At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (25 page)

Gan bowed his head in thoughtful sorrow. “A ship came two days ago,” he said. “
Dkelis
of Irain in Nephane. Her word was from the Chosen of Heaven herself, that Elas had offended against her and had chosen to remove itself from her sight. —That the—true author of the offense was—forgive me, my guests—a human who did murder against citizens of Nephane while under the guardianship of Elas.”

“I killed some of t’Tefur’s men,” said Kurt, sick at heart. He looked at Kta. “Was that it? Was that what caused it?”

“You know there were other reasons,” said Kta grimly. “This was only her public excuse, a means to pass blame.—My lord Gan, was that the sum of the message?”

“In sum,” said Gan, “that Elas is outlawed in all holdings of Nephane; that all citizens must treat you as enemies; that you, Kta, and all with you, are to be killed,—excepting lord Kurt, who must be returned alive and unharmed to the Methi’s justice.”

“Surely,” said Kta, “Hnes will not comply.”

“Indeed not. Irain knew that; I doubt even they would execute that order, brought face to face with you.”

“What will you, sir? Had you rather we spent the night elsewhere? Say it without offense. I am anxious to cause you no inconvenience.”

“Son of my friend,” said Gan fiercely, “there are laws older than Nephane, than even the shining city itself, and there is justice higher than what is writ in the Methi’s decree. No. Let her study how to enforce that decree. Stay in Acturi. I will make this whole island a fortress against them if they want a fight of it.”

“My friend, no, no, that would be a terrible thing for your people. We ask at the most supplies and water, in containers that bear no mark of Hnes.
Tavi
will clear your harbor at dawn. No one saw us come save only Ilev, and they are house-friends to us both. And I do not plan that any should see us go. Elas has fallen. That is grief enough. I would not leave a wake of disaster to my friends where I pass.”

“Whatever you need is yours,—harbor, supplies, an escort of galleys if you wish it. But stay, let me persuade you, Kta,—I am not so old I would not fight for my friends. All Acturi’s strength is at your command. I do not think that with war against Indresul imminent, the Methi will dare alienate one of her possessions in the Isles.”

“I did not think she would dare what she did against Elas, sir, and Shan t’Tefur is likely hard behind us at the moment. We have met him once, and he would act against you without hesitation. I know not what authority the Methi has given him, but even if she would hesitate, as you say, an attack might be an accomplished fact before she heard about it. No, sir.”

“It is your decision,” said Gan regretfully. “But I think even so, we might hold them.”

“Provisions and weapons only. That is all I ask.”

“Then see to it, my sons, quickly. Provide
Tavi
with all she needs, and have the hands start loading at once.”

The two sons of Hnes rose and bowed their respects all around, then went off quickly to carry out their orders.

“These supplies,” said Gan, “are a parting gift from Hnes. There is nothing I can send with you to equal the affection I bear you, Kta, my almost-son. Have you men enough? Some of mine would sail with you.”

“I would not risk them.”

“Then you are short-handed?”

“I would not risk them.”

“Where will you go, Kta?”

“To the Yvorst Ome,—beyond the reach of the Methi and the law.”

“Hard lands ring that sea, but Hnes ships come and go there. You will meet them from time to time. Let them carry word between us.
Ai,
what days these are. My sight is longer than that of most men, but I see nothing that gives me comfort now. If I were young, I think I would sail with you, Kta, because I have no courage to see what will happen here.”

“No, my lord, I know you. I think were you as young as I, you would sail to Nephane and meet the trouble head-on as my father did. As I would do, but I had Aimu’s life to consider, and their souls in my charge.”

“Little Aimu. I hesitated to ask. I feared more bad news.”

“No, thank heaven. I gave her to a husband, and on his life and honor he swore to me he would protect her.”

“What is her name now?” asked lady Na.

“My lady, she is Aimu t’Elas e Nym sh’Bel t’Osanef.”

“T’Osanef,” murmured Gan, in that tone which said:
Ei, Sufaki,
but with pity.

“They have loved each other from childhood,” said Kta. “It was my father’s will, and mine.”

