Текст книги "At the Edge of Space (Brothers of Worlds; Hunter of Worlds)"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

“Are you all right?” Kurt asked him.

“Well enough, considering,” said Kta. “It comes to me that I said things I would not have said.”

“It was the telise.I do not take them for intended.”

“I honor you,” said Kta, “as my brother.”

“You know,” said Kurt, “that I honor you in the same way.”

He thought that Kta had spoken as he did because there were hurrying footsteps in the hall. He made haste to answer, for fear that it would pass unsaid. He wanted above all that Kta understand it.

The steps reached their door. A key turned in the lock.

20

This time it was not Lhe who had charge of them, but another man with strangers around him, that had charge of them and they were taken not to the rhmei,but out of the fortress.

When they came into the courtyard and turned not toward the temple again, but toward the outer gate of the Indume complex, Kta cast Kurt a frightened glance that carried an unwilling understanding.

“We are bound for the harbor,” he said.

“Those are our orders,” said the captain of the detachment, “since the Methi is there and the fleet is sailing. Move on, t’E-las, or will you be taken through the streets in chains?”

Kta’s head came up. For the least moment the look of Nym t’Elas flared in his dark eyes. “What is your name?”

The guard looked suddenly regretful of his words. “Speak me no curse, t’Elas. I repeated the Methi’s words. She did not think chains necessary.”

“No,” said Kta, “they are not necessary.”

He bowed his head again and matched pace with the guards, Kurt beside him. The nemet was a pitiable figure in the hard, uncompromising light of day, his clothing filthy, his face unshaved—which in the nemet needed a long time to show.

Through the streets, with people stopping to stare at them, Kta looked neither to right nor to left. Knowing his pride, Kurt sensed the misery he felt, his shame in the eyes of these people; and he could not but think that Kta t’Elas would have attracted less comment in his misfortune had he not been laden with the added disgrace of a human companion. Some of the murmured comments came to Kurt’s ears, and he was almost becoming inured to them: how ugly, how covered with hair, how almost-nemet, and caught with an Indras-descended, more the wonder —pity the house of Elas-in-Indresul to see one of its foreign sons in such a state and in such company!

The gangplank of the first trireme at the dock was run out, rowers and crew scurrying around making checks of equipment. Spread near its stern was a blue canopy upheld with gold-tipped poles, beneath which sat Ylith, working over some charts with Lhe t’Nethim and paying no attention to their approach.

When at last she did see fit to notice them kneeling before her, she dismissed Lhe back a pace with a gesture and turned herself to face them. Still she wore the crown of her office, and she was modestly attired in chatemand pelanof pale green silk, slim and delicate in this place of war. Her eyes rested on Kta without emotion, and Kta bowed down to his face at her feet, Kurt unwillingly imitating his action.

Ylith snapped her fingers. “It is permitted you both to sit,” she said, and they straightened together. Ylith looked at them thoughtfully, most particularly at Kta.

“ Ei,t’Elas,” she said softly, “have you made your decision? Do you come to ask for clemency?”

“Methi,” said Kta, “no.”

“Kta,” Kurt exclaimed, for he had hoped. “Don’t—”

“If,” said Ylith, “you seek in your barbaric tongue to advise the son of Elas against this choice, he would do well to listen to you.”

“Methi,” said Kta, “I have considered, and I cannot agree to what you ask.”

Ylith looked down at him with anger gathering in her eyes. “Do you hope to make a gesture, and then I shall relent afterward and pardon you? Or do they teach such lack of religion across the Dividing Sea that the consequence is of little weight with you? Have you so far inclined toward the Sufak heresies that you are more at home with those dark spirits we do not name?”

“No, Methi,” said Kta, his voice trembling. “Yet we of Elas were a reverent house, and we do not receive justice from you.”

“You say then that I am in error, t’Elas?”

Kta bowed his head, caught hopelessly between yea and nay, between committing blasphemy and admitting to it.

