An Autumn War(129)

'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."

""That's true," Sinja said.

"It wouldn't have changed things. One more sword-even yourswouldn't have changed the way this battle falls."

"'That's why I came back," Sinja said.

"I'm glad you did," Balasar said. "I've been proud to ride with you."

Sinja gave his thanks and took his leave. Balasar wrote out orders for the guard to accompany Sinja and other ones to deliver to F.ustin. Then he turned to the maps of Machi. Truly there was little choice. The poets lived. Another night in the cold would mean losing more men. Balasar sat for a long moment, quietly asking God to let this day end well; then he walked out into the late-morning sun and gave the call to formation.

It was time.





Chapter 23

Liat had expected panic-in herself and in the city. Instead there was a strange, tense calm. Wherever she went, she was greeted with civility and even pleasure. 'T'here were smiles and even laughter, and a sense of purpose in the face of doom. In the interminable night, she had been invited to join in three suppers, as many breakfasts, and howls of tea without number. She had seen the highest of the utkhaicm sitting with metalsmiths and common armsmcn. She had heard one of the famed choirs of h~Iachi softly singing its Candles Night hymns.'1'he rules of society had been suspended, and the human solidarity beneath it moved her to weep.

She and Kiyan had taken the news first to the Khai Cetani and the captains of the battle that had once turned the Galts aside. When the plans had come from Otah's small Council-where to place men, how to resist the Galts as they tried to overrun the city-the Khai Cetani had emerged with the duties of arming and armoring the men who could fight. As the underground city was emptied of anything that could be used as a weapon-hunting arrows, kitchen knives, even lengths of leather and string cut from beds and fashioned into slings-Liar had seen children too young to fight and men and women too old or frail or ill packed into side galleries, the farthest from the fighting. Cots lined the walls, piled with blankets. In some places, there were thick doors that could be closed and pegged from the inside. 'T'hough If the Galts ever came this far, it would hardly matter how difficult it was to open the doors. Everything would already be lost.

Kiyan had made the physicians her personal duty-preparing one of the higher galleries for the care of the wounded and dying who would he coming back before the day's end. They'd managed seventy beds and scavenged piles of cloth high as a man's waist, ready to pack wounds. Bottles of distilled wine stood ready to case pain and clean cuts. A firekeeper's kiln, cauterizing irons already glowing in its maw, had been pulled in and the air was rich with the scent of poppy milk cooking to the black sludge that would take away pain at one spoonful and grant mercy with two. Liat walked between the empty beds, imagining them as they would shortly be-canvas soaked with gore. And still the panic didn't come.

By the entrance, one of the physicians was talking in a calm voice to twenty or so girls and boys no older than Eiah, too young to fight, but old enough to help care for the wounded. Kiyan was nowhere to he found, and Liat wasn't sure whether she was pleased or dismayed.