Brothers of Earth

XXI

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

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 Ilev, 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’Ilev was slow to return.

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

“Tavi went 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’lrain 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.”

“Why is she permitting this? Love of us? Confidence in you? Why does she send you down here?”

“I think,” said Kta faintly, “I think-and am not sure-that she may offer better conditions than we can obtain from Shan t’Tefur. And I think she is permitting it because talk is cheaper than a fight, even for Indresul. It is worth trying, Ian, or I would not have agreed to come down here.”

“We came to gain time. I think you know that. For us, crippled as we are, talk is much cheaper than a battle, but we are still prepared to fight too. Even taking the trouble to finish us can delay her. As for your question about Nephane’s condition at the moment . . .” The others wished him silent. Ian gave them a hard look. ‘TElas has eyes to see. The Sufaki are not here. They demanded command of the fleet. Some few-may their ancestors receive them kindly-tried to reason with Shan t’Tefur’s men. Light of heaven, we had to steal the fleet by night, break out of harbor even to go out to defend the city. T’Tefur hopes for our defeat. What do you think the Methi’s terms will be?”

There was quiet on the deck. For the moment the men were all listening, spirits and angers failing, all pretense laid aside. They only seemed afraid.

“Ian,” said Kta, “I do not know. Tehal-methi was unyielding and bloody; Ylith is ... I do not know. What she closes within her hand, I fear she will never release. But she is fair-minded, and she is Indras.”

The silence persisted. For a moment there was only the creak of timbers and the grinding of the longship against the side of the trireme as the sea carried them too close. “He is right,” said Lu t’Isulan.

“You are his house-friend,” said a man of Nechis. “Kta sued for your cousin to marry.”

“That would not blind me to the truth,” said t’Isulan. “I agree with him. I am sick to death of t’Tefur and his threats and his ruffians.”

“Aye,” said his brother Toj. “Our houses had to be left almost defenseless to get enough men out here to man the fleet. And I am thinking they may be in greater danger at the moment from the Sufaki neighbors than from Indresul’s fleet. El,” he said angrily when others objected to that, “clear your eyes and see, my friends. Isulan sent five men of the main hearth here and fifty from the lesser, and a third are lost. Only the sons of the chan are left to hold the door of Isulan against t’Tefur’s pirates. I am not anxious to lose the rest of my brothers and cousins in an empty gesture. We will not die of hearing the terms, and if they are honorable, I for one would take them.”

Ylith leaned back in her chair and accepted the respects of the small group of defeated men kneeling on her deck. “You may all rise,” she said, which was generous under the circumstances. “T’Elas, t’Morgan, I am glad you have returned safely. Who heads this delegation?”

T’Ilev bowed slightly. “Ian t’Ilev uv Ulmar,” he identified himself. “Lord of Ilev.” And there was sadness in that assumption of the title, raw and recent. “I am not eldest, but the fleet chose me for my father’s sake.”

“Do you ask conditions?” asked Ylith.

“We will hear conditions,” said t’Ilev.

“I will be brief,” said Ylith. “We intend to enter Nephane, with your consent or without it. I will not leave the woman Djan in authority; I will not deal with her or negotiate with those who represent her. I will have order restored in Nephane and a government installed in which I have confidence. The city will thereafter remain in full and constant communication with the mother of cities. I will, however, negotiate the extent of the bond between our cities. Have you any comment, t’Ilev?”

“We are the fleet, not the Upei, and we are not able to negotiate anything but our own actions. But I know the Families will not accept any solution which does not promise us our essential freedoms.”

“And neither,” Kta interjected unbidden, “will the Sufaki.”

Ylith’s eyes went to him. Behind her, Lhe t’Nethim laid hand uneasily on the hilt of his ypan. Ylith’s wit and Ylith’s power were sufficient to deliver Kta an answer, and Kurt clenched his hands, hoping Kta would not be humiliated before these men. Then of a sudden he saw what game Kta was playing with his life and went cold inside. The Methi too was before witnesses, whose offense now could mean a battle, one ugly and, for the Methi’s forces, honorless.

