An Autumn War

because he had refused to he a sacrifice. He swallowed to loosen the

knot in his throat and took a pose that dismissed the subject.

"I had to say it," Sinja said, apologizing with his tone.

"You didn't say my name," Kiyan said. Her eyes turned to Sinja's. "Why

didn't you say my name?"

"Well, assuming that you don't all opt for slaughter, there is one other

thing we have in our favor," Sinja said. ""They sent me here to betray

you. Kiyan's safety was my asking price. They expect a report from me

when they arrive. If I give them had information, we may he able to trap

some of them. Thin their forces. It won't win the battle, but it could

help."

Otah raised his hand, and the mercenary stopped. Kiyan was the one who

took a querying pose, and it was to Kiyan that he answered.

"The general. Balasar-cha. He doesn't want a bloody battle. He wants it

over quickly, with as few of his men lost as he can manage. I agreed to

come here and discover your defenses if he spared you. Gave you to me

when it was all over with. Prize of war. It's not all that uncommon.

Kiyan rose, her small foxlike face turned feral. Her fingers were

splayed in claws, and her chest pressed forward like a bantam ready for

the fighting pit. Otah's heart warmed with something like pride.

,,If you let them touch l iah and Danat, I would kill you in your

sleep," she said.

"But Balasar-cha doesn't know that," Sinja said, shrugging and looking

into the fire. He couldn't meet her eyes. "He expects a report from me,

and I'll give him one. I'll give him whatever report you'd like."

"Gods," Kiyan said, her eyes still ablaze. "Is there anyone you haven't

betrayed?"

Sinja smiled, but Otah thought there was sorrow in his dark eyes.

"Yes, there is. But she was in love with someone else."

Cchmai coughed, embarrassed. Otah raised his hands.

"Enough," he said. "We haven't got time for this. We may have a little

as a day to get ready. Maati, you prepare your binding. Cehmai will help

you. Kiyan. Liat. You've arranged food and quarters for two cities. Do

what you can to arm them and keep people from panicking. Sinja and I

will work out a plan to defend the city and a report to deliver to the

Galts."

Kiyan's eyes carried a question, but Otah didn't answer. There was no

reason to trust Sinja-cha. It was just the risk he chose to take.

Servants brought maps of the city, of the low towns to the south, and

the mountains and mines to the North. Machi hadn't been built to

withstand a war; there were no walls to defend, no pits that the enemy

would have to bridge. The only natural barrier-the river-was already

frozen solid enough to walk across. Any real defense would have to he on

the black-cobbled streets, in the alleys and tu

talked late into the night, joined by the Khai Cetani and Ashua Radaani,

Saya the blacksmith and Kiyan when she wasn't out among the tu

spreading the word and making preparations. Sinja's shame, if it was

still there, was hidden and his advice was well considered. By morning,

even the Khai Cetani suffered interruption from Sinja-cha. Otah took it

as another sign that the Khai had changed.

If things went poorly, there was still the mine in the northern moun

tains. A few people could take shelter there. Eiah and I)anat. Nayiit.

If the binding failed, they could send Nlaati and Cehmai there as well,

sneaking them out the hack of the palace in a fast cart while the battle

was still alive. Otah didn't imagine that he would be there with them,

and Sinja didn't question him.

Afterward, Otah looked in on his children, both asleep in their

chamhers. 1-IC found the library where Cehmai and Nlaati were still

arguing over points of grammar so obscure he could hardly make sense of

them. The night candle was guttering and spitting when Otah came at last

to his bed. Kiyan sat with him in silence for a time. IIe touched her,

tracing the curve of her cheek with the knuckles of one hand.

"I)o you believe Sinja?" he asked.

"What part of it?"

"I)o you think that this General Gicc really believes the andat arc too

dangerous to exist? That he wants them destroyed? What he said about

killing the poet ... I don't know what to think of that."

"If burning the library is really one of his demands, then maybe," Kiyan

said. "I can't think he'd want the hooks and scrolls burned if he hoped

to hind more andat of his own."

Otah nodded, and lay hack, his gaze turned toward the ceiling above him,

dark as a moonless sky.

"I'm not sure he's wrong," Otah said.

Wordless, she drew his mouth to hers, guided his hands. Ile would have

thought himself too tired for the physical act of love, but she proved

him wrong. Afterward, she lay at his side, her fingertips tracing the

ink that had been worked into his skin when he had been an eastern

islander leading one of his previous lives. He slept deeply and with a

feeling of peace utterly unjustified by the situation.

He woke alone, called in the servants who bathed and dressed a Khai. Or,

however briefly, an Emperor. Black robes, shot with red. "Thick-woven

wool layered with waxed silk. Robes of colors chosen for war and

designed for cold. He took himself up through the great galleries,

rising toward the surface and the light, being seen by the utkhaiem of

both NIachi and Cetani, by the common laborers hurrying to throw vast

cartfuls of rubble into the minor entrances to the underground, by the

merchants and couriers. The food sellers and beggars. The city.

The sky was white and gray, vast and empty as a blank page. Crows

commented to one another, their voices dispassionate and considering as

low-town judges. High above, the towers of Machi loomed, and smoke rose

from the sky doors-the sign that men were up there in the thin, distant

air burning coal and wood to warm their hands, preparing for the battle.

Otah stood on the steps of his palace, the hitter cold numbing his

cheeks and biting at his nose and ears, the world smelling of smoke and

the threat of snow. Distant and yet clear, like the voice of a ghost,

hells began to ring in the towers and great yellow ba

the last, desperate unfallen leaves of the vast stone trees.

The Galts had come.

SNOW FELL GENTLY THAT MORNING, DRIFTING DOWN FROM THE SHEET OF clouds

above them in small, hard flakes. Balasar stood on the ridgeline of the

hills south of the city. Frost had formed on the fold of his leather

cloak, and the snow that landed on his shoulders didn't melt. Before