At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (34 page)

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.”

“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.

“What need of them to 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: and 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 resheathed 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 Ia, 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 Ia. 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,” said 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 no 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. And 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 should 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 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.”