“That is not unusual,” said Bel, and suddenly looked at Aimu, who sat listening to everything, pained and silent. “Aimu, do you have counsel for me?”
“No,” she said. “No counsel. Only that you do what you think best. If your honored father were here, my lord, he surely would have advice for you, being Sufaki, being elder. What could I tell you?”
Bel bowed his head and thought a time, and made a gesture of deep distress. “It is a fair answer, Aimu,” he said at last. “I only hate the choice. Tonight-tonight, when it is possible to move without having my throat cut by one of your men, my brother Kta-I will go to what men of my father’s persuasion I can reach. I leave t’Tefur to you.
I will not kill Sufaki. I assume you are going to try to take the Afen?”
Kta was slow to answer, and Bel’s look was one of bitter humor, as if challenging his trust. “Yes,” said Kta.
“Then we go our separate ways this evening. I hope your men will exercise the. sense to stay off the harbor-front. Or is it a night attack Indresul plans?”
“If that should happen,” said Kta, “you will know that we of the Families have been deceived. I tell you the truth, Bel, I do not anticipate that.”
Men came to the door of Elas from time to time as the day sank toward evening, representatives of the houses, reporting decisions, urging actions. Ian t’Ilev came to report the street at last under firm control all along the wall of the Afen gate. He brought too the unwelcome news that Res t’Benit had been wounded from ambush at the lower end of the street, grim forecast of trouble to come, when night made the Families’ position vulnerable. “Where did it happen?” asked Kta. “At Imas,” said Ian. It was the house that faced the Sufaki district. “But the assassin ran and we could not follow him into the-”
He stopped cold as he saw Bel standing in the triangular arch of the rhmei.
Bel walked forward. “Do you think me the enemy, Ian t’Ilev?”
“T’Osanef.” Ian covered his confusion with a courteous bow. “No, I was only surprised to find you here.” “That is strange. Most of my people would not be.” “Bel,” Kta reproved him.
“You and I know how things stand,” said Bel. “If you will pardon me, I see things are getting down to business and the sun is sinking. I think it is time for me to leave.” “Bel, be careful. Wait until it is securely dark.” “I will be careful,” he said, a little warmth returning to his voice. “Kta, take care for Aimu.”
“Gods, are you leaving this moment? What am I to tell her?”
“I have said to her what I need to say.” Bel delayed a moment more, his hand on the door, and looked back. “She was your best argument; I remain grateful you did not stoop to that. I will omit to wish you success, Kta. Do not be surprised if some of my people choose to die rather than agree with you. I will not even pray for t’Tefur’s death, when it may be the last the world will see of the nation we were. The name, my Indras friends, was Chtelek, not Sufak. But that probably will not matter hereafter.”
“Bel,” said Kta, “at least arm yourself.”
“Against whom? Yours-or mine? Thank you, no, Kta. I will see you at the harbor, or be in it tomorrow morning, whichever fortune brings me.”
The heavy door closed behind him, echoing through the empty halls, and Kta looked at Ian with a troubled expression.
“Do you trust him that far?” Ian t’Ilev asked.
“Begin no action against the Sufaki beyond Imas. I insist on that, Ian.”
“Is everything still according to original plan?”
“I will be there at nightfall. But one thing you can do: take Aimu with you and put her safely in a defended house. Elas will be no protection to her tonight.”
“She will be safe in Ilev. There will be men left to guard it, as many as we can spare. Uset’s women will be there too.”