“T’Elas,” said Ylith, “is it so overwhelmingly difficult to accept our wishes?”

“I have given the Methi my answer.”

“And choose to die accursed.” The Methi turned her face toward the open sea, opened her long-fingered hand in that direction. “A cold resting place at best, t’Elas, and cold the arms of Kalyt’s daughters. A felon’s grave, the sea,—a grave for those no house will claim, for those who have lived their lives so shamefully that there remains no one, not even their own house, to mourn them, to give them rest. Such a fate is for those so impious that they would defy a father or the Upei or dishonor their own kinswomen. But I, t’Elas, I am more than the Upei. If I curse,—I curse your soul not from hearth or from city only, but from all mankind, from among all who are born of this latter race of men. The lower halls of death will have you: Yeknis, those dark places where the shadows live, those unnameable firstborn of Chaos. Do they still teach such things in Nephane, t’Elas?”

“Yes, Methi.”

“Chaos is the just fate of a man who will not bow to the will of heaven. Do you say I am not just?”

“Methi,” said Kta, “I believe that you are the Chosen of Heaven, and I reverence you and the home of my Ancestors-in-Indresul. Perhaps you are appointed by heaven for the destruction of my people, but if heaven will destroy my soul for refusing to help you, then heaven’s decrees are unbelievably harsh. I honor you, Methi. I believe that you, like Fate itself, must somehow be just. So I will do as I think right, and I will not aid you.”

Ylith regarded him furiously, then with a snap of her fingers and a gesture brought the guards to take them.

“Unfortunate man,” she said. “Blind to necessity and gifted with the stubborn pride of Elas. I have been well-served by that quality in Elas until now, and it goes hard to find fault with that which I have best loved in your house. I truly pity you, Kta t’E-las. Go and consider again whether you have well chosen. There is a moment the gods lend us, to yield before going under. I still offer you life. Thatis heaven’s justice.—Tryn, secure them both belowdecks. The son of Elas and his human friend are sailing with us, against Nephane.”

The hatch banged open against the deck above and someone in silhouette came down the creaking steps into the hold.

“T’Elas. T’Morgan.” It was Lhe t’Nethim, and in a moment the Indras officer had come near enough to them that his features were faintly discernible. “Have you all that you need?” he asked, and sank down on his heels a little beyond the reach of their chains.

Kta turned his face aside. Kurt, feeling somewhat a debt to this man’s restraint, made a grudging bow of his head. “We are well enough,” Kurt said, which they were, considering.

Lhe pressed his lips together. “I did not come to enjoy this sight. For that both of you—have done kindness to my house, I would give you what I can.”

“You have generally done me kindness,” said Kurt, yet careful of Kta’s sensibilities. “That is enough.”

“Elas and Nethim are enemies; that does not change. But human though you are—if Mim could choose you, of her own will—you are an exceptional human. And t’Elas,” he said in a hard voice, “because you sheltered her, I thank you. We know the tale of her slavery among Tamurlin,—this through Elas-in-Indresul, through the Nethim. It is a bitter tale.”

“She was dear to us,” said Kta, looking toward him.

Lhe’s face was grim. “Did you have her?”

“I did not,” said Kta. “She was adopted of the chanof Elas. No man of my people treated her as other than an honorable woman, and I gave her at her own will to my friend, who tried with all his heart to treat her well. For Mim’s sake, Elas is dead in Nephane. To this extent we defended her. We did not know that she was of Nethim. Because she was Mim, and of our hearth, Elas would have defended her even had she told us.”

“She was loved,” said Kurt, because he saw the pain in Lhe’s eyes, “and had no enemies in Nephane. It was mine who killed her.”

“Tell me the manner of it,” said Lhe.

Kurt glanced down, unwilling: but Lhe was nemet—some things would not make sense to him without all the truth. “Enemies of mine stole her,” he said, “and they took her; the Methi of Nephane humiliated her. She died at her own hand, Lhe t’Nethim. I blame myself also. If I had been nemet enough to know what she was likely to do,—I would not have let her be alone then.”

