82: BRERO'S RETURN

Brero, when he came into the parlor, was obviously close to exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot and his sweat had left long, grimy streaks in the dust clinging to his face. He seemed scarcely able to stand as he saluted them with a dirty, bound-up hand across his chest.

Maia pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Brero. Ogma!" (for the girl, sensing bad news, was peering in at the door) "bring some wine!"

"Water for me, säiyett, if it's all the same to you," said Brero, coughing. "I—I'll pull myself together in a minute. I'm right done up and that's the truth."

When the water was brought he drank almost a pint without stopping, drew breath for a few seconds and then drank again.

"You've hurt your hand," said Maia.

"It's nothing. I'm sorry, säiyett; my feet are that dirty— your floor."

"Oh, never mind about that. You'd better have a bath, Brero, and we'll find you some fresh clothes."

"Thank you, säiyett: but first of all I think you'd best hear what I've got to say—you and this gentleman—"

"This is Lord Randronoth, governor of Lapan."

"I'm sorry, my lord." He tried to rise to his feet: Randronoth motioned to him to sit down,again. "You'd better hear it at once. The High Baron's dead. Queen Fornis—"

"Durakkon—dead?" cried Randronoth. "Are you sure?"

"I saw it with my own eyes, my lord. I'll tell you the way of it."

"Yes, quickly," said Randronoth.

"I'll be as quick as I can, my lord, for tell you the truth, I believe the Serrelinda may be in danger."

"Go on," said Randronoth. He shut the door.

"As you know, my lord, we left here three days ago. I saw the High Baron more than once during the march. He didn't strike any of us as acting like himself; not like a man in his normal senses, so to speak. Seemed like he was in a kind of daze. Well, once, for instance, when we were crossing some roughish ground on the plain, he tripped and fell; and if you'll believe me, säiyett, he never tried to get up on his own account; just lay there until two of the officers helped him back to his feet. There was some of the lads was saying in so many words that he must 'a been bewitched. And yet at night—both nights—when we'd pitched camp, he come round and spoke to everyone as kind and pleasant as you please. Of course, he was always very well-liked, you know, säiyett, was the High Baron—"

"Get on with it!" said Randronoth. "What happened?"

"Yes, of course; my lord; I'm sorry. Excuse me, I'm that dry." He drank copiously once more and then continued.

"It was yesterday morning, still fairly early—maybe three hours after sunrise—when one of our patrols came back to say that the Palteshis were only two or three miles off. We were marching in four columns, side by side, it being very open country, like, out on the plain, as you'll know, my lord, and it just so happened that I was quite close to Lord Kerith-a-Thrain and the High Baron when the patrol came in, so I could hear what they were saying. 'Within an hour, I'd guess, my lord,' the officer said. "They're in no sort of order—strung out all over the place—but I'd say they might be about twice as many as what we are.'

" 'But what about their quality?" asks Lord Kerith-a-Thrain. 'How did they strike you?'

" 'No sort of quality at all, my lord, most of 'em,' says the patrol captain. 'There's a iew look all right, but half of them's no more soldiers than what they're musicians.'

"So with that Lord Kerith-a-Thrain gives the order to halt and form line, with our two wings sloping back. That's what's generally done for a defensive fight, you see, säiyett, if there's a risk of outflanking—"

"Will you get on and come to the point?" said Randronoth.

"I'm sorry, my lord. So after a little we saw their dust and then they came in sight. Well, you've told me to be quick, so I won't say more than that the patrol captain was right. There certainly were a lot of them, but just louts for the most part: just an armed mob. They was all yelling and shouting and no sort of order to them. They stopped about a quarter of a mile away from us, just as they were, in their different crowds and companies, all over the place. I could see Queen Fornis; there was no mistaking her. She was right in the center, with a crowd of Palteshi officers, and she was armed just the same as they were.

"And then, before Lord Kerith-a-Thrain had had time to speak to him, the High Baron—I heard him very plain— he said 'Keep the men here, Kerith, I'm going out to talk to her about my son. I shan't need to take anyone with me.'

