Brothers of Earth

XXII

The smoke over Nephane was visible even from a distance. It rolled up until the west wind caught it and spread it over the city like one of its frequent sea fogs, but blacker and thicker, darkening the morning light and overshadowing the harbor.

The men who stood on Sidek’s bow as the Ilev longship put into harbor at the head of the fleet watched the shore in silence. The smoke appeared to come from high up the hill, but no one ventured to surmise what was burning.

At last Kta turned his face from the sight with a gesture of anger. “Kurt,” he said, “keep close by me. Gods know what we are going into.”

Oars eased Sidek in and let her glide, a brave man of Ilev first ashore with the mooring cable. Other ships came into dock in quick succession.

Crowds poured from the gate, gathering on the dockside, all Sufaki, not a few of them in Robes of Color, young and menacing. There were elders and women with children also, clamoring and pleading for news, looking with frightened eyes at the tattered rigging of the ships. Some seamen who had not sailed with their Indras crewmates ran down to their sides and began to curse and invoke the gods for grief at what had happened to them, seeking news of shipmates.

And swiftly the rumor was running the crowd that the fleet had turned back the Methi, even while Ian t’Ilev and other captains gave quick orders to run out the gangplanks.

The plans and alternate plans had been drilled into the ships’ crews in exhortations of captains and family heads and what practice the narrow decks permitted. Now the Indras-descended moved smartly, with such decision and certainty that the Sufaki, confused by the false rumor of victory, gave back.

A young revolutionary charged forward, shrieking hate and trying to inflame the crowd, but Indras discipline held, though he struck one of the t’Nechisen half senseless. And suddenly the rebel gave back and ran, for no one had followed him. The Indras-descended kept swords in sheaths, gently making way for themselves at no greater speed than the bewildered crowd could give them. They did not try to pass the gates. They took their stand on the dock and t’Isulan, who had the loudest voice in the fleet, held up his arms for silence.

News was what the crowd cried for; now that it was offered, they compelled each other to silence to hear it.

“We have held them a little while,” shouted t’Isulan. “We are still in danger. Where is the Methi to be found? Still in the Afen?”

People attempted to answer in the affirmative, but the replies and the questions drowned one another out. Women began screaming, everyone talking at once.

“Listen,” t’Isulan roared above the noise. “Pull back and fortify the wall. Get your women to the houses and barricade the gates to the sea!”

The tumult began anew, and Kta, well to the center of the lines of Indras, seized Kurt by the arm and drew him to the inside as they started to move, t’Nethim staying close by them.

Kurt had his head muffled in his ctan. Among so many injured it was not conspicuous, and exposure had darkened’ his skin almost to the hue of the nemet. He was terrified, none the less, that the sight of his human face might bring disaster to the whole plan and put him in the hands of a mob. There had been talk of leaving him on the ship; Kta had argued otherwise.

The Indras-descended began to pass the outer-wall gates, filing peacefully upward toward their homes, toward their own hearths. It was supreme bluff. T’Isulan had hedged the truth with a skill uncommon to that tall, gruff breed that were his Family. It was their hope to organize the Sufaki to work, and so keep the Sufaki out of the way of the Families.

And at the inner gate, the rebels waited.

There were jeers. Daggers were out. Rocks flew. Two Indras-descended fell, immediately gathered up by their kinsmen. T’Nethim staggered as a rock hit him. Kta hurried him further, half carrying him. The head of the column forced the gate bare-handed, with sheer weight of numbers and recklessness. It was sworn among them that they would not draw weapons, not until a point of extremity.

There was blood on the cobbles as they passed, and smeared on the post of the gate, but the Indras-descended let none of their own fall. They gained the winding Street of the Families, and their final rush panicked the rebels, who scattered before them, disordered and undisciplined.

Then the cause of the smoke became evident. Houses at the rising of the hill were aflame, Sufaki milling in the streets at the scene. Women snatched up screaming children and crowded back, caught between the fires and the rush of fleeing rebels and advancing Indras. A young mother clutched her two children to her and shrank against the side of a house, sobbing in terror as they passed her.