Her lips smiled. She looked Kta slowly up and down, finally acknowledged him by looking at him directly. “I have studied your city, t’Elas. I have gathered information from most unlikely sources, even you and my human, t’Morgan.”

“And what,” Kta asked softly, “has the Methi concluded?”

“That a wise person does not contest reality. Sufaki . . . are a reality. Annihilation of all Sufaki is hardly practical, since they are the population of the entire coast of Sufak. T’Morgan has told me a fable of human wars. I considered the prospect of dead villages, wasted fields. Somehow this did not seem profitable. Therefore, although I do not think the sons of the east will ever be other than trouble to us, I consider that they are less trouble where they are, in Nephane and in their villages, rather than scattered and shooting arrows at my occupation forces. Religiously, I will yield nothing. But I had rather have a city than a ruin, a province than a desolation. Considering that it is your city and your land in question, you may perhaps agree with me.”

“We might,” said Ian t’Ilev when she looked aside at him. “If not for that phrase occupation forces. The Families rule Nephane.”

“Ai, no word of Sufaki? Well, but you know the law, t’Ilev. A methi does not reach within families. The question of precedence would be between your two hearths. How you resolve it is not mine to say. But I cannot foresee that Ilev-in-Indresul would be eager to cross the sea to intervene in the affairs of Ilev-in-Nephane. I do not think occupation would prove necessary.”

“Your word on that?” asked Kta.

The Methi gave a curious look to him, a smile of faint irony. Then she opened both palms to the sky. “So let the holy light of heaven regard me: I do not mislead you.” She leaned back then, stretched her hands along the arms of her chair, her lovely face suddenly grave and businesslike. “Terms: removal of Djan, the dissolution of the t’Tefuri’s party, the death of t’Tefur himself, the allegiance of the Families to Indresul and to me. That is the limit of what I demand.”

“And the fleet?” asked Ian t’Ilev.

“You can make Nephane in a day, I think. By this time tomorrow you could reach port. You will have a day further to accomplish what I have named or find us among you by force.”

“You mean we are to conquer Nephane for you?” t’Ilev exclaimed. “Gods, no.”

“Peace, control of your own city, or war. If we enter, we will not be bound by these terms.”

“Give us a little time,” t’Ilev pleaded. “Let us bear these proposals to the rest of the fleet. We cannot agree alone.”

“Do that, t’Ilev. We shall give you a day’s start toward Nephane whatever you decide. If you use that day’s grace to prepare your city to resist us, we will not negotiate again until we meet in the ruins of your city. We are not twice generous, t’Ilev.”

T’Ilev bowed, gathered the three of the crew who had come with him, and the gathered crew of the trireme parted widely to let them pass.

“Methi,” said Kta.

“Would you go with them?”

“By your leave, Methi.”

“It is permitted. Make them believe you, t’Elas. You have your chance, one day to make your city exist. I hope you succeed. I shall be sorry if I learn you have failed. Will you go with him, t’Morgan? I shall be sorry to part with you.”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “By your leave.”

“Look,” she said. “Look up at me.” And when he had done so, he had the feeling that she studied him as a curiosity she might not see again. Her dark eyes held a little of fascinated fear. “You are,” she said, “like Djan-methi.”

“We are of one kind.”

“Bring me Djan,” she said. “But not as Methi of Nephane.”

And her gesture had dismissed them. They gave back a pace. But then Lhe t’Nethim bowed at her feet, head to the deck, as one who asked a great favor.

“Methi,” he said when she acknowledged him, “let me go with this ship. I have business in Nephane, with t’Tefur.”-

“You are valuable to me, Lhe,” she said in great distress.

“Methi, it is hearth-business, and you must let me go.”

“Must? They will kill you before you reach Nephane, and where will your debt be honored then, t’Nethim, and how will I answer your father, that I let his son do this thing?”

“It is family,” he said.

The Methi pressed her lips together. “If they kill you,” she said, “then we will know how they will regard any pact with us. T’Elas, be witness. Treat him honorably, however you decide, for his life or for his death. You will answer to me for this.”

