every andat there is when it goes. All of this was in my report to the
High Council."
The Lord Convocate nodded as he plucked a circle of dried apple from the
howl between them. When he spoke again, however, it was as if Balasar's
objection had never occurred.
"Assuming it works, that you can take the andat from the field of play,
what's to stop the Khaiem from having their poets make another andat and
loose it on Galt?"
"Swords," Balasar said. "As you said, fourteen cities in a single
season. None of them will have enough time. I have men in every city of
the Khaiem, ready to meet us with knowledge of the defenses and
strengths we face. 'T'here are agreements with mercenary companies to
support our men. Four well-equipped, well-supported forces, each taking
unfortified, poorly armed cities. But we have to start moving men now.
This is going to take time, and I don't want to he caught in the North
waiting to see which comes first, the thaw or some overly clever poet in
Cetani or Machi managing to hind something new. We have to move
quickly-kill the poets, take the libraries-"
"After which we can go about making andat of our own at our leisure,"
the Lord Convocate said. His voice was thoughtful, and still Balasar
sensed a trap. He wondered how much the man had guessed of his own plans
and intentions for the future of the andat.
"If that's what the High Council chooses to do," Balasar said, sitting
back. "All of this, of course, assuming I'm given permission to move
forward."
"Ah," the Lord Convocate said, lacing his hands over his belly. "Yes.
That will need an answer. Permission of the Council. A thousand things
could go wrong. And if you fail-"
"The stakes are no lower if we sit on our hands. And we could wait
forever and never see a better chance," Balasar said. "You'll forgive my
saving it, sir, but you haven't said no."
"No," he said, slowly. "No, I haven't."
"'T'hen I have the command, sir?"
After a moment, the Lord Convocate nodded.
3
"What's the matter?" Kiyan asked. She was already dressed in the silk
shift that she slept in, her hair tied back from her thin foxlike face.
It occurred to Otah for the first time just how long ago the sun had
set. He sat on the bed at her side and let himself feel the aches in his
back and knees.
"Sitting too long," he said. "I don't know why doing nothing should hurt
as badly as hauling crates."
Kiyan put a hand against his back, her fingers tracing his spine through
the fine-spun wool of his robes.
"For one thing, you haven't hauled a crate for your living in thirty
summers.
""Twenty-five," he said, leaning back into the soft pressure of her
hands. ""Twenty-six now."
"For another, you've hardly done nothing. As I recall, you were awake
before the sun rose."
Otah considered the sleeping chamber-the domed ceiling worked in silver,
the wood and bone inlay of the floors and walls, the rich gold netting
that draped the bed, the still, somber flame of the lantern. The east
wall was stone-pink granite thin as eggshell that glowed when the sun
struck it. He couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd woken to
see that light. Last summer, perhaps, when the nights were shorter. He
closed his eyes and lay hack into the soft, enfolding bed. His weight
pressed out the scent of crushed rose petals. Hayes closed, he felt
Kiyan shift, the familiar warmth and weight of her body resting against
him. She kissed his temple.
"Our friend from the I)ai-kvo will finally leave soon. A message came
recalling him," Otah said. "That was a bright moment. Though the gods
only know what kept him here so long. Sinja's likely halfway to the
VVestlands by now."
"The envoy stayed for Maati's work," Kiyan said. "Apparently he hardly
left the library these last weeks. Eiah's been keeping me informed."
"Well, the gods and Eiah, then," Otah said.
"I'm worried about her. She's brooding about something. Can you speak
with her?"
Dread touched Otah's belly, and a moment's resentment. It had been such
a long day, and here waiting for him like a stalking cat was another
problem, another need he was expected to meet. The thought must have
expressed itself in his body, because Kiyan sighed and rolled just
slightly away.
"You think it's wrong of me," Kiyan said.
"Not wrong," Otah said. "Unnecessary isn't wrong."
"I know. At her age, you were living on the streets in the summer
cities, stealing pigeons off firekeeper's kilns and sleeping in alleys.
And you came through just fine."
"Oh," Otah said. "Have I told that story already?"
"Once or twice," she said, laughing gently. "It's just that she seems so
distant. I think there's something bothering her that she won't say. And
then I wonder whether it's only that she won't say it to me."
"And why would she talk to me if she won't she talk to you?"
When he felt Kiyan shrug, Otah opened his eyes and rolled to his side.
"There were tears shining in his lover's eyes, but her expression was
more amused than sorrowful. He touched her cheek with his fingertips,
and she kissed his palm absently.
"1 don't know. Because you're her father, and I'm only her mother? It
was just ... a hope. The problem is that she's half a woman," Kiyan
said. "When the sun's up, I know that. I remember when I was that age.
My father had me running half of his wayhouse, or that's how it felt
back then. Up before the clients, cooking sausages and barley. Cleaning
the rooms during the day. He and Old Mani would take care of the
evenings, though. They wanted to sell as much wine as they could, but
they didn't want a girl my age around drunken travelers. I thought they
were being so unfair."
Kiyan pursed her lips.
"But maybe I've told that story already," she said.
"Once or twice," Otah agreed.
"There was a time I didn't worry about the whole world and everything in
it, you know. I remember that there was. It doesn't make sense to me.
One had season, an illness, a fire-anything, really, and I could have
lost the wayhouse. But now here I am, highest of the Khaiem, a whole
city that will bend itself in half to hand me whatever it thinks I want,
and the world seems more fragile."
"We got old," Otah said. "It's always the ones who've seen the most who
think the world's on the edge of collapse, isn't it? And we've seen more
than most."
Kiyan shook her head.
"It's more than that. Losing a wayhouse would have made the world harder
for me and Old Mani. There are more people than I can count here in the
city, and all the low towns. And you carry them. It makes it matter more."