doomsday, and they reminded Otah of being young, when everything had
been full and torrential and brief. He wished now that he had the skill
to draw this brief landscape before the clouds passed and it was gone.
There was something beautiful in it, something worth preserving.
"You're looking better."
Otah shifted, glancing back into the room. Sinja was there, his long
hair slicked down by the rain, his robes sodden. Otah took a welcoming
pose as the commander strode across the room toward him, dripping as he
came.
"Brighter about the eyes, blood in your skin again. One would think
you'd been eating, perhaps even walking around a bit."
"I feel better," Otah said. "That's truth."
"I didn't doubt you would. I've seen men far worse off than you pull
through just fine. They've found your corpse, by the way. Identified it
as you, just as we'd hoped. There are already half a hundred stories
about how that came to be, and none of them near the truth. Amiit-cha is
quite pleased, I think."
"I suppose it's worth being pleased over," Otah said.
"You don't seem overjoyed."
"Someone killed my father and my brothers and placed the blame on me. It
just seems an odd time to celebrate."
Sinja didn't answer this, and for a moment, the two men sat in silence
broken only by the rain. Then Otah spoke again. "Who was he? The man
with my tattoo? Where did you find him?"
"He wasn't the sort of man the world will miss," Sinja said. "Amiit
found him in a low town, and we arranged to purchase his indenture from
the low magistrate before they hung him."
"What had he done?"
"I don't know. Killed someone. Raped a puppy. Whatever soothes your
conscience, he did that."
"You really don't care."
"No," Sinja agreed. "And perhaps that makes me a bad person, but since I
don't care about that, either ..."
He took a pose of completion, as if he had finished a demonstration.
Otah nodded, then looked away.
"Too many people die over this," Otah said. "Too many lives wasted. It's
an idiot system."
"This is nothing. You should see a real war. There is no bigger waste
than that."
"You have? Seen war, I mean?"
"Yes. I fought in the Westlands. Sometimes when the Wardens took issue
with each other. Sometimes against the nomad bands when they got big
enough to pose a real threat. And then when the Galts decide to come
take another bite out of them. There's more than enough opportunity there."
A distant Hash of lightning lit the trees, and then a breath later, a
growl of thunder. Otah reached his hand out, letting the cool drops wet
his palm.
"What's it like?" he asked.
"War? Violent. Brutish, stupid. Unnecessary, as often as not. But I like