It was the area where the wealthiest Sufak houses joined the Street of the Families, and where the road took the final bend toward the Afen. Two Sufak houses, Rachik and Pamchen, were ablaze, and the blasphemous paint-splashed triangle of Phan gave evidence of the religious bitterness that had brought it on. Trapped Sufaki ran in panic between the roiling smoke of the fire and the sudden charge of the Indras.

“Spread out!” t’Isulan roared, waving his arm to indicate a barrier across the street. “Close off this area and secure it!”

A feathered shaft impacted into the chest of the man next to him; Tis t’Nechis fell with red dying his robes. A second and a third shaft sped, one felling an Indras and the other a Sufaki bystander who happened to be in the line of fire.

“Up there!” Kta shouted, pointing to the rooftop of Dleve. “Get the man, t’Ranek! You men, spread out! This side, this side, quickly-“

The Indras moved, their rush to shelter terrifying the Sufaki who chanced to have sought the same protected side, but the Indras dislodged no one. A terrified boy started to dart out. An Indras seized him, struggling and kicking though he was, and pushed him into the hands of his kin.

“Neighbors!” Kta shouted to the house of Rachik. “We are not here to harm you. Gods, lady shu-t’Rachik, get those children back into the alley! Keep close to the wall.”

There were a few grins, for the first lady t’Rachik with her brood was very like a frightened cochin with a half dozen of her children about her; other Rachiken were there too, both women and men, and the old father too. They were glad enough to escape the area, and the old man gave a sketchy bow to Kta t’Elas, gratitude. Though his house was burning, his children were safe.

“Shelter near Elas,” said Kta. “No Indras will harm you. Put the Pamcheni there too, Gyan t’Rachik.”

A cry rang out overhead and a body toppled from the roof to bounce off a porch and onto the stones of the street. The dead Sufaki archer lay with arrows scattered like straws about his corpse.

A girl of Dleve screamed, belatedly, hysterically.

“Throw a defense around this whole section,” Kta directed his men. “Ian! Camit! Take the wall-street by Irain and set a guard there. You Sufaki citizens! Get these fires under control: buckets and pikes, quickly! You, t’Hsnet, join t’Ranek, you and all your cousins!”

Men scattered in all directions at his orders, and pushed their way through smoke and frightened Sufaki; but the Sufaki who remained on the street, elders and children, huddled together in pitiful confusion, afraid to move in any direction.

Then from the houses up the street came others of the Indras-descended, and the chani, such as had stayed behind to guard the houses when the fleet sailed. Sufaki women screamed at the sight of them, men armed with the deadly ypai.

Kta stood free of the wall, taking a chance, for t’Ranek’s men were not yet in position to defend the street from archers. He lifted his sword arm aloft in signal to the Indras who were running up, weapons in hand.

“Hold off!” he shouted. “We have things under control. These poor citizens are not to blame. Help us secure the area and put out the fires.”

“The Sufaki set them, in Sufak houses,” shouted the old chan of Irain. “Let the Sufaki put them out!”

“No matter who started them,” Kta returned furiously, his face purpling at being fronted by a chan of a friendly house. “Help put them out. The fires are burning and they will take our houses too. They must be stopped.”

That chan seemed suddenly to realize who it was he had challenged, for he came to a sudden halt; and another man shouted:

“Kta t’Elas! Ei, t’Elas, t’Elas!”

“Aye,” shouted Kta, “still alive, t’Kales! Well met! Give us help here.”

“These people,” panted t’Kales, reaching him and giving the indication of a bow, “these people deserve no pity. We tried to defend them. They shield t’Tefur’s men, even when the fires strike their own houses.”

“All Nephane has lost its mind,” said Kta, “and there is no time to argue blame. Help us or stand aside. The Indras fleet is a day out of Nephane and we either collect ourselves a people or see Nephane burn.” ,

“Gods,” breathed t’Kales. “Then the fleet-“

“Defeated. We must organize the city.”

“We cannot do it, Kta. None of these people will listen to reason. We have been beseiged in our own houses.”

“Kta!” Kurt exclaimed, for another man was running down the street.

It was Bel t’Osanef. One of the Indras-descended barred his way with drawn ypan and nearly ran him through, but t’Osanef avoided it with desperate agility.

