to be cooked? You tell me."

"You know," said Nennaunir, when Ogma had been sufficiently flattered, soothed and sent about her business,. "she was right, of course. Strictly speaking she wasn't to know. But all the same, a girl who's looking after someone like you really ought to have her ear a bit closer to the ground and be able to put two and two together better than that. It's part of her jot›-or it ought to be. Terebin-thia, Sessendris: why don't you get yourself someone like that? You could easily afford it, and it might make all the difference one of these days."

"No, I won't get rid of Ogma," said Maia. "She was with us at Sencho's and she knows my ways."

"I'm not suggesting you should get rid of her," replied Nennaunir. "But why not get yourself a proper saiyett as well, someone a bit sharper-"

"Well, I'll think it over, Nan, honest; and I'll think it over 'bout Sednil, too, and help if I can."

The truth was that sixteen-year-old Maia had no wish for an older, more experienced woman to tell her her own business. Club-footed, dull, dependent Ogma suited her very well and she had no intention of looking for someone like Sessendris, who had advised her against trying to help Tharrin and been proved abundantly right.

"Brero," said Maia, "d'you reckon you might be able to find me a particular man in the lower city, and get him up here without anyone taking any particular notice of it?"

It was two days after Nennaunir's visit. Maia, having taken what was for her a considerable time to reflect on an idea which had first occurred to her before the shearna

had left, was now (with a certain amount of inward trepidation) putting it into effect.

Brero frowned, scratched his head and seemed about to reply, but Maia forestalled him.

"I'll tell you as much as I know. His name's Sednil and I suppose he's about twenty-one." She went on to describe him as she remembered him. "He's in lodgings somewhere near the Tower of the Orphans. He's been out and about looking for work, so likely he's been talking to people round there who'll remember him. And he's a branded man, Brero: crossed spears on the back of his hand. But he's finished his sentence: he's free now."

"A branded man, saiyett?"

"Well, but he's got a release token. Anyway, he hadn't really done anything."

"Oh, none the more for that, saiyett: that's nothing to me. Only you said you didn't want anyone taking any notice, and it won't b amp; possible to take a branded man through the Peacock Gate without the guards wanting to know who he is and where he's going."

"And yet I've got to see this man, Brero; and secretly, too. I've had instructions."

"I understand, saiyett." It did not surprise Brero to learn that Maia had had instructions. After all, she had had instructions to cross the Valderra, hadn't she?

"Well, for a start let's see whether you can find him, Brero. And if you do, don't say anything about me, understand? Give him this box-there's some money in it- and say it's an advance for a special job of work as'll be well-paid, and that if he's interested there's someone as wants to talk to him about it."

"He wouldn't take the money, saiyett," said Brero, "but he says he's ready to talk about the work."

It had taken him less than a day to find Sednil. The area along the banks of the Monju brook, between the two great thoroughfares of the Sheldad and the Kharjiz, was a comparatively quiet and respectable district; quite unlike, for example, the teeming alleys and warrens further west, between the Khalkoornil and the Tower of Sel-Do-lad; and inquiries among its taverns and lodging-houses had SQon put Brero on the right track.

"How did he act, like?" asked Maia. "Did he seem surprised?"

"Well, more kind of suspicious, saiyett, really," replied Brero. "First of all he made me swear black and blue that 'twasn't anything to do with the Sacred Queen. He seemed real frightened of her."

"Isn't everyone?" asked Maia.

"Well, yes, I suppose so, saiyett, in a manner of speaking. Only it didn't seem to make sense, like, her having gone to Paltesh, as everyone knows, and why should he suppose it might have anything to do with her?"

"Oh, he's got his reasons, Brero," said Maia. "Well, now what?"

"Well, what I was thinking, saiyett, if you're agreeable, we might make a little arrangement like this, seeing as you have to see the man secretly. I'll go down tomorrow night after sunset, and meet him by arrangement. We'll wait together in a jekzha wherever it suits you: perhaps the Monju bridge in the Sheldad would be a convenient place. Then I'd suggest that you follow in another jekzha about half an hour later-veiled, of course, saiyett. When you come to the bridge, you simply get into the other jekzha with this young man. He needn't show himself at all. Then the two of you can ride up and down the Sheldad-or anywhere-while you talk as long as you want. I'll keep your jekzha by the bridge, and as soon as you're ready you can simply come back, change over again and go home. It just struck me that that might be better than meeting in a house: I mean, in a house there's always bound to be someone who sees you come and go, isn't there?"

"Brero, they ought to make you a tryzatt, that they ought."

"Well, one day, perhaps, saiyett. But I hope you won't go recommending me, for I'm in no hurry to change this job just now. Why, they might send me to Chalcon or the Valderra, mightn't they?"

' "Oh, great Gran!" said Sednil. "It's you!"

Maia laughed and lowered her veil again. "Who'd you

reckon it'd be, then?" He was looking far better, she thought, than ever he

had in the temple. Indeed, she would hardly have known

him. Darkness had almost fallen, but there was enough

light from the lamps and flaring torches of the shops and booths still open along the Sheldad to show her a spruce, alert-looking young man with a trim, black beard, dressed in a new veltron and leather breeches. More striking than his actual appearance, however, was the entire alteration in his manner, and the figure he cut in her female eyes. Before, it had always seemed to her as though his whole demeanor-his facial expression, his talk, his gait, his gestures-had been as it were dyed, soaked through and through with resentment and dejection, so that it had been impossible for him to speak or act without expressing these things, as involuntarily as a priest expressed solemnity or a clown the absurd. In short, he had been the very embodiment of a convicted prisoner. Now, all this-as near as she could perceive in the flickering half-light and street hubbub through which they were moving on-had disappeared, or very nearly so. She had always been puzzled by Nennaunir's devotion to Sednil. Now, she thought, she was seeing something like the young man whom Nennaunir had first known; before he, like herself, had fallen victim to the cruelty of the Sacred Queen.

"Well, it just never entered my head it'd be you," he answered. "But I suppose that was the idea, was it? Nowadays you have to be careful going about, I know that. I hope you've come so that I can thank you. Nan's told me what you did. The governor told me, too, come to that, when he gave me my release token. He gave me a letter for you as well: I meant to give it to Nan, but I forgot. It's back in my room now."

"You can give it to Brero later."

Now he set about thanking her in earnest, and that with an articulate warmth and fervor of which she would never have believed him capable. His sincerity went to her heart. Just as in the temple, on that morning of the festival when they had first met, she felt him to be someone like herself, someone whom she understood. Palteshi he might be, but she could tell without asking that he, like herself, had been born in a hut and known what it was to be glad of a lump of black bread. She was really delighted, now, to think that she had helped him; and relieved, too (for of this she had been doubtful before), to feel convinced that he was to be trusted with her secret.

"-And anything I can ever do for you-" he was saying,

when she put a hand on his arm and, again raising her veil, bent forward and kissed his cheek.

"There is: but it's a very big thing, and I don't want you to think as you've got to do it because you're under any obligation to me. It's not a favor, it's a job. It might be dangerous and I'm paying according. There's no one else I can possibly entrust with it, Sednil. If you don't want to take it on, I shall have to leave it."

Now he was once again the old, canny, worldly-wise Sednil.

"You'd better tell me a bit more about it, Maia."

Suddenly a girl flower-seller jumped up onto the step of the jekzha, jolting it and causing the jekzha-man to turn and swear at her.

"Lovely roses, saiyett! Lilies, look, sir, and this purple cresset, real cheap!"

She held up her basket so that the sweet, fresh scents filled the dark interior of the jekzha. Behind her array of blooms she herself looked pinched and tired. Maia slipped a five-meld piece into her hand.

"I'll take this rose. Keep the money, dear. Good-night, now."

The girl was beginning, "Oh, bless you, saiyett-" when the jekzha-man slapped her arm. She rounded on him, cursing, dropped off the step and was gone into the dusky commotion of the Sheldad.

Maia smelt the rose, tapping it pensively against her upper lip.

"Sednil, what would you say if I was to tell you-if I told you that I'm-in love-with a Katrian-an officer in Karnat's army?"

He did not laugh, or say "What?" or even come out with any sort of oath or exclamation. She could see that he believed her at once and took her seriously. For a little while he was silent; and she was silent too, waiting for him to answer her. And answer he did.

"If you said that to me, the first thing I'd ask is 'Where is he now?' "

"I don't know. And that's what it's all about, Sednil."

Slowly, and more than once with a catch in her voice, she told him how King Karnat had received her like a princess at Melvda-Rain; of the supper that evening, and of how Zen-Kurel had come to her house. As she went on to speak of their love and his promises, she began to

weep in good earnest; yet he made no attempt to calm or pacify her, only waiting and listening as she faltered out the end of her tale-Zen-Kurel's disclosure to her of the king's plan, the night-march of the army to the river and her own desperate resolve.

When she had finished he remained silent while she dried her eyes and composed herself. At length he said, "But I don't understand. If you loved this fellow-and you say you still love him-why ever did you risk your life to make sure Karnat's plan failed?"

She was astonished. "Why, Sednil, to save them all; to stop the bloodshed, of course! Dear Lespa, if only you'd seen what I've seen! Listen, and I'll tell you-if I can."

She told him of the night-crossing of the Valderra ford, of the slaughter of the patrol and how she had knelt over the dying Sphelthon. Then, for good measure, she added what the farm-girl Gehta had said to her about her terror of invasion; and lastly she spoke of the Tonildan detachment downstream of Rallur, which the Terekenalt army would have destroyed to a man.

"So if it hadn't 'a been for me, there'd have been another three hundred Tonildan fellows like that poor boy Sphelthon, and Cran only knows how many more besides. You must see that, Sednil, surely?"

"Oh, I can see it all right," said he, "and I admire you as much as anyone in the city. But what d'you suppose he thinks-your Katrian officer chap?"

"What he thinks?"

"Well, people in Terekenalt know what you did, same as people in Bekla. But on top of that, there's one thing your Zen-Kurel will know which no one else knows-that's if he's still alive and if he's had the sense to keep quiet. He knows how you learned about the plan, doesn't he?"

For the first time-for it must be remembered that in addition to her youth and immaturity she had hitherto been entirely land-locked, as it were, in her own memories and dreams of Zen-Kurel, and had never discussed her love with anyone-there began to dawn upon the ingenuous Maia some idea oi what Zen-Kurel must have felt upon hearing how the garrison at Rallur had been warned in time. Like a child to whom an adult points out something serious and unwelcome which till now has lain beyond the restricted field of personal experience, she sensed, vaguely yet dismally, that this was a matter she was not going to

be able to disregard or ignore; and began by trying to do just that.

"I don't reckon he'd be angry-not if I could talk to him, like-explain-tell him the rights of it-how I felt an' that."

"Don't you?"

"I would 'a done just that-told him how I felt-if only there'd been time: I would have! Fact I was starting to, only soon as he heard that trumpet blowing for the muster he was up and off-oh! that was so dreadful, Sednil! When I realized he was going to the fighting-" Her tears began to fall again.

"And you think he'd have listened to you, do you?"

"He loves me. We could have gone away together: we could have gone to his father's in Katria-"

"And him one of the king's personal aides? I thought you had more sense, Maia."

"Are you jealous of him? Is that it?" She knew this was nothing to the purpose, but anything was better than accepting the truth.

"Well, I might be, but that's not the point. What I'm asking is, do you really suppose this fellow feels the same about you-that is, if he's still alive-knowing what he can't help knowing now? 'Cos if I was him I'd want to cut you up into fifty bits, that's what."

As a last resort the Serrelinda fell back on her dignity. "Since you're so keen on what's the point, that's not the point either, U-Sednil. The only point as far as you're concerned is that I happen to want to know where Zen-Kurel is now. That's the job I'm talking about; just that and nothing more. He's an enemy of Bekla, fighting for King Karnat, so I've got to be careful how I go about it, haven't I? No one's to know. I'm offering you four thousand meld to go and find out for me, and that's what I came here to say tonight. Never mind what you think Zen-Kurel thinks: that's none of your business. Do you want the job or not?"

"Four thousand meld?" He was clearly startled.

The jekzha had gone the length of the Sheldad and they had now reached the place, not far from the western clock tower, where it broke up into the narrower streets and lanes of the poorer quarter of the city. The jekzha-man stopped and turned his head.

"Where to now, sir?"

Maia gave him fifteen meld. "Just turn round and go back. You needn't hurry."

He shrugged his shoulders, pocketed the money and made the turn, pushing his way through a crowd of roisterers outside a tavern. As they got clear, a snatch of tipsy song came up from behind.

"-So then she jumped right out of Karnat's winder: No one could hinder The Serrelinda-"

Maia could not suppress a chuckle. "Never heard that one before."

"Nor me. They don't tell you, then, when they make them up?"

"Just as well they don't, some of 'em."

At least it had blown away the ill-feeling between them.

"I'm sorry, Maia: you're the last person in the world I'd want to fall out with. Yes, I will do this for you-for you, and because I need the money. Four thousand meld! D'you really mean it? Cran, I could start a business with that!"

"That's if you come back, Sednil. Trying to get information about a Katrian-you'll be running a risk, you know. You can get to Urtah all right, I suppose?"

"That's no trouble: I could be looking for work, couldn't I? But how about the money?" asked Sednil. "When d'you-"

"Half now and half when jou get back. That's fair, isn't it? I brought it with me: two thousand. Here it is."

"You trust me that much, then? Two thousand-I could be off with that, you know."

"No, I trust you."

"It's just that I've got out of the way of being trusted, that's all." He paused. Then, "Yes, Maia, of course I'm jealous of this Katrian."

"Nennaunir loves you."

It was his rum to flare up. "Yes, so much that she wouldn't even speak up for me about that basting ring! She could have saved me-"

"Sednil, you couldn't expect it; you really couldn't. She would have, if the queen had sentenced you to the mines or to hang. She did all she could to get you out, and what's more she's succeeded-"

"You succeeded."

"She still loves you, Sednil. She's told me as much. And

now she's rich and successful you'd be a fool to leave her."

"Well, that's my business. But I shan't tell Nan about this: I'll simply teU her that I'm leaving Bekla to look for work, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You could go so far as to tell her you're going to Urtah. See, it's only that I don't like deceiving Nan any more 'n what we have to. She's been a good friend to me."

"I shall go to Dan first, Maia. For one thing, it's less likely to attract attention than if I were to go straight to Urtah from Bekla; but besides that, my old mother's still living in Dari-or she was-and I'd like to give her some of this money. And won't she be happy and proud to see her son with a branded hand and release token?" added Sednil bitterly.

"But can't you tell her as 'twasn't none of your fault?" said Maia. "She ought to believe you-her own son."

"Oh, yes, and then she can just explain to all the neighbors, can't she, and to everyone else who gets to hear? Poor old woman, she'll be glad of the money, though. But I won't waste any time in getting on with your job, Maia, I promise. I don't see why I shouldn't be back in under two months. You say this Zen-Kurel was brought up in Dari: well, I could have known him when we were banzis, couldn't I, and be wondering what had become of him? That's where I'll start asking around, and then perhaps move up into Urtah, or even cross the Zhairgen. I may not have to go to Suba at all."

"How will you let me know when you get back?"

"I'll watch out for your lame girl in the market and tell her."

"Here we are back at the bridge. Good luck, Sednil, and I'll pray for you. Don't forget to give Randronoth's letter to Brero, will you?"

69: AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Randronoth's letter-which bore the Canathron seal of Lapan-was short and so simple that Maia was able- though with effort and a certain amount of inference here and there-to read it for herself. That, she supposed, was probably what he had intended. "Beloved, beautiful Maia,

"I think of you always. I long to be with you again. I am sending you a present. Entertain and hear the messenger. He is my friend. He will tell you-" (The next bit was beyond her. Well, she thought rather impatiently, if he's going to tell me, don't matter, do it?) "He is to be trusted. Sednil is free, as you asked. Your devoted lover, Randronoth."

She put it aside without reflection. The memory of the Randronoth episode was most bitter to her, not through any fault of his, but on account of its horrible and humiliating outcome. She simply wanted to forget it, and to forget him too. She felt nothing for him, and his feeling for her both alarmed and vexed her. Like most outstandingly beautiful girls, Maia had no objection to being desired where she did not desire-it was unavoidable, anyway-provided the admirer's behavior remained within reasonable bounds. But for a man in a high position to be virtually unbalanced-what she herself called "touched"- on her account was worrying, simply because one never knew whether he might not do something embarrassing or even downright dangerous. The present, being from a provincial governor, would have to be accepted, of course. She only hoped it wouldn't prove to be one which would make it more difficult to refuse him what he wanted-for to refuse him she was determined.

Unless-she suddenly thought: unless-and try as she would, her sharp little peasant mind refused to drop it- unless Sednil were actually to find Zenka. Suppose Zenka were to say "Yes, come" (for she still did not believe that his love could have altered: I was there and Sednil wasn't, she thought), then she was going to need all the ready money she could lay her hands on.

Quite apart from that, however, she was in a fair old bit of money difficulty anyway. She was two thousand meld out of pocket to Sednil, to say nothing of the thousand she had lost along with Randronoth's nine thousand to Fbrnis. And then when Sednil got back (as of course he would) there would be another two thousand to find. No doubt about it, she was running short-or she was going to run short. If she were to accept Randronoth again but no one else, it would be certain to get out. Everyone would assume that they were lovers. But suppose she were to accept three or four men-Randronoth among them, perhaps-just once apiece, just to get solvent once more? It

went against the grain, certainly; it was clean contrary to her resolve that no one else should ever drink from that bright cup which she and Zenka had drained together. Yet what else could she do? And anyway she would be doing it only so that she could be ready at any moment to join him again-a swift and secret journey, involving instant down-payments and, no doubt, bribes. What sort of journey? Whither? Ah! this she could not envisage. But when the time came, Lespa would surely point the way.

It was early one evening-getting on for supper-time and the air cooling pleasantly-when Ogma came smilingly upstairs to tell her that a stranger was below and asking to see her. "He says he's from Lord Randronoth, miss," she said with obvious approbation, "and to show you this." It was yet another imprint of Randronoth's Canathron seal.

After taking her time over changing into a fresh robe and having Ogma brush and arrange her hair, Maia came leisurely down the staircase, paused for a minute in the hall to give Jarvil a few unnecessary instructions and then strolled into the parlor.

The man, who was sitting near the window gazing out across the Barb, stood up as she entered. He was unexpectedly young-only a year or two older than herself; tall, with black hair falling below his shoulders, and eyes of so deep a brown as hardly to be distinguishable from the pupils. He was elegantly-almost foppishly-dressed in a slashed, crimson veltron and yellow silk breeches, and wore at his belt a pouch or scrip of fine, tooled leather embossed with the Canathron emblem.

"Good evening, saiyett," he said, crossing the room and taking her hands. "My name is Count Seekron, of Lapan, and I come from Lord Randronoth. He sends you this gift and begs that you will graciously permit me to talk with you for a short time."

The unsmiling intensity of his manner somewhat disconcerted her. He gave the impression of being taut- indeed, one might have said strung-up, nervous. His hands, she noticed, as he picked up the gift-which he had left on a near-by table-were trembling slightly. She felt no particular wish to put him at his ease, yet from mere wonted good nature she smiled as she motioned him to sit down again and took the gift from him.

It was a miniature cabinet, about three inches long and

perhaps two inches wide and deep. The hinged doors, fastened together by a gold latchet, opened upon three tiny drawers, each lined with darkly-lustrous, gold-speckled lacquer. The top and sides, as well as the doors, consisted of panels of fine, white bone. Upon each the craftsman had carved in relief the likenesses of different fishes-twelve in all-and these, with their scales, fins, gills and eyes all perfectly represented, were stained and shaded in their natural colors. Eight tripartite comer-pieces of silver bound the seven panels together and the doors had flat, undulated hinges about an inch long. It was a miracle of skill and patient craftsmanship-and quite simply a rich woman's toy.

Maia had never before seen anything at all like this, and for some time kept turning it over in her hands, examining it with the same kind of incredulity and delight that the early Victorians must have felt upon first seeing photographs. She opened the perfectly-hung doors, pulled out the drawers and rubbed her fore-finger Wonderingly over the slightly raised simulacra of the fishes, for she could not at first believe that they were not fixed or applied, but actually formed part of the surfaces of the panels themselves. Artistry of this order was something entirely new to her. She could never have imagined it and needed a little time to take it in.

Randronoth was shrewd, she thought. No one-no one, that was to say, with the least spark of sensitivity-could resist such a present. It was not a question of courtesy to the giver, or even of money value (although the piece must be worth at least two thousand meld and very likely more). It was the thing itself. Simply to see it would be enough to make anyone want to possess it. It was the very exemplar of a rarity and of exquisite, gratuitous luxury: and it was hers.

How cunningly it had been chosen to appeal to her! Oh, that did not escape her! Gold, jewels, robes-any ordinary kind of opulence-she could have declined. But this marvelous, unique plaything-whatever could you keep in it, she wondered; pins, rings, spools of silk?-how perfectly it was calculated to suit and to be irresistible to her in particular! Occula, perhaps, might just possibly have been proof against it: no one else that she knew. Any obligation involved in acceptance appeared negligible as she turned it this way and that, continually perceiving fresh details of

skill and beauty. The piece was not only faultless; it was almost immoderate in the delicacy and quality of its workmanship.

"This-this is very kind of Lord Randronoth," she murmured at last, latching the doors and placing the cabinet back on the table. "Will you please thank him very much and tell him that I'm grateful and delighted?"

"Then he will be, saiyett," replied the young man, smiling for the first time; yet rather formally and a little unnaturally, she thought-as though he were not really interested in the cabinet, but had something else on his mind.

"I've never seen work like this," she went on, herself growing more relaxed in her pleasure over the gift. "Do you happen to know where it came from?"

"That I can't tell you, saiyett," he answered. "It's old, I know that much, and I rather believe Lord Randronoth's family's possessed it for some time; possibly it may have been his grandfather who acquired it, for I know he once traveled a long way to the south, beyond Ikat Yeldashay. He-"

But with this he suddenly and rather oddly broke off, once more getting up and walking over to her where she still stood beside the table.

"Saiyett," he said quietly, "I would like to-that is- er-Lord Randronoth wishes me to talk to you privately."

She frowned, startled. "Well, isn't this private enough for you?"

"I would prefer it if we could walk in the garden, saiyett."

She was on the point of refusing, for his peculiar, tense manner and lack of warmth (Maia was unaccustomed to detachment from men, particularly young ones) had not made her particularly like or want to oblige him. However, it would hardly do to accept Randronoth's present and then send his messenger packing unheard.

"I'll have some wine brought out on the terrace," she said.

"Or we might, perhaps, walk down as far as the edge of the lake, saiyett."

She stared at him, as though at an impertinent servant; but he only stared back at her unwaveringly, his pupils expanded, like a cat's, in the fading light. "This is a serious matter, not primarily one of courtesy," those eyes seemed to be saying. "Surely you realize that?"

Still intent on showing that she and not he was in control, she called Ogma to bring her light cloak and a jug of wine. She filled a goblet for herself and one for him. He sipped it, again with his blank smile; but when they had descended the steps and begun strolling side by side between the shrubs and flower-beds towards the shore, she noticed that he had left it behind in the parlor.

He seemed hesitant to begin, and this annoyed her still more.

"Well, I s'pose no one's going to hear us here," she remarked at length, "without it's an owl."

"Saiyett," he said, still speaking very quietly, "Lord Randronoth says that you will recall that at the end of this year the present Sacred Queen's reign comes to an end."

Instantly she felt afraid. All that Milvushina had said came flooding back into her mind. Yet now she realized that she had taken Milvushina's warning only partly seriously. That is, she had believed her, but had not envisaged the dangerous thing actually happening or how she was going to meet it if and when it did happen. She had certainly not expected it to come from this quarter.

"Well, what of it?" she answered sharply.

"Her successor will be chosen by acclamation of the people."

"But I suppose-" she turned aside for a moment, stooped and pulled off a dead head from a clump of flowering pinks-"that What'll really happen is that the Council will decide."

"The Council may be divided, saiyett, but the people are not: that is what Lord Randronoth asked me to stress to you."

Her knees were trembling and her bowels felt loose. There was a marble seat near-by, half-enclosed by trailing boughs, and here she sat down, laying one arm along the cool arm-rest. After a moment he also sat down, turning his head so that he was almost whispering in her ear.

"Fornis may make some desperate attempt to remain Sacred Queen, but this is bound to fail, because the people will not accept her. Already she has tried the patience of the gods too long."

Seekron paused, but Maia said nothing, only staring ahead across the darkening Barb.

"One might have expected the Lord General to choose as Sacred Queen some lady commanding universal fame

and approval. He has said nothing publicly, but it is known that in fact he favors the lady Milvushina, the daughter of the murdered Chalcon lord, Enka-Mordet; she who is now the consort of his son. He thinks that her election would do much to reconcile Chalcon to Bekla and diminish heldro opposition to the Leopards; and that when Elvair-ka-Vir-rion returns victorious from Chalcon, his popularity with the city will be so great that they will be ready to acclaim Milvushina as Sacred Queen."

"She is with child," said Maia shortly.

She meant no more than that Milvushina should be spared the stress, but Seekron evidently misunderstood her. "Exactly, saiyett: most inappropriate. But even setting that aside, the lady Milvushina, while she is liked well enough by the people, is not the lady whom they love and honor most. It was not she who swam the Valderra and saved the empire."

"Count Seekron," said Maia with a quick gasp, "I don't want to hear n' more of this. You just go home now and tell Lord Randronoth as I won't have anything to do-"

"Saiyett," he interrupted quickly, "have you reflected? They say-that is, I know that you have more than once said-that you swam the Valderra not to advance yourself, but to prevent bloodshed and save lives."

"Well, what of it?" she said. "What's that got to do with this?"

"Saiyett, there is only one lady in all the empire so famous, so beautiful and so much loved and honored by the people that they would be unanimous in acclaiming her as Sacred Queen. If you refuse, inevitably there will be civil strife and butchery. Before all's done, there will be six Sacred Queens and a thousand corpses for each. But if you accept, there will be unanimity and concord. Everyone believes that you, more than any woman in Bekla, possess the luck and favor of the gods."

Here was a new slant on the business and no mistake! Maia sat silent, trying to take it in. Her immediate feeling was of being assailed. The quiet evening garden, with the moths flitting over the planella; her own, pretty little house, from whose windows Ogma's lamps were beginning to shine-something menacing, ghostly, a tall, vaporous figure, seemed stalking near-by, half-glimpsed among the dusky trees. So vivid was this fancy that she gave a quick, cut-short whimper, drawing her cloak closer about her and

peering this way and that. Again Seekron misunderstood her. Plainly nervous, he stood up and also looked about them.

"Did you see someone, saiyett? Where?"

"No," she said. "You needn't worry. There's no one here 'ceptin' us." Then, "I don't want to be Sacred Queen. I want to stay 's I am."

"But the gods want it, saiyett! You must recall that in the past there have been many whom the gods have called to perform their work on earth, who at first could not credit the vocation, because they felt themselves to be nothing but the most ordinary people; because in their humility they knew themselves to be but flesh-and-blood. Remember Deparioth, an orphan and a slave, who-"

"Oh, give over!" she cried. "Let me be!" She sprang up and began pacing rapidly back and forth across the grass. "U-Seekron, leave me! Go back to the house and wait! I need to think: I'll join you in a few minutes."

She walked down to the lakeside. The stars were out now, brighter moment by moment as the last of the daylight ebbed away in the west beyond the Barons' Palace. As she turned her back on the lapping water and looked up the garden, she suddenly noticed something strange in the northern sky. Low down it was, an unusual patch of brightness, a kind of misty glow on the horizon; but whether man-made or natural she could not tell. Either seemed equally questionable. Yet there it was, a subdued luminosity, something like that preceding moonrise, though affecting a rather smaller area of the sky. For perhaps half a minute she stared at it, but was too much preoccupied with her own thoughts to concentrate upon it for longer. Whatever it might be, it was nothing to do with what had come upon her.

After a little it occurred to her that as yet she could not have heard the main part of whatever it was that Seekron had come to tell. Occula would undoubtedly have shown more self-possession. Occula would have heard him out and then either given him an answer or else-or else- (and here Maia grinned, feeling a little better) or else told him to damn' well baste off to Lapan without one. The least she could do was to hear the young man out, but on her own terms and-if only she could rise to it-with some air of authority.

Stooping, she wetted her hands in the lake and cooled

her burning cheeks. Then she walked back to the parlor, taking care, as before, to enter unhurriedly.

"You must forgive me, U-Seekron," she said, "for not being quite myself just now. I'm sure you'll understand it came as a bit of a shock, like." He was about to reply, but she went on quickly, "Now, listen. I've taken in what you said, and I don't want to hear n'more by the way of persuasion, d'you understand? You just tell me straight out and plain, now, what Lord Randronoth's message is, and then I'll see what I reckon to it."

"But, saiyett," he replied, "you must swear to say nothing to anyone.",

"I won't say nothing to anyone," she answered. "There you are: that's plain enough; never mind 'bout swearing. And you can tell me in here, too." And thereupon she refilled her goblet and sat down.

He had either to accept this or reject it. After a moment he decided to accept it.

"Saiyett," he said, again almost whispering, "Lord Randronoth has the whole of Lapan ready to declare for you as Sacred Queen. He believes that Bekla will acclaim you too. It may very well never come to conflict at all. Our immediate difficulty, however, is the Lord General's preference for the Lady Milvushina. As you know, many, though not all, of the Leopard Council support the Lord General, and besides, when Elvair-ka-Virrion returns victorious from Chalcon-" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, go on," she said.

"Lord Randronoth thinks we ought to prepare while Elvair-ka-Virrion is still away. He himself has already made sure of General Sendekar. You won't be surprised to hear that General Sendekar has told Lord Randronoth that he would be ready to go through fire and water for your sake. Without him, perhaps, we could not have hoped for so much. But as you know, a large part of the army will follow Sendekar."

Again he stopped and waited. Maia only trusted that she did not show the agitation she felt. Randronoth was one thing. Sendekar-unexcitable, rugged, kindly, decent Sendekar-was quite another. O Cran! she thought, don't say he's in love with me, too! That'd be a right old-

"Will you please go on, U-Seekron?" she said coldly.

"Saiyett, here are the names of seven men, either councilors or senior officers in Bekla now, whom Lord Ran-

dronoth either knows or has strong reason to believe will support him and support you. I am to ask you to-well, to make friends with these men-some you may know already, I dare say-entertain them, invite them to your house and so forth, but separately and at all costs without exciting the Lord General's suspicion. You need not yourself say anything to them about Lord Randronoth's scheme: in fact, better not. They will tell you what is afoot, when the time is ripe and according to the way in which matters develop."

Suddenly she could contain herself no longer. She broke out, "I want to know whether all this is because Lord Randronoth believes himself in love with me? Because if it is-"

"Oh, no, saiyett." He smiled condescendingly and indulgently, evidently feeling this to be a naive, over-youthful reaction. Why on earth, she thought, couldn't Randronoth have sent some older, more considerate man; someone a bit more relaxed and sympathetic?

"Lord Randronoth thinks that when you are acclaimed Sacred Queen, both the city and the empire will fall at your feet, and that those of your friends who have helped you, among whom he is proud to count himself one, will benefit accordingly."

"Well, you tell him from me-"

"One thing more, saiyett. Lord Randronoth is well aware that to entertain well, to give presents and to make reliable friends costs money. He's sent you some, to use as you think fit for the advancement of your cause-our cause."

"Money?" she said. "What do you mean, money? How much?"

"Forty thousand meld; later, of course, there can be more, if it's needed."

"Forty thousand meld, U-Seekron? You can't be serious!"

"Saiyett, I have it here." He touched the Canathron scrip at his belt.

"Oh, great Shakkarn!"

Forty thousand meld! she thought: and apparently, from what Seekron had said, this represented only part of Randronoth's total efforts so far in various quarters. He must be throwing virtually the entire resources of the Lapan treasury into the plot. She had no idea how provincial governors settled accounts with the Beklan Council, but

obviously there must be some sort of day of reckoning, and Randronoth would not be able to meet it. So unless there was something she did not know about, he was at this very moment past recall as a rebel against Kembri.

Well, but it might not come to rebellion. After all, merely to support a girl as a candidate to become Sacred Queen did not in itself constitute rebellion-though pretty obviously there was more at the back of this lot than just her becoming Sacred Queen. But anything could happen. Meanwhile, and immediately, a fraction of the huge sum she was being offered-a mere eight or nine thousand meld- would be enough to put her straight and get her out of her money difficulties. Yes, and to send a nice little bit to Morca and the family, too; for they had been much on her conscience since Tharrin died. Anyway, girls who had grown up in hovels on the Tonildan Waste didn't refuse enormous sums of ready money. Trouble next month? Next month's a long time off, she thought.

"Would Lord Randronoth expect me to render him accounts?" she asked.

"He said nothing to that effect, saiyett, but I hardly think so. After all-" he smiled again-"the expenditure might be rather difficult to itemize, don't you think?"

Forty thousand meld! Once she had learned from Sednil where Zen-Kurel was, she would be able to go to him like an arrow; go to him, too, with a dowry more than fit for a baron's daughter. And once out of the empire-

"I see," she said. "Well, you'd best come with me, U-Seekron. I've got a strong-box under the floor in the cellar. Give me the names: and you may tell Lord Randronoth that I'll do all I can to help him."

70: THE COMET AND THE SCALES

Two nights later, after supper, Maia was giving instructions about the money to be sent to Morca. It was a right old lot, too; more than Morca would have seen in her whole life, Maia felt sure of that. Sarget, whom she had consulted (though without mentioning Tharrin), had recommended one of his agents, a steady, middle-aged man who regularly traveled the fifty miles to Thettit-Tonilda with consignments of wine. The journey usually took three to four days

or even longer-loaded ox-carts being slower than an unencumbered man on foot-but Sarget thought it feasible enough for his agent to break off from the convoy at Hirdo and visit Lake Serrelind. A day should be quite enough for the business, and he could easily overtake the oxen before they reached Thettit. It was understood, of course, that Maia would make the detour worth his while.

Since Morca (like Maia herself) could more or less read simple words if she put her mind to it (her husband had taught them both as much as he himself knew of the tricky business) Maia had engaged a professional scribe to write a letter to be handed over with the money. When she came down to it, however, she could not find a great deal to say. Assuming that the family had already given Tharrin up for dead, she simply assured Morca that she knew he had died quickly and painlessly (why say more?) and that she herself had paid for his rites. She forgave Morca for what she had done and assured her that she bore no grudge. She sent her love to Kelsi, Nala and Lirrit and her blessing to the baby girl she had never seen. Then, on impulse, she added at the end, "Tharrin told me about my real mother, so now I understand you-and everything-better."

She had just handed over this letter to the man, together with the money, explained to him for the second time how to find Morca's hut and begged him to be sure to bring back word of how the girls were looking, when Ogma came running into the parlor, plainly frightened.

"Oh, miss!" she cried, not only interrupting Maia in mid-sentence but almost throwing herself into her arms as well, "Oh, miss, have you seen it? Oh, Cran, what's to become of us all, what's to-?"

"Ogma!" said Maia sharply. She felt thoroughly put out by the interruption. Ogma, for all her limitations, knew perfectly well the importance of keeping her place in front of visitors and strangers. "Pull yourself together! I don't know what you're on about, but whatever it is, just tell me sensibly."

"In the sky, miss!" whimpered Ogma.

"What?" cried Maia, now really angry. "Have you gone off your head?"

Disconcertingly, Ogma fell on her knees at Maia's feet.

"Oh, Miss Maia, don't be angry! It isn't only me! Everyone's that scared-everyone! I went up on the roof-only

I'd forgotten I'd left the clothes there to dry-and there it was! They're all out in the streets-everyone-"

This certainly sounded like trouble of some sort. What could it be-a riot? Bad news from one of the battle-fronts? She listened, but there was nothing to be heard. She turned to the man, shrugged her shoulders and asked him to be so good as to accompany her. Together they went upstairs and then up the flight of outside steps onto the flat roof.

The previous two nights had been, for once in a way, cloudy-at all events to the north and west-but tonight the sky was as clear as usual at midsummer. The sight that met their eyes caused Maia to start back with a cry, clutching at the parapet.

In the northern sky, fairly low though well clear of the horizon, hung a brilliant luminescence. "Star" it could scarcely be called, first because it was far brighter than any star, but secondly because its refulgence had an unde-marcated, gaseous quality, like an incandescent vapor, dimming at the periphery to become a kind of glowing fog as it spread into the surrounding void. From its lower edge tapered a streamer of filmy, powdery light, slightly inclined to the left, giving the whole phenomenon the likeness of a sword poised above the distant Gelt mountains. It appeared perfectly still and (unlike stars, which look like bright studs fixed into the sky and left there), as though invisibly but intentionally displayed by some supernatural agency.

Maia, oblivious of the man beside her, stared at it in dread. After a time (she did not know how long), like someone in a disaster or a wreck vaguely recalling the appointed procedure, she tried to stand unaided and extend her arms in the customary posture of prayer; but her knees gave way and she turned and clung once more to the parapet.

Faintly, in the lower city below, she could discern that the roofs were covered with people. There were all manner of sounds-calls and crying, ululations of prayer, what sounded like some soldiers raggedly singing a marching song-rising together in a cacophonous tumult, like that of a herd of frightened beasts, out of the obscure dimness. Yes, she thought; that was one thing the noises had in common; they all expressed fear. Yet the light itself was calm and silent as a seraph.

At this moment Sarget's man touched her arm.

"Saiyett, you're afraid: I'm afraid, too. This is a portent. Lespa's displeased, and who can tell why? But whatever it may foretell, the star itself won't do anything; nor we shan't alter anything, you and I, by standing here and letting it terrify us. Whatever's going to happen won't happen tonight."

Maia hardly heard him. The terrible thing, she thought, about the enigmatic light was its inescapability. You could not fly from it, you could not shut it out. If you were to run from Bekla to Zeray, it would still be there above you.

The man spoke again. "Saiyett, I'm just someone who works for U-Sarget, and you're a great lady of the upper city; I know that. But there are times-there are things- well, I've got two married daughters older than you. We're all men and women, saiyett-to Lespa we are. May I advise you?"

She nodded abstractedly.

"You swam the river, saiyett. That lot down there- you're their heroine. Whatever's coming, we can all try to keep our dignity, wouldn't you agree? Set them an example, you know."

Maia was highly suggestible and, as we know, it seldom took her long to make up her mind. "Yes, I would agree," she said, "and all I can say is 'Thank you'-'ceptin' I reckon as your daughters got the best father anyone could have. Ogma!" she called. "Bring me my cloak, please- the one with the embroidered stars. I'm going out!"

It is, on the whole, easier to appear brave when you already have a reputation that way and feel that courage is expected of you. Maia's third soldier was nowhere to be found, but this did not bother her now. Within twenty minutes the Serrelinda, dressed to kill, unveiled and seated in her golden jekzha, was entering the lower city through the Peacock Gate.

There was light enough for her to be recognized; and recognized she was, before she had gone two hundred yards down the Street of the Armourers. A big, brawny man-plainly one of the smiths-broke away from a crowd of his mates and ran across to the jekzha.

"Yes, it is the Serrelinda!" he called back over his shoulder. Then, standing squarely in the way and looking up at her, "What's up, lass? Are you leaving the city, or what?"

"Leaving? Of course I'm not leaving!" she answered.

There were seven or eight of them clustered round her now. "What on earth would I be leaving for?"

Their answers came all at once, like a handful of gravel thrown at her.

"The star-" "Unlucky-" "What's it mean?" "-unlucky-" "Where are you going, then?" "-quarrels among the gods, that's it-" "-we'll have to pay for it-" "What d'you make of it?" "Unlucky-"

"It isn't unlucky!" she cried, raising her two fists. "It isn't! That's where I'm going-" she pointed ahead, downhill-"to tell them not to be afraid! There's nothing to be afraid of! It isn't bad luck, it's good luck!"

"How d'you know that, eh?" asked the big fellow. "A bit of a girl like you-"

"Ah, and a pretty one an' all," said someone else.

"Because Lespa told me in a dream!" shouted Maia at the top of her voice.

"A dream, eh?" said a red-haired man in a short, sacking smock, who reminded Maia horribly of the Sacred Queen attired for her pleasure. "What's dreams?-just a lot of rubbish-"

"Then I s'pose you reckon it was all rubbish when Lespa told me King Karaat's battle-plan in a dream, do you?" said Maia.

This came out with the greatest conviction. In the moment that she was saying it she believed it herself. "And I s'pose you'll say next that it wasn't Lespa who brought me safe across the river? D'you want to make her angry, talking like that? I tell you-this star's the sword of Bekla, come to destroy her enemies!"

"Is that the rights of it, saiyett?" asked the big man. "Honest?"

"Of course it is!" answered Maia. "Give me patience! Lespa sends you the best sign for a thousand years, and you stand there wondering whether it's good or bad-"

It was not only her beauty-that clear and patent sign of the favor of the gods-but her whole manner, her air of joyous confidence in the midst of their anxiety, which they found more convincing than any words.

"I believe her!" shouted an older man. "Well, stands to reason, don't it? If the goddess was going to tell anyone, it'd be the Serrelinda she'd tell. Hasn't she had the goddess's favor all along?-and damned lucky for all of us, too! She's right, the star's good!"

By this time a considerable crowd had gathered round the jekzha, and Brero and his mate were fidgeting uneasily in the shafts.

"Where d'you want to go, then, saiyett?" asked the big smith. "You want to go down the Market and tell the lot of them, is that it?"

"Yes, Baltis, yes!" cried Maia; at which there was a roar of laughter, while someone called out "She even knows his name!" Smiths throughout the empire were generically called Baltis, but evidently this had been a rather luckier shot than that.

They opened up the way for her, calling out "Maia! Maia!" and striding along beside the jekzha as the soldiers pulled it down the hill and into the sandy expanse of the Caravan Market. Here all manner of people-slaves, stall: keepers, shearrias, beggars, merchants, tradesmen and their wives-were gathered in groups, gazing northward at the comet and talking together; some among themselves in low voices, others loudly and excitedly, arguing and gesticulating. A few booths were open and one or two hawkers were also seizing the opportunity for business. In the half-darkness it was difficult to tell how many people might be there altogether, but Maia guessed perhaps a thousand.

"Are you going to the Scales, then, saiyett, or where?" asked Brero over his shoulder.

When Maia, prompted by the words of Sarget's man, had first set out, she had simply had it in mind to go down to the lower city, walk about among the people and show them that at any rate she, a popular public figure, was not afraid. As so often, she had acted on impulse and without any clear idea of what she thought was likely to ensue. In the Street of the Armourers she had answered spontaneously. Now-or so it appeared-she seemed expected to make some kind of speech. Yet she had no idea what to say.

The plinth of Fleitil's bronze Scales-those same onto which Selperron had climbed to get a look at the Serre-linda-was not infrequently used as a rostrum, both by official and unofficial public speakers. Possibly the smiths and armourers had not thought of the Scales until Brero spoke, but they did now all right.

" 'Course she is, soldier!" shouted Baltis. "Why don't you pull her up the ramp? Then she needn't even get down."

At one end of the plinth was a long, gently-inclined ramp, and up this (in the absence of any instruction to the contrary from the dazed Maia) the soldiers now drew the jekzha. Seconds later she found herself some six or seven feet above the sandy market-place, looking down on bobbing heads, flaring torches and everywhere faces, young and old, male and female, all unconsciously revealing their common anxiety and disquiet.

