that. The men who had survived the retreat were different from the ones
he had spoken to at their cook fires before the fight. 'T'hese men
seemed stunned, lost, and emptied. The makeshift spears and armor that
had once seemed to speak of strength and resourcefulness now seemed
painfully naive. 'T'hey had come to battle armed like children and they
had been killed by men. Otah found himself giving thanks to any gods
that would listen for all the ones who had lived.
The scouting party left two days later. It was made of twenty horsemen
and as many on foot, Otah himself at the lead. Nayiit asked permission
to come, and Otah had granted it. It might not have been keeping the boy
safe the way he'd promised Nlaati, but as long as Nayiit blamed himself
for the carnage and defeat, it was better that he be away from the
wounded and the dying. The rest of the army would stay behind in the
camp, tend to the men who could be helped, ease the passing of those
past hope, and, Otah guessed, slip away one by one or else in groups. He
couldn't think they would follow him into battle again.
The smaller group moved faster, and the path the Galts had left was
clear as a new-built road. (,burned grass, broken saplings, the damage
done by thousands of disciplined feet. The wounded earth was as wide as
ten men across-never more, never less. The precision was eerie. It was
two days' travel before Otah saw the smoke.
They reached the village near evening. They found a ruin. Where
glittering windows had been, ragged holes remained. The towers and
garrets cut from the stone of the mountain were soot-stained and broken.
' 'he air smelled of burned flesh and smoke and the copper scent of
spilled blood. Otah rode slowly, the clack of his mount's hooves on
pavement giving order to the idiot, tuneless wind chimes. The air felt
thick against his face, and the place where his heart had once been
seemed to gape empty. His hands didn't tremble, he did not weep. IIis
mind simply took in the details-a corpse in the street wearing brown
robes made black with blood, a Galtic steam wagon with the wide
metalwork on the back twisted open by some terrible force, a
firekeeper's kiln overturned and ashen, an arrow splintered against
stoneand then forgot them. It was unreal.
Behind him, the others followed in silence. 't'hey made their way to the
grand office at the height of the village. The great hall, open to the
west, caught the light of the setting sun. The white stone of the walls
glowed, light where it had escaped the worst damage and a deeper, darker
gold where smoke had marked it.
And in the entrance of the hall, the Dai-kvo was tied to a stake. The
hopes of the Khaiem lying dead at his feet.
I could have stopped this, Otah thought. The Galts live because I spared
them at Saraykeht. This is my fault.
He turned to Nayiit.
"Have him cut down," he said. "We can have them buried or burned.
Anything but this."
Behind the gruesome sight squatted the remains of a great pyre. Logs as
tall as a standing man had been hauled here and set to hold the flames,
and had burned nearly through. The spines of ancient hooks lay stripped