45: ACROSS THE VALDERRA

To Maia there was no tedium in idling away the hours. After the past two days, merely to lie in the sun and do nothing was pleasant. Besides, she had been used enough, in years gone by, to minding sheep and goats on the waste, and this was not much different. The sun moved. The leaves rustled. One lay on one's back and looked up at the marching clouds. After a time evening came.

They set off about two hours after sunset. According to Lenkrit it was no more than six or seven miles to the Olmen, but after some time Maia reckoned that they must already have gone further. At first they went straight down through the woods, but once out on the open plain Lenkrit proceeded cautiously, keeping wide of the two or three villages they encountered. Once, when dogs began to bark, he went back a good half-mile before taking them off the track and round by way of the village fields.

Despite this caution she became keenly aware—for it C frightened her—of a potential ruthlessness in her new companions. 'Tain't so much what they're doing now, she thought, it's what they'd be ready to do if they was put to it. It was true that the Subans were not looking for trouble; but they were clearly prepared to shed blood if they had to. Once, when two drovers, who from their overheard talk seemed to be out late in search of a strayed beast, passed close by without seeing them, it was plain enough that at a word from Lenkrit the young men would have knifed them. Maia wondered how many people they had in fact killed since first leaving Suba.

The river, when at length they reached it some two or three hours after midnight, was much as Lenkrit had already described it to her—slow-flowing and about sixty feet wide, meandering across the plain between treeless banks. One of the young men took a cord from his pack, tied one end to the hilt of his knife and plumbed the depth. It was about five feet under the bank.

"We did better coming," said Lenkrit. "It was only waist-deep. Still, we can't spend time looking for a better place. We'll just have to flounder across as best we can."

"It's flowing so slowly, it'll be very little deeper in the middle," said Bayub-Otal. "We ought to be able to wade it, just."

"But do you think the bottom will be firm enough, Anda-Nokomis?" asked Tescon.

As they stood debating the matter among themselves, Maia began to feel a mixture of impatience and mischief. No one had consulted her: it had not even occurred to them that she, a girl, might be of any use.

In the near-darkness, she wandered quietly a little distance upstream. Then, sitting down on the bank, she slipped off her clothes, rolled them round her sandals and, holding the light bundle over her head, slid down into the water and turned on her back.

To get across took her less than half a minute. She had drifted scarcely any distance with the current.

Pulling herself out, she walked back until she was opposite the Su-bans.

"My lord!"

They spun round, clutching their weapons as though Kembri himself were upon them. All but Pillan looked startled out of their wits. For a few moments none said a word. Then Bayub-Otal, taking care not to raise his voice, said, "Maia! How did you get over?"

"Swam, my lord. Would you like me to take the packs and that over for you?"

And without waiting for an answer she once more lowered herself into the water and swam across.

They were embarrassed out of countenance, these neck-or-nothing desperadoes. They would not look directly at her. After some moments Bayub-Otal said, "Come on, Lenkrit, give her your pack. We're lucky to have her to help us."

Without replying, Lenkrit stooped and lowered his pack down to her. She took it over dry and then came back for Thel's. When all the packs and weapons were across she offered to take their clothes, but the men would not undress, choosing to splash and flounder as best they could through the bed of the river, emerging wet from head to foot.

They sat on the bank slapping themselves and squeezing the water out of their sleeves. Maia, having dressed again, remained carefully silent. At length, with an air of mingled curiosity and resentment, Lenkrit said to her "You don't mind —men—seeing you naked?"

"All depends, my lord."

"On what?"

"Well, just struck me as I could help you, that's all." For the life of her she could not keep a note of irritation out of her voice. They might at least have thanked her, she thought; on impulse she added, "In Bekla no one'd think twice."

"Oh, wouldn't they?" replied Lenkrit contemptuously. "I see."

"Might be one or two things changed in Bekla 'fore long," muttered Th'el.

"Let her alone!" said Bayub-Otal sharply. "She helped you, didn't she?"

"Dare say she did," persisted the boy, with sullen obstinacy. "All the same, there's some things—"

"Stand up!" cried Bayub-Otal, himself springing to his feet. "Who am I? Answer me!"

