"You can have it-"
"Got one, thanks," Eustin said. "Let's see this boy of yours."
The man hesitated, his eyes darting to the riders, to Eustin. Ile was
thinking of running for it-his little mule against six men on horseback.
Sinja took a simple pose that advised against it, and the man looked
down, then turned to the back of the little cart.
"Choti-kya," he said. "Come say hello to these good men."
A bundle of brown waxed silk stirred in the back of the cart, rose up,
and turned to face them. The boy's round face was shy and frightened,
but also curious. His cheeks were red from the cold, as if someone had
slapped him. As the small hands pushed out from his blankets and took a
pose of greeting, Sinja sighed.
Danat. It was Kiyan's boy. So this man was Nayiit, and all Sinja's worst
fears were unfolding right here before him.
One of Eustin's men stepped forward, looking through the cart. Danat
shied hack from him, but the soldier paid the boy no particular attention.
"What do you think we should do with them, Captain Ajutani," he asked.
"Kill 'em or send them on?"
Sinja kept his face blank as his mind worked at an answer. Eustin didn't
trust him and never had. Sinja tried to judge what the man would
do-follow his advice, or take the opposite. He suspected Eustin would
oppose him simply because he could. So the right choice would be to
recommend death for Danat and Nayiit. The gamble was higher stakes than
he liked. Eustin looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. Sinja was
taking too long in answering.
"I don't like killing children," he said in Galtic.
"Wouldn't be the first time I've done it since we left Nantani. 'T'here
was a whole school of them near Pathai. Kill the man, then? And leave
the boy in a snowstorm? That seems cruel."
Sinja shrugged and took a simple pose of apology.
"I hadn't known you were a great killer of children," he said. "We all
make our reputations somehow. Do whatever you think best."
Eustin scowled and the driver's face went pale. The man spoke Galtic,
then. Sinja wasn't certain that was a good thing.
"Maybe I should kill the boy and let the man go," Eustin said, and
Danat's keeper swung out of the cart, drawing his sword with a shout.
Eustin jumped back, pulling his own blade free. It was fast, over almost
before it began. The young man swung wild; Eustin parried the blow and
sunk his own blade into Nayiit's belly. Nayiit fell back, clutching at
his gut, while Eustin looked down at him in rage and disgust.
"What is the matter with you?" he said to the wounded man. "Look around
you. There's a dozen of us. Did you think you were going to cut us all
down?"
"Can't hurt Danat," the driver said.
"Who's Danat?"
When the driver didn't answer, Eustin shook his head and spat. Sinja
could see what was coming next from the way Eustin held his shoulders
and the blood in his face. Danat, still in cart, made a mewling sound,
and Sinja looked at the boy, looked into his eyes, and took a small pose
that told him to prepare himself.
"Well, we aren't leaving the boy out here, whatever his name is," Eustin
said. "Get him out where this idiot can see the price of attacking a Galt."
The soldier nearest the cart grabbed at the boy, and Danat yelped in
fear. Eustin swung his blade in the air, his eyes locked on Nayiit's.
Sinja nodded to the man at the cart when he spoke.
"Hold off there," he said, then turned to Eustin. "You're a good
soldier, Eustin-cha. You're loyal and you're ruthless, and I want you to
know I respect that."
Eustin cocked his head, confused.
"Thank you, I suppose," Eustin said, and Sinja drew his sword. Eustin's
eyes went wide, and he barely blocked Sinja's thrust. Blood showed on
his arm, and the other ten men pulled their own blades with a soft sound
like a rake in gravel.
"What are you doing?" Eustin cried.
"Not betraying someone."
"What?"
This isn't how I'd hoped to die, Sinja thought. If the boy had any
mother in the world besides Kiyan, he'd stand hack and let the thing
take its course. Instead, he was going to be cut down like a dog. But if
the men were watching him, Danat could slip away. A boy of five summers
was no threat. The men might not bother tracking him. Danat might find
his way to the tunnel or some low town or into friendly hands. There
wasn't a better option.
"Call them off, Eustin. This is between the two of us."
"What's between the two of us?"
Sinja raised the tip of his sword by a hand's span in answer. Eustin
nodded and dropped his own blade into guard position.
"He's mine," Eustin called. "Leave us be."
Sinja took a step hack, away from the cart, and smiled. Eustin let
himself be drawn. In the corner of his vision, Sinja saw Danat drop from
the cart's hack. He took a hard grip on his sword, grinned, and swung.
Steel rang on steel. Eustin closed and Sinja darted back, the snow
crackling under his boots. They were both smiling now, and one of the
bowmen had pulled out his quiver, prepared to act in case Eustin should
fail. Sinja took a deep breath of cold air, and felt strangely like
shouting.
He'd been wrong before; this was exactly how he'd hoped to die.
NIAATi CHANTED UNTIL HIS MOUTH WAS DRY, HIS EYES LACKED ON THE scrawled
note on the wall before him. Each time he began to feel his thoughts
taking shape, it distracted him. He would think that the binding was
beginning to work, and he would leap ahead to the battle outside and
what he could do, the fate of Gait, the future, what Eiah and Cehmai
were seeing, and the solidity that the binding had taken would slip away
again. It was hard to put the world aside. It was hard not to care.
He didn't pause, but he closed his eyes, picturing the wall and his
writing upon it. He knew the binding-knew the structures of it, the
grammars that formed the thoughts that put together everything he had
hoped and intended. And instead of reading it from the world, he read it
from the image in his own mind. Dreamlike, the warehouse wall seemed
more solid, more palpable, with his eyes closed. The sound of his voice
began to echo, syllables from different phrases blending together,
creating new words that also spoke to Maati's intention. The air seemed
thicker, harder to breathe. The world had become dense. He began his
chant again, though he could still hear himself speaking the words that