He was dressed plainly but finely, in the traditional style of a nobleman of Sarkid--much as he might have dressed, Kelderek supposed, to feast his tenants at home or to entertain friends at a dinner party. His veltron, pleated saffron and white, was of new cloth, embroidered with silk, and the slashed gores of his breeches were cross-stitched with an intricate, diapered pattern in silver filigree, a month's work for two women. The long pin at his shoulder was also silver, quite plain, such as might have belonged to any man of means. Kelderek wondered whether it might be a keepsake from some comrade of the Slave Wars--from Mollo himself, perhaps? He wore no jewels, no neck chain, bracelet or ring; but now, as he stepped out from among the soldiers, he drew from his sleeve a gold pendant and chain, slipped it over his head and adjusted it at his neck. As it was recognized, murmurs arose among the spectators. It represented a couchant stag, the personal emblem of Santil-ke-Erketlis and his entourage.
Elleroth came to the bench and paused, looking down at what was on it. Those nearest saw him brace himself against a quick tremor. Then, stooping, he felt the edge of the blade with one finger. As he straightened, his eyes met those of the executioner with a tense, forced smile and he spoke for the first time.
"No doubt you know how to use that thing or you wouldn't be here. I shall give you little trouble and I hope you'll do as much for me."
The fellow nodded awkwardly, evidently at a loss to know whether he should reply. But as Elleroth handed him a small leather bag, murmuring, "That's among yourselves," he drew the strings, looked into it and, wide-eyed, began to stammer out his thanks in words so banal and out of place as to seem both shameful and macabre. Elleroth checked him with a gesture, stepped forward to face Kelderek and inclined his head with the coldest suggestion of a formal greeting.
Kelderek had already instructed the governor that a herald was to describe the crime committed by Elleroth and Mollo and conclude by announcing the sentence of death. There was no interruption as this was now done, the only sounds to be heard besides the herald's voice being the intermittent growling of the bear and its rough, spasmodic movements among the dry straw. "He is still feverish," thought Kelderek. "This disturbance and the crowd have unsettled him and will delay his recovery." Each time he looked up, it was to meet the cold, contemptuous gaze of the condemned man, one side of his face cast into shadow by the light from the brazier. Whether it was assumed or real, he could not out-stare that indifference and finally bent his head, pretending abstraction as the herald described the burning roof, the founding of Shardik and his own frenzied onslaught upon Mollo in the hall. Whisperings of foreboding seemed all about him, intermittent and impalpable as the bitter draft from the ambulatory and the thin streams of fog trailing like cobwebs down the walls.
The herald ceased at length and silence fell. Sheldra touched his hand and, recollecting himself, Kelderek began to utter to Elleroth, in imperfect Beklan, the words which he had prepared.
"Elleroth, formerly Ban of Sarkid, you have heard the recital of your crime and the sentence passed upon you. That sentence, which must now be carried out, is a merciful one, as becomes the power of Bekla and the divine majesty of Lord Shardik. But in further token of that mercy and of the might of Lord Shardik, who has no need to fear his enemies, I now grant you consent to speak if you so desire: after which, we wish you a courageous, dignified and painless death, calling upon all to witness that cruelty is no part of our justice."
Elleroth remained silent so long that at length Kelderek looked up, only to encounter once more his stare and realize that the condemned man must have been waiting for him to do this. Yet still he could feel no anger, even while he once more dropped his eyes and Elleroth began to speak in Beklan.
His first words came high and thin, with little gasping pauses, but he quickly checked himself, resuming in a strained but firmer tone, which gathered strength as he continued.
"Beklans, delegates of the provinces, and Ortelgans. To all of you assembled here today, in this northern cold and fog, to see me die, I am grateful for hearing me speak. Yet when a dead man speaks you must look to hear nothing but plain words."
At this moment Shardik came once more to the bars, rising on his hind legs directly behind Elleroth and looking intently out across the hall. The glow from the brazier threw an amber light up the length of his shaggy pelt, so that Elleroth appeared to be standing before some high, firelit doorway fashioned, larger than life, in the shape of a bear. Two or three of the soldiers looked over their shoulders, flinching, and were checked by a low word from their officer; but Elleroth neither turned his head nor paid them attention.
"I know that there are those here who would not hesitate to acknowledge their friendship with me if they did not know that to do so would avail me nothing; but I fear that some of you are secretly disappointed and perhaps--a few--even ashamed to see me, the Ban of Sarkid, led here to die as a criminal and conspirator. To you I say that what may seem a shameful death is not felt as such by me. Neither Mollo, who is dead, nor I, who am about to die, broke any oath given to our enemies. We told no lies and used no treachery. The man I killed was a soldier, armed and on duty. The worst that can be said of us is that a poor girl, watching in this hall, was struck down and badly injured, and for this, though I did not strike the blow, I am most sincerely sorry. But I must tell you, and tell you all plainly, that what Mollo and I undertook was an act of war against rebels and robbers--and against a superstitious, cruel and barbarous cult, in the name of which evil deeds have been committed."
"Silence!" cried Kelderek, above the murmurs and muttering from behind him. "Speak no more of this, Lord Elleroth, or I shall be forced to bring your speech to an end."
