“Where is she?”
“The temple….” When he rose she sprang to her feet, holding him, compelling his attention. “My lord, t’Tefur wanted her greater weapons. She would not give them. She refused him. My lord Kurt, my lord, do not kill her.”
“The chan is probably lying,” said t’Ranek, “to gain time for the Methi to prepare worse than this welcome.”
“I am not lying,” Pai sobbed, gripping Kurt’s arm shamelessly rather than be ignored. “Lord Kurt, you know her. I am not lying.”
“Come on.” Kurt took her by the arm and looked at the rest of them, at Kta most particularly, whose face was pale and drawn with the shock of his wound. “Hold here,” he told Kta. “I am going to the temple.”
“It is suicide,” said Kta. “Kurt, you cannot enter there. Even we dare not come after her there, no Indras-”
“Pai is Sufaki and I am human,” said Kurt, “and no worse pollution there than Djan herself. Hold the Afen. You have won, if only you do not throw it away now.”
“Then take men with you,” Kta pleaded with him, and when he ignored the plea: “Kurt, Elas wants you back.”
“I will remember it.”
He hurried Pai with him, past t’Irain’s corpse at the door and down the hall to the inner stairs. He kept one hand on her arm and held the pistol in the other, forcing the chart along at a breathless pace.
Pai sobbed, pattering along with small resisting steps, tripping hi her skirts on the stairs, though she tried to hold them with her free hand. He shook her as they came to the landing, not caring that he hurt.
“If they reach her first,” he said, “they will kill her, Pai. As you love her, move.”
And after that, Pai’s slippered feet hurried with more sureness, and she had swallowed down her tears, for the brave little chan had not^ needed to trip so often. She hurried now under her own power.
They came into the main hall, through the rest of the Indras, and men stared, but they did not challenge him; everyone knew Elas’ human. Pai stared about her with fear-mad eyes, but he hastened her through, beneath the threatening ceiling at the main gate and to the outside, past the carnage that littered the entrance. Pai gave a startled gasp and stopped. He drew her past quickly, not much blaming the girl.
The night wind touched them, cold and clean after the stench of burning flesh in the Afen. Across the floodlit courtyard rose the dark side of Haichema-tleke, and beneath it the wall and the small gate that led out into the temple courtyard.
They raced across the lighted area, fearful of some last archer, and reached the gate out of breath.
“You,” Kurt told Pai, “had better be telling the truth.”
“I am,” said Pai, and her large eyes widened, fixed over his shoulder. “Lord! Someone comes!”
“Come,” he said and, blasting the lock, shouldered the heavy gate open. “Hurry.”
The temple doors stood ajar, far up the steps past the three triangular pylons. The golden light of Nephane’s hearthfire threw light over all the square and hazed the sky above the roof-opening.
Kurt drew a deep breath and raced upward, dragging Pai with him, the girl stumbling now from exhaustion. He put his arm about her and half carried her, for he would not leave her alone to face whatever pursued them. Behind them he could hear shouting rise anew from the main gate, renewed resistance-cheers for victory-he did not pause to know.
Within, the great hearthfire came in view, roaring up from its circular pit to the gelos, the aperture in the ceiling, the smoke boiling darkly up toward the black stones.
Kurt kept his grip on Pai and entered cautiously, keeping near the wall, edging his way around it, surveying all the shadowed recesses. The fire’s burning drowned his own footsteps and its glare hid whatever might lie directly across it The first he might know of Djan’s presence could be a darting bolt of fire deadlier than the fire that burned for Phan.
“Human.”
Pai shrieked even as he whirled, throwing her aside, and he held his finger still on the trigger. The aged priest, the one who had so nearly consigned him to die, stood in a side hall, staff in hand, and behind him appeared other priests.