Lhe’s face was like graven stone. “No,” he said. “Mim chose well. If you were nemet you would know it. You would have been wrong to stop her. Name the men who did this.”

“I cannot,” he said. “Mim did not know their names.”

“Were they Indras?”

“Sufaki,” Kurt admitted. “Men of Shan t’Tefur u Tlekef.”

“Then there is bloodfeud between that house and Nethim. May the Guardians of Nethim deal with them as I shall if I find them, and with Djan-methi of Nephane. What is the emblem of Tefur?”

“It is the Great Snake Yr,” said Kta. “Gold on green. I wish you well in that bloodfeud, t’Nethim; you will avenge Elas also, when I cannot.”

“Obey the Methi,” said Lhe.

“No,” said Kta. “But Kurt may do as he pleases.”

Lhe looked toward Kurt, and Kurt gave him nothing better. Lhe made a gesture of exasperation.

“You must admit,” said Lhe, “that the Methi has offered you every chance; and it is a lasting wonder that you are not sleeping tonight at the bottom of the sea.”

“Nephane is my city,” said Kta. “And as for your war, your work will not be finished until you finish it with me, so stop expecting me to obey your Methi. I will not.”

“If you keep on as you are,” said Lhe, “I will probably be assigned as your executioner. In spite of the feud between our houses, t’Elas, I shall not like that assignment; but I shall obey her orders.”

“For a son of Nethim,” said Kta, “you are a fair-minded man with us both. I would not have expected it.”

“For a son of Elas,” said Lhe, “you are fair-minded yourself. And,” he added with a sideways glance at Kurt, “I cannot even fault you the guest of your house. I do not want to kill you. You and this human would haunt me.”

“Your priests are not sure,” said Kurt, “that I have a soul to do so.”

Lhe bit his lip; he had come near heresy. And Kurt’s heart went out to Lhe t’Nethim, for it was clear enough that in Lhe’s eyes he was more than animal.

“T’Nethim,” said Kta, “has the Methi sent you here?”

“No. My advice is from the heart, t’Elas. Yield.”

“Tell your Methi I want to speak with her.”

“Will you beg pardon of her? That is the only thing she will hear from you.”

“Ask her,” said Kta. “If she will or will not,—ought that not be her own choice?”

Lhe’s eyes were frightened: they locked upon Kta’s directly, without the bowing and the courtesy, as if he would drag something out of him. “I will ask her,” said Lhe. “I already risk the anger of my father; the anger of the Methi is less quick, but I dread it more. If you go to her, you go with those chains. I will not risk the lives of Nethim on the asking of Elas.”

“I consent to that,” said Kta.

“Swear that you will do no violence.”

“We both swear,” said Kta, which as lord of Elas he could say.

“The word of a man about to lose his soul, and of a human who may not have one,” declared Lhe in distress. “Light of heaven, I cannot make Nethim responsible for the likes of you.”

And he rose up and fled the hold.

Ylith took a chair and settled comfortably before she acknowledged them. She had elected to receive them in her quarters, not on the windy deck. The golden light of swaying lamps shed an exquisite warmth after the cold and stench of between-decks, thick rugs under their chilled bones.

“You may sit,” she said, allowing them to straighten off their faces, and she received a cup of tea from a maid and sipped it. There was no cup for them. They were not there under the terms of hospitality, and might not speak until given permission. She finished the cup of tea slowly, looking at them, the ritual of mind-settling before touching a problem of delicacy. At last she returned the cup to the chanand faced them.

“T’Elas and t’Morgan. I do not know why I should trouble myself with you repeatedly when one of my own law-abiding citizens might have a much longer wait for an audience with me. But then, your future is likely to be shorter than theirs. Convince me quickly that you are worth my time.”

“Methi,” said Kta, “I came to plead for my city.”

“Then you are making a useless effort, t’Elas. The time would be better spent if you were to plead for your life.”

