Maia

  Bayub-Otal nodded. "Yes, I follow all that. It's only that Zenka and I have had a taste of that forest, and we wouldn't like your to come to any harm."

  "Well, I'll have to be the judge of that, won't I?" replied Elleroth a shade brusquely. "I confess I could do with a little more sheer manpower to cut our way through. Still, never mind; that's enough of that. Anda-Nokomis, I really can't wait any longer to learn why you're not dead, and what exactly happened at Rallur."

  Bayub-Otal's account lasted some time, though he omitted any reference to what had passed between Zen-Kurel and Maia. Elleroth listened intently and asked several questions. At last he said to Zen-Kurel, "Yes; well, Isee now why my little sally about your swag fell even flatter than most of my efforts. Most unfortunate. No one ever invites me twice, you know. But it certainly is rather mysterious, isn't it? This Serrelinda girl--and now that one's seen her one has to admit she really is all they say: if she can look like that after two days in the forest, Cran knows what she must have looked like in the upper city--first she makes her fortune by betraying you all to Sendekar on the Valderra, and the next thing you know she nearly loses her life getting the two of you out of prison and out of Bekla. If I hadn't actually met her, I'd be the first to say she'd realized that Fornis was out to kill her and was trying to change sides in time to save her own skin."

  "You mean you don't think that?" asked Zen-Kurel.

  "Well, somehow it doesn't quite square with the impression I've formed of her, though I can't say exactly why. Tell me, has she herself raised the matter with you at all?"

  "No, not at all: not once."

  "I mean, she hasn't suggested that since she's saved your lives you might now save hers by writing a nice, cheery letter to Santil, or anything like that?"

  "No, nothing like that," replied Zen-Kurel.

  "And how has she made out on your little journey? Has she been useful at all since you left Bekla?"

  "Well, the plain truth is that without her we wouldn't be here."

  "It never occurred to you to slice her into little bits for what she'd done in Suba?"

  "It occurred to Zenka," broke in Bayub-Otal, "but to tell you the truth I dissuaded him."

  "Why?"

  Bayub-Otal paused. Elleroth, perceiving that his hesitation proceeded not from ignorance or uncertainty, but from doubt over whether to speak or to remain silent, was beginning, "If you'd rather not--" when suddenly Bayub-Otal said, "This will have to come out some time or other, so it may as well be now. That night at the farm, Zenka, when you and I talked about Maia, there was something I didn't tell you."

  "You mean you and she had already come to some sort of understanding?" Zen-Kurel spoke so sharply that both his hearers were startled.

  "No," replied Bayub-Otal, "no, nothing like that. I haven't any--understanding with her. It was something she told me." They waited and he continued, "She'd told me that she and I are kinsfolk; in fact, we're first cousins."

  "She told you that?"

  "Yes. That evening, at the farm."

  "And you believed her?"

  "Oh, yes," said Bayub-Otal, "there's no doubt about it at all. She's my mother's sister's daughter, and what she said explains a great deal. I'll tell you how."

  He did so, ending, "I can't see how this poor man Tharrin could possibly have made up that story--or why he'd want to. Besides, it explains not only her extraordinary resemblance to my mother, but also why the Tonildan woman she thought was her mother should have felt able to sell her as a slave."

  "It might explain something else, too," said Elleroth. "I hasten to say I'm only trying to make the best case I can for a girl who's struck me, quite frankly, as being rather honest and likable. From all you've told me she's certainly not short on courage."

  "What does it explain?" asked Zen-Kurel.

  "I only remarked that it might. You said this girl didn't find out that she was your cousin--that her mother was Suban--until some considerable time after her exploit on the Valderra. But mightn't that discovery have altered her whole outlook very much?"

  "Then why hasn't she said so?"

  "My dear man, actions speak louder than words. She has as good as said so, or so it seems to me. Presumably the poor girl has her pride. You don't expect her, do you, to go down on her knees and say, 'I've discovered I'm a Suban, so please will you forget all about the Valderra and spare my life?' She's told you who she is and left the rest up to you; I call that dignified."

