When Sinja finished his report and was silent, Otah forced his breath to
be deep and regular, waiting until he could speak. His voice was tight
and controlled.
"You have spent the season fighting beside the Galts?"
"'T'hey were winning."
"Is that supposed to be funny?"
Ile was thinner than ()tali remembered him. The months on the road had
left Sinja's face drawn, his cheekbones sharp. Ills skin was leathery
from the sun and wind. He hadn't changed his robes, and he smelled of
horses. Ills casual air seemed false, a parody of the certain, amused,
detached man whom Otah had sent away, and Otah couldn't say if it was
the captain who'd changed more or himself.
Kivan, the only other person in the chamber, sat apart from the pair of
them, at the couch nearest the fire. Her hands were fists in her lap,
her spine straight and still as a tree. Her face was expressionless.
Sinja's gaze flickered toward her, and then came back to Otah. The
captain took a pose that apologized.
"I'm not trying to he light about this, Most I ligh," Sinja said. "But
it's truth. By the time I knew they weren't attacking the \Vestlands, I
could no more have excused myself and ridden on than flapped my arms and
flown. I did what I could to slow them, but yes, when they called on us,
we fought beside them. When they needed interpreters, we spoke for them.
I suppose we could have thrown ourselves on their spears and died nobly,
but then I wouldn't he here to warn you now."
"You betrayed the Khaiem," Otah said.
"And I'm betraying the Galts now," Sinja replied, his voice calm. "If
you can judge the balance on that, you're smarter than I am. I've done
what I've done, :Most Iligh. If I chose wrong, I'll apologize, except I
don't think I have."
"Let it go," Utah said. "W'e'll deal with it later."
"I'd rather do it now," Sinja said, shifting his weight. "If I'm going
to be drowned as a traitor, I'd like to know it."
Utah felt the rage rise up in his breast like a flame uncurling. IIe
heard it in his ears.
"You want pardon?"
"For the boys too," Sinja said. "I swear I'll do everything I can to
earn it."
You'll swear anything you like and break the oath when it suits you,
Otah thought. He bit his lip until he thought it might bleed, but he
didn't shout. He didn't call for the armsmen who waited outside the
great blue doors. It would have been simple to have the man killed. It
would have even felt like justice, he thought. I Its own man. His friend
and advisor. Walking beside the Galttc general. Giving him advice. But
the rage wasn't only rage. It was also fear. And despair. And so no
matter how right it felt, it couldn't be trusted.
"Don't ask me for anything again."
"I won't, Otah-cha." And then a moment later, "You're a harder man than
when I left."
"I've earned it."