The Faded Sun Trilogy (25 page)

“We send greetings to Intel,” said Esain quietly. “Of her wisdom long ago was
Ahanal
reserved for the People, and of her wisdom was
Ahanal
freed to come. She placed such a burden on the Kel, refusing regul assistance, that there was no honorable choice. Honor outweighed honor. This was wisely done. All aboard understand and are grateful that it was done in time, for nothing else could have compelled us from the front. Is it true as we guess, that she intends to leave regul service?”

“Her words: We have almost left regul service. Your fen’ein and the kel’anth saw the result of it when I came toward the ship.”

She looked at the kel’anth. He gave agreement with a gesture.

“I have seen a thing I have never seen,” the old man said. “A regul attacked this messenger—not with hands, to be sure; but with his machine. These regul are desperate.”

“And the edun?” the she’pan asked, her brow crossed with a frown, “How fares the Edun of the People, with the regul in such a mood?”

“Presently secure,” he said, and, for he saw the real question burning in her, that she would hesitate to ask a mere kel’en: “She’pan, the Forbidden is in her keeping; and the regul are busy with the damage the weather has done them. Humans are close, and the regul fear delays that could hold them grounded. I think what happened out there was the act of a youngling without clear orders.”

“Yet,” said the she’pan, “what if we were to leave the ship in a body?”

“We are mri,” said Niun with supreme confidence, “and regul would give way before us, and they would dare do nothing.”

“Did you so judge,” asked the she’pan, “of that youngling that attempted your life?”

Heat mounted in his face. “She’pan,” he said, made aware of his youth and his inexperience. “I do not think that was a serious threat.”

She thought, and looked at the Sen and the others, and finally sighed and frowned. “I bear too great a charge here to risk it. We will wait until Intel has made her decision. We have force here at her call; I will send it or reserve it as she says. And, messenger, assure her that I will respect her claim on the People.”

He was shocked and relieved at once, and he bowed very low to her, hearing the murmur of grief run the length and breadth of the room. He could hardly bear to meet her eyes again, but found them gentle and unaccusing.

“I will tell her,” he said, recovering the courtesies trained into him, part of blood and flesh and bone, “that the she’pan of Edun Elagun is a grand and brave lady, and that she has earned great honor of all the People.”

“Tell her,” she said softly, “that I wish her well with my children.”

Many veiled themselves, hearing her, and he found his own eyes stinging.

“I will tell her,” he said.

“Will you, messenger, stay the night with us?”

He thought of it, for it was a walk of the rest of the night to come again to the edun, and likely a great deal of sleep lost thereafter, once Intel had begun to give orders; but he thought of the regul that had crossed his path, and the weather, and the uncertainties that hemmed him about.

“She’pan,” he said, “my duty is to go back now—best now, before the regul have time to take long consultations.”

“Yes,” she said, “that would be the wisest thing. Go, then.”

And she, when he had gathered up the
av-kel
and replaced the
zaidhe,
and come to touch her hand and do her heartfelt courtesy, gave into his hand a ring of true gold, at which his heart clenched in pain; for it was a gracious, brave thing to do, to give a service-gift as if he had well-pleased her: Off her own finger she drew it, and pressed it into his hand, and he bowed and kissed her fingers, before he stood and took his leave. He laced the ring into one of the thongs of his honors, to braid it in property later, and bowed her farewell.

“Safe passage, kel’en,” she said.

He should wish her long life, and he could not; he thought instead of that parting of kel’ein: “Honors and good attend,” he said, and she accepted that courtesy with grace.

The Kel veiled, and he did so likewise, grateful for that privacy as they led him back to the doors, to let him out into the dark.

He heard the mournful protest of a confined dus, attuned to the mood of the Kel it served; and with that he entered the lock, and the lights were extinguished, to make them less a target.

For a moment the darkness was complete. Then the opening ramp and the double doors let the light in, the floodlights on the field, and, the acrid wet wind touched them.

