Shardik

by Richard Adams

  "But damn it, no one here's even asked me yet what we were going to contribute, so how can it be that? But whatever it is, the Kabin landowners will be convinced that I let them down somehow or other--played my cards wrong, that's it--and now I'm to be replaced by someone who isn't even a local man, someone who'll have no scruples about fleecing them for more. Who's going to believe me when I say I haven't the least idea why the appointment wasn't confirmed? I'll be lucky if no one seeks my life one way or another. It's not that I care about, though. Do you know a better way to make a man really angry than to promise him something and then to take it away?"

  "Offhand, no. But my dear Mollo, what did you expect when you took up with this bunch of bruin boys? I'm surprised the possibility didn't occur to you at the outset."

  "Well, didn't you take up with them?"

  "By no means--rather the reverse, actually. At the time when they burst upon an astonished world I was already Ban of Sarkid and it was they, when they arrived, who took a good, long look at me and decided on balance to leave it at that--though whether they were wise to do so remains to be seen. But to go to them cap in hand, as you did, and actually ask for a nice, lucrative appointment; to offer, in effect, to help with the defeat of Santil and the furtherance of the slave trade--And besides, they're so frightfully boring. Do you know, last night, down in the city, I was inquiring about the drama. 'Oh no,' says the old fellow I asked, 'that's all been stopped for as long as the war lasts. They tell us it's because there's no money to spare, but we're sure it's because the Ortelgans don't understand the drama, and because it used to be part of the worship of Cran.' I really felt most frightfully bored when he told me that."

  "The fact remains, Elleroth, that your position as Ban of Sarkid has been confirmed in the name of Shardik. You can't deny it."

  "I don't deny it, my dear fellow."

  "Is the slave trade any better under Shardik, then, than it was ten years ago, when you and I were fighting alongside Santil?"

  "If that's a serious question, it certainly doesn't deserve a serious answer. But you see, I'm not a humanitarian--just an estate owner trying to live a reasonably peaceful life and make enough to live on. It's awfully difficult to get people to settle down and work properly when they think that they or their children may be required to form part of a slave quota. It seems to bother them, oddly enough. The real trouble with slavery is that it's such a terribly shortsighted policy--it's bad business. But one can hardly go the length of leaving one's ancestral homestead just because a dubious bear has taken up residence round the corner."

  "But why are you actually here, in person, on the bear's business?"

  "Like you, perhaps, to make the best deal I can on behalf of my province."

  "Kabin's in the north; it's got to stay in with Bekla. But Lapan's a southern province--a disputed province. You could declare openly for Erketlis--secede, and take half Lapan with you."

  "Dear me, yes, so I could. Now I wonder why I never thought of that?"

  "Well, you make fun of the business, but I don't find it so damned amusing, I'll tell you. It's not the loss of the governorship I mind. What I can't stand is that they've made me look a fool with everyone I've known since I was a lad. Can't you imagine it? 'Here he comes, look; thought he was going to be governor and tell us all what to do. Come home with his tail between his legs, that's it. Oh, good morning, Mr. Mollo, sir, lovely weather, isn't it?' How can I go back to my estate now? I tell you, I'd do anything to harm these blasted Ortelgans. And whatever I did, they'd deserve it, if they can't run an empire better than that. I'm like you--it's bad business methods I object to."

  "Do you mean what you say, Mollo?"

  "Yes, I damned well do. I'd risk anything to harm them."

  "In that case--er, let us just step outside for a stroll in some nice, lonely place with no propinquitous walls or bushes--what a pleasant morning! You know, every time I see the Baron's Palace it seems to express something fresh, original and delightfully un-Ortelgan--where was I?--ah, yes; in that case, I may perhaps be able to lead you step by step to the highest pitch of quivering excitement--or somewhere like that, anyway."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you see, I am not, alas, the good, simple fellow that you suppose. Beneath this well-washed exterior there beats a heart as black as a cockroach and fully half as brave."

  "Well, you've evidently got something you mean to say. Tell me plainly--I'll be as secret as you like."

  "Perhaps I will. Well then, you must know that at one time, about five years ago, when Santil came through Sarkid on his march from Bekla to Ikat, I was seized with a foolish desire to take some of my fellows and join him."