“Methi, please hear me. You are about to spend a number of lives of your own people. It is not necessary.”

“What is? What have you to offer, t’Elas?”

“Reason.”

“Reason. You love Nephane. Understandable. But they cast you out, murdered your house; I, on the other hand, would pardon you for your allegiance to them; I would take you as one of my own. Am I behaving as an enemy, Kta t’Elas?”

“You are the enemy of my people.”

“Surely,” said Ylith softly, “Nephane is cursed with madness, casting out such a man who loves her and honoring those who divide her. I would not need to destroy such a city, but I am forced. I want nothing of the things that happen there—of war, of human ways. I will not let the contagion spread.” She lifted her eyes to the chanand dismissed the woman, then directed her attention to them again. “You are already at war,” she told them. “I only intend to finish it.”

“What—war?” asked Kta, though Kurt knew in his own heart then what must have happened and he was sure that Kta did. The Methi’s answer was no surprise.

“Civil war,” answered Ylith. “The inevitable conflict. Though I am sure our help is less than desired,—we are intervening, on the side of the Indras-descended.”

“You do not desire to help the Families,” said Kta. “You will treat them as you do us.”

“I will treat them as I am trying to treat you. I would welcome you as Indras, Kta t’Elas. I would make Elas-in-Nephane powerful again, as it ought to be, united with Elas-in-Indresul.”

“My sister,” said Kta, “is married to a Sufaki lord. My friend is a human. Many of the house-friends of Elas-in-Nephane have Sufaki blood. Will you command Elas-in-Indresul to honor our obligations?”

“A Methi,” she said, “cannot command within the affairs of a house.”

It was the legally correct answer.

“I could,” she said, “guarantee you the lives of these people. A Methi may always intervene on the side of life.”

“But you cannot command their acceptance.”

“No,” she said. “I could not do that.”

“Nephane,” said Kta, “is Indras and Sufaki and human.”

“When I am done,” said Ylith, “that problem will be resolved.”

“Attack them,” said Kta, “and they will unite against you.”

“What, Sufaki join the Indras?”

“It has happened once before,” said Kta, “when you hoped to take us.”

“That,” said Ylith, “was different. Then the Families were powerful, and wished greater freedom from the mother of cities. Now the Families have their power taken from them which I can offer all that will renounce the Sufak heresy. My honored father Tehal-methi was less mercifully inclined, but I am not my father. I have no wish to kill Indras.”

Kta made a brief obeisance. “Methi, turn back these ships then, and I will be your man without reservation.”

She set her hands on the arms of her chair and now her eyes went to Kurt and back again. “You do press me too far. You, t’Morgan, were born human, but you rise above that; I can almost love you for your determination—you try so hard to be nemet. But I do not understand the Sufaki, who were born nemet and deny the truth, who devote themselves to despoiling what we name as holy; and least of all”—her voice grew hard—“do I understand Indras-born such as you, t’Elas, who knowingly seek to save a way of life that aims at the destruction of Ind.”

“They do not aim at destroying us.”

“You will now tell me that the resurgence of old ways in Sufak is a false rumor, that the jafiknand the Robes of Color are not now common there, that prayers are not made in the Upei of Nephane that mention the cursed ones and blaspheme our religion. Mor t’Uset ul Orm is witness to these things. He saw one Nym t’Elas rise in the Upei to speak against the t’Tefuri and their blasphemies. Have you less than your father’s courage—or do you dishonor his wishes, t’Elas?”

Kurt looked quickly at Kta, knowing how that would affect him, almost ready to hold him if he was about to do something rash; but Kta bowed his head, knuckles white on his laced hands.

“T’Elas?” asked Ylith.

“Trust me,” said Kta, lifting his face again, composed, “to know my father’s wishes. It is our belief, Methi, and we should not question the wisdom of heaven in settling two peoples on the Ome Sin; and so we do not seek to destroy the Sufaki. I am Indras; I believe that the will of heaven will win despite the action of men; and therefore I live my life quietly in the eyes of my Sufaki neighbors. I will not dishonor my beliefs by contending over them, as if they needed defense.”