“Light of heaven!” Kta cried. “Hold, t’Idur! Let him pass!”

The seaman dropped his point and Bel began running again, reached the place where they stood.

“Kta, ye gods, Kta!” Bel was close to collapse with his race to get through, and the words choked from him. “I had no hope-“

“You are mad to be on the street,” said Kta. “Where is Aimu?”

“Safe. We shelter in Irain. Kta-“

“I have heard, I have heard, my poor friend.”

“Then please, Kta, these people . . . these people of mine . . . they are innocent of the fires. Whatever . . . whatever your people say . . . they try to make us out responsible . . . but it is a lie, a-“

“Calm yourself, Bel. Cast no words to the winds. I beg you, take charge of these people and get them to help or get them out of this area. The Indras fleet is coming down on Nephane and we have only a little time to restore order here and prepare ourselves.”

“I will try,” said Bel, and cast a despairing look at the frightened people milling about, at the dead men in the street. He went to the archer who lay in the center of the cobbled street, knelt down and touched him, then looked up with a negative gesture and a sympathetic expression for someone in the crowd.

There came a young woman-the one who had screamed. She crept forward and knelt down in the street beside the dead man, sobbing and rocking in her misery. Bel spoke to her in words no one else could hear, though there was but for the fire’s crackling a strange silence on the street and among the crowd. Then he picked up the dead youth’s body himself, and struggled with it toward the Sufaki side.

“Let us take our dead decently inside,” he said. “You men who can, put the fires out.”

“The Indras set them,” one of the young women said.

“Udafi Kafurtin,” said Bel in a trembling voice, “in the chaos we have made of Nephane, there is really no knowing who started anything. Our only identifiable enemy is whoever will not put them out. Kta-Kta! Have these men of yours put up their weapons. We have had enough of weapons and threats in this city. My people are not armed, and yours do not need to be.”

“Yours shoot from ambush!” shouted one of the Indras. “Do as he asks!” Kta shouted, and glared about him with such fury that men began to obey him.

Then Kta went and bowed very low before t’Nechis, who had a cousin to mourn, and quietly offered his help, though Kurt winced inwardly and expected temper and hatred from the grieving t’Nechis.

But in extremity t’Nechis was Indras and a gentleman.

He bowed in turn, in proper grace. “See to business, Kta t’Elas. The t’Nechisen will take him home. We will be with you as soon as we can send my cousin to his rest.”

By noon the fires were out, and the Sufaki who had aided in fighting the blaze scattered to their homes to bar the doors and wait in silence. !

Peace returned to the Street of the Families, with armed men of the fleet standing at either end of the street and on rooftops where they commanded a view of all that moved. The scars were visible now, hollow shells of buildings, pavement littered with rubble.

Kurt left Lhe t’Nethim sheltered in the hall of Elas, the Indras grim-faced and subdued to have set foot in a hostile house.

He found Kta standing out on the curb. Kta, like himself, was masked with soot and sweat and the dim red marks of burns from fire fighting.

“They have buried t’Nechis,” Kta said hollowly, without looking around. They had been so much together it was possible to feel the other’s presence without looking. He knew Kta’s face without seeing it, that it was tired and shadow-eyed and drawn with pain.

“Get off the street,” Kurt said. “You are a target.”

“T’Ranek is on the roof. I do not think there is danger. Fully half of Nephane is in our hands now, thank the gods.” |

“You have done enough. Go over to Irain. Aimu will be I anxious to see you.”

“I do not wish to go to Irain,” Kta said wearily. “Bel will be there and I do not wish to see him.”

“You have to, sooner or later.”

“What do I tell him? What do I say to him when he asks me what will happen now? Forgive me, brother, but I have made a compact with the Indras, and I swore once that was impossible; forgive me, brother, but I have surrendered your home to my foreign cousins; I am sorry, my brother, but I have sold you into slavery for your own preservation.”

“At least,” said Kurt grimly, “the Sufaki will have the same chance a human has among Indras, and that is better than dying, Kta, it is infinitely better than dying.”

“I hope,” said Kta, “that Bel sees it that way. I am afraid for this city tonight. There has been too little resistance. They are saving something back. And there is a report t’Tefur is in the Afen.”