  "So--that might mean--you're saying, are you, that that might mean--"

  Zen-Kurel came to a stop, but Elleroth said nothing to help him to a conclusion, only gazing at his shadowed face in the candlelight and waiting. "She could have had a perfectly creditable motive--" he stopped again--"for taking the enormous risk of going into that prison to release us?"

  "Well, as I see it, having learned that she was first cousin to the rightful and imprisoned Ban of Suba, she was simply fulfilling her duty to her liege lord with the utmost courage. That's if you want my personal opinion."

  After a long pause, Zen-Kurel said, "I suppose--well, I suppose that might be the truth of it."

  "And what's more, you hope it is, don't you?" said Elleroth. "Seeing through brick walls is rather a specialty of mine, you know. The clairvoyant freebooter--"

  There was a tap on the doorpost outside: Elleroth's personal tryzatt drew aside the curtain, entered and saluted.

  "Excuse me for interrupting you, Lord Elleroth, sir, but there's an urgent message from the guard commander. One of our patrols has reported a large force bivouacked about a mile away to the east. The patrol commander says they evidently don't know anything about us yet. He took good care not to be seen or heard, but he got close enough to hear some of them talking, and he's more or less certain they're Ortelgans."

  93: MAIA'S NIGHT ADVENTURE

  Maia woke in the dark. The air was close and heavy. She was sweating but her headache had gone. She could not tell how long she had been asleep, but it felt like not very long--perhaps only an hour or two.

  Everything seemed quiet outside and she had no idea what might have woken her. The bed was comfortable enough; better than she'd expected, in fact. She'd drop off again in a few minutes.

  She wondered whether whatever it had been might have woken Meris too. She murmured "Meris?" but there was no reply.

  "Meris?" Suddenly she felt more or less sure that there was no one there: the realization jolted her wide awake.

  She slid out of her bed, reached across and felt the other one in the dark. Yes, it was empty; but in this heat there was no telling how long Meris might have been gone--an hour or only a few minutes. Well, but perhaps she was with Zirek.

  And perhaps she wasn't, reflected Maia. The thought of the trouble that Meris was capable of causing made her feel quite sick with apprehension. Elleroth, of course, was obviously no kill-joy. If Meris wanted a bit of fun with one of his men, whether officer or soldier, that would no doubt be all one to him.

  Or even if Meris was plying for hire; though in a guest of the commander that would look pretty disreputable. Knowing Meris, however, there was always the likelihood that she would not rest content with that. What Meris enjoyed was using her sexuality to make trouble. She recalled their interrupted quarrel earlier that evening. She wouldn't put it past Meris to devise some way of involving her, Maia, simply out of spite. Since the affair at the farm she had probably felt a grudge against Zenka, too. She might even--oh, no!

  Yet why not? This camp was full of all manner of people who scarcely knew one another. Would Meris be capable of--might she have gone to--to hurt Zenka, or discredit him by means of one of her tricks?

  Zirek had told her how it had been when they killed Sencho. "She seemed to go completely crazy--she went on stabbing and stabbing in a kind of--well, I don't know, a kind of rapture--I had to drag her away."

  This recollection was enough for Maia. Quickly she got dressed and went outside. The shelter allotted to Bayub-Otal, Zenka and Zirek wa
s not far off, but in the dim starlight and this unfamiliar place it was difficult to recall exactly which one it was. She set off in the general direction, hoping that something might turn up to help her.

  She could tell now, by the stars, that it was not very late in the night. Perhaps Meris had waited no longer than it had taken herself to fall asleep. Suddenly she caught sight of a sentinel, javelin over his shoulder and shield on the other arm, pacing slowly between the huts. She ran towards him. He stopped, raised his javelin and called sharply, "Stay where you are! Else I'll throw!"

  Accustomed to the ways of the upper city, she had not taken into account that these were men who had just undergone a hard campaign. She stood stock-still as the man came up to her.

  "You're breaking curfew. Why?"

