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 rums 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't speak 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 shejwould 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 toTier 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.