An Autumn War

him, the stone towers rose, seeming closer than they were, more real

than the snow-grayed mountains behind them. No enemy army had marched

out to meet him, no party of utkhaiem marred the thin white blanket,

still little more than ankle-deep, that separated Balasar from Machi.

Behind him, his men were gathered around the steam wagons, pressed

around the furnace grates that Balasar had ordered opened. The medics

were already busy with men suffering from the cold. The captains and

masters of arms were seeing that every clump of men was armed and

armored. Balasar had been sure to mention the warm baths beneath Machi,

the food supplies laid in those tu

cities alive for the winter.

Smoke rose from the tops of the towers and from the city itself. Ba

flew. He heard a horseman approaching him from behind, and he glanced

back to see Eustin on a great bay mare. The beast's breath was heavy and

white as feathers. Balasar raised a hand, as Eustin cantered forward,

pulled his mount to a halt, and saluted.

"I'm ready, sir. I've a hundred men volunteered to come with me. With

your permission."

"Of course," Balasar said, then looked back at the towers. "Do you

really think they'd do it? Sneak out. Run north and try to hide in the

low towns out there?"

"Best to have us there in the event," Eustin said. "I could be wrong,

sir. But I'd rather be careful now than have to spend the cold part of

the season making raids. Especially if this is the warm hit."

Balasar shook his head. He didn't believe that the Khai Machi Sinja had

described to him would run. He would fight unfairly, he would launch

attacks from ambush, he would have his archers aim for the horses. But

Balasar didn't think he would run. Still, the poets might. Or the Khai

might send his children away for safety, if he hadn't already. And there

would he refugees. Eustin's plan to block their flight was a wise one.

He couldn't help wishing that Eustin might have been with him here, at

the end. They were the last of the men who had braved the desert, and

Balasar felt a superstitious dread at sending him away.

"Sir?"

"Be careful," Balasar said. "'That's all."

A trumpet called, and Balasar turned back to the city. Sure enough,

there was something-a speck of black on the white. A single rider,

fleeing Machi.

"Well," Eustin said. "Looks like Captain Ajutani's come back after all.

Give him my compliments."

Balasar smiled at the disdain in Eustin's voice.

"I'll be careful too," he said.

It took something like half a hand for Sinja to reach the camp. Balasar

noticed particularly that he didn't turn to the bridge, riding instead

directly over the frozen river. Eustin and his force were gone, looping

around to the North, well before the mercenary captain arrived. Balasar

had cups of strong kafe waiting when Sinja, his face pink and rawlooking

from his ride, was shown into his tent.

Balasar retuned his salute and gestured to a chair. Sinja took a pose of

thanks-so little time back among the Khaiem and the use of formal pose

seemed to have returned to the man like an accent-and sat, drawing a

sheaf of papers from his sleeve. When they spoke, it was in the tongue

of the Khaiem.

"It went well?"

"Well enough," Sinja said. "I made a small mistake and had to do some

very pretty dancing to cover it. But the Khai's got few enough hopes, he

wants to trust me. flakes things easier. Now, here. These are rough

copies of the maps he's used. They're filling in the main entrances to

the underground tu

down at once. The largest paths they've left open are here," Sinja

touched the map, "and here."

"And the poets?"

"They have the outline of a binding. I think they're going to try it.

And soon."

Balasar felt the sinking of dread in his belly, and strangely also a

kind of peace. Ile wouldn't have thought there was any part of him that

was still held hack, and yet that one small fact-the poets lived and

pla

any choice he might still have had. He looked at the map, his mind

sifting through strategies like a tiles player shuffling chits of bone.

"'T'here are men in the towers," Balasar said.

"Yes, sir," Sinja said. ""They'll have stones and arrows to drop. You

won't be able to use the streets near them, but the range isn't good,

and they won't be able to aim from so far up. Go a street or two over

and keep by the w+alls, and we'll he safe. There won't he much

resistance above ground. 'T'heir hope is to keep you at hay long enough

for the cold to do their work for them."

't'hree forces, Balasar thought. One to clear out the houses and trading

shops on the south, another to push in toward the forges and the

metalworkers, a third to take the palaces. He wouldn't take the steam

wagons-he'd learned that much from Coal-so horsemen would be important

for the approach, though they might he less useful if the fighting moved

inside structures as it likely would. And they'd be near useless once

they were underground. Archers wouldn't have much effect. "There were

few long, clear open spaces in the city. But despite what Sinja said,

Balasar expected there would he some fighting on the surface, so enough

archers were mixed with the foot troops to fire back at anyone harassing

them from the windows and snow doors of the passing buildings.

"Thank you, Sinja-cha," Balasar said. "I know how much doing this must

have cost you."

"It needed doing," Sinja said, and Balasar smiled.

"I won't insist that you watch this happen. You can stay at the camp or

ride North and Join Eustin."

"North?"

"I Ie's taken it to guard. In case someone tries to slip away during the

battle."

"That's a good thought," Sinja said, his tone somewhat rueful. "If it's

all the same, I'd like to ride with Eustin-cha. I know he hasn't always

thought well of me, and if anything does go wrong, I'd like to he where

he can see I wasn't the one doing it."

"A pretty thought," Balasar said, chuckling.

"You're going to win," Sinja said. It was a simple statement, but there

was a weight behind it. A regret that soldiers often had in the face of

loss, and only rarely in victory.

"You thought of changing sides," Balasar said. "While you were there,

with all the people you know. In your old home. It was hard not to stand

by them."