might happen, and Sinja had gone without any illusions of safety. If it
hadn't been this and now, it would have been something else at some
other time. Every man and woman died, in time.
And in truth, death wasn't the curse he'd set out to break. All his work
and sacrifice had been only so that they could balance the constant
withering of age with some measure of renewal. He thought of his own
children: Eiah, Danat, and even long-dead Nayiit. They had each of them
been wagers he'd placed against a cruel world. A child comes into the
world, and its father holds it close and thinks, If all goes as it
should, I will die first. This one, I can love and never mourn for. That
was all he wanted to leave for Danat and Eiah. The chance of knowing a
love that they would never be called to bury. It was the world as it was
intended to be.
He didn't notice Idaan riding close to him until she spoke. Her voice
was gruff, but he imagined he could hear some offer of comfort in it.
"It's past time to shift. Crawl up on that cart and rest awhile. You've
been riding that thing for five hands together."
"Have I?" Otah said. "I didn't notice."
"I know. It's why I came," she said. After a moment's pause, she added,
"Danat told us what happened."
Otah took a pose that acknowledged having heard her, but nothing more
than that. There wasn't anything more that could be meaningfully said.
Idaan respected it and let him turn his horse aside and shift to the
steamcart where Ana Dasin and Ashti Beg sat, their sightless eyes fixed
on nothing. Otah sat on the wide boards not far from them, but not so
near that their conversation would include him. Ana laughed at something
Ashti Beg had said. The older woman looked vaguely pleased. Otah lay
back, his closed eyes flooded with the red of sun and blood. He willed
himself to sleep, certain that it would elude him.
He woke when the cart jerked to a halt. He sat up, half-thoughts of
snapped axles and broken wheels forming and falling apart like mist in a
high wind. When he was awake enough to make sense of the world, he saw
that the sun had sunk almost to the treetops, and the cart was sitting
in the yard of a wayhouse. The memory of the morning's foul message
flooded back into him, but not so deeply as before. It would rise and
fall, he knew. He would be jarred by the loss of his friend again and
again and again, but less and less and less. It said something he didn't
want to know that mourning had become so familiar. He plucked his
traveling robes into their proper drape and lowered himself to the ground.
The one thing he truly didn't regret about the journey was that his
servants were all in Utani or Saraykeht. Walking into the low, warm main
room of the wayhouse without being surrounded by men and women wanting
to change his robes or powder his feet was a small pleasure. He tried to
savor it.
"Half a day east of here," a young man in a leather apron was saying,
but he was pointing north. "Must have been five or six days ago. Raised
ten kinds of trouble, then left in the middle of the night. So far as I
can see, no one's talked about anything else since."
"Did you see them?" Danat asked. His voice had an edge, but Otah
couldn't see his face to know if it was excitement or anger.
"Not myself, no," the young man said. "But it's the ones you asked
after. An old man with a physician, and nothing but women traveling with
him. There was even some talk he was trying to start a comfort house or
something of that kind, but that was before the baby."
"Baby?" The voice was Ana's.
"Yes. Little one, not more than eight months old from the size. So I'm
told. I didn't see him either, but they all saw him over at Chayiit's
place. Walked right out in the middle of the main room."
Otah slipped down at a bench by the fire grate. The fire was small but
warm. He hadn't realized how cold he'd gotten.
"Those are the people," Danat said.
"Five, six days then," the young man said with a pleased nod. He glanced
over at Otah, their eyes meeting briefly. The other man paled as Otah
took a pose of casual greeting and then turned his attention back to the
flames. The conversation behind him grew softer and ended. Danat came to
sit at his side. Through the open door, the yard fell into evening as
the armsmen finished unloading and leading away their horses.
"We've gotten closer," Danat said. "If they keep traveling as slowly as
they have up to now, we'll overtake them well before Utani."
Otah grunted. There was a deep thump from overhead and voices lifted in
annoyance. Danat's fingers laced his knee.
"I told Balasar that I would beg," Otah said. "I told him that I would
bend myself before this new poet and beg if it meant restoring him and
Galt."
"And now?"
"I don't believe I can. And more than that, having heard Ashti Beg talk
about this Vanjit, it's hard work thinking it would help."
"Maati, perhaps. He holds some sway with her."
"But what can I say that would move him?" Otah asked, his voice thick.
"We were friends once, and then enemies, and friends again, but I'm not
sure we know each other now. The more I look at it, the more I'm tempted
to set some sort of trap, capture the new poet, and give her over to
blind torturers until she makes the world what it should be."
"And what about Eiah?" Danat asked. "If she manages her bind„ ing-
"What if she does?" Otah said. "She's been against me from the start.
She's gone with Maati, and between them they've sunk the fleet, burned
Chaburi-Tan, blinded Galt, and killed Sinja. What would you have me say
to her?"
"You'll have to say something," Danat said, his voice harder than Otah
had expected. "And we'll be upon them soon enough. It's a thing you
should consider."
Otah looked over. Danat's head was bowed, his mouth tight.
"You'd like to suggest something?" Otah asked, his voice low and
careful. The anger in his breast shifted like a dog in sleep. Danat
either didn't hear the warning or chose to ignore it.
"We're trading revenge," Danat said. "The Galts came from anger at our
arrogance and fear of the andat. Maati and Vanjit have struck back now
for the deaths during their invasion. This can't go on."
"It isn't in my power to stop it," Otah said.
"It isn't in your power to stop them," Danat said, taking a pose of
correction. "Only promise me this. If you have the chance, you'll
forgive them."
"Forgive them?" Otah said, rising to his feet. "You want them forgiven
for this? You think it can all be put aside? It can't. If you ask
Anacha, I will wager anything you like that she can't look on the deaths
in Galt with calm in her heart. Would you have me forgive them for what
they've done to her as well? Gods, Danat. If what they've done isn't
going too far, nothing is!"