  "I wonder you didn't. I suppose you jibbed at the idea of losing the estate and everything else?"

  "Oh, I jibbed practically without stopping--I was jibbering, in fact. However, I had managed to get myself more or less to the point of departure when Santil himself came to see me. Yes--at the outset of a desperate campaign, with everything to be organized and Ikat to be turned into a military supply base, that remarkable man found time to come twenty miles to talk to me and then return by night. I dare say he knew I wouldn't have obeyed anyone else."

  "You obeyed him? What did he come to say?"

  "He wanted me to stay where I was and put on a convincing act of benevolent neutrality to Bekla. He thought that if it were skillfully done, it would be more useful to him than leaving Sarkid to be controlled by some nominee of the enemy. He was quite right, of course. I've always hated people thinking I'd decided not to go and fight, but the advantages to Santil have been greater than anything he could expect from my shouting 'Yah!' at an Ortelgan spearman. He gets to hear a great deal about the movements of Master Ged-la-Dan and the other man, Zelda; and they find themselves in all sorts of difficulties whenever they're operating in the neighborhood of Sarkid. You know--couriers disappear, funny accidents happen, commandeered rations seem to disagree with people and so on. Any little larks we can think of. In fact, I honestly believe that if it weren't for Sarkid, Santil's western flank would have been turned long ago and he might never have been able to hold Ikat at all. But it needs very delicate handling indeed. Ged-la-Dan's a tough, ugly customer and I've had to go to great lengths to convince him that I prefer his side to the other. For years I've kept him thinking that on balance, and because of my local influence and knowledge, it would be better to keep me than to replace me. Little does he know that my love of boyish mischief leads me to grease his stairs from time to time."

  "I see; and I suppose I might have guessed."

  "Now this next bit is the sensation of a lifetime. Your pulse will tingle with a thousand thrills--well, say five hundred. About a month ago Santil paid me another nocturnal visit, disguised as a wine merchant, incidentally. And what he told me was that this spring, for the first time, he is strong enough both to cover Ikat and to attack northward in force. In fact, he may at this moment have begun a march that will take him north of Bekla before he's done."

  "Not to Bekla?"

  "That'll depend on the support he gets. Initially, he probably won't try to attack Bekla, but simply march into the north and see whether any of the provinces will rise for him. Of course, he may come upon a good opportunity to defeat an Ortelgan army, and if so, he's not the man to waste it."

  "And where do you come in? For obviously you do."

  "Well, as a matter of fact, I am that despicable creature, a secret agent."

  "Get away!"

  "I trust I may in due course. Does it occur to you that if something really nasty were to happen in Bekla just as Santil begins his attack, these superstitious fellows would be most upset? Anyway, it did to Santil. So I came as a delegate to the Council."

  "But what do you mean to try to do? And when?"

  "Something reckless, I fancy, will be appropriate. I had considered the possibility of causing the king or one of the generals to cease to function, but I don't think it can be done. I missed rath
er a good chance yesterday afternoon, due to being unarmed, and I doubt whether another will present itself. But I have been considering. The destruction of the King's House and the death of the bear itself--that would have a calamitous effect. It might well tip the scale, in fact, when the news reached the army."

  "But it can't be done, Elleroth. We could never succeed in that."

  "With your help I believe we might. What I intend to do is to set fire to the roof of the King's House."

  "But the place is built of stone!"

  "Roofs, my dear Mollo? Roofs are made of wood. You couldn't span a hall that size with stone. There will be beams and rafters supporting tiles. Look for yourself--there is even some thatch at the far end--you can see it from here. A fire should do well if only it can get a little time to itself."

  "It'll be seen at once--and anyway the place will be guarded. How can you possibly climb up to the roof carrying a torch or whatever you're going to need? You wouldn't get near the place before you were stopped."

