men in the world. And yet, if there were someone bright enough to hand
the power to, he suspected he would. If it brought the army back from
the field and put the world back the way it had been, the risk would be
worth it.
"Maybe one of the other poets will come," Liat said, but her voice had
gone thin and weary.
"You don't have hope for the Dai-kvo?"
Liat smiled.
"Hope? Yes, I have hope. Just not faith. The Galts know what's in play.
If we don't recapture the andat, the cities will all fall. If we do,
we'll destroy Galt and everyone in her. "They'll be as ruthless as we will."
"And Otah-kvo? Nayiit?"
Liat's gaze met his, and he nodded. The knot in her chest, he was
certain, was much like his own.
"They'll be fine," Liat said, her tone asking for her own belief in the
words as much as his. "It's always the footmen who die in battles, isn't
it? The generals all live. And he'll keep Nayiit safe. He said he would."
"They might not even see battle. If they arrive before the Galts and
come back quickly enough, we might not lose a single man."
"And the moon may come down and get itself trapped in a teabowl," Liat
said. "But it would be nice, wouldn't it? For us, I mean. Not so much
for the Galts."
"You care what happens to them?"
"Is that wrong?" Liat asked.
"You're the one who came to Otah-kvo asking that they all be killed."
"I suppose I did, didn't I? I don't know what's changed. Something to do
with having my boy out there, I suppose. Slaughtering a nation isn't so
much to think about. It's when I start feeling that it all goes
confused. I wonder why we do it. I wonder why they do. Do you think if
we gave them our gold and our silver and swore we would never hind a
fresh andat ... do you think they'd let our children live?"
It took a few breaths to realize that Liat was actually waiting for his
answer, and several more before he knew what he believed.
"No," Maati said. "I don't think they would."
"Neither do I. But it would he good, wouldn't it? A world where it
wasn't a choice of our children or theirs."
"It would be better than this one."
As if by common consent, they changed the subject, talking of food and
the change of seasons, Eiah's new half-apprenticeship with the
physicians and the small doings of the women of the utkhaiem now that
their men had gone. It was only reluctantly that Maati rose. The sun was
two and a half hands past where it had been when he woke, the shadows
growing oblong. They walked back to the library, hand in hand at first,
and then only walking beside each other. Nlaati felt his heart growing
heavier as they came down the familiar paths, paving stones turning to
sand turning to crushed white gravel bright as snow.
"You could come in," Nlaati said when they reached the wide front doors.
In answer, she kissed him lightly on the mouth, gave his hand a gentle
squeeze, and turned away. Maati sighed and turned to lumber up the