They had something else in common, however; they all knew her. She was their Serrelinda, their swimmer, the girl who had raised nine thousand meld in twenty minutes and given the lot (so they supposed) to the Chalcon expedition. She'd come for some purpose or other-that much was plain. They crowded round the Scales expectantly.

Maia was filled with a dismaying sense of her own lack of confidence and authority. If she had been going to dance, or even just stand up to be admired, she would have felt fine, but now-oh, Cran, it was like a dream!-she'd got herself into a situation where they were all waiting for her, not to dance but to speak. Looking round helplessly she saw yet again, hanging above the roof-tops to one side of the dark, slender column of the Tower of the Orphans, the silent presence of the comet. This was what they were all afraid of. So was she, but not in the same way that they were. They feared it, in ignorance, as a threat and a herald of disaster. She feared it as any true, loving worshipper fears and holds in awe the manifest revelation of the deity. Lespa was her guardian, her friend; what hadn't Lespa done for her? But awesome indeed, now, was this hitherto-unimagined majesty and glory of the astral Lady of Dreams.

She could only pray for help. Climbing down from her jekzha, she faced the sword of light and raised her arms. Her prayer was unspoken yet passionate.

"Lespa, bestower of dreams and truth, mistress of order-of stars and seasons, moon and menstrual blood- you brought me here from the Tonildan Waste. I've always honored you, dear goddess! Grant to me now that self-abandon and humility which you showed in your sacred union with Shakkam."

There was no time for more. Turning back towards the people below, she stepped forward to the edge of the plinth, hearing in her heart as she did so the cool voice of Occula, "A pretty girl, banzi, starts a yard ahead. What happens

after that's up to you, but often the yard can make all the difference."

"Good people," she cried, "I've come to tell you that Lespa's spoken to me in a dream! Just as she spoke to me in Suba and brought me back safe, so now she's sent me here tonight."

She stopped. Her mouth felt dry. She could not see their faces so clearly as she would have liked, but at least no one had interrupted. Yet she could find no more words.

"Her message, saiyett?" called a voice.

That was better; she could at least answer a question. "The star!" she said, pointing. "It means good and not harm to the city! There's no reason to be afraid! That's Lespa's message!"

"Tell us your dream, then, little saiyett," shouted someone else; and there were murmurs of agreement.

"That I mustn't do," she replied, spreading her hands and shaking her head. "If you don't want to believe me, I can't help it. But I've come because Lespa sent me, to say she means us good and not harm. The star's sent for a blessing! That's why I'm not afraid, and nor should you be."

At this there was some cheering, yet somehow it lacked conviction. So distrustful and canny is the human heart that, faced with the unknown, the strange and imponderable, it is always less ready to impute good than ill, and often, even when misgivings have been disproved on clear evidence, will obstinately cling to them, as though reluctant to be deprived of the opportunity to feel hapless and accursed.

"She's right!" shouted Baltis. "Hasn't she been right all along?"

"Right for old Sencho, you mean," called out someone, with a sneering laugh. "You been listening to them big blue eyes and deldas, mate, that's your trouble."

"I been listening to her as swum the river, damn you!" answered Baltis angrily. "Are you telling me-"

Maia began to realize that if the matter were to come to contention, she had already exhausted whatever powers of persuasion she had ever possessed. Circumstances had not allowed her to go about the business as she had originally intended. Still, she had done her best and said what she had to say: it would go round the city. The thing to

do now-if only she could manage it-was to make her departure with dignity.

Standing on the plinth above the bickering roughs-their oaths in her ears, their sweat in her nostrils-she now became aware of some new entry taking place on her left, from Storks Hill on the far side of the market-place. The torchlight was too patchy and intermittent to enable her to make out exactly what was happening, but she could see two files of soldiers-oh, Cran, yes! there must be twenty at least just gone across the lighted front of that stall-and hear authoritative cries of "Back, there; back! Make way!" i

What could it be? Something important from Chalcon? Could they have taken Santil-ke-Erketlis prisoner, or perhaps one of his captains? Suddenly the horrible thought came to her that Fornis might have returned. She thought of the cat on the wall. Fornis couldn't miss her, stuck up here on the plinth. Well, yes, but Fornis could hardly shoot her here, in the full public gaze. (Oh, couldn't she just? whispered an inner voice: that's all you know.)

Whoever it was, they were coming straight towards her, the soldiers in their two files carrying spears and torches alternately. People were scattering left and right. No, it could hardly be anything from Chalcon, for there were no sounds of cheering or acclaim. Nor could it be the Sacred Queen, or there would have been attendant women. Suddenly she recognized the chief priest, dressed in full regalia and carrying his staff of office. No sooner had he crossed the patch of light in which she had glimpsed him than he was immediately followed by the hulking figure of Kembri.

The soldiers-presumably in response to an order, though she had heard none-halted about forty yards from the Scales. She could see them clearly enough now. Her armourers and their disputants had fallen silent and were no longer looking at her.

The Lord General walked slowly and deliberately forward until he was a yard or two below her. There he stood still and looked up without speaking.

Kembri, though lacking the warmth and sociability ever to have become, like his son, a popular figure with the mob, was nevertheless held in respect as a strong, resolute man, a firm ruler and an able general. To most he represented security and his imposing presence, stern and tenebrous, never failed in its public effect. Yet now, as

they stood face to face, the strikingly beautiful girl looking down upon the grim, black-bearded soldier, it seemed as though each possessed-and of this the watchers undoubtedly had an intuitive sense-a counter-balancing, complementary authority; bestowed, as it were, by different (and perhaps emulous) deities. If the Lord General was someone to be reckoned with, then so too, in her way, was the Serrelinda.

Kembri himself must have felt something of this; or perhaps, more prosaically, he merely apprehended, surrounding Maia like a kind of invisible nimbus, the devotion of the people; for though his bearing suggested anything but amity, he still said nothing, his intention being perhaps to agitate Maia into speaking first. She too, however, remained silent, standing outlined against the light of the comet behind her shoulder.

At length the Lord General, speaking so quietly that he was heard by no more than those immediately about them, said, "What are you doing here, Maia?"

"Speaking to the people, my lord."

"About what?"

"About the star."

"Why?"

"My lord, there was that many as seemed frightened and didn't know what to make of it, and I reckoned I might be able to reassure them, like."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not afraid of it, my lord: I know it's for good and not for harm."

"And do you think it's your business to interpret the stars; or the priests'?"

Maia hesitated. "Well, I'm sure I never meant no harm, my lord, not to the priests nor to anyone else. I was just speaking as I felt, like, and I didn't see as it could do any damage."

By now all in the market-place-and to Maia there seemed to be more every minute-had come crowding about the Scales and were listening to as much of the talk as they could catch.

For perhaps a quarter of a minute the Lord General stood silent with as much composure as if he had not been surrounded by an uncertain-minded crowd of a thousand or more. Then he strode across to the end of the ramp and began to climb it, no one saying a word as he did so.

Maia was conscious only that Kembri, while stopping short (probably in his own best interests) of actually having her thrown down or otherwise publicly disgraced, had plainly indicated that she had overstepped the mark. Faced with this situation, all her peasant stubbornness was aroused. She feared the Lord General as the peasant fears the landlord-because he had power. But although she now realized that she might have appeared to be anticipating the professional astrology of the priests, she also felt that in voicing her personal feelings about the comet she had uttered no more than anyone else up and down the city. She'd done no wrong and she didn't see why she should shift. Anyway there was nowhere to shift to, stuck up here.

Arrived on the plinth, however, Kembri simply ignored her, turning to the people below. Having a deep, resonant voice-always a great advantage in a commander-he hardly needed to raise it, so that he gave no least impression of self-consciousness or of straining to convince the crowd by rhetoric.

"I have been at the temple of Gran, conferring with the chief priest and his experienced astrologers about the meaning of this star. The chief priest is with me now, and we are returning together to the upper city to consult with the Council. Tomorrow the heralds will announce the results of our deliberations." He paused. "To arrive at the truth, reliably and responsibly, is like making a good sword or choosing a good wife. It takes time. That is what your priests and rulers are doing for you now, and I shall leave you in order to go and get on with it."

With this he walked back down the ramp, rejoined the chief priest and immediately set off across the market in the direction of the Street of the Armourers, the tryzatt superior hastily calling his men to order and overtaking him with something of a scramble.

"What about that, then, missy, eh?" called out the man who had spoken of Sencho.

"I didn't come here to argue," answered Maia hotly, "or to disagree with the priests; and you needn't think it. I simply came to say what the goddess told me. I don't stand to get anything out of this at all-"

"Except to make yourself look important," said the man.

"How can she make herself look any more important than what she is now, you damn' fool?" shouted Baltis. "Why don't you shut your blasted mouth?" And thereupon

there was something of a concerted movement towards the man on the part of Maia's little group of armourers, which made him hastily follow Baltis's suggestion.

"Anyway, I'm going home now," called out Maia. "Thank you all for listening to me! Baltis!"-and, as he turned and looked up at her-"Catch!"

Normally she wouldn't have risked it, but she was chagrined, provoked and overwrought by what had happened, and in no mood to care a curse. Without giving Baltis a second's pause to grasp what she meant to do, she leaped off the plinth, flinging herself at him where he stood below. It took him entirely by surprise and he was only just in time to catch her. As it was, she hit her forehead rather painfully against his cheekbone and had to save herself by throwing her arms round his neck. Kissing him quickly on both cheeks, she slid to the ground.

"Stars alive, lass, you want to be a bit more careful! You very near-"

She held up her arms, smiling on those about her. "Thank you-all of you! Good-night!" And with this she tripped across to the foot of the ramp and climbed back into her jekzha.

At least there was no doubt about the continuance of her popularity. She was cheered out of the Market, while a dozen young fellows contended with one another to give her soldiers a hand up the Street of the Armourers.

All the same, she couldn't help covertly shedding a few tears, and once back at home wept in earnest; partly from nervous exhaustion, but mainly from resentment. She'd only meant to reassure the people, and that despite the fact that she'd begun by being afraid herself. She'd never meant to go up on the Scales. How in Cran's name was she to know that Kembri and the chief priest would be coming back from the temple? Somehow it had all gone wrong.

However, once she had had a leisurely bath, got into bed and had Ogma bring her a good strong posset mixed with djebbah, she began to feel better, and soon fell asleep without the least trouble.

She was yet to learn exactly how wrong it had gone.

71: A VISIT FROM KEMBRI

Next morning Kembri, having apparently come on foot and alone, found Maia in the company of Nennaunir and Otavis, whom he immediately asked, not discourteously but nevertheless without apology, to leave. He refused wine and, Ogma having characteristically left the parlor door ajar, told Maia to shut it.

"Now, Maia, perhaps you'll tell me a little more about how you came to be on the Scales last night and exactly what you thought you were doing."

Haltingly, and with several pauses (for what had happened was not entirely what she was saying had happened: for example, she had no wish to involve Sarget's man, who should by now be well on his way to Serrelind), Maia spoke of how she had seen the comet, how she had heard and felt the general dismay in the lower city and decided to set out with the idea of raising public confidence by showing herself unafraid.

"The truth is, my lord, when I first saw the star I was as much afraid as the rest, but then I got to thinking that as they all knew me and liked me, p'raps I could cheer them up a bit-that was about the size of it."

"I see. But I'm told that you said, publicly, that you'd had a dream-that Lespa had spoken to you about the star."

"That's right, my lord." (There could be no denying this now.)

"What was the dream?"

"Why, my lord, I simply saw the goddess. She was- well, she was walking in a wood, like in the Shakkarn story, only it was night, and she-er-pointed up at the stars and said 'Don't be afraid: it's good and not bad.' That was all." (It was the best she could do, anyway.)

"When did you have this dream?"

"Night before last, my lord."

"And yet you say that when you saw the star last night you were afraid?"

"Yes, my lord, I was. See, I only remembered the dream after a minute or two; then it all came back to me, like."

"But if you thought the dream was so important, why didn't you take it to the proper place; to the temple?"

" 'Cos I never thought of it, my lord."

"I see. But I'm also told that you said, before you got up on the Scales, that you'd had a dream in Suba and that that was how you got to know about Karnat's plan. If that's true, it's more than you ever said to Sendekar or to me. To the best of my knowledge you've never spoken of how you came to learn Karnat's plan, and as you evidently didn't wish to tell us, I respected your wish and refrained from asking you. Yet now you've been out telling workmen and laborers in the lower city that you dreamt it. Are you setting up to be a visionary, or what?"

"No, my lord: 'twas nothing o' that sort, really. I just got a bit carried away, that's all. It was all along of arguing, like, with some of those armourer chaps. Truth is, I never meant to get up on the Scales at all. I only meant to go down to the lower city and let people see as I wasn't afraid, whoever else might be. I meant to do good, my lord, and I can't for the life of me see as I've done any harm."

"Can't you?" And as he said this the Lord General looked so dire and baleful that poor Maia felt positively appalled.

"My lord, if you're angry, then all I got to say is I don't deserve it! It was you as sent me to Suba with Bayub-Otal, and that very near cost me my life. I done everything you wanted and more. I've got nothing against you nor anyone in the city. I only want to be let to live in peace and quiet."

"I should like to feel sure of that, Maia." He had been sitting on a high-backed, carved chair-a gift to the Ser-relinda from the citizens of Thettit-but now he stood up and began pacing slowly up and down the room. "I know, of course, that at the barrarz you sold yourself for nine thousand meld, which my son gave out was to go towards the cost of the expedition."

"I never kept a meld of it, my lord."

"Then where did it go, Maia? For it won't surprise you that I happen to know it never reached the army."

"It went to the Sacred Queen, my lord. I thought Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion would have told you."

"Why were you getting money for Fornis under a lying pretense of helping the expedition?"

She reminded him of how she had come to him to plead for Tharrin, only to be referred to the Sacred Queen; and then, restraining her tears as best she could, went on to recount how Elvair-ka-Virrion had suggested the auction and how she had found Tharrin dead next morning; only

omitting, for Pokada's sake, what he had told her of As-haktis's visit to the jail.

"I see," he said yet again. She was expecting him at least to express some pity for Tharrin and sympathy for herself, but he was evidently preoccupied with more important considerations.

"Well, that explains a certain amount. But I'm still wondering, Maia, what your real purpose may have been in going down to the lower city last night and speaking from the Scales."

"It was like I've said, my lord; that and nothing else. I wish you'd tell me straight out what's on your mind."

"I will, then. In a few months' time the Sacred Queen's four-year reign is due to end. It's the wish of Lord Du-rakkon, as well as of the Council and the army, that she should be succeeded by the lady Milvushina. They have excellent reasons, with which I entirely agree."

"Well, I c'n promise you, my lord, I don't wish it no different, that I don't."

He continued as if she had not spoken. "But the Sacred Queen, by ancient custom, is chosen by acclamation of the people of Bekla. Now, Maia, if the people were called upon tomorrow, whom do you think they'd acclaim?"

She was silent.

"And if that girl goes about the lower city telling tales about Lespa revealing Karnat's plans to her in dreams, and claiming to know the meaning of the star before the priests have had time to utter a word, what am I and the Council to think?"

"My lord, I never give it a thought! 'Tweren't like that, not a bit! Honest, I give you my word I don't want to be Sacred Queen!"

"No? Then I'm puzzled, Maia. The night of the barrarz you spent with Randronoth, didn't you?"

"Yes, my lord. And as for why, I've just told you."

"I can understand you not particularly wanting to become a shearna-you've got money enough without-but I find it puzzling that apparently-I say apparently-you've taken no lover since you came back from Suba. I'm not the only person to think that strange."

Yet even he could never guess about Zen-Kurel, she felt sure. She need only decline to offer any explanation.

"Well, after all, that's my own affair, my lord, if I just

don't feel inclined. It's of no importance to anyone else as I can see."

"I'm afraid that's where you're wrong, Maia. If you were a nobody, it would be different; but you're not, as you're perfectly well aware yourself. I want to know-is Ran-dronoth your lover?"

"No, he's not, my lord! I only ever went to bed with Lord Randronoth the twice: once was last year, when I was still a slave at the High Counselor's and he told me to, and the other was at the barrarz, because he was the one as bid the most."

The Lord General sat down again and faced her. "Yet not long ago he sent one of his young noblemen from Lapan-a man called Count Seekron-to visit you here, didn't he?"

Maia colored, and saw that this was not lost upon Kembri. He had taken her unawares. After a few moments, however, it dawned on her that Randronoth had forethought that Kembri would be bound to learn of Seekron's visit and had already put her in the clear.

"Yes, certainly, my lord. He came to bring me a present from Lord Randronoth. P'raps you'd like to see it: here it is."

Kembri examined the carved miniature cabinet carefully, opening and shutting it and turning it over in his huge hands.

"Very pretty. Very valuable, too, I should imagine. Hardly the kind of present a man gives a girl for a casual night's pleasure, do you think?"

"My lord, men send me presents from all over-men I've never even seen, some of thenv The house is full of presents."

"Hardly of this quality, perhaps. Was there a letter with it?"

"Yes, my lord; but I get dozens of letters no different. I never answer them; I throw them away. Lord Randronoth may fancy himself in love, but that's nothing to me, I can assure you."

There was a long silence. Maia began to be filled with a certain sense of having kept the water out. It occurred to her, however, that many people buried valuables under their cellar floors and that she would not put it entirely past Kembri to have hers dug up. She had better find somewhere else: quickly, too.

At length the Lord General stood up, took a step forward and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Maia, you won't have forgotten the day when we talked about adventurers. There's only one touchstone an adventurer's judged by: success or failure. I'll be frank with you. I respect you because you've been extraordinarily successful. I have two reasons for not doing away with you-"

"Doing away with me, my lord?" She stared at him aghast.

"Just that. Pull yourself together: this is the real world, Maia. One reason's personal and the other's-well, public. First, even a man like me's not entirely devoid of human feelings. I admire what you achieved in Suba and I feel as grateful to you as anyone else in Bekla. But just supposing, Maia, that there was someone in Bekla who didn't feel in the least grateful to you, who hated you and wanted to do away with you, they'd still find that very difficult and even dangerous, because of your enormous popularity. There are many people in the lower city who believe you're more-or-less divine. It's no exaggeration to say that if you were thought to have been murdered, it would probably be very hard to keep the people under control. That's the real reason why you haven't been. By Fornis, I mean," he added, as she remained looking incredulously up at him.

She answered never a word. His talk of murder-and her realization that he was speaking of it as matter-of-factly as he might have spoken of repairing a highway or collecting a provincial tax-had numbed her.

"So you're the people's pretty mascot. There's no real harm in that, unless-unless, Maia, you let yourself become an implement in the hands of unscrupulous people who try to make use of you for subversive ends. Are you quite sure that you didn't go down to the Scales last night with the idea of increasing your personal influence in the city?"

This, at least, she could answer with truth and conviction. "Absolutely certain, my lord."

"Well, take care you're not misunderstood again, Maia, that's all. I'll say this much: I believe you when you say you don't want to be Sacred Queen. I don't see you as-" he paused, then shrugged-"ambitious. There are people to whom the possession of real and actual power's worth more than anything else-more than money, health, friends,

peace of mind. To certain people nothing outweighs the possession of power. Fornis is that sort of person. So was that black girl-friend of yours, in her own way. That's why I still believe she probably had some sort of hand in Sen-cho's murder: she was the sort of person who would. You're not." For the first time he smiled, though somewhat constrainedly. "But people who don't live for power, Maia, are usually people who want to lead normal lives and gratify normal appetites and desires. If you don't want to be misunderstood and fall under suspicion, why don't you find yourself a rich, noble husband and settle down to the sort of life and position most girls would give their eyes for? You could have virtually anyone you like; you must know that. I strongly suggest you get on with it, do you see?"

She could not answer him. Nor could such a conversation, now clearly ended, be convincingly followed by any polite small talk.

"I'll think over your lordship's advice very carefully," she said.

Ten minutes later, having walked with him as far as her gate, she was down in the cellar, removing Randronoth's money to a less conjecturable hiding-place.

72: FRIENDS IN SECRET

She was walking in the big, smooth-grazed meadow with Gehta, the girl who had befriended her at the farm on the journey to Urtah.

"Why don't you find yourself a rich, noble husband?" said Gehta. "It means good and not harm."

She was carrying Randronoth's carved cabinet of the fishes in one hand. She opened it and showed Gehta a sheet of parchment, sealed at the foot.

"That's an order of release," she said. "It's entirely correct; I've only to take it down there. Then Zenka and I can be married."

"Ah," said Gehta, "but dad's farm's slap in the way."

Then she was running with Zenka-her own, dear Zenka-his staff officer's badges on his shoulders and a dagger in his hand.

"Forms-I'm going to kill her first," he said. "I'm utterly in love with you, Maia. I'll always love you. We'll meet

again in Bekla and I'll marry you, if only you'll have me."

"Oh, Zenka," she cried in an agony, "don't go! Don't go! You'll be killed, I know it!"

"What kind of talk's that, Miss Maia?" And with this he began to fade and disappear before her eyes, like morning mist on Crandor. "What kind of talk's that, Miss Maia, Miss Maia?" And she was pitching in the Valderra, rolling hither and thither, struggling for her life.

"Miss Maia, Miss Maia! Oh, Gran and Airtha, you care a hard one to wake sometimes and no mistake!"

She was in her great, soft bed, with Ogma standing beside her. "Oh, miss, I been calling and shaking you very near to pieces, that I have! I was going to let you sleep on, see, only there's a girl downstairs with a message. She says it's important and she's been told she's to give it you herself."

Maia rubbed her eyes, yawning, and blinking at the sunshine.

"Do you know her, Ogma?"

"No, miss, but I done like you said and made sure she hadn't got no knife nor nothing of that."

"Where's she from?"

"From the Sacred Queen's palace, miss. She says her name's Chia and you know her."

"Chia? A big, dark girl with a squint and an Urtan accent?"

"That's her, miss. She seemed upset you wasn't awake. Said she couldn't stay all that long. That's why I come and woke you."

"Send her up here now."

A minute later Chia came hesitantly into the big, sunny, white-painted bedroom, gazing about her as though in fear. Her cropped hair was tousled and dirty: she was wearing a dirty sacking smock and had a shrinking, cringing manner, different indeed from the blustering, hefty lass in Lal-loc's hall who had stuffed her apple core down Maia's neck. She looked under-fed, too, and it was easy enough to guess that she was no stranger to ill-treatment. Seeing Maia sitting on the edge of the bed, she stood stock-still and raised her palm to her forehead with downcast eyes.

"For Cran's sake, Chia," said Maia, jumping up and taking her hands, "don't do that! How are you?"

"Oh, saiyett-"

"And don't call me saiyett, without you want to make

me feel a total fool. Come and sit down. Would you like some breakfast?"

Chia nodded speechlessly and Maia called down to Ogma to double everything she was getting ready to bring upstairs.

It proved difficult to draw Chia out, but after she had wolfed down two or three eggs, half a loaf of bread and butter, most of a honeycomb, a pint of milk and some fruit, she began to gain confidence. Maia, sitting beside her in the window-seat, begged her not to hurry away. "I'll see as you don't get into trouble," she said. "That's to say, long as you haven't run away?" .

Chia shook her head. "No; it's a message."

"From the queen?" Maia, fearful, looked at her tensely. "Has she come back?"

"No, she's still in Paltesh, far's I know. It's from Zuno."

"Well, then, it can wait. Tell me what's been happening to you since we left Lalloc's."

Chia's story would have drawn tears from a basilisk. Not long after Maia and Occula had left for the upper city to be sold to Sencho for fifteen thousand meld apiece, she had found herself on the block in the Slave Market, one of a job lot of six or seven unattractive but strong girls suitable for domestic work. She had not understood the bidding and had no idea how much they had been sold for; but she knew-and had good reason to know-who had bought them: the Sacred Queen's household bailiff. Since that day, the only occasion on which she had left the kitchen quarters at the palace had been when she was taken upstairs to be beaten in front of Maia. Upon her first arrival in the queen's house she had had a recurrence of the illness about which she had told Maia at Lalloc's; and had nearly died of it, since no one had paid her the least attention, except to drag her to her feet and set her to work as soon as she was sufficiently recovered to show fear of punishment. She had been ill-fed, worked from morning till night and never allowed further than the yard. Once-and at this point in her account she did break down-a letter had come for her, brought by a carrier from northern Urtah who had actually taken the trouble to go to Lalloc's and find out where she was. Herself unable to read, she had asked for help from the housekeeper, who, having taken it from her and read it, had torn it up and told her to get back to work.

Naturally the kitchen-slaves, like everyone else in Bekla, had heard how Maia swam the river, and Chia had let it be known that the two of them had been together at Lal-loc's. One morning, many weeks later, Zuno had come down to the kitchens with a message that the Sacred Queen wished to know whether any of the slaves had ever been friendly with Maia. Chia, of course, had had no least idea what would follow. While being beaten she had been in such agony that she had not even realized that Maia had come into the room or had interceded for her. She had never known that Maia had been there at all, and had understood nothing about the business until now.

All this made Maia so angry that she was past caring what she did.

"You say Zuno sent you here this morning?"

"Yes, sai-I mean, Maia. He came downstairs and told the housekeeper it was me as was to go."

"I see: so you've got every business to be here. That's all I need to know."

Having told Ogma to get a bath ready for Chia, Maia sent Jarvil out to fetch a professional scribe. When Chia came downstairs an hour later, dressed in one of Maia's second-best robes (which was rather too small for her), Maia kissed her and said, "Well, now I'm going to read you two letters, so just sit down and listen.

" 'To the Sacred Queen's Household Bailiff. Sir, I write to inform you that I am purchasing your slave, Chia of Urtah, for the sum of two thousand meld, a price which I imagine you will not be disposed to regard as inadequate. The money is with the bearer of this letter, which you should receipt and return to me by his hand. Chia I have already sent to northern Urtah on personal business of my own. Maia Serrelinda.'

" 'To Surdad, elder of-you'll have to tell me the name of the village, Chia-'greetings. The bearer of this letter is Chia, a girl whom you will recall that you selected for your Beklan slave quota last summer. She has been my slave, but on account of her excellent conduct I have freed her and sent her home. Please assure me by return that she will never be included in any future slave quota. Maia Serrelinda.' " Chia was so much overcome by this that she could not really pay attention to Maia's dispatch of Jarvil to the palace with the first letter and the money. It was not until Brero was being asked whether he would oblige

by accompanying her down to the market and handing over the necessary payment for her to join the next caravan for north-eastern Urtah, Gelt and Ortelga, that either of the girls remembered that in the first place Chia had come with a message. They both burst out laughing, as much from high spirits as anything else.

"Well, what is the message?"-asked Maia. "From Zuno, you said?"

"He said your friend hoped you'd come-"

"My friend? Which friend?"

"That's all he said, Maia; 'your friend.' "

After a moment Maia guessed that Occala's very existence in the queen's private entourage was probably kept so secret that the ordinary household slaves were unaware of it. For the matter of that Kembri, from the way he had talked, apparently supposed that Occula was dead.

"I see. Well?"

"Your friend hoped you'd come tonight, once it was dark, and if possible bring-what was the name? Oh, yes, Milvushina. It's important, but come the back way and try not to be noticed, Zuno said."

As soon as Chia, in tears of gratitude and sufficient funds for her journey, had left with Brero, Maia sent Ogma to Kembri's house with a pressing invitation to Milvushina to come to supper that evening. She herself could not help feeling rather apprehensive. She had hitherto supposed that Occula must have left Bekla with the Sacred Queen: evidently she had not. Why? If Occula had something on her mind which had made her risk sending for them both, it must be important.

There was no moon and despite the great comet, still burning if anything brighter in the north, the night was dark for summer. Brero, whom Maia had asked to say nothing about the visit, accompanied the two girls, veiled and on foot, as far as the walled lane leading to the kitchen courtyard. Here, unexpectedly, they came upon Zuno, who had apparently been waiting for them. Maia gave Brero ten meld to drink and asked him to meet them in two hours' time. Zuno, using his own key, let them into the palace and they climbed the two flights to the queen's paneled supper-hall without seeing anyone.

They had hardly slipped off their cloaks when Occula

came in. Maia was touched to see that she was wearing an orange-colored metlan not unlike the one she had brought with her from Thettit. (That must have been ruined long ago, thought Maia, for she remembered how Occula had worn it to the gardens on the night of their arrest.) Having kissed them both, she held Maia at arm's length and looked her up and down.

"Precious little wrong with you, banzi, 's far as I can see."

She herself looked drawn and wan, with a kind of grayness in her face which Maia had never seen before, but guessed to be the equivalent of pallor. The two girls had already had supper while waiting for the summer darkness to fall. Zuno brought wine, fruit and serrardoes, served them himself and then, nursing his white cat, sat down near Occula.

"You can trust me, saiyett," he said to Milvushina (whom he had, of course, never previously met). "Occula and I have sworn to get each other out of here by one means or another."

"It's like bein' a monkey in a bastin' cage," said Occula, draining her goblet straight down. "I wasn' born for this, banzi-shut up all day and night and no use for me except-what you saw."

"Why didn't she take you to Paltesh, then?" asked Maia.

"I doan' know for sure," answered the black girl, "but I think she decided I might be one too many. She took Ashaktis, you see. Whatever it is she's up to, she can' manage without Ashaktis to do her dirty work. Ashaktis and I have never really got on, and Fornis knows that. Ashaktis would get rid of me if she could, but she's too smart to try it on as long as she knows I'm what Fornis still wants. That might be it, or it might just be that she didn' want to be tempted to indulge in any little games while she's engaged on serious business-whatever it is. 'Cos believe you me, banzi, that bitch has got her back to the wall. She's desperate-doesn' care what she does; or who she kills, either. That's partly why I took the risk of sendin' for you both here-to warn you of that, face to face."

"She frightens me," said Milvushina. "I'd never try to pretend she didn't. What's she planning, d'you suppose?"

"Cran alone knows," replied Occula. "But let's come back to that in a minute. I've got so much to ask you both

that I scarcely know where to begin. Are you happy sittin' there, Milva, with that belly on you, or would you rather lie down?"

Milvushina smiled and shook her head. It was plain that her pregnancy gave her the greatest happiness.

"Rather you than me," said Occula. "No accountin' for tastes, is there? Yowlin' one end and shit the other. Still, never mind: we've got to be serious; there are things I need to know. The war, Milva-what's the latest news? I know what's put out by the heralds-everythin' every-where's as jolly as a bull on a cow-but if us lot are goin' to stay alive I've got to know the real truth. Do you know it?"

Milvushina nodded, compressing her lips. "Kembri doesn't tell me everything. But of course I get letters from Elvair, and I quite often have the chance to listen to the staff officers or even just the soldiers."

She hesitated; then asked, "Which side are you on, Occula, anyway?"

"Reckon I ought to be askin' you that," answered the black girl. "Obviously you doan' want Elvair smashed up; but d'you want him to smash up Santil or what?"

"What I used to hope was that Santil would come to terms," said Milvushina. "I used to hope that Elvair's army just going into Chalcon might end the trouble."

"Why, doan' you any more?"

"You haven't heard anything, then?"

"Well, of course I haven' heard anythin'," said Occula irritably, "shut up here like a pig in a damn' sty. Not about Chalcon, anyway. Has Santil had a defeat or what?"

"Anything but. Elvair's falling back towards Ikat Yel-dashay. He wrote to me-I've got it here-" she fumbled a moment in her robe and drew out a soiled, torn paper. " 'We've been up and down this wilderness until the men are worn out, but the enemy are never where we expect to find them. They've driven away all the beasts and burned the farms. The only soldiers of ours to see any fighting are those who convoy the supplies. Things can't go on like this. The army's half-starved. Believe me, my darling, no one can know what it's like who hasn't wandered for days on end through these woods and hills and found nothing but the bodies of our stragglers. There's no help for it- we shall have to fall back on Ikat and try to work out some

new plan. It will be better not to let my father know I've told you this."

"Oh, men! Men!" cried Milvushina. "Always fighting! 'I'm braver than you are'; like a lot of little boys! If only Elvair was safe back and the whole thing forgotten! I told him what would happen-I told him! I know that country and he'd never been there before in his life. Chalcon's like a spider's web: they'll be lucky to get out at all, that's what I think now."

"D'you think Bekla's goin' to fall, then?" asked Occula coolly.

"Bekla?" Zuno and Maia spoke together in astonishment.

"To Santil, you mean? Oh, never, surely?" said Milvushina. "I mean, harvest's coming on, for one thing. Once Elvair's out of Chalcon, Santil's men'll want to get back to their homes."

"Well, I wouldn' be too sure of that, if I were you," answered the black girl. "I expect you know there's trouble in Urtah and in Belishba, too. I heard that it's quite a serious slave revolt in Belishba, and Sendekar's had to bring men south from the Valderra to deal with it. You can bet your deldas-in fact you can bet Maia's-Karnat woan' have missed that."

"But Beklal Fall?" Milvushina knitted her brows. "I haven't heard Kembri or any of the Leopards speaking about that as a serious possibility."

"Well, personally I doan' give a fart if it does fall," said Occula. "But I've got to be thinkin' about my own plans. Sooner or later, you see, Fornis is goin' to come back, and if Bekla falls she's quite capable of sellin' herself to the other side. In fact that's almost certainly what she will do. She could twist anyone, that woman: yes, even Santil, I believe. 'Oh, it wasn' really me, it was all those horrible Leopards! Now I can help you!' That'll be her line. She's as cunnin' as forty foxes. In fact she may very well be plottin' the fall of the city at this very moment."

Occula, clenching her fists, jumped up and began walking up and down the little hall. "Why the bastin' blue brothels d'you think she went to Paltesh? To be safe from Kembri, of course, and raise support among her own people, that's why! Kembri'd kill her if he could. Even Du-rakkon would kill her. But they're not goin' to rob me,

either of them. Fm the one that's goin' to kill her, an' doan' you make any mistake about that!"

She stopped, gazing out at the pendent, misty fire of the comet where it hung above the Gelt mountains. Maia, looking up at her, was reminded of a silent, dark stream sliding between its banks. The stream flowed where it must: no telling the depth; no stopping it and never a sound. Ah! but this water would bear her up-friendly water, however dark and deep.

"Occula," she asked, "why don't you kill her in one of those horrible sprees of hers? You could do it easy and pass it off as an accident: say she brought it on herself."

Zuno shook his head. "No, no, banzi," said Occula. "What-a slave-girl bring about the death of the Sacred Queen? And one already more than suspected of helpin' to murder Sencho, at that? I'd hang upside-down quicker than a goat can get stiff. Besides, when I do it, she's goin' to know who I am and why it's bein' done. It'll be no bastin' accident, believe me. But the right moment'U be everythin'. That's why I've got to know as much as possible about what's happenin' and what's goin' to happen."

"I'll tell you something else," put in Milvushina. "Kem-bri's afraid of her: he's as good as told me so. He told me that when they first seized Bekla nearly eight years ago, he and Sencho were just out to make use of her-you know, her magnetism and popularity with the people. He said he never realized then that before she'd finished she'd turn out to be more than they could handle."

"Either she'll maintain herself in power," said Zuno, "or else, if she can't, she'll pull the city down round her own ears and everyone else's."

"Well, never mindV cried Occula impatiently, as though Zuno had uttered something completely trivial. "That's enough about that green-eyed cow. You listen to me, banzi. First of all, what have you done with Chia?"

Maia told her.

Occula nodded. "I hoped you might. That's why I asked Zuno to send her. H'm! Northern Urtah; that might prove quite useful, I doan' know."

"How d'you mean?" asked Maia.

"Well, by all accounts they're a very funny lot up there, where she comes from," answered Occula enigmatically. "And of course she'll tell them what she owes Fomis, woan' she? And that might-Well, never mind. There's

somethin' else I want to hear about. What's all this about you gettin' up on the Scales and talkin' about the star, as if you were Lespa or somethin'?"

"The star? Well, it just come into my head to see 'f I couldn't go down there and cheer a few of 'em up. I never meant to go on the Scales at all-'twas the armourers an' the rest as done that."

"You and that Ogma, you're not safe, the two of you left alone together," said Occula. "She might have thought to stop you goin' out, even if you couldn' see it for yourself. That girl's a fool an' so are you, banzi. Far as I can make out, you did the very thing everyone's.been warnin' you not to do. It never crossed your mind, I suppose, that Kembri'd think you were puttin' yourself forward for Sacred Queen?"

"No, it never," retorted Maia hotly, "and n'more I was, an' so I told Kembri to his face when he" come round yesterday."

"The thing you must never forget, banzi, about Kembri, is that he's every bit as much a conspirator and a murderer as Sencho and Fornis. He was in on this Leopard business from the very beginnin', like them. He's completely ruthless. He's decided that Milva's the girl the Leopards need for Sacred Queen. That's why he didn' stop Elvair goin' round and takin' her the very day after Sencho was done in, even though he knew it'd make Fornis his enemy from that moment. Do you realize that if good old Sendekar hadn't made it impossible, by tellin' the whole army about you swimmin' the river before Kembri could stop him, Kembri'd almost certainly have had "you killed by now, just to get you out of the way as a rival to Milva?"

"Ah, he told me as much yesterday," said Maia.

"Cran, I'd almost rather be back at Piggy's," said Occula, "wouldn' you? Three nice bed-girls from the High Counselor's, and here we are up to the neck in what's goin' to be the biggest shine for a thousand years, you mark my words. And there's no gett'n' out of it that I can see. Doesn' it frighten you?"

"Yes, it frightens me sick," answered Maia. Yet still she said nothing of Randronoth's forty thousand meld.

"What really makes me sure these damn' Leopards are bound to go down in the end," said Occula, "is the filthy, blasphemous use they've made of this whole Sacred Queen business. Come right down to it and they've spat in the

gods' faces, that's what. They're not my gods, but never mind 'bout that. The whole point of the Sacred Queen always used to be that she was the gods' choice and not men's. She was supposed to be the gods' makeweight for man's imperfection. Men in power made the rulers-the generals and councilors and so on-but the Sacred Queen was honestly acclaimed by the people, and no hanky-panky. That's to say, the gods put it into the people's hearts whom to acclaim, and that was their own choice; not the rulers'. But Fornis, Sencho, Kembri-they changed all that, and Durakkon was the fool who went along with it. The gods'll have their blood for that in the long run, you see if they doan'."

"You're the lucky one, aren't you?" said Milvushina to Zuno. "You'll be all right."

"I may and I may not, saiyett; it all depends. I have no wish to stand or fall with the Sacred Queen, yet what else can I do? In practice I'm not free to leave her, and in any case I have no particular prospects elsewhere."

"No, you're the lucky one, Milva, that's the truth of it," said Occula. "At least you've got Kembri and Elvair to protect you, and even if the city were to fall, they'd probably get you out alive. You've got no enemies, unless you call Santil an enemy. No, banzi, you're the one I'm worried about: there can' be any goin' back for you, you see. And yet you can' go on as you are. Kembri may not be prepared to go the length of killin' you, but Fornis will be when she comes back-as I'm sure she means to. And even if you were to cut and run, where could you go? Suba-Katria- Terekenalt-they'd tear you to pieces, after what you've done! And I can' see you in sanctuary on Quiso for the rest of your life. No; there's only two things you can possibly do, and I reckon I know which one'd be best."

Maia would have liked Occula to take her in her arms and whisper in her ear, as in the old days in bed at Sen-cho's.The talk of killing had frightened her badly. Yet she did her best to make a joke of it.

"Well, come on, then! Reckon Terebinthia won't be eavesdropping just now."

Occula, sitting down beside her, took her hand in her own. "You could put your trust in the gods, banzi, and believe that they mean you to be Sacred Queen. That's one thing you could do; for there's hardly a doubt that if you're still alive and in Bekla at the end of this year, the

people will acclaim you, Kembri or no Kembri. But it's my belief that if you stay here just as you are now, either Kembri or Fornis will get rid of you somehow."

She paused. "And the other?" asked Maia.

"The other," said Occula deliberately, "is to marry the richest and most powerful man you can find; preferably one with an estate in the provinces, where you can go and live in safety. You're not cut for a life of high intrigue, banzi. You're too nice. A girl like you needs a protector- someone to belong to. And the long and short of it is, you can either choose the gods' protection, or a man's. I know damn' well which I'd choose-and if I doan' love you no one does."

A silence fell. It was as though all four of them, sitting in the elegant, luxurious hall high above the teeming city, felt themselves isolated as though besieged; or surrounded by a flood lapping the base of their precarious tower with invisible waters of malevolence and peril. Suddenly Maia had the horrible fancy that the sunken rectangle of the central floor, enclosed within its honey-colored walls and broad step of banded slate, was like a well down which her dead body could be pitched and vanish untraced. Setting down her goblet, she jumped up and almost ran across to the north-facing window.

The comet was low, its drooping tail partly obscured behind the jagged, barely-discernible line of the mountain peaks. The comet, she knew, had been sent by Lespa- Lespa who had saved her again and again. Yet why had she sent it? What did it mean? It was like the danger she was in, she thought. It made no sound, uttered no threat. It simply abode; whenever you looked up, there it was, undeviant and unchanged.

"Oh, Lespa," she prayed silently, "help me! I'm more afraid than ever I've been!"

For now, with Occula's words, her very real and immediate danger had at last become plain to her; the danger which, though in all conscience told clearly enough, had not been brought fully home by Sessendris, by Nennaunir, by Milvushina or even entirely by Kembri. It now seemed to her that she-she who had knelt beside the dying Sphel-thon, who had swum the Valderra by night-had in fact never, in all her life, possessed any real power to distinguish between semblance and reality.

The sudden recognition of a lack in oneself of normal

perception, of the ability to see in its true colors what has been plain as day to everyone else; the realization that in some important respect one has hitherto been like a child, not clearly differentiating actuality from fantasy, security from peril, truth from fallacy, can take place at any time in life, even to outwardly-seeming experienced people, and when it does is always mortifying. When it involves the apprehension of danger, the shock often comes with a kind of freezing effect, dream-like, momentarily cutting off awareness of companions and surroundings.

Still no one spoke. Maia stood still, supporting herself with one hand on the embrasure. Her hope of finding Zen-Kurel, of fulfilling their mutual promise to marry and live in Katria; it was as though a glaring, hard light had suddenly been turned upon this secret room in her heart, revealing-what? Flimsy walls, frail beams, a brittle door that any ruffian could kick in. True, it was also revealed as no less beautiful than she had always known it to be- but utterly insecure. In this room, whatever its beauty, there lay no safety. Her love for Zen-Kurel would not save her, and she had been deceiving herself in thinking that it would. Yet if safety was what she must have, if safety was what she valued above all else, then no doubt about it, she must quit this beautiful, forlorn, memory-filled room for some stronger one. Her love for Zenka-her.love of one night, which she nevertheless knew in her own heart to be entire and sincere-how much, in cold, sober fact, was that love worth to her? That, though Occula did not know it, had been the implication of her words to the hearer. Was she, Maia, ready to risk death-no fancy, no game, but the real, bowel-clutching prospect of being murdered-not in return for the certainty of finding and marrying her Zenka in the end, but in return for the mere chance that she might?

I must wait for Sednil, she thought. At the very least I must wait for Sednil and whatever news he brings. And that's a matter of time. But how much time will I have?