Ylith’s dark eyes flamed with anger for a time, and then grew quiet, even sad. “No,” she said, “no, t’Elas.”

“Methi.” Kta bowed—homage to a different necessity, and straightened, and there was a deep sadness in the air.

“T’Morgan,” said the Methi softly, “will you still stay with this man? You are only a poor stranger among us. You are not bound to such as he.”

“Can you not see,” asked Kurt, “that he wishes greatly to be able to honor you, Methi?” He knew that he shamed Kta by that, but it was Kta’s life at stake; and probably now, he realized, he had just thrown his own away too.

Ylith looked, for one of a few times, more woman than goddess, and sad and angry too. “I did not choose this war, this ultimate irrationality. My generals and my admirals urged it, but I was not willing. But I saw the danger growing. The humans return: the Sufaki begin to reassert their ancient ways; the humans encourage this, and encourage it finally to the point when the Families which kept Nephane safely Indras are powerless. I do what must be done. The woman Djan is threat enough to the peace; but she is holding her power by stripping away that of the Indras. And a Sufak Nephane armed with human weapons is a danger which cannot be tolerated.”

“It is not all Sufaki who threaten you,” Kurt urged. “One man. You are doing all of this for the destruction of one man, who is the real danger there.”

“Yes, I know Shan t’Tefur and his late father.– Ai,you would not have heard. Tlekef t’Tefur is dead, killed in the violence.”

“How?” asked Kta at once. “Who did so?”

“A certain t’Osanef.”

“O gods,” Kta breathed. The strength seemed to go out of him. His face went pale. “Which t’Osanef?”

“Han t’Osanef did the killing, but I have no further information. I do not blame you, t’Elas. If a sister of mine were involved, I would worry, I would indeed. Tell me this: why would Sufaki kill Sufaki? A contest for power? A personal feud?”

“A struggle,” said Kta, “between those who love Nephane as Osanef does and those who want to bring her down, like t’Tefur. And you are doing excellently for t’Tefur’s cause, Methi. If there is no Nephane, which is the likely result of your war, there will be another Chteftikan, and that war you cannot see the end of. There are Sufaki who have learned not to hate Indras; but there will be none left if you pursue this attack.”

Ylith joined her hands together and meditated on some thought, then looked up again. “Lhe t’Nethim will return you to the hold,” she said. “I am done. I have spared all the time I can afford today, for a man out of touch with reality. You are a brave man, Kta t’Elas; and you, Kurt t’Morgan, you are commendable in your attachment to this gentle madman. Someoneshould stay by him. It does you credit that you do not leave him.”

21

“Kurt.”

Kurt came awake with Kta shaking him by the shoulder and with the thunder of running feet on the deck overhead. He blinked in confusion. Someone on deck was shouting orders, a battle-ready.

“There is sail in sight,” said Kta. “Nephane’s fleet.”

Kurt rubbed his face, tried to hear any clear words from overhead. “How much chance is there that Nephane can stop this here?”

Kta gave a laugh like a sob. “Gods, if the Methi’s report is true, none. If there is civil war in the city, it will have crippled the fleet. Without the Sufaki, the Families could not even get the greater ships out of the harbor. It will be a slaughter up there.”

Oars rumbled overhead. In a moment more the shouted order rang out and the oars splashed down in unison. The ship began to gather speed.

“We are going in,” Kurt murmured, fighting down panic. A host of images assailed his mind. They could do nothing but ride it out, chained to the ship of the Methi. In space or on Tavi’s exposed deck, he had known fear in entering combat, but never such a feeling of helplessness.

“Edge back,” Kta advised him, bracing his shoulder against the hull. He took his ankle chain in both hands. “If we ram, the shock could be considerable. Brace yourself and hold the chain. There is no advantage adding broken bones to our misery.”