"A—Anda-Nokomis," stammered Thel, facing him in the moonset. "I'm sorry—my km!—"

"Right, let's get on!" snapped Bayub-Otal, turning away and picking up his pack. "Now we're in Urtah we can stop as soon as it's light and get dry by somebody's fire." He touched Maia's hand. "Thank you, Maia. They're grateful, really. It's just that people in Suba see one or two things a little differently, you know."

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply "And silly they look with it," but she swallowed it down and set off behind him.

Two nights later Maia, wet through, was lying prone in a marshy thicket beside her five companions.

Seventy or eighty yards away, on the nearer bank of the Valderra, firelight flickered between the trees, and from time to time could be heard voices, the snapping of sticks and the clink of a cooking-pot or a weapon.

"There's no telling how many of them there are," whispered Bayub-Otal. "Do you want to try somewhere else?"

"Again?" replied Lenkrit. "It'd be the same at any other ford: they're all watched. We've got to chance it, Anda-Nokomis. I doubt there are more than nine or ten men there at the most. What do you think, Tescon?"

"Ay, get in among the bastards, sir, 'fore they know what's happening." After a moment he added, "They're only damned Tonildans; they won't fight."

"They'll not be expecting anything from this direction, sir," said Thel. "Their job's to watch the ford." He fingered his dagger.

"Waste of time going anywhere else, Anda-Nokomis," pursued Lenkrit. "It's getting on for first light now. It'd mean another night gone, and time's very short already. You ought to be down in Melvda as soon as you can. It'd look bad if Karnat decided to make a start without us, wouldn't it? Anyway, I've got to get back to my men. I've had enough of this."

And so had she, thought Maia. Physically she had never felt so worn out in her life. Since crossing the Olmen they had gone no more than twenty miles in two days, but although Bayub-Otal, as usual, had shown her every consideration, the distance had proved more than enough. Her feet were blistered and she had an upset stomach. Although they had spent the previous night under a roof, she would honestly have felt better if they had not. The place called itself an inn. The kitchen, which was also their sleeping quarters, had a boarded partition down the middle, on the other side of which were stalled cattle. The supper had been cooked in rancid fat and the privy was so vile that she could not bring herself to use it.

After an hour or two's sleep she had woken to find herself bitten from head to foot. Weeping from the sheer accumulation of discomfort, she had let herself out into the clean darkness, where Lespa's stars were paling in the first light, and lain on the grass for an hour. She had felt done up even before they set out.

Soon after nightfall they had approached the wooded eastern bank of the Valderra, making for the ford by which Lenkrit had crossed from Suba. As they made their way through the trees, however, it became clear from the noise and the number of fires that the Beklan outpost must have been strengthened. There seemed to be two or three dozen soldiers at least. Stealing away, they had gone about three miles north in the dark, through woodland, water-meadows and brooks, only to find at the next ford another strong outpost, where they had narrowly avoided blundering into a sentry.

It was now long after midnight; they had reached a third ford and Maia, chilled, aching and exhausted, felt past caring what happened.

All day she had been wondering whether she could not manage to get away from them: yet how, without help?

Kembri had told her that certain Leopard agents in Urtah might be able to get in touch with her, but none had made any approach. Last night she had had some idea of throwing herself on the mercy of the innkeeper and his wife, but (as the state of their house showed) even by rustic Urtan standards they were blockheads: there was no telling how they might have responded.

So, with ever-falling spirits, she had trudged on with the Subans. Yet until nightfall she had not really believed— had not really faced the fact that she was going to be taken across the Valderra. Something would surely happen to prevent that. Lespa would not let it happen. Yet here she was. And once across the Valderra, how could she ever hope to get back?

And then, suddenly—or so it seemed—-opportunity was staring her in the face. If they were going to attack this outpost, could she not run away in the confusion? There must be some place—some house, some village—she could hope to reach. They would be wanting to get on across the river; they wouldn't want to waste time searching for her. What might happen after that was another matter; but anything—anything offered more hope than being taken across the Valderra.

