For a moment, Sinja saw a profound weariness in the Galt's pale face. It
struck him for the first time how small Balasar Gice was. It was only
the way he moved through the world that gave the impression of standing
half a head above everyone else in the room. '['he first dusting of gray
had touched his temples, but Sinja couldn't say if it was premature or
late coming. "l'he breeze stirred, reeking of smoke.
"I can't tell if you hate war or love it," Sinja said.
Balasar looked up as if he'd forgotten Sinja was there. His smile was
amused and bitter.
"I see the necessity of it," Balasar said. "And sometimes I forget that
the point of war is the peace at the end of it."
"Is it? And here I thought it \vas gold and women."
""Those can be the same," Balasar said, ignoring the joke. "'T'here are
worse things than enough money and someone to spend it on."
"And glory?"
Balasar chuckled as he stood, but there was very little of mirth in the
sound. I Ic put down his bowl and his hands took a rough pose of query,
as simple as a child's.
"I)o you see glory in this, Sinja-cha? I only see a bad job that needs
doing and a man so sure of himself, he's spent other people's lives to
do it. I Iardly sounds glorious."
""l'hat depends," Sinja said, dropping into the language of the Galts.
"Does it really need doing,"
"Yes. It does."
Sinja spread his hands, not a formal pose, but only a gesture that
completed the argument. For a moment, something like tears seemed to
glisten in the general's eyes, and he clapped Sinja on the shoulder.
Without thinking, Sinja put his hand to the general's, clasping it hard,
as if they were brothers or soldiers of the same cohort. As if their
lives were somehow one. Far away, something boomed deep as a drum.
Something falling. Ildun, falling.
"I'll get you those hostages," Balasar said. "You take care of them for me."
"Sir," Sinja said, and stood braced at attention until the general was
gone and he was alone again in the garden. Sinja swallowed twice,
loosening the tightness in his throat. The maple swayed, black leaves
touched with red.
In a better world, he thought, I'd have followed that man to hell.
Please the gods, let him never reach Machi.
17
The watchmen Kiyan had placed at the tops of the towers began ringing
their hells just as the sun touched the top of the mountains to the
west. "Traffic stopped in the streets below and in the palace corridors.
All eyes looked up, straining to see the color of the banners draped
from the high, distant windows. Yellow would mean that a Galtic army had
come at last, that their doom had come upon them. Red meant that the
Khai had returned. So far above the city, colors were difficult to make
out. At least to Nlaati's eyes, the first movement of the great signal
cloth was only movement-the banners Hew. It was the space of five fast,
shaky breaths before he made out the red. (bah Machi had returned.