They did not speak as he left. There had not been a word passed. It was due to their Lady Mother’s courage that he and one of hers would not shed blood in the passing of power; but it was settled.

When there was only one she’pan on Kesrith, then there would be time for courtesies, for welcome among
them.

He did not look back as he started down the ramp.

Niun had expected trouble at the bottom of the ramp: there was nothing, neither regul guard nor the assistance that guard might have summoned. He questioned nothing of his good fortune, but ducked his head and ran, soft-soled boots keeping his steps as quiet as possible across the pad.

He threaded again the maze of machinery, and there, there were the regul he had feared, a flare of headlights beyond the fence. He caught his breath and paused half a step to survey the situation, slipped to the shadows and changed course, reckoning that there was no need to use the same access twice. He burned through the wire fence and kicked the wire aside, and ran for it, his lungs hurting in the thin air. Somewhere a dus keened, over the rumble of machinery that prowled the dark.

He reached the edge of the apron and bolted for the sand, startled and shocked as a beam hit the sand across his path. He gasped for air and changed directions, darted round the bending of a dune and ran with all the strength he had remaining.

After a moment he reckoned himself relatively safe, enough to catch his breath again. Regul could not outrace him and the noisy machines could not surprise him. He smothered a cough, natural result of his rash burst of speed, and began uneasily to take account of this new state of affairs, that regul had premeditatedly sought not to catch him, but to kill him.

He lay against the side of the dune, his hand pressed to his aching side, trying to keep his breathing normal, and heard something stir—dus, he thought, for he knew that the hills were full of them this night, and did regul come out very far into the wild after him, they would meet a welcome they would not like. The dusei of the edun would do no harm to regul; but these were not tame ones, and the regul might not reckon that difference until it was
too late to matter.

He gathered himself up and started to move, hearing at the same time a rapid sound of footsteps, mri-light and mri-quick, and following his track through the dunes. He reckoned it for one of Esain’s kel’ein, on some desperate second thought; and for that reason he froze, hissed at the shadow a warning as it fronted him, respectful of it, another kel’en.

But no kel’en.

Half a breath they faced each other, human and mri; and in that half-breath Niun whipped up his pistol and the human dived desperately to retreat, vain hope in that narrow, dune-constricted area.

And in the next instant another thought flashed into Niun’s mind—that a dead human could provide little answer to questions. He did not fire. He followed; and when he overtook the human he motioned with his hand, come, come. The human, casting desperate looks behind and at him, was a fair target if he fired.

And the human chose regul and whirled and ran.

A creature that had no business on Kesrith.

Niun thumbed the safety on, holstered the pistol and chose a new direction, a direction the regul could not, up over the arm of a dune; and cast himself flat, scanning the scene to know what manner of ambush he had sprung. Indeed the human had run directly into regul hands, in the person of one daring youngling who had him cornered against a ridge the human could easily climb if he had the wit to think of it; and the human did think of it and scrambled for his life, fighting to gain the top. But the regul laid hold on his ankle, and dragged him back again, inexorably.

They noticed nothing else. Niun retreated behind the ridge, raced a distance, came over and down in a plummeting slide, hit the solid mass of the regul and staggered it; and when it rounded on him clumsily, making the mistake of aiming a weapon at a kel’en, it was the youngling’s final mistake. Niun did not think about the flash of the
as’ei
that left his hand and buried themselves in the youngling’s throat and chest: they were sped before the thought had time to become purpose.

And the human, scrambling to reach the regul’s gun—Niun hit him body to body, and if there had been a knife
in Niun’s intentions, the human would have been dead in the same instant.

No mean adversary, the human: Niun found himself countered, barehanded, in his attempt to seize hold of him; but the human was already done, bleeding from the nostrils, his bubbling breath hoarse in Niun’s ear. He broke the human’s hold: his arm found the human’s throat and snapped his head back with a crack of meeting teeth.

Not yet did the human fall, but a quick blow to the belly and a second snap to the head toppled him writhing to the sands; and Niun hit him yet another time, ending his struggles.