“Then it was well done,” said Gan. “May the light of heaven fall gently on them both.” And from an Indras of orthodoxy, it was much. “He is a brave man, this t’Osanef, to be husband to our Aimu now.”

“It is true,” said Kta, and to the lady Na: “Pray for her, my lady. They have much need of it.”

“I shall, and for you, and for all who sail with you,” she answered, and included Kurt with a glance of her lovely eyes, to which Kurt bowed in deep reverence.

“Thank you,” said Kta. “Your house will be in my thoughts too.”

“I wish,” said Gan, “that you would change your mind and stay. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps someday things will be different, since the Methi is mateless. Someday it may be possible to return.”

“It is possible,” said Kta, “if she does not appoint a Sufaki successor. We do not much speak of it, but we fear there will be no return—not for our generation.”

Gan’s jaw tightened. “Acturi will send ships out tonight, I think.”

“Do not fight t’Tefur,” Kta pleaded.

“They will sail, I say, and provide at least a warning to
Edrif.
”

“When Djan-methi knows of it—”

“Then she will learn the temper of the Isles,” said Gan, “and the Chosen of Heaven will perhaps restrain her ambition with sense.”

“
Ai,
” murmured Kta. “I do not want this, Gan.”

“This is Hnes’ choice. Elas has its own honor to consider. I have mine.”

“Friend of my father, these waters are too close to Indresul’s. You know not what you could let loose. It is a dangerous act.”

“It is,” said Gan again, “Hnes’ choice.”

Kta bowed his head, bound to silence under Gan’s roof, but that night he spent long in meditation and lay wakeful on his bed in the room he shared with Kurt.

Kurt watched him, and ventured no question into his unrest. He had enough of his own that evening, beginning to fit together the pieces of what Kta had never explained to him, the probable scene in the Upei as Nym demanded justice for Mim’s death, while the Methi had in the actions of Elas’ own guest the pretext she needed to destroy Elas.

So Nym had died, and Elas had fallen.

And Djan could claim he had made it all inevitable, his marriage with Mim and his loyalty to Elas being the origin of all her troubles.

Hanan justice.

The justice of a personal anger, where the charges were nothing she would dare present in the Upei. She would destroy all he loved, but she would not let him go. Being Hanan, she believed in nothing after. She would not grant him quick oblivion.

He lay upon the soft down mattress of Hnes’ luxury and stared into the dark, and slept only the hours just before dawn, troubled by dreams he could not clearly remember.

The wind bore fair for the north now, warm from the Tamur Basin. The blue sail drew taut and
Tavi
’s bow lanced through the waves, cutting their burning blue to white foam.

Still Kta looked often astern, and whether his concern was more for Gan t’Hnes or for t’Tefur, Kurt was not sure.

“It is out of our hands,” Kurt said finally.

“It is out of our hands,” Kta agreed with yet another look aft. There was nothing. He bit at his lip. “
Ei, ei,
at least he will not be with us through the Thiad.”

“The Necklace. The Lesser Isles,” Kurt knew them by repute, barren crags strung across the Ome Sin’s narrowest waters, between Indresul and Nephane and claimed by neither side successfully. They were a maze by fair weather, a killer of ships in storms. “Do we go through it or around?”

“Through if the weather favors us. To Nephane’s side—wider waters there—if the seas are rough. I do not treat Indresul’s waters with the familiarity the Isles-folk use. Well, well, but past that barrier we are free, my friend, free as the north seas and their miserable ports allow us.”

“I have heard,” Kurt offered, “that there is some civilization there, some cities of size.”

“There are two towns, and those are primitive,—
ei
well, one might be called a city, Haithen. It is a city of wood, of frozen streets. Yvesta the mother of snows never looses those lands. There are no farms, only desolate flats, and impossible mountains, and frozen rivers,—ice masses float in the Yvorst Ome that can crush ships, and there are great sea beasts the like of which do not visit these blue waters.
Ai,
it is nothing like Nephane.”

“Are you regretting,” Kurt asked softly, “that you have chosen as you have?”

