“I could not accept Djan-methi’s conditions either.”

“Is it worth this, Kta? Look at you! Look at you, and tell me it is worth it. Listen, I would not blame you; all Nephane knows how you were treated there. Who in Nephane would blame you if you turned to Indresul?”

“I will not hear your arguments,” Kta cried.

“They are sensible.” Kurt seized his arm and kept him from turning his face to the wall again. “They are sensible arguments, Kta, and you know it.”

“I do not understand reason any longer. The temple and the Methi will condemn my soul for doing what I know is right. Kurt, I could understand dying, but this—this is not justice. How can a reasonable heaven put a man to a choice like this?”

“Just do what they want, Kta. It doesn’t cost anyone much, and if you are only alive, you can worry about the right and the wrong of it later.”

“I should have died with my ship,” the nemet murmured. “That is where I was wrong. Heaven gave me the chance to die—in Nephane, in the camp of the Tamurlin, with Tavi.I would have peace and honor then. But there was always you. You are the disruption in my fate. Or its agent. You are always there—to make the difference.”

Kurt found his hand trembling as he adjusted the blanket over the raving nemet, trying to soothe him, taking for nothing the words that hurt. “Please,” he said. “Rest, Kta.”

“Not your fault. It is possible to reason—One must always reason—to know—”

“Be still.”

“If,” Kta persisted with fevered intensity, “if—I had died in Nephane with my father, then my friends, my crew—would have avenged me. Is that not so?”

“Yes,” Kurt conceded, reckoning the temper of men like Val and Tkel and their company. “Yes, they would have killed Shan t’Tefur.”

“And that,” said Kta, “would have cast Nephane into chaos, and they would have died, and come to join Elas in the shadows. Now they are dead,—as they would have died—but I am alive. Now I, Elas—”

“Rest. Stop this.”

“—Elas was shaped to the ruin of Nephane—to bring down the city in its fall. I am the last of Elas. If I had died before this I would have died innocent of my city’s blood. The crime would have been on Djan-methi’s hands. Then my soul would have had rest with theirs, whatever became of Nephane. Instead, I lived,—and for that I deserve to be where I am.”

“Kta,—hush. Sleep. You have a belly full of teliseand no food to settle it. It has unbalanced your mind. Please. Rest.”

“It is true,” said Kta, “I was born to ruin my people. It is just—what they try to make me do—”

“Blame me for it,” said Kurt. “I had rather hear that than this sick rambling. Answer me what I am, or admit that you cannot foretell the future.”

“It is logical,” said Kta, “that human fate brought you here to deal with human fate.”

“You are drunk, Kta.”

“You came for Djan-methi,” said Kta. “You are for her.”

Kta’s dark eyes closed—rolled back, helplessly. Kurt moved at last, realizing the knot at his belly, the sickly gathering of fear, dread of Guardians and Ancestors and the nemets reasoning.

Kta at last slept. For a long time Kurt stood staring down at him, then went to his own side of the room and lay down upon the cot, not to sleep, not daring to, only to rest his aching back. He feared to leave Kta unwatched, but at some time his eyes grew heavy, and he closed them only for a moment.

He jerked awake, panicked by a sound and simultaneously by the realization that he had slept.

The room was almost in darkness, but the faintest light came from the barred window over the table. Kta was on his feet, naked despite the chill, and had set the water bucket on the table, standing where a channel in the stone floor made a drain beneath the wall, beginning to wash himself.

Kurt looked to the window, amazed to find the light was that of dawn. That Kta had become concerned about his appearance seemed a good sign. Methodically Kta dipped up water and washed, and when he had done what he could by that means, he took the bucket and poured water slowly over himself, letting it complete the task.

Then he returned to his cot and wrapped in the blanket. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, lips moving silently. Gradually he slipped into the state of meditation and rested unmoving, the morning sun beginning to bring detail to his face. He looked at peace, and remained so for about half an hour.

The day broke full, a shaft of light finding its way through the barred window. Kurt bestirred himself and straightened his clothing that his restless sleeping had twisted in knots.

Kta rose and dressed also, in his own hard-used clothing, refusing the Methi’s gifts. He looked in Kurt’s direction with a bleak and yet reassuring smile.

“Are you all right?” Kurt asked him.

“Well enough, considering,” said Kta. “It comes to me that I said things I would not have said.”

“It was the telise.I do not take them for intended.”

“I honor you,” said Kta, “as my brother.”

“You know,” said Kurt, “that I honor you in the same way.”

He thought that Kta had spoken as he did because there were hurrying footsteps in the hall. He made haste to answer, for fear that it would pass unsaid. He wanted above all that Kta understand it.

The steps reached their door. A key turned in the lock.

20

This time it was not Lhe who had charge of them, but another man with strangers around him, that had charge of them and they were taken not to the rhmei,but out of the fortress.

When they came into the courtyard and turned not toward the temple again, but toward the outer gate of the Indume complex, Kta cast Kurt a frightened glance that carried an unwilling understanding.

“We are bound for the harbor,” he said.

“Those are our orders,” said the captain of the detachment, “since the Methi is there and the fleet is sailing. Move on, t’E-las, or will you be taken through the streets in chains?”

Kta’s head came up. For the least moment the look of Nym t’Elas flared in his dark eyes. “What is your name?”

The guard looked suddenly regretful of his words. “Speak me no curse, t’Elas. I repeated the Methi’s words. She did not think chains necessary.”

“No,” said Kta, “they are not necessary.”

He bowed his head again and matched pace with the guards, Kurt beside him. The nemet was a pitiable figure in the hard, uncompromising light of day, his clothing filthy, his face unshaved—which in the nemet needed a long time to show.

Through the streets, with people stopping to stare at them, Kta looked neither to right nor to left. Knowing his pride, Kurt sensed the misery he felt, his shame in the eyes of these people; and he could not but think that Kta t’Elas would have attracted less comment in his misfortune had he not been laden with the added disgrace of a human companion. Some of the murmured comments came to Kurt’s ears, and he was almost becoming inured to them: how ugly, how covered with hair, how almost-nemet, and caught with an Indras-descended, more the wonder —pity the house of Elas-in-Indresul to see one of its foreign sons in such a state and in such company!

The gangplank of the first trireme at the dock was run out, rowers and crew scurrying around making checks of equipment. Spread near its stern was a blue canopy upheld with gold-tipped poles, beneath which sat Ylith, working over some charts with Lhe t’Nethim and paying no attention to their approach.

When at last she did see fit to notice them kneeling before her, she dismissed Lhe back a pace with a gesture and turned herself to face them. Still she wore the crown of her office, and she was modestly attired in chatemand pelanof pale green silk, slim and delicate in this place of war. Her eyes rested on Kta without emotion, and Kta bowed down to his face at her feet, Kurt unwillingly imitating his action.