And now, suddenly, she knew the meaning of the great star: not the city's meaning-for the star, like a dream or an old tale, no doubt had many different meanings implanted in it by Lespa, for comprehension by various people-but her own meaning, the individual meaning Lespa had intended her to perceive. It was plain: there couldn't be a doubt of it! She herself was the star! This new-come

presence, this gentle brilliance in the sky, with its streaming, golden hair, was the equivalent of herself in Bekla. It followed clearly that as long as it lasted, she would remain immune, the protected of the goddess. But when it departed she, too, if she had not by then found what she was seeking, would be fated to depart, either to death or to that dreary, marital refuge-death in life, as it appeared to her young heart-of which Occula had spoken. So much time, then, she had: so much time and opportunity the goddess was vouchsafing her.

She had the message. She longed, now for some relief from her tension and anxiety; for some respite, however brief and illusory, from the strain of dwelling on love and danger. It's strange, she thought: all your life you hear the tales of the great deeds, the dangers and sufferings of the heroes and the gods and goddesses, but you never understand what they must really have felt until it's brought home to you through your own experience and your own heart.

She turned, came back from the window, put her arms round Occula and kissed her as they had been used to kiss in their first days of slavery, the days of her innocence and her wretchedness.

"I've taken in all you say," she said, smiling. "Don't worry, dearest, I'll survive. We all shall-all four of us; I know it."

"Then you know a damn' sight more than I do, banzi."

"Never mind for now. Occula, tell us one of your stories-like you used to. Like you did at Lalloc's that night- remember?"

"I remember: that was about Lespa, wasn't it?"

"Yes, tell us another about Lespa! The one about Shak-karn and how Lespa became a goddess: the story of the senguela."

Occula looked round at the others. Milvushina smiled and nodded. Zuno refilled the goblets. Occula took another long pull, settled herself in the cushions and began.

73: THE APOTHEOSIS OF LESPA

"After young Baltis the smith had first made love to Lespa in the temple of Shakkarn-that day before the autumn

festival, you remember, when she was supposed to be mending the altar cloth-they became lovers as dear to each other as good deeds are to the gods. They thought of nothin' else. Each of them used to lie awake at night, wishin' to be in another bed. For things were still no easier for them, you see, just because they'd succeeded for once in gettin' what they both wanted. Lespa's father still reckoned the family was a good cut above young Baltis, a mere smith's apprentice with nothin' beyond his pay and perks. And worse than that, realizin' he had such a pretty daughter-for Lespa was the talk of the place for miles around, so that people on journeys used to make a point of stoppin' by on some excuse or other, jus' to see her goin' to the well in the evenin' along o' the other girls- he'd begun gettin' grand ideas of marryin' her to some wealthy lord or maybe even a baron. I dare say there might have been three or four of that sort who passed that way not so very seldom, what with boats and so on goin' by on the Zhairgen or the Valderra. For as you know, I've always held out for it that sweet Lespa came from lower Suba. But I dare say you two want to have it that she came from somewhere in Chalcon or Tonilda, doan' you?"

"Suba!" said Maia instantly. " 'Course it was Suba!"

"Oh, was it, now?" replied Occula, looking at her quizzically over the rim of her goblet. "Travel broadens the mind, eh? Well, I expect Suba's a wonderful place for- er-"

"Frogs?" asked Maia, smiling. She had already slipped off her sandals: now she stretched out her legs, parted her toes and wriggled them, looking down at them and shaking her head.

"Webbed feet? Neither had Lespa," said Occula. "Her feet were so pretty the boys used to kiss the grass where she'd walked by. But I'll get on. Sometimes she and Baltis were able to steal a meetin'-it might be in the woods when she was gatherin' sticks, or p'raps it might be that young Baltis would be comin' back from some job he'd been sent out to do on a bull's stall or some bolts for a door, and he'd stop by at the back of the wood-pile and whistle like a blue-finch, and then Lespa would suddenly remember she had to go down the garden for parsley or some such little thing. But you know how it is, makin' love in a hurry-for a girl, anyway, and even for a few men, though not half enough of them-a bit of this and that and

not long enough, as the stag-hound bitch said when the lapdog tried to mount her.

"Well, but sweet Lespa was a fine, spirited girl with a heart and mind of her own, and one way and another she managed to see to it that she and Baltis did sometimes meet together at night and no one else the wiser in the mornin'. And besides that, she managed to contrive that her father's ideas didn' get much further than his own head. If you're unlucky enough to be a girl-"

"I'm not unlucky," interrupted Mirvushina, smiling.

"Wouldn' change that belly of yours for old Sencho's, eh?" returned Occula. "Well, you can stuff 'em from one end or you can stuff 'em from the other, I suppose: they seem to get bigger just the same. But I'll oblige you, Milva, and alter what I said. If you're lucky enough to be a girl, all the same you can' refuse to see guests who come to the house: but how much you say to them when they're there- that's quite another matter. I suppose Lespa's father could have ordered her to do this, that or the other, but somehow he didn'. I dare say she'd already got, even then, some of those qualities which people have been worshippin' these hundreds of years.

"Well, she loved Baltis as girls have always loved the first man who takes them. And for a mortal girl she could have done worse, no doubt, if only the immortal gods- whatever names we give them up and down the world- hadn' had other plans for her destiny. For he was a right enough young lad, and a servant of the gods himself in a manner of speakin', 'cos he was a smith; and as you know, the skill of forgin' metal's a gift from the gods, a divine secret which men could never have thought up on their own account, any more than they could have thought up music. Anyway, now Baltis and Lespa had this other divine gift between them as well, and that sort of pleasure's a plant that thrives on hoein' and waterin', so they say. They practiced their music and they got pretty good at it.

"But then came the cruel wars. What wars they were I doan' know, and maybe it doan' matter all that much. All wars are the same to women, aren' they? You lie in a cold bed and weep for what's gone, and those that doan' have to weep for ever are the lucky ones. No, doan' you go takin' on, Milva: he's the commander-in-chief, isn' he? He'll be back, you see if he woan'.

"Whatever wars they were, it seems that after a time

the baron of those parts found himself hard-pressed for soldiers, and the need was so desperate that in the end all the village elders up and down the province agreed to a levy; and so in due time the baron's men came to Lespa's village to take their quota from among the young men. All the grown lads of the village-hunters, smiths, fishermen, farm-hands; no matter what they were, didn' make no difference-they had to stand forth, as the sayin' goes, to be looked over, and some right old weepin' and wailin' there was among the mothers and sweethearts and wives, I dare say.

"I doan' know how many they took from Lespa's village. But if the blasted quota had been no more than two, Baltis would have been one of them all right, for he had a pair of shoulders like barn doors: he must have been the likeliest-lookin' young chap they'd come upon in weeks. So, poor lad, he had to pack up his bits in a bag and belt on his sword (which he'd forged for himself, to make sure it was a good one, from a nice piece of Gelt iron he'd had marked down for a ploughshare) and away he went for a soldier, with Lespa hangin' on his arm two miles up the lane, cryin' her eyes out and not carin' now who saw her, either.

"After Baltis had gone, she felt just about as lonely and discarded as an old bucket thrown in a hedge. It wasn' even so much that he wasn' actually with her, for of course she'd already had to put up with a deal of that: it was the havin' nothin' to look forward to, nothin' to liven up the day with plannin' a bit of funny business: no more hope of slippin' down the garden for a handful of-er-parsley. And after a bit it got to downright, blasted starvation. 'Cos you know how it is: once you've had it and taken pleasure in it-well, you miss it, doan' you, just for itself? Anyway, Lespa did." Suddenly Occula raised her voice. "And she's not the only one, either!" She bit her finger for a moment and was silent.

At length she continued. "And the attentions of the lads left behind didn' afford her any consolation, either. I dare say they seemed a poor lot after Baltis, and anyway Lespa wasn' a girl to throw away her self-respect and have people winkin' behind her back and sayin' she was the kind of lass who thought half a loaf was better than no bread. She wanted to think that wherever the wars had carried Baltis, he was stayin' true to her, and she reckoned the best way

to be sure of that was to be true to him. She used to- banzi, what on earth's the matter? You're never cryin', are you? What the hell for? I haven't said anythin' funny yet."

"You let me alone," faltered Maia, wiping her eyes. "I'm enjoying myself. You just get on with the story, now. You ain't sat there to ask questions, you're sat there to tell the tale."

"She used to go down the village and ask passin' travelers for news of the wars," resumed Occula. "But no one ever seemed to know anythin' about Baltis, and come to think of it, 'twasn' likely they would, him bein' just an ordinary soldier-boy among hundreds and thousands mar-chin' and batterin' up and down the land.

"Now after a time it got to be winter and then it was spring and still pretty Lespa was sufferin' in her heart and dodgin' all her father's schemes and goin' her own way alone as far as the lads were concerned. And there were one or two-there always are, aren' there?-that she'd, sent packin', even though she did it nicely (for Lespa was never hard-spoken to anyone, though I dare say she might have been more or less forced to be a bit firm now and then-you know what some fellows can be like)-there were one or two who began sayin' there must be somethin' queer about her; pretty or not, she couldn' be a natural girl, or else she thought herself too good for anybody; and all such things as that. So she wasn' very happy, not even when the warm weather came, to hear the kynat callin' and see the brooks full of yellow spear-buds under the banks.

"Now one mornin'-one perfect spring mornin', that's how the story has it-with all the trees in new leaf, wild cherry and zoan and scented poplar an' I doan' know what-all-Lespa was told by her mother to go up to the wood and bring back a good, big faggot of sticks and maybe a log as well if she could manage it. So off she went, with the grass cool at her feet and all the daisies in bloom. But still she had thoughts for nothin' but Baltis gone to the wars. Yes, she was a girl forlorn and sad in springtime. So she wasn' in much of a hurry to get on with the business of gatherin' the sticks. She was in a mood for everythin' to seem a waste of time. She sat down by the brook for a bit and pulled some watercress; and then she just lay on the bank while the birds sang and the frogs sat on the lily

leaves in the sunshine. But after a while she supposed she'd better get on with it, so she got up and climbed over the fence and went her way into the wood.

"But she still felt lazy; and worse than that, she felt inclined to mope and not at all in the mood for puttin' up a faggot and goin' home bent double under it. It was partly the spring weather and partly her own thoughts-'nough to put anyone in two minds, kind of style. It was quiet in the wood and the morain' got hotter and hotter and still she hadn't really done any work-just a stick or two.

"After a bit she came on a pool among the trees. It was one of those nice, clear, brown pools you sometimes find: water tricklin' in one end and out the other, and no mud or dead leaves to speak of-just a clean, gravel bottom a few feet deep. She dabbled her toes in it and it didn' seem too cold at all. In fact it seemed very invitin', and in a couple of minutes Lespa had stripped off and plunged in. Well, you know how it is: you seem to leave all your cares behind when you jump into the water. She was soon feelin' in better heart, splashin' about and as happy as a thrush in the rain.

"Now as I told you, didn' I, it was the sort of spring mornin'-never a better one since the world began-that brings the gods down to earth. For to begin with, you know, the gods created the earth as a pleasure-garden for themselves; and so it still is-in places, anyway: and the gods may still come around here and there, for all I know. But be that as it may, on this particular mornin', all those long years ago, the god Shakkarn-him as was a god before even Cran and Airtha; the god of rough, country places and honest, simple folk-he'd come down to earth to enjoy the spring and the scented leaves and the bees buzzin' about in the flowers.

"Now as you know-or even if you doan', for the matter of that-when the gods take bodily shape they assume whatever form best suits their immortal truth. That's to say, whatever truth they're manifestin' at that particular time. A god or a goddess is like bread, you know: you can dip bread into wine, or gravy, or custard, or honey, or any damn' thing you like, and that's what it'll taste of, and of course it'll improve the bread as well. And I've even heard tell that with the gods, it's not a matter of choice-no, not even for them. I've heard tell that there's a power that causes a god or goddess to assume the most fittin' form;

accordin', I suppose, to such things as the time of year, the place they're visitin', the people they're manifested to and the gifts or blessin's they come to bring. A goddess might appear as a dragonfly or a moonbeam, and a god as a serpent or a leopard or an old pilgrim. It all depends. But when it happens, there's always some who feel the presence of the god and sometimes even recognize him, while others-the thick ones-see nothin' at all;.and they just sneer at the clear-sighted ones and say they're conceited or mad, and give them a hard time; and now and then they even persecute or kill them. That's the sort of world this is.

"Anyway, divine Shakkarn was wanderin' through the summer woodland in the incarnate form of a great, white goat: such a goat as has never been seen, I dare say, from that day to this. His coat was like white silk, his eyes shone brighter than jacinths, his hooves were like bronze and his two horns like the frame of a gold lyre. Goats break loose and stray sometimes, as you know, and very likely any dull-witted clodhopper catchin' sight of Shakkarn in the distance would just think it was someone else's strayin' goat and why the hell should he be bothered? and go on with his work. But anyone with the truth in them would feel and know the form of Shakkarn that day for the form of truth.

"Now as Shakkarn was wanderin' down among the trees in the woodland, he heard a sound of splashin' and a girl's voice singin' a little snatch of song; and a very pretty voice it was. So he thought he might as well have a look, and he came rather cautiously closer in the direction of the pool, not to startle whoever might be there. He went into the stream higher up and from there he looked down through the leafy branches. When he saw Lespa in the pool, that was a sight that made him stare and tremble, even though he was a god. He came very quietly out of the bed of the stream and then, just as though he might be strayin' aimlessly and nibblin' at the leaves and grass as he went along, he came down the bank and approached Lespa more or less at random.

"Lespa, standin' in the pool, gazed in wonder as this marvelous beast drew gradually nearer. For Lespa, you know-well, the last thing she was, was unfeelin' or slow in the uptake, and all she could think of was that she'd never seen such a beautiful creature in all her life. Almost

timidly-or so it seemed to her-he apporached to drink. She wasn' frightened, for the way he was goin' on, it wasn' a question of being afraid of him, but rather of being careful not to frighten him away. Slowly, step by step, she waded across the pool, stretched out a wet hand and touched him. He made no move and she began to stroke his back and scratch his ears. Then, just as she was, she drew herself out of the water and sat beside him in the sunshine, and as he still stood docile she put her arms round him and began rubbin' her cheek against his neck.

"Now the true title and style of the goddess, as you know, is 'Lespa of the Inmost Heart,' or sometimes 'Lespa of Acceptance.' Of all the gods and goddesses, she's the one who's entrusted with the divine task of revealin'-or at any rate of offerin'-to us the truth lyin' within ourselves; and each person's truth is different and unique. She reveals the truth, rather as a noble and generous lady might toss a piece of gold on the ground for a beggar to pick up. Yet amazin'ly, there are many who never bother to notice the gold where it falls, or even more amazin'ly, take it for rubbish and disregard it. They may even refuse it, and swear blind that they'll have nothin' to do with it and it's no part of them. Yes, they stop their ears against the goddess, because she tries to tell them somethin' about themselves that they doan' want to hear, you see. But be all that as it may, she's not called 'Lespa of the Inmost Heart' for nothin', and we can take it as certain sure that the reason why that pretty village girl became the goddess of the Inmost Heart was because she herself, even as a mortal, was able to put into practice what she now requires of us-the humility and honesty to recognize the truth.

"As she sat there upon the bank of the pool, with her arms round the divine animal beside her, Lespa could sense the cravin' and burnin' of his desire. And this was nothin' less than the raw, unrefined need and longin' which rampages through the world and will no more be choked off than the lightnin' or the rain. This was animal nature; and as she recognized it, she knew also that she shared it. This, whether she liked it or not, was a part of herself made manifest.

"It was a hell of a shock. Ah, yes! Even to Lespa-and as yet she was just a mortal girl, doan' forget, and unacquainted with the mighty gods-it was such a shock as filled her with dread and even with horror and a flood of

hot shame. She-she, a human girl, was an animal, and shared, at any rate in part, the nature of other animals. She was a female animal, subject to appetite, and to heat and instinct.

"All this came rushin' upon her with the vividness and force of a dream. 'Cos as you know, you can' control a dream and they can sometimes be frightenin'. She jumped up from where she was sittin' and ran a little way-as if that would enable her to leave behind what she'd just discovered!-her mouth open and her cheeks burnin'. Yet the god made no move to pursue her, though now she could plainly see for herself how strongly he was inclined to that. He was able to bear with her fear and frailty as she herself was not.

"Now some people will tell you that Lespa knew then and there that this was Shakkarn and that she was loved by a god. But I've known others who will haveit that her humility and self-acceptance were much greater than that- that she simply accepted in all simplicity that she wanted to be basted by a goat. But myself, I doan' believe she thought anythin'-not consciously-at all. She simply surrendered herself to the inmost heart, like a bird that knows when it's time to fly south. And yet that's not altogether right either, for the birds can't resist-they just have to fly south-and Lespa-oh, yes, she could have resisted and run away from herself and from the god. There's thousands do-and by Kantza-Merada! can' you tell them when you have to do with them, too? This is the whole secret of the beginnin' of Lespa's divinity-that at the first she was afraid, shocked-probably even disgusted to be confronted with her own animal nature-but she knew-she had the courage to know-what to accept, just the same as she'd known what to reject after Baltis had been taken away.

"Falterin'ly, she came back to Shakkarn on the brink of the pool; and then she herself welcomed him, and she herself began what they were to do between them. There's one thing you can be quite sure of, banzi, as I've told you again and again; that whatever virtues you attribute to the gods, decency and shame are not among them. Shakkarn's more sublime and no more respectable than a thunderstorm or a flood.

"Now I've heard this story misused and profaned more times than I can tell you. In the Lily Pool at Thettit they had a whole room decorated with pictures of Lespa and

the goat, and fellows used to pay extra to go and do it there. You simply can' get the truth across to some people: it's like blowin' a trumpet in the ear of a stone-deaf man. These stories are no good unless you find them and feel them for yourself. The whole point is that two completely different and contradictory things can be true at one and the same time. Sweet, bonny Lespa, who wouldn' have hurt a fly, as they say, was doin' somethin' everyone else would call filthy and abominable, which she herself knew to be the world's truth and a divine gift which she simply wasn't prepared to go on livin' without, whatever it mights cost her. '

"And that," cried Occula, jumping up, refilling her goblet and slamming down the wine-jug so that the knives jumped on the table, "that's what makes the ruddy world go round-for those who doan' prefer to keep it standin' still. It takes courage!

"Now the way some people tell it, after that day Shak-karn and Lespa became lovers and used to meet in the wood, until someone or other in the village noticed and began to wonder where it was she used to go and what she was up to. But others say that everythin' happened that very same morning. It dun't really matter, and I'll go on with what does.

"There was an old woman out gatherin' sticks, same as sweet Lespa, and as she came up through the wood she heard somethin' that people doan' mistake for anythin' else, do they? the cryin' and babblin' of a girl in pleasure. Now any honest person with any sort of heart at all, if they find they've happened to stumble on somethin' like that, they go off the other way, doan' they? and take care not to make any noise into the bargain-"

"We never tell: you won't?" murmured Maia.

"What say, banzi?"

"Nothing. I was only just on remembering something, that's all."

"Uh-huh. Well, this pokin', nasty-minded old woman wasn't one to tell shit from puddin', let alone a goat from a god. Oho! she thinks: some dirty wench is enjoyin' herself havin' it off in the wood and I'm not. I'll just look into this, I will, for the sake of village decency, and see what's goin' on! She might just as well have said, 'Watch what's goin' on', but she didn'. And so she came creepin' up

among the trees and she saw for herself the claspin' and the mastery.

"Oh, wasn't there just a screamin' and a scrunchin' when she came runnin' back into the village? I dare say you could have heard her at Kabin from Zeray, if only she'd been there. Pity she wasn'. She didn' think of goin' and havin' a word with Lespa's mother on the quiet, as any right-minded person would 'a done. 'Oh! Oh!' she screams at the top of her voice, so they all come runnin' out to see if she was on fire. 'Oh! Oh! Do you know what I've seen? Do you know what I've just seen?' (Makin' the most of it, see?) 'That filthy, dirty hussy Lespa-r-her as wouldn' look at any boy up and down the village this twelvemonth gone and now we know why, doan' we? That horrible, unnatural trollop-'

" 'What?' they all cried. 'Oh, what, oh, what?'

" 'Up in the wood! Bastin'-with a goat! A goat, quite big, a big goat! Wait till I tell you all the details!'

" 'We'll burn her!' shouted someone. "That's witchcraft, that is! Couplin' with a familiar! Sorcery! Necromancy! In our village!'

" 'And what's more, she was enjoyin' it!' shouted the old woman.

" 'That's the worst of all!' they cried.

"So then they all came out as against a thief, with swords and staves, and they were all sayin' what they were going to do to her and inventin' things as they went along. And they reached the wood and came burstin' in among the trees.

"Lespa and Shakkarn were lyin' easy beside the pool. Or maybe they weren' lyin' easy-how would I know? They must have heard the villagers comin', of course, from a little way off, but Shakkarn was a god, wasn' he? and he wasn' goin' to stop doin' anythin' he had a mind to just because of a bunch of ten-meld mortals-or any other mortals, come to that. And beautiful Lespa, she loved and trusted Shakkarn, and anyway she knew now who he was and although she must have felt troubled and-well-annoyed, I s'pose, and prob'ly frightened at bein' interrupted at such a time, she wasn' goin' to back down or run away. She was the beloved of a god, and anyway Lespa always had the heart of a queen.

"Well, up they all came, and of course they didn' even think of taflcin' to Shakkarn, 'cos he was just a dirty, nasty

goat, wasn' he? They began screamin' and shoutin' at Lespa, ali shakin' their fists, and her standin' there without a stitch on, but no one thought to throw her a cloak or turn aside while she put on her clothes. And then someone threw a stone at her and hit her on the shoulder so that she cried out, and she was bleedin'.

"Then Shakkam got up and stood in front of her and fixed his great, golden eyes on the rabble as they pressed forward. There was one man-a tailor, he was-who had a bean-pole with a sharp point in his hand, and he made a poke with it at Lespa's arm. And with that the whole lot screamed with shock and fear, for in that very moment each one of them felt that point jabbin' into their own arms, just as if it had been them. They didn' need any more after that. They turned and ran, helter-skelter, and in half a minute there wasn' a soul in the wood but Lespa and the lyre-horned god.

"And then Lespa found that in some way she'd become lighter than the summer mornin' air. She was floatin' with Shakkarn up through the trees and then higher than that. She wasn' cold and she wasn' bleedin' and 'naked' was a word that had no meanin' as far as she was concerned, any more than it might have for a dragonfly or a swallow. And Shakkarn-he'd reassumed his true, divine form, though what that may be how can I or any other mortal tell? You and I would have been struck blind to look at him, but not his consort, upon whom he'd conferred his divinity. From morn to noon they rose, from noon to dewy eve, a summer's day, and with the settin' sun came to the zenith and the palace prepared for Lespa among the stars. And there she took up the work of the goddess that she'd become; 'cause if you think the gods doan' work, let me tell you they work a damn' sight harder than anyone else, except that it's not drudgery, but more like the work of some great musician or sculptor, so I've always understood.

"Lespa, doan' you see, she'd attained what all women seek, and that's completion; that completion whose every heart lies in its imperfection. And this is what she offers night by night to anyone with the courage and the patience to attempt it as she did. She sends dreams out of the darkness and the stars, and she asks you riddles and sets you puzzles and she stirs up the whole boilin' pot of Shakkarn to send fumes into your sleepin' head. Lespa of the

Inmost Heart: shall I tell you what she's like? Back home- oh, back home-"

"Who's crying now?" asked Maia.

"Shut up!" cried the black girl passionately. "Back home, in Silver Tedzhek, where I was born, there was a great, tessellated courtyard in front of the temple of Kantza-Merada, all green and gold. The tiles were glazed and hard as rock. One day, when I was still just a banzi, I was playin' there, waitin' for Zai-my father-an' I saw the green shoot of a plant stickin' up through the pavement. It was a nettle, no stronger than a bit of cloth. It had split the tile. I left it alone. If the goddess wanted Jo split her tiles- she's always doin' it-that was her business."

There was a silence. Then Maia said, "You're a nettle, too, aren't you?"

"You attend to your business and I'll attend to mine," replied Occula. "But I'll tell you this, banzi: it takes courage to puzzle out what Lespa's sayin'. She never tells you what to do: she tells you where you are. After that you're on your own."

Through the northern window shone for a few moments the lights of the lower city clocks telling the hour.

"Still, you woan' want to go home on your own, will you?" said Occula. "D'you think your soldier's come back by now?"

74: EUD-ECACHLON ASKS A QUESTION

Night by night the great comet poured out its hazy brightness into the northern sky, and throughout the city anxiety and wonder gradually diminished as still nothing happened and the prodigy became a thing accustomed. The priests, shrewdly no doubt, avoided committing themselves beyond affirming that the gods had given assurance (none knew how) that the apparition portended no harm. One day a crowd of orderly and respectful suppliants succeeded in confronting the chief priest as he was entering the Temple of Cran by the front portico, when to avoid or ignore them would have appeared undignified and perhaps even weak. He replied to their questions with grave self-possession and suavity.

"Consider," said he, "that many thousands of years ago the moon must have appeared in the sky for the first time. Can you imagine how astonished and bewildered the people of those days must have been to see it? What rumination and presentiment they must have suffered-yes, suffered, for of course they were only poor, ignorant folk in those days, without the benefits of modern knowledge and of all this" (waving his hand towards the spacious precinct and the Tamarrik Gate). "To this day, how inexplicable, even if predictable, remain her phases, her waxings and waitings! Yet the moon is a blessing and no one now would dream of attributing ill-omen to the moon."

"Is the great star here to stay, then, my Guardian?" asked someone in the crowd.

"How do we know?" he replied. "Yet since you ask me, I would say not. All I am explaining to you is, that not every sign among the stars need or should be taken as the forerunner of some great change, let alone of disaster."

"So the Serrelinda was right?" called out someone else.

"Not having heard her speak, I cannot say," he answered with a sedate and condescending smile. "Our astrologers, of course, have spent many years of study in learning their expert skills. I entertain nothing against the Serrelinda-"

"Better not!" muttered someone.

"She has served the city superbly in her way. We have to serve it in ours." He spread his arms wide and raised his voice. "I will pray to Cran and Airtha to bless you all for honest and true-hearted Beklans, whom the gods surely love."

His scarlet-bordered robes swished on the pavement as he turned and ascended the steps into the noon-shadowed portico.

At about the same time Maia, who had begun-and to her credit was sticking to-a couple of hours' work a day on improving her reading and (which she found a good deal harder, since it had never really existed) her writing, was lying in the hammock in her garden, wrestling with a romance lent to her by Sarget, about the deeds of the hero Deparioth. Like nearly all people of relatively young civilizations-and certainly like virtually everyone in the Bek-lan Empire at this time-Maia found it natural to read to herself aloud, and her soft, rather pretty voice, stumbling and hesitating over the more difficult words, mingled with

the lapping of the Barb and the intermittent piping of a damazin among the trees.

"Give back the-the miry-miry-solitude, The thorns and briars-out-er-outstretched to

bless.

There lay my-kingdom, I reckon that is-past compare.

This court's the desert-something wild-wilderness."

She knew the story well. This was Deparioth's lament for the loss of the mysterious girl they called the Silver Flower, who, having saved his life in the terrible Blue Forest, had then vanished forever. She read it through again.

"Give back the miry solitude, The thorns and briars outstretched to bless. There lay my kingdom, past compare. This court's the desert wilderness."

The Blue Forest she knew by repute for a wild and savage place in northern Katria, beyond the borders of the empire; somewhere near where, so she'd heard, the Zhair-gen ran into the Telthearna. She began to muse, the scroll laid aside. If she were really to put her mind to it, could she get to Katria? Might she be able to reach the Zhairgen quickly and secretly, and then somehow cross it before she was missed? How far was it to the Zhairgen, anyway? It was, she knew, generally reckoned a good four or five days' journey to Dari-Paltesh; and the Zhairgen lay beyond that.

Oh, she thought, if only things could just be back as they were that night in Suba; the night he brought the daggers! We knew our own hearts then, and that was all we needed to know. "Give back the miry solitude-"

Suddenly her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a cry of "Maia! Where are you?" It was a man's voice- one that she remembered well enough but could not instantly put a name to. She stood up, and as she did so caught sight of someone approaching from the direction of the house. As the voice called again, she realized why she had felt so much startled. It was an Urtan accent. Yet it was not-no, it was not Anda-Nokomis. For a moment she had thought it was, and now she felt disappointed that

it wasn't. Fancy that! she thought. A moment later Eud-Ecachlon came running down the grassy path to the hammock and took her hands.

To Maia Eud-Ecachlon, a man in his mid-thirties, had always seemed old-certainly much older than any of his friends in Bekla. Though he associated with Elvair-ka-Virrion and other young Leopards on equal terms, she had always thought of him as a man nearer to the generation of Kembri, Sendekar or Sarget-as indeed he was. She recalled his rather slow, stolid ways, his diffidence and the contempt with which Occula had once referred to him as "a one-balled Urtan goat". Yet she well remembered, too, the last time they had been together-how long ago it seemed! during that afternoon in Melekril last year, when, standing in for Occula, she had given him the time of his life. That had been great fun and she had enjoyed it herself- at least to the extent of feeling that she had done a good job and a bit more besides. She recalled, too, how warmly she had spoken of their meeting again on his next return to Bekla from Uriah; for she had been quite carried away by her own skill and success that afternoon. No, she thought, she had never disliked Eud-Ecachlon.

To her eyes he was looking, if anything, even older. There was more gray in his beard and somehow his thickset body had about it an impalpable air of bearing a burden. Yet here he was, greeting her with warmth and cordiality-no trace of constraint or self-consciousness now- and obviously delighted to see her again.

She was pleased enough to see him, too; invited him to stay to dinner and felt glad when he accepted. He spoke, naturally, of the Valderra and of her celebrity in the empire. "Urtah would die for you," he said. "Do you know that? If Karnat had over-run Urtah-" And she, of course, let pass the awkward topic of Urtah's present loyalty to Bekla and thanked him graciously, wondering how much he was not telling her about the dissidents who were doing their best to stir up trouble in the province.

They spoke, too, of the murder of the High Counselor and the strangely unsuccessful search for the killers. Eud-Ecachlon inquired after Occula and seemed distressed when Maia replied that she could not tell what might have become of her after the arrests.

"Poor girl!" he said. "I suppose they must have done away with her. What a shame! She had such style, hadn't

she? I don't mind telling you, that night when she made Ka-Roton stab himself I was terrified; but I must admit he had asked for it. Got a bit more than he bargained for, didn't he?"

Later, when dinner was over, she showed him Ran-dronoth's miniature, carved cabinet; for she remained continually delighted by it and could not resist showing it off, though she said nothing about where it had come from. Eud-Ecachlon took it in his hands and admired it politely, though without any very close examination, so that she perceived what she could have guessed-that such things did not mean much to him and were rather beyond his powers of appreciation. Well, but all the same, they'd come her way a lot less than his, she thought. Although she'd not been brought up among beautiful things, she could nevertheless feel naturally thrilled by something as rare and marvelous as this. She thought of the Thlela and their dance of the Telthearna on the night of the Rains banquet in Kembri's house. She had never before seen the Thlela, yet she had needed no teaching that night.

It was while Eud-Ecachlon was still holding the cabinet in his hands and at any rate giving the appearance of examining it that he remarked, with no particular alteration of expression or manner, "My father's ill, you know."

"The High Baron, Euda? I'm very sorry to hear it. I hope it's not serious?"

He closed the little doors and latched them. "Well, he's old, you know: I'm afraid he may not recover. Everyone in Urtah thinks the same, really."

"I know you both love him-you and Bayub-Otal. And you're the heir, of course. It must be a worrying time for you, as well as a sad one." And then, in her way of often coming straight out with anything that entered her mind, "What's brought you back to Bekla, then, at such a time as this? I s'pose you have to see Kembri and the Council, do you, on behalf of your father?"

"Yes, well-that, I suppose." He put the cabinet back in its place and sat down. "Urtah's not an easy province to govern, you know."

Well, you can't very well try another one, can you?"

He looked up with a puzzled expression, as though taking what she had said seriously and considering it. He'd always been a bit slow, she recalled. "I was only teasing, Euda. I'm sorry you've got all these problems, honest I

am. I cert'nly wouldn't like to have to govern a province- any province."

"Oh-wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really?" He looked up at her earnestly, with a kind of concern in his voice. He really was a funny old chap, she thought.

"Well, that's one thing I'm not likely to find myself doing, so I needn't worry, need I? Euda, tell me, Anda-Nokomis-that's to say, Bayub-Otal-will they let him out, do you think? Is that what you came to talk to me about? Could I help? I mean, if your poor old father's dying, like you say-"

"WeH, that's one thing, that's part of it, yes." He paused. "Yes, of course, I came to see Kembri. Urtah's a divided province and that's its trouble, I suppose; and it's the Leopards' trouble too-they can't rely on it as they'd like to. Suba-it was Kembri and Fornis who sold it to Karnat, you know. Then my brother tried to get it back for himself-and the price was helping Karnat to take Bekla." (But he must know I know all this, she thought.) "And he'd have succeeded too, if you hadn't stopped him. What that would have meant for Urtah nobody knows, do they, since it didn't happen?"

As Ogma came in to clear away the dinner, Maia led Eud-Ecachlon back into the garden.

"But all most people in Urtah want is a quiet life," he continued, as they strolled down towards the Barb. "Like most people anywhere, I suppose. You see, it's eight or nine years now since Suba was given to Karnat, and what's Suba to an Urtan farmer with his beasts to feed and his harvest to get in? But then, on the other hand, there's my poor old father. He loves Bayub-Otal, and ever since the fight at Rallur he's been breaking his heart to think of him shut up in that fortress at Dari-Paltesh. I believe that's what's killing him-the uncertainty. We've been entreating Kembri for months to pardon Bayub-Otal, simply so that the old man can die in peace. But Kembri doesn't trust us, it seems. He doesn't trust Urtah not to try to regain Suba, not to use Bayub-Otal against Bekla."

"And you want me to try to persuade him: is that it?"

"Oh, no, Maia. No, no, that isn't why I came at all." Eud-Ecachlon came to a kind of indeterminate stop in his walk, looking down and kicking with one foot at the grass. "They all think the world of you in Urtah, you know. Oh, yes, everybody does, I assure you.".

"Well, I must say you do surprise me, Euda, saying that. I'd have thought-well, you know-the girl who put paid to poor Anda-Nokomis-"

"Oh, no, Maia, no; the girl who stopped the bloodshed and saved Uriah from Karnat. That was what you did it for, wasn't it? That's what I was told you've always said, anyway; that you did it to stop the bloodshed."

"So I did. I've nothing against Anda-Nokomis-leastways, not any more. I'd be real glad to hear as he'd been let out. Time 'twas all forgot, I reckon."

They had almost reached the shore, and she turned aside to that same marble seat where she had sat to listen to Randronoth's emissary Seekron.

"Of course," said Eud-Ecachlon, looking out across the water, "I've never been married, you know. I was betrothed to Fornis once-did you know that? It was-oh, long ago now, when we were both young; before her father died, and before the Leopards came to power. I was in love with her. Can you believe that? I thought she was wonderful-a girl like a goddess. Her father, Kephialtar of Paltesh-he wanted the marriage, but she didn't. She took her father's boat on the Zhairgen and sailed it two hundred miles to Quiso. You've heard the story, I expect."

"I've-yes, well, I've heard something about it, Euda, of course. But 'twas all before I was born, you know. Want my opinion, though, I reckon you were lucky. Married to Fornis? Doesn't bear thinking about, does it?"

He gave a short laugh. "You're right, Maia, of course. But somehow that business knocked the stuffing out of me. You know-to be made a fool of, publicly, by someone you love, when you're young and-well, ardent, I suppose you'd say. Somehow I never could face the idea of marriage after that. Of course it's always disappointed my father; worried him, too. The succession, you know."

Maia, while not unsympathetic, was now beginning to wonder how she could tactfully bring about his departure, for she had half-promised Milvushina a visit that afternoon. She had been afraid that after dinner he might make advances to her, perhaps reminding her how she had once been all fervor, speaking of his return and crying "Soon, soon, soon!" However, he hadn't, which saved a lot of trouble. Perhaps now was the time to ask him to be sure to join her supper-party the evening after tomorrow and bid him good-bye until then. She began "Euda-"

But he was still speaking. "I've always known I haven't really got what anyone would call great powers of leadership-not for a ruler, that is. People don't actually dislike me, but they don't fall down and offer to die for me, either; not like the Terekenalters for Karnat, or even the Subans for Bayub-Otal, come to that. But with a girl like you- well, they'd only have to see you, wouldn't they?"

She was still preoccupied with what she had been about to say. "I'm sorry, Euda, I'm afraid I wasn't just exactly following you."

He turned beside her on the seat and took her hand.

"My father would rest in peace. And you-p-you've got dangerous enemies here-it's common knowledge. You'd have none, would you? And it would do more than anything else to reconcile Urtah to Bekla."

She started up from beside him. "What are you saying, Euda?"

"And I've already put it to Kembri that as part of the arrangement-as a sign of the Leopards' approval and goodwill-he should release Bayub-Otal on a firm promise that he'll give no more trouble. Kembri said he felt sure you'd be delighted. You'd realize, he said, that the arrangement would solve all manner of problems, for you and for Bekla. But apart from that, to be the first lady in the land-"

"Euda, are you asking me to marry you?"

"I'm asking you to marry me and to become High Bar-oneness of Urtah: for the sake of my people and myself. That's why I came to Bekla. And I assure you it's with my father's full approval."

Moaning, she sank down on the grass, her face buried in her hands. "O Cran! O Cran and Airtha!"

He stroked her hair. "What's the matter? It's a shock, Maia, is that it? I suppose I've done it clumsily. I'm afraid I'm not stylish and dashing, like Elvair-ka-Virrion-I know that. I'm just a heldro; I don't know how you go about these things in Bekla-"

"No, no; 'tain't that. Oh, I dunno what to say! You can't want me-a girl from Sencho's-"

"Don't talk like that! That's all past and over! I'm speaking to the renowned, heroic beauty Maia Serrelinda." Then, as she said no more, her face still in her hands, he went on, "Are you afraid of it? You shouldn't be. Do you know what they think of you in Urtah? Let me tell you some-

thing. Only the other day, on my way here, I was talking to one of my principal tenants, a prosperous farmer down towards the south-west of the province. It seems his daughter knows you-a girl called Gehta. She met you when you were with Bayub-Otal on the way to Suba. 'She saved us all,' he said. 'I'd give her half my farm if she asked me for it. Why, if once those Terekenalters had got across-' "

With a dazed air, Maia, who could scarcely take in what he was saying, rose to her feet. "I-can I think it over, my lord? I need time-"

"Does it need thinking over? To be High Baroness of Urtah?"

"I-oh, don't think as I don't feel all the honor you're doing me, Euda. No, it's-"

"I'm old, is that it? The upper city's smart and gay-"

"Oh, don't talk like that, my lord! It's not right for a high baron's heir to be talking like that-"

"Perhaps it's not. No, you're right, of course. Well, you'd be able to change me a good deal, I expect; a girl like you. If ever there was a girl who was obviously favored by the gods-"

Maia, realizing that with this rather awkward, insensitive man their talk could hardly come to an end unless she were to bring it about herself, made a supreme effort to regain her composure.

"You'll understand, my lord-Euda-that this is all a surprise to me; unexpected, like. I feel sort of confused. I can't talk any more just now. Would you mind leaving me?"

"But what shall I tell Kembri?" he asked.

At this she could flare up, her tongue loosened naturally and spontaneously.

"Kembri? What in Lespa's name has Kembri got to do with it? This is between you and me, isn't it?"

He took it without a retort. "I'm sorry. When shall I see you again?"

"I'll send you a message. You in the same lodgings- down by the Tower of the Orphans?"

"No; but do you know, I went back there this morning-just to see the room where we were so happy together that afternoon last Melekril? You won't have forgotten?" She shook her head. "I'm staying in Kembri's house this time."

"Are you? I see." But still she couldn't feel for him the contempt which would have risen up in Occula.

She kissed him on both cheeks. "Good-bye. I'll send my soldier, like I said."

He raised his palm to his forehead, did the heir of Urtah, and walked away through the garden, leaving the Serre-linda pacing back and forth on the grassy shore.

75: AND GETS AN ANSWER

She could not sleep. The silence and the clear, bright moonlight seemed as though enclosing and holding her fixed, immobile-like a stone in the jam, she thought wryly. Every now and then would sound faintly the voice of the watchman on the Peacock Wall. Once she heard swans' wings overhead, and once a quick, harsh clamor as something alarmed the duck on the Barb. Whatever shall I do? she thought. What shall I do?

She had said nothing to Milvushina. She had not the least doubt that if she were to tell her about Zen-Kurel, Milvushina would be sympathetic and her secret would remain safe. No, it wasn't that. It was, rather, that she could not bear the highly probable prospect of Milvushina advising her to forget Zen-Kurel-advice which anyone would give, or so it seemed to her. That was beyond question, she thought, the advice she would get from Occula. She writhed to imagine Occula's generous, unselfish delight at the news of Eud-Ecachlon's proposal. "High Baroness of Urtah, banzi? You're jokin'!" Yes, High Baroness of Urtah-a sixteen-year-old peasant girl from the Tonil-dan Waste. And not only on account of her beauty-not this time. She remembered how she had told Zenka, that night in Melvda-Rain, of her resentment that everything seemed to happen to her on account of her beauty, and how easily and confidently he had taken it in his stride and set it aside. "You wouldn't like it much if I said you weren't beautiful." And then-oh, how her tears fell at the memory!-he'd made love to her again-like a hero, like a god, like an overflowing fountain of joy and sincerity and-yes, regard-the like of which she hadn't known existed. "When it comes, my girl," old Drigga had said to her once, "you won't have to worry about whether it's real or not. True

love's like lightning-there's no doubt about it." No, she thought wretchedly, no doubt about it. What am I to do? O Lespa, what am I to do?

Kembri had been clever, she thought: he was an adroit politician. And-yes-in his own grim way he was being kind to her-as kind as he was capable of being to anybody. She was as sure as she could well be that the idea had originated with him and not with Eud-Ecachlon. The very way Eud-Ecachlon had put it was enough to tell her that. And to do Kembri justice, he'd given her clear warning. Besides, to himself it must seem that he was treating her generously indeed. The marriage offered the solution to several problems, a most shrewd stroke of policy from every angle, public and private; to say nothing of the confidence he must feel in her as suitable for such a position from Bekla's point of view. By implication it was a bigger compliment than she could ever have expected to be paid to her. And Eud-Ecachlon-that decent, dull, not-too-sure-of-himself man, fated but not gifted to be a High Baron, burdened with the memory of an unhappy, ludicrous failure in love which had clouded him for years-he stood to get a bride whom thousands throughout the empire would give their eyes for.

So much for the protagonists. But politically, Kembri would have disposed, smoothly and irreproachably, of his greatest stumbling-block to Milvushina as Sacred Queen. He would have no need, now, to run the risk of killing a girl whose murder, even if only suspected, would bring the whole city about his ears; while from the point of view of the Leopards the Serrelinda ought to prove just the thing for Urtah. The Urtans would be delighted and flattered to get her. She would attract their loyalty and strengthen Eud-Ecachlon's position as High Baron. She might even, in some unforeseen way or other (if Karnat were to die, say, and the power of Terekenalt weaken), prove contributory to bringing about a peaceful re-unification of Suba with Urtah. There would be plenty of older people in Kendron-Urtah who remembered Nokomis. Kembri could not, of course, be aware of her, Maia's, acutal blood-relationship to Nokomis, but the odds were that he had already learned of the striking physical resemblance. Yet the blood-relationship, if she were to reveal it, would constitute no bar to her marriage with Eud-Ecachlon. They were cousins. His father had been her aunt's lover; nothing more than

that. Indeed, bearing in mind Nokomis's enormous celebrity, this would enhance, not detract from her status in Urtah.

