To this the humans fell heir.
Good riddance to them.
He began to think again of the mri that had suicided, and with repeated chill, of the remaining mri that had by that time already tended toward Kesrithall the mri that survived anywhere, coming to their homeworld, which was to go to the control of humans.
To die?
He wished he could trust it were so simply final. To stop the humans; to breathe life into the war again; to ruin the peace and the regul at once, and then, being few, to die themselves, and leave the regul species at the mercy of outraged humans: this was like the mri.
He began to think, his double hearts laboring with fear, what choice he had in dealing with the mercenaries; and as he had never lied before he dealt with mri, so he had never contemplated violence with his own hands, without mri hired as intermediaries.
The sled made a rough turn toward the port gate, bouncing painfully over ruts. The disrepair was even here.
He saw with utter apprehension that clouds had gathered again over the hills beyond the city.
Chapter THIRTEEN
THE RAIN CAME, a gentle enemy, against the walls of the edun. The winds rushed down, but the mountain barrier and the high rocks broke their force and sent them skirling down slopes toward the regul town and port instead. No strong wind had ever touched the edun, not in 2,000 years.
It was comfortable on such a night to take the common-meal, all castes together in the she'pan's tower. All evening long there had been a curious sensitivity in the air, a sense of violent pleasure, of satisfaction as strong as the storm winds. The dusei, mood-sensitive, had grown so restive that they had been turned out of the edun altogether, to roam where they pleased this night. They disappeared into the dark, all but the miuk'ko at the gate, finding no discomfort at all in the world's distempers.
And the spirits of the kel'ein were high. Old eyes glittered. There was no mention of the ship that was coming, but it was at the center of everything.
Niun likewise, among the kel'ein, felt the surge of hope at the arrival of Ahanal. Of a sudden, dizzying views opened before his feet. Others. Brothers. Rivals. Challenge and hope of living.
And himself, even unfledged, even without experience in war, hitherto no person of consequence: but this was home-world, and he of homeworld's Kel; and he was, above all, the she'pan's kel'en. It was a heady, unaccustomed feeling, that of being no longer the least, but one among the first.
"We have been in contact with a mri ship," was all the word the she'pan had given them that morning, before the arrival of the regul bai; and that, outside its name, was all that they knew. The Lady Mother had gathered them together in the dawning, and spoken to them quietly and soberly, and it was an effort for her, for she lay insensible so much of the time. But for a moment, a brief moment, there had been an Intel Niun had never seen: it awed him, that soft-voiced, clear-headed stranger who spoke knowledgeably about lanes and routings around Kesrith that were little-monitored by regulin riddles she spoke at times, but not now: "Soon," she had said, "Very soon. Keep your eyes on the regul, kel'ein."
And quickly then, more quickly than they had anticipated, the regul bai had come making them offers.
The regul were concerned. They were presented something that had never happened before, and they were concerned and confused.
"Intel," said Eddan, her eldest Husband, when dinner was done and Niun had returned from carrying the utensils to the scullerythat and the storerooms the only part of the Kath-tower that remained open. "Intel, may the Kel ask permission to ask a question?"
Niun settled among the kel'ein quickly, anxious and at once grateful that Eddan had waited until his return; and he looked at Intel's face, seeking some hope that she would not deny them.
She frowned."Is the Kel going to ask about the ship?" "Yes," said Eddan,"or anything else worth the knowing." The she'pan unfolded her hands, permission given. "When it comes," asked Eddan, "do we go or do we stay?" "Kel'ein, I will tell you this: that I have seen that Kesrith's use is near its end. Go, yes; and I will tell you something more: that I owe the regul bai one kel'en, but no more. And I do much doubt that he will come back to collect that promise of me."
Old Liran, veilless as they all were veilless in the intimacy of the common-meal, grinned and made a move with his scarred hand. "Well, she'pan, Little Mother, if he does come back, send me. I would like to see whether Nurag is all it is claimed to be, and I would be of scant use in the building of another edun. This one, all cracks as it is, is home; and if I am not to stay with this one, why, I might as well take service again."
"Would a service among the People not do as well, Liran?" "Yes, Little Mother, well enough," Liran answered, and his old eyes flickered with interest, a darted glance at Eddanan appeaclass="underline" ask questions, eldest. The whole Kel sat utterly still. But the she'pan had turned their question aside. Eddan did not ask again.
"Sathell," said Intel.
"She'pan?"
"Cite for the Kel the terms of the treaty that bind us to the service of regul."
Sathell bowed his head and lifted it again. "The words of the treaty between doch Holn and mri are the treaty that keeps us in service to the regul. The pertinent area: So long as regul and mri alone occupy the homeworld, whereon the edun of the People rests ... or until regul depart the home-world, whereon the edun of the People rests... This long we are bound to accept service with regul when called upon. And I hold, she'pan, that in spirit if not in letter, regul have already failed in the terms of that treaty."
"Surely," said the she'pan, "we are not far from that point. We contracted with doch Holn. Doch Holn might have known how to deal with us; but this bai Hulagh is apparently of Nurag itself, and I do not think he knows the People. He erred seriously when he did not take urgent care to see to our evacuation long before now."
"Holn knew better," said Sathell.
"But Holn neglected to pass on to her successor all that she might have told him. The old bai Solgah kept her silence. Neither do regul tend to consult written records. The regul-kind do not make good fighters, but they are, in their own way, very clever at revenge."
And Intel smiled, a tired smile that held a certain satisfaction.
"May the Kel," asked Eddan,"ask permission to ask a question?"
"Ask."
"Do you think the Holn deliberately excluded us from the assets she turned over to this bai Hulagh?"
"I believe the Holn will consider this a stroke of revenge, a salve to their pride, yes. Bai Hulagh has lost the mri. In such manner regul fight against regul. What is that to us? But I am sure of this," she said in a hard tone, "that Medai was the last of my children to leave on a regul ship, the last of my children to die for regul causes. And hereafter, hereafter, kel'ein, do not plan that mri should fight mri again: no. We do not fight."
There was palpable dismay in the whole Kel.
"May the Kel ask??" Eddan began, unshakably formal.
"No," she said. "The Kel may not ask. But I will tell you what is good for you to know. The People are dangerously declined in numbers. Time was when such fighting served the People; but no longer, no longer, kel'ein. I will tell you a thing you did not ask: the ship Ahanal bears what remains of all the People; and we are the rest. There are no more."
There was cold in the room, and no one moved. Niun locked his arms tightly about his knees, trying to absorb personally what the Mother said, hoping that it was allegory, as she often spoke in riddles: but there was no way to believe it a figure of speech.
"At Elag," said Intel in a thin hard voice, "while regul evacuated their own kind, they threw the kel'ein that served them against humans again and again and again, and summoned the kel'ein of Mlassul and Seleth edunei, and lost them as well. But this mattered little to regul, to this new bai, Hulaghto this new master sent out from Nurag."