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 was 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, säiyett. 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 behalf 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.

If there were indeed Ortelgans out there in the wasteland beyond the camp, then surely they could only be those whom Ta-Kominion had led to Chalcon as part of Elvair-ka-Virrion's force. Five hundred Ortelgans; she recalled Bel-ka-Trazet saying so at the barrarz. She remembered, too, how he had also said that their assignment was largely a matter of policy. "We have to keep in with Bekla. But see your men come back alive, that's all. And if you have to get out, get out through Lapan."

Could it really be the whole of Kembri's army out there, with the Ortelgans nearest? Or had Ta-Kominion, perhaps, after the defeat on the highway and the deposition of Elvair-ka-Virrion, decided not to wait for Kembri, but to save his men and make the best of his way home rather than face destruction with the Leopards?

Maia stood abstracted, musing in the darkness, while all around the soldiers made a final search of the shelters, here and there coming across some bewildered woman or terrified, deserted child and guiding them down to the river.

She had liked Ta-Kominion and he had liked her. It was he who had opened the bidding at the barrarz; he had gone to three thousand meld, she recalled—probably most of what he had in the worlds—before being obliged to drop out.

It would be no use trying to talk to Elleroth: no use trying to talk to Anda-Nokomis. As responsible soldiers they could not discount the possibility that it might be Kembri out there; or even if it was not, that whoever it was might strike first and ask questions afterwards. They would tell her to leave their own business to them and join the other women across the river.

But if she herself could only get to Ta-Kominion and tell him that these Sarkidians had no more wish to fight than he had, then any amount of misunderstanding and bloodshed might be prevented. It would be no use waiting until the morning. Once blood had been shed, injury sustained, pride aroused, these men would be at each other like cocks in a pit.

Yet if it was Kembri's whole army? He would most probably put her to death, if only for having been with Elleroth. He desired her death, as she knew. For long minutes she stood irresolute, feeling Sphelthon's invisible presence, his gaze upon her in the darkness. She raised her eyes to the glowing stars.

"O Lespa! Send me a sign! Only send your servant a sign!"

At this moment, from somewhere in the camp, there came faintly to her ears the cry of a lost child.

"Mother! Mother!" The voice was Tonildan.

Maia began to run. Bending low and peering this way and that, she dodged between the huts, came to a dry watercourse, dropped silently into it and began making her way along it in the opposite direction from the river. After going about two hundred yards she climbed out on the further side, lay prone until she was sure there was no one near and then set off eastward through the dried-up bushes and scattered clumps of trees.

She went cautiously, dodging from one thicket to the next and stopping continually to look ahead of her and listen. At all costs she must avoid running into one of Elleroth's patrols and being brought ignominiously back to the camp, for in that case it would certainly be supposed that she had been deserting—or perhaps even worse.

Once she thought she heard voices at a distance, but after waiting for some time decided that it could only have been her own frightened fancy. The scrub was open enough for her to keep direction by the stars, and this she took for a sign of Lespa's favor. Any road, she thought, there's no Valderra here.

Whatever happens, I shan't drown.

None the less, she was never for a moment free from apprehension and the fear of death. The solitude, utterly still, seemed menacing. There was not an owl, not a bat to be heard. The very silence of this wilderness seemed unnatural. Twice she almost turned back; and twice glimpsed Sphelthon glimmering among the trees, a wraith that vanished even in the instant that she perceived it. Her tears were falling, but whether for him or for herself she could not have told.

For perhaps half an hour she wandered on through the empty wasteland, a prey to every kind of misgiving. Perhaps it had all been a false alarm and there were no soldiers at all? Or perhaps, whoever they were, they had already gone. Perhaps she had taken the wrong direction and already left them somewhere behind her. If they really existed, perhaps they were not Ortelgans at all, but runaway slaves like those with whom Meris had lived in Belishba. Even if they were Ortelgans, nevertheless Ta-Kominion might not be with them. He might be dead; or they might have mutinied against him. If he was with them, it now seemed to her unlikely that she would be allowed to speak with him at all. Or even if she were, why should he believe her, why should he trust her! What proof could he have that she was not a decoy sent by Elleroth?

Yet still she went on. The only possible thing to do, she thought, was to act on the assumption that the Ortelgans were there, that they were alone and that Ta-Kominion was with them.

She was picking her way through a thick grove of scrub willow when she once more heard voices. This time there was no doubt about it: they were low but distinct. As she stopped, holding her breath, she realized with a shock that they were very close—no more than twenty or thirty yards away among the trees.

