An Autumn War

trumpets were calling again, fewer of them. Otah found himself better

able to make sense of them. 'l'he Galts seemed to be moving in three

directions at once-sweeping and holding the southern buildings, and then

two large forces moving as Otah had hoped they would.

"Call to the towers," Otah said. ""lull them to begin."

The trumpeter took a great breath and blared out the melody they had set

for the towers, and then the rising trill that was their signal to begin

raining stones and arrows into the streets. It was less than a breath

before Otah thought he saw something fly from the open sky doors far

above them, plummeting toward the ground. The snow was tricky, though.

It might only have been his imagination.

Otah felt himself trying to stretch out his will across the city, to

inhabit it like a ghost, to become it. Time slowed to a terrible

crawlyears seeming to pass between the short a

trumpets as they reported the Galts' progress. Muffled by the snow,

there also came the sound of distant voices raised in anger. Otah's

belly knotted. That wasn't right. "There shouldn't be any fighting yet.

Unless the Galts had found his men while they were sill in hiding. He

almost signaled his trumpeter to sound the order to report, but the more

the signals were used, the better the Galts would be able to find the

trumpeters.

"You," Otah said, pointing at one of the half-frozen servants. "Send a

ru

The man took a pose of acknowledgment and walked quickly and awkwardly

hack toward the stairs. Otah tapped his hand against the stone lip of

the roof, already impatient for the word to come hack to him. His feet

and face were numb. The snowfall seemed to be thickening, the world a

darker gray though the unseen sun was still likely six or seven hands

above the southern horizon.

From the west, the drums of Galt thundered, then were silent. Then

thundered again. Otah heard the sudden sharp call-thousands of voices at

once in a wild call that ended sharply. A boast. We are vast as the

ocean and disciplined. We are soldiers. We have come to kill you. Fear us.

And he did.

"Signal the palace forces to take their places," Otah said.

The trumpeter sang out the call, the wide bell of the trumpet playing

over the western rooftops like a priest offering blessing to a crowd.

The man was weeping, Otah saw. Tears streaking down his cheeks and into

his heard. A terrible, rending crash came from the forges. Otah turned

to peer through the rising smoke and the falling snow. He expected to

see one of the great copper roofs sitting at an angle, but nothing

seemed to have changed. The sound was a mystery.

"I can't stand this," Otah said, stalking back to the Khai Cetani and

the servants. There was snow gathering on the servants' shoulders. "I

don't know what's happening. I can't command a battle blind and

guessing. Where are the ru

The eldest of the servants took a pose of apology.

"Then go find out," Otah said.

But Otah felt in his bones what the ru

signals came-trumpets struggling through the muffling snow. Before the

Galtic drums broke out in their manic pounding. Nine thousand veterans

led by the greatest general in Galt were pouring into his city and

facing blacksmiths and vegetable carters, laborers and warehouse guards.

He was losing.

24

Balasar trotted through the streets, his shield held above his head.

Despite what Sinja had said, the great towers of Machi commanded the

streets around them fairly well. 'T'hroughout the day, stones and bricks

peppered his men, sailing down from the sky with the force of boulders

hurled by siege engines. Arrows sometimes came down as well, their

points shattering against the ground where they struck despite the

slowly growing cushion of snow. Ile ducked into another doorway when he

came to it. Five of his own men were waiting, and the bodies of ten or

so of the enemy. It was a slow process, spreading out and then moving

down not only the streets that were the fastest path to the tu

also two or three to each side. The Khai Machi had learned a trick, and

he'd used it against Coal. But he didn't have a second strategy, and so

Balasar knew where to find the waiting forcesjust back from where they'd

he seen, waiting to attack on all sides at once. Instead, Balasar was

killing them by handfuls. It was a had way to fight-bloody, slow,

painful, and u

But it was better than losing.

"General Gice, sir," the captain said as all the men saluted him.

Balasar raised his hand. his arm ached from holding the raised shield.

"We're, making progress, sir."

"Good," Balasar said. "What have we found?"

"All the smaller passages are blocked off, sir. Collapsed or filled with

rubble so deep we can't tell how long it would take to dig them out. And

they're narrow, sir. Two men together at most."

"We wouldn't want those anyway," Balasar said. "Better we keep for the

objectives. And casualties?"

" NN'e're estimating five hundred of the enemy dead, sir. But that's rough."

"And our men?"

"perhaps half that," the captain said.

"So many?"

"They aren't good fighters, sir, but they're committed.'

Balasar sighed, his mind shifting. If he assumed the force pushing

toward the palaces was having similar luck, that meant something like

fifteen hundred dead since he'd walked into the city. More, if there was

resistance in the south. This wasn't a battle, only slow, ugly

slaughter. He went to the doorway, peering out down the street. Etc

could hear the sounds of fighting-men's voices, the clash of metal on

metal. A hundred small outbursts that became a constant roar, like

raindrops falling on a pond.

"Get the drummer," he said. "We'll make a push for it. Scatter the

enemy, take the entrance to the tu

"The men we're seeing, sir. They're able-bodied. And decent fighters,

some of them."

"They wanted to do this on the surface," l3alasar said. ""The tu

will he their second string. It won't be as bad once we're in there. If

they're smart, they'll see there's no point going on."

The captain saluted without answering. Balasar was willing to take that

as agreement.

It took perhaps half a hand to gather a force of men together. Two