"Well, then, Lord Kerith, he tried to argue, my lord, but I won't waste your time with that. In the end the High Baron walked out between the two armies all by himself, and we saw him go up to the queen, and the two of them was talking and then they disappeared together—back through the enemy's line, I mean.

"Well, we was stood there a goodish time and then at last the High Baron came out and walked back to us: and he said to Lord Kerith-a-Thrain, 'She's promised to release my son. She's asked that we divide into two parts, as a sign of good faith—one here and one over there.' So Lord Kerith-a-Thrain said, 'I don't like that, my lord,' but the High Baron said, 'I want my son out of her hands: she's sworn by Frella-Tiltheh to do us no harm. Do as I say.'

"Well, so then he went back, my lord, and Lord Kerith-a-Thrain broke us into two lines, facing inwards, I suppose about three or four hundred yards apart. And we stood watching while the queen and her Palteshi officers led their army forward between us. The High Baron was walking beside her, and a young man as must have been his son, I suppose.

"And then, my lord, when they'd got fairly in between our two lines, the queen suddenly called out, and the men who were with her—four or five of them—they turned and set upon the High Baron and the young man and cut them down, and the queen stood and watched them do it.

"When Lord Kerith-a-Thrain saw that, he called out to attack them and so we did. But there weren't enough of us, you see. I'm certain we could have held off any sort of attack they might have made on us, but we simply hadn't got the numbers to make an attack ourselves—specially split in two like we were. There wasn't the coordination, like, you see, and most of the lads were that shaken by what they'd seen—well, there was something uncanny about it, my lord; hundreds standing watching and the High Baron going along that quiet and trusting—almost like he was a kind of sacrifice, as you might say. I can see it now, and the queen standing over his body on the ground. We was going in all anyhow and-and—well, it didn't work out, my lord, that's all.

"I never seen the end of it, because Lord Kerith-a-Thrain told one of our tryzatts to send two men back to Bekla at once with the news. So me and a mate of mine, Crevin, was told to get back here as quick as we could. I won't say I was sorry to be picked, either. Tell you the truth, I was glad to get out of it. We've never stopped, Crevin and me, for well over twenty-four hours. I'm all in and that's a fact."

"Where's Crevin now?" asked Randronoth sharply.

"Gone to the Barons' Palace, my lord, to report to Lord Eud-Ecachlon."

Randronoth turned to Maia. "This may turn out all to the good: Fornis is bound to have had losses. You've done well," he said to Brero. "Here's twenty meld. You'd better go and get yourself something to eat and drink."

"Why can't he bathe and eat here?" asked Maia.

Randronoth shook his head. "No, not here."

She felt angry. "Why not?"

"That's all right, säiyett," said Brero, before she could remonstrate further. "I'll just be getting back to quarters now. I expect we'll meet again when things are quieter. I hope so, I'm sure."

He saluted, turned on his heel and left the house.

And now what? wondered Maia. But she could not think clearly, could not dispel the dreadful picture in her mind's eye—the brown, dusty plain in the fierce heat, the divided, inward-facing ranks of the Beklans watching uneasily; and between them the gray, stooping figure of Durakkon, with his son, pacing beside the Sacred Queen—yes, in all truth as though ensorcelled, she thought. Who else but Form's could have exercised this power to make a man hand himself over to his own destruction; and then devised so stylish a public ceremony of treachery and murder? What pleasure and satisfaction it must have given her! Far more than the relatively paltry affair of Tharrin.

And what now? What now? Assuming that Fornis's Palteshis had succeeded in beating off the Beklan attack and getting between Bekla and Kerith-a-Thrain, they would probably reach the city some time tomorrow; certainly no later than the day after. Yet before then Randronoth's men would have arrived.

What would Eud-Ecachlon do? He would presumably be forced to make common cause with Randronoth: he would have no choice. And he would probably have been safe enough in doing so, too, thought Maia, had his enemy been anyone but Form's. For Maia, who had thought she knew the Sacred Queen, was now beginning—as had others in the past—to descry in her undreamt-of, far horizons of cunning and cruelty, and attribute to her insuperable powers. If Fornis intended to take Bekla, no doubt she possessed the demonic means to do so.

Randronoth was speaking. "What did you say?" she asked him dully.