Kurt followed his example, casting a misgiving look at the mass of stored gear in the after part of the hold. If it was not well-secured, impact would send tons of weight down on them, and there was no shielding themselves against that.

The grating thunder of three hundred oars increased in tempo and held at a pace that no man could sustain over a long drive. Now even in the dark hold there was an undeniable sense of speed, with the beat of the oars and the rush of water against the hull.

Kurt braced himself harder against the timbers. What would happen if the trireme itself was rammed and a bronze Nephanite prow splintered in the midships area needed no imagination. He remembered Tavi’s ruin and the men ground to death in the collision, and tried not to think how thin was the hull at their shoulders.

The beat stopped, a deafening hush, then the portside oars ran inboard: the ship glided under momentum for an instant.

Wood began to splinter and the ship shuddered and rolled, grating and cracking wood all along her course. Thrown sprawling, Kurt and Kta held as best they could as the repeated shocks vibrated through the ship. Shouting came overhead, over the more distant screaming of men in pain and terror, suddenly overwhelmed by the sound of the oars being run out again.

The relentless cadence recommenced, the trireme recovering her momentum. All-encompassing was the crash and boom of the oars, pierced by the thin shouts of officers. Then the oars lifted clear with a great sucking of water, and held. The silence was so deep that they could hear their own harsh breathing, the give of the oars in their locks, the creak of timbers and the groan of rigging, and the sounds of battle far distant.

“This is the Methi’s ship,” Kta answered his anxious look. “It has doubtless broken the line and now waits. They will not risk this ship needlessly.”

And for a long time they crouched against the hull, staring into the dark, straining for each sound that might tell them what was happening above.

New orders were given, too faintly to be understood. Men ran across the deck in one direction and the other, and still the motion of the ship indicated they were scarcely moving.

Then the hatch crashed open and Lhe t’Nethim came down the steps into the hold, backed by three armed men.

“Do you suddenly need weapons?” asked Kta.

“T’Elas,” said Lhe, “you are called to the deck.”

Kta gathered himself to his feet, while one of the men bent and unlocked the chain that passed through the ring of the band at his ankle.

“Take me along with him,” said Kurt, also on his feet.

“I have no orders about that,” said Lhe.

“T’Nethim,” Kurt pleaded, and Lhe considered an instant, gnawing his lip. Then he gestured to the man with the keys.

“Your word to do nothing violent,” Lhe insisted.

“My word,” said Kurt.

“Bring him too,” said Lhe.

Kurt followed Kta up the steps into the light of day, so blinded by the unaccustomed glare that he nearly missed his footing on the final step. On the deck the hazy shapes of many men moved around them, and their guards guided them, like blind men toward the stern of the ship.

Ylith sat beneath the blue canopy. There Kurt’s sight began to clear. Kta went heavily to his knees, Kurt following his example, finding comfort in him. He began to understand Kta’s offering of respect at such a moment: Kta did what he did with grace, paying honor like a gentleman, unmoved by threat or lack of it. His courage was contagious.

“You may sit,” said Ylith softly. “T’Elas, if you will look to the starboard side, I believe you may see the reason we have called you.”

Kta turned on one knee, and Kurt looked also. A ship was bearing toward them, slowly, relying on only part of its oarage. The black sail bore the white bird of IIev, and the red immunity streamer floated from its mast.

“As you see,” said the Methi, “we have offered the Families of Nephane the chance to talk before being driven under. I have also ordered my fleet to gather up survivors—without regard to nation; even Sufaki, if there be any. Now if your eloquence can persuade them to surrender, you will have won their lives.”

“I have agreed to no such thing,” Kta protested angrily.

“This is your opportunity, t’Elas. Present them my conditions, make them believe you,—or remain silent and watch these last ships try to stop us.”

“What are your conditions?” Kta asked.

“Nephane will again become part of the empire or Nephane will burn. And if your Sufaki can accept being part of the empire,—well, I will deal with that wonder when it presents itself. I have never met a Sufaki, I confess it, as I had never met a human. I should be interested to do so,—on my terms. So persuade them for me, t’Elas, and save their lives.”

