in shrouds and ashes to join the train. Balasar Gice had left Nantani
with ten thousand men, and with all the gods watching him, he'd reached
tJdun with the full ten thousand, no matter if a few dozen needed
carrying. Sinja tried to keep the disapproval from his face, but the
general saw it there anyway, frowned, and looked away.
"What's the matter with that tree?" Balasar asked.
Sinja considered the maple. It was small-hardly taller than two men's
height-and artfully cut to give shade without obstructing the view of
the sky.
"Nothing, sir," he said. "It looks fine."
"The leaves are black."
"They're supposed to be," Sinja said. "If you look close, you can see
it's really a very deep green, but they call it black-leaf all the same.
When autumn comes, it turns a brilliant red. It's lovely, especially if
the leaves haven't let go when the first snow comes."
"I'm sorry I won't be here to see it," the general said.
"Well, not the snows," Sinja said, "but you can see on the edges of
those lower leaves where the red's starting."
Balasar stepped over and took a low branch in his hand. He bent it to
look at the leaves, but he didn't pluck them free. Sinja gave the man
credit for that. Most Galts would have ripped the leaves off to look at
them. With a sigh, Balasar let the branch swing back to its place.
"Tea?" Old Mani said from the doorway. Balasar looked over his shoulder
at the old man and nodded. Sinja motioned the wayhouse keeper close,
took the bowl, and sipped from it before passing it on to the general.
Old Mani took a pose of thanks and backed out again.
"Tasting my food and drink?" Balasar asked in the tongue of the Khaiem.
There was amusement in his tone. "Surely we haven't come to the point
I'd expect you to poison me."
"I didn't brew it," Sinja said. "And Old Mani knew a lot of people you
killed today."
Balasar took the cup and frowned into it. He was silent for long enough
that Sinja began to grow uncomfortable. When he spoke, his tone was
almost confessional.
"I've come to tell you that I was wrong," Balasar said. "You were right.
I should have listened."
"I'm gratified that you think so. What was I right about?"
"The bodies. The men. I should have buried them where they lay. I should
have left them. Now there's vengeance in it, and it's ..."
He shook his head and sat on the camp stool. Sinja leaned against the
stone wall of the garden.
"War's more fun when the enemy doesn't fight back," Sinja said. "There's
never been a sack as easy as Nantani. You had to know things would get
harder when the Khaiem got themselves organized."
"I did," Balasar said. "But ... I carry the dead. I can feel them behind
me. I know that they died because of my pride."
Balasar sipped at the tea. Far away across the war, a man shouted
something, but Sinja couldn't make out the language, much less the words.
"All respect, Balasar-cha. They died because they were fighting in a