“Human,” said the priest, “please, for decency’s sake, let us take her from this holy place.”
“Does she pollute your shrine?” he asked, suddenly trembling with outrage. “She could have killed every living thing on the shores of the Ome Sin. She could not even kill one man.”
“Human,” said t’Senife, half kneeling beside him. “Human, let them have her. They will treat her honorably.”
He looked up into the narrow Sufaki eyes and saw grief there. The priests pulled Djan from him gently, and he made the effort to rise, his clothes soaked with her blood. He shook so that he almost fell, staring with dazed eyes on the temple square, where a line of Indras guards had ranged themselves. Still the Inta sounded, numbing the very air. Men came in small groups, moving slowly toward the shrine.
They were Sufaki.
He was suddenly aware that all around him were Sufaki, save for the distant line of Indras swordsmen who stood screening the approach to the temple.
He looked back, realizing they had taken Djan. She was gone, the last human face of his own universe that he would ever see. He heard Pai crying desolately, and almost absently bent and drew her to her feet, passing her into t’Senife’s care.
“Come with me,” he bade t’Senife. “Please. The Indras will not attack. I will get you both to safety. There should be no more killing in this place.”
T’Senife yielded, nodded to his companion-tired men, both of them, with tired, sorrowful faces.
They came down the long steps. Indras turned, ready to take the three Sufaki, the men and the chan Pai, in charge, but Kurt put himself between.
“No,” he said. “There is no need. We have lost t’Nethim; they have lost a methi. She is dead. Let them be.”
One was t’Nechis, who heard that news soberly and bowed and prevented his men. “If you look for Kta t’Elas,” said t’Nechis, “seek him toward the wall.”
“Go your way,” Kurt bade the Sufaki, “or stay with me if you will.”
“I will stay with you,” said t’Senife, “until I know what the Indras plan to do with Nephane.” There was cynicism in his voice, but it surely masked a certain fear, and the methi’s guards walked with him as he walked behind the Indras line in search of Kta.
He found Kta among the men of Isulan, with his leg bandaged and with Isthain now secure at his belt. Kta looked up in shock, joy damped by fear. Kurt looked down at his bloody hand and found it trembling and his knees likely to give out.
“Djan is dead,” said Kurt.
“Are you all right?” Kta asked.
Kurt nodded, then jerked his head toward the Sufaki. ‘They were her guards. They deserve honor of that.”
Kta considered them, inclined his head in respect. “T’Senife, help us. Stand by us for a time, so that your people may see that we mean them no harm. We want the fighting stopped.”
The rumor was spreading among the people that the Methi was dead. The Into, had not ceased to sound. The crowd in the square increased steadily.
“It is Bel t’Osanef,” said Toj t’Isulan.
It was in truth Bel, coming slowly through the crowd, pausing to speak a word, exchange a glance with one he knew. Among some his presence evoked hard looks and muttering, but he was not alone. Men came with him, men whose years made the crowd part for them, murmuring in wonder: the elders of the Sufaki.
Kta raised a hand to draw his attention, Kurt beside him, though it occurred to him what vulnerable targets they both were.
“Kta,” Bel said, “Kta, is it true, the Methi is dead?”
“Yes,” said Kta, and to the elders, who expressed their grief in soft murmurings: “That was not planned. I beg you, come into the Afen. I will swear on my life you will be safe.”
“I have already sworn on mine,” said Bel. “They will hear you. We Sufaki are accustomed to listen, and you Indras to making laws. This time the decision will favor us both, my friend, or we will not listen.”
“We could- please some in Indresul,” said Kta, “by disavowing you. But we will not do that. We will meet Ylith-methi as one city.”