"I did . . ." Nlaati began, and his voice fell to nothing. lie sat down, his legs seeming to collapse beneath him. Otah tried to speak, but his throat was dry. It was Eiah, cradled in his arms, who broke the silence.
"Stop it," she said. "Leave him alone. He never did anything mean to you.
The andat smiled. Its teeth were pale as snow and sharp.
"I Ie did something mean to win, Fiah-kya," it said. "You'll grow to know how badly he's hurt you. It may take you years to understand. It may take a lifetime."
"I don't care!" I?iah veiled. "1'ou Ieave uncle Nlaati alone!"
And as if the words themselves were power, it vanished. The dark robes fell empty to the stone floor. The only sounds were Eiah's pained breath and the moaning of the cite. The Khai Cetani licked his lips and looked uneasily at Otah. Maati stared at the ground between his hands.
""They'll never forgive this," Cchmai said. "The Galts will kill us to a man."
Otah smoothed a hand over his daughter's brow. Confronting the andat seemed to have taken what strength she had. I ter face was pale, and he could see the small twitching in her body that spoke of fresh pain. He kissed her gently where her forehead met her hair, and she put her arms around him, whimpering so softly that only he could hear it. Therc was blood soaking through her robe just below where the cloth widened at her hips.
"No. They won't. Cehmai," Otah said, his voice seeming to cone from far away. Ile was surprised to hear how calm he sounded. ""lake Nlaati. Get out of the city. It won't be safe for either of you here."
"It won't be safe for us anywhere," Cehmai said. "We could make for the Westlands when spring comes. Or Eddensea-"
"Go now, and don't tell me where. I don't want the option of finding you. Do you understand?" lie looked up at Cehmai's wide, startled eyes. "I have my daughter here, and that's had enough. When I see my Wife, I don't want you anywhere I can find you."
Cehmai opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again and silently took a pose that accepted Utah's command. Nlaati looked up, his eyes brimming and red. 'T'here was no begging in his expression, no plea. Only remorse and resignation. If he could have moved without disturbing Eiah, Utah would have embraced the man, comforted him as best he could. And still lie would have sent Nlaati away. Ile could see that his old friend knew that. Nlaati's thick hands took a formal pose of leave-taking, appropriate to the beginning of a long journey or else a funeral. Utah took one that accepted the apology he had not offered. "'i'he Galts," the Khai (:etani said. "What about the Galts?"
Utah reached his arms tinder Eiah, one under her shoulder blades, the other at her knees, and lifted her into his lap. 't'hen, straining, lie stood. She was heavier than he remembered. It had been years since lie had carried her. She had been smaller then, and lie had been younger.
"We'll find the trumpeter and call the attack," Otah said. "Listen to them. If they're as had as she is, they'll barely be able to fight. We'll drive them hack out of the city if we do it now."
The Khai Cetani's eyes brightened, his shoulders pulled back. With a pit dog's grin, he took a pose that mirrored Cehmai's. The command accepted. Utah nodded.
"I lai! YOU!" the Khai Cetani yelled toward the servants, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Get the trumpeter. Have him sound the attack. And a blade! Find me a blade, and another for the Emperor!"
"No," Utah said. "Not for me. I have my daughter to see to."
And before anyone could make the mistake of objecting, Otah turned his back on them all, carrying Fiah to the stairway, and then down into darkness.
Chapter 26
What would have happened, Balasar wondered, if he had not tried?
It had been a thing from nightmare. Balasar had moved his men like stones on a playing board, shifting them from street to street, building to building. He had kept them as sheltered as possible from the inconstant, killing rain of stones and arrows that fell from the towers. The square that he chose for the rallying point was only a few streets south of the opening where he expected to lead them down into the soft belly of the city, and difficult for the towers to reach. The snow was above his ankles now, but Balasar didn't feel the cold. His blood was singing to him, and he could not keep from grinning. The first of the forces from the palaces was falling back to join his own, the body of his army growing thick. He paced among them, bracing his men and letting himself be seen. It was in their eyes too: the glow of the coming victory, the relief that they would have shelter from the cold. That winter would not take them.
He formed them into ranks, reminded the captains of the tactics they'd planned for fighting in the tunnels. It was to be slow and systematic. The important thing was always to have an open airway; the locals should never be allowed to close them in and kill them with smoke or fire. There would he no hurry-the line mustn't spread thin. Balasar could see in their faces that discipline would hold.