that had fallen in the last weeks hadn't melted and wouldn't before
spring. The world was pale except where a stone or patch of ground stood
free of snow. "There it was black.
Ile put one foot in front of the other, his mind growing empty with the
rhythm. His muscles slowly warmed. The pain retreated from his ears.
With enough effort, the air became almost comfortable. The sun rose
quickly behind him, as if in a hurry to finish its day's passage and
return the world to darkness.
When he paused to relieve himself on a tree-his piss steaming in its
puddle-he took off the leather cloak. If he got too warm, he'd start to
sweat. Soaking through his inner robes was an invitation to death. He
wondered how many of Balasar's men knew that. With his sad luck, all of
them.
They wouldn't see a low town today. They had overrun one yesterday-the
locals surprised to find themselves surrounded by horsemen intent on
keeping any word from slipping out to the North. 'T'here would he
another town in a day or two. If Sinja was lucky, it might mean fresh
meat for dinner. The rations set aside by the townsmen to see them
through the winter might feed the army for as much as half a day.
They paused at midday, the cooks using the furnaces of the steam wagons
to warm the bread and boil water for tea. Sinja wasn't hungry but he ate
anyway. The tea was good at least. Overbrewed and bitter, but warm. He
sat on the broad back of a steam wagon, and was prepar ing himself for
the second push of the day and estimating how many miles they had
covered since morning when the general arrived.
Balasar rode a huge black horse, its tack worked with silver. As small
as the man was, he still managed to look like something from a painting.
"Sinja-cha," Balasar Cice said in the tongue of the hhaiem. "I was
hoping to find you here.,,
Sinja took a pose of respect and welcome.
"I'd say winter's cone," the general said.
"No, Balasar-cha. If this was real winter, you could tell because we'd
all be dead by now."
Balasar's eyes went harder, but his wry smile didn't fade. It wasn't
anger that made him what he was. It was determination. Sinja found
himself unsurprised. Anger was too weak and uncertain to have seen them
all this far.
"I'd have you ride with us," the general said.
"I'm not sure Eustin-cha would enjoy that," Sinja said, then switched to
speaking in Galtic. "But if it's what you'd like, sir, I'm pleased to do
it."
"You have a horse?"
"Several. I've been having them walked. I've got good enough fighters
among my men, but I can't speak all that highly of them as grooms. A
horse with a good lather up in this climate and with these boys to care
for it is going to he tomorrow night's dinner."
"I have a servant or two I could spare," Balasar said, frowning. Sinja
took a pose that both thanked and refused.
"I'd take the loan of one of your horses, if you have one ready to ride.
Otherwise, I'll need to get one of mine."
"I'll have one sent," Balasar said. Sinja saluted, and the general made
his way back to the main body of the column. Sinja had just washed down
the last of the bread with the dregs of his tea when a servant arrived
with a saddled brown mare and orders to hand it over to him. Sinja rode
slowly past the soldiers, grim-faced and uncomfortable, preparing for
their trek or else already marching. Balasar rode just after the
vanguard with Dustin and whichever of his captains he chose to speak
with. Sinja fell in beside the general and made his salute. Balasar
returned it seriously. h,ustin only nodded.
"You served the Khai NIachi," Balasar said.
"Since before he was the Khai, in fact," Sinja said.
"What can you tell me about him?"
"I-fie has a good wife," Sinja said. Eustin actually smiled at the joke,
but Balasar's head tilted a degree.
"Only one wife?" he asked. "'That's odd for the Khaiem, isn't it?"
"And only one son. It is odd," Sinja said. "But he's an odd man for a
Khai. He spent his boyhood working as a laborer and traveling through
the eastern islands and the cities. lie didn't kill his family to take
the chair. He's been considered something of an embarrassment by the
utkhaiem, he's upset the I)ai-kvo, and I think he's looked on his
position as a burden."
"He's a poor leader then?"
"He's better than they deserve. Most of the Khaiem actually like the job."
Balasar smiled and Eustin frowned. "I'hey understood.
"He hasn't posted scouts," Eustin pointed out. "He can't he much of a
war leader."
"No one would post scouts this late in the season," Sinja said. "You
might as well fault him for not keeping a watch on the moon in case we
launched an attack from there."
"And how was it that a son of the Khaiem found himself working as a
laborer?" Balasar asked, eager, it seemed, to change the subject.
As he swayed gently on the horse, Sinja told the story of Otah Nlachi.
How he had walked away from the I)ai-kvo to take a false name as a petty
laborer. The years in Saraykeht, and then in the eastern islands. How he
had taken part in the gentleman's trade, met the woman who would be his
wife, and then been caught up in a plot for his father's chair. The
uncertain first year of his rule. The plague that had struck the winter
cities, and how he had struggled with it. The tensions when he had
refused marriage to the daughter of the Khai I Otani. Reluctantly, Sinja
even told of his own small drama, and its resolution. He ended with the
formation of the small militia, and its being sent away to the west, and
to Balasar's service.
Balasar listened through it all, probing now and again with questions or
comments or requests for Sinja to amplify on sonic point or aspect of
the Khai Machi. Behind them, the sun slid down toward the horizon. The
air began to cool, and Sinja pulled his leather cloak hack over his
shoulders. Dark would he upon them soon, and the moon had still not
risen. Sinja expected the meeting to come to its close when they stopped
to make camp, but Balasar kept him near, pressing for more detail and
explanation.
Sinja knew better than to dissemble. He was here because he had played
well up to this point, but if his loyalty to the Galts was ever going to
break, it would be soon and all three men knew it. If he held hack,
hesitated, or gave information that seemed intended to mislead, he would
fall from Balasar's grace. So he told his story as clearly and
truthfully as he could. There wasn't a great deal that was likely to he
of use to the general anyway. Sinja had, after all, never seen Otah lead
an army. If he'd been asked to guess how such an effort would end, he'd
have been proved wrong already.
They ate their evening meal in Balasar's tent of thick hide beside a