Whereas if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon, there could be only one possible conclusion drawn by Kembri, the Council and the entire Leopard faction-that she had set her heart on becoming Sacred Queen at all hazards and reckoned she could achieve it by relying on the support of the people even against the Lord General. Well, she thought, maybe she could, at that, if she'd been cast in the mold of Fornis. Yet beloved of Lespa or not, she knew very well that she entertained no least desire to be Sacred Queen.

Now, for the first time, as she lay tossing restlessly, with the moonlight creeping across the floor, there came into her heart glimmerings of doubt: not of her love for Zen-Kurel-no, nor of his for her-but of its ultimate attainability. The fear of death-the fear of death as an imminent and actual probability-is a terrible thing, twisting and forcing the inward eye like a kind of distorting lens. In face of the fear of death, an alternative which would otherwise have seemed beyond bearing becomes at least endurable, while what was once felt as merely tedious or irksome appears positively attractive. Poor Maia had little doubt what would become of her, one way or another, if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon.

If only she had known anything at all of Zen-Kurel- simply his whereabouts! If she could have been sure of nothing more than that he was alive, then, she thought, she would also have known her answer. But to know nothing-nothing-

"What?" said the Fear of Death, squatting, hands clasped round bony knees, in the shadow under the window across the room. "A Katrian boy you were with for-how long? Three hours? You must understand, Maia, that I've nothing whatever against you; but for a girl of your origins to be asked in all earnest to become High Baroness of Urtah, and reject it for the ridiculous, out-of-the-question possibility of somehow regaining a foreign lad who made love to you and was gone almost at once! Who may be anywhere, who may be dead: well, to be frank I thought you had more sense. I couldn't protect you, you know-"

"But I haven't any heart for it!" she cried out to the horrible shadow. "High Baroness? What's Urtah to me, or a man who couldn't even see anything particularly beautiful about my cabinet of the fishes? And do you realize he never even said he loved me? Were you there? Do you remember what he called it? He called it 'the arrangement'! Yes, 'the arrangement'! Three hours-three days- what's it matter? What matters is the actual, physical memory of my Zenka-the things he said to me, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, what it was like to be with him, what it was like to know we understood and loved and respected each other! And I know what it would be like to live with him, too. I'd never have to be pretending to be something I'm not-not with him I wouldn't!"

"And then, you see, there's Form's," went on the Fear of Death, clicking slightly in moving to a more comfortable position against the wall. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten Fornis, have you? Kembri as an enemy-well, I suppose at a pinch you could try going on your knees to Kembri. But Fornis, my dear! I mean, won't she be delighted to hear that you rejected Eud-Ecachlon in order to try to supplant her as Sacred Queen? For of course that's what she will think, no danger. Ob, I know it's the middle of the night and all that, but really I've only got your good at heart. I mean, you do remember, do you, those bodies hanging by the road when you and Occula were coming up to Bekla last year? And you remember Fornis getting back from the temple, do you, with the blood all over her arms yum yum? And you're completely defenseless, you see. Oh, yes, of course, I know about the comet; not quite so bright tonight, by the way, have you noticed-?"

"O Cran, let me alone!" she screamed silently. "I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll tell them tomorrow! O Zenka! Zenka! If only I knew where you were! If only you were here to save me and take me away! But how can I die-yes, die!-for nothing but a memory?"

In spite of her near-hysterical fear, Maia did not lack awareness of the enormous consequence to herself of the decision she was now taking. She realized very well that she had been subdued by terror to conclude that, while she could and would have risked all for a realistic hope of recovering her flesh-and-blood Zenka, she was not equal to facing virtually certain death by murder for the sake of a love with no discernible hope or future. This was retreat; abandonment; surrender. She had a sensation of stepping down from some high, bright place into twilight, into a listless, sluggish world like that of oxen, a world where

she did not want to be and-had nowhere to go. She knew clearly enough that she was relinquishing the hope which had upheld her and prompted her actions ever since that night in Melvda-Rain. For months past she had known what she longed for, and now she had turned away from it.

And there were no compensations. If she had been five or six years older she might, perhaps, have comforted herself with the prospect of becoming the greatest lady in Uriah, a figure of power and consequence in the empire and one probably well able, with experience and the exercise of tact and discretion, to control and give guidance to a husband who would be only too glad to receive it. But what could all that mean to sixteen-year-old Maia, even had she been able to envisage it?

She fell asleep at last, just as first light was breaking and the mynahs and starlings were beginning to murmur along the ledges outside. She dreamt of the river and the soldiers who had carried her to Sendekar, but when she woke could find little meaning or comfort in the dream. Poor Maia was young enough to feel ashamed of what she was going to do; nor did it occur to her that this shame was creditable.

Brero, like the good fellow he was, could sense that something was wrong. He stood fidgeting on the little terrace as Maia, who had summoned him, at first remained silent, hesitating for the last time before sending her irreclaimable message. There were three possible ways of doing it. (Ah, rope, knife or poison, she thought bitterly; these being the options traditionally offered in the empire to someone compelled to commit suicide.) Either she could send Eud-Ecachlon a letter of acceptance, or she could herself go to Kembri's house and tell him; or else she could invite him to come and see her again. Not having much confidence for writing a letter (and not, of course, wishing to employ a scribe) and having no particular desire to encounter Kembri, she had decided on the last, and accordingly had packed Ogma off to the markets of the lower city for the makings of a slap-up dinner. It really was like being executed, she thought. If it had to happen, then it ought to be endured with style and courage. Yet now, with Brero waiting uneasily before her, she hung back, looked

at the ground, drummed her fingers on her knee, began to speak and then broke off.

"Brero, I want you-I want you to-"

"Yes, saiyett?"

These were the last moments of her youth, she thought. She had only to speak, now, and her life would cease to be her own, for ever. Her tongue was like a knife, about to cut away all that was past, which would thereupon float away and disappear behind her. There'd be no delay, either; she felt sure of that. Kembri would not lose any time in making the news of the betrothal public throughout the city.

She stood up and turned aside, filled with an uncontrollable anguish. In the act of trying to speak her lips trembled and for a few moments her sight actually clouded over. She realized that Brero had taken her arm and led her the few steps back to the bench.

"Very awkward times, these, saiyett; very awkward for everyone."

She looked up into his rugged, kindly face, not sure whether he meant something specific or was only trying as best he could to express a vague sympathy.

"I don't know whether you've heard the news, saiyett, but what they're saying in our mess is that Santil-ke-Er-ketlis has actually defeated Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion somewhere in Yelda, and our lads are falling back into Lapan. You wouldn't happen to know, I suppose, whether that's true?"

What's that to me? she thought. "No, I haven't heard anything, Brero. If I do I'll pass it on to you."

He hesitated. "Saiyett, I can see you're a bit upset, like; and that's none of my business, of course. But for what it's worth, I'd like to warn you-though I hope you won't tell anyone it came from me-that I'm not the only fellow in our mob as reckons there's going to be a whole lot of trouble, and 'fore very much longer too."

He paused, but she was too much preoccupied to prompt him.

"Only we sometimes get to hear things, saiyett, before they're given out by the heralds, you see; and sometimes, come to that, things that never are given out at all. Just, lads come back from the front and tell their mates. Well, you see, it's only that I'm hoping they'll let me go on being one of them as looks after you. I'm no coward-I've seen

plenty of action since I first joined up-but it's a good soldier who knows how to look after himself, as they say. If you could use your influence-that's if you're satisfied, saiyett, as I hope you are-I'm sure I'll be very grateful."

Recalled to her self-possession by this harmless and understandable bit of self-seeking, she smiled.

"Of course I will, Brero; don't worry. Now could you please be so kind as to go to the Lord General's house, ask for Lord Eud-Ecachlon of Urtah and tell him I'll be honored if he'll come to dinner with me a little after noon today?"

"But whatever kept you so long, Ogma? Oh, yes, I'm sure you must have taken great care to get all the best you could find. I know you always do-those brillions look lovely, and so do the trout-only now it's so late in the morning. Lord Eud-Ecachlon will be here quite soon and you'll need all of an hour to get dinner ready. Do make a start as quick as you can, there's a dear."

"Well, I would have been back a lot sooner, Miss Maia," said Ogma, her voice taking on the querulous, defensive tone with which Maia had become familiar, "if only it hadn't been for being bothered and pestered and-and followed all up the street and made to look that much of a fool until I didn't know if I was coming or going. And when you're a slave there's nothing you can do about it and-and 'tisn't likely, miss, that anyone's going to interfere to help the likes of me," ended poor Ogma, who was obviously on the point of tears. "It's all right for some, as has soldiers to pull them about in jekzhas-"

"Now, Ogma," said Maia quickly, though inwardly she was fuming at this additional waste of time; it would have to happen now, she thought. "Just try to calm yourself! It's all over now. Were they street louts, or what? You tell me who it was and I promise you I'll see they get something to remember. Did you tell them who you were and that you work for me?"

"Why, he knows very well as I work for you, miss. 'Course he does! That's why he was on pestering me and wouldn't go away. I had to call out to the guards on the Peacock Gate, else I couldn't have got away from him or got back here at all."

Who the hell could this be? thought Maia. Not Ran-

dronoth-no, nor anyone else she could think of: presumably some boorish stranger from one of the outer provinces, besotted by having got a sight of the Serrelinda and ready to try anything. Well, there'd be an end to all that soon enough now.

"You say he knows you work for me?"

"Well, 'course he does, miss. That's why he wouldn't go away. 'You take me through the gate with you,'he says. 'They know who you are and they'll let me through if you tell them the Serrelinda wants to see me urgently.' So I says, 'No,' I says. 'The Serrelinda's got a dinner-party today,' I says, 'and you've made me late as it is. What I'll do, I'll tell her you're here,' I says,' 'cos last time she said I ought to have let her know that much, but if you think I'm going to take a branded man through the gate into the upper city,' I says-"

"Ogma! A branded man?"

"Yes, that there Sednil, miss, of course! He-"

"Sednil? You mean to say he's back here-already?"

"I don't know nothing about back already, miss, but that's who it was."

"Ogma, never mind about the dinner! Just put all those things in the kitchen, quickly: then come back here. I'll write you a note for the guards on the gate. You're to go back at once, find Sednil and bring him here as quick as you can, understand? No, don't say any more; just do as I tell you!"

Snatching up her brush and ink, she sat down and began with laborious care, "The barer of this worront is Sednil of Dari…"

"But Sednil, what brought you back so soon? I wasn't expecting you for-oh, for weeks! You've never been to Urtah, surely?"

"No," he replied. "No, I didn't go to Urtah; I just went to Dari."

They were sitting side-by-side on the roof. Shortly after the flustered and thoroughly disgruntled Ogma had left on her errand, Brero had returned from the Lord General's house with the message that Eud-Ecachlon would certainly come as soon as possible, but regretted that he might be delayed by an important Council meeting about to be held at the Barons' Palace. He had not yet appeared, and Maia had taken Sednil up to the roof, partly because it was the

most secluded place in her small house and partly in order to make sure of giving a convincing impression that she was not at home for the moment, having had to go out for a short time-which was what Ogma had been told to say.

"But why? Oh, Sednil, you mean you've come back without finding anything out? After I'd given you all that money-"

"No, no," he answered. "I didn't need to go to Urtah, Maia: I found out all there is to be found out in Dari."

His manner, grave and unsmiling, roused in her a quick trepidation. "You mean-you mean Zen-Kurel's dead? You've found out that he's dead!"

"No, he's not dead. He's a prisoner in the fortress at Dari. There were quite a few, you know-Terekenalters, Katrians, Subans as well-taken in the fight at Rallur. Bayub-Otal was one of them, as everybody knows. Well, your Zen-Kurel was another. Apparently he was fighting like a perfect devil when he slipped and went down in the mud. Someone noticed from his badges that he was a staff officer and reckoned he might be worth a ransom, so they jumped on him and took him prisoner."

"How did you find this out?"

"Well, when I told my old mother what I was up to- she sends you her blessings, by the way. She was more than grateful for the money-she said she knew there were some Katrian prisoners in the fortress and why didn't I check on them for a start, before I went to Urtah. I couldn't see there was any danger in asking straight out, so I went there and asked to see one of the captains of the fortress. The man I saw was Durakkon's younger son. He's no sort of a soldier at all, but he's a very decent, kind-hearted sort of fellow. Just as well-a real dyed-in-the-wool officer would probably have thrown me out. I told him my story about having known this Zen-Kurel when we'd both been banzis in Dari, and he told me at once-well, what I've already told you. Zen-Kurel's reasonably well, as far as I can make out-as well as anyone can be in that place-and Bayub-Otal too."

"Then-then surely they'll all be let out, won't they, as soon as things have quietened down? I could send him a letter, couldn't I, 'specially if you say this son of Durakkon's is so nice? Or-oh, Sednil, I could ransom him myself, surely?"

"You might have tried, perhaps." He gazed at her somberly.

"What d'you mean?"

He took her hand. "Maia, there's something more, and this is the bad bit, I'm afraid. Fornis is in Dari."

"Fornis? Well, I know she is. What about it?"

"She's got the whole of Paltesh under her control, and it's rumored that Han-Glat, who's in command of the fortress, has become her lover. That's what she intended all along, I dare say: Han-Glat's about the one man who could stand up to Kembri, you see."

"Her lover?"

"Well, whether he is or not, no one's in any doubt that he's ready to do anything she wants him to. She's got Paltesh, she's got the fortress and she's got the prisoners. No one knows for certain what she's planning, but when I left, people were saying that she was in touch with some of the runaway slave bands in Belishba."

Maia shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"Well, you probably know more about Fornis than I do, Maia: I only know she's a woman who's ready to stick at nothing; and very bold and cunning, too. I think what she may really be trying to do is to make Kembri so nervous that he'll tell Durakkon to invite her to come back and confirm her as Sacred Queen again. And if he won't, she's perfectly capable of seceding from the empire and putting Paltesh at Karnat's disposal. At the least that would worry the Leopards very badly, but at the best-from her point of view, that is-she could hope to return to Bekla with Karnat and his army. That's to say, she could give him the empire!"

"Oh, damn the empire!" said Maia. "The prisoners! The prisoners, Sednil-"

"Why, the prisoners are one of her strongest bargaining counters, don't you see? She's got Bayub-Otal and something like sixty or seventy Katrians and Terekenalters, including two or three of Karnat's best officers. She means to sell herself and them-and Paltesh-to- her own best advantage, that's certain."

Maia, white-faced, fists clenched, stood up, staring out over the parapet of the roof across the lower city. "I don't care! I don't care for basting Fornis, or Han-Glat or the whole damned lot of them. Now I know Zenka's alive I'm going to get him out if it's the last thing I do!"

There was a long pause. "Maia," said Sednil at last, standing up and coming over to her side, "would you think about marrying me? I've loved you, you know, ever since- ever since that morning in the temple. Do think about it seriously. A man of your own sort-someone you understand and who understands you. We could get down into Chalcon together before anyone missed you, and you'd be safe there. I know we might have a bit of a struggle to begin with, but I'd look after you and keep you safe-"

Turning, she laid a finger on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Sednil! I really am, because I like you and respect you. But it's not-well, it's just not what the gods say in my heart, that's all. Anyway, I told you before- Nennaunir loves you sincerely and you couldn't do better." She paused. "I must go downstairs now. Do you see-oh, careful! He might look up!-do you see that man waiting down there in the garden? I'm going to refuse Aim, too, even if it costs me my life; and I reckon-I reckon it probably will. Can you please wait up here until Ogma comes for you?" Embracing him, she kissed him warmly on the lips. "Dear Sednil, thank you for helping me: I'll never forget it. I know what I'm going to do now: I didn't before; I only thought I did. So that takes care of everything between us-except for this." And she handed him a small, plain wooden box..

"What's that, then?" he asked, in the dulled, heedless tone of someone upset and preoccupied.

"The other two thousand meld. Had you forgotten?"

Eud-Ecachlon's air certainly did not much resemble the conventional notion of a man in love. As Maia came up to him in the garden he smiled and took her hands; yet there was nothing particularly happy or eager in his manner, which seemed, indeed, abstracted; nor did he compliment her on her appearance or her dress. She knew him, of course, for an impassive man, not readily stirred- and anyway, she thought, 'twasn't as though she was going to say anything likely to make him start turning cartwheels. Yet all the same it nettled her-it affronted her sense of what was fitting-that he should to all appearances be so little on tenterhooks for her answer. She had left Sednil in tears, poor lad. From the look of things, she didn't reckon there were going to be many more shed round here.

Well, that'd certainly make it easier; but all the same it annoyed her.

He drank down his first goblet almost at once, like a man who needed it. She smiled, making a little pantomime of looking in and finding it empty. As she picked up the wine-jug to re-fill it, he asked her "Have you got any djebbah, Maia?"

"Djebbah? Yes, of course, if you want it. I'll call Ogma."

He drained his first tot of djebbah, too; and then sat down, looking rather more relaxed.

"I'm afraid you must have had a bit of a bad old morning, Euda. Everything all right?"

"Anything but, Maia; though I wouldn't say it to anyone except you."

"You mean the Council didn't go well?"

"How could it? The news is about as bad as it could well be."

"Why, what's wrong with the news, then?" asked Maia rather carelessly, as though the news were some sort of dish which Eud-Ecachlon had found not altogether to his liking.

He paused, seeming embarrassed, leaning forward as he tossed a handful of serrardoes one by one to a duck which had wandered up from the lakeside.

"Elvair-ka-Virrion," he said at length. "He's a friend of yours, isn't he?"

"Well, he's always been very nice to me. Yes, I'd say he was a friend."

"What would you say if I told you he was a coward?"

"Well, if you really want to know, Euda, I dunno as I'd be so very much bothered. Men are always going on about fighting and cowards and victory and courage and-oh, all that stuff. Elvair's got nice manners and a kind heart-I know that much. Why; are you calling him a coward?"

"Well, it certainly looks that way, I'm afraid. And you may find that you've got to be bothered before long, whether you like it or not."

She could have hit him. "Well, my lord, seeing as you don't seem to have anything better to talk about, p'raps you'd better tell me."

But even this, to all appearances, went over his head. "Well, the news from Yelda is very bad. In fact, they're not going to give it out in the lower city at all. It seems that Elvair-ka-Virrion, after entirely failing to come to any

sort of grips with Erketlis in Chalcon, decided to fall back on Ikat Yeldashay for supplies and a general re-fit. He thought-and I think Kembri thought, too, though he hasn't said so-that once he was clear out of Chalcon, Erketlis would leave it at that and go home. But he didn't."

"Oh, didn't he?" asked Maia politely, since it seemed to be expected of her.

"No. He must be a very remarkable leader, that man," said Eud-Ecachlon. "He kept almost all his army together-apparently only a few went home-and made a forced march-something like fifty miles-through absolutely desperate country in less than two days. They got across the Thettit-Ikat road south of Elvair-ka-Virrion, so that he had to attack them."

"But I thought that was what Elvair wanted all along?" asked Maia.

"Well, so did he, but by that time his men were in pretty poor heart. Anyhow, the long and short of it is that he was beaten." He hesitated, and then went on, "But according to the officer who brought the news, he needn't have been. This man-Gel-Ethlin, his name is-made his report at the meeting this morning. He was so angry and upset that he couldn't contain himself-couldn't stick to what he'd been told to say. He couldn't even hold himself in on account of Kembri being there."

"Why, what did he say, then?" asked Maia.

"Well, what it amounted to was that Elvair-ka-Virrion had made a complete mess of the whole battle. Gel-Ethlin said he gave no leadership at all and-well, more or less ran away, as far as I can make out. And then he broke off the action, even though his captains wanted to go on. Gel-Ethlin said to Kembri, 'I'm very sorry, my lord, to have to report this, and believe me I wouldn't say it if I didn't feel I had to. If one word of it's proved a lie, you can hang me in the Caravan Market.'"

Even Maia was startled by this. "What did Kembri say?"

"Nothing. He thanked Gel-Ethlin as though he'd been reporting a fire or a broken bridge, and then he sent an immediate order to Randronoth to call up every available man in Lapan and go to Elvair's relief. But after what I've heard this morning I very much doubt whether Elvair will be able to retain the command. I think his own people may very likely depose him in the field."

"But Randronoth, you said?"

"Well, you see, even what I've told you's not the worst of it. It seems that after the battle Elvair-ka-Virrion, with the choice of falling back on Thettit or Bekla, chose Bekla, and his force is retreating now through eastern Lapan. But Erketlis has given out that what he intends, in the light of this victory, is nothing less than to take Bekla and destroy the Leopards-the slave-traders, as he calls them. He's had it proclaimed everywhere from Ikat to Herl."

Ogma appeared to announce dinner, and Maia, taking her guest's arm, led him back up the garden.

"What it comes to, Maia, I'm afraid, is that the whole empire's riddled with disaffection against the Leopards. Erketlis is the most serious, of course, but there's a slave rising half out of control in Belishba-or that's what it sounds like. Fornis has taken over Paltesh to play her own game-whatever it may be-and that damned Lenkrit's sneaking up and down in western Urtah, making all the trouble he can."

He slit his trout, took out the tail, backbone and head and put them on the plate Ogma was holding ready.

"I'll tell you, I honestly wonder whether Durakkon and Kembri will be able to keep a roof over their heads in this storm. I say this to you, Maia, though I wouldn't say it to anyone else. I believe all the provinces are hanging back, waiting to see which way it's going to go. If Erketlis isn't beaten soon-" He shrugged his shoulders.

Could she herself make any use of this? thought Maia. If it were really the beginning of what Occula had called "the biggest shine for a thousand years', did it offer her any practical hope of getting to Dari-to the fortress-and then-? Perhaps someone-perhaps even Durakkon's son, if he had such a kind heart-could be cajoled or bribed? Yet she felt, desperately, the limitations of her youth and inexperience. Might Occula be persuaded to take the risk and escape with her? After all, Occula's chances of killing the Sacred Queen might very well be as good in Dari as in Bekla. Oh, ah, she thought, and as deadly dangerous too. Occula's wits, Occula's experience, Occula's help- the price to he paid for these, like enough, would be a share in the appalling venture to which Occula had devoted herself. Well, so be it. Now that she knew he was alive, she was ready to go to any lengths for Zenka.

She realized that Eud-Ecachlon had apparently asked

her some question. He was looking at her inquiringly and seemed a little put out.

"I said 'I wonder what you think': or weren't you listening?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Euda, I'm afraid my thoughts had wandered a bit, just for a moment. But after all, it's understandable, isn't it? You've told me enough this morning to worry anybody."

It would have been nice, she thought, if he had tried to give her some reassurance; spoken a few comforting words- yes, even if they'd been so much moonshine-something like "he was sure everything was going to turn out all right; she mustn't worry"-the sort of thing men usually said to girls when things were looking bad. However, he didn't.

"I was saying I thought it would all depend on the response Kembri gets from the various provinces. He's summoned every provincial governor except Randronoth- Randronoth's got his orders already, of course-to come to Bekla and renew their oath of allegiance to Durakkon. They've been told to be ready to tell him how many men they can send. What I asked was whether you had any idea how many Tonilda might be able to send. You come from down that way, don't you?"

"Yes, but-well, my lord, I mean, I wouldn't know about a thing like that; not someone like me."

"Paltesh won't help, of course-not now Forms is there. But Bel-ka-Trazet's already on his way from Ortelga, so I've heard; and believe it or not, there's someone coming from Suba."

"From Suba, my lord? Why, how can that be? Suba still belongs to King Karnat, doesn't it? You don't mean to say as he's allowing someone to come to Bekla to talk about helping the Leopards?"

"Well, I don't know any more than I've told you," answered Eud-Ecachlon, as Ogma took away the remains of his fish plate and put in front of him a dish of pork, with shallots and spiced brillions. "The man who's coming- Kembri told us this morning-he isn't a baron or a governor at all, and he certainly hasn't been sent by Karnat. He's some sort of old medicine-man, or something. But apparently he commands such enormous respect all over Suba that when he said on his own account that he wanted to come to Bekla and talk to Durakkon, Karnat wasn't prepared to go the length of stopping him."

"An old-medicine-man?" asked Maia, staring. "Euda, what's his name, do you know?"

"Yes, I did hear it-wait a minute-yes; Nasada, that's it. Someone said that the Subans-why, what's the matter, Maia? Do you know him, or something?"

"Yes. Yes, I do!" She collected herself. "Well, it's only just that when I was there I was taken bad, sort of, and he put me right, that's all."

"Well, it's a small world, isn't it?" said Eud-Ecachlon. "Did you like him? Is he really anything out of the ordinary or not?"

"If he's coming to Bekla I wouldn't-oh, no, I wouldn't want to miss the chance of meeting him again. Yes, I liked him very much."

"Well, that won't be difficult," replied Eud-Ecachlon. "Our betrothal will have been announced, so of course you'll be able to meet any of the provincial governors and delegates you wish. In fact, I'm sure they'll all be very anxious to meet you. We ought to give a banquet, really. I'll mention it to Kembri-"

"Just a moment. Ogma, would you leave us, please, and shut the door behind you? What did you say, my lord?"

"I said I'd mention it to Kembri-"

"No, before that."

"I said our betrothal will have been announced-"

"I'm afraid not, my lord. You never asked me for my answer, did you? I'm sorry if you took it for granted. I very much appreciate the honor you've done me, but I'm afraid my answer is no."

He stared at her incredulously, looking completely nonplussed. "What, Maia?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't feel able to accept your offer, my lord."

"You mean-you mean you're seriously rejecting the prospect-the certainty, that is-of becoming High Baroness of Urtah?"

"I'd really rather not discuss it or argue about it, my lord, if you don't mind. And I hope you won't ask me for reasons. I've thought about it very carefully and I don't feel able to become your wife."

"Maia-I'd like to say 'dear Maia'-you're very beautiful; and everyone knows that you're very brave, too. But you're also very young and-I hope you won't mind my

saying this-not at all experienced. Have you talked this over with anyone and taken advice?"

"Forgive me, my lord; I don't have to answer that."

"No, you don't have to: but I'm sure any sensible friend and well-wisher would tell you that you'd be going very much against your own best interests to refuse an offer- a future-like this."

"Then I'm going against my own best interests, my lord. Don't let your pork get cold. Be a shame to waste it."

"Maia, believe me, if you insist on this you'll be wasting a lot more. I don't want to frighten you, but it could prove a fatal mistake.",

"Fear would be a very bad reason for marriage, my lord."

– "Oh, Maia, I didn't mean that! But you're so young and you see everything-well, so black and white. This marriage would be much the best thing for you-and for me, too. You realize, don't you, that if you were an ordinary girl living in Bekla with her parents, they could tell you whom you were to marry and you'd be obliged to obey them?"

"Maybe, my lord; but as things are that doesn't happen to be the case."

"Kembri might order you to marry, though."

She paused a few moments, looking straight back at him. "If you was to take me that way, my lord, I'm afraid I wouldn't reckon such a great lot to it; or to you, either."

He was silent, toying with his pair of knives, first one and then the other. She got up and herself served him cheese and fruit, then went out to the kitchen and brought back the tray of little sweet dishes with which a Beklan dinner customarily ended. As she came in and closed the door he said, "Maia, I must ask you this seriously. Is your real reason that you intend to become Sacred Queen? Because if it is-"

She answered him instantly and firmly. "No, my lord, it's not."

"But if you're still living here now, in this same way, at the end of this year, there's not the slightest doubt that the people will acclaim you, whether you wish it or otherwise. Have you thought of that?"

"My lord, you keep telling me I'm very young; and I haven't given you the back-answer as I could have. But yes, I have thought of it, and I'm afraid you must leave

me to order my own affairs. I can only tell you again that I'm not planning to become Sacred Queen."

"Then what is your idea of the future? Maia, I'm only thinking of your safety and welfare, believe me."

The succession of grave, insensitive questions from a man old enough to be her father, whom she could hardly tell to go to hell, was beginning to have its effect. She clenched her hands and her voice rose.

"I've told you, my lord, as I don't want to talk about it n'morel Please let's stop now!"

"Well, if you say so, Maia, I must. But these are troubled times and I don't think you realize-I don't think you've got the slightest idea-what unscrupulous, ruthless people you'll be-er-disobliging. I thought you'd be glad to come and help me rule Urtah; to win the hearts of the people and restore unity there. Everyone would love you and honor you. A girl like you-well,.from a poor home, if you don't mind my saying so-to become next thing to a queen-an important, influential figure in the empire- and you just say no-I don't understand it." Then, suddenly, he broke out, "Oh, damnation! And they'll all say I made a mess of it! I know that's what they'll say-"

"Who will, my lord?"

"Why, Kembri; and the Council-"

"Oh, I see. So it was Kembri as started all this, was it?"

"Yes. He told me he thought it would be an excellent thing both from your point of view and mine, and I absolutely agreed with him. It would solve all manner of problems-"

"I see. Well now, my lord, the banzi slave-girl's going to tell the middle-aged baron something he apparently doesn't know. Next time you're thinking of getting married, start by choosing a girl for yourself. And when you come to ask her, start by telling her you love her."

"I really can't see that you've got anything to be so angry about, Maia-"

"There seems to be a lot you can't see, my lord."

He sprang to his feet. "Be careful how you make me angry-"

"Me make you angry? Lespa and Shakkarn! My lord, I wouldn't want either of us to lose our dignity. I've got a headache. Please finish your dinner: call the servant for anything you want. I'm going to lie down."

76: NASADA GIVES ADVICE

At this season of the year the upstairs room adjacent to the Bramba Tower in the Barons' Palace-that same room in which Durakkon had been persuaded by Kembri and Sencho to consent to the killing of Enka-Mordet-was scarcely large or airy enough for ten men to confer together in comfort during the heat of the afternoon. Yet here they had been for half an hour already. The air had grown stale and heavy, for despite the height above the city there seemed to be no breeze. Durakkon, sweating under his robes of state, sat with one hand over his left eye, which had begun to hurt neuralgically. At the moment there was silence, for the Lord General, seated next to him, had just ceased speaking and was making notes and calculations with a stick of charcoal on a board.

The delegates were not seated formally, but here and there about the room. The governors of Kabin, Tonilda and Belishba sat side by side on the couch where Sencho had been accustomed to sprawl. Bel-ka-Trazet, his hands clasped about his drawn-up knees, was sitting in one of the window embrasures looking (thought Durakkon) like some ravaged kobold waiting sardonically for propitiation. Gel-Ethlin, in the undress uniform of the Beklan regiment, was at the other end of the table, next to Donnered, the representative of Sarkid (for Sarkid, like Uriah, was a province where Bekla maintained no governor). Eud-Ecachlon, who throughout the meeting had given the impression of being preoccupied and ill-at-ease, stood leaning against the door.

Despite Kembri's request, no representative had appeared on behalf of Gelt. None had been summoned from Paltesh; nor yet from Yelda, since the latter had effectively fallen to Santil-ke-Erketlis.

From time to time one man or another would glance towards the tenth person in the room; the oldest present, shock-haired, grizzled and silent, his sunken eyes gazing intently from his deeply-lined, brown face. He also, with his short, squat build, rather suggested to Durakkon some sort of goblin creature; yet-unlike Bel-ka-Trazet-one at the same time benign and magisterial, as though, while attending the meeting but not entirely of it, he was listening and even adjudicating from some detached, forbearing

standpoint of his own. So far he had spoken only at the outset, when Durakkon had asked him to swear by Frella-Tiltheh the Inscrutable that he came in peace and would impart to Karnat nothing that he might hear about the forces, dispositions and intentions of Bekla. With this request he had at once complied in a manner which carried conviction to all present. This was Nasada, the renowned physician of Suba. Evidently the Lord General had concluded that it would look better to grant than to refuse his request to attend.

"Captain Gel-Ethlin," said Durakkon, at length breaking silence upon a nod from the Lord General, "you've given us a very clear account of the difficulties our force met with in Chalcon, and I suppose we must also accept your account of what happened in the engagement with Erketlis on the Thettit-Ikat road. No!" he interjected quickly, as Gel-Ethlin seemed about to speak, "I'm not suggesting that there was anything wrong or inaccurate in what you've told us, though I hope for your own sake that what you insisted upon saying about Lord Elvair-kaVirrion won't turn out to have been malicious or exaggerated."

"Men's lives, my lord-"

"Yes, yes; well, I know the Lord General has something to say in a moment about the future command. But first of all, I think you'd better go on to tell us what's known- that is, what the assessment was when you left-of Er-ketlis's present strength and intentions."

"Well, my lord, we think that Erketlis's intentions have altered with his fortunes. He's a shrewd man and he knows how to seize an opportunity. We believe that at the beginning he probably intended nothing more than to defend Chalcon. But he seems to be very well informed about matters elsewhere. And also, of course, he was joined quite early on by young Elleroth of Sarkid, who brought him about five hundred irregulars-volunteers. No doubt it's Elleroth who's influenced him to go further."

"Well, Elleroth's already a proscribed traitor, of course," said Durakkon. "He'll hang upside-down, Ban's son or no. You're not going to dispute that, I trust, Donnered?"

"I've no instruction from the Ban to do so, my lord," replied the Sarkidian.

"We think," continued Gel-Ethlin, "that while Erketlis was following up our retreat from Chalcon, he realized he had a chance of making gains that would actually be worth

more to him and his men than any harvest. Chalcon's not much of a corn-growing place, of course; but anyway, they didn't disband and obviously he must have persuaded them to attempt this dash for the Ikat road. They can't have slept for the best part of two days; and immediately after that we brought them to battle. And we could have beaten them, my lord," cried Gel-Ethlin, "if only-"

"Yes," broke in Kembri gruffly, "so you've said. But what's the position now?"

"The position now, my lord, is that Erketlis has taken Ikat Yeldashay-with all its resources, of course-and given out that he intends nothing less than the conquest of Bekla. He's pinning his hopes of popular support on his proclamation that he means to abolish slavery throughout the empire, except for prisoners taken in war. I haven't actually seen a copy of the proclamation, but I've talked to prisoners who have. What it boils down to, really, is the old heldro grievance. It starts by saying that taxation of the peasants in favor of the merchants is unjustly high, and then goes on that kidnapping and breeding for slavery have become an abuse and a danger-villages living in fear and so on, partly from the demands for slave-quotas and partly from gangs of runaway slaves turned bandit. Then it-"

"Yes, well," said Kembri, "we've heard all this, too. How does Erketlis stand, as you see it?"

"We've had refugee slave-dealers coming in from Ikat," replied Gel-Ethlin. "He's declared all slaves in Yelda free and offered enlistment to any who are ready to join him. Not only that, but immediately after the battle Elleroth led his own men about twenty miles into Tonilda, burnt the slave-farm at Orthid and brought most of the stock back with him. Apparently they actually carried the younger children on their shoulders. Their real purpose, I think, was probably to convince people that they're in earnest.

"Well, all this means, my lord, of course, that Erketlis has got a dangerously sizable army down there now, even though half of them are untrained. He's training them as fast as he can and he's said in so many words that it's to take Bekla."

"And Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's force?" asked Durak-kon.

"-Is moving westwards into Lapan, my lord, to put itself between Ikat and Bekla."

"Had they received any Lapanese reinforcements from Lord Randronoth when you left?"

"None, my lord,"

"No doubt they will have by now: but in the light of what you tell us, that may not be enough to make sure of defeating Erketlis. That's what the Lord General's going to discuss now. Thank you, Captain Gel-Ethlin."

"The first thing I want to settle," said Kembri, "is the command of the force in Lapan. I shall take it over myself as soon as possible, but meanwhile we need someone new, who wasn't in the defeat; someone who knows how to act quickly and ruthlessly." He looked round the room. "I don't think anyone's going to disagree about the choice. Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, I want you to go to Lapan at once and take over."

It was always impossible to perceive any change of expression in the features of the High Baron of Ortelga. As everyone turned towards him, he swung his legs down from the window embrasure, pulled his veltron straight with a quick tug and for a few moments faced the Lord General without speaking.

"My lord," he said at length, in his impaired, creaking voice. "I'll waste no time in thanking you for the honor you do me. I don't wish to take the command for two reasons. First, I think Ortelga has already contributed enough. We sent you young Ta-Kominion and his men, and whatever may have happened I don't believe they've disgraced themselves or that they're likely to. But secondly, have you thought about the Deelguy? They know very well what's happening and I feel sure Erketlis is in touch with them. Ortelga has always been Bekla's main defense against the Deelguy and if you don't want them taking this chance to come pouring across the Telthearna, I think you'd do better to leave me in Ortelga."

"Why shouldn't Ged-la-Dan command in Ortelga till you get back?" asked Durakkon.

"My lord, do you know why Ortelga remains loyal to Bekla? Because I do, principally. I was loyal to Senda-na-Say and I've been loyal to you. I personally believe that loyalty to be in Ortelga's best interests. But there are those who don't; those who dwell on the past, who pray for the return of Shardik the Bear, the power of God, and all manner of such-like nonsense. We're simple souls in Or-

telga. I honestly believe you'd be taking me away from there at your peril."

Kembri tugged at his beard, reflecting. "Well, you may be right. I'd hoped to make this very well worth your while, but if you don't want the command you'd better not have it. I think you and I will have to consider this further in private, my lord," he said to Durakkon, "and confer the appointment tomorrow." Then, without waiting for the High Baron's reply he went on, addressing the rest, "Now, I want to make sure of the reinforcements that each of you has undertaken to raise. Kabin, five hundred. Tonilda, a thousand and a half. Urtah, two thousand. Lapan I've already put at something short of two thousand. What about Belishba?" he said, looking up under his brows at the governor sitting on the couch. "One of the biggest provinces-the whole area west of the Zhairgen. You didn't tell me this morning. I need to know now. What can you promise?"

"My lord," replied the governor-an elderly, stern-looking man, with the air of one who, while he might not march out to move mountains, would be hard to dislodge from any position he had taken up-"I'm sorry to tell you this, but the truth is that law and order in the province have declined very gravely. In fact, I was lucky to get here and whether I shall be able to return is another matter."

"But the men?" pursued Kembri harshly.

The governor folded his hands before him. "I must make three things clear, my lord. First, heldro sympathies west of the Zhairgen are, I would imagine, probably stronger than anywhere else in the empire. Karnat himself, in fact, has a certain influence among the minor barons and landowners. It's not easy, you see, to prevent a certain amount Of intercourse with Terekenalt, even though we maintain a closed frontier across the Harridan Neck, and a boom across the Zhairgen. Secondly, as you know, I have been contending all this year with bands of runaway slaves turned outlaw. General Sendekar has given me valuable help- without that we would have gone under and no doubt about it-but as things are at the moment there can be no question of impressing able-bodied, law-abiding men away from their homes. They would simply resist; and to be frank with you, my lord, I don't know that I should greatly blame them. It's easy to sit here in Bekla and talk of levying provincial troops. Do you realize that in Belishba every

village maintains an all-night guard, and that men work in the fields with their arms to hand, ready to assemble at the sound of a trumpeter on continual watch?"

Kembri seemed about to speak, but before he could do so the governor went on, "And now comes the proclamation of this man, Santil-ke-Erketlis, that he will reduce peasant taxation-we're a ploughman's province, my lord, stuck out on the edge of the Harridan-and do away with slavery apart from men taken in war. I have obeyed your summons to come here. You appointed me and I thought it my duty to come. But I'm afraid-and if this angers you I can only express my regret-that I can't undertake to send men to Lapan."

Kembri, head bent forward, spoke over a clenched fist laid before him on the table. "Do you mean that you'll send only a few men, or not owe man? Think carefully before you answer."

"I believe, my lord, rightly or wrongly, that my first duty is to the province. I have indeed thought very carefully, as you may suppose. I'm afraid my answer is, not one man."

Instantly, Kembri had drawn his dagger, crossed the room in two strides and thrust the point against the governor's throat. "Not one man?"

The governors of Kabin and Tonilda, at either end of the couch, sprang apart in consternation. Neither Gel-Ethlin nor Bel-ka-Trazet made any movement, but Eud-Ecachlon clutched Donnered by the arm as if for reassurance.

"Not one man?" repeated Kembri deliberately.

The governor, slowly lifting his hands to the back of his neck, drew over his head the official chain, from which depended his seal of office, and hung it on the dagger pressed to this throat, so that it was left dangling.

"I was expecting this. There's a letter to my wife in my pocket."

As every man in the room waited for the great spurt of blood from the jugular vein, Nasada got up from his stool and hobbled forward. With a kind of unreflective, self-possessed authority, rather like that of an adult who, though not given to interference, nevertheless thinks it time to part two children before someone gets seriously hurt, he gently drew the point of the Lord General's dagger to one side, took off the chain, which he dropped into the gov-

ernor's lap and then, looking directly at Kembri with an air of apology, said, "I wonder, my lord, whether you'd be so kind as to call a servant to bring me some wine-or some water, for that matter. If you can allow me, there are one or two things about Belishba that I'd rather like to say before you all reach a decision. Only it's become so hot and stuffy in here, don't you think?"

While speaking, he had somehow managed to interpose himself between the governor and the Lord General, who drew back a pace, glowering. For an instant it seemed as though he would strike Nasada. The old man continued to peer up at him with an unaltered expression of polite solicitation. Kembri laid a hand on his shoulder as though to push him out oj the way, but this he seemed not to notice. At this moment his very helplessness and frailty became instruments of great-indeed, of insurmountable-power. If Kembri were to use violence on him now, he would injure himself far more than Nasada: and on this account, by the same token he could not practicably use violence on the governor.

After staring at him for a few seconds Kembri said, "Very well, U-Nasada. We'll hear you," and returned his dagger to its sheath.

"Thank you, my lord," replied Nasada. "I greatly appreciate your courtesy."

Kembri nodded to Gel-Ethlin, who went to the door and sent one of the sentries for wine, serrardoes and thrilsa. Meanwhile Nasada, drawing up his stool to the couch, began conversing with the governor, in an unraised but clearly audible voice, about the navigability of the upper Zhairgen where it divided Sarkid from Belishba.

"I've always wanted to visit Sarkid, you know," he said. "Only it's as difficult to find time in Suba as it is here, believe it or not. Donnered, do you think I could get up there by water from Suba in-what? Five or six days? It would be much the easiest way, at my time of life."

Before the wine had been brought he had become the center of a group of four or five men discussing, relaxedly and almost with animation, the entirely unexceptionable subject of travel by river throughout the empire.

"Only it's of interest to me, you see," he said, turning to Kembri with a slight suggestion of self-depreciation. "In Suba we seldom travel in any other way. I often wonder

why I haven't become rheumatic: but it's possible, I suppose, that marsh frogs are immune to rheumatics."

Kembri was obliged either to smile or else to appear churlish, and a minute later himself handed Nasada his wine. The old man drank it slowly, and at a halt in the conversation got up and went over to sit beside Bel-ka-Trazet, with whom he was evidently acquainted. At length, as it became clear that the fear and tension had subsided and the mood of the room had cooled to something at least approaching composure, he returned to his stool and sat down as before, silent but alert.