"I said, 'I'm going up to the roof to watch for Seekron. Will you please come with me?' "

"I want to lie down," she said. "I feel bad."

"Tell your slave to bring a mattress up, then."

There was an awning over one corner of the roof, and here she lay in the hot, windless shade, hands pressed over her throbbing eyes. The Sacred Queen was coming: Zenka was in her power. And not only Zenka, but Anda-No-komis, towards whom her feelings were now utterly changed. She was a Suban by blood; he was not only her cousin but her rightful lord, to whom accordingly she owed a sacred duty of service and loyalty. Yet how could she hope to help either of them now?

Her very thoughts had become hysterical. She was obsessed by the figure of the approaching queen, the queen never at a loss for some vile, unforeseeable stratagem.

To her the queen no longer seemed a human opponent, but a kind of inanimate doom: a black pit; or rather, perhaps, a flexible, sticky web, in which the more one struggled the more one became enmeshed, until at length the victim hung inert—whether dead or dying was of no consequence, though the latter would afford the queen more enjoyment. So terrible now to Maia was this access of helplessness and despair that had it not been for Randronoth's enforced restraint she might, despite her love for Zen-Kurel, have fled from the city—yes, alone and on foot—anywhere, so long as it was away from Fornis. She did not believe that the combined forces of Randronoth and Eud-Ecachlon—she did not believe that any power on earth—could prevent Fornis from entering Bekla and putting her to death.

Once more—after how long she could not tell, though opening her eyes she saw that the sun was westering;—she was roused from her desolation by the sound of knocking below. She would have got up and looked over the parapet, but Randronoth, gripping her arm, held her where she was, himself kneeling beside her and waiting. After less than a minute they heard Ogma calling from below.

"Can't I go down?" she said.

"No: tell her to come up here."

Before Ogma had uttered a word it was plain that her news was bad. She stared from one of them to the other as though afraid to speak. Maia, catching her fear, started forward.

"What's happened? Who is it, Ogma?"

"It's—it's Lokris, Miss Maia," stammered Ogma, but said no more, as though to remain silent might somehow prevent the news from being true.

"Lokris? From Milvushina?"

"Oh, Miss Maia, she's been taken bad! She's in labor before her time! Lokris says the midwives are there and the doctor too, and they're afraid for her. She's in a bad way, Lokris says: and she's asked for you to go to her as quick as you can."

"Milvushina!" cried Maia. "Oh, why didn't I think of it before? I might 'a guessed!"

"Seems as 'twas all the upset and worry, Miss Maia; Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion coming back the way he did—"

"Yes, of course—"

"Lokris says ever since he got back, miss, he's shut himself up alone in the Barons' Palace. He wouldn't go to the Lord General's house. So in the end Miss Milvushina took Lokris with her and went to the Palace herself, but he wouldn't see even her; and that's where she was took bad. That's where she is now."

"Oh, my lord—Randro—" Maia collected herself. "Ogma, go down and tell Lokris to go back and say I'm coming at once."

As soon as the girl had gone she turned back to Randronoth. "Randro, I promise you—I swear by Frella-Til-theh I'll say nothing to Eud-Ecachlon or to anyone else. I swear I'll come straight back here—oh, within the hour if you say so—only please let me go to Milvushina!"

He shook his head. "This is war, Maia: Seekron will be here before sunset. Eud-Ecachlon—Elvair-ka-Virrion— they're the enemy. I can't let you go anywhere where you might talk to them."

"But if I don't go it'll look more suspicious! Surely you can see that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "By tonight the city will be in my hands. Until then you must stay here. Anyway, what good could you do?"

"She's my friend and she's in bad trouble! Oh, Randro, you said you loved me!"

"This is no time to argue, Maia."

Suddenly in the midst of her frenzied fear for Milvushina, an idea came into her mind; one so simple that she could only wonder that it should not have occurred to her before. This was Randronoth that she was dealing with— Randronoth who had paid nine thousand meld.

