At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (32 page)

“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
chan
and 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
chan
and 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
jafikn
and 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.
Someone
should 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.