"Well, Nasada," said Kembri, "let's hear, now, what you have to say."

"My lord," replied the old man, speaking slowly and appearing from time to time to pause to choose his words (Bel-ka-Trazet was not the only man to suspect that his real purpose might be to add weight to what he said and compel the attention of his hearers), "I told you that I wished to speak about Belishba. We each of us see things in the light of our own particular trade, don't we? You see with the eyes of a warrior. To a merchant the thing- whatever it is-appears different, and a farmer sees it in yet another light. I'm a physician-insofar as anyone can be, for the truth is that we really know very little about disease and cure, though one day that may change, I suppose. But, Lord General, being a physician I see your empire as if it were sick, and I don't think anyone could deny that at the moment it is, though we may differ about the cause."

He stopped, looking down at the floor and frowning. "Well, I mustn't stretch the comparison too far. I'm not a general or a statesman, so I'm not an empire-doctor- only a people's doctor. But nonetheless, I'm going to risk telling you something which may seem like impudence. If you'll-er-allow me to imagine for a moment that the empire is a human body, then the place where its illness shows most clearly is Belishba. Not Chalcon, but Belishba."

He seemed now to be waiting to see whether the High Baron or anyone else would interrupt him, but none did. After a few moments he looked up at Kembri, who merely nodded.

"I wonder," he went on almost gropingly, "that's to say-I'm not sure-whether you already know-all of you

what the one thing is which makes people ill more than anything else. You'll tell me the gods inflict illness for their own best reasons, and you're quite right; so they do. They visit illness on people who for one reason or another are thwarting or crossing their divine purposes. I expect you think I mean you, Lord General, but I don't. Not in the least."

By this time he had caught the interest of everyone in the room, and there was silence as he refilled his goblet, took a few sips and cleared his throat.

"What I've learned, after years of experience of sick people, is that the one thing that makes them most likely to get ill-that holds the door open, you might say, for illness to come in-is hopeless frustration. The gods want people, don't they, to be human beings-to work and play and eat and mate and love and hate and all the rest of it? What's called living a natural life. They'll struggle for that. That's to say, when they haven't got what they want they'll struggle for it, because it's the will of the gods that they should. That struggle's healthy-quite often they thrive on it. But when they can't struggle-when struggle's not possible, so that they have to resign themselves and to give in, do without wives or children or money or cows or whatever it is-then they often get ill and in some cases they may even become deranged in one way or another. In other words the chief single cause of illness, in my experience, is hopelessness.

"People will go to almost any lengths to avoid hopelessness, and that's not really surprising, since the gods are telling them to-inwardly, I mean-and threatening them with illness or madness if they won't. I don't know whether you know this, but slaves get ill more than anybody else-much more than free people, even poor ones. The gods make them ill for not being what they want human beings to be; for existing for other people's benefit and not for their own. I'm not talking about slaves like bed-girls, who sometimes quite enjoy it and usually have the hope of buying themselves free. I'm talking about working slaves all over the empire. Their frustration's not so much a question of not getting paid. Quite a lot of free peasants hardly use money, come to that; in Suba it's almost unknown. No, their difficulty is that they're not free to come and go, not free to get married, to leave work or a master they don't like and so on. And that's where Belishba comes in.

"The governor here said just now that Belishba's a ploughman's province. So it is; but also, Lord General, as I'm sure you know, it's the principal province where wealthy Leopards work estates with slave labor. The slave quotas taken from local villages are high, too, and there are two slave-farms where children are being bred for slavery. The gods are continually telling these people in their hearts that if they accept that they have no hope of living naturally they'll become either ill or mad. So of course a lot of them have tried to prevent that by desperate measures. You've got a province full of desperadoes there, terrorizing villages. But Belishba's no more than the biggest abscess. The poison's all through your empire to some extent, I'm afraid."

He stopped, bending his head forward, scratching the back of his scrawny neck and screwing up his face as he did so. The effect was grotesque, but no one laughed. At last he said, "I think that's what this man Erketlis has in mind, really. Abolishing slavery-he doesn't think it's going to make anyone more prosperous. But it will mean that people can keep their own children, feel safer in their beds and journey about without having to choose between risking their lives or paying bribes to bandits."

"Isn't it more likely," interposed Durakkon, "that he's just a small baron who's suddenly seen a chance to become powerful and has hit on this idea as a way of gaining support?"

"I wonder, my lord," answered Nasada, "whether you'd forgive me if I leave you for a minute or two?" He smiled wryly at Durakkon. "Old men have to pass water rather more often, I'm afraid." As he stood up Donnered handed him his stick and Eud-Ecachlon opened the door for him.

When he came back he said, "I suppose, my lord, that the time's come for me to admit-and if you don't like it I can only say I'm sorry-that in a way, I'm here as a sort of envoy or emissary or something like that, although it's entirely on my own account, I assure you. Erketlis hasn't sent me and neither has Karnat. I'm just an old Suban medicine-man. They both know I'm here-at least I think they do-but neither of them's told me what to say."

"Then what is it you want?" asked Kembri brusquely. "We've been waiting long enough to hear it."

"Well, I think, to avert bloodshed, really," answered Nasada mildly. "Like Maia, who swam the river, you know;

though I don't look much like her, do I? But I am a doctor, after all, and that's my only excuse. I must admit it's gratifying that my reputation's apparently respectable enough to have got me in here: I never really thought it would. I feel rather out of place and I'm quite ready to go if you want me to."

"But you have some suggestion to make?" asked Du-rakkon.

"Yes; at least, I think I have," said he. "You see, the trouble is that this woman Fornis is back in Dari-Paltesh, and a good many people in Suba think that if you, my lord, get mixed up in a lot of fighting with Erketlis in Yelda and Lapan, she's quite likely to seize the opportunity to march on Bekla. If she and Han-Glat were to do that, Sendekar couldn't possibly stop them, you know-not with the troops he's got now; to say nothing of the state Be-lishba's in."

"For a country doctor, you seem to know a lot about the empire's problems," said Kembri sardonically.

"If you'll allow me to say so, my lord, I think he does," put in Bel-ka-Trazet from his seat in the window. "But what's to be done about them's another matter."

Durakkon inclined his head towards Nasada.

"What is to be done?" he asked.

"Well, since you ask me, my lord," replied Nasada, "and I assure you it's only because you ask me-I'd say, give Erketlis reliable pledges that you'll abolish the slave-farms and slave quotas step by step during-well, say the next six or seven years; reduce the burden of taxation on the peasants and small landowners, and then invite him to join you in getting Belishba under control and perhaps in superseding Fornis."

"And you're seriously suggesting he'd agree to that, are you?" said Kembri.

"I happen to know it," said Nasada quietly. "I'm not saying anything about the possible long-term consequences for Suba, because I'm really here on Karnat's sufferance; but naturally I'm not unmindful of them."

Before Durakkon could speak again, Kembri had stood up and, gently enough, raised the old man to his feet with an arm under his shoulders. "Well, you won't be expecting an answer to all that this afternoon," he said. "You'd better leave us to think about it. I'll call my aide to escort you to your quarters."

77: NEWS OF FORNIS

"D'you know you've fair took my breath away?" said Maia. "I reckoned you'd jump down my throat and call me all manner of fool, that I did."

"Well, of course it's lunatic," answered Occula, "and damn' dangerous, too. But how can I tell you to drop it when it's no crazier than what I'm tryin' to do myself? If you love this Katrian boy, then you love him and that's all there is to it. Anyway, by all I ever heard of Katrians he might do you a lot better than any of these miserable Beklans-that's if you ever get him back, and if he's still of the same mind, which doesn' seem very likely, does it? No, I'm not really worried about you fallin' in love with a Katrian-or a Suban, or a bastin' Deelguy if you want to. What's worryin' me is whether you can survive this mess you've got yourself into. You'd say I'm tough and cunnin', wouldn' you? No one could say I'm not, actually. And even I nearly came unstuck over Sencho. In fact I would have come unstuck-dead and gone by now-if you hadn' saved me and got me in here. But you! Well, you're not silly, banzi, I know, but you're no match for Fornis, are you? What the bastin' hell d'you think your chances are of reachin' Dari-Paltesh and gettin' this man out? The whole place is in the hands of Fornis, for a start, and doesn' she just about love you?"

They were sitting in the cool air of the roof of the Sacred Queen's house. It was nearly two hours after sunset and the lower city, spread out below the Peacock Wall, was everywhere dotted with points of lamplight. The half-mile length of the Sheldad, where it ran from the Caravan Market to the western quarter, showed as a bright line, while beyond lay the similar but longer, more irregular line formed by Masons Street, the Kharjiz and the Khalkoomil. The five towers stood black against the deep blue of the night sky, and above all shone the cool, still radiance of the comet. Vigilant it seemed to Maia, like a silent, heedful judge presiding over the contention of a court-room. Suddenly the imposing, stone-built city appeared to her as nothing more than an anthill of scurrying midgets, meanly self-absorbed and pitifully unconscious of their own triviality, the brief duration of their lives and the committed watchfulness of the su-

pernal powers. They would all die: they were all answerable. She, too: for her life, for her love. Reaching out, she caught Occula's hand in her own.

"Sorry, banzi," said the black girl, returning squeeze for squeeze, "have I put the wind up you? Well, could be all for the best-"

"No, 'twasn't you, dear," replied Maia. "Well, I mean, yes, 'course I'm scared, but I feel I've just got to go on and that's all there is to it: else there's no sense in anything."

"But how the hell are you goin' to set about it, banzi? Have you really thought seriously? I doan' like it one little bit-not on your own. You'll come unstuck fpr sure."

"Well, I was hoping as you might come with me, Occula. If we could only get to Paltesh together, I might help you to kill Fornis and you could help me to get Zenka out."

A flock of wild duck flew over the roof in their usual arrow-head formation, calling together as they disappeared into the darkness.

"Be all right if we could pop down to Baltesh like that, wouldn' it?" said Occula. "Peck her bastin' green eyes out and back for breakfast. No, I'm sorry, banzi, it woan' do: I only wish it would. You see, everythin' in my little game depends on keepin' Fornis's favor and confidence. If I went to Paltesh, I'd have disobeyed her-anyway, I'm a slave, remember?-and I'd almost certainly have given the game away, too."

Maia was about to answer when suddenly the black girl burst out, "Cran and Airtha, you doan' know the half of it! My life's hangin' on a thread-the thread of her whims and her filthy, beastly wants! You realize, doan' you, that that's all that saved you and me after old Piggy was done in? Shall I tell you somethin' else? What you saw-she does that because she prefers it. She doesn' want men; she wants that! All that stuff about never havin' a lover because she knew she was the Sacred Queen and the bride of Cran- that's all my venda! And another thing; do you know she's more than once had girls put to death when she'd lost interest in them?"

"Ah, she told me that herself," said Maia.

"Ashaktis told me, to try and frighten me: and I woan' say she didn', either, but I wasn' goin' to show it. You may have noticed that the little boys aren' here any more."

"I thought she must have taken them with her," said Maia.

"Oh, no," said Occula. "Just get some more when she comes back."

"You mean they've been sold off?"

"No; not sold off," said Occula. "Children talk, you know. But those ones woan'." She paused. "I sometimes think I'll go mad! She's the most cruel, wicked woman in the world. But I'll get her, doan' you worry. When the time comes, Kantza-Merada will tell me what to do. But I'm sorry, banzi, I'm afraid it woan' be at Paltesh."

For a time neither girl said more. The big summer stars moved slowly on the sky-Clypsil, Pildinakis and the constellation of the Otter, which Maia remembered old Drigga teaching her how to recognize when she was still a little girl. From the two clock towers the lamps shone out for the hour. A tryzatt carrying a torch came along the wall, changed the sentries and returned the way he had come.

"If you must go, why doan' you take Nennaunir and young Sednil?" asked Occula suddenly. "I know you couldn' pay Nennaunir a fraction of what she's makin' here in Bekla, but you did her such a good turn by gettin' Sednil freed that she probably wouldn' mind-that's to say, long as it didn' take more than a few weeks. They're both Pal-teshis, aren' they? That could be a big help."

"It might have been a good idea," answered Maia.

"But-?"

"There's only one thing wrong with it-"

"Oh, Cran! Doan' tell me!" said Occula instantly. "You mean somethin' about seven inches long, pointin' the wrong direction?"

"Well, yes."

"Bloody, bastin' men!" said Occula angrily. "Always spoilin' everythin' with their stupid-"

"Oh, Occula, that's nothing!" interrupted Maia. "I haven't told you yet about Eud-Ecachlon. And this really is frightening me. You remember I told you how Kembri came to my house while Nan and Otavis were there, and how he sent them away; and then he said that if I didn't want to be misunderstood I ought to find myself a rich, noble husband-"

"Yes, of course I remember. Go on." Occula spoke in a tone of tension and alarm. "What about it?"

"Well, soon after that Eud-Ecachlon came to see me, and asked me to marry him. He said his father was near to die and he'd soon be High Baron of Urtah."

"What did you say?"

"I asked him to give me time to think it over, and that night I got so frightened I decided the next day I'd tell him yes: but then Sednil came back that very morning and told me Zenka was a prisoner at Dari."

"So what happened then?"

"Eud-Ecachlon came back and I refused him."

"Banzi, do you realize- Who's that?" Occula turned quickly towards the stair-head on the opposite side of the flat roof.

"It's I," replied Zuno's smooth, controlled voice. "Occula, I've just learned some news which I think you ought to hear at once: Maia too."

He groped his way across the roof-top, his eyes not yet adapted to the darkness.

"Lalloc learned this an hour ago by a messenger from one of his overseers near Dari. I happened to be down at Lalloc's when the man came in. Apparently Fornis has gone through a ceremony of marriage with Han-Glat. They've raised a force-the man couldn't say how large, but the nucleus, of course, is Palteshi. However, it seems they've been joined by a sizeable group of escaped slaves from Belishba, and the whole lot have already set out for Bekla. Sendekar tried to put some sort of opposition in their way, but he's hopelessly over-extended, of course, and they brushed it aside quite easily. This man said Fornis had given out that since Elvair-ka-Virrion had shown himself incapable of defending Bekla against Erketlis, she meant to do it herself."

"Let her come!" said Occula. "I'm ready! But banzi, listen to me. In all seriousness, and as the best friend you've got, I honestly think that the only place for you now is Quiso. You can claim the sacred sanctuary for six months, you know-if only you can get there."

Maia seemed hardly to have heard her. While Zuno was speaking she had listened to him intently. Now she asked, "The prisoners-the prisoners in the fortress-what's happened to them? Did Lalloc's man say?"

"Yes, he did," replied Zuno. "Fornis and Han-Glat have got all the officers and some of the tryzatts with them as hostages, to make sure that they're not attacked by Karnat in the rear. What's more, it seems that when Durakkon's younger son, who was second-in-command at the fortress, tried to stop them, they took him as a hostage, too. It's

well-known, of course, how fond Durakkon's always been of the boy."

"So Zenka's in the hands of Fornis!" said Maia. "Quiso be damned! I'm staying here till she comes."

Walking away to the further end of the roof, she stood gazing at the comet, arms raised and palms outward. They could hear her sobbing as she prayed.

"Whether Bel-ka-Trazet's right or wrong about Ortelga and the Deelguy," said Kembri, "-and he may very well be right-one thing's certain: we can't compel him to take command of an army."

"I wonder he didn't accept it, though," said Eud-Ecach-lon (well aware that it was not going to be offered to himself). "Defeat Erketlis? He'd be celebrated throughout the empire and I suppose he'd come by a fortune as well, wouldn't he?"

"Certainly; if he beat him," answered Kembri, "but he doesn't want to run the risk, that's the size of it. I wonder what he knows that we don't. He said he was loyal to Bekla and so he is, I've never doubted-to Bekla. But the truth is, it doesn't make much difference to him or to Ortelga who actually rules here. He's High Baron of that lump of mud in the Telthearna, and he means to hold on to what he can feel sure of. Which is more than we may be able to do, my lord, I dare say," he said, turning to Durakkon, "as things are going at the moment."

Durakkon had been staring out the window. The face he now turned towards the Lord General resembled that of some weary, aging vagabond overtaken by storm and nightfall. It was not apparent whether he had heard what Kembri had said. He nodded, looking at him vacantly for a few moments; then said "Yes, yes, of course," and for a moment buried his face in his hands.

The three were alone together. The High Baron was dressed in a plain gray robe, with no adornment except the Leopard cognizance on a gold chain round his neck. During the last day or two, after learning the news of Fornis's advance with the hostages from Dan, he seemed to have aged ten years. Since the meeting at which Nasada had spoken he had made, in effect, no contribution to public business. To the provincial governors he had spoken no more than courtesy required, and that listlessly and

with an air of indifference to their replies. Despite the personal grief and anxiety which they had in common Kem-bri, who was naturally courageous and stimulated to action by danger and adversity, had found his patience with the High Baron wearing even thinner than usual. Now, by way of emphasis and of rousing him from his dismal preoccupation, he let his fist fall on the table.

"The vital thing," he said, "which we've got to do as quickly as possible, is to defeat Erketlis before he can raise the whole of the south against us. Everything else is secondary-even Bekla itself. For that reason, my lord, I'm going to Lapan at once, to take over the command of the army in person. I shall come back, of course, as soon as possible; that's to say, as soon as Erketlis is dead or no longer a threat."

Durakkon nodded, and Kembri turned back to Eud-Ecachlon.

"There'll be a temptation-" (he did not say to whom) "there'll be a strong temptation, as you'll realize, to retain here the reinforcements coming in from the various provinces, and use them against Fornis. I'm giving you the task of assembling and arming those reinforcements as soon as they arrive, and getting them down to Lapan as fast as possible. Do it efficiently, Eud-Ecachlon, and you won't be a loser by it, I promise you."

"But-er-Fornis?" asked Eud-Ecachlon.

"Fornis and Han-Glat; yes. Now understand this. It's only necessary to hold Fornis up long enough to allow our reinforcements from the provinces to be sent down to me in Lapan. But those four thousand men I've got to have, do you understand?"

Eud-Ecachlon nodded. "But then, what about Bekla?"

"I'm leaving enough regular troops-not many, but they should be enough-to hold Fornis up for about two weeks."

"And after that?"

"You'll occupy the citadel and hold it against Fornis when she takes the city. Once Erketlis is out of the way I shall return immediately and deal with her. She'll be hopelessly outnumbered; she won't have a chance. Anyone but a power-crazy woman would have seen that from the beginning."

Durakkon, who had been tracing patterns with his finger on the table, looked up, unexpectedly alert for a moment.

"Lord General, who have you in mind to command this remnant force which is to delay Fornis?"

"If the plans I've explained have your approval, my lord, as I hope they have, I think it important that you should command it yourself. It'll make all the difference if the men know that the High Baron is leading them in person. I certainly wouldn't ask you to undertake a full campaign at your time of life, but as things are you won't be long in the field: two weeks at the most. Then you'll fall back on the citadel."

"I would prefer not, Lord General."

"My lord, there is no one else of sufficient prestige and standing to put heart into the men."

Durakkon raised his gray, haggard face and stared at Kembri. He had seen less desperate looks, thought the Lord General, on scaffolds.

"You had better understand me, Lord General. I have no objection either to fighting our enemies or to dying in battle. But among those in the hands of that evil woman is my son-"

The Lord General sprang to his feet so violently that the bench on which he had been sitting overturned with a crash. His massive figure, as he bent forward over the table, seemed to obscure the light.

"Your son? Your son, my lord? Do you think you're the only man whose son-"

He was bellowing. Eud-Ecachlon could hear a murmur and stir in the next room, where the senior officers were waiting. He laid a restraining hand on Kembri's arm. The Lord General controlled himself. When next he spoke his voice was almost a whisper.

"I would rather that my son was where your son is now."

Saluting Durakkon, he turned and strode out into the corridor, followed by Eud-Ecachlon. They walked in silence the length of the Barons' Palace and so out into the northern portico overlooking the Leopard Hill's tiered terraces. Here Kembri, with the air of one wishing to convey, by speaking of some relatively slight matter, that he has recovered his self-possession, asked, "By the way, there's been so much to attend to that I forgot to ask what arrangement you've come to with Maia."

Eud-Ecachlon made no reply, and after a moment the Lord General stopped in his walk and looked round at him with a lift of his heavy eyebrows.

"She-refused me."

The eyebrows came down like a portcullis. "Refused you? Gods! What reason did she give?"

"None, really. She just said she didn't want to do it. I feel angry and-well-humiliated, I suppose. She'd have done very well for Urtah, and I entirely agree with all you said when you first put the idea to me."

"That child's been her own worst enemy ever since she came back from Suba," said Kembri. "It's a great pity, for in a way I've always rather liked her. Still, as things have turned out she'll have no time to think better of it. Once Erketlis has been checked and Fornis has been defeated, we can't let her stand in the way of our plans."

"You mean, your plan that Milvushina should be acclaimed?"

Kembri nodded. "That's vital-more than ever, now. Don't you see, if a Chalcon baron's daughter's reigning as Sacred Queen-with our blessing-that'll make it virtually impossible for Erketlis to attack Bekla? She could denounce it in the name of Airtha and his whole position would become extremely difficult, to say the very least."

"So Maia-you'll kill her?"

Kembri hesitated. "Well, she'll have to die, certainly; and soon, too-before the acclamation of the new Sacred Queen. The difficulty is that the least suspicion of murder would make for more trouble than we could handle. Frankly, I've got no time to think, it out at the moment: it will become important later, though."

"But Fornis will be in Bekla before long, won't she?" said Eud-Ecachlon. "Why not leave it to Fornis to kill her? I should think we can rely on that, wouldn't you?"

The Lord General paused, almost as though reluctant to reply. Then he said, "Well-perhaps that may prove to be the answer. Let's wait and see."

78: SUPPER WITH NASADA

Nasada sat facing Maia in the soft lamplight. She could smell the light, honey-like bouquet of the Yeldashay in the goblet at his elbow. She had given him a supper fit for the High Baron and he had obviously enjoyed it. She would have given him her jewels, her house, herself if he had

wanted them. Whatever Ogma's limitations in other directions, thought Maia, thank Cran she could at least cook when she put her mind to it.

She had threaded her hair with more than fifty gold beads and coiled it in plaits round her head (it had taken over an hour), and was wearing her diamonds and a plain, quite unrevealing robe of white and pale-pink silk with a pleated skirt, and white leather suppers with a gold leopard on each toe. Against all reason and probability she felt elated and full of confidence. There was that in the mere presence of Nasada which banished anxiety. Looking at him-gnarled and gray-headed, yet robust and infinitely reassuring-she was reminded of some huge-branched old tree of magic properties; such as had been revered time out of mind by Tonildan villagers, on which womenJiung dolls for fertility and bunches of herbs and flowers for the recovery of the sick. You could hang your troubles on him all right: he wouldn't break.

She had refused Eud-Ecachlon: she was probably going to die. (Often, the young face this prospect with more courage and acceptance than the old, for they have more vigor to do it with, little empty time to reflect and less of the past to lose.) Well, let it come. Meanwhile, for the present it fairly warmed her heart to be able at last to show her gratitude to old Nasada and let him see her, just for this once at least, as the Serrelinda, the idol of Bekla and the heroine of the empire. But then again, looking at him, she found her mood changing to one of illogical conviction that of course her troubles would come right, somehow or other. His very existence was like an assurance to this effect.

He broke the silence. "It's nice, isn't it, to see something made by men which is as beautiful, as something made by the gods, and with no more harm in it than a flower or a bird?"

He was holding Randronoth's cabinet of the fishes between his hands, turning it this way and that in the lamplight, admiring it by touch as well as by sight. That was what she used to do herself-she delighted in the feel of it, its smoothness and squared, panelled symmetry-and he had needed no suggestion from her to discover the same pleasure.

"I've often wondered, U-Nasada," she said, "why they

chose to carve it with fish particularly. I mean, you know, the one who made it and them as it was made for."

"Perhaps because it's made of fish."

"Made of fish? You're teasing me!"

"I'm not: I meant the bones of a fish."

"You've picked on the wrong girl, U-Nasada. I'm from Serrelind, remember? I know about fish and fish-bones. A fish would have to be the size of this room before you could cut panels like that."

"Oh, yes, at least; possibly bigger. I've never seen them myself, but I know they exist; a thousand miles from here, in waters far bigger than Serrelind. Some of these carved fish are strange to us, too, you see. But obviously they must exist."

Anyone else she would have told to go and jump in the Barb. Being Nasada, she felt that what he said, or something like it, must be true. Anyway, she didn't care: it was enough to be in his company. He evidently believed it and she knew he wasn't making fun of her, even though she'd started by saying he was.

He put the cabinet back in its place. "Beautiful things seem even better when they come from far away, don't you think? They're like the stars, then: we don't know how they began, but we do know they're beautiful and do no harm."

"But isn't Bekla beautiful, too?"

"Yes; and that's just the difference. It is beautiful, but it's like a poisoned well with lilies growing round it. It's become a death-trap. What used to be natural has been-" He paused, then shrugged. "Made evil."

She waited for him to go on. "Oh, yes," he said at length. "I know the people in Suba are ignorant and dirty and stupid. They get ill from the climate, too, and most of them don't live as long as people here; at least, I shouldn't think they do. But they don't cheat and rob and murder one another. Do you know that Suba-I still can't help thinking of it as part of the empire-is about the one place left where people can travel in safety and don't have to go armed, and lock everything up? And you know why I've come here, too, don't you? To try and stop even more blood being spilt. We've got that much in common, you and I." He. sighed. "But you succeeded in your attempt and I haven't in mine, I'm afraid."

She was eager to speak of something else. Indeed, she had been determined to.

"U-Nasada, I want to tell you something as I haven't told to anyone else in the world."

He looked up quickly, as though already half-guessing what it was that she was going to say.

"I'm Suban! What d'you think of that? Nokomis was my mother's sister."

Then she related all that Tharrin had told her about her father's murder, her mother's flight and her own birth. He listened in silence, but she could see tears in his eyes and, remembering how he had once spoken to her of Nokomis, could feel how deeply he must be moved.

When she had finished he did not at once reply, seeming to be weighing all that she had told him and considering how to answer. At last he said, "I'll say something you may not like to hear. You're the most beautiful woman in the empire, the most admired and the most-well, prized, I suppose. A sort of princess, really. But even so, and setting aside all question of your safety, I myself believe that you'd be happier-that's to say, more fulfilled and more likely to live naturally and well-in Suba."

She gazed out the window at the gentle, scented night, the moonlit sky, the rippling Barb and the slopes of Cran-dor beyond: then round at her elegant, luxurious room.

"Do you think they'd accept me, U-Nasada, after what happened at Melvda?"

"Well, the short answer's yes, although the details might need a little working out. I don't mean that you'd live a life entirely without troubles and problems, you know."

She nodded. "I know."

Suddenly she was kneeling at his feet, her head in his lap, sobbing her heart out.

"Oh, Nasada, if only you knew how I long for peace and for an end to being afraid all the time! People as you can't trust and you wonder what's in their minds and what they're on about behind your back-"

He stroked her hair and took her hands between his own.

"Has someone been offering you marriage?"

How incredibly startling and instant his penetration was, she thought; just as it had been in Suba. It was disconcerting; yet such swift, outspoken understanding was very comforting, too. With him, talk never went in circles, nor

yet stayed in one place. That was the nature of his truth: he never wasted time making kindly noises. He was like the seeker of the hidden treasure in old Drigga's story, whose tongue, enchanted, had the power of a sharp sword.

"Yes: Eud-Ecachlon of Urtah. He said his father's dying, and I'd be High Baroness when he succeeded. I refused him."

"Do you want to tell me why?"

She hesitated, and at once he said, "You don't have to. I said 'Do you want to?' and that's all I meant."

"I want to."

So then it all came pouring out-Zen-Kurel and the daggers; their passionate exchange of promises at Melvda: her determination to forestall the whole business of the night attack, to save Zenka's life and the lives of the Ton-ildans: her ignorance of what had become of Zenka, her longing for him, her sense of loneliness and loss in the midst of Bekla's adulation. Her avoidance of accepting a lover, Kembri's false suspicion of her motives for doing so, the priest's cryptic words at the temple, the death of Tharrin, Randronoth and the money, Sednil's mission and what he had found out. She wept herself into exhaustion, ending at last, "And I don't care if Kembri kills me or Forms kills me or what they do, the whole damned lot of them-I won't, I won't run away and leave Zenka in that woman's hands. Either I'll save him or else I'll die trying."

There was another silence, and again she knew that he had entered into all she was suffering.

"I-was wrong," he said after a time, 'I see that, now- about something I said earlier." She waited. "I said I thought beautiful things were better when they came from far away, and then I said Bekla was a place where what used to be naturally beautiful had been spoiled. Some of it hasn't."

With his admiration behind her, she felt, she could attempt anything. Even if she failed, her integrity would have earned his respect-an incomparable honor.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, suddenly and briskly, with a complete change of manner. Once more he was pressing ahead. That her love for Zen-Kurel and her (most would say) hopeless purpose were right and unquestionable-with him, all that went without saying. Now, as naturally as though they had been engaged upon some matter such as a journey or a purchase, he was down to considering ways and means.

"I don't know, U-Nasada: I don't know what to do. I've thought of going out by myself to meet the Palteshi army and offering to ransom Zenka."

"With anyone but Form's that might have worked. But once bitten, twice shy, don't you think? If I were you I shouldn't go paying any more ransoms to the likes of her."

"Then what?"

He bent and kissed her cheek, raised her to her feet and himself remained standing until she had sat down once more in her own chair.

"For the time being it all depends on the fighting, doesn't it? I don't know what Kembri's plans are,' of course, but obviously he'll have to send some sort of troops against her, and I think you can only wait for the outcome."

"But the priest said, 'You'll find him if you seek him yourself and then he said, 'Opportunity's everything.' "

"But that works both ways, you know-like a lot of things those sort of people say to you. It could mean 'Wait for the opportunity', couldn't it? And as things stand just at this moment, I don't think you've got one. You're young- eager-brave-you find inaction hard to bear-you want to feel you're doing something-anything. I know that feeling. But I think you must wait and see what comes of the fighting."

"But by then it could be too late, U-Nasada!"

"No, I don't think so. Your Zen-Kurel's a Katrian hostage: that's to say, he's being held by Fornis to ensure that Karnat won't attack Paltesh. People are usually reluctant to kill hostages, you know. It's not like spending money or using soldiers: it's very much a last resort. Once you've killed a hostage, that's that: you've antagonized the other side and got nothing for it. So I'd say, wait here and Zen-Kurel will probably come to you, one way or the other: and that'll be where your opportunity begins. Waiting can be the hardest work in the world, you know. You are doing something for Zen-Kurel, simply by waiting here."

She forced a smile. "Shagreh."

"Shagreh."

"What does it mean, U-Nasada? Every time I thought I knew, next time it seemed to mean something different."

He laughed. "It can mean almost anything you like, including Yes' and 'No', and 'I don't know.' But as you're Suban, at least you'd better learn to pronounce it properly. It's not 'Shagreh': it's 'Shagreh'."

"Shagreh."

"No! 'Shagreh.' "

"I said 'Shagreh.' "

"I know you did. You're still saying it. It's 'Shagreh.' "

"Oh, Nasada, what's the Suban for 'I love you: you cheer me up'?"

"No Suban would phrase it like that. Let me see-"

For the next three-quarters of an hour Maia tied her voice into knots of Suban articulation and inflection, laughing delightedly at Nasada's comic pretenses of impatience and inventing more and more absurd or outrageous phrases for him to teach her. He entered into the game as gaily as though he had been the same age as herself, so that she wondered with admiration and even with regret what he could have been like when he was. After her soldiers had left to take him, in her jekzha, the short distance back to his quarters, she went to bed feeling more hopeful and encouraged than for many days past.

79: FAREWELLS

"I'm sorry, Brero," said Maia.

She was most anxious that he should believe her. She would have hated him to think that she did not feel sincere regard for him-for all three of them, but him in particular. "I've done everything I can, honest I have."

It was true; she had. She had even steeled herself to go and see Eud-Ecachlon, whom Kembri, she was told at the Barons' Palace, had left in charge of the musters. She had waited an hour and been treated exactly as she had expected-with chilly correctness and a firm assertion that as matters stood no single available soldier could be dispensed with. "You know, of course," Eud-Ecachlon had said coldly, "that if it were possible I would certainly make an exception in favor of you." Maia had colored, raised her palm to her forehead and left him without another word: so she had deprived herself of discussing any question of substitutes, or of how she was expected to get about without her soldiers.

Now, Brero and his mates were standing before her, equipped for active service-swords on left hips, daggers on right, Gelt breastplates, hard leather helmets and leg-

. gings; lacking only their shields, which they had left outside. They had come to say good-bye, and as far as they were concerned it was plainly a keen disappointment, not lacking the bitter ingredient of a feeling that she had let them down. After all, the Serrelinda-if she couldn't get anything done as she had a mind to, who could? Probably they'd already been boasting to their comrades that the thing was as good as fixed.

So they stood fidgeting and ill-at-ease, these strapping fellows, on the polished floor of her parlor, perhaps secretly wondering whether even now, maybe, if only one of them could manage to say the right thing-

"I'm sorry, Brero. I went to see Lord Eud-Ecachlon myself: I'd have seen the High Baron if I'd thought it'd have made any difference."

"Yes, of course, saiyett."

"Surely it won't be very long, will it? One Beklan's worth six o' those rotten old Palteshis any time. I tell you what, Brero: you bring me back that woman's head and I'll give you five thousand meld for it, I swear I will. Oh, I'm sure you'll be back soon: why, it might be no more than a week!"

"Well, we'd all like to think so, saiyett, of course. A lot can happen in a week, can't it, one way or the other? But you'll be safe enough; don't worry, we'll see to that."

Suddenly she was on her feet, taking his hands, taking the others' hands in turn, looking into their eyes with the most earnest desire to convince them.

"Oh, Brero, I really did do everything I could to keep you with me, honest! I'm not as powerful as you think, and that's the truth. I've got enemies, you know, and I'm not sure they aren't worse than yours, 'cos you can see yours."

He was embarrassed. "You mustn't take on this way, saiyett. You've always done the right thing by us; and we've enjoyed lookin' after you." (Murmurs of corroboration.) "D'you remember that young chap that day in the Caravan Market, him as bought all the flowers and soaked you wet through? And how I had to pull the wheel over his foot to get rid of him! Ah! we had some good times, didn't we?"

She gave them two hundred and fifty meld each. She had had it ready. They'd been expecting something, of course, but not as much as that: it was equivalent to about

six months' pay. She gave each of them a keepsake, too- or perhaps it was a talisman for good luck and safety, was it? After all, she'd touched them, hadn't she, and if the Serrelinda wasn't lucky, who was? For Brero, a little onyx bull no bigger than his thumb; and for the other two, an Airtha in malachite and a silver Canathron to be worn as a charm (for the third fellow was Lapanese). No meanest curmudgeon could have argued that all this wasn't generous, and as they thanked her she felt that at least she had convinced them that she was not indifferent to their fortunes and welfare.

"We'll have to be going now, saiyett," said Brero a minute or two later. "The muster's at noon, you see. You did say, didn't you, that you'd be needing your jekzha?"

She nodded. "That's right. The wise man-the doctor from Suba-he's going north to Quiso, you know, and there's a caravan leaving this morning: I'm taking him down to join it."

"You do know, saiyett, don't you, that the caravans have to assemble at the Blue Gate today-outside it, I believe-because the muster's in the market? Anyway, I've hired two porters to pull you down there. They're waiting now." He grinned. "They won't be like us, of course, but I dare say you'll get there, one way or another."

When they had gone, she went outside and stood for a little while on the terrace, watching the shadow of the gnomon just perceptibly moving on her bronze sundial. The sundial had been a gift from Bodrin, the wealthy metal-master of Gelt, who had had it set up with precision by two of his own craftsmen. Although she enjoyed possessing such a marvel-there were very few in Bekla, and it always impressed even the most aristocratic visitors-she had never really understood it, and had once made Sarget burst out laughing-no common occurrence-by inquiring whether it worked equally well by moonlight. There were three lines of verse carved round the base, and these at least she had mastered-"Time is a flower, In Tiltheh's power: Pluck thou the hour." She read them now, and they gave her little comfort. Reckon I'd alter that, she thought. "Waiting's a task, The gods do ask. Wear then thy mask." Still, that wouldn't mean much, would it, not to anyone 'ceptin' me?

The hired porters were aging men in torn, dirty clothes.

One had a limp and the other a white, sightless eye. She guessed they were the best that Brero had been able to drum up for her. Kembri's muster officers, she knew, had been thorough and ruthless with all who could not bribe them enough. Probably almost every able-bodied man in the city, unless he were a craftsman of more use to the Leopards if left alone, had been impressed either as a soldier or as some sort of auxiliary. She wished she could have had a more thorough look round for herself, or at least have had a chance to put these men into respectable clothes.

Once through the Peacock Gate, however, with Nasada, cloaked and booted for his journey, hunched beside her, she found the Street of the Armourers plunged into such turmoil that there was hardly anyone to notice even the Serrelinda. A number of people seemed to have decided to leave Bekla on their own account and were piling handcarts with their possessions. Many of the shops were shut, but this had done nothing to diminish the universal agitation. Men, some more-or-less armed and others not armed at all, were on their way to the muster, some singly, others in groups. A number of these were clearly strangers to Bekla, levied from the provinces. Once, a little distance off, she saw a party who looked very like Tonildans being shepherded along by a Beklan tryzatt. She called out to them and waved, but could not attract their attention over the heads of the crowd.

It was clear enough that there would be no getting across the Caravan Market and probably no getting down Storks Hill either, and Maia told the men-who were already dawdling, and muttering to each other-to pull off to the left, cross over one of the little bridges spanning the Monju brook and so come down into the Sheldad.

The Sheldad, however, was if anything worse than the Street of the Armourers, seeming as it did to be full of wailing women either parting from sweethearts or husbands or else accompanying them to the Caravan Market. Maia told the men to get straight across it and go down by the Tower of the Orphans; an easy landmark, yet still they objected, grumbling over their shoulders above the surrounding tumult that it was too far and they didn't know the way. It so happened that at this moment Maia caught sight of a passing officer whom she knew-an honorably disabled man, now employed on staff duties, whom she

had met at one of Sarget's supper-parties. Climbing down, she ran across to him, explained her difficulty and begged him to put the fear of Cran into her surly hirelings. This he at once did very effectively and Maia, knowing the district well enough, thereupon directed them out of the Sheldad and on towards the Kharjiz.

"Do you know," she remarked conversationally to Na-sada, pointing to the house as they passed it, "I was once sent there to go to bed with Eud-Ecachlon?"

"Well," he replied, "that's one thing you won't have to do any more, isn't it? Whatever happens, I'm sure you're well out of marriage with an Urtan. They're proud people, rather humorless and terribly quick to resentment. Anda-Nokomis has got a lot of Urtan in him, you know: always talking about his honor, and never a joke or a laugh. Have you ever seen Anda-Nokomis really laugh? You've refused Eud-Ecachlon, and you were perfectly entitled to; but he won't forget it. Stay here and save your Zen-Kurel; I'm one who honestly believes you will. But after that get straight out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground, Maia."

They passed the Temple of Cran and the Tamarrik Gate, and so came at last to the Blue Gate and the walled precinct outside. Here there was barely time for Maia's tearful thanks and farewells, and the bestowing on her of Nasada's blessing, before the captain of the caravan-a well-known mercenary employed by the merchants' guild of Kabin- came forward personally to conduct the wise man from Suba to his place in the leading ox-cart (in those further back, road dust was apt to be troublesome, especially at this time of year), after which he was prompt to obey his orders from Eud-Ecachlon to get off punctually and leave the city approaches clear for the military.

Maia returned past that same guard-room where once the soldiers had taken pity on her and Occula. Then, on impulse, she told the men to turn left, up Leather-Workers Street and so into the Caravan Market. Her officer friend had certainly done wonders for their frame of mind, for they obeyed her without a murmur.

All the efforts of the municipal slaves to keep sprinkling the sandy expanse of the Caravan Market had not succeeded in keeping down a thin haze of glittering dust, through which the impressed men were moving half-heartedly to their various rallying points. Here they stood coughing, many with rags or cloths held over their faces.

There was a general atmosphere of uncertainty and irresolution; less, perhaps, of unwilling or faint-hearted men than of men at a loss, genuinely ignorant of what was required of them. Maia had not gone half-way along the colonnade bordering the north side of the market before it became clear enough to her that half these conscripts were peasant villagers who had almost certainly never been ten miles from their homes in their lives. Many looked nervous and a few actually frightened, simply of their imposing surroundings. Some were joking and sky-larking to keep up their spirits, others sitting on the ground as glum and silent as beasts in market-pens; cowed by home-sickness, by fear of the future and the uncertainty of everything around. Among them, contrasting sharply, walked brisk, uniformed tryzatts of the Beklan regiment, who had evidently been given the task of organizing them into squads. This they had apparently decided to set about by dividing them into spearmen, swordsmen, bowmen and so on, irrespective of where they had come from. Maia watched with pity-indeed, she came within an ace of intervening;- as a tryzatt almost forcibly separated a simple-looking lad with a sword from another-obviously his mate and probably the only person in the whole crowd whom he knew- carrying a spear, and led him away across the market to join a group of strangers. She could see the boy, as he looked back over his shoulder, trembling and almost weeping. A little farther on, an officer had succeeded in forming thirty or forty men into a ragged line. Having looked them over, he called out three, seemingly more or less at random, and, conferring upon them then and there the rank of sub-tryzatt, told them that they were now in charge of the rest and would be answerable for them. At every egress from the market a regular soldier had been posted to discourage the inclinations of anyone who might be so lacking in public spirit as to be tempted to melt away.

Even Maia could see that these were not what anyone in his senses could call a likely lot. She wondered what kind of men Santil-ke-Erketlis had, and in what spirit they had carried out their forced march and fought their battle at the end of it. Obviously they must have had every confidence in their leader and believed that what they were being required to do would turn out to their own advantage. Had any of these men around her, she wondered, any real idea of what they were being compelled to fight

for? They comprised, between them, a very fair sample of the sort of bumpkins the Leopards had oppressed by restricting the selling prices of cattle, corn and timber. Who ought to know if not she?

The jekzha had just come opposite "The Green Grove" (which was shut, no doubt on Eud-Ecachlon's orders) when in the colonnade Maia recognized Milvushina's maid Lok-ris. Lokris had set her back against one of the square columns and was doing her best to ward off two rough-looking men who were plainly pestering her-more for their amusement, it seemed, than with any real expectation of obtaining her favors. As she attempted a cuff at one of them, he dodged to one side, sniggering, while the other pulled at the shoulder of her robe.

Maia got down and went across to them.

"Do you know who I am?" she said coldly, looking from one to the other.

Plainly they did not know what to make of her youth, her Tonildan accent, the richness of her clothes and the authority and confidence of her manner. They stood looking back at her with stupid, hesitant grins of mingled bravado and uncertainty.

"Where do you come from?" she asked one of them sharply.

"Kabin-if it's any business of yours, dearie."

Neither was armed, but they could only, she thought, be part of the levy. She called to a passing tryzatt, who at once came over and saluted her.

"You know me, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, saiyett."

"These two men have been molesting my servant."

The tryzatt instantly felled one of the men with a blow to the stomach, spun the other round by his jerkin and slapped his face.

