"Liatcha," he said. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," she said. "I came as soon as Maati asked me. Is something wrong? Have we heard from the Dai-kvo?"
"No," Maati said between gasps. "Not that."
Otah took a questioning pose, and Maati shook his head.
"Didn't say. People around. Would have been heard," Maati said. 't'hen, "Gods, I need to eat less. I'm too fat to run anymore."
Otah took Liat's elbow and guided her to a chair, then sat beside Cehmai. Only Kiyan remained standing.
"Liatcha, you worked with Amat Kyaan," Otah said. "You've taken over the house she founded. She must have spoken with you about how those first years were. After Heshai-kvo died and Seedless escaped."
"Of course," Liat said.
"I need you to tell us about that," Otah said. "I need to know what she did to keep Saraykeht together. What she tried that worked, what failed. What she wished the Khai Saraykeht had done in response, what she would have preferred he had not. Everything."
Liat's gaze went to Mlaati and then Cehmai and then hack to Otah. "There was still a deep confusion in her expression.
"It's happened again," Otah said.
Chapter 10
Given a half-decent road, the armies of Galt could travel faster than any in the world. It was the steam wagons, Balasar reflected, that made the difference. As long as there was wood or coal to burn and water for the boilers, the carts could keep their pace at a fast walk. In addition to the supplies they carried-food, armor, weapons that the men were then spared-a tenth of the infantry could climb aboard the rough slats, rest themselves, and eat. Rotated properly, his men could spend a full day at fast march, make camp, and he rested enough by morning to do the whole thing again. Balasar sat astride his horse-a nameless mare Eustin had procured for him-and looked back over the valley; the sun dropping at their back stretched their shadows to the east. Hundreds of plumes of dark smoke and pale steam rose from the green silk banners rippling above and beside them. The plain behind him was a single, ordered mass of the army stretching hack, it seemed, to the horizon. Boots crushed the grasses, steam wagons consumed the trees, horses tramped the ground to mud. 'T'heir passing alone would scar these fields and meadows for a generation.
And the whole of it was his. Balasar's will had gathered it and would direct it, and despite all his late-night sufferings, in this moment he could not imagine failure. Eustin cleared his throat.
"If they had found some andat to do this," Balasar said, "do you know what would have happened?"
"Sir?" Eustin said.
"If the andat had done this-Wagon-'T'hat-Pulls-Itself or Horse-l)oesn't-'l'ire, something like that-no one would ever have designed a steam wagon. The merchants would have paid some price to the Khai, the poet would have been set to it, and it would have worked until the poet fell down stairs or failed to pass the andat on."
"Or until we came around," Eustin said, but Balasar wasn't ready to leave his chain of thought for self-congratulations yet.
"And if someone had made the thing, had seen a way that any decent smith could do what the Khai charged good silver for, he'd either keep it quiet or find himself facedown in the river," Balasar said and then spat. "It's no way to run a culture."
Eustin's mount whickered and shifted. Balasar sighed and shifted his gaze forward to the rolling hills and grasslands where the first and farthest-flung of Nantani's low towns dotted the landscape. Another day, perhaps two, and he would be there. He was more than half tempted to press on; night marches weren't unheard-of and the anticipation of what lay before them sang to him, the hours pressing at him. But the summer was hardly begun. Better not to suffer surprises too early in the campaign. He moved a practiced gaze over the road ahead, considered the distance between the reddening orb of the sun and the horizon, and made his decision.
"When the first wagon reaches that stand of trees, call the halt," lie said. ""That will still give the men half a hand to forage before sunset."
"Yes, sir," Eustin said. "And that other matter, sir?"
"After dinner," Balasar said. "You can bring Captain Ajutani to my tent after dinner."
His impulse had been to kill the poet as soon as the signal arrived. The binding had worked, the cities of the Khaiem lay open before him. Riaan had outlived his use.
Eustin had been the one to counsel against it, and Sinja Ajutani had been the issue. Balasar had known there was something less than trust between the two men; that was to be expected. lie hadn't understood how deeply Eustin suspected the Khaiate mercenary. He had tracked the man-his visits to the poet, the organization of his men, how Riaan's unease had seemed to rise after a meeting with Sinja and fall again after he spoke with Balasar. It was nothing like an accusation; even Eustin agreed there wasn't proof of treachery. The mercenary had done nothing to show that he wasn't staying bought. And yet Eustin was more and more certain with each day that Sinja was plotting to steal Riaan back to the Khaiem, to reveal what it was he had done and, just possibly, find a way to undo it.