“Human.”
Pai shrieked even as he whirled, throwing her aside, and he held his finger still on the trigger. The aged priest, the one who had so nearly consigned him to die, stood in a side hall, staff in hand, and behind him appeared other priests.
Kurt backed away uneasily, darted a nervous glance further left, right again toward the fire.
“Kurt,” said Djan’s voice from the shadows at his far right.
He turned slowly, knowing she would be armed.
She waited, her coppery hair bright in the shadows, bright as the bronze of the helmeted men who waited behind her. The weapon he had expected was in her hand. She wore her own uniform now-he had never seen her wear it before-green that shimmered with synthetic unreality in this time and place.
“I knew,” she said, “when you ran, that you would be back.”
He cast the gun to the ground, demonstrating both hands empty. “I’ll get you out. It’s too late to save anything. Djan. Give up. Come with me.”
“What, have you forgiven, and has Elas? They sent you here because they won’t come here. They fear this place. And Pai, for shame, Pai.”
“Methi,” wailed Pai, who had fallen on her face in misery, “Methi, I am sorry.”
“I do not blame you. I have expected him for days.” She spoke now in Nechai. “And Shan t’Tefur?”
“He is dead,” said Kurt.
There was no grief, only a slight flicker of the eyes. “I could no longer reason with him. He saw things that could not exist, that never had existed. So others found their own solutions, they tell me. They say the Families have gone over to Ylith of Indresul.”
“To save their city.”
“And will it?”
“I think it has a chance at least.”
“I thought,” she said, “of making them listen. I had the firepower to do it, to show them where we came from.”
“I am thankful,” he said, “that you didn’t.”
“You made this attack calculating that I -wouldn’t.”
“You know the object lesson would be pointless. And you have too keen a sense of responsibility to get these men killed defending you. I’ll help you get out, into the hills. There are people in the villages who would help you. You can make your peace with Ylith-methi later.”
She smiled sadly. “With a world between us, how did we manage to do it? Ylith will not let it rest. And neither will Kta t’Elas.”
“Let me help you.”
Djan moved the gun she had held steadily on him, killed the power with a pressure of her thumb. “Go,” she told her two companions. “Take Pai to safety.”
“Methi,” one protested. It was t’Senife. “We will not leave you with him.”
“Go,” she said, but when they would not, she simply held out her hand to Kurt and started with him to the door, the white-robed priests melting back before them to clear the way.
Then a shadow rose up before them.
T’Nethim. -
A blade flashed. Kurt froze, foreseeing the move of Djan’s hand, whipping up the pistol. “Don’t!” he cried out to them both.
The ypan arced down.
A cry of outrage roared in his ears. He seized t’Nethim’s arm, thrown sprawling as the Sufaki guards went for the man. Blades lifted, fell almost simultaneously. T’Nethim sprawled down the steps, over the edge, leaving a dark trail behind him.
Kurt struggled to his knees, saw the awful ruin of Djan’s shoulder and knew, though she still breathed, that she was finished. His stomach knotted in panic. He thought that her eyes pitied him.
Then they lost the look of life, the firelight from the doorway flickering across their surface. When he gathered her up against him she was loose, lifeless.
“Let her go,” someone ordered.
He ignored the command, though it was in his mind that in the next moment a Sufak dagger could be through his back. He cradled Djan against him, aware of Pai sobbing nearby. He did not shed tears. They were stopped up in him, one with the terror that rested in his belly. He wished they would end it.
A deafening vibration filled the air, moaning deeply with a sighing voice of bronze, the striking of the Inta, the notes shaking and chilling the night. It went on and on, time brought to a halt, and Kurt knelt and held her dead weight against his shoulder until at last one of the younger priests came and knelt, holding out his hands in entreaty.
“Human,” said the priest, “please, for decency’s sake, let us take her from this holy place.”
“Does she pollute your shrine?” he asked, suddenly trembling with outrage. “She could have killed every living thing on the shores of the Ome Sin. She could not even kill one man.”
“Human,” said t’Senife, half kneeling beside him. “Human, let them have her. They will treat her honorably.”
He looked up into the narrow Sufaki eyes and saw grief there. The priests pulled Djan from him gently, and he made the effort to rise, his clothes soaked with her blood. He shook so that he almost fell, staring with dazed eyes on the temple square, where a line of Indras guards had ranged themselves. Still the Inta sounded, numbing the very air. Men came in small groups, moving slowly toward the shrine.
They were Sufaki.
He was suddenly aware that all around him were Sufaki, save for the distant line of Indras swordsmen who stood screening the approach to the temple.
He looked back, realizing they had taken Djan. She was gone, the last human face of his own universe that he would ever see. He heard Pai crying desolately, and almost absently bent and drew her to her feet, passing her into t’Senife’s care.
“Come with me,” he bade t’Senife. “Please. The Indras will not attack. I will get you both to safety. There should be no more killing in this place.”
T’Senife yielded, nodded to his companion-tired men, both of them, with tired, sorrowful faces.
They came down the long steps. Indras turned, ready to take the three Sufaki, the men and the chan Pai, in charge, but Kurt put himself between.
“No,” he said. “There is no need. We have lost t’Nethim; they have lost a methi. She is dead. Let them be.”
One was t’Nechis, who heard that news soberly and bowed and prevented his men. “If you look for Kta t’Elas,” said t’Nechis, “seek him toward the wall.”
“Go your way,” Kurt bade the Sufaki, “or stay with me if you will.”
“I will stay with you,” said t’Senife, “until I know what the Indras plan to do with Nephane.” There was cynicism in his voice, but it surely masked a certain fear, and the methi’s guards walked with him as he walked behind the Indras line in search of Kta.
He found Kta among the men of Isulan, with his leg bandaged and with Isthain now secure at his belt. Kta looked up in shock, joy damped by fear. Kurt looked down at his bloody hand and found it trembling and his knees likely to give out.
“Djan is dead,” said Kurt.
“Are you all right?” Kta asked.
Kurt nodded, then jerked his head toward the Sufaki. ‘They were her guards. They deserve honor of that.”
Kta considered them, inclined his head in respect. “T’Senife, help us. Stand by us for a time, so that your people may see that we mean them no harm. We want the fighting stopped.”
The rumor was spreading among the people that the Methi was dead. The Into, had not ceased to sound. The crowd in the square increased steadily.
“It is Bel t’Osanef,” said Toj t’Isulan.
It was in truth Bel, coming slowly through the crowd, pausing to speak a word, exchange a glance with one he knew. Among some his presence evoked hard looks and muttering, but he was not alone. Men came with him, men whose years made the crowd part for them, murmuring in wonder: the elders of the Sufaki.