"Just leave them to me, saiyett: I'm sorry you've had the bother. Kabin's sent us up some right ones this time, and that's a fact."

Maia took Lokris by the arm, led her back to her jekzha, helped her in and told the men to go on.

After a few words of sympathy from her and thanks from Lokris, she asked, "But how do you come to be down here, Lokris? Whatever brought you into the market, anyway, at a time like this?"

Lokris explained that she had been fetching a fresh supply of medicine for Milvushina.

"The doctor says she has to take it regularly, saiyett, but what with one thing and another I never noticed until last night that we were clean out. Of course I came straight down this morning, but the 'pothecary who's always made it up for her, his shop's shut and I couldn't make anyone hear. So I came on to this other man I know in the colonnade and simply went on knocking until he let me in."

"Well done!" said Maia. "Did you get it?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, saiyett. I'm very glad indeed for your help and for the lift back, too. To tell you the truth, I think the sooner I'm back the better."

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" asked Maia quickly.

Lokris lowered her voice, while at the same time her manner underwent a subtle change from that of a servant speaking to a lady to that of woman speaking to a woman.

"Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's back," she said. "Did you know?"

"No, I didn't," answered Maia. "When?"

"Yesterday morning," said Lokris. "There was another officer with him, Captain Shend-Lador, and his own soldier-servant, and that was all. Seems they'd left the army in Lapan and been traveling four days, just the three of them. They came in by the Red Gate."

"The Red Gate?" asked Maia in amazement.

The Red Gate into the citadel, on the summit of Mount Crandor, was a low arch in the south wall of the city, through the whole width of which flowed a swift brook, the Daulis. The bed had been artificially deepened, making it impassable except to those who knew the subaqueous windings of a narrow causeway of living rock left standing about two feet below the surface. Shend-Lador, of course, as the son of the citadel commander, would be familiar with these.

"He didn't want-or else he didn't dare-to come through the city, you see," said Lokris. "His servant went round by the Peacock Gate and told the Lord General that was he waiting up by the falls-the White Girls. So then a mesage was sent up to the citadel to open the Vent for them."

"How is Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion?" asked Maia.

Lokris looked round at her quickly, as though astonished to be asked and not immediately knowing how to reply.

After a moment she took refuge in a return to formality.

"What can I tell you, saiyett? He's taking it very badly, but of course that's no more than one would expect."

"Taking it badly?"

Lokris perceived that in certain respects the Serrelinda was still ingenuous.

"Saiyett, I don't know, of course, how much you've heard, but the truth is that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion is as good as ruined. People are saying that he mismanaged the campaign in Chalcon so badly that a great many lives were lost that needn't have been. If it's true, {hat's bad, of course, but it's not the worst of it for his reputation. The battle they lost-everyone says he actually ran away, and him supposed to be commander-in-chief. The captains deposed him and sent him home. And no one would even go along with him-only Captain Shend-Lador."

"Is the Lord General very much upset?" asked Maia.

"The Lord General refused to see him," answered Lokris. "He left to take over the command in Lapan this morning, and I heard that he meant to tell the army that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion was no longer his son and he was going to disinherit him."

Maia's immediate feelings, as she recalled Elvair-ka-Virrion's invariable courtesy to the slave-girl she had once been and his kindness and help over the auction at the barrarz, were of indignation.

"I don't see as they've any call-" she was beginning, when their conversation was interrupted.

The jekzha-men had succeeded, with a good deal of difficulty, in getting round the north and part of the west side of the market-place. Near the Bronze Scales the Bek-lan regiment were drawn up, their ordered ranks and uniform breastplates forming an island of trim regularity in the surrounding commotion. The officers were standing together at one side, and Maia recognized three or four, including the commander, Kerith-a-Thrain, a soldier of exceptional prestige and distinction. They were all looking in one direction and, following their gaze, she saw the High Baron Durakkon himself, fully accoutred and accompanied by two or three aides, approaching from the Street of the Armourers. This, of course, was the direction in which she herself was going. The crowd had fallen back on either side, but after a moment's consideration Maia

thought it best simply to tell her jekzha-men to halt where they were until the High Baron had passed.

As he drew level with the jekzha, however, Durakkoc suddenly stopped and turned towards her. For an instant she thought that he was going to rebuke her. Then she saw that he was smiling. A moment later he strode across the intervening space between them, his aides following a yard or so behind.

"Maia!" he said, seeming as oblivious of their suround-ings as though Ogma had just shown him into her parlor. "I'm very glad to see you here! Have you come to watch us march out?"

Blushing, she scrambled down, raised her palm to her forehead and was about to fall on one knee when he took her hands in his own. He said no more, however, apparently waiting for her to answer his question.

"I've just come back from taking U-Nasada down to the Blue Gate, my lord. He's going to Quiso-to see the Tu-ginda."

"You're lucky to have a friend like that," replied Du-rakkon. "He's a wise man; and a good man, too. I only wish we'd-" He broke off. "Have you still got your diamonds?"

"Why, yes, my lord, of course. Ask me in fifty years, I'll still be saying yes to that!"

"Well, I may not have the chance: but I'm glad you like them. You deserved them."

How sad he looked, she thought: how old and gaunt and wretched! Yet it wasn't because he was afraid; she could tell that. He had, rather, an air of deep grief and resignation. It had never before occurred to her that the High Baron might have troubles like everyone else.

"I wish you luck, my lord, and the favor of the gods. Are you going to fight Santil-ke-Erketlis?"

He smiled. "No, General Kembri's doing that. We have to fight Queen Fornis, I'm afraid. A pity, isn't it?"

He was talking down to her, but she didn't mind. To her, now, he seemed just a nice old man. He'd taken a fancy to her-people often did-and, being a great lord, was indulging that fancy for a few minutes before setting out on his dismal business.

"My lord! Oh, I know how much you must have to think about just now, but can I-can I make a request of you, seeing as you've been so kind as to stop and speak to me?"

"What is it?"

"It's about-it's about the hostages, my lord. Them as Queen Forms has got, I mean."

"The hostages?" His manner became suddenly grave and,tense. "What about the hostages?"

"One of the Katrian officers, my lord; his name's Zen-Kurel. He was-he was kind to me while I was in Suba. If-if you can only save him-"

"Maia, we're going to save every one of the hostages if we can. No one's got better reason than I have, I assure you."

As her brimming eyes met his, she felt sure that he had guessed her secret. Yet intuitively she knew that he didn't regard her as a traitor for falling in love with an enemy of Bekla. In some strange way the two of them were accomplices: in his heart also there lay something-whatever it might be-which meant far more to him than the Leopards and his public position.

"I must be going now, Maia. Zen-Kurel of Katria; I'll remember that name. But will you grant me a request, too?" He was smiling again. Was this a joke? How should she answer?

"Why, yes, my lord; of course."

"They call you 'the luck of the city,' you know. The gods love you; everyone knows that. Perhaps you'll be so gracious as to give me a keepsake, for luck. I rather think we may be going to need all the luck we can get."

Gran alive! Whatever had she got with her that was fit to give to the High Baron? To accompany Nasada she had dressed very simply, without jewels, for he was always so plainly dressed himself. She felt at a complete loss. Then, suddenly, she remembered King Karnat and the golden lilies: that had worked all right.

"I'll be honored, my lord."

Deliberately, the Serrelinda stepped forward, drew the High Baron of Bekla's dagger from its sheath and with it cut off a thick curl from the golden mass round her shoulders. She replaced the dagger, knelt to kiss his hand and at the same time closed it on the curl. Then she stood up, raised her palm and climbed back into her jekzha. Thus was born another of the legends told of her long afterwards.

Lokris was already gone: presumably, not knowing how long the Serrelinda and the High Baron might stay talking,

she had decided that she might, get back quicker on foot. Maia remained where she was, watching until the Beklan regiment had formed columns and left the market-place. For longer than fifty years, in the event, she remembered how she had seen the High Baron march out to die. She must have been the last woman he ever spoke to-except for one.

80: SHEND-LADOR'S STORY

"-And that was the most shameful thing I've ever seen," said Shend-Lador.

It was the third night after the departure of Durakkon to westward and of the levies to Kembri in Lapan. Bekla seemed dulled and muted. Trade had declined, and all the lower city bustle that went with it. Hospitality and entertainment had dwindled too. Maia had scarcely been out, except to visit Nennaunir, whom she found in low spirits because Sednil had not been able to escape the levy.

It was strange to see the Peacock Wall sentinelled by old watchmen instead of soldiers; and strange, too, to see relays of porters filing up to the citadel laden with provisions. It was as though the city were holding its breath, listening and waiting; and this tension was heightened by the heat of late summer.

"This is no season for campaigning, you know, saiyett," Jarvil-an old soldier-had remarked to Maia. "No good'll come of it, you see."

"But it's the same for both sides," she answered.

"Oh, maybe, saiyet, maybe; but all the same, no good'll come of it, either way. It's not the right thing for men to be out campaigning, not at harvest-time."

Unnatural, she thought; unpropitious, unlucky. Yet still the comet burned: she was still safe. If only there had been a friend to talk to, confide in! If only there were some news!

Shend-Lador, therefore, when he came, she had received most gladly. When Ogma entered to announce him, she had been struggling once again with "The Deeds of Deparioth." She laid the scroll aside and jumped up eagerly.

He was leaner and browner, and his clothes were more carelessly worn than in the old days. Yet he was the sort

of uncomplicated young man who, without particularly considering the matter, holds it virtually a point of honor always to behave in a light-hearted, cheerful manner. He would have been ashamed for anyone ever to see him looking gloomy, except perhaps at a funeral or some similar occasion. No doubt he had joked his way through the whole Chalcon campaign and done his best to keep his men's spirits up through everything.

"I hope you're as glad to see me, Maia, as I am to see you," he said, as soon as they had sat down. "Well, let's say almost as glad, since you've got all the advantages."

"I couldn't have hoped to see anyone better," she answered.

"No swimming in the Barb tonight, then?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Too shallow for high diving now, is it?"

"I will if you will," she answered mischievously, pouring his wine.

"Why," said he, "you don't think I'd put you to the trouble of saving my life twice, surely? It wasn't worth saving once, you know. All the same, I'm glad you did it. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here now, would I, drinking Yeldashay with the Serrelinda?"

He had a charming aptitude for paying compliments with every appearance of sincerity and conviction. He admired her dress, praised the wine, was enchanted by the cabinet of fishes and insisted on Ogma accepting ten meld. He told a bawdy joke which was really funny, making Maia roar with laughter and slap his hand in mock reproof. For some time longer they talked of trivial things, both aware that they were circling a whirlpool whose center they could not, ultimately, avoid.

It was when he got up and crossed the room to fetch a box of nut thrilsa which he had brought as a present, that she first noticed that he was limping.

"What is it?" she asked, pointing. "Have you been wounded?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he answered, grinning. "I was running much too fast to collect anything serious, believe me. It'll be all right in a week or two."

"But did you walk back with Elvair from Lapan like that?"

"Well, someone had to come with him," said Shend-Lador.

"Shenda," she asked, "what happened? What really happened? All I've heard is rumors and tales from people who weren't there. If you're really grateful that I saved you, tell me the truth."

"Not getting out of that, is there?" he said, sitting down again and picking up his goblet. He paused. "You really want to hear everything, do you? Only-"

"Yes, I do. I've always liked Elvair: he's been very kind to me. If he's in trouble I'm sorry."

"Well, all I can honestly say, Maia, is that it's a pity for a lot of good lads that he couldn't just have stayed here and gone on being kind to you."

She said nothing, waiting.

"It wasn't too bad at the start," began Shend-Lador after a little. "The men were all in good heart and we went into Chalcon as keen as a pack of hounds on the scent. But before long we found we couldn't seem to come to grips with the enemy; and then we had to face the fact that it wasn't safe even to send out patrols to try and discover where he was, because they simply got cut up. It's appalling country-thick woodland, a lot of it, where you can't see further than a few yards, with torrents coming down out of the mountains every mile or so; not particularly wide, but swift, and very nasty to ford.

"What we wanted, of course, was a battle, but that wasn't Erketlis's idea at all. And the plain truth was that Elvair didn't really know anything about generalship or campaigning. Nor did I, come to that, but we had experienced officers who did. There was a regular officer, Kap-parah, who struck me as particularly useful-a crafty professional survivor if ever I saw one. But Elvair wouldn't hear a word from him.

" 'You know the mistake, don't you?' this Kapparah said to me one night when we were by ourselves. 'The mistake is obliging Erketlis by charging up and down this Cran-forsaken wilderness. What we ought to have done was pitch camp somewhere not too far into Chalcon, somewhere where we could be sure of our supplies; burned some villages taken a few hostages and waited. If you're dealing with one of these proud-hearted, feudal heldril like Erketlis, sooner or later his people are going to start telling him it's a matter of honor to attack; "Drive the hated invader from our native soil" and all that. Then we could have fought him where we wanted, in a spot of our own

choosing. As it is, we're looking about as ridiculous as a man chasing an untrained puppy. Just what the puppy wants, of course.'

"Up and down, round and round we went, and nothing to show for it, until the men were tired out and began to lose heart and confidence. And Elvair-he didn't really give any leadership: he didn't even set the men an example of courage and endurance. He didn't see enough of them, for a start. And he didn't seem to have a plan. I've known him for years, of course, and I could tell he was jittery- he was bothered by the solitude and the casualties.

"And then at last, one night, we got what we'd really been needing all along: a bit of reliable information from a deserter-a Beklan. Kapparah actually recognized him- a fellow who'd been enslaved five years ago. This man came and told us where Erketlis was-about five miles away-and said he'd lead us there. He was perfectly genuine-there wasn't any doubt about that at all.

" 'Well,' I said to Elvair, 'my men'll be ready in twenty minutes-less, if I've got anything to do with it. I'll get straight back to them now.' And do you know, Maia, he looked up at me-he was sitting at a trestle table in his tent-and he said 'I think this needs careful planning, don't you? We'll have an officers' meeting first thing in the morning.'

" 'For holy Cran's sake!' I said. 'How long d'you think it's going to take Erketlis to realize his man's missing, and where he must have gone? Every blasted minute's precious!' I said. 'Why, he may be off already!'

" 'Oh, no, I don't think so,' says Elvair. 'We'll sleep on it, that'll be best.'

"I knew then, Maia: I realized-well, I don't know any other way of putting it-I realized he was no good. He'd been offered Erketlis's head on a plate and he'd convinced himself-he really had, as far as I could see-that he was acting responsibly and doing the right thing. I tried to reason with him: I tried all I knew and at last he said, 'I'm sorry, Shenda, this is my decision, not yours, and I'm afraid I'll have to give you an order. Don't discuss it any more.'

"The next day we went after Erketlis and of course he'd gone: and I'm as good as certain that in his own mind Elvair was relieved.

"Well, you've heard-at least, I suppose you have, haven't you? In the end we fell back on to the Thettit-Ikat

road, after losing something like a hundred and eighty men. And then at last we found that Erketlis was doing what we'd been praying for all along. He was offering a battle-yes, after a forced march through country which had worn us to shreds. He'd got south of us and was blocking the road; waiting for us on open ground.

"It must have been about a couple of hours after noon, I suppose. We weren't harassed at all as we approached. We deployed about half a mile away and came forward in line. They had their center right across the highway. There was a bit of a slope in their favor and they obviously had a few more men, but that was all. You could see Erketlis- there was no mistaking him-talking to his men and giving encouragement, and they were all shouting back and banging on their shields.

"Kapparah was in command on our right and there was no holding him. He went straight into them without waiting for orders, even. I was in the center, with Elvair, and we must have been about two hundred-well,' say three hundreds-yards from the enemy when I saw that we were being attacked from behind on the left. It was Elleroth of Sarkid, with his band of home-made freebooters-volunteers-whatever he calls them. They'd lain down in a hollow, behind some bales of straw, until we'd passed them. Well, they took us a bit by surprise and drove in our left more than I really cared about, but it wasn't a patch on Kapparah. He'd beaten his lot all to blazes-you could see them actually running away-almost the whole of the enemy's left wing.

"Elvair had halted the center and was just standing there, watching. I said 'Go on, Elvair! Go on! We've got them!'

" 'Oh,' he said, 'our left-our left's not secure. I think it's a bit risky, don't you?'

" 'For basting Shakkarn's sake!' I said (sorry, Maia). 'If we don't pile in now we'll lose our best chance! Their left's collapsed! Lead the men in-or tell Ta-Kominion to lead them in-or I'll do it-anything! Only we must get on with it!'

"So then he went out in front of the men and gave the order to charge. We were running towards them side by side, he and I, with everyone yelling behind us, keen as knives. And we must have been about-oh-thirty yards from the enemy, I suppose, when suddenly Elvair stopped dead in his tracks. And then-well, Maia, I'm afraid I

can't put it any other way-he simply turned round and ran back through our own front rank.

"Everyone saw it, and of course everyone wondered what on earth could have happened. A moment later we closed with the enemy and there was some pretty nasty fighting for a bit and I got this, incidentally" (he touched his leg), "but the real sting had gone out of our attack because the men were completely bewildered-no one knew, now, what the hell was supposed to be going on. Kapparah was cutting his way in towards us and he actually got through and joined up with us, but by that time our attack had just fizzled out for want of leadership. Erketlis had lost quite a few men-especially on the left-but so had we; and of course the trouble was that he was still there, where he'd been to begin with, blocking the road. We hadn't shifted him.

"The officers all wanted to go in again, but once an attack like that's failed, you know, it's very dificult to get the men to renew it. And it couldn't have been more conspicuous, you see, what Elvair'd done. You couldn't disguise it, you couldn't gloss it over. We went back about a quarter of a mile and hung about and argued. The enemy never moved: I reckon they must have been too tired for Erketlis to risk a counter-attack. Kapparah was crazy to have another go, but Elvair'd got nothing to say to it and there was no one else who had any recognized authority or standing, you see. And then the Tonildans started muttering and saying it was only forty miles to Thettit and what were they waiting for-oh, Maia, to tell you the truth I'd rather not go on! In the end we just sort of drifted off the field. And that was the most shameful thing I've ever seen."

"Well, all I can say is-" began Maia; but Shend-Lador had not done.

"We retreated a few miles and camped for the night. They didn't pursue us. Erketlis had got what he wanted; Ikat; because we hadn't stopped him. And yet we'd had him as good as beat! He'd taken a risk and it wouldn't have come off, if only-" Shend-Lador drove his fist into his palm.

"The captains met next day and deposed Elvair. There'd have been no holding the men otherwise. I said I'd go back to Bekla with him-I was no use with this leg anyway, you see. The army fell back into Lapan and Kapparah took

over the command. He'll have handed over to Kembri by now."

He helped himself to a lump of thrilsa. After a moment, nibbling, he smiled and winked at Maia. "Never mind; they say Lespa dreams it all, don't they? Poor girl must be just about tossing and turning in her sleep by now, I should think. I wish she'd wake up for a piss: I've had about enough of this particular dream, and that's a fact."

"Oh, quiet, Shenda!" cried Maia, who was supersti-tiously frightened by impiety-especially where Lespa was concerned. "But I don't understand! I was told as Ran-dronoth was supposed to be going to join to you with every man he had. When did you and Elvair leave? Didn't you see Randronoth at all?"

"Well, that's the mysterious thing," replied Shend-La-dor. "No one's seen hide nor hair of Randronoth or any of his men, either. When I left with Elvair, they'd already sent two messengers to ask where the hell he was and what he meant to do."

"So it'll be all right now, will it?" asked Maia. "I mean, that ought to be enough to keep Erketlis from getting anywhere near Bekla?"

"I wish I felt sure of that," said Shend-Lador. "Kembri's a good general, but what he's got there is a demoralized army to which I gather they've just added a bunch of untrained, reluctant conscripts. As for Randronoth, if I were Kembri I'd believe him when I saw him."

"Why, where d'you reckon he's got to, then?" asked Maia.

"Well, I think he's like the rest of them-hanging back and waiting to see how things turn out. The provinces have all got enough troubles of their own, you know, Maia. There are half-a-dozen heldro scraps going on in as many different provinces, and no governor's got men to spare. I heard that most of the men they sent up to Bekla for Kembri were just about the bottom of the barrel: they'd even let 'em out of the jails, some of them."

"Ah!" said Maia, "That just accounts for something as I saw t'other day, down the Market. I'd say you were just about right."

"Well, I might find myself catching it in the neck yet, I suppose," said Shend-Lador, rather in the tone of voice in which he might have said he was expecting to be badgered by creditors. Looking down at the gold Leopard em-

blem round his neck, he pretended to tug at it. "It won't come off, you see. But you'll be all right, Maia. You're going to be Sacred Queen, aren't you? That'll mean-"

"No!" she cried, stamping her foot. "No! I'm not, and I'm sick and tired of bein' told as I am! I-"

"Well, that's only what everybody's saying," he answered. "But whether or not, no one's going to be in a hurry to chop up a lass like you. It isn't even as if you'd been a Leopards' shearna or any particular Leopard's girl, is it? I think you've handled things very cleverly from that point of view."

"First time anyone's said that, I'll tell you, Shenda. Far's I can see, most of 'em reckons I'm just about suicidal not t'ave taken up with some big Leopard to protect me by now."

But his thoughts had apparently run on. "I wouldn't like to be Milvushina, though, would you? If Erketlis does get to Bekla-" He shook his head. "And then, Elvair's little lapse: whatever happens-even if we were to win hands down-I don't see what they're going to be able to do with him after this. Ambassador to Deelguy'll be about the size of it, I suppose: something like that."

"How's Milva taken it?" asked Maia.

"I haven't seen her. I'm afraid she may be regretting she didn't take Fornis's tip and go back to Chalcon like a good girl."

"I'm damned sure she isn't!" cried Maia. "Want my opinion, all you men make a lot too much of this fighting carry-on. There's Elvair, as nice a fellow as ever-"

"I personally don't make much of it," replied Shend-Lador. "Only I do think it's bad luck, don't you, when ordinary, rough-and-ready fellows entrust their lives to people who've always lived in luxury and had the best of everything, and then those people lead them badly and let them down in the pinch? That's all I'm saying. I mean, take that lame slave-girl of yours-would you run away if someone else was going to knock her about?"

Maia made no reply.

It was not in Shend-Lador's nature, however, to rub anything in until it hurt. "I'm sorry for Elvair," he said, "and I've told him as much. I'd help him if I could, but how's anyone ta help him? He's ruined himself, that's about the size of it."

"You could let yourself be seen about with him," said Maia.

"Well, so I will, if ever we get back to any sort of ordinary life," answered Shend-Lador.

Suddenly he fell on one knee before her. "Maia, you're beautiful; you're lovely! I adore you! That's what I really came to say, only you made me waste such a lot of time talking about the war. Won't you go to bed with me?" He slapped his pockets. "I believe I've got fifty meld left somewhere, so I won't charge you!"

She could not help laughing, and did not resist even when he kissed her and ran his hands for a moment over her deldas under their smooth, close-fitting silk bodice. But still she shook her head as he released her.

"Why," said he, "this is worse than Chalcon-to keep looking at the jam-pot and get no jam."

"There's no one else gets any, honest," she answered, smiling.

"Randronoth?"

"Yes, once-for nine thousand mekl-and I never touched a trug of it. But he'll never get it again."

"It was for the Chalcon expedition, wasn't it?" said Shend-Lador. "What a waste! I'll bet it was all Lapanese taxes, too."

"It was a waste all right," said Maia. "You can take that from me, Shenda. I'll tell you what wouldn't be, though. If you really meant what you just said, go and see Elvair. Go and see him now, and have a drink with him." At random she picked up a silver filigree box from a side-table. "Give him that from me and tell him I'm his friend. It'll give you an excuse to go."

He kissed her again and this time she returned his kiss. They walked together to the outer door, where Jarvil gave him his belt and sword.

" 'No one could hinder, The Serrelinda!' My lads used to sing that in Chalcon, you know. By the way, have you noticed, the big star doesn't seem so bright tonight? May be gone soon, I suppose."

Maia looked up into the northern sky. It was even as Shend-Lador had said.

81: RANDRONOTH

She woke with a start. Ogma was bending over her with a lamp, her familiar, ugly face all shadow one side and wavering, yellow brightness the other. Maia sat up quickly.

"What is it, Ogma? Is the house on fire?"

"No, miss, it's-"

"Is there fighting or something?" She swung her legs out of bed.

"No, miss; it's Lord Randronoth."

"What d'you mean, Lord Randronoth? Where? You mean he's been killed or what?"

"No, miss; he's downstairs."

"Downstairs? Ogma, have you gone crazy? He can't be downstairs; he's in Lapan and it's the middle of the night! Go back to bed."

"Saiyett-Miss Maia-it's not my fault! Lord Randronoth was knocking and he woke Jarvil: and Jarvil looked out and saw it was Lord Randronoth and he just had two soldiers with him, no one else. So then Lord Randronoth said he had to see you at once-it was very important. And Jarvil came and woke me and said what should he do? So of course I said yes, let them in-"

"But Ogma, whatever for?"

"What, Lord Randronoth, miss?" said Ogma in a puzzled tone, as though Maia's question were quite inexplicable. "Well, of course I let him in!"

The sweaty smell of her, stooping over Maia in her nightdress, came strong. It had always been a job to get Ogma to wash. Maia, now really angry, felt ready to box her ears. She was perfectly entitled to hit Ogma, of course, only she never had as yet.

"Well, now you just go down and tell him to go away again. Go on!"

"I don't reckon he'd do it, miss. Well, not for my saying so, that is. He seemed kind of-well, I don't know-kind of beside himself, like: not what you'd call normal, he isn't."

"Well, then, what the bloody basting hell did you let him in for?" stormed Maia. "Great Cran, Ogma, I often wonder I don't sell you, I really do! No, all right-" holding up her hand-"you needn't start in. I suppose you'd better give him some wine and tell him I'll be down in a few

minutes. Now light me some lamps and then get out of here!"

Randronoth! she thought. Randronoth-here, in the middle of the night; when he ought to be at the front in Lapan. Did Eud-Ecachlon know he'd come to Bekla? Probably not.

No doubt about what he's here for. What else could he be here for? And thereupon Occula took over. The bloody crazy damned basting menstrual tairth-struck bastard! And it's completely compromising! It leaves me wide open! Oh, Cran! and with Eud-Ecachlon, of all people, left in command of the city! I've got to get him out of here somehow!

She was hurrying into her clothes, yet even in this crisis stopped to wash her face and comb her hair. Middle of the night or no middle of the night, she'd be damned if she was going to let Randronoth or anyone else see her all in a flurry and lookng like-what was it Occula used to say?-a pig's venda in a thunderstorm. Becoming a little more composed as she looked at herself in the mirror, she put on her diamonds and the jewelled Leopard emblem with which the Council had presented her. Then, with all the outrage, authority and dignity of which she was capable, the Serrelinda made herself walk slowly down the stairs and into the parlor.

Randronoth was standing in the middle of the room. Under his long cloak he was fully armed-sword, dagger and breastplate. He had taken off his leather helmet and cleared a space for it on one of her side-tables. As she entered he held out his arms, smiling with an apparently sincere and perfectly spontaneous expression of joy and triumph.

"My love! My queen!"

"Lord Randronoth," she said sharply, "have you gone out of your mind? Do you know what time it is? Please leave my house immediately!"

"Oh, I can well understand it's a shock," he replied. As he spoke he unbuckled and cast aside his sword-belt, flung back his cloak and sat down. "But it's the finest shock you'll ever have had in your life, my love, believe me! Listen and I'll explain."

"I'll listen to nothing! Get out of my house; now, at once! If you don't, I'll send the porter for the night-watch, and believe me I mean it! I don't care if you're the governor of Lapan or anywhere else. I will not be subjected to this

sort of behavior in the middle of the night! If you really have anything to say to me-and I'd imagine the first thing you ought to explain is why you're not with the army in Lapan-you can come back tomorrow morning. Now if you're worth calling a nobleman, get out!"

"Not so fast, Maia," he said. "If we're to take Bekla, you and I, you've got to help me. And if you find yourself giving up no more than half a night's sleep before we're done, you'll be lucky."

"Take Bekla! Whatever are you talking about?"

He laughed. "Taking Bekla."

Maia felt herself close to tears of desperation. If she could, she would have thrown him out by force. For a moment she turned away to hide her feelings. Zenka! Zenka, tell me what to do! Come and help me!

"Stop arguing with him," replied the invisible Zenka. "He's obviously not here for the reason you thought. Make him tell you what he's up to!"

"Randro," she said, pulling up a stool, "you must realize that this is a great shock to me. You'd better tell me what it's all about. You owe me that at least."

"As if you knew nothing?"

"As if I knew nothing."

"Very well: since you seem to want to act the simpleton, Maia, I'll go back to the night of the barrarz. You remember we made love, I suppose? You've not forgotten thafl"

She compressed her lips with annoyance. Her head was beginning to ache.

"And you may possibly recall that you promised me that if I got Sednil freed, you'd spend another night with me next time I was in Bekla?"

"Well, if that's all you want, why can't we get on-"

"Wait a minute! Of course it is-I never stop thinking about you-but just now there are more important things to be done. You'll remember, too, that Seekron came to see you. I know, of course, what he told you. I'll remind you, shall I? He told you that the whole of Lapan was ready to declare for you as Sacred Queen. He gave you the names of several Leopard councilors who were ready to join us; and he gave you forty thousand meld." Ran-dronoth paused a moment and then repeated it. "Forty thousand meld. Didn't he?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And you took it, and you sent me back word that you'd do all you could to help me?"

The reckoning day, she thought. Oh Cran, the reckoning day!

"Randro, I'll give you back the money-half of it now, this very minute! If only you'll let me alone-"

He held up his hand.

"Oh, Randro, you can go to bed with me all you want! Only please, please leave me out of-"

"Well, as it's turned out, you see, events have moved rather faster than we expected. In this life one has to be able to seize opportunities." ›

Opportunity is all, she thought. Opportunity is all. O Lespa, save me!

"The long and short of it is that the Leopards are ripe for destruction. Sencho's dead, Durakkon's a puppet. Kembri's no more than a murderous ruffian and his son's a proved coward. As for Forms-"

She burst out, "So you're working for Santil-"

"For Erketlis?" he said. "Never in a hundred years, my love! I'm working for myself-and for you! I'm the man, not Kembri, that's going to save Bekla from Santil-ke-Erketlis."

"You must be out of your mind, Randro! Have you thought about this, really and truly? You'll only be throwing your life away; oh, and mine too, Randro! Please-"

"Indeed I've thought about it," he answered. "Listen and I'll tell you. Erketlis has defeated-shamefully defeated-the force the Leopards sent against him; and I can tell you that the force are in very poor heart now. Kembri's reinforcements, I'm told, are just about the sorriest bunch between here and Zeray. If I'd joined them I'd have been a raving lunatic. Meanwhile Durakkon's been sent out against Fornis with orders to try to hold her up until Kembri gets back. But Kembri never will get back. The plain truth is that Bekla's lying here under Mount Crandor like a dropped purse. Who's going to grab it first, Santil or Fornis? Neither; I am!"

"You mean you've got enough men-"

"Yes; Bekla will be in my hands by tomorrow evening; by this evening, I ought to say, since it's getting on for morning. When I got Kembri's order to call up every man in Lapan, I obeyed it, with his full authority behind me. But we didn't go anywhere near Elvair-ka-Virrion's lot;

no fear! I've got four thousand men, under Seekron, marching up to Bekla now. That's not a great many, but it'll be enough."

"But Randro-"

"The plain truth is, there's no one here to stop us; only Eud-Ecachlon and a handful of second-rate troops. Seekron will be here by this afternoon. We shall simply take the place over."

"Well, just you leave me out of it! I don't care what I said!-"

He ignored her interruption. "But it's not enough just to take a city, Maia. It's got to be held, too. If you've ever fed those ducks out there" (he jerked his thumb towards the Barb) "you'll know what happens when one of them manages to grab a big bit. The inhabitants-we're going to need their support and goodwill if we're to hold the place." He laughed. "Of course the best thing for us would be if Santil and Kembri were to destroy each other and Fornis and Durakkon were to do the same. But something tells me that won't happen-things are never so simple. One or other of them will be coming against us; perhaps more than one. That's why I'm here tonight; to talk to you. The people of Bekla are going to be united behind their new Sacred Queen; the Serrelinda."

She flung herself at his feet, clasping his ankles.

"No, Randro, no! Oh, please don't try to make me! I won't do it!"

He raised her to her feet with an air of genuine bewilderment.

"But Maia, my darling, you said you would! You told Seekron. You took the money, too."

"Oh, I didn't realize, Randro! I never thought it would come to this! I didn't mean it-"

"Well, there's four thousand men marching on Bekla now who are quite sure you did, and they're not going to be all that pleased if you back down, I tell you."

He took her face between his hands, tilting it up and gazing down into her eyes.

"You're essential to us, Maia! My men know me, but the people of Bekla don't. You they do know-to say the least."

"But you can't make me do it against my will! You can'tr

"This is the first inkling I've had that you weren't entirely

with us, Maia. What's happened to make you start jibbing now? Are you a coward-like your friend Elvair-ka-Vir-rion?"

" 'Tain't a question of being a coward; though I don't mind telling you I'd be scared stiff-if I was going to do it. But I won't do it! I'll give you back the money!"

"Haven't you used any of it as I said?"

She shook her head. "I'll be honest. Some I've spent, but most of it I've still got. I'll give it back to you and the rest as soon as ever I can."

He was silent, sitting bent forward, elbows on parted knees tapping his scabbard on the floor between his feet. At length she said, "Will you please leave now, Randro? I want to go back to bed."

"The comet's waning," he said. "Have you noticed? That's a sign the gods mean the Leopards to fall."

"Will you only go?"

He looked up sharply. "I'm sorry, Maia," he replied, "but the answer's no. Seekron has orders to report to me here as soon as he enters the city."

"Randro! Here?"

"So I'm afraid I can't let you leave this house until Seekron comes: until we've taken the city, in fact. Then I shall have you proclaimed queen, publicly, from the Scales. And no one's going to like it very much, Maia, if you're taken up on the Scales crying and making a fuss, in front of the whole city. Can you imagine it? What it comes to is, I'd say you haven't much choice."

At this she leapt up and was already at the door when he said, "There are two of my soldiers out there, with orders to stop anyone leaving the house. Better keep your dignity, Maia!"

"This is insufferable, Randronoth! In my own house?"

"As insufferable as taking forty thousand meld and doing nothing in return? I'm sorry, Maia: I thought we were friends. Yes, and I thought we were lovers, too: it was you who made me think so. But I'll tell you, I'm not going to be thwarted now. Things have gone too far. If you didn't want to play this game you should have told Seekron in the first place."

"You're holding me a prisoner, then?"

"I wouldn't call it that, Maia. Let's hope we can reach a better understanding during the next few hours. I love you, and in that I'm perfectly sincere."

"Can I go back to bed now?"

"You can; but I'm afraid I shall have to join you. Your bedroom window isn't very high and I wouldn't put it past a girl like you to jump out or climb down."

"If I promise not to?"

"Promise? You promised to do all you could to help us."

Once upstairs, however, he made no attempt to make love to her, but merely dozed in a chair. She lay in her bed, at first feigning sleep, yet falling asleep at last from sheer weariness and nervous exhaustion.

When she woke it was daylight. For some time she lay unmoving, with closed eyes, reflecting on her plight. For the moment, clearly, there was nothing to be done. Later, perhaps, there might be a chance to escape. Meanwhile, the most prudent course seemed to be not to fall out any more with Randronoth, but to try to smooth things over and pretend to assent to his plans: in that way she might even be able to create an opportunity. Still without moving, she prayed long and earnestly to Lespa and at last felt in her heart some stirrings of comfort and reassurance. If I die, she thought, I shall have died for Zenka's sake. I could have gone to Quiso with Nasada: there was nothing to stop me. I'm here, and that must be Lespa's will. Surely she'll protect me.

She murmured, opened her eyes and sat up. Randronoth was awake, seated in the chair and looking at her. She jumped out of bed, ran over and kissed him on both cheeks.

"I'm sorry I was angry," she said. "I was that tired and frightened and it was such a shock. I'll do my best to help you, Randro: only it's enough to scare anyone, you must surely see that."

He nodded, holding her hands and kissing them. "I want your servants to think there's nothing out of the ordinary- for the moment, anyway. I'm here as your lover-your porter thinks so and your slave-girl too. I've told my soldiers to say nothing to the contrary. The girl-what's her name, Ogma?-do you generally send her to the market?"

She nodded.

"Let her go. It can't do any harm. I've already given her money and told her to say nothing outside about my being here. We'll have breakfast now."

During the morning Maia did all she could to give the impression of having recovered her calm. For a time she

worked on a piece of embroidery, then read for an hour and practiced her writing. She was hoping that Nennaunir or Otavis might come to the house, but there were no visitors. The city, when she went up on the roof towards noon, seemed more than usually still and unstirring in the heat: the markets looked almost deserted.

"The caravans aren't coming in," said Randronoth when she remarked on it. "There's nothing arriving now from Ikat, you see, or Herl-or from Dari, for that matter. But I dare say stuff will still be coming from the north, unless trouble's broken out there, too."

She offered an inward prayer for the safety of Nasada, but said no more.

During the early afternoon Randronoth became increasingly restive, making Maia accompany him while he returned several times to the roof to look out to the southward.

"Seekron should have been here by now," he said. "I hope nothing's gone wrong."

"Why, how could it?" asked Maia, hoping with all her heart that it had.

"Well, before I left Lapan I'd found out all I needed to know about the whereabouts of Erketlis; and of the Bek-lans-the Chalcon force, I mean. But EHeroth-that's another matter entirely."

"I've heard of this Elleroth before," answered Maia. "Who is he? I thought he was with Erketlis?"

"He's the eldest son of the Ban of Sarkid; and as to what he is, he's a very active young fellow spoiling for trouble, that's about it. He's popular in Sarkid, he's a good leader and he's never made any secret of his heldro sympathies. As soon as Erketlis took up arms, Elleroth got together a bunch of volunteers and went off to join him in Chalcon. But after the battle, when Erketlis went south to take Ikat, Elleroth lit out on his own to break up the slave-farm at Orthid in Tonilda. And where he may have got to now I've no idea. That bunch of his can move very fast when they want to, and I wouldn't put it altogether past him to be giving Seekron some trouble."

"But how would he know about Seekron?" asked Maia. "My friend Shend-Lador was here only yesterday and he had no idea what you were up to."

"Well, it's simply that I don't trust Elleroth not to be

anywhere, that's all," said Randronoth, and relapsed into a moody silence.

About an hour later Maia, dozing on her bed, was roused by knocking on the outer door. Looking out the window, with Randronoth at her elbow, she was startled to see none other than Brero, dishevelled and covered with sweat and dust, gesticulating and talking earnestly with old Jarvil and Randronoth's two soldiers.

Randronoth drew her back into the room. "Who's that?"

"It's Brero!" she answered, staring. "My soldier as used to look after me. He was one of those as went off with Durakkon three days ago-"

"With DurakkonT •

"Yes; against Fornis. Randro, something bad must have happened!"

Randronoth reflected a moment, staring down at the floor. Then he said, "Let him in," and led the way downstairs.

82: BRERO'S RETURN

Brero, when he came into the parlor, was obviously close to exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot and his sweat had left long, grimy streaks in the dust clinging to his face. He seemed scarcely able to stand as he saluted them with a dirty, bound-up hand across his chest.

Maia pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Brero. Ogma!" (for the girl, sensing bad news, was peering in at the door) "bring some wine!"

"Water for me, saiyett, if it's all the same to you," said Brero, coughing. "I-I'll pull myself together in a minute. I'm right done up and that's the truth."

When the water was brought he drank almost a pint without stopping, drew breath for a few seconds and then drank again.

"You've hurt your hand," said Maia.

"It's nothing. I'm sorry, saiyett; my feet are that dirty- your floor."

"Oh, never mind about that. You'd better have a bath, Brero, and we'll find you some fresh clothes."

"Thank you, saiyett: but first of all I think you'd best hear what I've got to say-you and this gentleman-"

"This is Lord Randronoth, governor of Lapan."

"I'm sorry, my lord." He tried to rise to his feet: Randronoth motioned to him to sit down,again. "You'd better hear it at once. The High Baron's dead. Queen Fornis-"

"Durakkon-dead?" cried Randronoth. "Are you sure?"

"I saw it with my own eyes, my lord. I'll tell you the way of it."

"Yes, quickly," said Randronoth.

"I'll be as quick as I can, my lord, for tell you the truth, I believe the Serrelinda may be in danger."

"Go on," said Randronoth. He shut the door.

"As you know, my lord, we left here three days ago. I saw the High Baron more than once during the march. He didn't strike any of us as acting like himself; not like a man in his normal senses, so to speak. Seemed like he was in a kind of daze. Well, once, for instance, when we were crossing some roughish ground on the plain, he tripped and fell; and if you'll believe me, saiyett, he never tried to get up on his own account; just lay there until two of the officers helped him back to his feet. There was some of the lads was saying in so many words that he must 'a been bewitched. And yet at night-both nights-when we'd pitched camp, he come round and spoke to everyone as kind and pleasant as you please. Of course, he was always very well-liked, you know, saiyett, was the High Baron-"

"Get on with it!" said Randronoth. "What happened?"

"Yes, of course; my lord; I'm sorry. Excuse me, I'm that dry." He drank copiously once more and then continued.

"It was yesterday morning, still fairly early-maybe three hours after sunrise-when one of our patrols came back to say that the Palteshis were only two or three miles off. We were marching in four columns, side by side, it being very open country, like, out on the plain, as you'll know, my lord, and it just so happened that I was quite close to Lord Kerith-a-Thrain and the High Baron when the patrol came in, so I could hear what they were saying. 'Within an hour, I'd guess, my lord,' the officer said. "They're in no sort of order-strung out all over the place-but I'd say they might be about twice as many as what we are.'

" 'But what about their quality?" asks Lord Kerith-a-Thrain. 'How did they strike you?'

" 'No sort of quality at all, my lord, most of 'em,' says the patrol captain. 'There's a iew look all right, but half

of them's no more soldiers than what they're musicians.'

"So with that Lord Kerith-a-Thrain gives the order to halt and form line, with our two wings sloping back. That's what's generally done for a defensive fight, you see, saiyett, if there's a risk of outflanking-"

"Will you get on and come to the point?" said Ran-dronoth.

"I'm sorry, my lord. So after a little we saw their dust and then they came in sight. Well, you've told me to be quick, so I won't say more than that the patrol captain was right. There certainly were a lot of them, but just louts for the most part: just an armed mob. They was all yelling and shouting and no sort of order to them. They stopped about a quarter of a mile away from us, just as they were, in their different crowds and companies, all over the place. I could see Queen Fornis; there was no mistaking her. She was right in the center, with a crowd of Palteshi officers, and she was armed just the same as they were.

"And then, before Lord Kerith-a-Thrain had had time to speak to him, the High Baron-I heard him very plain- he said 'Keep the men here, Kerith, I'm going out to talk to her about my son. I shan't need to take anyone with me.'

"Well, then, Lord Kerith, he tried to argue, my lord, but I won't waste your time with that. In the end the High Baron walked out between the two armies all by himself, and we saw him go up to the queen, and the two of them was talking and then they disappeared together-back through the enemy's line, I mean.

