seeing himself in his eldest son's movements and expressions, he could
hardly think of him with the hone-deep protectiveness that shook him
when he thought of Eiah and Danat. And yet he was pleased that he had
accepted Nayiit's offer to join him in this halfdoomed campaign. Otah
leaned forward, his hand out. It was the ges ture of friendship that one
seafront laborer might offer another. Nayiit only looked shocked for a
moment, then clasped Otah's hand.
"Whenever they're too nervous to tell me what I'm doing wrong, you come
to me, Nayiit-cha. I haven't got many people I can trust to do that, and
I've left most of them hack in Mach 1.11
"If you'll promise not to have me whipped for impertinence," the boy said.
"I won't have you whipped, and I won't have you sent hack."
""I'hank you," Nayiit said, and again Otah was moved to see that the
gratitude was genuine. After Nayiit had gone, Otah was left with the
aches in his body and the unease that came with having a man with a wife
and child thank you for leading him toward the real chance of death. The
life of the Khai Machi, he thought, afforded very few opportunities to
he humbled, but this was one. When the attendant returned, Otah didn't
recognize the sound of his scratching until the man's voice came.
"Most High?"
"Yes, come in. And bring that ointment here. No, I can put it on myself.
But bring me the captains of the houses. I've decided to take a day to
rest and send the scouts ahead."
"Yes, Most High."
"And when you've done with that, there's a man named Saya. He's on foot.
A blacksmith from Machi, I think."
"Yes, Most High?"
"Ask him to join me for a howl of wine. I'd like to meet him."
MAA7'I WOKE TO FIND LIAT ALREADY GONE. HIS HAND TRACED THE INI)EN-
tation in the mattress at his side where she had slept. The world
outside his door was already bright and warm. The birds whose songs had
filled the air of spring were busy now teaching their hatchlings to fly.
The pale green of new leaves had deepened, the trees as rich with summer
as they would ever be. High summer had come. Maati rose from his bed
with a grunt and went about his morning ablutions.
The days since the ragged, improvised army of Machi began its march to
the east had been busy. The loss of Stone-Made-Soft would have sent the
court and the merchant houses scurrying like mice before a flood even if
nothing more had happened. Word of the other lost andat and of the
massed army of Galt made what in other days would have been a cataclysm
seem a side issue. For half a week, it seemed, the city had been
paralyzed. Not from fear, but from the simple and profound lack of any
ritual or ceremony that answered the situation. Then, first from the
merchant houses below and Kiyan-cha's women's ban- (lucts above and then
seemingly everywhere at once, the utkhaiem had flushed with action.
Often disorganized, often at crossed purpose, but determined and intent.
Nlaati's own efforts were no less than any others.
Still, he left it behind him now-the books stacked in distinct piles,
scrolls unfurled to particular passages as if waiting for the copyist's