Some sort of argument had begun.

"But why has someone got to stay with the girl, Anda-Nokomis?" said Lenkrit. "We're few enough as it is."

"Because if it runs out badly, there's got to be someone to get her away and look after her," answered Bayub-Otal. "She's not going to be taken prisoner and dragged back to Bekla, and that's all there is to it."

"Then you'd better stay yourself," said Lenkrit brusquely. "It comes down to a question of who's going to be most use—"

"Don'ts peak to me like that!" replied Bayub-Otal, still whispering but with fierce authority. "I have my servant here, and he's under my orders, not yours. Pillan, you're to wait here with this girl until we've finished: is that clear?"

"Very good, my lord."

For a moment it looked as though Lenkrit was going to take it badly. His two followers, muttering to each other, were clearly expecting him to protest. Then, shaking his head with the air of one acquiescing in a bad business, he drew his sword. "Very well, Anda-Nokomis. Let's get on, then."

Immediately they were gone, the four of them, creeping noiselessly away through the bushes. Even with Pillan beside her she would have taken her chance and run, but he was gripping her wrist, presumably by way of reassurance. Suppose she were to scream and warn the outpost? But that would only mean her own death at Pillan's hands. No, there was nothing she could do. She began to tremble, and he put his arm round her shoulders.

"Easy, girl. Won't be long."

She shut her eyes and bit her lip, tense as a runaway thief hiding in a ditch. All around seemed complete silence, but this, no doubt, was because she could hear nothing but the blood beating in her own head. O Lespa! she prayed. Lespa, only help me!

Suddenly uproar broke out on the bank ahead; curses, shouting, the clash of metal, cries of aggression and alarm; she heard Lenkrit's voice above the hubbub and, looking up, could see black shapes running and stumbling, here and gone against the firelight. There was a heavy splash and then, horrible in its shrill agony, a scream, cut suddenly short. Lenkrit's voice shouted, "Let them go, Anda-Nokomis!" and then "Pillan! Come on! Quick, man!"

Dragging her to her feet, Pillan began thrusting through the undergrowth, pulling her after him. Twice she tripped, the second time striking her shin so painfully that she cried out and fell to her knees, gasping and dizzy. Pillan, stooping, put an arm under her shoulders, hoisted her bodily to her feet and held her up as she tottered forward, sobbing and breathless.

Lenkrit's voice, closer now, shouted again. "Pillan! Don't stop! Straight into the water!" This was followed by further sounds of fighting and commotion. A few moments later, struggling through a tangle of creepers and bushes, the pair of them came out on the bank.

Two fires were burning on either side of a ramshackle, open-fronted shed made of poles and branches.

Beyond lay the river, a good fifty yards wide, turbid and running strongly, its main current closer to the nearer bank. This ford, which had never been one favored by regular travelers, was in fact little more than a spot where it was more-or-less practicable to wade across in summer. Once it had been marked by posts driven into the bed, but some of these had carried away in the winter floods and most of the rest had been broken or pulled out by the Beklans to hinder any possible crossing. The nearer bank was open, running rather steeply down to the water, but the far side had no definable margin, the river losing itself in a wilderness of marsh, tall grass, pools and clumps of trees.

Maia, of course, took in virtually nothing of all this, being prevented not only by the darkness, haste and confusion, but also by her own pain and terror. Before she had taken ten steps into the clearing, however, another and even more dreadful distraction lay before her eyes.

On the ground, drenched with blood, were sprawled the bodies of three men. One, with the crescent badges of a tryzatt, wore a leather helmet and iron-ringed corselet. The other two, no more than youths, lay in their shirts and breeches, having evidently been caught unawares— asleep, perhaps, in the hut. One of these, on his back close beside the fire, glared up into her face with fixed and terrible eyes. His hands were clutched over a gash in his chest, and blood was still oozing between his fingers.

The Subans had already plunged into the ford. From beyond the firelight she could hear splashes and shouting, and glimpse here and there the glint of broken water. Pillan had let go of her wrist and was striding ahead of her, but as she faltered, recoiling from the bodies, he turned quickly.