She stood listening intently.

". . . should've stayed where we were, if you ask me."

"All depends, though, don't it? Who's to tell?"

Silence returned. She wondered whether the men had moved away; yet she had heard nothing. After what seemed a long time she heard a cough. Then the first voice, still speaking low, said, "The basting rains, though; how's he think we're going to get back once they start?"

"Well, I reckon soon as he's sure which way it's gone he'll go over, that's his notion."

"What, to Erketlis, you mean?"

"Ah. Quickest way home, see?"

This was enough for Maia. The men were speaking so quietly that she could not be sure of their dialect, but what she had been able to hear had convinced her that they must be Ortelgans speaking of Ta-Kominion. Well, she thought, reckon this is what I come for. If I'm going to die I'd best just get on with it. She called in a low voice, "Can I talk to you?"

There was a sound of startled movement, and then one of the men replied, "Who's there? Who are you?"

"I'm a woman, and I'm alone. Can I come and talk to you?"

"What you want, then?"

"I'm a personal friend of Lord Ta-Kominion. I've got an urgent message for him."

She could hear the men muttering. Then the same voice said, "Who's it from, then? And who are you?"

"I'll tell that to Lord Ta-Kominion."

At this moment a new, authoritative voice said, "What the hell's all this basting row? Weren't you told to keep quiet, eh?"

"It's some woman, tryzatt, off in those trees," said the second man.

"What the hell d'you mean, a woman?"

"Says she knows the commander; wants to see him. Knew his name an' all. Got a message, she says."

"I'm alone, tryzatt," called Maia. "Can I come and talk to you?"

The tryzatt was evidently a man of fairly quick mind. "Where did you meet the commander?"

"In Bekla, at the barrarz in the upper city, with Lord Bel-ka-Trazet and Lord Ged-la-Dan."

"What's his woman's name, then?"

"Berialtis: brought up on Quiso."

There was a pause.

"Come out steady," said the tryzatt at length, "hands on your head."

Maia did so. The three men confronting her were typical Ortelgans, stocky and dark, the tryzatt, who had a raw, barely-healed scar across his forehead, considerably older than the two soldiers.

"A place like this—how do you come to be here?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"I've no time to explain," answered Maia, with as much authority as she could muster. "My message is urgent, see, and it could very well save your lives. You got to take me to Lord Ta-Kominion at once." As he hesitated, she added more vehemently, "For Cran's sake, what harm do you think I can do? Why else would I be here alone, in the middle of the night—"

"Well, that's what I'd like to know," replied the tryzatt. But as he spoke he gripped her arm, turned and led her away with him.

They went fast through the trees and bushes. Soon Maia became aware that the tryzatt was picking their way among men lying on the bare ground. From what little she could see they were tattered and dirty, with a general look of ill-being. All were fully clothed, with their arms lying ready to hand. Most seemed asleep, but here and there a few, lifting their heads or propping themselves on their elbows, stared as she and the tryzatt went past. None spoke, however, and Maia guessed that their orders about silence were strict. Perhaps, indeed, orders were unnecessary: no doubt Chalcon had been a hard school.

They came to a rough shelter made of branches laid either side of a pole on two forked sticks; hardly more than a kennel, its ridge perhaps three feet from the ground. A sentry was standing beside it. The tryzatt addressed him in a whisper.

"This woman says she's got a message for the commander. Seems genuine enough."

"You're asking me to wake him?"

"That's for you to say."

"Well, be fair," replied the man. "You're the tryzatt, not me."

"You're his orderly, not me."

The man was beginning, "I'd best go and ask Captain Dy-Karn—" when from inside the shelter Ta-Kominion's voice said, "What is it, Klethu?"

"This is Maia Serrelinda here, my lord," said Maia quickly. "I need to speak to you urgently: for your sake, not for mine."

"Maia?"he replied in a tone of astonishment. Then, with a quick note of alarm in his voice, "Who's with you? What's happened?"

"There's nothing wrong, my lord, but—"

"Where have you come from? Who's sent you?"

"I've got some very important news for you."

"Wait, then."

After a few moments Ta-Kominion came elbowing his way feet first out of the shelter and stood up. He was wearing a ragged shirt and breeches and looked, as she could see even in the dim starlight, like a man utterly worn out; a very different figure from the high-spirited youth who had opened the bidding at the barrarz. Her expression, as she took his hands in greeting, must have revealed her feelings, for before she could speak he said, "You needn't waste your sympathy on me: we've plenty worse. But Maia, how in Cran's name do you come to be wandering about alone in a place like this? Are you on the run or something?"

