“Like one of the inim-born,” the Methi observed. “So one would imagine them, the children of the upper air, somewhat birdlike, the madness of eye, the sharpness of features. But there is some intelligence there too. Lhe, I would save this human a little time and study him.”
“As the Methi wills it.”
“Put him under restraint, and when I find the time I will deal with the matter.” Ylith started to turn away, but paused instead for another look, as if the very reality of Kurt was incredible to her. “Keep him in reasonable comfort. He is able to understand, so let him know that he may expect less comfort if he proves troublesome.”
Reasonable comfort, as Lhe interpreted it, was austere indeed. Kurt sat against the wall on a straw-filled pallet that was the only thing between him and the bare stones of the floor, and shivered in the draft under the door. There was a rounded circlet of iron around his ankle, secured by a chain to a ringbolt in the stones of the wall, and it was beyond his strength to tear free. There was nowhere to go if he could.
He straightened his leg, dragging the chain along the floor with him, and stretched out facedown on the pallet, doubling his chilled arms under him for warmth.
Nothing the Tamurlin had done to him could equal the humiliation of this; the worst beating he had ever taken was no shame at all compared to the look with which Ylith t’Erinas had touched him. They had insisted on washing him, which he would gladly have done, for he was filthy from his confinement in the hold, but they leveled spears at him, forced him to stand against a wall and remove what little clothing he still wore, then scrub himself repeatedly with strong soap. Then they hit him with a bucketful of cold water, and gave him nothing with which to dry his skin. There was a linen breechclout, not even the decency of a ctan. That and an iron ring and a cup of water from which to drink, that was the consideration Lhe afforded him.
Hours passed, and the oil lamp on the ledge burned out, leaving only the light that came through the small barred window from the outer hall. He managed to sleep a little, turning from side to side, warming first his arms and then his back against the mattress.
Then, without warning or explanation, men invaded his cell and forced him from the room under heavy guard, hastening him along the dim halls, the ring on his ankle band a constant, metallic sound at every other step.
Upstairs was their destination, a small room somewhere in the main building, warmed by an ordinary fire in a common hearth. A single pillar supported its level ceiling.
To this they chained his hands, passing the chain behind Mm around the pillar, then they left him, and he was alone for a great time. It was no hardship; it was warm in this room. He absorbed the heat gratefully and sank down at the base of this pillar, leaning against it and bowing his head, willing even to sleep.
“Human.”
He brought his head up, blinking in the dim light. Ylith had come into the room. She sat down on the ledge beneath the slit of a window and regarded him curiously. She was without the crown now, and her massive braids coiled on either side of her head gave her a strangely fragile grace.
“You are one of the human woman’s companions,” she said, “that she missed killing.”
“No,” he said, “I came independently.”
“You are an educated human, as she is.”
“As educated as you are, Methi.”
Ylith’s eyes registered offense, and, it was possible, amusement. “You are not a civilized human, however, and you are therefore demonstrating your lack of manners.”
“My civilization,” he said, “is some twelve thousand years old. And I am still looking for evidence of yours in this city.”
The Methi laughed outright. “I have never met such answers. You hope to die, I take it. Well, human, look at me. Look up.”
He did so.
“It is difficult to accustom myself to your face,” she said. “But you do reason. I perceive that. What is the origin of humans, do you know?”