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the Galtic wagons strung along the road from Cetani like beads on a

string. It was earlier in the day than he'd expected them, and as he

pulled on his makeshift armor of boiled leather and metal scale, his

mind leapt ahead, guessing at what tactical advantages the Galtic

captain intended by arriving with the dawn. .

None, of course. They had no way to know Otah's men were there. And

still, Otah considered how the light would strike the road, the trees,

what it would make visible and what it would hide. He could no more stop

his mind than call down the stars.

The sun found the highest reaches of the smoke first, where it had

diffused almost to nothing. Closer to the ground, the smoke was already

visibly nearer. The Gaits had passed the third log barrier while the

runners had come to him. The fourth lay in wait where Utah could see it.

The innocent forest was alive with his men, or so he hoped. From his

place at the ridge of the low hill, he saw only the dozen nearest,

crouched behind trees and stones. Utah heard somethingthe clank of metal

or the sound of a raised voice. He willed them to be silent, fear and

anger at the sound almost enough to make his teeth ache until he heard

it again and realized it was the first of the Gaits.

The bear hunter appeared at his side. He held three of the spearlike

bolts and the great bow. Saya the blacksmith scampered up with another,

its steel heads only just fastened to it. Men appeared on the road below

them.

"The horn. Where's the horn?" Utah said, a sudden fear arcing through

him. If he had learned the lesson of drums and horns from the Galts only

to misplace the signal at the critical moment ... But the brass horn was

at his hip, where it had been since they'd set their trap. He took the

cold metal in his hands, brushing dirt from the mouthpiece.

""They look a bit rough around the edges, eh?" Saya whispered, pointing

at the road with his chin. "Amnat-Tan must have done them some hurt."

Utah looked at the Galtic soldiers. "There were perhaps a hundred that

he could see on this small curve of road. Ile tried to recall what the

men he had faced outside the 1)ai-kvo's village had looked like; how

they had walked, how they had held themselves. He couldn't. The memory

was only of the battle, and of his men, dying. Saya took a pose of

farewell and slunk away, down toward the trees where the battle would

soon begin.

The first of the steam wagons came into sight. He could hear it clacking

like a loom. The wide belly at its back glowed gold in the rising sun.

It was piled with sacks and boxes. Tents, perhaps, or food. Coal for the

furnaces. The packs that soldiers would have worn on their shoulders.

The wreckage he had seen at the 1)ai-kvo's village had let him

understand what these things were, but seeing one move-wheels turning at

the speed of a team at fast trot, and vet without a horse near-was no

less strange than his dreams. For a moment, he felt something like awe

at the mind who had conceived it. The first of the soldiers below him

saw the fallen log and called out-a long musical note that might have

been a word or only a signal. The sound of the steam wagon changed, and

it slowed, jittered once, and came to a halt. The long call came again

and again as it receded down the road like whisperers at court passing

the words of the Khai to distant galleries. The Galts came together,

conferring. At Otah's side, the bear hunter sat back, bracing the curve

of the bow against the soles of his feet. I Ic took one of the bolts,

steadying it between his fists as, two-handed, he drew back the wire.

The how creaked.

"Wait," Utah said.

A man came forward, past the steam wagon. He wore a gray tunic marked

with the Galtic "free. I Iis hair was dark as Utah's own, his skin dark

and leathern. The crowd of men at the fallen trees turned to face him,

their bodies taking attitudes of respect. Utah felt something shift in

his bell-.

"I lim," Utah said.

"Most High?" the huntsman said, strain in his voice.

"Can you hit the man in gray from here?"

'['Ile huntsman strained his neck, turned his body and his bow.

"I lard. Shot," he grunted.

"Can you do it?"

The huntsman was silent for half a breath.

"Yes," he said.

"'T'hen do. I)o it now."

The wire made a low thrum and the huntsman did something fast with his

ankles that caught the bow before it could fall. He was already bending

back again when the huge arrow struck. It took the gray man in the side,

just below his ribs, and he collapsed without crying out. Otah fumbled

with his horn, raising it to his lips. The note he blew filled his ears,

so that he only knew the Galts below him were calling out to each other

by the movement of their jaws and their drawn swords and axes.

The second bolt flew at the steam wagon as the soldiers fell back. It

struck the belly of the steam wagon with a low clank and fell useless to

the ground. A horn answering Otah's own called, and something terrible

and sudden and louder than anything Otah had ever heard before drowned

it out. A great cloud gouted up into the sky from perhaps three hundred

yards back in the Galtic column, and then the huntsman at his side

loosed the third bolt, and Otah was deafened.

The cloud of steam and smoke boiled up toward him, and Otah found

himself coughing in the thick, hot air. The huntsman loosed one last

bolt into the murk, stood, drew two daggers, and bounded down toward the

road. Otah stepped forward. He was aware of sounds, though they were

muffled by the ringing in his ears-screams, a trumpet blast, a distant

report as another steam wagon met its end. The road came clear to him

slowly as the mist thinned. The cart had tipped on its side, spilling

its cargo and its men. Perhaps a dozen men lay on the sodden ground,

their flesh seared red as a boiled lobster. Many still stood to fight,

but they seemed half-stunned, and his own men were cutting them down

with a savage glee. The furnace had cracked open, strewing burning coal

across the paving stones. The leaves on the nearest trees, damp from the

steam, seemed brighter and more vibrant than before. Two more steam

wagons burst, the sound like doubled thunder. Otah cried out, rallying

his men to his side, as he moved down to the road and the battle.

The first skirmish, here at the head of the column, was the critical

one. The way forward had to be blocked. If they could push the Galts

back here, they could drive them into their own men, confuse their

formations, keep their balance off. Or so they'd planned, so he hoped.

And as he came down the hill, it seemed possible. The Galts were

wideeyed with surprise, confused, afraid. Otah shouted and waved an axe,

but there was no one there to threaten with it. It had already happened.

The Galts were pulling back.

A bodyguard formed around him as he walked down the road, sol diers