that egg, and that's why this is all scrap now. Anyone who was nearby
when it happened ... well. Anything strong enough to make a wagon this
heavy move in the first place, and then load it with men or supplies,
and then keep it going fast enough to be worth doing ... it'd be a lot
to let loose at once."
"How?" Otah said. "How did they break it?"
Saya shrugged.
"Lucky shot with a hard crossbow, maybe. Or the heat came too high. I
don't know how gentle these things are. Looking at this one, though, I'd
like a nice smooth meadow or a well-made road. Nothing too rutted."
"I can't believe they'd put men on this," Nayiit said. "A wagon that
could kill everyone on it if it hits a had hump? Why would anyone ever
do that?"
"Because the gain is worth the price," Otah said. "They think the men
they lose from it are a good sacrifice for the power they get."
Otah touched the twisted metal. The egg chamber had burst open like a
flower bud blooming. The petals were bright and sharp and too thick for
Otah to bend hare-handed. His mind felt perfectly awake, and his head
felt full. It was as if he were thinking without yet knowing what he was
thinking of. He squatted and looked at the wide, blackened door of the
coal furnace.
"This is made of iron," Otah said.
"Yes, Most High," Saya agreed.
"But it doesn't melt. So however hot this runs, it can't be hotter than
an ironworking forge, ne? How do they measure that, would you guess?"
Saya shrugged again.
"They're likely using soft coal, Most High. Use coal out of a Galt mine,
it won't matter how much they put in it, it'll only come so hot. Forging
iron needs hard coal. It's why the Galts buy their steel from Eddensea."
"And how long would it take them to reach Amnat-Tan if they were using
these?"
"I've no way to know, Most High," Saya said taking a pose of apology.
"I've never seen one working."
Otah nodded to himself. His head almost ached, but he could feel himself
putting one thing with another like seeing fish moving below glass-clear
ice.
"Otah-cha?" Nayiit said. "What is it?"
Otah looked up, and was surprised to find himself grinning.
"Tell the men to rest until midday. We'll start hack to the main force
after that."
Nayiit took an accepting pose. But as they walked away, Otah saw him
exchange confused glances with the blacksmith. Back at their little
camp, Ashua Radaani was organizing a pile of books. He took a pose of
greeting, but his expression was grim. Otah stood beside him, hands
pulled into the sleeves of his robes, and considered the volumes.
""Phis is everything," Radaani said. "Fourteen hooks out of the greatest
library in the world."
Otah glanced at the mouth of the high offices. He tried to guess how
much knowledge had been lost there, vanished from the world and never to
been found again. Nayiit put a thick, dirty hand reverently on the stack
before him.
"I can only read half of them," Radaani said. "The others are too old, I
think. One or two from the First Empire."
"We'll take them to Maati and Cehmai," Otah said. "Maybe they'll he of use."
"We're going back to Machi?" Radaani said.
""Those who'd like to, yes. The rest will come with me to Cetani. I'm
going to meet with the Khai Cetani. We'll have to hurry, though. The
Gaits will he taking the long way, and sacking Amnat-Tan while they're
at it. I hope that will give us the time we need."
"You have a plan, Most High?" Radaani sounded dubious.
"Not yet," Otah said. "But when I do, it'll be better than my last one.
I don't expect many men to follow me. A few will suffice. If they're loyal."
"We could make for "Ian-Sadar," Radaani said. "If it's allies we need,
they're closer."
"We don't, or at least not as badly as we need rough roads and an early
winter."
Radaani didn't show any sign of understanding the comment, he only took
a pose of acceptance.
"'T'hat does sounds more like Cetani, Most High. I'll have the men ready
to go at midday."
Otah took a pose that acknowledged Radaani's words and walked hack to
the cart where Saya had found him. The wheat gruel had gone cold and
sticky but it was still as sweet. In his mind, he was already on his way
to Cetani. The road between Cetani and Machi wasn't one he had traveled
often; he had kept to the South in the years he had been a courier, and
the Khaiem had always been reluctant to meet one another, preferring to
send envoys and girl children to wed. Nonetheless, he had traveled it.
He was still trying to recall the details when Nayiit interrupted him.
"What are we going to do in Cetani, Most High?"
The boy's face was sharp and focused. Eager. Otah saw something of what
he had been at that age. He knew the answer to Nayiit's question as soon
as it was spoken, but still it took him a moment to bring himself to say it.
"You aren't coming, Nayiit-cha. I need you to see those books back to
Maati."
"Anyone can do that," Nayiit said. "I'll be of use to you. I've been
through Cetani. I was there just weeks ago, when we were coming to
Machi. I can-"
"You can't," Otah said, and took the boy's hand. His son's hand. "You
called a retreat when no one had given the order. In the Old Empire, I'd
have had to see you killed for that. I can't have you come now."
The surprise on Nayiit's face was heartbreaking.
"You said it wasn't my fault," he said.
"And it isn't. I would have called the retreat myself if you hadn't.
What happened to our men, what happened here, to the Dai-kvo.. . none of
that's yours to carry. If you'd done differently, it would have changed
nothing. But there will be a next time, and I can't have someone calling
commands who might do what you've done."
Nayiit stepped hack, just out of his reach. Ah, Maati, Otah thought,
what kind of son have we made, you and I?
"It won't," Nayiit said. "It won't happen again."
"I know. I know it won't," Otah said, making his tone gentle to soften
hard words. "Because you're going back to Machi."
UDUN WAS A RIVER CITY. IT WAS A CITY OF BRIDGES, AND A CITY OF BIRDS.
Sinja had lived there briefly while recovering from a dagger wound in
his thigh. He remembered the songs of the jays and the finches, the
sound of the river. He remembered Kiyan's stories of growing up a
wayhouse keeper's daughter-the beggars on the riverside quays who drew
pictures with chalks to cover the gray stone or played the small reed
flutes that never seemed to be popular anywhere else; the canals that
carried as much traffic as the streets. The palaces of the Khai Udun
spanned the river itself, sinking great stone stanchions down into the
river like the widest bridge in the world. As a girl, Kiyan had heard
stories about the ghouls that lived in the darkness under those great
palaces. She had gone there in boats with her cohort in the dark of
night, the way that Sinja himself had dared burial mounds at midnight
with his brothers. She had kissed her first lover in the twilight
beneath a bridge just North of here. He had spent so little time in I.
dun, and yet he felt he knew it so well.