"Well, we was stood there a goodish time and then at last the High Baron came out and walked back to us: and he said to Lord Kerith-a-Thrain, 'She's promised to release my son. She's asked that we divide into two parts, as a sign of good faith-one here and one over there.' So Lord Kerith-a-Thrain said, 'I don't like that, my lord,' but the High Baron said, 'I want my son out of her hands: she's sworn by Frella-Tiltheh to do us no harm. Do as I say.'

"Well, so then he went back, my lord, and Lord Kerith-a-Thrain broke us into two lines, facing inwards, I suppose about three or four hundred yards apart. And we stood watching while the queen and her Palteshi officers led their army forward between us. The High Baron was walking beside her, and a young man as must have been his son, I suppose.

"And then, my lord, when they'd got fairly in between our two lines, the queen suddenly called out, and the men who were with her-four or five of them-they turned and set upon the High Baron and the young man and cut them down, and the queen stood and watched them do it.

"When Lord Kerith-a-Thrain saw that, he called out to attack them and so we did. But there weren't enough of us, you see. I'm certain we could have held off any sort of attack they might have made on us, but we simply hadn't got the numbers to make an attack ourselves-specially split in two like we were. There wasn't the co-ordination, like, you see, and most of the lads were that shaken by what they'd seen-well, there was something uncanny about it, my lord; hundreds standing watching and the High Baron going along that quiet and trusting-almost like he was a kind of sacrifice, as you might say. I can see it now, and the queen standing over his body on the ground. We was going in all anyhow and-and-well, it didn't work out, my lord, that's all.

"I never seen the end of it, because Lord Kerith-a-Thrain told one of our tryzatts to send two men back to Bekla at once with the news. So me and a mate of mine, Crevin, was told to get back here as quick as we could. I won't say I was sorry to be picked, either. Tell you the truth, I was glad to get out of it. We've never stopped, Crevin and me, for well over twenty-four hours. I'm all in and that's a fact."

"Where's Crevin now?" asked Randronoth sharply.

"Gone to the Barons' Palace, my lord, to report to Lord Eud-Ecachlon."

Randronoth turned to Maia. "This may turn out all to the good: Fornis is bound to have had losses. You've done well," he said to Brero. "Here's twenty meld. You'd better go and get yourself something to eat and drink."

"Why can't he bathe and eat here?" asked Maia.

Randronoth shook his head. "No, not here."

She felt angry. "Why not?"

"That's all right, saiyett," said Brero, before she could remonstrate further. "I'll just be getting back to quarters now. I expect we'll meet again when things are quieter. I hope so, I'm sure."

He saluted, turned on his heel and left the house.

And now what? wondered Maia. But she could not think clearly, could not dispel the dreadful picture in her mind's

eye-the brown, dusty plain in the fierce heat, the divided, inward-facing ranks of the Beklans watching uneasily; and between them the gray, stooping figure of Durakkon, with his son, pacing beside the Sacred Queen-yes, in all truth as though ensorcelled, she thought. Who else but Form's could have exercised this power to make a man hand himself over to his own destruction; and then devised so stylish a public ceremony of treachery and murder? What pleasure and satisfaction it must have given her! Far more than the relatively paltry affair of Tharrin.

And what now? What now? Assuming that Fornis's Pal-teshis had succeeded in beating off the Beklan attack and getting between Bekla and Kerith-a-Thrain, they would probably reach the city some time tomorrow; certainly no later than the day after. Yet before then Randronoth's men would have arrived. What would Eud-Ecachlon do? He would presumably be forced to make common cause with Randronoth: he would have no choice. And he would probably have been safe enough in doing so, too, thought Maia, had his enemy been anyone but Form's. For Maia, who had thought she knew the Sacred Queen, was now beginning-as had others in the past-to descry in her undreamt-of, far horizons of cunning and cruelty, and attribute to her insuperable powers. If Fornis intended to take Bekla, no doubt she possessed the demonic means to do so.

Randronoth was speaking. "What did you say?" she asked him dully.

"I said, 'I'm going up to the roof to watch for Seekron. Will you please come with me?' "

"I want to lie down," she said. "I feel bad."

"Tell your slave to bring a mattress up, then."

There was an awning over one corner of the roof, and here she lay in the hot, windless shade, hands pressed over her throbbing eyes. The Sacred Queen was coming: Zenka was in her power. And not only Zenka, but Anda-No-komis, towards whom her feelings were now utterly changed. She was a Suban by blood; he was not only her cousin but her rightful lord, to whom accordingly she owed a sacred duty of service and loyalty. Yet how could she hope to help either of them now?

Her very thoughts had become hysterical. She was obsessed by the figure of the approaching queen, the queen never at a loss for some vile, unforeseeable stratagem.

To her the queen no longer seemed a human opponent, but a kind of inanimate doom: a black pit; or rather, perhaps, a flexible, sticky web, in which the more one struggled the more one became enmeshed, until at length the victim hung inert-whether dead or dying was of no consequence, though the latter would afford the queen more enjoyment. So terrible now to Maia was this access of helplessness and despair that had it not been for Ran-dronoth's enforced restraint she might, despite her love for Zen-Kurel, have fled from the city-yes, alone and on foot-anywhere, so long as it was away from Fornis. She did not believe that the combined forces of Randronoth and Eud-Ecachlon-she did not believe that any power on earth-could prevent Fornis from entering Bekla and putting her to death.

Once more-after how long she could not tell, though opening her eyes she saw that the sun was westering;-she was roused from her desolation by the sound of knocking below. She would have got up and looked over the parapet, but Randronoth, gripping her arm, held her where she was, himself kneeling beside her and waiting. After less than a minute they heard Ogma calling from below.

"Can't I go down?" she said.

"No: tell her to come up here."

Before Ogma had uttered a word it was plain that her news was bad. She stared from one of them to the other as though afraid to speak. Maia, catching her fear, started forward.

"What's happened? Who is it, Ogma?"

"It's-it's Lokris, Miss Maia," stammered Ogma, but said no more, as though to remain silent might somehow prevent the news from being true.

"Lokris? From Milvushina?"

"Oh, Miss Maia, she's been taken bad! She's in labor before her time! Lokris says the midwives are there and the doctor too, and they're afraid for her. She's in a bad way, Lokris says: and she's asked for you to go to her as quick as you can."

"Milvushina!" cried Maia. "Oh, why didn't I think of it before? I might 'a guessed!"

"Seems as 'twas all the upset and worry, Miss Maia; Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion coming back the way he did-"

"Yes, of course-"

"Lokris says ever since he got back, miss, he's shut

himself up alone in the Barons' Palace. He wouldn't go to the Lord General's house. So in the end Miss Milvushina took Lokris with her and went to the Palace herself, but he wouldn't see even her; and that's where she was took bad. That's where she is now."

"Oh, my lord-Randro-" Maia collected herself. "Ogma, go down and tell Lokris to go back and say I'm coming at once."

As soon as the girl had gone she turned back to Ran-dronoth. "Randro, I promise you-I swear by Frella-Til-theh I'll say nothing to Eud-Ecachlon or to anyone else. I swear I'll come straight back here-oh, within the hour if you say so-only please let me go to Milvushina!"

He shook his head. "This is war, Maia: Seekron will be here before sunset. Eud-Ecachlon-Elvair-ka-Virrion- they're the enemy. I can't let you go anywhere where you might talk to them."

"But if I don't go it'll look more suspicious! Surely you can see that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "By tonight the city will be in my hands. Until then you must stay here. Anyway, what good could you do?"

"She's my friend and she's in bad trouble! Oh, Randro, you said you loved me!"

"This is no time to argue, Maia."

Suddenly in the midst of her frenzied fear for Milvushina, an idea came into her mind; one so simple that she could only wonder that it should not have occurred to her before. This was Randronoth that she was dealing with- Randronoth who had paid nine thousand meld.

She sat down and dried her eyes. After a little-he was still looking out southward-she said, "Well, I can see your point of view, Randro. It is war, and I know you've got to think of your men first. I'm sorry you reckon you can't trust me, but there it is: I must just try and accept it, mustn't I? Shall we go down, now, and have a drink in the garden? I could do with it, I know that. One of your soldiers could watch for half an hour, couldn't he?"

After a moment's thought he replied, "Very well," and put out his hand to help her down the stairs.

While he was instructing the soldier she called Ogma into the parlor.

"Ogma, don't argue with me or act anything out of the

ordinary, d'you see? Just bring some wine and nuts and that out into the garden, and do it quickly!"

As soon as he had joined her she led him into the garden, poured the wine, handed him his goblet and drank deeply herself.

"Ah! That's better! I'm feeling a lot better now," she said. "Give me your arm, Randro; let's have a little stroll. There's something I want to show you, down by the shore. Did I ever tell you about the golden lilies I picked for King Karnat in Suba? No? Well, 'twas like this, see-"

Talking on, she drew his arm through hers, leading him gently and leisurely on among the shrubs and flowerbeds, fragrant in the cooling air of evening. The western sky was reddening and there was no least breath of wind.

"Do you know something, Randro?" she said. "I've longed for you so often since that night of the barrarz. You were wonderful! We had so much pleasure, didn't we? Do you remember in the morning, when you thought you were finished and then you found you weren't?"

"Yes, I do," he replied. "I wouldn't be likely to forget that, would I?"

"We can't make love now, though," she said, and drew his hand from her waist up to her bosom. "What a pity! For there'll be no chance later tonight, will there? Not once Seekron gets here. You'll have far too much to do."

"I thought you didn't want to make love," he answered.

"Why, when did I say that? You never asked me, did you?"

They had reached the marble bench near the Barb.

"You've seemed so angry and upset all day. Naturally, I thought-"

"Sometimes being upset brings a girl on all the harder; didn't you know that?" She kissed his ear, nibbling the lobe. "It's all the strain and excitement and that."

"Maia, are you serious? Do you really want to make love?"

For answer she flung her arms round his neck, kissing him passionately and pressing herself against him. He responded, panting, and caressing her with trembling hands.

"Let's go back to the house, then. Come on!"

"Oh, no, Randro! I couldn't! I mean, I couldn't let myself go; not with the soldiers there and everyone knowing. No, I'm afraid we'll just have to leave it for now."

She pressed herself to him still more ardently, putting one hand on his thigh. "It's a shame, isn't it?"

"No one can see us here."

"Oh!" She stood back, wide-eyed, holding her hand over her open mouth. "Oh, Randro, no! How can you-"

He smiled delightedly. "You're Lespa; I'm Shakkarn. Why not?"

"Oh, no!" But his fingers had already begun to unfasten her robe at the neck, drawing it down and drawing down her shift to bare her deldas, which he stooped to kiss.

"Well-well-I don't know. Oh, Randro, it's so nice!" She kicked off her sandals, let her clothes fall and stood naked before him. "You, too! You, too! Only just turn round a moment, darling: I want to make water and I can't do it with you watching."

"Can't you?" He gave her a playful smack on the buttocks. "All right." Turning his back, he began pulling his leather jerkin over his head.

Now! she thought. Now! And she ran, ran, bounding through the grass to the water, her deldas leaping, her hair flying behind her. Splash! Splash! Hopping ankle-deep, wading knee-deep, deeper, two or three agonizingly slow, pushing, thigh-deep steps. Then she had plunged forward and struck out into the Barb. Behind her she could hear Randronoth calling "Maia, come back!" And then, "Maia, this will cost you your life! I warn you, come back!"

On she swam, never once looking round. The water was smooth-far smoother than Serrelind as she had known it many a time. Yet in her haste and desperation, she realized, she was swimming too fast: at this rate she would be exhausted before ever she could reach the western end of the Barb. Besides, there was a slight but steady current against her, for she was in the line of flow between the infall and outfall of the Monju brook. She must settle down, for she had more than half a mile to go. Would Randronoth try to follow her round by the bank? No, almost certainly not, for he would realize that if she saw him waiting for her on the bank she would simply stay in the water, while he would be bound to draw attention to himself and disclose his presence in the upper city.

83: AT THE BARONS' PALACE

Maia's swim down the Barb took her over half an hour. Although, naturally, the thought of Milvushina was never entirely absent from her mind, the necessity of swimming distracted her, eased her tension and afforded her the comfort of exercising a familiar skill at which she was adept. It was satisfying, too, to think that this skill had enabled her to get the better of Randronoth.

Once she scattered a flock of black swans, the great birds, with their red beaks, all rising together from the water, circling wide to her left and re-alighting near the infall of the Monju behind her. As she rounded the peninsula, swimming more slowly now and from time to time turning on her back to rest, there came into sight the gardens where Sencho had died, the tree from which she had dived and the inshore pool where she had saved Shend-Lador. They looked different now, she thought, and in a way unfamiliar. The difference, she realized after a few moments, lay in herself-in the eyes with which she saw. They were the same, but she was no longer the slave-girl who had accompanied Occula and the High Counselor on that fatal evening. There returned to her mind the unsolved mystery of Zirek and Meris. What could have happened to them after they had fulfilled their task? Were they dead? But if so, where were their unfound bodies? Might they, after all, have escaped? Did Occula know? Herself and Occula-were they the only people left in the city who knew who had killed Sencho?

Before her rose the grassy terraces of the Leopard Hill, and above them the Palace, its twenty round towers clustering darkly, like a bed of gigantic reed-maces, against the sunset sky. At this sheltered, western end the water, reflecting the reddened clouds, was glass-still; so still that her approach sent long, undulant ripples shorewards. She could see no one-no sentry by the waterside, not a soul looking down from the verdant slopes. It might have been the enchanted castle in one of old Drigga's tales-the stronghold of Canathron, who returned to it each night. And if, she thought, Canathron were even now to come flying home out of the flames of the sunset, would he spread his healing wings and save Milvushina? But she had never prayed to Canathron; and this seemed no time to

start, when she had just hood-winked and outwitted the governor of Lapan.

About a hundred yards out, she found herself in her depth; but being still far from spent, swam gently on-it was easier than wading-until, coming to rest at length on the gravelly sand inshore, she stood up, sluicing her body with cupped handfuls of water.

Milva, she thought: Milva. What could she do to help her? Although she could recall the birth of each of the girls she had once believed to be her sisters, none had involved any complication or danger: Morca had always given birth almost as easily as slipping off her pattens. Whatever was wrong, it would be beyond any knowledge or experience which she possessed. She knew Lokris for a sensible, level-headed woman: it would be most unlike Lokris to say that Milvushina was in a bad way unless it were true. Deep-atavistically, indeed-in every woman lies the fear of this occupational danger, just as in every man there lies the fear of death by conflict or violence. As she stepped onto the bank Maia had no thought for anything else. She had even forgotten her own nakedness; or rather-as with the wounded or the grievously ill-in her present circumstances nakedness was a matter of no particular consequence. She hadn't time now to be bothering about such trivialities, the unimportance of which must surely be as plain to anyone else as to herself.

Zig-zag she climbed the Leopard Hill, up the narrow paths between the low stone walls and little, secluded arbors designed for meditation, confidential talks and lovers' meetings. There were no lovers there now; no friends disputing about music or sculpture, no circumspect councilors seeking a quiet word in private. Though Maia did not know it, Eud-Ecachlon, as soon as he had heard Crevin's report, had alerted everyone of consequence in the upper city and sent runners to warn the lower city marshal to close and double-guard all gates, including the Peacock Gate. Shock and panic were already spreading across the whole Bekla. The High Baron, lord of the empire, betrayed and cut down by-of all people-the Sacred Queen, in full view of thousands! In all the city's history such a deed had never been imagined, never dreamt of. What might be fated to follow an event so unthinkable? The legends, the annals, the lore of the priests were alike silent. The dead-might they now rise from their graves and walk the streets; the

earth quake, the rocks be rent, the Temple of Cran fall? Not for nothing, then, after all, had Lespa set her great light to burn in the northern sky.

As the sunset-a brilliant, glowing chiaroscuro of saffron, crimson and green-faded and dusk darkened the terraces below, the two sentinels at the eastern door of the palace, new-levied peasant strangers to Bekla, their nerves already shredded by rumor and speculation, but most of all by the unconcealed alarm and dismay of their superiors, were suddenly stricken aghast to see the shadowy form of the goddess Lespa walking intently towards them in the failing light. There could be no mistaking the apparition. Very beautiful she was, with a more than earthly beauty, a matchless young girl immune to age or death; quite naked but, goddess-like, without the least air of self-consciousness or shame. Her superb body was glistening with drops of water from the clouds through which she must have descended, while her long hair, also damp, fell in a golden drift about her shoulders. Her bare feet made no sound. Despite its marvelous beauty her face-and what else would you expect?-was very sorrowful, grave and absorbed, yet with a purposeful look, as though she well knew her divine intention, whatever it might be.

Letting fall their spears, the sentries fled into the palace.

Maia, having entered under the portico, looked about for someone to guide her. There was no one to be seen, however, and she climbed the first staircase she came to, which brought her out on an open landing hung with tapestries. Yet here, too, all was deserted.

In this shady, eastward-facing place she felt, for the first time since setting out, a touch of cold. She had not seen the sentries run, but now it occurred to her that her nakedness might hinder her mission. Eud-Ecachlon, who was presumably somewhere in the palace, might have her apprehended, or perhaps some rougher man, a soldier or servant, might molest her. As she stood in perplexity she remembered the night of the senguela, when she had pulled down one of Sarget's wall-hangings to dress up as the prying old woman. Opposite her was a window, with curtains of green and blue silk. Scrambling up into the embrasure, she found that she could lift down the pole and slide them off. One would be enough. As a Tonildan peasant girl she had learned two or three different ways of draping and knotting a rectangle of woven cloth into a garment. Those

who possessed such things had been lucky: most wore sacking or homespun. In less than two minutes Maia was at least presentably clothed and making her way down the upper corridor.

Rounding the next corner she saw coming towards her a girl carrying a bundle of clothes.

"The lady Milvushina," she said. "Where can I find her?"

"The lady Milvushina, saiyett?" answered the girl. "They say she's very ill-"

"I know that!" said Maia. "Just tell me where she is."

Turning, the girl guided her down the corridor, climbed a staircase and in silence pointed to a closed door a few yards further on. Maia thanked her with a nod, tapped on the door and entered.

Four women, one of whom was Lokris, were gathered about a bed on the opposite side of the big, luxurious room. With them was an elderly, gray-bearded man, his bare arms streaked with blood. All five looked round at her and the old man, staring severely, seemed about to speak.

"I'm Maia Serrelinda, doctor," she said, before he could do so. "I've come because I was sent for."

Silently, he laid one hand on hers and, looking into her eyes, shook his head. One of the women was silently weeping. Suddenly, Maia caught her breath in an involuntary spasm of fear and horror. That smell-that terrible smell- when had it last overcome her, where had she known it before? Next moment she knew. She was back in the darkness and firelight on the banks of the Valderra, kneeling beside Sphelthon, the dying Tonildan boy. For a moment she actually seemed to hear his voice. Then the doctor's hand was gripping her wrist and she was turning with him towards the bed.

Milvushina, very pale, her forehead and chin beaded with sweat, lay covered only with a sweat-damp, crumpled sheet. Her long, black hair was tumbled about her. One bare arm was stretched across the bed. Her breathing was labored and uneven. Her mouth was open, as were her great, dark eyes, yet it seemed as though she saw nothing, for they were staring fixedly upward toward the ceiling. Maia's immediate impression was of a being isolated beyond reach of anyone round her. She looked partly like an animal caught in a trap and partly like someone com-

pelted to expend, upon some immense labor, nothing less than every scrap of energy at her command.

Maia took her hand.

"Milva," she said. "Milva? It's Maia: I'm here."

Slowly, Milvushina seemed to return from a great distance. Her head rolled, her eyes found Maia's and she gave the faintest trace of a smile.

"Maia," she whispered.

"Yes. You must rest, darling," answered Maia. "I won't leave you. It'll be all right, you'll see."

Very slightly, as though even this was an effort, Milvushina shook her head. "I'm dying.",

"No, you're not, dearest."

Milvushina's hand clenched weakly on Maia's. After a few seconds, having gathered strength to speak again, she murmured, "Don't-don't-I need you-" She broke off, shutting her eyes and biting her lower lip, apparently seized once more with pain.

Maia bent her head to her ear.

"I won't go away."

It seemed doubtful whether Milvushina had heard her. Her hand lost its grip and she began once more her heavy, intermittent panting.

Maia stood back from the bed. "What's happened?" she asked Lokris. "What's gone wrong?"

"It was the news, saiyett," answered Lokris, "and then Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion refusing to see her or speak to her. She went into premature labor this morning, but she's only bled ever since and we can't get the baby born."

"Can't you cut her?" asked Maia, turning to the doctor.

"I have cut her, saiyett. I'm very sorry. Believe me, I've done all I can-all anyone could. These cases are always dangerous. No doctor can ever be sure-"

"You mean she's dying?"

"Saiyett, the loss of blood-"

"There's no hope?"

He shook his head. "The internal bleeding can't be stanched, you see. I've given her a drug for the pain. There's nothing more I can do."

Maia, falling on her knees beside the bed, laid her cheek against Milvushina's shoulder. She did not move as the women drew off the sheet and once more began changing the blood-drenched dressings. When they had finished the room seemed very silent and dim. Later, Maia became

vaguely aware that someone had brought more lamps. Later still, Milvushina stirred, moaned and spoke without opening her eyes.

"Maia?"

"Yes, dear; I'm here."

"Tell Elvair-tell-"

"Yes, Milva?"

"I love him. I-don't-blame-" Suddenly, startlingly, her utterance became clear and lucid. "He's being silly. No blame. I love him, say."

"I'll tell him."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Milva: I promise."

Milvushina's hand pressed hers once more. She seemed to be trying to say something, but no words came.

Someone brought a stool and Maia sat on and on beside the bed, holding Milvushina's hand and watching in the lamplight the slight movements- of her lips and eyelids. They ceased. After a long time-as though, having resisted to the last, she had finally been compelled, against every spark of her will, to acquiesce-she knew that Milvushina was dead.

She stood up, gazing down at the body. Milvushina looked unbelievably young-about twelve-a child with enormous eyes that stared and stared unblinkingly, as though in accusation. It was the eyes that were staring, not Milvushina. She had gone, leaving this sorry likeness behind.

Maia realized that she was very thirsty. She turned to Lokris. "Bring me some water, Lokris, please."

"You mean, to drink, saiyett?"

When Maia had drunk the water she said, "You say Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's here in the palace?"

"Yes, saiyett."

"Take me to him, please."

Another woman might perhaps have asked questions or argued, but it had no doubt occurred to Lokris that she could not be blamed for doing as she was told and also that in the circumstances that would be the least troublesome thing to do as far as she herself was concerned. Picking up a lamp, she walked half-way to the door and turned, waiting for Maia to join her.

The doctor touched Maia's arm. "I trust you won't lay blame on me, saiyett. I assure you I did all that was possible."

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "No, you needn't worry."

Making their way down the passage, neither she nor Lokris spoke. Maia had little awareness of their surroundings. Once a middle-aged woman-seemingly some kind of upper servant-coming out of a doorway, stopped short and cried in a low voice, "Oh, Lokris, what's happened?" Lokris caught her eye, shook her head and walked on.

On the landing where Maia had taken down the curtains a lamp was now burning. Lokris picked it up and handed it to Maia.

"I think you may need this, saiyett." ›

"Shall I? Why?"

But Lokris only nodded, leading her up the staircase to the second story. Maia could hear a murmur of voices behind a door, but this they passed, entering a colonnade like the one in Kembri's house where she had attended the Rains banquet. At its far end they came to another closed door, ornately carved, with recessed panels and a great latch of bronze, the stop cast to resemble a hound and the fall-bar a bone clenched in its jaws. Here Lokris stood to one side, inclining her head.

"Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion, saiyett."

In the terrible distress and grief consuming her, Maia's self-possession was like a frail raft on a swirling flood. In imminent danger of being overwhelmed, it still remained afloat, though barely.

"But I must see him alone, Lokris. Are you sure there's no one with him?"

"Yes, saiyett."

"How can you be sure?"

"I am sure, saiyett."

"Well, then, will you please go in and tell him as I'm here?"

For a moment Lokris hesitated. Then she said, "Saiyett, I think it'll be better if you simply go in yourself; and take the lamp with you."

Maia stared, but Lokris merely averted her eyes, looking down. After a moment Maia raised the latch, putting her shoulder to the heavy door. It yielded and she stepped inside.

The room was not quite in darkness, for it faced west and was still faintly twilit. One would not have expected to find anyone in it, however, unless they were either asleep

or making love. Yet this was not a bedroom. No; this, with its profusion of stools and small tables, its sideboard covered with silver dishes and goblets and its trophies hung on the walls, had the appearance of some kind of anteroom, perhaps adjoining a hall next door. Holding up her lamp, she looked round her in perplexity.

"Elvair?" she said timidly; but there was no reply.

She turned this way and that, looking round the big, shadowy room in apprehension, and was just going to hurry out again when she realized that someone)-a motionless figure-was sitting on a tall, armless chair by the window. The back of the chair was towards her and its occupant seemed gazing out towards the darkling west. Maia, carrying her lamp, crossed the room and stood beside the chair. The figure was, indeed, Elvair-ka-Virrion.

He looked as a man might who had spent days in prison. He was hollow-cheeked, pallid and unwashed and his hair and beard were unkempt. She could smell his stale sweat. His torn, travel-stained clothes must be those in which he had come back from Lapan. One of his boot-straps was broken and trailing on the floor. Beside him stood a tray on which were plates and the remains of untouched food. She saw mouse-droppings and a fretted, nibbled crust.

He did not move as she touched his shoulder.

"Elvair? Elvair, it's Maia."

He looked up for a moment. "Maia. Oh, yes." Dropping his chin on his hands, he resumed his abstracted staring towards the west.

She knelt beside his chair and put her hand on his wrist.

"Elvair, I'm so sorry-I'm very sorry that I've only come to add to your troubles. I wouldn't do it if I hadn't got to, honest."

It would be easier, she thought, if only he would ask her what her news was and she could answer him. But as she waited he put aside her hand, stood up, took two or three steps across to the window and continued gazing out into the near-darkness.

Maia, still kneeling on the floor, began to cry-for Mil-vushina, for Tharrin, for Sphelthon, for her own terror of death, for the loss of Zenka, the fallen darkness and the hopelessness of the entire world.

He seemed unaware of her weeping; but she was weeping from the heart, and for some little time continued without any attempt to control herself or to speak again;

while he stood silently, his back turned, both of them as it were isolated in separate cells of suffering. At last Maia recalled that she had come in fulfillment of the promise she had made to Milvushina.

"Elvair? Elvair, I've brought bad news; but you must hear it."

For all the response he made he might not have heard her. In a sudden passion she jumped up and ran across to him, tugging at his arm and beating her fist on his chest.

"She's dead, Elvair; Milva's dead! She told me I was to come and tell you she loved you and she didn't blame you for anything. She didn't blame you for anything!" As he still said nothing she stood in front of him, put her two hands on his shoulders and cried, "Do you hear me? Milva's dead, I tell you! The baby's dead and Milva's dead!"

For a moment he looked coldly into her eyes, much as he might have looked at a servant who had had the temerity to interrupt him while absorbed in some complicated matter. Then, once more staring over her shoulder, he muttered just audibly, "I don't care. Go away."

As though he had struck her, Maia started back. As though he had struck her she drew in her breath and raised one hand to her cheek. Then, like one suddenly perceiving in the room the presence of something monstrous and appalling, she snatched up the lamp and ran stumblingly to the door.

Lokris was seated on a bench about twenty yards up the colonnade. As Maia came out she stood up, but if she had not caught her arm Maia would have run past her.

"Let me help you, saiyett: these corridors can be a little treacherous after dark. I wouldn't want you to fall. Please take my arm."

They walked on together, Maia with the one lamp held in her left hand, Lokris with the other in her right. As they reached the landing on the first floor Lokris asked, "Will you wish to leave the palace now, saiyett?"

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I'll go now, Lokris. Only I shall need some shoes-sandals-anything wiH do."

"Take mine, saiyett: I think they'll fit you well enough."

Lokris took off her sandals, knelt and strapped them on for her.

"Will you be needing anything else, saiyett? A jekzha?"

Maia had, of course, no money with her, and in her

shocked and broken state of mind could not face the embarrassment of asking Lokris to go and get her some and waiting while she did so.

"No, Lokris, thank you: I'll walk on the terrace for a little while."

Lokris accompanied her as far as the north door of the palace, and here they parted without having spoken of what had taken place.

84: MAIA GOES HOME

It did not matter where she went, she thought. It didn't matter what happened. The gods, who had done this to Milva, could now do whatever they liked with her. She would go home, and Randronoth could kill her if he wanted. Go home-yes, that would surprise the gods. The gods would not be expecting that.

Slowly she descended the road down the Leopard Hill into the upper city. Although many people passed her, hurrying in both directions, it did not really strike home to her that any upheaval was taking place. The barracks of the upper city-a square, gloomy building-lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, and here she could see torches and hear noise and commotion. But she merely walked on, stumbling once or twice in Lokris's sandals, which were not in fact a very good fit.

She thought of the handsome, dashing young man who had spoken so charmingly to Occula and herself in the Khalkoornil on that first afternoon in Bekla, when they were being taken to Lalloc's. She remembered the sound of Milvushina's weeping on the night when she and Occula had returned from Sarget's party-that same night when she had cursed Bayub-Otal and vowed to harm him if she could. She thought of the good-natured, sympathetic El-vair-ka-Virrion, who had made love with her and later had been so ready to help her with his notion of the auction at the barrarz; and again, of Milvushina smiling as she sat on the couch in the Sacred Queen's supper-room. Behind all sounded old Nasada's thin, dry voice, "Get out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground."

Once or twice, as she made her half-shuffling, ungainly way along the road in the elf-light of moonrise, men spoke

to her; but she did not even hear them, passing on in a trance of wretchedness which communicated itself without the need for any reply on her part. It was a night, however, when few in the upper city were of a mind to be accosting girls. So far as property owners and their servants were concerned (and most dwellers in the upper city were either one or the other) all thoughts were centered upon Santil-ke-Erketlis and the defeated Leopard force in the south. If Erketlis and his heldril were indeed to take the city, as he had said he intended, what was the prospect for merchants-and especially for slave-traders? And beyond these material fears lay the deep, superstitious anxiety engendered by the news of Durak-kon's death at the hands of Fornis. There was a general, intuitive feeling that that business was neither conclusive nor concluded; it must inevitably have some further outcome; and though no one could guess what that might be, the prospect gave rise to uncertainty and dread.

About the streets people were hastening hither and thither, nearly all, so it seemed, concerned in one way or another with the safety of their property. There were not many to take more than momentary notice of a distraught girl in tears, obviously intent on some destination. No doubt she had received bad news. Many had.

Yet all of a sudden Maia, now well past the barracks and less than three furlongs from her own house, found her way blocked by a man standing squarely in front of her. Moving to one side, she tried to walk past him; but he spread his arms, and rather than have him grab hold of her, as he seemed about to do, she stepped backward, looking down at the ground and ignoring him in the hope of being left alone.

"Ah!" he cried. "A shadow will cover the city! A shadow!"

She recognized him then, with the weary resentment of one who, though deep in affliction, understands that nevertheless there is to be no escape from the tedium and vexation of having to deal with an intrusive eccentric. Jejjer-eth, as he was commonly known (the name had a slightly obscene meaning in Beklan), was a familiar figure in the streets and markets of the lower city; one of those grotesque, half-crazy declaimers and self-styled prophets who always knock about large cities; fantastically clad, of no fixed abode, part laughing-stock and part accorded, by the common people, a kind of rough recognition for having

shown themselves to possess at least a crude form of moral courage and sincerity; who stand in public places orating disjointed nonsense about imminent wrath and judgment to such as have nothing better to do than listen untU they weary of it, while wags shout ribald questions over their heads. "A shadow will cover the city" was notorious as one of Jejjereth's favorite utterances. Maia could recall having once seen him in the Caravan Market, his rags fluttering as he was dragged off the Scales and sent packing by two of the municipal slaves. Sometimes he would stand at one or other of the lower city gates, haranguing visiting pilgrims and other passers-by until the sentries, having decided that he had had his fair turn, moved him on. To come upon him in the upper city was all but incredible. At any other time she would have wondered how he could possibly have got in. Now, she merely hoped he would let her alone and go away.

"A shadow!" he cried. "A shadow to enshroud the evil- the gluttons and their trulls, the liars, the murderers and men of blood!" He made a wide, sweeping gesture, spreading his grimy cloak before her like the wing of some huge, tattered bird.

"The whores! The murderers' whores shall hang upside-down, with their legs apart to let in the blowflies!"

"Jejjereth," she said quietly, as he still blocked her way, "please let me pass. I've never done you any harm and I want to go home."

Now he peered at her closely. "Maia! Maia swam the river!"

"Yes, yes," she replied soothingly (she was only humoring a zany by completing a catch-phrase), "Maia saved the city. Please let me go by."

"Saved the city!" he shouted. "Yes, Maia saved the city for the cruel to commit more murders, for the wicked to enjoy more lust and greed! But a shadow will cover the city-"

By this time several people had stopped-household slaves and the like, to whom the sight of him in the lower city was familiar enough.

"What in Cran's name are you doing up here, old fellow?" said a night-watchman, taking him by the arm. "Who let you in, eh?"

Jejjereth, having turned to face him, spoke behind his hand in a voice which everyone could hear. "She let me

in," he said. "She let me in-to call down vengeance on corruption! Yes, to go even to the Barons' Palace! Jejjer-eth's not afraid to strike, no, no-"

"What, this girl here? Don't tell me she let you in-"

"No! No! Not her! It was the Leopardess-the swift one, with the green-ah! She let me in, to bring judgement-"

"Which Leopardess, old boy?" asked someone else. "Come up here to baste a few expensive ones for a change, have you?"

"A shadow will cover the city-"

"Yeah, and a bull will cover a cow an' all. And you've been covering a Leopardess, is that it?"

"Perhaps that is it,"put in the night-watchman. "Some of these rich women in the upper city've got peculiar tastes y'know. Now come on, old lad," he said, gripping Jejjereth more firmly. "Never mind about Leopardesses an' that; you just hop it to the Peacock Gate, else you'll know all about it, see?"

Suddenly and frighteningly, Jejjereth drew a long, sharp-pointed knife from under his cloak. "She gave me this," he said, grinning round at them. "She gave me this: she said, 'Take this folda, go to the Barons' Palace and strike down the wicked-' "

"Here, you'd better just give that to me," said the watchman, startled. "That's dangerous, that is. Might hurt someone."

Maia, glad to have avoided further unwelcome attention, left them at it and continued on her way.

Ten minutes later she was walking up to the door of her own house. Although she could almost find it in her heart to hope that he might, she did not believe that Randronoth would kill her. It was more likely that he would still want to do what he had been tricked out of doing. Oh, she thought, if only her ashes were blowing over Serrelind, and Kelsi and old Drigga weeping for her! If only it could all be over!

Suddenly she saw that the door of her house was standing wide open. Lamplight shone from within. She stopped- she was about forty yards away-but there was nothing to be heard. As she stared, puzzled, at the open doorway, she began to make out beyond it signs of confusion and disorder. A big, painted vase which had had its place in the porch was fallen and smashed to fragments, and a long, white splinter was projecting from the woodwork of the

inner door. Near it, on the floor, she could glimpse something which looked like a bundle of old clothes tossed down all anyhow.

What could this mean? Robbers? Some violence between Randronoth and Eud-Ecachlon, informed of his presence in her house? She approached the door cautiously, but there was nothing more to be seen, and still she could not hear a sound.

Suddenly, at the very foot of the steps, she stopped short with a scream. What had looked like old clothes on the floor of the porch was in fact the dead body of Jarvil. His eyes were fixed, his teeth clenched and the hilt of a knife, which one of his hands was clutching, protruded from his chest.

To Maia's enormous credit her first thought was for Ogma. Sickened and terrified though she was, she did not run away, and hesitated for no more than a moment as she listened once more for any sound from within the house. There was none. As quietly as she could she entered the porch, stepped over the body and opened the inner door into the entrance hall.

Here, as was customary of an evening, three or four lamps were burning. She looked about her in the silence, wondering whether or not to call out to Ogma. Jarvil, she remembered, used to keep a club in his lodge by the door. She went and got it, and with this in one hand stole up to the open door of the parlor.

The room was frighteningly devastated. One of the silken wall-hangings had been ripped down.Both the small tables lay overturned and broken, and the ornaments and artifacts from them were scattered over the floor. A jug and two goblets were lying in a pool of spilt wine. The silver mirror, too, had fallen from the wall: as she moved, it caught the lamplight, flashing a moment in her eyes. Two of the cushions on the big couch had burst open, and their flock stuffing was strewn across the room.

Maia, however, noticed little or nothing of this in detail, for there was worse to be seen. On the far side of the room, in the shadow beyond the lamplight, were stretched the bodies of Randronoth's two soldiers. A dark, glistening expanse of blood, half-dried, covered the tiles around them. One had had time to draw his sword, which lay beside him-a typical Gelt short-sword, the broad blade tapering to a point. The other must simply have been trying to

escape: he was stretched prone, one arm extended, the hand apparently dragged or fallen from the latch of the door leading into the garden. His dead face was turned towards her.

She ran out quickly into the hall but then, turning faint, stood leaning dizzily against the newel-post at the foot of the staircase.

Now, after some moments, she could indeed hear a noise-a kind of low, suppressed whimpering and moaning from upstairs. The voice was Ogma's. She listened intently, but could hear no one else. She called out, "Ogma! It's Maia!"

The whimpering stopped on the instant, but there was no reply. She called again, "Can you hear me?" This time, after a pause, Ogma's voice answered faintly, "Miss Maia?"

"I'm in the hall: can you come down?"

"I'm-I'm hurt, miss," replied Ogma in a weak, tremulous voice.

Maia ran upstairs. Lamplight was shining from her bedroom and she went in. The first thing she saw was the body of Randronoth, dressed in nothing but a pair of breeches, lying across her bed. It was the most appalling sight imaginable. His throat had been cut-the head, indeed, almost severed-while across his chest and stomach were three or more ragged, gaping stab-wounds. Coverlet, sheets, pillows-all were drenched in blood.

Ogma was half-lying near the door, her back against the wall. She was bleeding from eight or nine cuts, each about two inches long, in her shoulders and upper arms. In one hand she held a blood-stained towel, with which she was weakly dabbing at these wounds.

"Oh, Miss Maia," she cried faintly, "I'm that bad!"

Maia knelt, raised the girl to her feet and then, herself desperate to get out of the room and away from the horror on the bed, supported her to the bathroom. Here she set about washing her cuts and binding them up. Although she was scarcely capable of coherent thought, the wounds nonetheless struck her as odd; all were of more or less the same length and depth-almost like surgical incisions-as though inflicted deliberately and, as it were, at leisure. Little as she knew about wounds, these seemed hardly of a kind likely to be inflicted by violent men in an attack.

The cold water made Ogma flinch and cry out, but after

a while, when Maia had bandaged her as best she could, she began to recover herself a little.

"There isn't-there isn't anyone else in the house now, miss, is there?" she faltered.

"Poor JarviFs dead," replied Maia. "And so are the two soldiers."

"Then they must have gone, miss." Ogma stood up hesitantly, clutching Maia's arm.

"You'd be the better for some djebbah," said Maia. "Come downstairs with me." It was clear to her now that Ogma, though badly shocked, was able to walk and in no danger of bleeding to death.

Together they went down to the kitchen. The fire was still in: Mai put on more wood. It did not occur to either of them to leave the house or run away. Maia, indeed, was beyond all deliberation and hardly knew what she was doing. She searched through two or three cupboards for the djebbah before catching sight of it in full view on an open shelf. The bite of the liquor cleared her head and partly pulled her round. She poured some for Ogma and made her sip it until it was all gone. The girl still sobbed and whimpered, fingering her bound-up cuts. Once, when a wood-knot exploded in the fire, she leapt up with a cry of fear.

Maia fetched a stool, sat down facing her and took her hands.

"Now; tell me what happened, Ogma." There was no pause in the girl's weeping and Maia shook her gently. "Come on, dear, pull yourself together! You must tell me!"

"Oh, Miss Maia-Lord Randronoth-" She stopped.

"What about him? Come on, Ogma, tell me!"

"Well, I'd just lit the lamps, miss, and put them round the house like I always do, when he came in from the garden, dressed just in his breeches. He seemed-oh, ever so angry and put out, like. So I asked him were you coming in to supper now, but he never answered me: he just went up to your bedroom and shut the door. So then I didn't know what to do, miss, and I went down the garden to look for you, but I couldn't find you: just your clothes, like, laying on the ground. I didn't know what to think. I was frightened."

Ogma stopped as though she had no more to say. She was clearly still in a state of shock, ready to retreat into stupor from her own recollections. Maia shook her again.

"Ogma! You can't go to sleep now? Go on!"

Ogma rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. "When I came back-when I came back into the house, miss, the soldiers-the soldiers asked where you were and I said I didn't know. So then they said Lord Randronoth had told them to watch from the roof and wake him when the soldiers came-"

"The Lapanese soldiers, you mean? Count Seekron?"

"I don't know, miss. They didn't say-just 'the soldiers'. But then they said, 'We'll have a drink first. Bring us some wine in the parlor,' they said. Well, I knew that was wrong, Miss Maia, but I was frightened of them, you see, and I didn't know where you were or when you was coming back, like, so I did what they told me. I'm sorry, miss-"

"That doesn't matter now. Just go on."

"Well, I brought the wine, miss-only not the best, it wasn't: I thought for the likes of them-"

"Oh, never mind that! What happened, for Cran's sake?"

"Well, miss, they got to drinking, see, in the parlor, and then there come a knock, and I don't know why, I reckoned it might be you, though why you'd be knocking on your own door, but I wasn't really thinking, see-"

"So then?"

"Well, then I went to the door, miss, and Jarvil had opened the panel, see, to look who it was, and then he shut it and he turns round to me and he says, 'I don't know what to do,' he says. 'It's the Sacred Queen.' "

"The Sacred Queen!" cried Maia incredulously. "That's not possible! She's miles away, out on the plain, this very minute."

"No, miss: I looked out and it was the Sacred Queen there; her and a big, rough-looking man dressed like an officer, miss, and the queen was sort of dressed up like a soldier, too, and they was all covered with dust, like they'd come a long way; and the queen, she calls out, very angry-like, 'How much longer am I to be kept waiting?' she says. 'Are you going to open this door or do you want to hang upside-down?' she says. Oh, and when I looked out through the panel, the way she looked back at me, miss, it frightened me that much, you can't imagine-"

"Oh, yes, I can! Well, so what happened then?"

"I opened the door, miss, and-"

"You opened the door?"

"Yes, miss. Well, you weren't there to ask, see, and she was that angry, I didn't know what else to do-"

"Ogma, did you know that she hates me and wants to kill me? That she has done for weeks?"

"No, I didn't know, miss: I'd no idea. Leastways, not then I hadn't-"

Maia could scarcely believe her ears. Bitterly, she recalled the advice of Nennaunir and her other friends about engaging a shrewd, quick-witted woman to run her household.

