grinning hack. Ile took a pose of congratulations, but the Khai Cetani
whooped and wrapped his arms around Utah's waist, lifting him like Utah
was a child in his father's arms.
"You've done it!" the Khai Cetani shouted. "You've beaten the bastards!"
We have, Otah tried to say, but he was being lifted upon the shoulders
of his men. A roar passed through the assembled men-a thousand throats
opening as one. Otah let himself smile, let the relief wash over him.
The Galtic army was broken. They would not reach Machi before winter
came. Ile had done it.
They carried him back and forth before the men, the shouts and salutes
following him like a windstorm. As he came hack to the main road, he was
amazed to see the Khai Cetani-all decorum and rank forgotten-dancing arm
in arm with common laborers and huntsmen. The Khai Cetani caught sight
of him, raised a blade in salute, and called out words that Otah
couldn't hear. The men around him abandoned their dance, and drew their
own blades, taking up the call, and Otah felt his throat close as he
understood the words, as he heard them repeated, moving out through the
men like a ripple in a pond.
7b the Emperor.
BALASAR STOOD IN THE GREAT SQUARE OF 'IAN-SADAR. 'I'IlE SKY WAS WHITE
and chill, and the trees that stood in the eastern corners were nearly
bare of leaves. A good day, Balasar thought, for endings. The
representatives of the utkhaiem stood beneath square-framed colonnades,
staring out at him and his company two hundred strong and in their most
imposing array of arms and armor and at the Khai "Ian-Sadar, bound and
kneeling on the brickwork at Balasar's feet. The poet of the city had
burned to death among his books on the day Balasar had entered the city,
but the disposition of the Khai was less important. A few days waiting
in the public jail where men and women passing by could see him
languishing posed no particular threat to the world, and the campaign
that was now behind him had left Balasar tired.
"Do you have anything you want to say?" Balasar asked in the Khai's own
language.
He was a younger man than Balasar had expected. Perhaps no more than
thirty summers. It seemed young to have the responsibility of a city
upon him or to be slaughtered in front of the nobles who had betrayed
him to a conqueror. The Khai shook his head once, a curt and elegant motion.
"If you swear to serve the High Council of Galt, I'll cut your bonds and
we can both walk out of here," Balasar said. "I'll have to keep you
prisoner, of course. I can't leave you free to gather up an army. But
there are worse things than living under guard."
The Khai almost smiled.
"'There are also worse things than dying," he said.
Balasar sighed. It was a shame. But the man had made his decision.
Balasar raised his hand, and the drums and trumpets called out. The
execution proceeded. When the soldier held up the Khai's head for the
crowd to see, a shudder seemed to run through them, but the faces that
Balasar saw looking out at him seemed bright and excited.
'T'hey know they won't die, he thought. If I'm not killing them, it all