  "Ah, but this is where you will be so invaluable. Listen. Tonight happens to be the spring fire festival. Have you never seen it? At nightfall they extinguish every flame in the city, until there is total darkness. Then the new fire is kindled and every householder comes to light a torch from it. After that the whole place goes mad. There will be a brazier or at least a torch burning on every accessible roof in the city. They have a procession of boats on the Barb, full of lights and made to look like fiery dragons--the water reflects them, you know. Very pretty. There'll be a torchlight procession--any amount of smoke in people's nostrils, and their eyes dazzled. Tonight, if ever, a fire on the roof of the King's House won't be noticed until it's too late."

  "But they don't leave the bear unguarded."

  "Of course not. But this we can deal with, if you are as angry and revengeful as you say. I've already marked a place where I think I can climb to the roof; and to make sure, I've risked buying a rope and grapnel. After dark you and I light torches and set out for the festival--armed under our cloaks, of course, and rather late. We make for the King's House and there we silently deal with any sentries we may find. Then I'll climb to the roof and start the fire. There'll almost certainly be a priestess left in the hall to attend upon the bear--perhaps more than one. If they're not silenced they'll spot the fire from below. So you'll have to go in and tackle whomever you find in the hall."

  "Why not just go in and kill the bear?"

  "Have you ever seen the bear? It's stupendously large--unbelievable. Nothing but several heavy arrows could do it. We haven't got a bow and we can't risk attracting attention by trying to get one."

  "When the fire gets a grip, won't the bear simply go out into the Rock Pit?"

  "If it's already in by nightfall, they drop the gate between the hall and the pit. It's in at the moment."

  "I don't fancy the idea of using a sword on a woman--even an Ortelgan priestess."

  "Neither do I; but my dear Mollo, this is war. You need not necessarily kill her, but at the least you'll have to do enough to stop her raising the alarm."

  "Well, suppose I do. The roof's burning and about to fall in on the bear and you've climbed down and joined me. What do we do then?"

  "Vanish like ghosts at cockcrow."

  "But where? The only access to the lower city is through the Peacock Gate. We'll never get away."

  "There's quite a fair chance, actually. Santil advised me to look into it and I did, yesterday afternoon. As you know, the city walls run south and completely encircle Crandor; but high up, near the southeast corner, there's a disused postern in the wall. Santil told me it was made by some king long ago, no doubt for some unspeakable purpose of his own. Yesterday afternoon I walked up there, as Santil suggested, and had a look at it. It was all overgrown with brambles and weeds, but bolted only on the inside. I shouldn't think anyone's touched it for years. I oiled the bolts and made sure it can be opened. If anyone's gone there since and seen what I've done, that's too bad, but I doubt they will have. I had a nasty moment coming back, when I met the so-called king and General Zelda walking in that direction, but they turned back soon after I'd passed them. Anyway, that's our best chance and we can't do better than take it. If we can get as far as the upper slopes beyond the Barb without being caught, we may very well get through that gate and reach Santil's army in two or three days. No pursuit will go faster than I shall, I promise you."

  "I call it a thin chance. The whole thing's more than risky. And if we're caught--"

  "Well, if you now feel that you'd prefer not to take part, my dear Mollo, by all means say so. But you said you'd risk anything to harm them. As far as I'm concerned, I haven't kept my skin whole these five years just to come here and risk nothing. Santil wants a resounding crash--I must try to provide one."

  "Suppose, after all, I did kill the woman, couldn't we simply dive into the crowd and pretend complete ignorance? No one would be able to identify us, and the fire might have been an accident--blown sparks on the wind."

  "You can certainly try that if you prefer, but they are bound to find out that the fire was no accident--I shall have to rip up the roof to get it to take properly. Suspicion will certainly fall on me--do you think it won't on you, after the motive you've been given today? Can you trust yourself to resist suspicion and inquiry convincingly for days on end? Besides, if the bear dies, the Ortelgans will be beside themselves. They are quite capable of torturing every delegate in the city to get a confession. No, on balance, I think I prefer my postern."

  "Perhaps you're right. Well, if we succeed and then manage to reach Erketlis--"

  "You will certainly not find him ungrateful, as no doubt you realize. You will do very, very much better for yourself than you would as governor of Kabin."

  "I believe that, certainly. Well, if I don't turn coward or think of any other stumbling block before nightfall, I'm your man. But thank God there isn't long to wait."