"Well, go on." ' '

"Well, the moment I opened the door, miss, they both pushed past me and the big man put his hand over JarviPs mouth and stabbed him with his knife. And then the queen, she grabbed me and pulled my head back and she had a knife, too, and she says, 'You make a sound,' she says, 'and I'll cut your throat.' But then after a moment she said, 'Now, you tell me where Randronoth and Maia are,' and she was holding this knife against my throat, miss, and she said, 'Are they upstairs?' and I said, 'Yes! Yes!' Only I was that frightened I hardly knew what I was saying, you see,

"So then she said, 'You come with me and show me,' she said. She twisted my arm up behind me, miss, and she put her hand over my mouth and we went upstairs like that. And the big man, he'd drawn his sword and he went into the parlor. But I never heard no more of that, see, because when we got upstairs she never asked me which door nor nothing, she just threw open your bedroom door and there was Lord Randronoth laying on the bed, kind of half-awake, like. So then she gave me a great push against the wall as fair winded me, and she ran straight across and began stabbing at Lord Randronoth-oh, it was that dreadful, miss, I can't tell you no more, really I can't-"

"If I can hear it, you can tell it. Go on, Ogma!"

"Oh, the blood! The blood everywhere, miss, and the queen, she was-she was shouting and laughing, and she kept stabbing him again and again, and then she sort of rubbed all her hands and her arms and face, miss, with the blood, and then she sat down beside him on the bed and she very near cut his head off-I never seen-I never dreamt-laughing all the time-"

Ogma became hysterical. When at length Maia had been

able to restore her to something faintly resembling self-possession she went on,

"So then the queen come back to me, miss; only I was standing against the wall, you see, and I was screaming. And she says, 'Stop that,' she says, 'or I'll stop it for you.' And then the big man, he come up the stairs and his sword all covered with blood, and he says to her, 'I've finished; have you?' And she says, 'No, not yet. I'm only half-done,' she says.

"She was holding me by the hair, miss, and she says, 'Where's Maia?' And I said, 'I don't know.' So then she cut me with her knife and she says again, "Where's Maia?' and I says, 'I don't know!' So she was cutting me, and every time I said, 'I don't know! I don't know!' she cut me, miss, and she-well, it was like she'd been drinking or something o' that; she was-she was kind of staring and excited and-oh, I can't rightly tell. So then at last she said, 'Would you like me to put your nasty little eyes out?' she said: and I screamed out, 'I don't know, saiyett; I swear I don't know! I only know she's not here.'

"So then the big man, he says, 'Oh, come on, Fornis. It's obvious she doesn't know: we're only wasting time. You can kill Maia later: we've got to be going.'

"So then the queen said to me, 'Shall I kill youf No, you're not worth killing, are you? You'll be able to tell dear Maia all about it, won't you?' Or-or 'twas something like that, miss, as she said, but tell you the truth I don't just rightly remember. So then they went away-I remember that-but I don't remember anything else until I heard you downstairs. I must 'a just gone off, like."

While Ogma was speaking, Maia's sense of unreality and nightmare had intensified. She sat staring before her, trying to get her thoughts into frame. How could Fornis be in Bekla? Obviously she must be, yet it seemed impossible. Did Eud-Ecachlon know? And she herself-what was she to do now? Where could she go for safety?

At this moment she heard light, hurried footsteps coming through the porch and into the hall. For a few moments she sat petrified. Then Occula's voice called, Banzi! Banzi, are you here?"

Maia jumped up and ran out into the hall. Occula, dressed in a leather tunic and breeches, with a knife at her belt, was standing in the parlor doorway, staring at what lay

within. Hearing Maia, she drew the knife and spun round quickly, then ran forward and took her in her arms.

"Oh, banzi,thank the gods! I thought-oh, never mind-"

"What is it, Occula? What's happened?"

"Never mind that, either! There's no time to talk! Banzi, you've got to get out fast! Get out now! Understand? Now!"

"But where to, Occula?"

"There are people who'll help you. Listen to me carefully."

"But Occula-"

Ogma had come into the hall; a pitiful sight, crying and wringing her hands, her arms bound with strips of bloody toweling. Occula stamped her foot with impatience.

"I've no time, banzi, for Cran's bastin' sake! Your life's in deadly danger! Shut up and listen! Have you got any money?"

"Yes, plenty. But-"

"Then take it all with you. Now understand this. You're not to go by the Peacock Gate or you'll be killed, d'you see? Fornis has got men there. Go across, quick as you can, to the western walls. If you meet a sentry, bribe him. They're all old watchmen, anyway: there's very few soldiers left in the place, except Fornis's-"

"But is Fornis really here, Occula? Ogma said, but I can't hardly believe it-"

"Yes, banzi! Yes, she is, she's lookin' for you to kill you! After she'd killed Durakkon and beaten Kerith-a-Thrain, that woman and Han-Glat got here two hours ago, with five hundred men. They were goin' all last night and all today. And to see her you'd think she'd jus' got out of bed. I believe she could do it again if she wanted to."

"But-they let her through the gates?"

"Of course they did: who'd stop her? They'd let her through the gates of hell, wouldn' they? And they will one day, too, if I've got anythin' to do with it."

"But what's happened to the hostages, Occula? Has she killed them?"

"Bayub-Otal and the other officers she brought with her. They're down in the gaol. Now banzi, will you do as I say and get out, damn you?"

"Yes, I will. The western wall, you said. Then what?"

"Go along the wall and then scramble down onto the roof of a big stone warehouse you'll see below you, just

this side of the Tower of Sel-Dolad. Ask for a man called N'Kasit and say Cat Colonna and all that-you know. He'll help you to get out of Bekla. And now I'm goin' myself- fast! Bless you, my dearest banzi! Thanks for everything Kantza-Merada, what a bastin' farewell after all you and I've been through together! But we'll meet again one day, you see if we doan'!"

"But what about Ogma here? I can't leave her, Occula."

"O Cran! I'll take her with me and get her to Nennaunir or someone. Doan' worry, Fornis woan' bother lookin' for her, once she finds you're gone."

And with this Occula grabbed Ogma by the wrist and dragged her out of the house.

Left alone, Maia was overcome by a terrible seizure of horror-the mental paralysis of extreme fear and distress. Crouching in the privy as her bowels emptied in an agonizing flux, she gasped and retched, while the sweat poured off her. At length her head cleared, and as she began to recover herself the full force of Occula's warning came to her. She had to fly for her life-now, instantly.

But there could be no avoiding what had to be done by way of preparation. Trembling, she returned to the bedroom and there, averting her eyes from the bed, put on those same traveling clothes in which she had returned from Rallur. The jerkin had capacious inside pockets, and into these she stuffed not only all that was left of the money Seekron had given her-a good twenty thousand meld and more-but also her diamonds. Over the jerkin she buckled a belt with a sheathed knife. Half-way down the stairs, it occurred to her that she ought to take a cloak. Although to return to the bedroom yet again was almost more than she could bring herself to do, once there she not only took care to pick out her stoutest and most serviceable cloak, but before leaving spread another over poor Randronoth's face and chest. Back downstairs, on a final impulse she went quickly into the parlor, snatched up the cabinet of fishes and thrust it into one of her pockets. Then she ran through the hall, past Jarvil's body and out into the darkness.

85: AT N'KASIT'S

To cross the upper city to the western walls took about twenty minutes. By now Occula's words-and Occula's fear-had sunk in to such an extent that she was afraid to go by the main thoroughfare leading past the barracks towards the Leopard Hill. The byways nearer the Peacock Wall would take her closer to the queen's house, yet nevertheless she felt that this would involve less chance of being molested or recognized.

The confusion and clamor throughout the city had increased and at the gates of many houses armed servants were standing on guard; yet none challenged or tried to stop her. Once she hid behind a clump of trees while six or seven ruffian-looking men with cudgels approached and passed, talking together in some language unknown to her. Yet otherwise she met with no adventures, and went so quickly that she was surprised when at length she saw the western walls looming in front of her, a dark, level line in the moonlight.

Nor, surprisingly, did anyone try to stop her climbing the stone stairs where the road ended below the walls. She stepped out onto the height of the ramparts and looked about her. To her right, the lower city fell away to the Gate of Lilies and the open square of the Slave Market. There, too, she could hear tumult and see an unusual number of lights-both lamps in the houses and torches in the streets. There was a light in the high, square crow's nest of the Tower of Sel-Dolad, not three hundred yards away. She wondered who could be up there at this hour: watchmen, no doubt, looking out for the approach of For-nis's army from the west.

Turning in the direction of the tower, she began walking along the ramparts. She was obliged to go slowly, for the paving was uneven and once or twice she stumbled over projecting stones. Ahead, where the Peacock Wall joined the ramparts, she could see a sentry gazing out over the plain below. As she approached he turned, levelled his spear and challenged her.

She stood still, looking at his face under the leather helmet. Just as Occula had said, this was an oldish man for a soldier-forty-five at least-with a grizzled beard, bushy eyebrows and lips sunk in upon a toothless mouth

above a sharp-nosed, canny face. He did not look like a Beklan. She smiled at him, throwing back her hood.

"Can you let me pass?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No one's to pass. You didn't ought to be up here at all: you must know that."

This man, if she was any judge, was from Kabin. Probably Eud-Ecachlon had held a few back from the draft. Anyway, he had not recognized her and clearly didn't know who she was.

"No one's seen me; only you. You can't get into trouble letting me pass." She paused. "I've got money."

He shook his head again. "You shouldn't offer money: you just go back, now, go on."

"Ah, but all depends how much, doesn't it? I've no time to bargain, dad. I'll give you all I've got-a thousand meld."

In the moonlight she saw the surprise on his cunning, peasant face. That had got to him all right.

"A thousand meld? Don't try it on, my girl: you haven't got that much."

"Oh, yes, I have. Only you be straight with me, just I'm in danger: I've got enemies and I've got to get out quick. You know as well as I do everything's upside-down. No one'll ever get to hear."

Far away, on the other side of the city, a sudden clamor broke out. They both started, turning to stare in the direction of the Blue Gate a full mile away below.

"What's that?" said the man. "That's never the Pal-teshis, comin' that way!"

"No," answered Maia. "The Lapanese have got here first."

"The Lapanese?" He stared at her.

"Those will be Lord Randronoth's men. Anything can happen now. If I were you, I'd take this thousand meld and make myself scarce. Either that or go and join them, dad."

He paused, his crafty eyes sizing her up-her good clothes, her beautiful face, her soft, well-kept hands. Even at such a time as this he must be bargaining: to the likes of him it was second nature.

"Well, but it's a big risk, now, missie, isn't it?" He shook his head. "Couldn't take a risk like that for less than fifteen hundred."

"All right," she said. "Only for Cran's sake leave it at

that. Here comes your tryzatt, I reckon, to see what that noise is about."

Indeed, they could both see the silhouetted figure of the tryzatt, about two hundred yards off along the rampart, staring eastwards. Maia offered the money, which the man at once grabbed and stuffed into his jerkin.

"Go on, then, missie, quick, 'fore he sees you."

Maia darted past him and was gone.

She had run hardly any distance, however, before she saw below her what could only be the warehouse of which Occula had spoken: a flat-roofed, sprawling place, too big for any private dwelling. There was a dim- light in one window, but no other sign that anyone was there.

She looked round for a way down, but as far ahead as she could see there were no steps. The drop from the walls to the abutting roof was all of nineteen or twenty feet: she could never hang and let go without risking injury.

She hurried back. The sentry was still where she had left him and the tryzatt had come no nearer.

She called in a low voice, "Sentry!"

Agonizingly slowly, he came up to her. "What you want now, then?"

"I got to get down onto that roof; only it's too far to jump. I could just about do it holding onto your spear, though."

She had expected him to ask for more money, but to her surprise, after a moment he said, "All right, then; only quick," and went back with her along the wall. Above the warehouse roof he lay down, holding his spear vertically over the edge of the wall to the full extent of his arms.

"You'd best be quick, missie: only I can't hold your weight more 'n a few seconds, see?"

It was still a long enough drop to frighten her, but once she was at the end of the spear, arms outstretched, there was no help for it. She let go and fell about eight feet onto the roof.

She landed with a harsh jolt, and doubled up painfully on her knees. She had scratched one arm and torn her cloak. She looked upward, but the soldier had gone. Scrambling to her feet, she leant for a minute or two against the wall, then began to limp across the roof. Somewhere there must be a way down.

After searching in the dark for some minutes, during which she could hear the uproar on the other side of the

city increasing, she came upon a flight of steps, ramshackle and with no outer handrail, and started nervously groping her way down, one foot and then the other, leaning inward against the wall. As she neared the bottom a man's voice from the shadows below said sharply, "Who's that? Stay where y'are!"

This pulled her together. Maia-with good reason-possessed confidence in her ability to conciliate strangers. Besides, Occula had told her whom to ask for.

"I'm looking for N'Kasit," she answered.

After a few moments the voice said, "A woman, eh? Are y'alone?"

"Yes."

"Who are you? What were you doing on the roof?"

"I've come along the ramparts from the upper city. I'll explain everything if only you'll take me to N'Kasit."

"He expecting you?"

"I was told to come here and ask for him," answered Maia.

At this moment there was the sound of a door opening, and a flicker of light revealed, just ahead of her, the black, vertical line of the corner of the building. Another voice said, "What is it, Malendik?"

"A woman, sir, asking for you."

"What's your name?" said the other voice.

"Maia Serrelinda."

There was a whistle of surprise. "The Serrelinda? Are you telling the truth?"

This annoyed Maia. It was months since anyone had spoken to her like this and she had become unused to it.

"Yes, I damn' well am; and what's more, I'm getting tired of standing up here. If you're N'Kasit-"

"You'd better come down."

Maia fumbled and clutched her way down the last of the steps. Two figures, one disconcertingly huge, the other- who was holding the lamp-small, compact and intent, stood outlined in an open doorway.

"Come on in quick!" said the smaller figure, himself turning to lead the way.

Maia, following them through the door, found herself in an immense, cavernous, echoing building, everywhere divided by walls and partitions. There was an all-pervading smell of leather and hides, together with a spur, acrid odor-perhaps some sort of fluid used in treating them.

The lamp, bobbing on ahead of her, threw great, jumping shadows into the invisible roof.

The men, without looking round to see whether she was following or not, were walking briskly along a sanded pathway running between the bays. She had almost to run to avoid losing them. At length they turned aside into a kind of shed constructed against one corner of the warehouse; a lean-to hut, with two wooden walls, two stone walls and a ceiling of sagging planks laid atop. There was a rickety table, on which were some tallies, a few papers and an abacus; two or three benches, some clay bowls and cups on a shelf and in one corner a narrow, untidy bed on which a big, square-headed tabby cat lay dozing. This was evidently both the warehouse office and the cubby-hole of anyone who had to sleep on the premises.

As she followed them in, the two stood regarding Maia. The big man, she could now perceive, was obviously some sort of workman or hired hand of the other. He was not only tall but plainly immensely strong, with shoulders and arms that looked as though they could lift an ox. He was dressed in sacking and his hands were rough and dirt-ingrained-the hands of a laborer.

N'Kasit himself looked about thirty-five; quick-glancing, yet with a shrewd, prudent, unexcitable air; a typical merchant, she thought, both circumspect and enterpising. She could imagine everything in his life, including his marriage, his friends and his amusements, being subordinated to an over-riding ambition for gain: yet not only, perhaps, material gain; this was a man who might well be aspiring to social-even political-advancement as well. He seemed a younger, more mundane version of Sarget, and had no doubt a similar, though as yet unfulfilled, desire to reach the upper city. Could he, of all people, really be a secret agent of the heldril? If so, he had certainly contrived a most convincing front. Anyone would have thought him a mercantile Leopard of Leopards.

"You'd better sit down, saiyett," he said, pushing forward an old chair with two dirty cushions-the only one in the room. "I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but come to that, we don't often have visitors like you, either."

She sat down wearily and gratefully. And good cause she had to be weary, she thought. Yet for the first time that day she felt secure: these men, she felt intuitively, were not going to betray or harm her.

N'Kasit poured wine. It was rough, bitter stuff, but she was glad of it and drank off her cup almost at once. Having refilled it, he offered her bread and cheese, but this she declined. All she wanted now was to get on. How quickly could she reach the gaol? If she was to save Zenka and Anda-Nokomis every minute might be vital.

"I suppose you need quite a few cats in a place like this," she said, nodding towards the tabby on the bed. "I'm fond of cats myself; I've got a beauty at home. She's called Colonna, like the one in the old story, you know."

"I remember," answered N'Kasit, "but I always thought the one in the story was called Bakris."

"Will you help me to get out of Bekla, then?" she asked him, smiling.

He did not smile back, however, only continuing to regard her steadily and gravely, as he might when considering some business proposition and taking care to display no reaction. She glanced across at Malendik, but he, his wine-cup buried in his great hands, was gazing down impassively at the dusty floor.

"I think it's rather a case of whether you'll be of any help to us, isn't it?" said N'Kasit at length. "They're going to try tonight. With all this confusion, they'll never have a better opportunity. Where do you come in?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Didn't Occula tell you? It was Occula sent you, I sup-pose?"

"She hadn't time to tell me anything, U-N'Kasit, except as my life was in danger from Fornis and I must get out at once."

She went on to speak of Randronoth, of the death of Milvushina, the murders at her house and finally of Oc-cula's frantic warning.

"Fornis is in Bekla now?" he asked, when she had finished.

"Yes. I couldn't hardly believe it myself."

He sat frowning. "I'm sorry for all you've been through," he said at length, though in a level, unemotional tone. "Poor young Milvushina! That's a great pity. I remember her father well; he came to see me once at Kabin. He was the one who suggested I should come here, and then Er-ketlis sent me the money to do it. I've never met him, though-not yet. It was one of his agents, a man called Tharrin, who brought the money. He's dead now; but he

never told them anything. He must have been a brave man." He paused. "What do you mean to do, then-get to Santil in Yelda? Is that your idea?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "I haven't thought."

"Occula didn't tell you about the others?"

"Well, there wasn't time, see? She just said to come here and you'd help me." She looked up at him appeal-ingly. "You will, won't you?"

But the level-headed man of business still seemed concerned less with the beautiful Serrelinda than with the problem she presented.

"If things were normal and you'd been able to leave the city publicly-the Serrelinda on a trip to Tonilda or something like that-we might have been able to send them with you disguised as servants, but as it is I can't see that you're any use to us at all. In fact, with Fornis after your blood you're a liability, aren't you?"

"I don't reckon Occula was thinking that way. She just wanted to save me."

"Do you want to hide here for a day or two, then, to see which way things go? I'd risk that much; for Occula I would."

She shook her head decisively. "No, I must get out tonight, whatever happens. Soon as possible, too, U-N'Kasit. There's-well-important reasons why I can't afford to wait."

He shrugged. "Well, at that rate I can only leave it to them to say whether or not they'll take you along."

He turned to Malendik. "You'd better bring them in here: then they can see her for themselves and make up their own minds."

Malendik gone, they sat in silence. Maia was thinking. "Whoever they are, they're not going to stop me going to the gaol."

She began imagining what she would say to Pokada, what he might reply and how she would set about prevailing upon him.

The blanket across the entrance was drawn aside and two people sidled in; a woman followed by a man. In the lamplight, Maia looked blankly for a moment at their pinched, bedraggled forms: then she uttered a startled cry.

"Meris!"

"Maia!"

The two girls stared at each other. Behind Meris stood

a gaunt figure-none other than the Tonildan pedlar, Zirek. He was pale as a plant kept long in the dark, hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed as any dungeon inmate, yet still with a faint touch of his old, vagabond swagger. Indeed, he was less changed than Meris, that one-time exquisite paragon of hard-bitten, worldly sensuality. She had all the look of a girl who, having endured months of anxiety, was now close to collapse. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders lank as rope. Her lips twitched continually and she could not keep her hands still. After a few moments, without another word, she sat down unsteadily on one of the benches. '

Zirek stepped forward and took Maia's hands.

"There's no hard feelings as far as I'm concerned, Maia."

"Hard feelings, Zirek? Why should there be?"

"Well, you saved the damned Leopards all right, didn't you, swimming the river? But just speaking personally, I wouldn't have cared to see the empire fall to Karnat: I'd rather see it fall to Santil. Perhaps it will now, if only the gods are kind. Besides, you helped us kill Sencho, didn't you, even if you didn't know it at the time? So I say, no hard feelings."

Magnanimity sat strangely on him, she thought. In his rags and pallor he looked squalid as any beggar. But he was clean-life in the upper city had made her sensitive and fastidious on this score-and there was something about him which suggested that in spite of everything he had retained both humor and self-respect.

"I knew all along as it must 'a been you and Meris," she said. " 'Cos d'you know, I saw you, that same morning in the crowd at the Peacock Gate? But what beats me is, however did you get away? I reckoned you must be dead for sure."

"It was the tryzatt on the western wall that night," he answered. "He was a Tonildan, you see, who'd been a servant of Senda-na-Say. It was all arranged beforehand: he got us out along the rampart. He was never suspected, and for all I know he's still in the service."

"And you've been hiding here ever since? All these months?"

"Yes, and I'm basting near mad with it!" broke in Meris. "I wish to Cran I'd never said I'd do it! Oh, Maia, you can't imagine-"

"Steady, love," said Zirek. "It's over now, good as.

We're going to get out tonight, remember? We owe everything to N'Kasit here," he went on, turning back to Maia. "He's hidden us all this time, and he didn't stand to get anything out of it. Once we'd done the job, you see, we were no further use to the heldril."

"Well, even I'm not quite as canny as that," said N'Kasit, with the trace of a smile. "All the same," he said to Maia, 'it was touch and go more than once. It's not easy to search a place like this, of course-full of holes and corners piled up with stuff-but Kembri's lot were very thorough and they came back more than once. Luckily, I've got a good reputation. The Leopards think I'm a loyal, reliable army contractor."

"And what the hell are you doing here, Maia?" asked Meris, in none too friendly a tone.

"I want to get out of Bekla with you," replied Maia.

Meris stared, bunking and twitching. N'Kasit broke in, "She's got good reason. Fornis reached Bekla this afternoon; her and Han-Glat-"

"Fornis?" cried Zirek. "Never!"

"Yes; so the Serrelinda's just told me. I know it seems incredible, but isn't everything about that woman incredible? She" (he pointed to Maia) "got home this evening to find Randronoth of Lapan and her own porter murdered and her house turned upside-down. And she was lucky, at that: they missed her. Occula sent her here to us."

"Occula? That girl's got more courage than all the rest of us put together," said Zirek. "But you say you want to come with us, Maia? That's a shade awkward, is that."

"But I can't go on my own, Zirek. Please-"

"Well, the trouble is, everyone knows you by sight, don't they? And Fornis is sure to have left orders at the gates. They'll obey her all right, you can be sure of that. Eud-Ecachlon'll be no match for her; he may even be dead already."

"Seekron might be a match for her, though."

"Seekron? Who's he?"

Maia told them of Randronoth's plan to seize the city and what she had already seen from the western ramparts.

"Cran alive! That alters things!" said Zirek. "Couldn't be better for us, N'Kasit, could it? Eud-Ecachlon, Fornis and Seekron all at each other's throats. The whole place'll be-"

"There's another thing, Zirek," broke in Maia. "I've

got money with me-a fair old bit, too-reckon you'll find it come in useful." She smiled. "I suppose you could have it off me and then go by yourselves, but I hope you won't."

"Cran and Airtha, what d'you take me for?" he replied with a touch of asperity. Then he grinned, recalling the jaunty lad who had come to sell his gew-gaws to Sencho's concubines. "The money'll come in handy, I dare say, but it's the pleasure of your company that makes such a delightful prospect, m'dear. You never know, we might even need a swimmer, too, 'fore we're done. How soon do we start, N'Kasit?"

"Soon as you like," replied N'Kasit. ''But remember, Zirek, it was your own decision to take the Serrelinda. I didn't force it on you, and I don't want anyone saying later that I did."

"You must be the only man in Bekla who's ever thought of her company as being forced on anyone," replied Zirek. "You cold old fish! I hope you make your fortune! You deserve to. When Santil gets here, he'll cart you off to the upper city and make you a baron, I expect." He took the merchant's hands in his own. "Thanks for all you've done. May the gods bless you! What more can I say? I hope we meet again one of these days. Can you give us some good, stout shoes, and perhaps a bite of food to take along with us?"

"Shoes-you're in the right place for those, and cloaks too," said N'Kasit. "They can come out of stock. The food'll have to be bread and cheese-what there is of it."

Twenty minutes later, Malendik having been sent out to look up and down the street, Maia, Meris and Zirek slipped unobtrusively out of a side door and set off downhill towards the alleys of the Shilth.

86: "OPPORTUNITY IS ALL"

It was no more than three hundred yards to the gate of

the gaol. As they reached it Maia stopped and turned to

Zirek.

"I'm going in here, Zirek. It won't take long." "Why, what the hell d'you mean, Maia? This is the gaol,

for Airtha's sake!" "I know; that's 'zackly why I'm going in. The Ban of

Suba's in there. Fornis brought him up here as a hostage, but he's coming out with us now."

"Maia, have you gone stark, raving mad? It can't be done! What makes you think they'll hand him over to you?"

"Money," she answered. "Come on, quick; let's get it over with."

"You didn't say anything about this to N'Kasit, did you?"

"No; but I'm going in all the same. You can either come with me or wait out here."

"But-but it doesn't make sense, Maia! If it wasn't for what you did at the river, he'd never have been taken prisoner at all, would he?"

"Maybe," she said, "but sometimes things change. Are you coming or not?"

It was Meris who replied. "No, we're not: you'll never come out of there alive, Maia. You might as well go and give yourself up to Fornis straight away."

Maia looked at Zirek, but he only nodded in corroboration. Without another word she turned and left them, walking resolutely across the road and up to the gate of the gaol without once looking back.

The mucous-eyed, listless gatekeeper was on duty in his lodge. She gave him twenty meld. Once, she thought, it was nothing at all: then it was five. You pay your own fear.

"I have to see U-Pokada at once: I'll wait in his room."

The stuffy little room was in darkness and she made the man leave her his lamp. She could not sit still, but paced up and down-five steps this way, five that-praying passionately to Lespa, yet hardly knowing what she was saying in her tension and anxiety.

At length the door opened and Pokada appeared with a second lamp, wiping his dyed beard with the back of his hand. Evidently she had interrupted his supper. His manner suggested none of his former obsequiousness. He shut the door behind him, bowed and stood waiting without a word.

"I hope I find you well, U-Pokada," she said.

"I am well, thank you, saiyett; but busy. How can I help you?"

"U-Pokada, I'm in haste too, so I'll tell you straight out. I'll give you ten thousand meld, money down, to hand two prisoners over to me immediately."

"Ten thousand meld, saiyett? That's a lot of money." He paused, then repeated unsmilingly. "Yes, that's a lot of money, ten thousand meld."

"Well," she said, "it's no less than I'll pay, I assure you."

He seemed to be deliberating. "Which two would those be, saiyett, I wonder?"

"Lord Bayub-Otal, the Urtan, and a Katrian officer named Captain Zen-Kurel."

"Ah. Yes. Well, saiyett, if you'll excuse me, I'll just go and look at my lists. I take it those are two of the prisoners who came in this afternoon, with the Sacred Queen?"

"Yes, they are."

He went out. The silence returned. How lifeless this dismal place seemed always to be! she thought. Every least, intermittent noise was like a stone thrown into a pool. Someone went quickly by outside. A dog barked. A door banged. There was a sound of running feet dying away in the distance.

She stood looking out of the north-facing window. The comet had become so dim that anyone not having seen it before would hardly, she supposed, have spared it a glance. A mere glow in the sky it seemed, no longer the radiant emissary of Lespa. Filled with sudden misgiving, she shivered and turned away.

Pokada returned. "Yes, I have these two men in my charge, saiyett."

"And you'll release them to me for that sum?"

He made no reply, so that at length she repeated it.

He shook his head. "It's not possible, saiyett, for that money; no, nor for any money, I'm afraid. I'm answerable for them to the Sacred Queen, you see."

"The whole city's upside-down," she said. "You could always say they escaped."

"No one escapes from here: I'd be the one upside-down, saiyett, believe me."

"I'll pay you generously. Perhaps I could just manage a little more than ten thousand meld."

He sat down. "Well, shall we talk about it, saiyett? I don't mind talking about it, you know. Yes, let's discuss it for a little while."

But there was a kind of temporizing in his manner, a lack of conviction, which puzzled and disturbed her.

"You mean, talk about how much?"

"Well, yes; and about what you'll do with them-where they go and so on."

"But I can't see that that's anything to do with you, U-Pokada. Why should you want to know that?"

"Well, you see, saiyett-you see- Have you ever been to Ikat Yeldashay?"

"No, never. But what's that got to do with it? U-Pokada, please-"

"Well, I was there once, you know. Yes, I was there once. Oh, some years ago, now. A nice city. Yes. But now it's in the hands of Santil-ke-Erketlis, they say. That's not good, is it? But of course General Kembri will beat him. No doubt of that-"

"U-Pokada, what's all this got to do with the prisoners?"

"Well, you see, saiyett, if you were going to Ikat Yeldashay, now-"

"U-Pokada, I don't want to appear rude, and I know as I can't afford to offend you, but I'm in great haste. If we're going to come to an agreement, for Cran's sake can we do it quickly, because-"

The door was flung open and two soldiers came into the room, their swords drawn in their hands. Maia, jumping up from where she was sitting, started back against the wall. Pokada also rose, but he showed no surprise, merely standing with folded arms as one of the two soldiers looked from him to herself.

"Is this the girl?" asked the soldier, and Pokada replied, "Yes."

Staring at them in the lamplight, Maia wondered what it was that seemed unfamiliar. The older was a tryzatt, the younger a common soldier. Both had an outlandish appearance, and their uniform, too, was unusual. Then, with an even worse access of fear, she saw that both were wearing the Fortress cognizance of Paltesh. These men were Palteshis.

The tryzatt seized her arm. "Are you Maia Serrelinda?"

She struggled, and he gripped her tighter. "Yes, yes, she is!" said Pokada, rubbing his hands. "You came quick. You came quick. That's good! That's very good!"

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"Guard commander at the Gate of Lilies: I'm arresting you on the Sacred Queen's instructions."

"What for?"

"She'll tell you that when she sees you."

Itt dread worse than ever she had known she stood, her legs almost giving way under her, while they tied her hands behind her back. Then the tryzatt, nodding curtly to Po-kada, followed the soldier as he pushed her out into the yard.

"Will you-will you let me go for ten thousand meld?" she asked, as they approached the gate.

"Not for twenty, neither," answered the tryzatt in his grating, Palteshi accent. "You're going to Queen Fornis, that's where you're going."

Suddenly both soldiers stopped, peering ahead of them towards the gate of the gaol. There was a flurry of tossing torches, their resinous, smoky smell drifting across the yard. Together with this came a sound of voices, stamping boots and the clink of arms and accoutrements. Evidently a considerable body of men had just entered the gate.

The two Palteshis stood irresolute. However, they did not have to wait long. Four torches detached themselves from the mass and came quickly towards them. Within a minute they were surrounded by a group of ten or twelve soldiers, led by a heavily-built man wearing the insignia of a captain.

"You belong to General Han-Glat?" asked the captain brusquely.

"We serve him and the Sacred Queen, sir. Tryzatt Nethik, acting on orders from-"

"Save your breath and you might even save your life, if you're lucky. Hand over your arms."

The tryzatt hesitated. "May I respectfully ask, sir-"

"Who I am? Captain Mendel-el-Ekna of Lapan, that's who I am. In case you didn't know, Bekla's now under command of Lord RandronOth."

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"Respect my venda." He drew his sword. "Hand over your arms, or you won't even have the chance to wish you had."

The two Palteshis, having no alternative, obeyed.

"Right," said the captain. "Now, I've taken over this gaol; have you got that? Are there any more of you Pa-tleshis here?"

"No, sir."

"If that turns out to be a lie you'll be killed. Where's the prison governor?"

The tryzatt pointed across the yard.

"Who's this girl? What were you going to do with her?"

"The Sacred Queen gave orders that she was to be arrested wherever she might be found, sir. I was appointed guard commander at the Gate of Lilies this evening, and I received a message from the governor of the gaol, that she was here. 'Cordingly I came and arrested her."

"Why are you wanted by Queen Fornis, then?" asked the captain, turning to Maia. "Untie her hands," he added to one of his own men.

"I'm Maia Serrelinda," she answered. "Queen Fornis-"

"Maia Serrelinda, the friend of Lord Randronoth?"

She hesitated no more than a moment. "Yes."

Disconcertingly, the captain dropped on one knee and proffered the hilt Of his sword. Smiling, she laid one hand on it and he stood up.

"And what can we have the honor of doing for you, saiyett?"

"I came here to ask the governor for the release of two prisoners-my friends; victims of the queen-but he kept me talking in his room so that he could betray me to these Palteshis."

"Did he?" replied Mendel-el-Ekna. "Fearon," he said to his own tryzatt, "go back and take over at the gate. The rest of you, come with me."

When they thrust their way into his room Pokada-for he was still there-sprang up and cowered against the wall, grasping quickly enough that these were no friends. Mendel-el-Ekna was about to run him through when Maia caught his arm.

"Don't, captain! Spare him, for my sake!"

"But you say this is the man who betrayed you to the Palteshis?"

"Yes, but I can't bear to see anyone else killed. I've seen-oh, I've seen that many today, I'm half mad with it! Please spare him!"

"You dirty bastard!" said the captain, hitting Pokada across the face. "Think yourself lucky! Now go and fetch the saiyett the men she asked you for, and basting quickly, too! You three go with him, and if he tries any nonsense, kill him!"

They waited, eight or nine of them crammed into the little room. The smell of unwashed, sweating men was overpowering. Her wrists smarted where the cord had chafed

them. I can't stand much more, she thought. Reckon I'll faint in a minute.

"Stuffy in here," remarked Mendel-el-Ekna suddenly. He pulled open the wooden shutters, wrenched them off the hinges and threw them out into the yard. "That's better." One of his men caught Maia's eye and winked.

"Will you be needing an escort?" went on the captain. "You and your friends-where are you going?"

"I just want to get them out of Bekla," she answered. "Anywhere'll do for now."

He frowned, puzzled. "Were you going to return to Lord Randronoth alone, then, across the city?"

"There was a man with me before I was arrested by the Palteshis-a man and another girl-only in all the confusion we got separated, see?"

"So you came in here by yourself? That must have taken some courage."

"She's the Serrelinda, sir, ain't she?" said one of the men.

"We'll escort you as far as the Blue Gate," said the captain. "I've got to go back there, anyway."

Before she could reply the door opened and two of the three soldiers returned. With them were Bayub-Otal and- and-O Cran!-her heart missed a beat and she actually staggered, clutching at the captain's arm for support. Yes, it was indeed Zen-Kurel.

If the sight of Zirek had caught her unprepared, the sight of Zen-Kurel utterly overwhelmed her. She stood crushed and shattered by the recognition, tears streaming from her eyes.

Not infrequently it happens that a person-or even a place-deeply loved and lost, becomes in memory more an idea in the heart than a precise visual recollection. It is as though what has been clung to and valued were not the outward semblance, the visible form-that is only the shell of a nut-but rather what it signifies. Thus, the memory of home is less the actual look of the place than the recollection of security and of being cherished. To a girl, the memory of her lover may well transcend his bodily and facial appearance-left far below, as it were-to signify rather the delight of love-making and of being understood and esteemed more deeply than she had ever believed possible. Actually to set eyes on him once more in the flesh often has an unexpected impact, for in absence the

mind had retained only vaguely the details of features; yet now these, which during separation were confined in some shadowy kennel of the memory, come bounding forth, pell mell, like released dogs jumping on a homecoming master and stopping him in his tracks.

Yet Maia's case, though of this nature, was in addition grievous and horrifying beyond expression. What she felt was like the infliction of a wound. Her first, spontaneous association was of a ballad that old Drigga used to sing- a ballad which, when she had been a little girl, had more than once frightened her to tears. It was the chilling tale of Terembro, the dead lad who returned to visit his former love by night. The very words came back to her; she could hear them, sung in old Drigga's quavering voice.

"O my dear heart, my dearest lover, Where's that color you'd some time ago?"

"O the grave has worn me and the clay has torn me; I'm but the ghost of your Terembro."

Bayub-Otal, tall and raw-boned as he had always been, looked more or less as she remembered, though plainly suffering from cruel privation. But Zen-Kurel; her beautiful Zenka, the handsome, light-hearted, devil-may-care young officer who had made her laugh for joy at nothing, had teased her out of absurdity and then teased her back into it, in whose secure arms she had lain in tears of happiness! Ah! gods! nothing in her life had ever remotely approached what she underwent in the moment that she recognized this groping, helpless wreck of her former lover. It was not possible, she thought, to suffer like this. It was beyond the frame of the world and the order of things appointed: the gods must surely intervene to stop it. Yet they did not.

Zen-Kurel was hollow-faced and very pale, skeletal in appearance, breathing in gasps and shivering continually. His eyes were half-closed, his cracked lips dry and his mouth fallen open. The soldiers had each drawn one of his arms round their necks and were gripping his wrists; otherwise he would have fallen. His knees were bent and his head hung forward on his chest. He did not look up as he was brought into the room, and seemed unaware of his surroundings.

The sight shocked everyone present. One soldier uttered an exclamation of horror, cut quickly short. After a few

moments Mendel-el-Ekna said to Maia, "You say you mean to take them out of the city-both these men?"

With a great effort she controlled herself. "Yes; I must."

"Well, it's for you to say, saiyett: I'm at your orders. But that man-he's a Katrian, isn't he?-do you think he can do it? He's very bad indeed: anyone can see that."

"If only we can get them both away-just a few miles, captain-I'll be able to look after them. I'd be more than glad of your help."

"Very well; you shall have it." He turned to one of his men. "That damned swine of a governor-go and make him give you a stretcher. We'll get them as far as the Blue Gate for a start."

The stretcher, made of poles and sacking, was stained with what looked like dried blood. Maia recoiled from the thought of its probable use in the routine of the prison.

Zen-Kurel had shown ho sign of recognizing her, but for the matter of that she doubted whether he had any idea at all of where he was or of anyone around him. Bayub-Otal, however, took her hand, looking at her gravely.

"We owe this release to you, Maia?"

"Yes, Anda-Nokomis."

"Strange! You say you're going to take us out of Bekla?"

"Ah, that's if we can; only it's risky, see?"

"I believe you. Who are these men?"

"Lapanese."

"Lapanese? Where's Kembri, then?"

"Gone south to fight Erketlis. The Lapanese are in revolt-they mean to take the city before Fornis can."

"Then I suppose we may-But Zen-Kurel's in a very bad way, Maia: I only hope he can survive."

"We must get him out of here," she answered. "Away from Fornis, that's the first thing. Look, they're ready to

go."

Mendel-el-Ekna himself accompanied them, with eight men. It was not until they came out from the Shilth into the western end of the Sheldad that Maia grasped the full extent of the chaos. Far and near, the entire city was full of flame and clamor. Frighteningly close, in the half-darkness, a running fight was going on between two bands of soldiers; yet she was quite unable to tell which side was which. All around them rose shouting and the clash of arms. Dead bodies sprawled in the road and wounded men

were crying out and cursing. The captain remained entirely unmoved.

"Nothing to worry about, saiyett: our people have got things well in hand. Whatever you do, just keep going."

As they stumbled on, it became clear that the whole length of the Sheldad was taken up with the fighting. Soon they were forced to a halt. Gangs of rogues and beggars, more dangerous than wild animals, were dodging among the soldiers, robbing whom they could and looting booths and shops. In doorways Maia could see grim-faced men with cudgels in their hands, plainly ready to defend their premises against all comers. From upper windows screaming women were pelting raiders trying to break in below. In several places fires had started, and above the all-pervading din rose sounds of crackling flames, falling beams and the intermittent crash of collapsing roofs. A lurid glow blotted out the stars.

"Do you know your way through this damned place?" shouted the captain in her ear.

"Best go down to the Slave Market, I reckon," she answered, "and then try to get up the Kharjiz and past the temple."

Once out of the Sheldad they met with less trouble. What isolated fighting they came upon they were able to avoid, while almost all the looters and footpads who saw them sidled off, daunted by the sight of their breastplates and weapons. They had one brief skirmish, however, with an armed gang too drunk to realize they had met their match. Mendel-el-Ekna went for them with grim relish, dropping two in the gutter before the rest took to their heels. Twenty hectic minutes later they reached the Blue Gate.

Here a noisy, milling crowd were being held in check by a line of Lapanese soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, spears extended and swords stuck ready to hand into the timbers at their backs. The captain's men, with some difficulty, forced a way through for Zen-KurePs stretcher. The tryzatt in command of the spearmen, sweating and helmetless, saluted Mendel-el-Ekna with a look of relief.

"Any chance you can give us a hand, sir? Count Seek-ron's orders, to let no one through the gate, but they're all in a panic to get out of the city and I don't know how much longer we can hold them."

"Where «Count Seekron?" asked Mendel-el-Ekna.

"Gone to the upper city, sir, to find Lord Randronoth. No one knows where he can have got to."

A stone from somewhere in the crowd splintered the woodwork of the gate, narrowly missing Maia where she stood beside the stretcher. "Give the men bows, tryzatt," said the captain. "Order these bastards to disperse and threaten to shoot if they don't. Be quick, too!"

Suddenly, from near the front of the crowd, a voice shouted, "Maia! Maia!" Turning, she saw Zirek and Meris trying to push their way towards her. She gripped Mendel-el-Ekna's arm, pointing.

"Captain, that's the man and the girl I told you about; the ones who were with me. Please get them over here if you can!"

"Bring them into the guard-room!" shouted the captain to two of his men. "And you'd better get in there, too, before you get hurt," he added to Maia. "Go on; I'll see to your friends!"

Thus, after the lapse of a year-and hardly in better case-Maia entered once more the guard-room where she and Occula had been befriended by the soldiers on that sweltering afternoon when they had trudged into Bekla behind Zuno's jekzha.

Two minutes later she was joined by Zirek and Meris. Meris had a swollen lip and a cut on one arm.

"Right; now we've got to get you out," said Mendel-el-Ekna. "Can you walk?" he asked Bayub-Otal.

The Ban of Suba shrugged. "When I can't, I'll stop."

"Then the quicker you're all gone the better. Serrelinda, I can spare you two men to carry the stretcher. But get him to some sort of shelter as soon as you can, do you see? Otherwise he'll die. And then send my men straight back; I need them."

She kissed his hands and thanked him with tears in her eyes, but he made light of it.

"Oh, I'd do more than that for you, Serrelinda. Don't worry, I'll tell Lord Randronoth we got you and your friends away all right. See you when you get back."

The tryzatt opened the postern and in the flickering darkness they slipped through behind the line of spearmen. Immediately the door shut to behind them. In front, on either side, stretched the high, backward-tilting walls of the outer precinct, leading down to the caravan roads below.

"Which way?" asked Bayub-Otal as they reached it. He spoke gaspingly, through clenched teeth.

"That's for you to say, my lord," she replied.

"I'd say south, my lord," said Zirek. "But it might be best to get off the road soon. I reckon the less we're seen thebetter."

"Then south it is," said Bayub-Otal.

Ten minutes later Maia looked back. The eastern walls of the city showed as a black line, beyond which the glow of flames shone luridly on the base of a canopy of smoke. The hubbub, diminished by distance, had become an ugly, throbbing din, like that of some swarm of gigantic insects roused to anger.

"A devils' playground," she whispered, gazing.

"What?" asked Zirek, ahead of her. "What did you say, lass?"

"Nothing," she answered, turning to catch up with him. "Only something as somebody once said to me. Still got the bread and cheese all right, have you?"

She never saw Bekla again.