Honor - Kevin Killiany [35]
The slaughter, when she steeled herself to look at it, was continuing. A rank of K’k’tict would step forward. Some would have a chance to speak, some would not before the heavy swords of the Tznauk’t, the Smaunif, rose and fell. Then the next rank stepped forward.
Not wanting the Smaunif to see her before her challenge, Corsi crawled from group to group, explaining her plan. Some moved on to tell others. Some stood, looking straight ahead at their brothers and sisters dying beneath the invaders’ swords. Waiting their turn.
Every so often the carnage stopped for a few minutes. The front rank of the Smaunif would drop back, exhausted, and make way for the next to take their place. Now that she was close enough to see their faces, Corsi was heartened to see weariness, even revulsion. These were not warriors being carried to excess in the heat of battle. If they even imagined the beasts they were slaughtering were people…
The red-haired leader—Sonandal, Pattie had called him—stood to one side, the point of his bloody sword to the ground. Corsi pointed him out to the K’k’tict, tried to explain the concept of leader, of consensus of one. He had struck the first blow—Corsi fought to keep the anger out of her voice at the memory—and now stood witness, taking responsibility for his actions.
And supporting Corsi’s argument to the K’k’tict.
Against the bizarre background of death and those waiting to die, Corsi crawled and politicked. How many K’k’tict were killed while she struggled to make her case?
Copper made his way to a group Corsi was addressing. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. He might not be a leader, but his opinion carried weight. Many K’k’tict would go along with any plan he endorsed without question.
“You cannot fight for us,” he said before she could open her mouth. “We share life. It is better we die than we take another life. Or let a life be taken for us. We are one spirit.”
“I will take no life for you,” Corsi said. “If I can, I will do no harm at all. But to stop this madness I must challenge their leader to a duel.”
“But they hear us,” Copper said. “They hear our words of life. If we do not waver they will see the truth of our words.”
“There are no words,” Corsi said. “They cannot comprehend what you say.”
“We speak their language.”
Corsi bit back her hot retort.
“I’m going to turn off my combadge,” she said to Copper and the knot of K’k’tict around them. “I want you to repeat the words I say and listen—listen—to the differences.”
With her communicator switched off, Corsi pointed to the row of invaders, then to their leader.
“Smaunif.”
“Tznauk’t,” the K’k’tict chorused.
“Sonandal.”
“Tzuntatalc.”
Corsi looked Copper in the eye and challenged: “Fickle Fizzy fancies sausage and rice.”
Copper managed a stuttered series of ticks and clicks before he fell silent. None of the others made the effort.
“Their understanding is stunted,” Corsi said, turning her combadge back on. “Because you do not look like them they do not recognize you are people. And because you cannot make the sounds they do, they do not recognize your words.”
“But I spoke with them,” Copper said.
“Let me guess,” Corsi said. “You understood their questions and they understood only your yes or no.”
Copper hung his head and Corsi realized she had won.
“I am a chief of security,” she said. “I protect those who might be harmed from those who would harm them. Please let me save your people.”
Chapter
17
Corsi crouched low, her face centimeters from the crushed ferns, waiting her chance. It had to be done right, according to honor, if it were to work.
At last the horrible sound of chopping ceased. How many dead? A hundred? Two? She forced the thought from her mind,