“Give me your oath they will live,” Kta said, and there was a stirring among the Methi’s guards, hands laid on weapons.

But Kta remained as he was, humbly kneeling. “Give me your oath,” he replied, “in plain words, life and freedom for the men of the fleet if they take terms. I know that with you, Ylith-methi, words are weapons, double-edged. But I would believe your given word.”

A lifting of the Methi’s fingers restrained her men from drawing, and she gazed at Kta with what seemed a curious, even loving, satisfaction.

“They have tried us in battle, t’Elas, and you have tried my patience. Look upon the pitiful wreckage floating out there, and the fact that you are still alive after disputing me with words, and decide for yourself upon which you had rather commit their lives.”

“You are taking,” said Kta, “what I swore I would not give.”

Ylith lowered her eyes and lifted them again, which just failed of arrogance. “You are too reasonable,” she said, “to destroy those men for your own pride’s sake. You will try to save them.”

“Then,” said Kta in a still voice, “because the Methi is reasonable—she will allow me to go down to that ship. I can do more there than here, where they would be reluctant to speak with me in your presence.”

She considered, nodded finally. “Strike the iron from him. From the human too.—If they kill you, t’Elas, you will be avenged.” And, softening that arrogant humor: “In truth, t’Elas, I am trying to avoid killing these men. Persuade them of that, or be guilty of the consequences.”

The Ilev longship bore the scars of fire and battle to such an extent it was a wonder she could steer. Broken oars hung in their locks. Her rail was shattered. She looked sadly disreputable as she grappled onto the immaculate trireme of the Methi, small next to that towering ship.

Kta nodded to Kurt as soon as she was made fast, and the two of them descended on a ship’s ladder thrown over the trireme’s side.

They landed one after the other, barefoot on the planks like common seamen, filthy and unshaved, looking fit company for the men of the battered longship. Shock was on familiar faces all about them: Ian t’Ilev among the foremost, and men of Irain and Isulan.

Kta made a bow, which t’IIev was slow to return.

“Gods,” t’Ilev murmured then. “You keep strange company, Kta.”

“ Taviwent down off the Isles,” said Kta. “Kurt and I were picked up, the only survivors that I know of. Since that time we have been detained by the Indras. Are you in command here, Ian?”

“My father is dead. Since that moment, yes.”

“May your Guardians receive him kindly,” Kta said.

“The Ancestors of many houses have increased considerably today.” A muscle jerked slowly in t’Ilev’s jaw. He gestured his comrades to clear back a space, for they crowded closely to hear. He set his face in a new hardness. “So do I understand correctly that the Methi of Indresul is anxious to clear us aside and proceed on her way,—and that you are here to urge that on us?”

“I have been told,” said Kta, “that Nephane is in civil war and that it cannot possibly resist. Is that true, Ian?”

There was a deathly silence.

“Let the Methi ask her own questions,” t’Irain said harshly. “We would have come to her deck.”

And there were uglier words from others. Kta looked at them, his face impassive. At that moment he looked much like his father Nym, though his clothing was filthy and his normally ordered hair blew in strings about his face. Tears glittered in his eyes.

“I did not surrender my ship,” he said, “though gods know I would have been willing to; a dead crew is a bitter price for a house’s pride, and one I would not have paid.” His eyes swept the company. “I see no Sufaki among you.”

The murmuring grew. “Quiet,” said t’Ilev. “All of you. Will you let the men of Indresul see us quarrel?—Kta, say what she has sent you to say. Then you and t’Morgan may leave, unless you keep asking after things we do not care to share with the Methi of Indresul.”

“Ian,” said Kta, “we have been friends since we were children. Do as seems right to you. But if I have heard the truth,—if there is civil war in Nephane,—if there is no hope but time in your coming here, then let us try for conditions. That is better than going to the bottom.”