An Autumn War

"In a way," Sinja said. "Something I'd ask from you instead of my share

of the spoils, at least."

Balasar nodded, already knowing what Sinja was driving toward. ""I'he

Lady Kiyan," he said.

"I don't want her raped or killed," Sinja said. "When the city falls,

I'd like her handed over to me. I'll see she doesn't do anything stupid

or destructive."

"Her husband and children," F,ustin said. "We will have to kill them."

"I know it," Sinja said, "hut she's not from a high family. She's got no

standing aside from her marriage. She won't pose a threat."

"And for her sake, you'd betray the Khai?" Balasar asked.

Sinja smiled. 't'his question, at least, he could answer honestly and

without fear.

"For her sake, sir, I'd betray the gods."

Balasar looked at Eustin, his eyebrows rising as if asking an unvoiced

question. Eustin considered Sinja for a long moment, then shrugged.

Grunting, Balasar shifted and pulled a wooden box from under his cot. He

took a stoppered flask from it-good Nantani porcelain-and three small

drinking howls. With growing unease, Sinja waited as Balasar poured out

water-clear rice wine in silence, then handed one howl to Eustin, the

next to him.

"I have a favor to ask of you as well," Balasar said.

Sinja drank. The wine was rich and clean and made his chest bloom with

warmth, but not so much he lost the tightness in his throat and between

his shoulders.

"We can go in," Eustin said. "Waves of us. Small numbers, one after the

other, until we've dug out every nook and cra

lose men. A lot of them."

"Most," Balasar said. "We'd win. I'm sure of that. But it would take

half of my men."

""That's had," Sinja said. "But there is another plan here, isn't there?"

Balasar nodded.

"We can send a man in who can tell us what the defenses are. Who can

send word or sign. If we're lucky, perhaps even a man who can help with

pla

Sinja felt his mind start to spin. The rice wine made it a bit harder to

think, but a hit easier to grin. It was ridiculous, except that it made

sense. Ile should have anticipated this. I Ie should have known.

"You want to send me in? As a spy?"

"'lake a couple good horses in the morning, and ride hard for the city,"

Eustin said. "You'll arrive a few days ahead of us. You were the Khai's

advisor before. I Ie'Il listen to you, or at least let you listen to

him. When the time conies for the attack, you guide us."

The captain made a small gesture with one hand, as if what he'd said was

simple. Go into Nlachi, betray Otah and everyone else he'd known this

last decade. If I turn against the general, Sinja thought, it'll he a

bad death when these men find me.

"It will be faster this way," I3alasar said. "hewer people will die on

both sides. And, because you ask, the woman is yours. Safe and unharmed

if I can do it."

"I have your word on that Sinja asked.

Balasar took a pose that accepted an oath. It wasn't quite the right

vocabulary, but it carried the meaning. Sinja felt unpleasantly like he

was looking down over a cliff. His head swam a little, and the tightness

in his body fell to knotting his gut. He held out his bowl and Balasar

refilled it.

"I'll understand if it's too much," Balasar said, his voice soft. "It

will make things easier for both sides and it won't change the way the

battle falls, but that doesn't mean it isn't a terrible thing to ask of

you. 'lake a few days to sit with it if you'd like."

"No," Sinja said. "I don't need time. I'll do the thing."

"You're sure?" Eustin asked.

Sinja drained his cup in a gulp. He could feel the flush starting to

grow in his neck and cheeks, the nausea starting in his belly and the

back of his throat. It was strong wine and a had night coming.

"It needs doing, and it's the price I asked," Sinja said. "So I'll do it."

(.EIIMAI SA"l' FORWARD IN Ills CIIAIR. THE, Wlll"1'E MARBLE WALLS OF

THEIR workspace glowed with candlelight, but Nlaati didn't find the

brightness reassuring. He was sitting as quietly as he could manage on a

red and violet embroidered cushion, waiting. Cehmai lifted one of the

wide yellow pages, paused, and turned it over. Nlaati saw the younger

poet's lips moving as he shaped sonic phrase from the papers. Nlaati

restrained himself from asking which. Interruptions wouldn't make this

go any faster.

The simple insight that Eiah had given him that night in the baths had

taken the better part of two weeks to work into a draft worthy of

consideration. Fitting the grammars so that the nuances of corruption

and continuance-destruction and creation, or more precisely the

destruction of creation-reinforced one another had been tricky. And the

extra obstacle of fitting in the structures to protect himself should

things go amiss had likely tacked on an extra three or four days to the

process.

And still, it had taken him only weeks. Not years, not even months.

Weeks. The structure of the binding was laid out now.

Corruption-ofthe-Generative, called Sterile. The death of the Gait's

crops. The gelding of its men. The destruction of its women's wombs.

Once he had seen the trick of it, the binding had flowed from his pen.

It had been as if some small voice at the back of his mind was

whispering the words, and he'd only had to write them down. Even now,

squatting on this damnable cushion, his hack aching, his feet cold,

waiting for Cehmai to read over the last of the changes, he felt half

drunk from the work. He was a poet. All the things that had happened in

his life to bring him to this place at this time had built toward these

days, and the dry pages that hissed and shushed as Cehmai slid them

across each other. Maati bit his lip and did not interrupt.

It seemed like days, but Cehmai came to the final page, fingertips

tracing the lines Maati had written there, paused, and set it down with

the others. Maati leaned forward, his hands taking a querying pose.

Cehmai frowned and gently shook his head.

"No?" Maati asked. Something between rage and dismay shot through his

belly, only to vanish when Cehmai spoke.

"It's brilliant," he said. "It's a first draft, but it's a very, very

good one. I don't think there are many things we'd have to adjust. A few

to make it easier to pass on, perhaps. But we can work with those. No,