falling in around him and marching hack toward Cetani, cutting down
Gaits as they went. In the distance, a horn sounded the call for
horsemen to attack. Small formations of Gaits-two or three score at
most-held the road's center, confused, surrounded, and unable to
retreat. A few ran to the trees for cover, only to find the forest alive
with enemy blades. The rest fell to arrows and stones. Some engineer had
made sense of Otah's trick, and great white plumes of steam rose into
the sky as the wagons spent their pressure. The air reeked of blood and
hot metal and smoke; it tasted rank. "Twice, a wave of Gaits swung
toward Otah and his steadily increasing guard, only to he thrown hack.
The (;alt army was in disarray, surrounded, confused. Horsemen in the
colors of the high families of Machi and Cetani raised their swords in
salute when they saw Otah.
He walked over the dead and the dying, past steam wagons that had burst
open or been spared, horses that lay dead or flailed and screamed as
they died. The sun was almost at the top of its arc, the whole morning
gone, when Otah reached the last of the wagons, his bodyguard now nearly
the size of his entire force. They had followed him, pinching down on
the Gaits as he'd moved forward. The plains before them stretched out to
Machi, stands of Galtic archers holding positions to cover the retreat.
Otah raised his horn to his lips and called the halt. Others horns
called the acknowledgment. The battle was ended. The Gaits had come this
far and would come no farther. Otah felt himself sag.
From the south, he saw a movement among the men like wind stirring tall
grass. The Khai Cetani came barreling forward, a wide grin on his face,
blood soaking the ornate silk sleeves of his robes. Utah found himself
grinning hack. Ile took a pose of congratulations, but the Khai Cetani
whooped and wrapped his arms around Utah's waist, lifting him like Utah
was a child in his father's arms.
"You've done it!" the Khai Cetani shouted. "You've beaten the bastards!"
We have, Otah tried to say, but he was being lifted upon the shoulders
of his men. A roar passed through the assembled men-a thousand throats
opening as one. Otah let himself smile, let the relief wash over him.
The Galtic army was broken. They would not reach Machi before winter
came. Ile had done it.
They carried him back and forth before the men, the shouts and salutes
following him like a windstorm. As he came hack to the main road, he was
amazed to see the Khai Cetani-all decorum and rank forgotten-dancing arm
in arm with common laborers and huntsmen. The Khai Cetani caught sight
of him, raised a blade in salute, and called out words that Otah
couldn't hear. The men around him abandoned their dance, and drew their
own blades, taking up the call, and Otah felt his throat close as he
understood the words, as he heard them repeated, moving out through the
men like a ripple in a pond.
7b the Emperor.
BALASAR STOOD IN THE GREAT SQUARE OF 'IAN-SADAR. 'I'IlE SKY WAS WHITE
and chill, and the trees that stood in the eastern corners were nearly
bare of leaves. A good day, Balasar thought, for endings. The
representatives of the utkhaiem stood beneath square-framed colonnades,
staring out at him and his company two hundred strong and in their most
imposing array of arms and armor and at the Khai "Ian-Sadar, bound and
kneeling on the brickwork at Balasar's feet. The poet of the city had
burned to death among his books on the day Balasar had entered the city,
but the disposition of the Khai was less important. A few days waiting
in the public jail where men and women passing by could see him
languishing posed no particular threat to the world, and the campaign
that was now behind him had left Balasar tired.
"Do you have anything you want to say?" Balasar asked in the Khai's own
language.
He was a younger man than Balasar had expected. Perhaps no more than
thirty summers. It seemed young to have the responsibility of a city
upon him or to be slaughtered in front of the nobles who had betrayed
him to a conqueror. The Khai shook his head once, a curt and elegant motion.
"If you swear to serve the High Council of Galt, I'll cut your bonds and
we can both walk out of here," Balasar said. "I'll have to keep you
prisoner, of course. I can't leave you free to gather up an army. But
there are worse things than living under guard."
The Khai almost smiled.
"'There are also worse things than dying," he said.
Balasar sighed. It was a shame. But the man had made his decision.
Balasar raised his hand, and the drums and trumpets called out. The
execution proceeded. When the soldier held up the Khai's head for the
crowd to see, a shudder seemed to run through them, but the faces that
Balasar saw looking out at him seemed bright and excited.
'T'hey know they won't die, he thought. If I'm not killing them, it all
becomes another court spectacle. They'll be talking about it in their
bathhouses and winter gardens, vying for money and power now that the
city's fallen. Half of them will be wearing tunics with the Galtic Tree
on it come spring.
He looked down at the body of the man he'd had killed and briefly felt
the impulse to put "Ian-Sadar to the torch. Instead, he turned and
walked away, going back to the palaces he had taken for himself and for
his men.
Eight thousand remained to him. Several hundred had been lost in battle
or to the raids that had slowed his travel since Nantani. The rest he
had left in conquered I'tani. 'T'here was little enough left of I'dun
that he hadn't bothered leaving men to occupy the city. 't'here was no
call to leave people there to guard ashes.
tltani had offered only token resistance and been for the most part
spared. "Ian-Sadar had very nearly set the musicians to playing and
lined the roads with dancing girls. That wasn't true, but as Balasar
stalked hack through the great vaulted hall of the Khai's palace, his
steps echoing off the blue and gold tilework high above him, his disgust
with the place made it seem that way. They hadn't fought, and while that
might have been wise, it wasn't something to celebrate. The only ones
who had spines had been the poet and the Khai. Well, and the Khai's
wives and children, whom he'd had killed. So perhaps he wasn't really in
the best position to speak about what was honorable and noble after all.
"Darkness has come on as usual, sir;
Balasar looked tip. Eustin stood in salute at the foot of a wide flight
of stairs. His tunic was stained, his chin unshaven, and even from five
paces away, he stank of horses. Balasar restrained himself from rushing
over and embracing the man.
"The darkness," Balasar asked through his grin.
"Always happens at the end of a campaign, sir. You fall into a black
mood for a few weeks. Happened in Eddensca and after the siege at
NIalsam. All respect, sir, it's like watching my sister after she's