Maia

"Oh, don't be so damn' silly, Anda-Nokomis," she answered angrily. "Of course it's not safe! Honest, I sometimes wonder whether-"

"I really meant, is it possible?"

"Y-es, I think it just about might be," she said, "but only if we get on now, 'fore the river gets much worse. I can steer the boat ail right, and as long as we keep in midstream and nothing hits us, I reckon we ought to stay afloat. How we come to shore'll be another matter, though, Anda-Nokomis. Have to think about that when we get there."

"What do you want to do, Maia?" asked Zen-Kurel.

"If you still want to go back to.Katria, I'll do what I can to get you there," she said.

"I believe you can and will," replied Zen-Kurel. "The gods are with you. They've been with you al! the way from Bekia."

Before she could reply there came the sound of a voice hailing them from some way off.

"You, there! You in the boat!"

They looked up. Four men were approaching from the direction of the distant village. One, walking by himself slightly ahead, seemed to have a certain air of authority. The others, wearing cloaks and leather helmets and carrying javelins, were evidently soldiers.

The strangers reached the bank of the river about eight yards away from the islet to which the boat was secured. The leader, looking from Bayub-Otal to Zen-Kurel with an unfriendly expression, said sharply, "What are you doing here?"

Bayub-Otal stared haughtily back at the man. He was of average height, sharp-faced and rather slightly built, with the look of a steward or some similar minor official. His manner suggested a kind of energetic, unthinking obstinacy, rather like a good dog which nothing is going to stop doing what it has been told.

"I said, 'What are you doing here?' " repeated this personage impatiently.

"I heard you," replied Bayub-Otal.

"If it comes to that," asked Zen-Kurel, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm the supervisor of this bridge," replied the man, "come to check the river level since last night. That's what I'm doing here. Now will you answer me? Who are you?"

"What's that to you?"

"Well, you've badly damaged three of those stakes, for a start. But what I want to know is why you're trying to take that boat down the river in these conditions. You must be up to no good or you wouldn't be doing it. Either you're fugitive criminals or you've got stolen goods on board-both, very likely. You'll just bring the boat over here to be searched, and give me an account of yourselves."

"Do you know who I am?" asked Bayub-Otal in freezing tones. "I am the Ban of Suba."

"I don't care who you say you are," replied the man. He gestured towards the soldiers standing behind him. "Are you going to do as I tell you or not?"

As he snapped his fingers all three of the men raised their javelins.

Bayub-Otal made no least move. "I've no doubt you're only trying to do what you believe to be your duty, my good man, but I must tell you-"

"And I must tell you to damn' well baste off, you interfering bastard!" cried Zen-Kurel. "Go on, that's the way; over there!"

Maia had never heard him swear before. Evidently the man's manner, following upon the danger and strain of the long, sleepless night, had proved too much for him.

At this one of the soldiers, without waiting for orders, flung his javelin at Zen-Kurel. He swayed aside just in time. It grazed the right side of his neck, drawing an immediate spurt of blood, and stuck in one of the stakes lining the bank behind him. On the instant he turned, pulled it out and hurled it back. It hit the man full in the chest, piercing through his sodden cloak. He fell to the ground, clutching at the protruding shaft and screaming horribly. Zen-Kurel grabbed up his sword-belt from the deck, drew his sword and brandished it above his head.

There was no reason why the other two men should not have flung their javelins and killed him on the spot, but they did not. Probably neither they nor their master had ever before seen someone badly wounded in anger: it is a notoriously demoralizing experience, particularly if the victim is noisy in his agony. As the wretched man continued to writhe and scream in the mud-which was turning bloody round him-they took to their heels, followed a moment after by the supervisor.

"We'd better go across, I suppose," said Zen-Kurel coolly, "and see whether there's anything to be done." The wound in his neck was bleeding freely, though the rain was washing the blood away as fast as it flowed.

He pulled out the forward anchor from behind the stakes of the islet and then, before the current could take the boat, threw it across to catch in the bank as a grapnel. It held, and as Maia released the stern anchor also the two men hauled the boat across the narrow gap.

The soldier, however, was dead: the javelin had pierced his heart. Zen-Kurel drew it out and dropped it in the mud beside him. '

"I'm sorry," he said to Bayub-Otal, "but you must admit he asked for it."