"It will end soon enough," replied Elleroth. "If you doubt it, bear-magician, ask the inhabitants of Gelt, or those who can remember that decent, honest fellow Gel-Ethlin and his men--ask them. Or you can seek nearer home and ask those who built gallows for children on the slopes of Crandor. They will tell you how soon your Ortelgans can stop the breath that a man--or a child--needs for speaking. Nevertheless, I will say no more of this, for I have said what I intended; my words have been heard and there is another matter of which I must speak before I end. This is a thing which concerns only my own home and family and that house of Sarkid of which I am about to cease to be the head. For that reason I will speak in my own tongue--though not for long. From those who will not understand me, I beg for patience. From those who understand, I beg their help after my death. For even though it may seem the least likely of possibilities, it may be that somewhere, somehow, the chance will be granted to one of you to help me when I am dead, and to mend as bitter a sorrow as ever darkened the heart of a father and brought grief to an old and honorable house. Many of you will have heard the lament called the "Tears of Sarkid." Listen, then, and judge whether they may not fall for me, as for the Lord Deparioth long ago."
As Elleroth began speaking in Yeldashay, Kelderek wondered how many of those in the hall understood his words. It had been an error to allow him to address them. Yet in Bekla this privilege had always been accorded to any nobleman condemned to die, and to have withheld it would have undone much of the effect of granting him a merciful death. However he had gone about the business, he reflected bitterly, nevertheless a man like Elleroth, with his self-possession and aristocratic assurance, would have been bound to make his mark and to contrive to show the Ortelgans as harsh and uncivilized.
Suddenly his attention was caught by an alteration in the tone of the voice. Looking up, he was astonished at the change that had come over the proud, haggard figure before him. Elleroth, with a look of the most earnest supplication, was leaning forward, speaking in a tone of passionate intensity and gazing from one to another about the hall. As Kelderek looked at him in amazement, he saw tears in his eyes. The Ban of Sarkid was weeping: yet clearly not for his own misfortune, for here and there, at his back, Kelderek could hear answering murmurs of sympathy and encouragement. He frowned, mustering his s
mattering of Yeldashay in an effort to understand what Elleroth was saying.
"--misery no different from that suffered by many common men," he made out, but lost the thread and could not distinguish the next words. Then "cruelty to the innocent and helpless--" "long searching to no avail--" After an interval he discerned "--the heir of a great house--" and then, spoken with a sob--"the vile, shameful Ortelgan slave trade."
To his right Kelderek saw Maltrit, the captain of the guard, lay his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking quickly around as the murmuring grew throughout the hall. He nodded to him and gestured quickly with his hand twice, palm upward. Maltrit picked up a spear, hammered the butt on the floor and shouted, "Silence! Silence!" Once more Kelderek forced himself to look Elleroth in the eye. "You must needs have done now, my lord," he said. "We have been generous to you. I ask you now to repay us with restraint and courage."
Elleroth paused, as though collecting himself after his passionate words, and Kelderek saw return to his gray face the look of one striving to master fear. Then, in a tone in which controlled hysteria mingled oddly with stinging contempt, he said in Beklan, "Restraint and courage? My dear riparian witch doctor, I fear I am short on both--almost as short as you. But at least I have one advantage--I haven't got to go any further. You see, it's going to be such a terribly long way for you. You can't realize how far. Do you remember how you came up from the Telthearna, all slippity-slop for a spree? You came to Gelt--they remember it well, I'm told--and then you went on. You went to the Foothills and laid about you in the twilight and the rain. And then your meaty boys smashed the Tamarrik Gate--do you remember that, or did you perhaps fail to notice what it looked like? And then, of course, you got mixed up in a war with people who quite unaccountably felt that they didn't like you. What a long, long way it's been! Thank goodness I shall be having a rest now. But you won't, my dear waterside wizard. No, no--the sky will grow dark, cold rain will fall and all trace of the right way will be blotted out. You will be all alone. And still you will have to go on. There will be ghosts in the dark and voices in the air, disgusting prophecies coming true, I wouldn't wonder, and absent faces present on every side, as the man said. And still you will have to go on. The last bridge will fall behind you and the last lights will go out, followed by the sun, the moon and the stars; and still you will have to go on. You will come to regions more desolate and wretched than you ever dreamed could exist, places of sorrow created entirely by that mean superstition which you yourself have put about for so long. But still you will have to go on."
Kelderek stared back at him, frozen by the intensity and conviction of his words. His own premonition had returned upon him, closer now, its outline more distinct--a sense of loneliness, danger and approaching calamity.
"The thought makes me feel quite cold," said Elleroth, controlling his trembling with an effort. "Perhaps I should warm myself for a short spell before the man with the chopper interrupts these joyous, carefree moments."