Kurt let the breath hiss slowly between his teeth and glanced uphill, toward the Afen gate.

“If we are fortunate,” he said, “Djan will keep control of the weapons.”

“You seem to have some peculiar confidence she will not hand him that power.”

“She will not do it,” Kurt said. “Not willingly. I could be wrong, but I think I know Djan’s mind. She would suffer a great deal before she would let those machines be loosed on nemet.”

Kta looked back at him, anger on his face. “She was capable of things you seem to have forgotten. Humanness blinds you, my friend, and I fear you have buried Mim more deeply than earth can put her. I do not understand that. Or perhaps I do.”

“Some things,” Kurt said, with a sudden and soul-deep coldness, “you still do not know me well enough to say.”

And he walked back into Elas, ignoring t’Nethim, retreating into its deep shadows, into the rhmei, where the fire was dead, the ashes cold. He knelt there on the rugs as he had done so many evenings, and stared into the dark.

Lhe t’Nethim’s quiet step dared the silent rhmei. It was a rash and brave act for an orthodox Indras. He bowed himself in respect before the dead firebowl and knelt on the bare floor.

He only waited, as he had waited constantly, attending them in silence”.

“What do you want of me?” Kurt asked in vexation.

“I owe you,” said Lhe t’Nethim, “for the care of my cousin’s soul. I have come because it is right that a kinsman see the hearth she honored. When I have seen her avenged, I will be free again.”

It was understandable. Kurt could imagine Kta doing so reckless a thing for Aimu.

Even for him.

He had used rudeness to Kta. Even justified, it pained him. He was glad to hear Kta’s familiar step in the entry, like a ghost of things that belonged to Elas, disturbing its sleep.

Kta silently came and knelt down on the rug nearest Kurt.

“I was wrong,” said Kurt. “I owe you an accounting.”

“No,” said Kta gently. “The words flew amiss. You are a stranger sometimes. I feared you were remembering human debts. And you have found no yhia since losing Mim. She lies at the heart of everything for you. A man without yhia toward such a great loss cannot remember things clearly, cannot reason. He is dangerous to all around him. I fear you. I fear for you. Even you do not know what you are likely to do.”

He was silent for a long time. Kurt did not break the silence.

“Let us wash,” said Kta at last. “And when I have cleansed my hands of blood I mean to light the hearth of Elas again, and return some feeling of life to these halls. If you dread to go upstairs, use my room, and welcome.”

“No,” said Kurt, and gathered himself to his feet. “I will go up, Kta. Do not worry for it.”

The room that had been his and Mini’s looked little different. The stained rug was gone, but all else was the same, the bed, the holy phusa before which she had knelt and prayed.

He had thought that being here would be difficult. He could scarcely remember the sound of Mim’s voice. That had been the first memory to flee. The one most persistent was that still shape of shadow beneath the glaring hearth-fire, Nym’s arms uplifted, invoking ruin, waking the vengeance of his gods.

But now his eyes traveled to the dressing table, where still rested the pins and combs that Mim had used, and when he opened the drawer there were the scarves that carried the gentle scent of aluel. For the first time in a long time he did remember her in daylight, her gentle touch, the light in her eyes when she laughed, the sound of her voice bidding him Good morning, my lord. Tears came to his eyes. He took one of the scarves, light as a dream in his oar-calloused hands, and folded it and put it back again. Elas was home for him again, and he could exist here, and think of her and not mourn any longer.

T’Nethim, his peculiar shadow, hovered uncertainly out on the landing. Kurt heard him, looked and bade him come in. The Indras uncertainly trod the fine carpeting, bowed in reverence before the dead phusa.

“There are clean clothes,” Kurt said to him, flinging wide the closet which held all that had been his. “Take what you need.”

He put off his own filthy garments and went into the bath, washed and shaved with cold water and dressed again in a change of clothing while Lhe t’Nethim did the same for himself. Kurt found himself changed, browner, leaner, ribs crossed by several ridged scars that were still sensitive. Those misfortunes were far away, shut out by the friendly wall of this house.

There was only t’Nethim, who followed, silent, to remind him that war hovered about them.

