"No one would post scouts this late in the season," Sinja said. "You
might as well fault him for not keeping a watch on the moon in case we
launched an attack from there."
"And how was it that a son of the Khaiem found himself working as a
laborer?" Balasar asked, eager, it seemed, to change the subject.
As he swayed gently on the horse, Sinja told the story of Otah Nlachi.
How he had walked away from the I)ai-kvo to take a false name as a petty
laborer. The years in Saraykeht, and then in the eastern islands. How he
had taken part in the gentleman's trade, met the woman who would be his
wife, and then been caught up in a plot for his father's chair. The
uncertain first year of his rule. The plague that had struck the winter
cities, and how he had struggled with it. The tensions when he had
refused marriage to the daughter of the Khai I Otani. Reluctantly, Sinja
even told of his own small drama, and its resolution. He ended with the
formation of the small militia, and its being sent away to the west, and
to Balasar's service.
Balasar listened through it all, probing now and again with questions or
comments or requests for Sinja to amplify on sonic point or aspect of
the Khai Machi. Behind them, the sun slid down toward the horizon. The
air began to cool, and Sinja pulled his leather cloak hack over his
shoulders. Dark would he upon them soon, and the moon had still not
risen. Sinja expected the meeting to come to its close when they stopped
to make camp, but Balasar kept him near, pressing for more detail and
explanation.
Sinja knew better than to dissemble. He was here because he had played
well up to this point, but if his loyalty to the Galts was ever going to
break, it would be soon and all three men knew it. If he held hack,
hesitated, or gave information that seemed intended to mislead, he would
fall from Balasar's grace. So he told his story as clearly and
truthfully as he could. There wasn't a great deal that was likely to he
of use to the general anyway. Sinja had, after all, never seen Otah lead
an army. If he'd been asked to guess how such an effort would end, he'd
have been proved wrong already.
They ate their evening meal in Balasar's tent of thick hide beside a
brazier of glowing coals that made the potato-and-salt-pork soup taste
smoky. When at last Sinja found himself without more to say, the
questions ended. Balasar sighed deeply.
"He sounds like a good man," he said. "I'm sorry I won't get to meet him."
"I'm sure he'd say the same," Sinja said.
"Will the utkhaiem turn against him? If we make the same offers we made
in Utani and Tan-Sadar, can we avoid the fighting?"
"After he heat your men? It's not a wager I'd take."
Balasar's eyes narrowed, and Sinja felt his throat go a bit tighter,
halfconvinced he'd said something wrong. But Balasar only yawned, and
the moment passed.
"How would you expect him to defend his city?" Eustin asked, breaking a
stick of bread. "Will he come out to meet us, or hide and make us dig
him out?"
"Dig, I'd expect. He knows the streets and the tunnels. He knows his men