"And what do bad men worry about?" he asked.
Liat shrugged and started to answer him, but the bells began to ring. It
took half a breath for Liat to recall what the deep chiming alarm meant.
She didn't remember going to the window; she couldn't say how Nayiit had
come to he at her side. She squinted against the blue-yellow light of
morning, trying to make out the banners hanging from the towers high above.
"Is it red or yellow?" Liat asked.
"Gods," Naviit said. "Look at that."
His gaze was nearer the ground. Liat looked to the south. The low cloud
of dust seemed to cover half the horizon. Otah's remaining men couldn't
have done that. It wasn't him. The Galts had come to Machi. Liat stepped
back from the window, her hands gripping the folds of her robe just over
her heart.
"We have to get Kiyan-cha," she said. "We have to get Kiyan-cha and the
children. And htaati. We have to get them out before-"
"Red," Nayiit said.
Liat shook her head, uncertain for a moment what he meant. Nayiit
pointed to the high dark tower and spoke over the still-ringing bells.
"The banner's red," he said. "It's not the Galts. It's the Khai."
Only it wasn't. The couriers reached Kiyan just before Liat did, so when
she entered Kiyan-cha's meeting rooms, she found Otah's wife with a
thick letter-seams ripped, seal broken-lying abandoned in her lap and an
expression equal parts disbelief and outrage on her pale face.
"He's an idiot," Kiyan said. "He's a self-aggrandizing, half-blind idiot
who can't think two thoughts in a straight line."
Liat took a pose that asked the question.
"My husband," Kiyan said, color coming at last to her cheeks. "He's sent
us another whole city."
Cctani, nearest neighbor of Machi, had emptied itself. The couriers had
arrived just before the fastest carts. The dust that Liat had mistaken
for an army was only the first wave of tens of thousands of men and
women-their stores of grains, their chickens and ducks and goats,
whatever small precious things they could not bring themselves to leave
behind. Otah's letter explained that they were in need of shelter, that
Machi should do its best for them. The tone of the words was apologetic,
but only for someone who knew the man well. Only to women like
themselves. Kiyan held Liat's arm as if for support as they walked
together to the bridge outside the city where they awaited her.
The man who stood at the middle point in the bridge wore an elegant
robe-black silk shot with yellow-that was only slightly disarrayed by
his travels. Servants and armsmen of Machi parted for Kiyan, allowing
her passage onto the bridge's western end. Liat tried to disengage, but
Kiyan's grip didn't lessen, and so they walked out together. On seeing
them, the man took a pose of greeting appropriate for a man of lower
rank to the wife of a more prestigious man. This was not the Khai
Cetani, then, but some member of the Cetani utkhaiem.
"I have been sent to speak to the first wife of the Khai Machi," he said.
"I am the Khai's only wife," Kiyan said.
tic took this odd information in stride, turning his attention wholly to