When they had both finished, they went downstairs to the rhmei to find Kta.

Kta had relit the holy fire, and the warm light of it leaped up and touched their faces and chased the shadows into the deeper recesses of the high ceiling and the spaces behind the pillars of the hall. Elas was alive again in Nephane.

T’Nethim would not enter here now, but returned to the threshold of Elas, to take his place in the shadows, sword detached and laid before him like a self-appointed sentinel, as in ancient times the chan was stationed.

But Kurt went to join Kta in the rhmei and listened while Kta lifted hands to the fire and spoke a prayer to the Guardians for their blessing.

“Spirits of my Ancestors,” he ended, “of Elas, my fathers, my father, fate has led me here and led me home again. My father, my mother, my friends who wait below, there is no peace yet in Elas. Aid me now to find it. Receive us home again and give us welcome, and also bear the presence of Lhe t’Nethim u Kma, who sits at our gate, a suppliant Shadow of Mim, one of your own has come. Be at peace.”

For a moment he remained still, then let fall his hands and looked back at Kurt. “It is a better feeling,” he said quietly. “But still there is a heaviness. I am stifling, Kurt. Do you feel it?”

Kurt shivered involuntarily, and the human part of him insisted it was a cold draft through the halls, blowing the fire’s warmth in the other direction.

But all of a sudden he knew what Kta meant of ill feelings. An ancestral enemy sat at their threshold. Unease rippled through the air, disquiet hovered thickly there. T’Nethim existed, t’Nethim waited, in a city where he ought not to have come, in a house that was his enemy.

A piece of the yhia out of place, waiting.

Let us bid him go wait in some other house, Kurt almost suggested, but he was embarrassed to do it. Besides, it was to himself that t’Nethim was attached, his own heels the man of Indras dogged.

A pounding came at the front door of Elas. They hurried out, taking weapons left by the doorway of the rhmei, and gave a nod of assent to t’Nethim’s questioning look. T’Nethim slipped the bar and opened the door.

A man and a woman were there in the light: Aimu, with Bel t’Osanef.

She folded her hands on her breast and bowed, and Kta bowed deeply to her. When she lifted her face she was crying, tears flooding over her face.

“Aimu,” said Kta. “Bel, welcome.”

“Am I truly?” Aimu asked. “My brother, I have waited so long this afternoon, so patiently, and you would not come to Irain.”

“Ei, Aimu, Aimu, you were my first thought in coming home-how not, my sister? You are all Kurt and I have left. How can you think I do not care?”

Aimu looked into his face and her hurt became a troubled expression, as if suddenly she read something in Kta that she feared, knowing him. “Dear my brother,” she said, “there is no woman in the house. Receive us as your guests and let me make this house home for you again.”

“It would be welcome,” he said. “It would be very welcome, my sister.”

She bowed a little and went her way into the women’s part of the house. Kta looked back to Bel, hardly able to do otherwise, and the Sufaki’s eyes were full sober. They demanded an answer.

“Bel,” said Kta, “this house bids you welcome. Whether it is still a welcome you want to accept ...”

“You can tell me that, Kta.”

“I am going to finish the quarrel between us and Tefur, Bel.” Kta then gave Lhe t’Nethim a direct look, so the Indras knew he was earnestly not wanted. Lhe retreated down the hall toward the darkness, still not daring the rhmei.

“He is a stranger,” said Bel. “Is he of the Isles?”

“He is Indras,” Kta admitted. “Forget him, Bel. Come into the rhmei. We will talk.”

“I will talk here,” said Bel. “I want to know what you are planning. Revenge on t’Tefur-in that I will gladly join you. I have a debt of blood there too. But why is the street still sealed? What is this silence in Irain? And why have you not come there?”

“Bel, do not press me like this. I will explain.”

“You have made some private agreement with the Indras forces. That is the only conclusion that makes sense. I want you to tell me that I am wrong. I want you to account for how you return with the fleet, for who this stranger is in Bias, for a great many things, Kta.”

“Bel, we were defeated. We have bought time.”

“How?”