She sat down and dried her eyes. After a little—he was still looking out southward—she said, "Well, I can see your point of view, Randro. It is war, and I know you've got to think of your men first. I'm sorry you reckon you can't trust me, but there it is: I must just try and accept it, mustn't I? Shall we go down, now, and have a drink in the garden? I could do with it, I know that. One of your soldiers could watch for half an hour, couldn't he?"

After a moment's thought he replied, "Very well," and put out his hand to help her down the stairs.

While he was instructing the soldier she called Ogma into the parlor.

"Ogma, don't argue with me or act anything out of the ordinary, d'you see? Just bring some wine and nuts and that out into the garden, and do it quickly!"

As soon as he had joined her she led him into the garden, poured the wine, handed him his goblet and drank deeply herself.

"Ah! That's better! I'm feeling a lot better now," she said. "Give me your arm, Randro; let's have a little stroll. There's something I want to show you, down by the shore. Did I ever tell you about the golden lilies I picked for King Karnat in Suba? No? Well, 'twas like this, see—"

Talking on, she drew his arm through hers, leading him gently and leisurely on among the shrubs and flowerbeds, fragrant in the cooling air of evening. The western sky was reddening and there was no least breath of wind.

"Do you know something, Randro?" she said. "I've longed for you so often since that night of the barrarz. You were wonderful! We had so much pleasure, didn't we? Do you remember in the morning, when you thought you were finished and then you found you weren't?"

"Yes, I do," he replied. "I wouldn't be likely to forget that, would I?"

"We can't make love now, though," she said, and drew his hand from her waist up to her bosom. "What a pity! For there'll be no chance later tonight, will there? Not once Seekron gets here. You'll have far too much to do."

"I thought you didn't want to make love," he answered.

"Why, when did I say that? You never asked me, did you?"

They had reached the marble bench near the Barb.

"You've seemed so angry and upset all day. Naturally, I thought—"

"Sometimes being upset brings a girl on all the harder; didn't you know that?" She kissed his ear, nibbling the lobe. "It's all the strain and excitement and that."

"Maia, are you serious? Do you really want to make love?"

For answer she flung her arms round his neck, kissing him passionately and pressing herself against him.

He responded, panting, and caressing her with trembling hands.

"Let's go back to the house, then. Come on!"

"Oh, no, Randro! I couldn't! I mean, I couldn't let myself go; not with the soldiers there and everyone knowing. No, I'm afraid we'll just have to leave it for now."

She pressed herself to him still more ardently, putting one hand on his thigh. "It's a shame, isn't it?"

"No one can see us here."

"Oh!" She stood back, wide-eyed, holding her hand over her open mouth. "Oh, Randro, no! How can you—"

He smiled delightedly. "You're Lespa; I'm Shakkarn. Why not?"

"Oh, no!" But his fingers had already begun to unfasten her robe at the neck, drawing it down and drawing down her shift to bare her deldas, which he stooped to kiss.

"Well—well—I don't know. Oh, Randro, it's so nice!" She kicked off her sandals, let her clothes fall and stood naked before him. "You, too! You, too! Only just turn round a moment, darling: I want to make water and I can't do it with you watching."

"Can't you?" He gave her a playful smack on the buttocks. "All right." Turning his back, he began pulling his leather jerkin over his head.

Now! she thought. Now! And she ran, ran, bounding through the grass to the water, her deldas leaping, her hair flying behind her. Splash! Splash! Hopping ankle-deep, wading knee-deep, deeper, two or three agonizingly slow, pushing, thigh-deep steps. Then she had plunged forward and struck out into the Barb.

Behind her she could hear Randronoth calling "Maia, come back!" And then, "Maia, this will cost you your life! I warn you, come back!"

On she swam, never once looking round. The water was smooth—far smoother than Serrelind as she had known it many a time. Yet in her haste and desperation, she realized, she was swimming too fast: at this rate she would be exhausted before ever she could reach the western end of the Barb. Besides, there was a slight but steady current against her, for she was in the line of flow between the infall and outfall of the Monju brook. She must settle down, for she had more than half a mile to go. Would Randronoth try to follow her round by the bank? No, almost certainly not, for he would realize that if she saw him waiting for her on the bank she would simply stay in the water, while he would be bound to draw attention to himself and disclose his presence in the upper city.