"The barriers are down," said Stark. "The way is clear."
Treon nodded, and went with him back into the sea. This time both carried shock-weapons taken from the guards—six in all, with Egil's. Total armament for war.
As they forged swiftly through the red depths, Stark asked, "What of the people of Shuruun? How will they fight?"
Treon answered, "Those of Malthor's breed will stand for the Lhari. They must, for all their hope is there. The others will wait, until they see which side is safest. They would rise against the Lhari if they dared, for we have brought them only fear in their lifetimes. But they will wait, and see."
Stark nodded. He did not speak again.
They passed over the brooding city, and Stark thought of Egil and of Malthor who were part of that silence now, drifting slowly through the empty streets where the little currents took them, wrapped in their shrouds of dim fire.
He thought of Zareth sleeping in the hall of kings, and his eyes held a cold, cruel light.
They swooped down over the slave barracks. Treon remained on watch outside. Stark went in, taking with him the extra weapons.
The slaves still slept. Some of them dreamed, and moaned in their dreaming, and others might have been dead, with their hollow faces white as skulls.
Slaves. One hundred and four, counting the women.