Shardik (68 page)

The sound of
the
axe ceased and he sat on in the silence, sometimes taking
the
Tuginda’s hand in his own and speaking to her in the hope that, waking, she might become calmer. Under his fingers her pulse beat fast: and her arm, he now saw, was swollen and inflamed with weeping scratches which he recognized as those inflicted by the trazada thorn. She had said nothing of these, nor of the deep cut in her foot which Melathys had found and dressed
the
night before.

Slow as the sunlight, his mind moved over all that had befallen. The days which had passed since his leaving Bekla were themselves, he thought, like some Streel of time into which he had descended step by step and whence he had now emerged for a short time before
death
. There was no need for him, after all, to expiate his blasphemy by seeking
that
death, for however events might turn out it seemed certain. If Erkcdis were victorious but nevertheless sent no troops east of the Vrako, either because he had never received Bel-ka-
Trazet
‘s message or because it had found no favour
with
him, then sooner or later he himself would
the
from violence or sickness, either in
Zeray
or in
the
attempt to escape from it. But if Erketlis’ troops, crossing the Vrako, were to come upon him in Zeray or elsewhere - and it was likely enough that they would be keeping
their
eyes open for him - he had Elleroth’s word for it that they would put him to death. If
Erketlis
were defeated, it was possible that Zelda and Ged-la-Dan, coming to Kabin, might send soldiers across the Vrako to seek Shardik. But once Shardik was known to be dead, they would not trouble themselves about his former priest-king. And if the discredited priest-king were to attempt to return from Zeray, whether to Bekla or to Ortelga, he would not be suffered to live.

Never again would he posture and ape the part of Shardik’s mediator to the people. Nor ever again could he become the single-hearted visionary who, fearless in his divinely-imparted elation, had walked and slept beside Shardik in the woods of Ortelga. Why, then, despite his resolve four days ago i
n Ruvit’s hovel, despite his un
lessencd shame and remorse, did he now find in himself the will to live? Mere cowardice, he supposed. Or perhaps it was that some remaining streak of pride, which had encouraged him to entertain
the
thought of a deliberate death of atonement, resented
the
prospect of dying on an Ikat sword or a Zeray criminal’s knife. Whatever the reason, he found himself considering whether he might not attempt - however desperate the odds against him - first to bring the Tuginda back to Quiso, and then perhaps to escape to some country beyond the
Telthearna
. Yet mere survival, he realized as he pondered, was not
the
whole of the motive which had changed his earlier resolve to die.

Into his mind returned the picture of
the
beautiful, white-robed girl who had paced by night across the flame-lit terrace above
the
Ledges of Quiso, the girl whose craven fear in the wo
ods of Ortelga had aroused in h
imself nothing but pity and the wish to protect and
comfort her. She, like him, had found unexpectedly
the
self-deceit and cowardice in her own heart and, having once, no doubt, believed of herself that Shardik had no more loyal and trustworthy servant, had learned with bitter shame that
the
truth was
other
wise. Since
then
she had suffered still
more. Abandoning Shardik and th
rowing herself upon
the
world, she had found
the
world’s misery but never
the
world’s pleasure. Guilt, cruelty and fear must almost have destroyed in her
the
natural power to love any man or to look for any security or joy from a man’s love. But - and here, releasing
the
Tuginda’s hand, he sprang up and began striding back and forth across
the
room - perhaps
that
power was not beyond saving; not drowned beyond hope of recovery by one ready to show that he valued it above all else?

The Tuginda moaned, her face twisted as though in pain. He crossed to the bed and knelt to support her with one arm round her shoulders.

‘Rest, saiyett You are among friends. Be at peace.’ She was speaking, very low, and he put his car to her lips. ‘Shardik! To find - Lor
d Shardik -‘ She ceased, and ag
ain he sat beside her.

His love for Melathys, he knew now, had lain dormant in his heart from the first. The girl on the terrace
, her great, golden collar glinti
ng in
the
flame-light;
the
girl who had played, immune, with
the
point of
the
arrow and
the
edge of the sword, as a goddess might play with cataracts or lightning; who, uninstructed and unquestioning, had divined
the
importance of his coming to Quiso - this memory had never left him. Of his admiration and awe for her he had certainly been conscious, but how could he, the ragged, dirty hunter who had fallen senseless to
the
ground for fear of
the
magic of Quiso, possibly have suspected,
then
,
that
desire also had sown its seed in his heart? To desire a priestess of Quiso - the very thought, entertained, was sacrilege. He recalled the events of that night -
the
anger of
Bel
-ka-
Trazet
,
the
bewitched landing on Quiso in
the
dark, the crossing of
the
swaying bridge over
the
ravine,
the
sight of Rantzay and Anthred walking among the glowing embers; and, weighing heavier than all,
the
burden of
the
news which he bore. Small wonder
that
he had not dwelt much upon
the
nature of his feeling for
Melathys
. And yet, unregarded, as though germinating its own life independently and alone, deep below his consuming preoccupation with Shardik, his cryptic love had taken root. In his pity for Melathys, he now realized,
there
had lain an unrecognized satisfaction in finding that human weakness had its part even in her; that she, like any
other
mortal, could stand in need of comfort and encouragement Lastly, he recalled the night when the High Baron and he had discovered her flight ‘That girl had some sense,’ the Baron had said. At the sardonic words he himself had felt not only resentment but also anguish that
Melathys
, like the golden berries of the melikon, should have proved worthless, have drifted away with the river, to be seen no more. And yet another feeling he recalled which had come into his heart - and how, he wondered, could he possibly have failed to perceive the significance of this? - a sense of personal loss and betrayal. Already, even at that time, he had unconsciously begun to think of her as in some sense his own and, though strong then and confident in his own integrity, had felt neither contempt nor anger at her flight, but only disappointment Since that night neither she nor anyone had betrayed liim so thoroughly as he had betrayed himself. If she had wept for forgiveness in the graveyard, what was his need?