"You could call it that. But now you must tell me something, my lord, 'cos I've got to know this if I'm to help you. Is this Kembri's whole army, or are you here on your own?"

He took her arm and led her away among the trees. Like the tryzatt, he spoke in whispers.

"Why do you ask me that? Why have you come?"

"Answer my question and I'll explain. It can't hurt to tell me: I can't leave here without you let me, can I?"

As he hesitated she took his hands once more, looking up into his bloodshot, hollow eyes.

"Honest, my lord, I only want to help you: and I've risked my hfe to come here."

"Everyone's life's at risk here," replied he. "I wouldn't give much for our chances now and that's the truth. We left Kembri's army the night before last and we've been going ever since. The men are on their last legs. We've got no food left, either. But I'll get some of them back to Ortelga yet, you see if I don't."

"Listen to me, my lord. There's a way to put the whole thing right, if you'll only do as I say."

"But who's sent you?" he asked again, impatiently.

"Just listen, my lord, please! Sit down and listen to me."

Ta-Kominion sat down on the ground, his arms round his updrawn knees, looking up at her with an expression suggesting that although he would like to believe her, he felt that to do so would be foolish.

"About a mile away over there," said Maia, pointing, "is Lord Elleroth of Sarkid. He's on his own like you, and I should guess he's got about the same number of men."

Ta-Kominion seemed about to spring to his feet, but Maia restrained him.

"They know you're here, but they don't know yet whether it's only you or Kembri's whole army. What I'm trying to tell you is that they're as much afraid of you as what you are of them."

Ta-Kominion buried his face in his hands. "Oh, Shardik, that's about all we needed! Pinned against the river, too! That's basted everything!"

"No, it hasn't, my lord. Don't you see, if you're not fighting for the Leopards any more, Elleroth's got no quarrel with you? You ought to join him—he needs men—it'd be as big a weight off his mind as what it'd be off your'n. Why don't you come back with me now and talk to him?"

"It's a trick! A Beklan trick!" In the half-darkness the girl Berialtis had come up silently and was standing beside them, clutching a soldier's cloak round her. She was shivering in the hot night and looked no less wretched than everyone else whom Maia had seen. "Don't go, Komo! She's lying!"

Her dark eyes glared at Maia—the eyes of a fanatic, intensified by fear and privation.

Maia stood up and faced her. "All right, that's it, then; I done my best. My lord, I hope you'll have the kindness to let me go back where I come from."

"Be quiet, Berialtis," said Ta-Kominion. "I'm commanding here, not you. Maia, how can I be sure of this man Elleroth—heir of Sarkid, isn't he? How can I be sure I can trust him?"

"My lord, I'll be honest with you. Like I said, no one's sent me: I just thought this lot up on my own. Lord Elleroth doesn't even know I've come—"

"You're not his woman, then?"

"Oh, Cran, no! I just don't want to see the two of you tear each other to bits, that's all; 'cos that won't be no good to you nor nobody."

"Berialtis, go and wake Dy-Karn and bring him here. Don't argue; just do as I tell you for once."

"You let yourself be taken in by this Beklan bitch; an unbeliever! I haven't forgotten that filthy barrarz, if you have—"

"Neither have I," said Ta-Kominion, getting up. "I'll go myself: you'd better come with me, Maia."

Reaching his shelter, they found a group of four or five young men whispering together.

"These are all the officers we've got left," said Ta-Ko-minion. "Captain Dy-Karn, my second-in-command: Maia Serrelinda."

There were murmurs of surprise. "You'd better tell them, Maia, what you've just told me," said Ta-Kominion.

Maia did so.

"But this Elleroth's an out-and-out heldro, isn't he?" asked Dy-Karn. "Why else would he be with Erketlis? If you trust us all to him, Komo—"

"All I can say is I've met him," said Maia, "and I don't reckon as he's one to take unfair advantage. I can't say n'more, 'ceptin' they're all as scared of you as what you are of them." As they hesitated, she added, "You don't have to surrender to them nor any o' that. Just offer to join them. Any road, what else you going to do?"

"By the Ledges, and I reckon she's about right there!" said another of the officers. "No food, men worn out, couldn't fight if they had to—"

"When we left Kembri, you see," said Ta-Kominion to Maia, "no one else knew what we were going to do, naturally. We reckon his lot can't last even until the rains. Erketlis'll destroy them; and we weren't going to wait for that. We were reckoning on crossing the Zhairgen by the Ikat high road, but we found the bridge held by Beklans— too many for us: so we had to come on downstream. I've been hoping we might get across somehow at Nybril, but obviously we can't get to Nybril if Elleroth's in the way."

