well-kept beard and one clouded eye, presented it to him with a grace
horn of long practice. This man had done much the same before Otah's
father, and perhaps his grandfather. The presentation of this howl of
tea might be the study and center of this man's life. The thought made
the tea taste worse, but Otah took as warm a pose of thanks as would be
permitted between the Khai Machi and a servant, however faithful.
Utah rose, gesturing to the doorway. One of his half-hundred attendants
rushed forward, robes flowing like water over stones.
"I'll see him now," Otah said. "In the gardens. And see we aren't
disturbed."
The sky was gray and ivory, the breeze from the south warm as breath and
nearly as gentle. The cherry trees stood green-the pink of the blossoms
gone, the crimson of the fruit not yet arrived. The thicker blossoms of
high summer had begun to unfurl, rose and iris and sun poppy. The air
was thick with the scent. Utah walked down the path, white gravel fine
as salt crunching like snow under his feet. Ile found Nlaati sitting on
the lip of a stone pool, gazing up at the great fountain. Twice as high
as a man, the gods of order stood arrayed in has-relief shaped from a
single sheet of bronze. The dragons of chaos lay cowed beneath their
greened feet. Water sluiced down the wall, clear until it touched the
brows and exultant, upraised faces of the gods, and there it splattered
white. Utah sat beside his old friend and considered.
"The dragon's not defeated," Nlaati said. "Look. You see the third head
from the left? It's about to bite that woman's calf. And the man on the
end? The one who's looking down? I le's lost his balance."
"I hadn't noticed," Utah said.
"You should have another one made with the dragons on top. Just to
remind people that it's never over. Even when you think it's done,
there's something waiting to surprise you."
Utah nodded, dipping his fingers into the dancing ripples of the pool.
Gold and white koi darted toward his fingertips and then as quickly away.
"I understand if you're angry with me," Otah said. "But I didn't ask
him. Nayiit came to me. He volunteered."
"Yes. Liat told me."
"He's spent half a season in the Dai-kvo's village. He knows it better
than anyone but you or Cehmai."
Nlaati looked up. There was a darkness in his expression.
"You're right," Maati said. "If this is the Galts and they've freed the
andat, then protecting the Dai-kvo is critical. But it would be faster
to send for him to come to us. We can build defenses here, train men.
Pre„ pare.
"And if the Uai-kvo didn't come?" Otah asked. "How long has he been
mulling over Liat's report that the Galts have a poet of their own? I've
sent word. I've sent messages. The world can't afford to wait and see if
the I)ai-kvo suddenly becomes decisive."
"And you speak for the world now, do you?" There was acid in Maati's
tone, but Otah could hear the fear behind it and the despair. "If you
insist on charging out into whatever kind of war you find out there,
take one of us with you. We've lived there. We know the village.