“It is a strange place we go,” said Kta, “and yet shame to Elas is worse. I think Haithen may be preferable to the Methi’s law. It pains me to say it, but Haithen may be infinitely preferable to the Methi’s Nephane. Only when we are passing by the coast of Nephane, I shall think of Aimu, and of Bel, and wish that I had news of them. That is the hardest thing, to realize that there is nothing I can do. Elas is not accustomed to helplessness.”

En t’Siran, captain of
Rimaris,
swung onto the deck of the courier ship
Kadese,
beneath the furled red sails. Such was his haste that he did not even sit and take tea with the captain of
Kadese
before he delivered his message; he took the ritual sip of tea standing, and scarcely caught his breath before he passed the cup back to the captain’s man and bowed his courtesy to the senior officer.

“T’Siran,” said the courier captain, “you signaled urgent news.”

“A confrontation,” said t’Siran, “between Isles ships and a ship of their own kind.”

“Indeed.” The captain put his own cup aside, signaled a scribe, who began to write. “What happened? Could you identify any of the houses?”

“Easily on the one side. They bore the moon of Acturi on their sails—Gan t’Hnes’ sons, I am well sure of it. The other was a strange sail, dark green with a gold dragon.”

“I do not know that emblem,” said the captain. “It must be one of those Sufak designs.”

“Surely,” agreed t’Siran, for the dragon Yr was not one of the lucky symbols for an Indras ship. “It may be a Methi’s ship.”

“A confrontation, you say. With what result?”

“A long wait. Then dragon-sail turned aside, toward the coast of Sufak.”

“And the men of Acturi?”

“Held their position some little time. Then they went back into the Isles. We drew off quickly. We had no orders to provoke combat with the Isles. That is the sum of my report.”

“It is,” said the captain of
Kadese,
“a report worth carrying.”

“My lord.” En t’Siran acknowledged the unusual tribute from a courier captain, bowed his head and, as the captain returned the parting courtesy, left.

The captain of
Kadese
hardly delayed to see
Rimaris
spread sail and take her leave before he shouted an order to his own crew and bade them put about for Indresul.

The thing predicted was beginning. Nephane had come to a point of division. The Methi of Indresul had direct interest in this evidence, which might affect policies up and down the Ome Sin and bring Nephane nearer its day of reckoning.

From now on,
Kadese
’s captain thought to himself, the Methi Ylith would begin to listen to her captains, who urged that there would be no better time than this. Heaven favored it.

“Rowers to the benches,” he bade his second, “reliefs at the minimum interval, all available crew.”

With four shifts and a hundred and ten oars, the slim
Kadese
was equipped to go the full distance. The wind was fair behind her. Her double red sail was bellied out full, and there was nothing faster on either side of the Ome Sin.

 

There were scattered clouds, small wisps of white with gray undersides that grew larger in the east as the hours passed. The crew of
Tavi
kept a nervous watch on the skies, dreading the shift of wind that could mean delay in these dangerous waters.

In the west, near at hand, rose the grim jagged spires of the Thiad. The sun declined toward the horizon, threading color into the scant clouds which touched that side of the sky.

The waves splashed and rocked at them as
Tavi
came dangerously close to a rock that only scarcely broke the surface. One barren island was to starboard, a long spine of jagged rocks.

It was the last of the feared islets.

“We are through,” exulted Mnek as it fell behind them. “We are for the Yvorst Ome.”

Then sail appeared in the dusky east.

Val t’Ran, normally harsh-spoken, did not even swear when it was reported. He put the helm over for the west, cutting dangerously near the fringe rocks of the north Thiad, and sent Pan running to take orders from Kta, who was coming toward the stern as rapidly as Kta ever moved on
Tavi
’s deck.

“To the benches!” Kta was shouting, rousing everyone who had been off duty. Men scrambled before him.

He strode up to the helm and gave Val the order to maintain their present westerly heading.

“Tkel!” he called up to the rigging. “What sail?”

“I cannot tell, my lord,” Tkel’s voice drifted down from the yard, where the man swung precariously on the footrope. “The distance is too great.”

“We shall keep it so,” Kta muttered, and eyed mistrustfully the great spires and deadlier rough water which lay to port. “Gently to starboard, Val. Even for good reason, this is too close.”