Maia

The river, as it emerged from the forest, was broader, though flowing no less swiftly, for here, as far as they could make out in the falling dusk, it had not yet burst the distant, stony dykes on either side. They were in less danger now, for the trees had gone, there seemed to be no obstacles ahead and for the moment at all events little or no heavy debris in the main channel. The boat, however, had filled with so much rain and grown so heavy that it was actually hanging in the current-moving, certainly, but Maia, looking overside, could see sticks and leaves passing them at twice their speed. They had very little freeboard, too.

"Darling, yes will have to do for now."

"It'll do very well," he answered. "You'd better bail again, I suppose."

"Anda-Nokomis," she called. "Come and help me!"

"Do you think it's safe to leave the bow?"

"Yes: we're moving so slow. Only we got to bail this water out, else we'll never get there 'fore dark."

They both set about bailing, while Zen-Kurel remained at the steering-oar. Maia, in spite of the great flood of joy filling her heart, knew now that she was undoubtedly ill- ill enough to need to go to bed as soon as she could. Her head ached, her throat and ears were horribly painful and she was feeling even more light-headed than when they had entered the forest.

"D'you mind if I have a go at the djebbah, Anda-Nokomis?" she asked, shivering. " 'Fraid I'm took bad: it's the wet and bein' s' tired out. I'll be better once we c'n get warm and dry."

He nodded and passed her the flask, and she took a good, long pull. She could feel the fumes rising consolingly to dull her pain. Leaning forward, she kissed Anda-Nokomis on both cheeks. "You've been the best of friends to me, Anda-Nokomis, that you have! When you're back in Melvda-Rain-when you really are Ban of Suba-can we come and be your guests, Zenka and me?"

"Yes," he answered, "you shall. And no one shall speak a word against you."

Yet as he spoke he looked so downcast and low that she felt ashamed, and very sorry that in her happiness she had spoken with so little consideration for his feelings.

"Dear, dear Anda-Nokomis, I'm so sorry about-you know; honest I am! Oh, sometimes, I just about wish I could split myself in two!"

"It would have to be a thousand and two, I think, Ser-relinda," he answered with a smile. It was the only joke she ever heard him make.

"Anda-Nokomis," she said (bail and fling, bail and fling, oh Cran! don't I feel bad?), "do you know there was one time when I cursed you, and swore that if ever I could harm you I would? Doesn't seem possible now, does it? Live and learn, that's about it. Fools don't know who their friends are, I reckon."

"When was that?"

"After you'd made me dance the senguela at Sarget's party in the Barons' Palace; that was when.'

"But-er-surely you made rather a success of it, didn't you, as far as I recall?"

(As far as I recall. Oh dear, oh dear!) "I know. It was on account of-of something else." The djebbah was really taking effect now: her head was fairly spinning.

"Well, but you did harm him, didn't you?" said Zenka, "and me too, come to that. But it's all dead and done with now."

"My love, I never went to harm you, nor Anda-Nokomis neither."

"What?"

"No, I never! Oh, darling Zenka, I wanted to save you both! Oh, and so many more! Anda-Nokomis, do you remember Gheta at the farm?"

"Gehta at the farm? What farm? Don't you mean Clys-tis?"

"No, no!" He looked blank. "Then surely you remember Sphelthon at the ford? Poor boy, he's at peace now, anyway."

"She's light-headed," said Zenka sympathetically. "It's not surprising. We must take care of her once we-"

"I'm not light-headed!" she cried. "It's men that's lightheaded! All of you, everywhere! If you'd only seen that poor boy at the ford."

She began to cry. "I never meant you to go to that horrible fortress, or be tormented by that wicked woman. I neverl I never meant to betray you! I didn't do it for the Leopards! I didn't do it to be the Serrelinda! I just wanted to stop you all killing each other! I'd seen what fighting did to people! I wanted Sendekar to get to the river in time to stop your king getting across, only it just didn't work out like that."

Anda-Nokomis put his arm round her.

"You'd better tell us everything, Maia-about Gheta and Sphelthon and all the rest. A great deal seems to have happened on our journey to Suba that I failed to see."

By fits and feverish, tipsy starts, she told them everything-how Gehta had told her of her terror of an invasion of western Urtah; how she had knelt by Sphelthon at the ford; how she had been left alone in Melvda-Rain when the armies were assembling, to reflect on Karnat's plan and what it would mean for her own people.

"But I never let on to any of the Leopards, Zenka," she ended. "I never told Sendekar or Kembri or any of them as it was you that told me. I loved you then and I

love you now and that was why I went to the jail that night in Bekla and made them let out the both of you."