T’Nethim bowed a final, heartfelt thanks, and sprang up and hurried after them, among the men of Ilev’s party who had delayed also to hear what passed.

“Someone will cut his throat,” t’Ilev hissed at Kta, before they went over the rail. “What is he to you?”

“Mim’s cousin.”

“Gods! How long have you been of Indresul, Kta?”

“Trust me. If otherwise, let us at least clear this deck. I beg you, Ian.”

T’Ilev bit his lip, then made haste to seek the ladder. “Gods help us,” he murmured. “Gods help us, I will keep silent on it. Burden me with nothing else, Kta.”

And he disappeared over the side first and quickly descended to the longship, where his anxious crew waited.

The Ilev vessel glided in among the wrecked fleet with the white assembly streamer flying beside the red, and other captains gathered to her deck as quickly as possible: Eta t’Nechis, Pan t’Ranek, Camit t’Ilev, cousin of Ian; others, young men, whose captaincies now told of tragedies at sea or at home.

“Is that it?” shouted Eta t’Nechis when he had heard the terms, and looked at t’Ilev as if other words failed him. “Great gods, t’Ilev, did you decide for all of us? Or have you handed command over to Elas and its company, to Elas, who ruined us in the first place, with its human guest. And now they bring us an overseas house-friend!”

“Argue it later,” said Kta. “Whether you want to fight or negotiate at Nephane, put the fleet about for home now. Every moment we waste will be badly needed.1’

“We have men still adrift out there!” cried t’Ranek, “men the Indras will not let us reach.”

“They are being picked up,” said Ian. “That is better than we can do for them. Kta is right. Put about.”

“Give the Methi back her man,” said t’Nechis, “all three of them: t’Elas, human and foreigner.”

T’Nethim was pale, but he kept his dignity behind the shelter Ian t’Ilev gave the three of them. Voices were raised, weapons all but drawn, and finally Ian settled the matter by ordering his ship put about for Nephane with the fleet streamer flying beside the others.

Then they were underway, and the sight of the Methi’s fleet dropping astern with no visible evidence of pursuit greatly heartened the men and silenced some of the demands for vengeance.

“Why should they pursue,” asked t’Nechis, “if we do their work for them? Gods, gods, this is wrong!”

And once again there was talk of throat-cutting, of throwing the three of them into the sea with Lhe t’Nethim cut in pieces, until the t’Ilevi together put themselves bodily between the t’Nechisen and Kta t’Elas.

“Stop this,” said Ian, and for all that he was a young man and beneath the age of some of the men who quarreled, he put such anger into his voice that there was a silence made, if only a breath of one.

“It is shameful,” said Lu t’Isulan with great feeling. “We disgrace ourselves under the eyes of this Indras stranger. Bring tea. It is a long distance to Nephane. If we cannot make a well-thought decision in that length of time, then we deserve our misery. Let us be still and think for a time.”

“We will not share fire and drink with a man of Indresul,” said t’Nechis. “Put him in irons.”

T’Nethim drew himself back with great dignity. “I will go apart from you,” he said, the first words they had listened for him to say. “And I will not interfere. I will still be on this ship if you decide for war.”

And with a bow of courtesy, he walked away to the bow, a figure of loneliness among so many enemies. His dignity made a silence among them.

“If you will,” said Kurt, “I will go there too.”

“You are of Elas,” said Kta fiercely. “Stand your ground.”

There were hard looks at that. It came to Kurt then that Elas had lost a great deal with Tavi, not alone a ship, but brave men, staunch friends of Elas. And those who surrounded them now, with the exception of Irain, Ilev and Isulan, were Families which sympathized less with Elas.

And even among those, there were some who hated humans. Such, even, was Ian t’Ilev; it radiated from him, a little shiver of aversion whenever eyes chanced to meet.

Only Lu and Toj t’Isulan, house-friends to Elas, elected to sit by Kta at the sharing of drink. They sat on Kta’s left, Kurt on the right.