A strip from his belt secured the human; and he recovered his
as’ei
and sheathed them quickly, hearing the slow grinding of machinery advancing on this place, and both of them having made tracks even the night-blind regul could read.

The human was showing signs of consciousness; he gave him a jerk by the elbow and dragged him until the man tried to respond to the discomfort. Then he gave him slack to drag his legs under him and try to stand.

“Quiet,” Niun hissed at him.

And if the human thought to cry out, he thought better of it with the edge of the
av-tlen
near his face; he struggled up to his knees and, with Niun’s help, to his feet, and went silently where he was compelled to go. He coughed and tried to smother even that sound. His face was a mask of blood and sand in the dim light that shone from the field, and he walked as if his knees were about to fail him.

Onto the edge of the flats they went, and slow, ominous shadows of dusei stood watching them from the dunes, but gave them no threat. There was no sound of pursuit behind them. Perhaps the regul were still in shock, that a kel’en had raised hand against the masters.

Niun knew the enormity of what he had done, had time to realize it clearly; he knew the regul, that they would take time to consult with authority, and beyond that he could not calculate. No mri had ever raised hand to his sworn authority. No regul had ever had to deal with a mri who had done so.

He seized the human’s elbow and hurried him, though he stumbled at times, though he misstepped and cried out in shock when a crust broke under him and he hit boiling water. They went well onto the flats, where neither
regul nor regul vehicles could go, into the sulphuric steam of geysers that veiled them from sight. By now the human coughed and spat, bleeding in his upper air passages if not in his lungs, Niun reckoned.

In consideration of that he found a place and thrust the human down against the shoulder of a clay bank, and let him catch his breath, himself glad enough of a chance to do the same.

For a moment the human lay face down, body heaving with the effort not to cough, correctly reckoning that this would not be tolerated. Then the spasms eased and he lay still on his side, exhausted, staring at him.

Unarmed. Niun took that curious fact into account, wondering what possessed the humans; or what had befallen this one, that he had lost his weapons. The human simply stared at him, eyes running tears through sand: no emotion, no other expression than one of exhaustion and misery. Unprotected he had come into Kesrith’s unfriendly environment; unwisely he had run, risking damage to his tissues.

And he had run from regul, with whom his people had made a treaty.

“I am Sten Duncan,” the human whispered at last in his own tongue. “I am with the human envoy. Kel’en, we are here under agreement.”

Niun considered the volunteered information: human envoy, human envoy—the words rolled around in his mind with the ominous tone of betrayal.

“I am kel Niun,” he said, because this being had offered him a name.

“Are you from the edun?”

Niun did not answer, there seeming no need.

“That is where you’re taking me, isn’t it?” And when again the human had no answer of him, he seemed disquieted. “I’ll go there of my own accord. You don’t need to use force.”

Niun considered this offer. Humans lied. He knew this. He had not had experience to be able to judge this one.

“I will not set you free,” he said.

It was not the custom of humans to veil themselves; but Niun was sorry, all the same, that he had so dealt with a human kel’en, taking dignity from him—if he was kel’en. Niun judged that he was: he had handled himself well.

“We will go to the edun,” he said to Duncan. He stood up and drew Duncan to his feet—did not help him
overmuch, for this was not; a brother; but he waited until he was sure he had his balance. The man was hurt. He marked that the human’s steps were uneven and uncertain; and that he walked without knowledge of the land, blind to its dangers.

And deaf.

Niun heard the aircraft lift from the port, heard it turn in their direction; and the human had not even looked until he jerked him about to see it—stood stupidly gazing toward the port, malicious or dull-witted, Niun did not pause to know. He seized the human and pulled him toward the boiling waters of Jieca, that curled steam into the night; and by a clay ridge, their lungs choked with sulphur, they took hiding.

Regul engines passed. Lights swept the flats and lit plumes of steam, fruitlessly seeking movement. Heat sensors were of limited usefulness here on the volcanic flats. The boiling springs and seething mud made regul science of little Value in tracking them.