“Bel, if you walk out of here now and rouse your people against us, you will be bloody-guilty. We lost the battle. The Methi Ylith will not destroy the city if we fulfill her conditions. Walk out of here if you choose, betray that confidence, and you will have lives of your people on your conscience.”

Bel paused with his hand on the door.

“What would you do to stop me?”

“I would let you go,” said Kta. “I would not stop you. But your people will die if they fight, and they will throw away everything we have tried to win for them. Ylith-methi will not destroy the Sufaki, Bel. We would never have agreed to that. I am struggling with her to win your freedom. I think I can, if the Sufaki themselves do not undo it all.”

Bel’s eyes were cold, a muscle slowly knotting in his jaw.

“You are surrendering,” he said at last. “Did you not tell me once how the Indras-descended would fight to the death before they would let Nephane fall? Are these your promises? Is this the value of your honor?”

“I want this city to live, Bel.”

“I know you, my friend. Kta t’Elas took good thought that it was honorable. And when Indras talk of honor, we always lose.”

“I understand your bitterness; I do not blame you. But I won you as much as I could win.”

“I know,” said Bel. “I know it for the truth. If I did not believe it, I would help them collect your head. Gods, my friend, my kinsman-by-marriage, of all our enemies, it has to

“be you to come tell me you have sold us out, and for friendship’s sake. Honorably. Because it was fated. Ai, Kta-“

“I am sorry, Bel.”

Bel laughed shortly, a sound of weeping. “Gods, they killed my house for staying by Elas. My people ... I tried to persuade to reason, to the middle course. I argued with great eloquence, ai, yes, and most bitter of all, I knew-I knew when I heard the fleet had returned-I knew as sure as instinct what the Indras must have done to come back so soon. It was the reasonable course, was it not, the logical, the expedient, the conservative thing to do? But I did not know until you failed to come to Irain that you had been the one to do it to us.”

“T’Osanef,” said Kurt, “times change things, even in Indresul. No human would have left Tehal-methi’s hands alive. I was freed.”

“Have you met with Ylith-methi face to face?”

“Yes,” said Kta.

Bel shot him a yet more uneasy look. “Gods, I could almost believe . . . Did you run straight from here to Indresul? Was t’Tefur right about you?”

“Is that the rumor in the city?”

“A rumor I have denied until now.”

“Shan t’Tefur knows where we were,” said Kurt. “He tried to sink us in the vicinity of the Isles, but we were captured after that by the Indras, and that is the truth. Kta risked his life for your sake, t’Osanef. You could at least afford him the time to hear all the truth.”

Bel considered a moment. “I suppose I can do that,” he said. “There is little else I can do, is there?”

“Will you have more tea, gentlemen?” Aimu asked, when the silence lasted overlong among them.

“No,” said Bel at last, and gave his cup to her. He looked once more at Kta and Kurt. “Kta, I am at least able to understand. I am sorry . . . for the suffering you had.” ‘

“You are saying what is in your mind,” said Kta, “not what is in your heart.”

“I have listened to what you had to say. I do not blame you. What could you do? You are Indras. You chose the survival of your people and the destruction of mine. Is that so unnatural?”

“I will not let them harm the Sufaki,” Kta insisted, while Bel stared at him with that hard-eyed pain which would not admit of tears.

“Would you defy Ylith-methi for us,” asked Bel, “as you defied Djan?”

“Yes. You know I would.”

“Yes,” said Bel, “because Indras are madly honorable. You would die for me. That would satisfy your conscience. But you have already made the choice that matters. Gods, Kta, Kta, I love you as a brother; I understand you, and it hurts, Kta.”

“It grieves me too,” said Kta, “because I knew that it would hurt you personally. But I am doing what I can to prevent bloodshed among your people. I do not ask your help, only your silence.”

“I cannot promise that.”

“Bel,” Kurt said sharply when t’Osanef made to rise. “Listen to me. A people can still hope, so long as they live; even mine, low as they have fallen on this world. You can survive this.”

“As slaves again.”

“Even so, Sufaki ways would survive. If they survive, little by little, you gain. Fight them, spend lives, fall-in the end, the same result: Sufaki ways seep in among the Indras and theirs among you. Bow to good sense. Be patient.”