Kurt accepted the cup into his fingers gratefully and sipped at the hot sweet liquid. It held its own memories of home and Elas, of sanity and reason, as if there was no power on earth that could change or threaten this little amenity, this odd tribute of the Indras to hearth and civilized order.

Yet everything, their lives and Nephane itself, was as fragile at the moment as the china cup in his fingers.

One round passed in silence. So did most of the second. It was, as the nemet would say, a third-round problem, a matter so disturbing that no one felt calm enough to speak until they had waited through a third series of courtesies and ceremony.

“It is certain,” said Ian at last, “that the Methi’s word is good so far. We are not pursued. We have to consider that she is indeed a Methi of our own people, and it is unthinkable that she would lie.”

“Granted,” said t’Nechis. “But then what does the truth leave us?”

“With Nephane standing,” said Kta very softly. “And I do love the city, t’Nechis. Even if you hate me, believe that.”

“I believe it,” said t’Nechis. “Only I suggest that you have perhaps loved honors the Methi promised you more than is becoming.”

“She gave him nothing,” said Ian. “And you have my word on that.”

“It may be so,” conceded t’Nechis, and yet with an uneasy look at Kurt, as if any nemet who consorted with humans was suspect. Kurt lowered his head and” stared at a spot on the deck.

“How bad,” asked Kta, “have things in Nephane become?”

“T’Elas,” said the younger son of Uset-in-Nephane, “we are sorry for the misfortunes of Elas. But that was only the beginning of troubles. In some houses-in Nechis, in Ranek- men are dead, ypai-sulim have been drawn. Be careful how you speak to them. Understand the temper of their Guardians.”

The Great Weapons, drawn only for killing and never re-sheathed without it. Kta made a little bow of deference individually to t’Nechis and to t’Ranek, and a gesture with hand to brow that Kurt did not understand. The other men reciprocated. There was silence, and a little easier feeling for that.

“Then,” said Kta finally, “there would seem to be question whether there is a city to save. I have heard a bitter rumor concerning Osanef. Can anyone tell me? Details were sparse.”

“It is bad news, Kta,” said Ian. “Han t’Osanef killed Tlekef t’Tefur. The house of Osanef was burned by the Tefur partisans, an example to other Sufaki not to remain friendly to us. The vandals struck at night, while the family slept, invaded the house and overthrew the fire to set the house ablaze. The lady la, Han’s honored wife, died in the fire.”

“And Aimu,” Kta broke in. “Bel and my sister?”

“Bel himself was badly beaten, but your lady sister was hurried to safety by the chan of Osanef. Both Bel and Aimu are safe, at last report, sheltered in Isulan with your father’s sister.”

“How did Han die?”

“He chose to die after avenging lady la. His funeral was the cause of much bloodletting. Kta, I am sorry,” he added, for Kta’s face was pale and he looked suddenly weak.

“This is not all,” said Toj t’Isulan. “The whole city is full of such funerals. Han and his lady were not the first or the last to lose their lives to t’Tefur’s men.”

“He is a madman,” t’Nechis said. “He threatened to burn the fleet-to burn the fleet!-rather than let it sail with Indras captains. They talk of burning Nephane itself and drawing back to their ancestral hills of Chteftikan.”

“Aye,” said young t’Irain, “and I for my part would gladly have the city in Indresul’s hands rather than t’Tefur’s.”

And that sentiment was approved by a sullen muttering among many of the others. T’Nechis scowled, but even he did not seem to be in total disagreement.

“Sirs,” said Kurt, startling everyone. “Sirs, what has Djan-methi done in the situation? Has she . . . can she do anything to restore peace in the city?”

“She has the power,” said t’Ranek. “She refuses to control t’Tefur. This war is of her creation. She knew we would never turn on Indresul, so she puts power in the hands of those who would, those who support her ambition. And that does not respect her office, but neither does she.”

“I do not know,” said the youngest t’Nechis, “why we answer questions from the Methi’s leman.”

Kta moved, and if the elder t’Nechis had not imposed his own discipline on his cousin with a sharp gesture, there would have been trouble.

“My apologies,” said t’Nechis, words that seemed like gall in his mouth.

