After a few moments it became plain that the slave dealer meant to stare the boy down and subdue him without word or blow. Tense and wary, the boy returned his stare. At length, speaking in halting Beklan with a strong Yeldashay accent, he said, "She's not strong enough to stand this much longer and there's no profit to you if she dies. Why don't you leave her outside the next village?"
The dealer drew his knife. Then, as the boy still waited for his reply, he took from his belt an iron object in the shape of two half-circles, each bluntly barbed at either end and joined together by a short bar. The boy hesitated a moment, then lowered his eyes, pressed his lips together and, still carrying the little girl, walked away to join the other children.
At the same moment a scowling youth, a little older than the rest, with a cast in one eye and a birthmark across his face, came running up to Kelderek. He was dressed in a torn leather tunic and carried a pliant stick as long as his arm.
"Come on, you too," said the boy in a kind of savage bellow, like a peasant cursing a beast with which he has lost patience. "Mucking get up, come on."
Kelderek got to his feet and stood looking down at him.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Don't answer me back," shouted the boy, raising his stick. "Get on up there, and look sharp about it, too."
Kelderek shrugged his shoulders and went slowly toward the group of children at the far end of the glade. There must be, he reckoned, about twenty or twenty-five of them, all boys, their ages varying, as near as he could tell, from fourteen to nine or ten, though of this it was hard to be sure, their condition being so dreadful and their appearance so much more wretched than that of even the poorest children he had ever seen in Bekla or Ortelga. A smell of stale filth came from them and a cloud of flies darted back and forth above their heads. One boy, leaning against a tree trunk, coughed continually, doubling himself up while a mucous, dysenteric flux ran down the inside of his legs. A fly settled on his ear and he struck at it. Kelderek, following the movement, saw that the lobe was pierced by a ragged hole. He looked at another of the children. His ear, too, was pierced. Puzzled, he looked at the next and the next. In each case the lobe of the right ear was pierced.
The slave dealer, now carrying his pack, together with a heavy bow strapped to one side of it, passed him and made his way to the head of the gang. Here a second boy was waiting. He also, like the boy who had shouted at Kelderek, was carrying a stick and dressed in a leather tunic. Short and squat, he looked more like a dwarf than a child. His back was bent by some kind of curvature and his long hair covered his shoulders, perhaps to hide this deformity to some extent. As the children began to shuffle forward, following the dealer, Kelderek noticed that all lowered their eyes as they passed this dwarfish boy. The boy for his part stood staring at each in turn, leaning toward them, his body tense, his knees a little bent, as though scarcely able to restrain himself from leaping upon and striking them then and there. Feeling a touch on his back, Kelderek turned and met the eyes of the tall lad, who as he walked was holding the little girl's ankles and carrying her over his shoulder like a sack.
"Take care not to look at Bled as you pass," whispered the lad. "If he catches your eye he'll set upon you." Then, as Kelderek frowned in bewilderment, he added, "He's mad, or as good as mad."
Heads averted, they passed the hunched figure and followed the straggling children into the forest. The pace was so slow that Kelderek, as often as it caught, was at leisure to stoop and disentangle his chain. After a little the youth whispered again, "It's easier if you walk exactly behind the boy in front and put your feet down one directly in front of the other. The chain's less likely to catch then."
"Who is this man?" whispered Kelderek.
"Good God, don't you know?" answered the boy. "Genshed--you must have heard of him?"
"Once, in Kabin, I heard that name: but where is he from? He's not a Beklan slave dealer."
"He is--he's the worst of the lot. I'd heard of him long before I dreamed I'd ever see him, let alone fall into his hands. Did you see him threaten me with the flytrap just now, when I was trying to speak to him about Shara here?"
"The flytrap?" replied Kelderek. "What's that?"
"That thing he's got on his belt. It forces your mouth open--wide open--and you can't shut it. I know, it doesn't sound bad, does it? I thought that once. My father would be ashamed of me, I suppose, but I couldn't stand it again, not another two hours of it."
"But--"
"Careful, don't let Shouter hear you."
They fell silent as the scowling youth ran past them to disentangle the chain of a child who had tripped and was apparently too weak to release it for himself. A little later, as they began edging their way forward again, Kelderek said, "Tell me more about this man and how you came to fall into his hands. You're a Yeldashay, aren't you?"
"My name is Radu, heir of Elleroth, Ban of Sarkid."
Kelderek realized that he had known from the first who the boy must be. He made no reply and after a little the boy said,
"Don't you believe me?"
"Yes, I believe you. You're very like your father."
"Why, do you know him?"
"Yes--that is, I've seen him."
"Where? In Sarkid?"
"In--Kabin."
"Kabin of the Waters? Why, when was he there?"
"Not long ago. In fact, he may be there now."
"With the army? You mean General Santil's in Kabin?"
"He was, a short time ago."
"If only my father were here, he'd kill this swine in a moment."
"Steady," said Kelderek, for the boy's voice had risen hysterically. "Here, let me take the little girl. You've carried her long enough."
"She's used to me--she may cry."
But Shara, half-asleep, lay as quietly on Kelderek's shoulder as she had on Radu's. He could feel her bones. She was very light. For the twentieth time they halted, waiting for the children in front to go on.
"I heard in Kabin," said Kelderek, "that you'd fallen into this man's hands. How did it happen?"