“My people would curse me for a traitor.”

“It is too late to do otherwise,” said Kurt.

“Are the Families agreed?” Bel asked Kta.

“A vote was taken in the fleet. Enough houses were present to bind the Families to the decision; the Upei’s vote would be a formality.”

“That is not unusual,” said Bel, and suddenly looked at Aimu, who sat listening to everything, pained and silent. “Aimu, do you have counsel for me?”

“No,” she said. “No counsel. Only that you do what you think best. If your honored father were here, my lord, he surely would have advice for you, being Sufaki, being elder. What could I tell you?”

Bel bowed his head and thought a time, and made a gesture of deep distress. “It is a fair answer, Aimu,” he said at last. “I only hate the choice. Tonight-tonight, when it is possible to move without having my throat cut by one of your men, my brother Kta-I will go to what men of my father’s persuasion I can reach. I leave t’Tefur to you.

I will not kill Sufaki. I assume you are going to try to take the Afen?”

Kta was slow to answer, and Bel’s look was one of bitter humor, as if challenging his trust. “Yes,” said Kta.

“Then we go our separate ways this evening. I hope your men will exercise the. sense to stay off the harbor-front. Or is it a night attack Indresul plans?”

“If that should happen,” said Kta, “you will know that we of the Families have been deceived. I tell you the truth, Bel, I do not anticipate that.”

Men came to the door of Elas from time to time as the day sank toward evening, representatives of the houses, reporting decisions, urging actions. Ian t’Ilev came to report the street at last under firm control all along the wall of the Afen gate. He brought too the unwelcome news that Res t’Benit had been wounded from ambush at the lower end of the street, grim forecast of trouble to come, when night made the Families’ position vulnerable. “Where did it happen?” asked Kta. “At Imas,” said Ian. It was the house that faced the Sufaki district. “But the assassin ran and we could not follow him into the-“

He stopped cold as he saw Bel standing in the triangular arch of the rhmei.

Bel walked forward. “Do you think me the enemy, Ian t’Ilev?”

“T’Osanef.” Ian covered his confusion with a courteous bow. “No, I was only surprised to find you here.” “That is strange. Most of my people would not be.” “Bel,” Kta reproved him.

“You and I know how things stand,” said Bel. “If you will pardon me, I see things are getting down to business and the sun is sinking. I think it is time for me to leave.” “Bel, be careful. Wait until it is securely dark.” “I will be careful,” he said, a little warmth returning to his voice. “Kta, take care for Aimu.”

“Gods, are you leaving this moment? What am I to tell her?”

“I have said to her what I need to say.” Bel delayed a moment more, his hand on the door, and looked back. “She was your best argument; I remain grateful you did not stoop to that. I will omit to wish you success, Kta. Do not be surprised if some of my people choose to die rather than agree with you. I will not even pray for t’Tefur’s death, when it may be the last the world will see of the nation we were. The name, my Indras friends, was Chtelek, not Sufak. But that probably will not matter hereafter.”

“Bel,” said Kta, “at least arm yourself.”

“Against whom? Yours-or mine? Thank you, no, Kta. I will see you at the harbor, or be in it tomorrow morning, whichever fortune brings me.”

The heavy door closed behind him, echoing through the empty halls, and Kta looked at Ian with a troubled expression.

“Do you trust him that far?” Ian t’Ilev asked.

“Begin no action against the Sufaki beyond Imas. I insist on that, Ian.”

“Is everything still according to original plan?”

“I will be there at nightfall. But one thing you can do: take Aimu with you and put her safely in a defended house. Elas will be no protection to her tonight.”

“She will be safe in Ilev. There will be men left to guard it, as many as we can spare. Uset’s women will be there too.”

“That will ease my mind greatly,” said Kta.

Aimu wept at the parting, as she had already been crying and trying not to. Before she did leave the house, she went to the phusmeha and cast into the holy fire her silken scarf. It exploded into brief flame, and she held out her hands in prayer. Then she came and put herself in the charge of Ian t’Ilev.

Kurt felt deeply sorry for her and found it hard to think Kta would not make some special farewell, but he bowed to her and she to him with the same formality that had always been between them.