  "What curfew?"

  "There's a curfew on women from two hours after sun-set. You've no business to be out of your hut: I can take you in charge for this. What are you doing?"

  "I'm sorry: I'm a stranger. I only came tonight. I'm worried about my friend--the girl who's sharing my shelter. I woke up and found her gone and now I'm looking for her. But she may be with a man--I don't know--in one of these huts here."

  The sentry remained unsympathetic. "Well, there's a man who was sleeping on his own in there--that one."

  He pointed. She was about to leave when he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come with you."

  As they went towards the shelter he added, "If you've just come here, you'd better understand once and for all that women aren't allowed to go wandering about the camp at night. That's been a strict rule since Orthid. Place'd be like a damn' cat-house else, some of the women we took out of there."

  "Well, that's as may be," retorted Maia briskly. "All I want is to find my friend. Neither of us came out of Orthid: we're personal guests of Lord Elleroth."

  There were three beds in the hut. Two were empty: Zirek was sound asleep on the one farthest from the entrance. Maia shook him awake with some difficulty.

  "Zirek, it's Maia! I woke and found Meris gone. Have you seen her?"

  "Oh, Cran and Airtha! That blasted girl! No, I haven't! Who cares, anyway? Let me alone, lass; I want to sleep!"

  "Where's Anda-Nokomis and Zenka, then?"

  "Aren't they here? Well, then, as far as I know, they can't have come back from Elleroth, that's all."

  At this moment all three of them became aware of a kind of muffled commotion somewhere in the distance-- voices both of men and women, together with the piping cries of children and the occasional wail of a baby. As they listened it seemed to be coming nearer.

  "What's that, then?" said the sentry.

  "If you don't know, I'm sure I don't," replied Maia. Her first thought was that it could only be something to do with Meris.

  They went back outside, followed a few moments later by Zirek. In the starlight they could make out a considerable crowd approaching between the shelters. It consisted mainly of women, dishevelled and obviously frightened, many leading children or carrying babies. On either side were soldiers, whom Maia could hear giving encouragement and reassurance in low voices.

  "Come along, now, m'dear." "Won't be for long; you'll soon be back." "Only for the kids' safety, you know, that's all." "Sorry, missus, not now, strict orders." "Yes, General's coming directly to tell you all about it himself." "Get in that hut there, Liftil, wake 'em up, get 'em out!" "Keep that kid quiet, lass! Much for your good as everyone else's!" "Come on now, keep moving! Keep moving!"

  It was a strange sight in the starlight--the shadowy, ever-growing crowd shuffling along, the women and children stumbling out of the huts by twos and threes, the soldiers hastening hither and thither, the continual, low-voiced injunctions, the quickly-stifled whimpers of the babies, the rustling and soft padding of feet through the dry grass and over the bare-trodden ground.

  Suddenly there were low calls of "Wait! Wait there!" and a tryzatt, holding out a spear, butt foremost, ran quickly to the head of the straggling procession. The women stopped, looking about them uncertainly in the gloom and plainly apprehensive. Then Elleroth was among them, smiling and greeting individuals here and there, putting a hand on this shoulder and that, distributing reassurance and encouragement as he made his way to the head of the crowd and then turned to speak to them.

  "I've just had word of a band of strangers a little way off, over there." He pointed. "They're camped, but apparently they don't know about us yet. If they don't attack us we're certainly not going to attack them, so don't worry. They may even be friends--we simply don't know: we have to find out. And while we're doing that we mean to make sure you're all safe--even if it means you have a sleepless night, my dear."

  He smiled at a woman standing near-by.

  "So we want you to go across the river, please. There'll be soldiers to look after you and you'll be in no danger from wild animals or anything like that. You'll probably all be back by morning; but meanwhile, will you all help me and my soldiers by making as little noise as you possibly can? As soon as I know any more myself I'll make sure you're told. So don't worry, and just make yourselves as comfortable as you can."