“I understand,” said Kurt, “that humans have won no love in Nephane or elsewhere. But bear with me. I have a thing to say.”

“Say it,” laid t’Nechis. “We will not deny you that.”

“You would do well,” he said, “to approach her with a clear request for action and concessions for the Sufaki who are not with t’Tefur.”

“You seem to favor her,” said t’Ranek, “and to have a great deal of confidence in her. I think we were wrong to sympathize with you for the death of Mim h’Elas.”

Kurt threw out a hand to stop Kta, and himself stared at t’Ranek with such coldness that all the nemet grew silent. “My wife,” he said, “was as much a victim of you as of Djan-methi, though I swear I tried to feel loyalty to the Families since I was part of Elas. I am- human. I was not welcome and you made me know it as you made Djan-methi know it, and the Sufaki before her. If that were not the nature of Nephane, my wife would not be dead.”

And before any could object, he sprang up and walked away, to t’Nethim’s lonely station at the bow.

Lhe regarded him curiously, then even with pity, which from the enemy was like salt in the wound.

Soon, as Kurt had known, there came someone sent from Kta to try to persuade him back, to persuade him to bow his head and swallow his humanity and his pride and submit in silence.

He heard the footsteps coming behind him, pointedly ignored the approach until he heard the man call his name.

Then he turned and saw that it was t’Ranek himself.

“Kta t’Elas has threatened bloodfeud,” said t’Ranek. “Please accept my apologies, t’Morgan. I am no friend of Elas, but I do not want a fight, and I acknowledge that it was not a worthy thing to say.”

“Kta would fight over that?”

“It is his honor,” said t’Ranek. “He says that you are of Elas. He also,” t’Ranek added, with an uneasy glance at Lhe t’Nethim, “has asked t’Nethim to return. He has explained somewhat of the lady Mim h’Elas. Please accept my apology, Kurt t’Morgan.”

It was not easy for the man. Kurt gave a stiff bow in acknowledgment, then looked at Lhe t’Nethim. The three of them returned to their places in the circle in utter silence. Kurt took his place beside Kta, t’Ranek with his brother, and Lhe t’Nethim stood nervously in the center until Kta abruptly gestured to him and bade him sit. T’Nethim settled at Kta’s feet, thin-lipped and with eyes downcast.

“You have among you,” said Kta in that hush, “my brother Kurt, and Lhe t’Nethim, who is under the protection of Elas.”

Like the effect of wind over grass, the men in the circle made slight bows.

“I was speaking,” Kurt said then, evenly and softly in that stillness. “And I will say one other thing, and then I will not trouble you further. There are weapons in the Afen. If Djan-methi has not used them, it is because Djan-methi has chosen not to use them. Once you have threatened her, you will have to reckon with the possibility that she will use them. You are wrong in some of your suppositions. She could destroy not only Nephane but Indresul also if she chose. You are hazarding your lives on her forbearance.”

The silence persisted. It was not longer one of hate, but of fear. Even Kta looked at him as a stranger.

“I am telling the truth,” he said, for Kta.

“T’Morgan,” said Ian t’Ilev. “Do you have a suggestion what to do?”

It was quietly, even humbly posed, and to his shame he was helpless to answer it. “I will tell you this,” he said, “that if Djan-methi still controls the Afen when Ylith-methi sails into that harbor, you are much more likely to see those weapons used-worse, if Shan t’Tefur should gain possession of them. She does not want to arm him, or she would have, but she might lose her power to prevent him, or abdicate it. I would suggest, gentlemen, that you make any peace you must with the Sufaki who will have peace. Give them reasonable alternatives, and do all you can to get the Afen out of Djan-methi’s hands and out of t’Tefur’s.”

“The Afen,” protested t’Ranek, “has only fallen to treachery, never to attack by nemet. Haichema-tleke is too high, our streets too steep, and the human weapons would make it impossible.”

“Our other alternative,” said Kta, “would seem to be to take the whole fleet and run for the north sea, saving ourselves. And I do not think we are of a mind to do that.”

“No,” said t’Nechis. “We are not.”

“Then we attack the Afen.”