  29 The Fire Festival

  AS DUSK FELL ALONG THE TERRACES of the Leopard Hill, with a green, yellow-streaked sky in the west and flutterings of bats against the last light, the new moon, visible all afternoon, began to gleam more brightly, seeming, as it moved toward its early setting, so frail and slender as almost to be insubstantial, no more than a ripple of the surrounding air catching the light like water undulating over a submerged rock. Small and lonely it looked, despite the nearby stars; fragile and fine as a greenfinch in spring, assailable as the innocence of a child wandering alone in a field of summer daisies. All below lay in silence and starlit darkness, the city quieter than midnight, every fire extinguished, every voice silent, not a light that gleamed, not a girl that sang, not a flame that burned, not a beggar that whined for alms. This was the hour of the Quenching. The streets were deserted; the sandy squares, raked smooth at close of day, stood empty, ribbed and void as wind-frozen pools. Once the distant howl of a dog broke off short, as though quickly silenced. So still at last grew the moon-faint night that the sound of a boy's weeping, in a barracoon of the slave market, carried as far as the Peacock Gate, where a single guard stood in the shadows, his arms folded, his spear leaning against the wall at his back. Above this expectant quiet, still as the spring fields outside the city, the wan crescent of light moved slowly on, like one compelled to travel toward a dark destination, of which he knows only that it will end his youth and change his life beyond foreseeing.

  High on the Serpent tower, Sheldra, cloaked against the night air, stood gazing westward, waiting for the lower horn of the declining moon to align itself with the pinnacle of the Bramba tower at the opposite corner. When at last it did so, the mile-wide silence was broken by her long, ululant cry of "Shardik! Lord Shardik's fire!" A moment after, a streaking, dusky tongue of flame leapt up the thirty feet of the pitch-coated pine trunk erected on the palace roof, appearing from the city below as a column of fire in the southern sky. From along the walls dividing the upper from the lower city, the priestess's wailing call was answered and repea
ted, as five similar but lesser flames rose, one after another, from the roofs of the equidistant guard turrets, like serpents from their baskets at the reedy note of the snake charmer. Then, from the lower city, there followed in appointed order the flames of the various gates and towers--the Blue Gate, the Gate of Lilies, the towers of the great clocks, the tower of Sel-Dolad, the tower of the Orphans and the tower of Leaves. Each flame soared into the night with the speed of a gymnast climbing a rope, and the poles burned in long, blazing waves, the fire rippling like water along their sides. So for a little they stood alone, indicating the length and breadth of the city where it lay upon the plain like a great raft moored under the steep of Crandor. And as they burned, their crackling alone breaking the silence that returned upon the ceasing of the cries from the towers, the streets began to fill with growing numbers of people emerging from their doors; some merely standing, like the sentry, in the dark, others groping slowly but purposefully toward the Caravan Market. Soon many were assembled there, all unspeaking, all standing patiently in a moonset, flame-flecked owl-light almost too dim for any to recognize his neighbor.

  Then, far off against the Leopard Hill, appeared the flame of a single torch. Quickly it moved, bobbing, descending, racing down through the terraces toward the Barb, through the gardens and on toward the Peacock Gate, which stood ready open for the runner to enter the Street of the Armorers and so come down to the market and the reverent, waiting crowd. How many were gathered there? Hundreds, thousands. Very many men and some women also, each one the head of a household: justices and civic officers, foreign merchants, tally-keepers, builders and carpenters, the respectable widow side by side with Auntie from the jolly girls' house, hard-handed cobblers, harness-makers and weavers, the keepers of the itinerant laborers' hostels, the landlord of The Green Grove, the guardian of the provincial couriers' hospice and more, many more, stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, their only light the distant glinting of the tall flames which had summoned them from their homes, each carrying an unlit torch, to seek, as the gift of God, the blessing of the renewal of fire. The runner, a young officer of Ged-la-Dan's household, honored with this task in recognition of courageous service in Lapan, carried his torch, lit from the new fire on the Palace roof, to the plinth of the Great Scales and there at last halted, silent and smiling, waiting a few moments to collect himself and to be sure of his effect before holding out the flame to the nearest suppliant, an old man wrapped in a patched, green cloak and leaning on a staff.