"My father was away on a secret visit to General Santil--even I didn't know where he'd gone. I heard from one of our tenants that Genshed was in the province. I wondered what my father would want me to do--what he might be glad to hear I'd done when he came back. I decided not to tell my mother anything about Genshed--she'd have told me not to stir off the estate. It seemed to me that the right thing would be to go and talk to my uncle Sildain, my father's sister's husband. We always got on well together. I thought he'd know what to do. I took my own servant with me and set out." He paused.
"And you ran into the slave dealer?" asked Kelderek.
"I acted like a child. I can see that now. Toroc and I were resting in a wood and keeping no lookout at all. Genshed shot Toroc through the throat--he knows how to use that bow. I was still on my knees beside Toroc when Shouter and Bled rushed me and knocked me down. Genshed hadn't any idea who I was--I hadn't bothered to put on any particular clothes, you see. When I told them, Shouter was for releasing me at once, before the whole place came round their ears, but Genshed wouldn't have it. I suppose he means to get back to Terekenalt somehow and then demand a ransom. He'd get more that way than ever he could by selling me as a slave."
"But evidently he wasn't interested in capturing your servant."
"No, and it's strange that he's taken you. It's well known that he deals only in children. He has his market for them, you see."
"His market?"
"In Terekenalt. You know what he does? Even the other dealers won't touch the trade he goes in for. The boys are castrated and sold to--well, to people who want to buy them. And the girls--I suppose--I suppose it must be worse for the girls."
"But there are no girls here--only this little one with you."
"There were girls, earlier on. I'll tell you what happened after I was captured. Genshed went on eastward--he didn't turn back into Paltesh. We never heard why, of course, but I
think probably the whole of Sarkid was up behind him, looking for me. All the routes into Paltesh must have been watched. By the time we got into eastern Lapan he had over fifty children altogether, boys and girls. There was a girl about my age, her name was Reva--a gentle, timid kind of girl who'd never been away from home in her life. I never learned how she came to be sold to Genshed. Shouter and Bled, they used to--you know."
"Genshed allowed that?"
"Oh, no. They weren't supposed to, of course. But he's not quite sure of them, you see. He can't do without them while he's on an expedition and besides, they know too much--they could probably find a way to turn him in if they wanted to. Genshed doesn't employ overseers, like other slave traders. He knows a trick worth two of that. He picks out any specially cruel or heartless boys and trains them as overseers. Once he's back in Terekenalt, I believe he often gets rid of them and picks fresh ones for the next trip. Anyway, that's what I heard."
"Why do they work for him, then?"
"Partly because it's better to be an overseer than a slave; but there's more to it than that. The boys he chooses are those he has power over, because they admire him and want to be like him."
"And the girl you were telling me about?"
"She killed herself."
"How?"
"It was while Bled was actually with her, one night. She managed to get his knife out of his belt. He was too busy to notice, and she stabbed herself."
"It's a pity she didn't stab him and then run for it."
"Reva would never have thought of that. She was helpless and beside herself."
"Where did you cross the Vrako?" asked Kelderek. "And how, if it comes to that?"
"We met with another slave trader in eastern Lapan--a man called Nigon, who had an Ortelgan warrant to trade. I heard Nigon warn Genshed that Santil's army was marching north at a great rate and he'd better get out while he could. Nigon himself meant to get back to Bekla."
"He didn't, though. He was taken by the Yeldashay."
"Was he? I'm glad. Well, there was no point in Genshed trying to make for Bekla. He had no warrant, you see. So he went the only way he could--into Tonilda. We went like a forest fire, but every time we stopped we heard that the Yeldashay were closer behind us."
"How did your little girl survive?"
"She would have died in a few days, but I've carried her almost every step--I and another boy we called the Hare. I've got a lord's sworn duty to her, you see. She's the daughter of one of our tenants at home. My father would expect me to look after her at all costs, and I have."
The boy Bled drew level with them and for a time they edged their way forward in silence. Kelderek could see the children in front plodding and stumbling with bowed heads, speechless and apathetic as beasts. When Bled walked farther up the line, making his stick whistle in the air, not one raised his eyes.
"When we got close to Thettit-Tonilda, Genshed learned that the Yeldashay were due west of us already and still going north. They'd as good as cut us off from Gelt and Kabin. At Thettit he sold all the girls except Shara. He knew they wouldn't be able to survive the journey he'd planned."
Shara stirred and whimpered on Kelderek's shoulder. Radu leaned forward, caressing her, and whispered in her ear--perhaps some joke between them, for the little girl chuckled and, trying to repeat what he had said, at once returned into her light sleep.
"Have you ever been in northern Tonilda?" asked the boy.
"No--I know it's wild and lonely."
"There are no roads and it was bitterly cold at night. We had no blankets and Genshed wouldn't light fires for fear of Yeldashay patrols. All the same, we had some bread then, and dried meat too. Only one boy collapsed. It was in the evening, and Genshed hanged him from a tree and made us stand around it until he was dead. I don't know how much he could have got for that boy, but you'd have thought he'd have left him alone for a night's rest and waited to see whether he could go on in the morning. I tell you, it isn't the money with him. He'd give his life for cruelty, I believe."
"He got angry, I suppose--lost his temper?"
"There's no telling whether he loses his temper. His violence is like an insect's--sudden and cold, and you feel it's natural--natural to something that's less than human, something that waits quite still and then darts like lightning. Sh!"
They had come to the bank of a creek and here Shouter was urging the children one by one into the water