Tatzel recognized as much. She cast a despairing glance around the landscape, but no help offered itself; Aillas, observing her face as she looked back at him, could not help but feel a qualm of pity.

He hardened his heart. "Tatzel, dear little Tatzel with your haughty head so high! You have known much of despair and fear and sorrow in others; why should you not feel some of your own?"

Tatzel came to a decision. If she rode onward Aillas would have her at once. On her left hand opened a valley with steep stony walls. Tatzel paused an instant, took a deep breath, then, jumping from her horse, pulled it over the edge of the slope. Sliding, squatting on its haunches, eyes glaring white, nickering in terror, the mare floundered down the slope. Her footing gave way; she fell and began to roll with a grotesque thrashing of legs and torso and contorted neck. The slope increased in pitch; far down the horse struck full into a boulder and lay still.

Tatzel, sliding and clawing, holding for dear life to shrubs and bushes, encountered a patch of loose scree. It slid treacherously from under her feet, to create a landslide which carried her to the bottom, and there she lay dazed. After a minute she tried to move but her left leg could not support her and she sank back in pain, staring at the broken limb.

Aillas watched the disastrous descent, then, with haste no longer of overriding concern, chose a more careful route to the bottom.

He found Tatzel slumped against a rock, face white with pain. He looked to her horse, which had broken its back and lay wheezing and blowing bloody foam. Aillas stabbed it quickly with his sword and the horse became still.

Aillas returned to Tatzel and dropped to his knee beside her. "Are you hurt?"

"My leg is broken."

Aillas carried her to a bed of river sand, and as gently as possible tried to straighten the leg. It seemed cleanly broken, without splintering of the bone, so he thought, and needed principally the support of splints.

Aillas rose to his feet and surveyed the valley. In olden times the river meadows had supported a series of farmsteads, which had disappeared leaving only the crumble of stone fences and a few decaying ruins. He saw no living creature and neither saw nor smelled smoke. Still, beside the river ran the vestige of a trail; the valley could not be altogether unknown to traffic, which might prove to his disadvantage.

Aillas went to the river's edge and cut two dozen willow withes. Returning to Tatzel he peeled off bark and gave it to her. "Chew it; it will help relieve the pain."

From the dead horse he brought Tatzel's cloak, the saddle blanket, and her small wallet of black leather clasped with gold, together with straps and buckles from the bridle and saddle.

Aillas gave her more willow bark to chew, then with his knife slit the leg of her trousers up past her slender knee. He folded aside the cloth to bare the leg.

"I am no bone-setter," said Aillas. "I can only do for you what I have seen done for others. I will try not to cause you pain."

Tatzel had nothing to say, since, in the first place, she found the circumstances confusing. Aillas' demeanor seemed neither ferocious nor even ominous; if he were intent upon a sexual attack would he pause to tie her leg in a splint, which could but interfere with his activity?

Aillas cut a strip from her cloak, and wrapped it around her leg that it might serve as a cushion, then arranged the withes, cut to proper length. Finally, he pulled the leg straight. Tatzel gasped, but made no other outcry, and Aillas strapped the splints into place. Tatzel sighed and closed her eyes. Aillas made a cushion of his cloak and put it under her head. He brushed the damp curls from her forehead and studied the clear, wan features with mixed feelings, recalling other times at Castle Sank. Then he had longed to touch her, to make her aware of his presence. Now that he might fondle her as he chose, his inclination was restrained by a whole new set of strictures.

Tatzel opened her eyes, and studied his face. "I have seen you before. ... I cannot remember where."

Aillas thought: Already she had forgotten her fear; perhaps he was too transparent. Indeed, she seemed to be demonstrating that ineffable Ska certainty of place, which, had it been less innocent, might be considered arrogant. In such case, the game became more interesting.

Tatzel said: "Your voice is not Ulfish. Who are you, then?"

"I am a gentleman of Troicinet."

Tatzel grimaced, either from pain or from unpleasant recollection. "One time at Sank we had a servant from Troicinet. He escaped."

"I escaped from Sank."

Tatzel looked at him with dispassionate curiosity. "At the time everyone spoke harshly of you, because you poisoned us. Your name is ‘Halis' or ‘Ailish': something of the sort."

"Ordinarily I call myself ‘Aillas.' "

Tatzel seemed to make no connection between Aillas the house-servant and Aillas, King of Dascinet, Troicinet and South Ulfland, even had she known the latter's name.

Tatzel spoke without accent. "You are foolish to haunt these parts. When you are captured, you may well be gelded."

"I hope, in that case, I shall not be captured."

"Were you in company with the bandits who attacked us?"

"They were not bandits; they were soldiers in the service of the King of South Ulfland."

"It is all the same." Tatzel closed her eyes and lay quiet. After a moment of thought, Aillas rose to his feet and considered the surroundings. Shelter for the night was important, but even more so, security and concealment. The trail along the river-bank gave evidence of at least some small traffic, and would seem to connect the High Windy Way with settlements and Ska depots along the lower moors.

Some small distance up the valley Aillas noticed a dilapidated hut which might even now afford refuge to herders and wanderers of the hills. The sun was falling behind the mountains; soon the valley would be in shadow. He looked down. "Tatzel."

She opened her eyes.

"There is a hut yonder, where we can shelter for the night. I will help you to stand. Put your arms around my neck... . Up you come."

Aillas found that his heart was beating much faster than was normal. The warm pressure of Tatzel's body against his own, her arms clasping him, her clean fragrance commingled of pine-needles and lemon verbena and crushed geranium: they were intensely stimulating. Aillas did not want to release her. "Put your arm around me and I will support you... . Take a step."

Chapter 11

FOR AN INSTANT, after Aillas had raised Tatzel to her feet, they stood immobile, her arms around his neck, face only inches from his own, and across Aillas' mind flashed recollections of dreary days at Castle Sank. He heaved a deep sigh and turned away.

Step by step, the two moved along the trail, Tatzel hopping and Aillas supporting her weight. At last they reached the hut which was all that survived of an old farmstead. The site was pleasant, on a rise beside a small stream coursing down from a wooded ravine at the back. Rude stone walls supported cedar poles for rafters and tiles of mica schist for the roof. A door of old gray wood sagged in the doorway; within, on one side was a table and a bench; on the other a hearth and a makeshift chimney to carry away the smoke.

Aillas lowered Tatzel to the bench and eased her leg. He looked into her face; "Do you feel pain?"

Tatzel replied only with a single short nod and a quick glance of wonder for so foolish a question.

"Rest as well as you can; I will be back in a moment."

Aillas gathered fresh willow shoots with thick bark from the riverbank. He noticed crayfish in the shallow pools and a noble trout lazing in the shadows. He took the willow back to Tatzel and peeled away the bark. "Chew this. I will bring you water."