"Don't stop there! Them as run won't be gone far."

Suddenly another, faint but appalling voice spoke from close by.

"Oh, mother! Mother!"

Maia stopped dead, looking about her. Close by, just beyond the light of the fire, lay a boy little older than herself. He was stretched on his stomach, his hands beneath him, and as he moaned his head twisted from side to side.

"Mother! Mother!"

The accent was unmistakably Tonildan. Maia dropped to her knees beside him. Putting her hands under his shoulders, she tried to turn him on his back, but at this he gave a cry, wrenched himself from her grasp and fell back on his face. The sand beneath him was sodden and there was a smell like that of a slaughtered beast. Bending down, she put her mouth against his ear.

"I'm from Tonilda. What's your name?"

His lip were moving. Stooping still lower, she could just catch his answer. "Sph—Sphelthon. Sphelthon."

"Sphelthon. Where's your home?"

But now it seemed as though he could no longer open his lips. For a moment only a low, humming sound came through them.

"M'mmm—M'mmm—Meerzaaa—"

She was jerked to her feet. Someone had her by the arm, someone was speaking in a curious, distorted voice.

"Maia, come on, before we're all killed!"

It was Bayub-Otal, dripping wet, his dagger clenched between his teeth.

Out of the firelight: stumbling down the steepness of the bank. Water over her feet, ankles, knees. Now she was struggling in the river for a foothold, clutching at Bayub-Otal as she tried to keep her balance in the current, ankles turning, stones moving under her sandals, firelight receding behind them as they pushed their legs forward into the deeper water. Here's a broken post—clinging to it—stones grinding in the river-bed beneath—giving way—tilting— toppling over—gone; another; now none; only the chattering, swirling pressure round thighs and waist, a cold demon trying to sweep her legs from under her. Somewhere in the darkness Lenkrit was shouting.

"Thel's gone! Don't stop—fatal!"

Another step. Another. Which way—which way were the others? Nothing to be seen, no one, no mark to make towards. Only the swirling water in the dark. Don't stop! One foot sliding forward, groping along the uneven stones. Leaning into the current, her body at an angle, the flowing water nearly up to her shoulders.

Bayub-Otal's voice shouted "Maia!"

"Help!" she answered. "Help me!"

He was beside her. He had her by the hand. Again she was lurching forward, forcing one leg and then the other through the heavy, wavering pressure of the water.

"Another yard!" he shouted.

With a cry she lost her footing; but he had stayed beside her, downstream; the current swept her against him. He steadied her, leaning against her, keeping his balance, straddle-legged, until she could stand again. Another step and the water—surely—was shallower—slacker? Yes, it was slacker. She could walk. She took three slow yet steady steps. Bayub-Otal, stepping past her, took her hand and thrust it into his belt.

"Keep hold!"

He himself was holding Lenkrit's belt, but there were no others.

A minute later they stopped, knee-deep in stiller water, swamp-grass high all round them, trees overhead forming a cave from which they looked back at the turbulent river and the watch-fires burning on the other bank. Men were bending over the dead and a voice was shouting angrily.

Pillan appeared out of the swamp behind them. Lenkrit turned to him.

"Tescon?"

Pillan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Leg's hurt, though."

"Badly?"

"Can't say."

His own forearm was gashed and bleeding. His head hung forward, gaping, grinning for air: a froth of saliva covered his chin. And now before Maia's eyes his bearded face, in the gloom, seemed floating bodiless. Ah! and she was floating too—surrounded—dear Cran! by men tall as trees, their lips moving, speaking without sound, all swirling, spiraling together in a slow vortex.

The next moment she had pitched forward in a faint. Pillan and Lenkrit, grabbing, were just in time to catch her.

Followed by Bayub-Otal and the limping Tescon, they carried her along the muddy track through the swamp, laying her down on the first dry ground they came to. It was almost morning, and in the gray light they could make out, not far off, a group of Suban huts raised on stilts above the mud. Two or three of the villagers had already seen them and were approaching.