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.”
“ Taviwent 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 stealthe 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 chanare 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.”