"Elleroth's got a raft on ropes across the Zhairgen," said Maia. "He's cutting his way through Purn, but he needs more men to make sure of it before the rains. If you was to join him, I reckon he could probably feed you an' all. How many you got?"

"Only about three hundred and fifty now. We lost a lot in Chalcon."

"The girl's right, my lord," said Dy-Karn. "After all, we can always tell this Elleroth that if he won't have us, we'll sell our lives very dear. I'll come with you if you want."

In the event three Ortelgans set out with Maia; Ta-Kominion, Dy-Karn and an older officer named Selta-Quaid, who limped on a stick and appeared to have been wounded in half a dozen places from head to foot. The men had been woken and were standing to arms. Word had, of course, got round of what was toward. As they passed through the different groups there were murmurs of "Good luck, sir!"

"Tell 'em we're not beat yet, general!" "Bring us back a few sheep, sir!" and the like. It was plain that Ta-Kominion still retained their loyalty and confidence.

The short summer night was drawing to an end and the sky behind them paling. The wilderness seemed as empty and almost as silent as before, save for the first pipings of awakening birds. She herself felt ready to drop. She had been tired enough the night before, and had had only an hour or two of sleep.

But Sphelthon: ah! he was asleep now; deeply and peacefully. She could feel it in her heart, his peace, gleaming like dew on a meadow. He was gone, but had left his blessing upon her. She had poured out on his poor, far-away grave the offering of her night's fear and resolution, and it had been sufficient even for Frella-Tiltheh.

She was startled from these thoughts by her name being called from a distance. All four of them stopped in their tracks, listening. The sound was coming from some way off among the broken woodland. There was, to say the least, nothing furtive about it. It was like the crying of wares by a street-trader. "Maia! Maia!" Whoever was calling plainly did not care who heard him. After the long hours of stealth and whispering, the concealment and silence of the tense night wanderings, the effect seemed almost preternatural, a shattering of normality sharp as lightning or the sudden falling of a tree.

After a few moments Maia (who had recognized the voice) replied, "Here I am!" There was strenuous movement in the bushes some way off, a sound of running footsteps and next moment Zen-Kurel, armed, burst out of the undergrowth and halted a moment at the sight of the Ortelgans. Then he drew his sword.

Maia's companions instantly drew also, but she ran forward, stopping midway between them and Zen-Kurel.

"What's happened, captain? What's brought you here?"

He looked at her, opened his mouth to speak and then looked away, seeming out of countenance.

"I—er—well, I came to look for you, that's all. You've been missed." Then, as it were assuming a harsher note to cover his embarrassment, he asked abruptly, "Who are these men?"

"They're Ortelgan officers," she answered no less coldly, "come to talk with Lord Elleroth. I think you'd better put up your sword, captain. I'm acting as their surety."

Zen-Kurel, frowning perplexedly, did as she had suggested.

"What do they want with Lord Elleroth?"

"I reckon that's between him and them," she said; "in the first place, anyway." Then, as the three Ortelgans came up, "This is Lord Ta-Kominion of Ortelga: Captain Zen-Kurel of Katria."

Ta-Kominion bowed, concealing his surprise. "Has King Karnat seconded officers to Erketlis, then? I didn't know that."

"No," replied Zen-Kurel, "I'm here by an accident of war. I was a prisoner of the Leopards in Bekla, but I managed—that's to say, Maia—she—er—she contrived my escape."

"Did she?" answered Ta-Kominion. "At that rate, it seems we all owe her a debt in common."

It was full daylight now, the clear sky already blue, the grasshoppers beginning to chirp in the brown, dry grass. Pushing through a belt of trees near the river, they found themselves within fifty yards of eight or nine Sarkidian soldiers. They had thrown a plank across the dried-up watercourse which Maia had crossed the night before, and set up an outpost on the nearer bank.

Maia again went forward, and addressed the tryzatt.

"Tryzatt, these Ortelgan officers have come in peace to talk with Lord Elleroth. Can you please conduct them to him at once?"

She had already turned away by herself when Zen-Kurel overtook her.

"Where are you going, Maia?"

"Across the river," she said, "to join the other women and go to sleep; I'm very tired. Thank you for coming to look for me."