Thanis had not moved, except to let her hands drop to her sides. Now she lifted them and brushed the black heavy strands of hair from her forehead, and it was an old woman’s gesture, infinitely weary.
“It’s all to be broken, isn’t it?” she said.
The one small word encompassed everything, the city, the Quarter, the street, this building, this room, these few belongings, this way of life. Balin experienced something of Stark’s personal hatred of the Mekhish bastard who would do this breaking, and he wanted very much to comfort Thanis, but it was no use lying and so he did not. He said, “For a time, I’m afraid. For a time, anyway.”
He hung the belt over the wall peg under Stark’s cloak, threw his own cloak around him and went out. The cold air struck him with the familiar winter smells of frost and smoke. The dark roofs glinted in the sunlight, lying against one another like the discarded counters of a game of hazard, and above him the great Wall rose as it had risen since his eyes first opened on the world, massive and comforting and secure. Balin went down the hollow steps, his hand touching the worn stone at his side. He moved slowly. He moved like a man with a knife in his heart.
VII
It was evening again when Stark awoke and lay stretching, still sore in all his muscles and ravenously hungry, but feeling pretty much himself. He became aware of sounds that had not been there before, the pacing of men on the Wall above the house, the calling of the watch. Thanis heard him stir and came from where she had been standing at the doorway, looking out into the dusk.
“There is still no sign of attack,” she said.
“It will come.” Stark sat up. There was something different about the room. In a moment he realized that all the small things were gone, the little useless things that made a room something more than merely a box in which to shelter like a captive animal. Presumably they had been hidden somewhere. The utilitarian things, clothing and such, were arranged in two small piles in a corner, where they might be quickly chosen from, and a supply of food was beside them, wrapped in a cloth. The room was already vacant. No one lived in it any more. People were only camping here, waiting to move on. He glanced up at Thanis. Her eyes hurt him, so big and full of unshed tears.
He said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she answered with unexpected fierceness, and suddenly her eyes blazed. “Just tell me what I can do to fight.”
“You’ve made a good beginning.” He smiled at her, pleased. “Is there anything to eat without breaking into the iron rations?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve had a good day in the markets.” She brought him cold meat and bread and wine. She watched him eat for a minute or two and then began herself to eat, very hungrily. And again Stark smiled.
“I see the knot has come untied.”
She seemed surprised. “How did you guess?”
“I’ve known a time or two myself when the food choked me. Here, have some wine. It’s warming to the gut and cheering to the nerves.” He poured her cup full and she smiled and drank it, and they were companionable in that bereaved room, with the thick shadows gliding in to cover the empty places and a pleasant warmth from the brazier.
“Where is Balin?”
“Talking. Planning. He’ll be home soon.”
“I should thank you. Both of you, for taking me in, but especially you, for helping me there in the marketplace.”
She looked at him briefly, steadily, and smiled a little, and said, “Thank me if you will. There’ll be little enough of kindness soon.” She glanced away from him around the room, and outside on the Wall the boots rang on cold stone and the voices challenged harshly.
Stark reached over and pulled her to him and kissed her, feeling the warm sweet-smelling firmness of her body, feeling the immensely thrilling fact of life in her, beating in her throat under his fingers, stirring in the lift and fall of her breathing, her own individual and separate being. And she clung to him, almost desperately, and did not speak, and all at once it was as though he held a child, small and frightened and seeking comfort.
Something in his manner must have changed, because she pushed away from him, laughing a little and shaking her head. “I need more wine, I think.” She lifted the cup and then paused, listening, and gave Stark an urchin’s grin. “Anyway, here is my brother.”
Balin was in a taut, keyed-up mood. He sat down at first with them to eat, but then rose and moved restlessly about the room, his eyes too bright, his voice edged and brittle, talking about all he had been doing.
“I’ve had to be very careful, Stark. Only four other men know about the talisman, and them I trust as I do my own right hand. One word—just one word in the wrong ear, and the three of us here would never live to see what happens to Kushat.”
“You have a rallying place?”
“Yes. The Festival Stones. They lie outside the city…” He sat down beside Stark and dipped his finger in the wine, drawing with it a map on the table-top. “Here, to the northeast, some two miles. There is a ceremony there every year at the spring solstice, mostly for the children now, though in older times it was a more serious thing.”
Stark nodded. The sun rose and set for all the planets, and on each one of them the worship of the Shining God was old as the first men, as old as life.
“Everyone knows where it is,” Balin was saying, “and from there the way is clear to the pass. That is all arranged. Each man will find his own way out of the city. There are a hundred ways and every thief knows them. In its under-levels, Kushat is a honeycomb.”
Again Stark nodded. This was so with every Martian city he knew.
The challenge of the watch sounded on the Wall. Suddenly the room was stifling. “I would like to go out,” Stark said, and rose. “Is it possible?”
“Oh, yes. As long as we stay in the Quarter.” He jumped up, caught by a new idea and eager to go again. “We will go around and let the men see you, so they’ll know you when the times comes.”
“And,” said Stark mildly, putting on his cloak, “you might show me one or two of these ways out of the city that every thief knows. Just in case we become separated in the heat of battle…”
Balin said cheerfully, “I told you, I’m not a soldier. Come on.” He touched Thanis on the shoulder. “Try and get some sleep, little one. You’ll need it.”
She gave them an uncertain smile, and they left her and went out into the cold night. Both moons were up, painting the tumbled roofs of the city in a wild pattern of black and greenish silver, double-shadowed and constantly ashift. The towers of the King City rose up as though they would catch the nearer moon out of the sky, and it shone maliciously through them where their walls were broken away, revealing them for the sad ruins they were. Below in the streets there was mostly darkness, except for the watchfires in the squares, with here and there a torch lighting a tavern sign, or a dim gleam behind a shuttered window.
Stark noticed that Balin went ahead of him rapidly down the stairs and did not pause to look. He shook his head sympathetically and followed him. High above on the Wall the iron-shod boots tramped rhythmically.
“The city seems very quiet,” Stark said, walking beside Balin along the crooked street.
“They still do not quite believe,” said Balin. “Even here in the Quarter. No one has ever seen an attack, and no one has ever thought of such a thing in the winter. Winter is a safe time, when the tribesmen are too busy scratching a living to be bothered with making war. In the summer they try to plunder the caravans we send to trade with cities farther south, and they attack our hunting parties, but that is all. Most people in Kushat are of Thanis’ opinion, anyway—regardless of the talisman, the great Wall still protects us.” He looked up at it. “And when I see it I cannot help but feel in my heart, no matter what my mind tells me, that the Wall is proof against any enemy.”