“Heaven guard you, my brother,” she said softly.

“The Guardians of Elas watch over thee, my little sister, once of this house.” ..

It was all. Ian opened the door for her and shepherded her out into the street, casting an anxious eye across and up where the guards still stood on the rooftops, a reassuring presence. Kta closed the door again.

“How much longer?” Kurt asked. “It’s near dark. Shan t’Tefur undoubtedly has ideas of his own.”

“We are about to leave.” T’Nethim appeared silently among the shadows of the further hall. Kta gave a jerk of his head and t’Nethim came forward to join them. “Stay by the threshold,” he ordered t’Nethim. “And be still. What I have yet to do does not involve you. I forbid you to invoke your Guardians in this house.”

T’Nethim looked uneasy, but bowed and assumed his accustomed place by the door, laying his sword on the floor before him.

Kta walked with Kurt into the firelit rhmei, and Kurt realized then the nature of Kta’s warning to t’Nethim, for he walked to the left wall of the rhmei, where hung the Sword of Elas, Isthain. The ypan-sul had hung undisturbed for nine generations, untouched since the expulsion of the humans from Nephane but for the sometime attention that kept its metal bright and its leather-wrapped hilt in good repair. The ypai-sulim, the Great Weapons, were unique to their houses and full of the history of them. Isthain, forged in Indresul when Nephane was still a colony, nearly a thousand years before, had been dedicated in the blood of a Sufaki captive in the barbaric past, carried into battle by eleven men before.

Kta’s hand hesitated at taking the age-dark hilt of it, but then he lifted it down, sheath and all, and went to the hearthfire. There he knelt and laid the great Sword on the floor, hands outstretched over it.

“Guardians of Elas,” he said, “waken, waken and hear me, all ye spirits who have ever known me or wielded this blade. I, Kta t’Elas u Nym, last of this house, invoke ye; know my presence and that of Kurt Liam t’Morgan u Patrick Edward, friend to this house. Know that at our threshold sits Lhe t’Nethim u Kma. Let your powers shield my friend and myself, and do no harm to him at our door. We take Isthain against Shan t’Tefur u Tlekef, and the cause of it you well know. And you, Isthain, you shall have t’Tefur’s blood or mine. Against t’Tefur direct your anger and against no others. Long have you slept undisturbed, my dread sister, and I know the tribute due you when you are wakened. It will be paid by morning’s light, and after that time you will sleep again. Judge me, ye Guardians, and if my cause is just, give me strength. Bring peace again to Elas, by t’Tefur’s death or mine.”

So saying he took up the sheathed blade and drew it, the holy light running up and down the length of it as it came forth in his hand. Etched in its shining surface was the lightning emblem of the house, seeming to flash to life in the darkness of the rhmei. In both hands he lifted the blade to the light and rose, lifted it heavenward and brought it down again, then recovered the sheath and made it fast in his belt.

“It is done,” he said to Kurt. “Have a care of me now, though your human soul has its doubts of such powers. Isthain last drank of human life, and she is an evil creature, hard to put to sleep once wakened. She is eldest of the Sulim in Nephane, and self-willed.”

Kurt nodded and answered nothing. Whatever the temper of the spirit that lived in the metal, he knew the one which lived in Kta t’Elas. Gentle Kta had prepared himself to kill and, in truth, he did not want to stand too near, or to find any friend in Kta’s path.

And when they came to the threshold where t’Nethim waited, Lhe t’Nethim bowed his face to the stone floor and let Kta pass the door before he would rise. When Kurt delayed to close the door of Elas and secure it, t’Nethim gathered himself up and crept out into the gathering dark, the look on his perspiring face that of a man who had indeed been brushed by something that sought his life.

“He has prayed your safety,” Kurt ventured to tell him.

“Sometimes,” said Lhe t’Nethim, “that is not enough. Go ahead, t’Morgan, but be careful of him. It is the dead of Elas who live in that thing. Mim my cousin-“

He ceased with a shiver, and Kurt put the nemet superstition out of mind with a horror that Mini’s name could be entangled in the bloody history of Isthain.

He ran to overtake Kta, and knew that Lhe t’Nethim, at a safe distance, was still behind them.