He thought
too,
of his unforced chastity in Bekla, of his indifference both to the luxury at his command and the outward grandeur of his kingship; of his continual sense that there was some truth that he still lacked. The great secret to be imparted through Shardik, the secret of life which
he
had never found - this, he still knew, was no figment
.
This
he
had not confused with his unrecognized love for
Melathys
. Yet - and now he frowned, puzzled and uncertain - in some mysterious way the two were connected. With the help of the second
he
might perhaps, have succeeded, after all, in finding the first

Just as the Tuginda had warned, the conquest of
Bekla
had proved to have nothing to do with the truth of Shardik, had served only to impede the search and hinder the divine disclosure of that truth. Now that Shardik was lost for ever, he himself had awoken, like a drunkard in a ditch, to the recollection of folly, while the magic girl among the bowls of fire had become a disgraced fugitive, familiar with fear, with lust and violence. Error and shame, he reflected, were the inescapable lot of mankind; yet still it comforted him to think that Melathys too had a part in this bitter inheritance. If, somehow, he could save her life and bring her and the Tuginda to safety, then perhaps he might at last beg the Tuginda’s forgiveness and, if Melathys would consent to come with him, journey far away and forget the very name of Shardik, of whom he had proved himself so unworthy.

Hearing Melathys call from beyond the courtyard, he went out and unbarred the door. The girl’s news was that Farrass and Thrild, those followers of the Baron whom she herself felt were most to be trusted, were ready to speak with him if he would go to meet them.

Asking Ankray to make the journey once again as his guide, he set out to cross Zeray.

Despite all that he had heard, he was unprepared for the squalor and filth, the sullen, half-starved faces peering as he went by, the miasma of want, fear and violence that seemed to rise out of the very dirt underfoot. Those whom he passed on the water-front were hollow-cheeked and g
rey-faced, sitting or lying listl
essly as they stored out at
the
choppy water racing down
the
midstream channel and
the
deserted eastern shore beyond. He saw no shops and no one plying a trade, unless indeed it were a shivering, pot-bellied child with a basket, who waded knee-deep in the shallows, stooping and searching - for what,
Kelderek
could not tel
l. Upon arriving at his destinati
on, like one awaking from a dream, he could recall few details, retaining only an undifferentiated i
mpression of menace sensed rathe
r
than
observed, and of hard glances which he had found himself unwilling to meet. Once or twice, indeed, he had stopped and tried to look about him, but Ankray,
without
presuming in so many words to warn him, had contrived to convey
that
they
would do better to keep on their way.

Farrass, a tall, thin-f
aced man, dressed in torn clothe
s too small for him and carrying a club at his belt, sat lengthways, with one foot up, on a bench, looking warily at
Kelderek
and continually dabbing with a rag at an oozing sore on his check.

‘Melathys says you were the Ortelgan king of
Bekla
.’

‘It
‘s true, but I’m seeking no auth
ority here.’

Thrild, dark, slight and quick-moving, grinned where he leant against the window-ledge, biting a splinter of kindling-wood between his teeth.

‘That’s as well, for there’s little to be had.’

Farrass hesitated, reluctant, like everyone cast of the Vrako, to ask questions about
the
past At length, shrugging his shoulders like a man deciding that
the
only way to have done with an awkward job is to get on with it, he said, ‘You were deposed?’

‘I fell into
the
hands of
the
Ye
ldashay army at Kabin. They spared my life but sent me across the Vrako.’

‘Santil’s army?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’re at Kabin?’
‘They were six days ago.’ ‘Why
did they spare you?’

‘One of
their
princi
pal officers persuaded them. He
had his reasons.’

‘And you chose to come to
Zeray
?’

‘I fell in with an
Ortelga
n priestess in the forest, a woman who was once my friend. She was seeking - well, seeking Bel-ka-
Trazet
. She’s lying sick now at the Baron’s house.’

Farrass nodded. Thrild grinned again. ‘We’re in distinguished company.’