Morlock had no idea what they were talking about, but he didn't want to admit it, lest he lose authority in their eyes. "Dying is easy," he said. "It is over in a moment. Atone by living. Live as well as you can, for all who have died. It is all you can do."
This seemed to satisfy them. They armed themselves from the fallen guards and began to move down the winding stone stairways, the first stones of an avalanche that would sweep the city clear of slaves.
Morlock went with them. But first he paused to cover the hands of two dead guards: one with white hair, the other with a scarred face. If it was important to atone, and if death was an atonement, they had atoned.
Chapter Twenty-nine: Election Results
Rokhlenu watched Morlock go, then turned back to the rally, where the fighting had broken up into a chaos of separate combats, clouds of dust dimming the colors and scents of the factions.
"We'll never find the Alliance leaders in this mess," Rokhlenu remarked to Wuinlendhono.
"You want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Don't bother with the leaders. Better that they survive today, hated and toothless. Who'll vote for them now?"
"Right. I'd rather kill the volunteers, anyway."
His wife looked at him in some surprise.
"I want them to know," Rokhlenu said grimly, "that if they march to an election as if it were a war, a war is exactly what they'll get. The Aruukaiaduun would never have put my family's heads on poles if they hadn't known a private army was marching with them. It won't be so easy for them to recruit one, next time."
"Yurr. Well, if nothing else, it thins out the voters committed to the other side."
In fact, there was not much more fighting and no more killing. The Alliance leaders had quietly absconded down the necropolis slope once the Union charge had passed by, and when the Alliance werewolves realized this they began fleeing themselves, or tearing off their colors and surrendering themselves.
They let the Alliance citizens keep their weapons and collect their dead. They sent the Union dead and wounded back to the outlier settlement by the necropolis road: Rokhlenu didn't want to make a display of their losses, which were not nothing.
But he did want to make a display of their victory. Both packs of Union werewolves raised their banners high and ran together in good order down the winding stairs to Iuiunioklendon market square.
There the Goweiteiuun citizens parted company: most of them had dens on Iuiunioklendon. "And it would be a long walk back up, thanks to your friend," said Aaluindhonu, the Goweiteiuun gnyrrand, as they parted company. He gestured up at the motionless funicular and laughed.
"We should call for an election soonest," Wuinlendhono said. "I think we have the bite for it."
"Tomorrow after sunset, I suggest," Aaluindhonu replied, looking at both Rokhlenu and Wuinlendhono to see if they approved. When they nodded, he said, "I'll send a message to the First Singer when I get back to my den. He'll have plenty of time to send heralds to sing the news tonight, and shout it tomorrow."
They said good-bye, and the outliers continued onward and downward.
Rokhlenu and Wuinlendhono didn't talk much as they walked; they were both tired, and the head of a crowd was no place for a conversation of consequence. But once he asked her, as they passed the abandoned funicular tower on Iuiunioklendon, "Do you think I was wrong to tell Morlock to take the slaves out?"
"No," said Wuinlendhono. "For one thing, he'd have done it anyway. But I think the political harm will go to the Aruukaiaduun. They played a rough game and lost. Everyone knows it. They will have to hire workmen to open the funicular ways again, but no one will thank them for it; everyone knows they would rather have slaves."
But it was clear, long before they reached Twinegate, that at least one of the ways would not be reopening soon. The anchor-gate in Twinegate Plaza was bright with flames and dark with smoke in the afternoon shadows. Someone had set the wooden mechanisms inside the tower on fire.
They stood on the verge of Runaiaklendon mesa and watched the tower burn for a while.
"Morlock has written `I was here' on the face of the city in letters of fire," Rokhlenu said. "People will be reading it there for a long time."
"No doubt," said Wuinlendhono. "That tower isn't going to stand much longer. Let's go home through the Dogtown Gate. We don't want to be punctuated by falling periods."
Hours later, Rokhlenu and Wuinlendhono were alone at last, settling down for a brief nap before sunset, when she asked, "You don't think you'll see him again, do you?"
"I wouldn't bet either way," said Rokhlenu. "Not on him. But I don't think he expects it. He's old; he's sick. If he can get the never-wolves to safety, it may be the last thing he can do. His future is closed in, and he's out of tomorrows. I'd loan him some of ours, if I could."
"Over my day-barking body you would," Wuinlendhono replied, and bit him somewhere he'd notice.
Morlock was not, in fact, shepherding the never-wolves to safety. He had sent them away south to fend for themselves, and he was, at sunset, rounding the edge of the city's necropolis and headed for the slopes of Mount Dhaarnaiarnon.
He had felt bad about parting company with the ex-slaves, but most of them had not seemed to expect his help. They were natives of the northern plains and knew the region better than he did. Also, some of them kept referring to atonement and some sin by their ancestors in the distant past, and he found it hard to stay patient with this. He had done things since noon that he felt some guilt for; if the never-wolves weren't committing their own misdeeds by now, it was long past time that they start.
As for him, he had to untie the knot of mystery surrounding the murder of his friends and find vengeance for them. He did not honestly think that he would succeed, but if he were even to try, he would have to confront Ulugarriu. Morlock was wondering if he might be a were-rat, or perhaps a colony of were-rats, passing the name Ulugarriu down generation after generation to create the legend of an immortal maker. But if he was not a were-rat, or among the were-rats, the were-rats certainly knew him and were working with him.
Morlock walked around the marsh south of the outlier settlement and came at his cave through the silver-tainted hills to the east.
He was surprised and pleased to see a sallow-faced Lakkasulakku hard at work over the forge, folding and refolding glass for weapons.
"Good evening, apprentice," he said, when the young citizen leaped up at his approach.
"Khretvarrgliu!" shouted Lakkasulakku. "They said they were going to execute you!"
"They tried. They won't again, I think."
"Then the Union won the rally?"
"I think so, though I left before it was done. I am here only to collect a few things and leave again."
"I hope-I hope you don't mind…. They needed weapons for the rally, and I thought-"
"I don't mind. Everything in the cave is yours as much as mine, save Tyrfing alone, because of the burden that goes with it."
"Chieftain," Lakkasulakku said, bowing his head.
Morlock pounded him on the shoulder. Together they gathered a cloak, some cold-lights and provisions, and a few other things Morlock thought might be handy. Before the sun disappeared behind the shoulder of the hill, he was off again, waving farewell to Lakkasulakku, who stood disconsolate before the mouth of the cave. Morlock never expected to see him again and, as a matter of fact, he never did.
Sunset found him on the lower slopes of the volcano. He was tempted to drive onward, but he knew too much about mountains to try ascending one in the dark. Also, he was deathly tired. He wrapped himself in the cloak, although the air was still hot, and lay down. He was awake for a long time, looking at a strange fiery light burning on the undersides on the incoming clouds. It was odd, as if the city were on fire and the clouds were reflecting it. But the city was not on fire.