  In the gloom, Maia had made out the unmistakable fig-ure of Bayub-Otal, standing against the wall of a shelter. As the women and children began shuffling on once more towards the river, she went across to him.

  "Anda-Nokomis!"

  He looked round. She could perceive that in the moment that he recognized her his spontaneous reaction was one of pleasure and relief. "Anda-Nokomis, do you know any more about this? Who are these strangers?"

  He hesitated, and she pressed him. "Anda-Nokomis, please tell me as much as you know."

  "It's very little, Maia. A patrol's reported that there's a sizable force camped about a mile away over there, upstream. They weren't there yesterday, so presumably they're on the march. That's all we know as yet."

  "How many, Anda-Nokomis?"

  "I tell you, Maia, we don't know. We've got to find out. It could possibly be Kembri and his whole army. That seems unlikely to me, but we can't rule out that possibility."

  "Where's Zen-Kurel?"

  "Gone to get hold of some weapons: and so must I."

  "What sort of men were these the patrol came on?"

  "We think Ortelgans."

  "Ortelgans?"

  "Maia, I can't stay talking any longer: it's possible we may be attacked, you see. You and Meris must go across the river with the other women. I'll see you tomorrow; and if not, thank you for all you've done for us since Bekla." He paused, and then added, "Er--I think I may have been--er--too hard on you that evening at the farm. I should be very glad to think so--cousin."

  He stooped quickly, kissed her cheek and was gone into the gloom, leaving Maia staring after him.

  Behind her someone coughed, and she turned to see a man wearing tryzatt's insignia on either side of his corn-sheaves emblem. Before he could speak she said, "I'm a personal guest of Lord Elleroth. I'm waiting to speak to him before I cross the river."

  He looked at her uncertainly, but the Serrelinda--even deprived of her upper city splendor--had acquired a certain authority which carried its own weight. After a mo-ment or two he replied, "Very well, saiyett. But please try not to be too long," saluted and left her.

  It was during the course of this night that Maia carried out what was, perhaps, when all is said and done, the most remarkable exploit of the legendary Serrelinda; less dramatic, possibly, and to outward appearances less suicidally heroic than the swimming of the Valderra, but nevertheless a deed stamping her quite clearly as a woman no less exceptional (to say nothing of being considerably less nasty) than Queen Fornis. In retrospect, no one was to feel more surprised than herself. Yet she was not surprised at the time, for with Maia impulse was everything.

  Often, throughout these past months of the summer, both awake and in dreams, it had seemed to her that the ghost of the wretched Sphelthon had been attendant near her, silently reproachful, wistfully jealous of her youth and beauty on b
ehalf of all those--of all in the world--who had died young. In the dreams he said never a word, merely gazing at her sorrowfully--sometimes a strong lad in his prime, sometimes the poor, blood-battered victim who was all she had seen in reality--and in some strange way making her feel guilty that he should have lost his life while she retained hers to enjoy. Sometimes he came gliding after her down a long corridor which turned into the wa-tery, overhung channel of the Nordesh. Sometimes she was dancing the senguela and, crossing the floor to speak to Fordil, would meet instead his eyes looking up at her above the leks and zhuas. Why she should feel guilty on account of his death she could not tell. Indeed, with her reason she knew that of course no tribunal, whether of gods or men, could conceivably indict her for it. And yet he haunted her, as it were entreating her to perform some deed which would give rest to his ghost, atone for his desolate ruin. In Tharrin's cell she had felt his presence, at Milvushina's bedside and in the room where Randronoth lay slaughtered. Sometimes it had even seemed to her that her own life would be a small price to pay for the placation of this pathetic visitant. Yet he did not come, she knew, simply to make her suffer. No; he had some undisclosed, unspoken purpose. Nor could she pray for release from him, since he came, she was instinctively aware, not by the will of Cran or Airtha, of Lespa or Shakkarn, but from Frella-Tiltheh the Inscrutable, she who has no eyes to see us; no ears to hear us; no being, indeed, that we can comprehend; she who, while infinitely remote and inaccessible, is yet within ourselves, both each and everyone.