“Among the People,” Niun shouted them back, “is the hal’ari forgotten?”
The two strangers came forward still further, and paused: Duncan felt their eyes on him, on what of his face was not veiled. They knew something amiss; he felt it in that too-close scrutiny.
“What do you bring?” the elder asked Niun, and it was the hal’ari. “What is this, kel’en?”
Niun said nothing.
The stranger’s eyes went beyond Niun, distant, and came back again. “Here is Sochil’s land. Whatever you are, advise your she’pan so, and seek her grace to go away. We do not want this meeting.”
“A ship has touched your lands,” Niun said.
There was silence from the other side. They knew, and were perturbed: it did not need dusei to feel that hi the air.
“We are of Melein s’lntel,” said Niun. .
“I am Hlil s’Sochil,” said the younger, slipping hand into ‘belt in a threatening posture. “And you, stranger?”
“I am daithon Niun s’lntel Zain-Abrin, kel’anth of the Kel of Melein.”
Mil at once adopted a quieter posture, made a slight gesture of respect. He and his elder companion were clad in coarse, faded black; but they were adorned with many j’tai, honors that glittered and winked in the cold sun and the weapons they bore were the yin’ein, worn and businesslike.
“I am Merai s’Elil Kov-Nelan,” said the elder. “Daithon and kel’anth of Kel of Edun An-ehon. What shall we say to our she’pan, kel’anth?”
“Say that it is challenge.” 1 There was a moment’s silence. Merai’s eyes went to Duncan, worrying at a presence that did not belong; worrying, Duncan thought, at questions that he would ask if he could. They knew of the ship; and Merai’s amber eyes were filled with apprehension.
But suddenly Merai inclined his head and walked of, he and Hlil together.
“They sense something wrong in me,” Duncan said.
“Their she’pan will come. It is a question for her now. Stand still; fold your hands behind you. Do nothing you are not bidden to do.”
So they stood, with the wind fluttering gently at their robes and blowing a fine sifting off the surface of sand. A tread disturbed the silence after a time; Melein joined them.
“Her name is Sochil,” Niun said without looking about her. “We have advised her kel’anth of your intentions.”
She said nothing, but waited.
And in utter silence the People came, the kel’ein first, ranging themselves in a circle about them, rank upon rank, so that had they intended flight there was no retreat. Duncan stood stone-still as his companions, as did the hostile Kel, and felt the stares that were fixed on him, on them all, for surely there was strangeness even in Niun and Melein, the fineness of then clothing, the zahen’ein that they bore with the yin’ein, the different style of the zaidhe, with its dark plastic visor and careful folding, while their own were mere squares and twists of cloth, and their veils were twisted into the head-cloths, and not fastened to the metal band that theirs had. Hems were ragged, sleeves frayed. Their weapon hilts were in bone and lacquered fiber, while those of Niun were of brass and gold and cho-silk wrappings: Duncan thought even his own finer than those these strangers bore.
A figure of awe among them, Niun: Duncan did not know the name that Niun had called himself daithon was like a word for son, but different; but he reckoned suddenly that the kinsman of a she’pan ranked nigh the she’pan herself.
And himself, Duncan-without-a-Mother. He began to wonder what would become of himself and what this talk was of challenge. He had no skill. He could not take up the yin’ein against the likes of these. He did not know what Niun expected him to do.
Do nothing you are not bidden to do. He knew the mri Well enough to believe Niun literally. There were lives in the balance.
Gold robes appeared beyond the black. There stood the Sen, the scholars of the People; and they came veilless, old and young, male and female, lacking the seta’al for the most part, though some few bore them, the blue kel-scars. The Sen posed themselves among the Kel, arms folded, waiting.