At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (33 page)

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 IIev, 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’IIev 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’Irain 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. “T’Elas 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.—
Ei,
” 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. However, I will 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 him 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, and 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.”