traveled. Otah considered the weight of their situation-the young man's
dual role as Maati's son and his own, the threat he posed to Danat and
the promise to Machi, the aid he might be in this present endeavor to
prevent harm to the Dal-kvo-and dismissed it all. He was too tired and
pained to chew everything a hundred times before he swallowed.
He took a pose of welcome, and Nayiit returned one of greater formality.
Otah nodded to a camp chair and Nayiit sat.
"Your attendant wasn't here. I didn't know what the right etiquette was,
so I just came through."
"He's running an errand. Once he's hack, I can have tea brought," Otah
said. "Or wine."
Nayiit took a pose of polite refusal. Otah shrugged it away.
"As you see fit," Otah said. "And what brings you?"
"There's grumbling in the ranks, Most High. Even among some of the
utkhaiem."
"There's grumbling in here, for that," Otah said. "There's just no one
here to listen to me. Are there any suggestions? Any solutions that the
ranks have seen that escaped me? Because, by all the gods that have ever
been named, I'm not too proud to hear them."
"They say you're driving them too hard, Most High," Nayiit said. "That
the men need a day's rest."
"Rest? Go slower? That's the solution they have to offer? What kind of
brilliance is that?"
Nayiit looked up. His face was long, like a Northerner's. Like Otah's.
His eyes were Liat's tea-with-milk brown. His expression, however, owed
to neither of them. Where Liat would have kept her eyes down or Otah
would have made himself charming, Nayiit's face belonged on a man
hearing a heavy load. Whatever was in his mind, in this moment it was
clear that he would press until the world was the way he wanted it or it
crushed him. It was something equal parts weariness and joy, like a man
newly acquainted with certainty. Otah found himself curious.
"They aren't wrong, Most High. These men aren't accustomed to living on
the road like this. You can't expect the speed of a practiced army from
them. And the walkers have been rising early to drill."
"Have they?"
"They have the impression their lives may rest on it. And the lives of
their families. And, forgive me Most High, but your life too."
Otah leaned forward, his hands taking a questioning pose.
"They're afraid of failing you," Nayiit said. "It's why no one would
come to you and complain. I've been keeping company with a man named
Saya. He's a blacksmith. Plow blades, for the most part. I Iis knees are
swollen to twice their normal size, and he wakes before dawn to tic on
leather and wool and swing sticks with the others. And then he walks
until he can't. And then he walks farther."
Nayiit's voice was trembling now, but Otah couldn't say if it was with
weariness or fear or anger.
"These aren't soldiers, Most High. And you're pushing them too hard."
"We've been moving for ten days-"
"And we're coming near to halfway to the Dai-kvo's village," Nayiit
said. "In ten days. And drilling, and sleeping under thin blankets on
hard ground. Not couriers and huntsmen, not men who are accustomed to
this. Just men. I've spoken to the provisioners. We left Nlachi three
thousand strong. Do you know how many have turned hack? How many have
deserted you?"
Otah blinked. It wasn't a question he'd ever thought to ask.
"How many?"
"None."
Otah felt something loosen in his chest. A warmth like the first drink
of wine spread through him, and he felt tears beginning to well up in
his eyes. If he had been less exhausted, it would never have pierced his
reserve, and still ... none.
"With every low town we pass, we take on a few more," Nayiit was saying.
"They're afraid. The word has gone out that all the andat are gone, that
the Galts are going to invade or are invading. It's the thing every man
had convinced himself would never happen. I hear the things they say."
"The things they say?"
""That you were the only one who saw the danger. You were training men
even before. You were preparing. They say that you've traveled the world
when you were a boy, that you understand it better than any other Khai.
Some of them are calling you the new Emperor."
`T 'hey should stop that," Otah said.
"Most High, they're desperate and afraid, and they want a hero out of
the old epics. They need one."
"And you? What do you need?"
"I need Saya to stop walking for a day."
Otah closed his eyes. Perhaps the right thing was to send the
experienced men on ahead. They could clear spaces for the camps. Perhaps
missing a single day would not be too much. And there was little point
in running if it was only to be sure they came to the battle exhausted
and ready for slaughter. The I)ai-kvo would have gotten his warning by
now. The poets might even now be in flight toward Otah and his ragtag
army. IIe took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose.
Letting his body collapse with it.
"I'll consider what you've said, Nayiit-eha," Otah said. "It wasn't
where my mind had led me, but I can see there's some wisdom in it."
Nayiit took a pose of gratitude as formal as any at court. He looked
nearly as spent as Otah felt. Otah raised his hands in a querying pose.
"The utkhaicm didn't feel comfortable bringing these concerns to me," he
said. "Why did you?"
"I think, Most High, there's a certain ... reluctance in the higher
ranks to second-guess you again. And the footmen wouldn't think of
approaching you. I grew up with stories about you and Maati-cha, so I
suppose I can bring myself to think of you as one of my mother's
friends. That, and I'm desperately tired. If you had me sent back in
disgrace, I could at least get a day's rest."
Otah smiled, and saw his own expression reflected back at him. He had
never known this boy, had never lifted him over his head the way he had
Danat. He had had no part in teaching Nayiit wisdom or folly. Even now,
seeing himself in his eldest son's movements and expressions, he could
hardly think of him with the hone-deep protectiveness that shook him
when he thought of Eiah and Danat. And yet he was pleased that he had
accepted Nayiit's offer to join him in this halfdoomed campaign. Otah
leaned forward, his hand out. It was the ges ture of friendship that one