"I can destroy the Khaiem without killing every fruit seller and baker's apprentice along the way," Balasar said. "I need your help to do it.
"You had something in mind."
"I want your men to carry messages to Utani and TanSadar. Not to the Khaiem. The utkhaiem and merchant houses. Men who have power. Tell them that if they stand aside when we come, they won't be harmed. We want the poets, and the books, and the Khaiem."
Sinja shook his head.
"You might as well run a spear through us now," Sinja said. "We're traitors. Yes, I know we're a mercenary company, and we took service and on and on. But every man I have was born in these cities we're sacking. Waving a contract isn't going to excuse them in the eyes of the citizens. Send prisoners instead. Find a dozen men your soldiers haven't quite hacked to death and use them to carry the messages. They'll be more effective than we will anyway."
"You think they can be trusted not to simply flee?"
"Catch a man and his wife. Or a father and child. There have to be a few left out there. Bring me the hostages and I'll keep them safe. When the husbands and fathers come back, you can give them a few lengths of silver and a day's head start. It won't undo what we've done here, but having a few survivors tell tales of your honorable treatment is better than none."
Balasar sipped his tea. "l'he general's brow was furrowed.
""That's wise," he said at last. "We'll do that. I'll have my men bring the hostages to you by nightfall."
"Best not to rape them," Sinja said. "It takes something from the spirit of the thing if they're treated poorly."
"You're the one looking after them."
"And I can control the situation once they're in my care. It's before that I'm worried by."
"I'll see to it. If I give the order, it will be followed. "They're my men." Ile said it as if he were reminding himself of something more than what the words meant.
For a moment, Sinja saw a profound weariness in the Galt's pale face. It struck him for the first time how small Balasar Gice was. It was only the way he moved through the world that gave the impression of standing half a head above everyone else in the room. '['he first dusting of gray had touched his temples, but Sinja couldn't say if it was premature or late coming. "l'he breeze stirred, reeking of smoke.
"I can't tell if you hate war or love it," Sinja said.
Balasar looked up as if he'd forgotten Sinja was there. His smile was amused and bitter.
"I see the necessity of it," Balasar said. "And sometimes I forget that the point of war is the peace at the end of it."
"Is it? And here I thought it \vas gold and women."
""Those can be the same," Balasar said, ignoring the joke. "'T'here are worse things than enough money and someone to spend it on."
"And glory?"
Balasar chuckled as he stood, but there was very little of mirth in the sound. I Ic put down his bowl and his hands took a rough pose of query, as simple as a child's.
"I)o you see glory in this, Sinja-cha? I only see a bad job that needs doing and a man so sure of himself, he's spent other people's lives to do it. I Iardly sounds glorious."
""l'hat depends," Sinja said, dropping into the language of the Galts. "Does it really need doing,"
"Yes. It does."
Sinja spread his hands, not a formal pose, but only a gesture that completed the argument. For a moment, something like tears seemed to glisten in the general's eyes, and he clapped Sinja on the shoulder. Without thinking, Sinja put his hand to the general's, clasping it hard, as if they were brothers or soldiers of the same cohort. As if their lives were somehow one. Far away, something boomed deep as a drum. Something falling. Ildun, falling.
"I'll get you those hostages," Balasar said. "You take care of them for me."
"Sir," Sinja said, and stood braced at attention until the general was gone and he was alone again in the garden. Sinja swallowed twice, loosening the tightness in his throat. The maple swayed, black leaves touched with red.
In a better world, he thought, I'd have followed that man to hell.
Please the gods, let him never reach Machi.
Chapter 17
The watchmen Kiyan had placed at the tops of the towers began ringing their hells just as the sun touched the top of the mountains to the west. "Traffic stopped in the streets below and in the palace corridors. All eyes looked up, straining to see the color of the banners draped from the high, distant windows. Yellow would mean that a Galtic army had come at last, that their doom had come upon them. Red meant that the Khai had returned. So far above the city, colors were difficult to make out. At least to Nlaati's eyes, the first movement of the great signal cloth was only movement-the banners Hew. It was the space of five fast, shaky breaths before he made out the red. (bah Machi had returned.