But he had the longest journey ahead of him-Nantani to Udun, and some of
it over plains where there were no good roads and the steam wagons would
have to he pulled. On rough ground, the boilers were too likely to
explode. The journey would take time, and so Udun and Utani and
"Ian-Sadar would have the longest time to prepare. They would be the
hardest to capture or destroy. It was why he had chosen them for
himself. Except, of course, for what he had tasked to Coal. Five
thousand men to take six cities. Five cities, now. Four and a half.
"We'll get there in time to help him if he needs us, sir," Eustin said,
reading his face. "And keep in mind, there's not a fighting force
anywhere in the Khaiem. Coal's in more danger of tripping on his spear
than of facing an enemy worth sneezing at."
Balasar laughed. Two armsmen busy folding a tent looked up, saw him and
Eustin, and grinned.
"It's like me, isn't it?" Balasar said. "Here we have just made the
greatest sack of a city in living history, captured enough gold to keep
us both fed the best food and housed in the best brothels for the rest
of our lives, and I can't bring myself to enjoy a minute of it."
"You do tend to worry most when things are going well, sir."
They reached a place where the mud path split, one way to the west, the
other to the North. Balasar put out his hand, and Eustin took it. For a
moment, they weren't general and captain. They were friends and
conspirators in the plot to save the world. Balasar found his anxiety
ebbing, felt the grin on his face and saw it mirrored in his man's.
"Meet me in Tan-Sadar before the leaves turn," Balasar said. "We'll see
then whether Coal has use for us or if it's time to go home."
"I'll he there, sir," Eustin said. "Rely on it. And as a favor to nee?
Keep an eye on Ajutani."
"Both, when I can spare them," Balasar promised. And then they parted.
Balasar walked through the thin mud and low grass to the camp at the
head of the first legion. His groom stood waiting, a fresh horse
munching contentedly at the roadside weeds. A second horse stood beside
it, a rider in the saddle looking out bemused at the men and the rolling
hills and the horizon beyond.
"Captain Ajutani," Balasar said, and the rider turned and saluted.
"You're ready for the march?"
"At your command, General."
Balasar swung himself up onto the horse and accepted the reins from his
groom.
"'T'hen let's begin," he said. "We've got a war to finish."
IT HAD TAKEN A FEW LENGI'IIS OF COPPER TO CONVINCE'FIlE KEEPERS OF THE
wide platforms to unhook their chains and haul her skyward, but Liat
didn't care. The dread in her belly made small considerations like money
seem trivial. Money or food or sleep. She stood now at the open sky
doors and looked out to the south and east, where the men of Machi made
their way through the high green grasses of summer. From this distance,
they looked like a single long black mark on the landscape. She could no
more make out an individual wagon or rider than she could take to the
air and fly. And still she strained her eyes, because one part of that
distant mark was her only son.
Ile had only told her when it was already done. She had been in her
apartments-the apartments given her by the man who had once been her
lover. She had been thinking of how a merchant or tradesman who took in
an old lover so casually would have been the subject of gossipeven a
member of the utkhaiem would have had answers to make-hut the Khai was
above that. She had gone as far as wondering, not for the first time,
what Kiyan-cha thought and felt on the matter, when Nayiit had scratched
at her door and let himself in.
She knew when she saw his face that something had happened. "There was a
light in his eyes brighter than candles, but his smile was the
too-charming one he always employed when he'd done something he feared
she'd fault him for. Her first thought was that he'd offered to marry
some local girl. She took a pose that asked the question even before he
could speak.
"Sit with me," he said and took her by the hand.
They sat on a low stone bench near the window. The shutters were opened,
and the evening breeze had smelled of forge smoke. He kept her hand in
his as he spoke.
"I've been to see the Khai," Nayiit said. "You know he believes what
Maati-cha ... what Father said. About the Gaits."
"Yes," Liat said. She still hadn't understood what she was seeing. His
next words came like a blow.
"He's taking men, all the men he can find. They're going overland to the
I)ai-kvo. I've asked to go with them, and he's accepted me. He's finding
me a sword and something like armor. He says we'll leave before the
week's out," he said, then paused. "I'm sorry."
She knew that her grip on his hand had gone hard because he winced, but
not because she felt it. This hadn't been their plan. This had never
been their plan.
"Why?" she managed, but she already knew.
He was young and he was trapped in a life he more than half regretted.
He was finding what it meant to him to be a man. Riding out to war was
an adventure, and a statement-oh, by all the gods-it was a statement
that he had faith in Maati's guess. It was a way to show that he
believed in his father. Nayiit only kissed her hand.
"I know the Dai-kvo's village," he said. "I can ride. I'm at least good
enough with a how to catch rabbits along the way. And someone has to go,
Mother. There's no reason that I shouldn't."
You have a wife, she didn't say. You have a child. You have a city to
defend, and it's Saraykeht. You'll be killed, and I cannot lose you. The
Gaits have terrorized every nation in the world that didn't have the
andat for protection, and Otah has a few armsmen barely competent to
chase down thieves and brawl in the alleys outside comfort houses.
"Are you sure?" she said.
She sat now, looking out over the wide, empty air as the mark grew
slowly smaller. As her son left her. Otah had managed more men than
she'd imagined he would. At the last moment, the utkhaiem had rallied to
him. Three thousand men, the first army fielded in the cities of the
Khaiem in generations. Untried, untested. Armed with whatever had come
to hand, armored with leather smith's aprons. And her little boy was
among them.
She wiped her eyes with the cloth of her sleeve.
"Hurry," she said, pressing the word out to the distant men. Get the
Dal-kvo, retrieve the poets and their books, and come back to me. Before
they find you, come back to me.
The sun had traveled the width of two hands together before she stepped
out onto the platform and signaled the men far below her to bring her
down. The chains clattered and the platform lurched, but Liat only held