He turned quickly. Two paces took him to the side of the brazier. Maltrit stepped forward, uncertain of his intention yet ready to forestall any irregular or desperate act; but Elleroth merely smiled at him, shaking his head as easily and graciously as though declining the advances of Hydraste herself. Then, as Maltrit stood back, responding instinctively to his smooth and authoritative manner, Elleroth, with a selective air, deliberately plunged his left hand into the brazier and drew out a burning coal. Holding it up in his fingers, as though displaying for the admiration of friends some fine jewel or crystal artifact, he looked once more at Kelderek. The appalling pain had twisted his face into a sickening travesty of relaxed good humor and his words, when they came, were distorted--grotesque mouthings, an approximation to speech which was nevertheless clear enough to be understood. The sweat ran from his forehead and he shook with agony, yet still he held up the live coal in his hand and aped horribly the manner of one at ease among his comrades.
"You see--bear king--you holding live coal--" (Kelderek could smell burning flesh, could see his fingers blackening and supposed that he must be burned to the bone: yet still, transfixed by the white eyes writhing in his face, remained where he stood.) "How long you a'le go on? Burn you up, hobble pain, carrying burning fire."
"Stop him!" cried Kelderek to Maltrit. Elleroth bowed.
"No need--'blige you all. Come now, little pain"--he staggered a moment, but recovered himself--"little pain--nothing some 'flicted by 'telgans, 'sure you. Let's make haste."
With assumed carelessness and without looking behind him, he tossed the coal high over his shoulder, waved his hand to the crowd in the hall, strode quickly to the bench and knelt down beside it. The coal, fanned brighter by its course through the air, flew steeply over the bars and fell into the straw close to where Shardik had paused a moment in his restless prowling. In seconds a little nest of fire had appeared, the small, clear flames between the blades of straw seeming, at first, as still as those trailing mosses that grow among the branches of trees in a swamp. Then they began to climb, fresh smoke joined that already in the foggy air, and a crackling sound was heard as the fire spread across the floor.
With an unnatural, high-pitched cry of fear, Shardik sprang backward, arching the huge ridge of his back like a cat facing an enemy. Then, in panic, he fled across the breadth of the hall. Blindly, he ran full tilt against one of the columns on the opposite side and as he recoiled, half-stunned, the wall shook as though from the blow of a ram.
The bear got up, rocking dizzily, looked about it and then once more ran headlong from the now fast-spreading fire. It struck the bars with its full weight and remained struggling as though among the strands of a net. As it rose once more on its hind legs, one of the ties running from the bars to the wall was pressed against its chest and in frenzy it beat at it again and again. The bolted end of the tie pulled out of the wall, dragging with it the two countersunk stones into which it was mortised.
At this moment Kelderek heard overhead a heavy, grinding movement and, looking up, saw a patch of light in the roof slowly narrowing before his eyes. Staring at it, he suddenly realized that the great beam above him was moving, tipping, slowly turning like a key in a lock. A moment more and one end, no longer supported by the wall, began to scrape and splinter its way down the stonework like a giant's finger.
As the beam fell, Kelderek flung himself across the floor, away from the bars. It dropped obliquely across the line of the ironwork, smashing down a quarter of its length to a depth of three or four feet. Then it settled, one end suspended in that iron tangle and the other canted against the opposite wall, and the bars bent and drooped beneath it like blades of grass. Slowly, the whole mass of wreckage continued to subside downward. Behind it, the fire still spread through the straw and the air grew thicker with smoke.
Shouting and tumult filled the hall. Many were looking around for the nearest way out, others trying to keep order or to call their friends together. At the doors the soldiers stood uncertainly, waiting for orders from their officers, who could not make themselves heard above the din.
Only Shardik--Shardik and one other--moved with unhesitating certainty. Out of the burning straw, over the broken bars came the bear, clawing at the iron with a noise like the storming of a breach.
As when a dam gives way in some high valley of the hills the water falls in a thunderous mass through the gap and pours on in obedience not to any will of its own but simply to inanimate, natural law, overwhelming or sweeping aside all that hinders it, changed in an instant from a controlled source of gain and power to a destructive force, killing as it runs to waste and devastating as it escapes from the restraint of those who supposed that they had made it safely their own--so Shardik, in the savagery of his fear, made his way, smashing and clambering, over the broken bars.
As those below the dam, dwelling or working in the very path of the water, perceive with terror that a disaster which none envisaged is even now upon them, indeflexible and leaving no recourse but immediate h
eadlong flight--so those in the hall realized that Shardik had broken loose and was among them.
And as those farther away from the dam, hearing, whatever they may be, the rumble of the collapsing wall, the roaring of water and the unexpected tumult, stand still, looking at one another wide-eyed, recognizing the sounds of disaster but as yet ignorant that what they have heard imports nothing less than the work of years ruined, the destruction of their prosperity and the discredit of their name--so those in the upper city, outside the hall, the peering sentinels on the wall, the gardeners and cattlemen coughing and shivering at their work along the shores of the Barb, the delegates' servants loitering at their masters' doors, the youths abandoning archery practice for the morning, the court ladies muffled against the cold, looking southward from the roof of the Barons' Palace for the sun to clear the shoulder of Crandor and disperse the fog--all heard the fall of the beam, the clang of the bars and the uproar that followed. Each in his own manner realized that some calamity must have befallen and, fearful but not yet suspecting the truth, began to move toward the House of the King, questioning those whom he met on the way.