of hope; it was near where he had hoped the (;alts would go. The
trumpets were calling again, fewer of them. Otah found himself better
able to make sense of them. 'l'he Galts seemed to be moving in three
directions at once-sweeping and holding the southern buildings, and then
two large forces moving as Otah had hoped they would.
"Call to the towers," Otah said. ""lull them to begin."
The trumpeter took a great breath and blared out the melody they had set
for the towers, and then the rising trill that was their signal to begin
raining stones and arrows into the streets. It was less than a breath
before Otah thought he saw something fly from the open sky doors far
above them, plummeting toward the ground. The snow was tricky, though.
It might only have been his imagination.
Otah felt himself trying to stretch out his will across the city, to
inhabit it like a ghost, to become it. Time slowed to a terrible
crawlyears seeming to pass between the short announcing blasts of the
trumpets as they reported the Galts' progress. Muffled by the snow,
there also came the sound of distant voices raised in anger. Otah's
belly knotted. That wasn't right. "There shouldn't be any fighting yet.
Unless the Galts had found his men while they were sill in hiding. He
almost signaled his trumpeter to sound the order to report, but the more
the signals were used, the better the Galts would be able to find the
trumpeters.
"You," Otah said, pointing at one of the half-frozen servants. "Send a
runner to the east. I need to know what's happening there."
The man took a pose of acknowledgment and walked quickly and awkwardly
hack toward the stairs. Otah tapped his hand against the stone lip of
the roof, already impatient for the word to come hack to him. His feet
and face were numb. The snowfall seemed to be thickening, the world a
darker gray though the unseen sun was still likely six or seven hands
above the southern horizon.
From the west, the drums of Galt thundered, then were silent. Then
thundered again. Otah heard the sudden sharp call-thousands of voices at
once in a wild call that ended sharply. A boast. We are vast as the
ocean and disciplined. We are soldiers. We have come to kill you. Fear us.
And he did.
"Signal the palace forces to take their places," Otah said.
The trumpeter sang out the call, the wide bell of the trumpet playing
over the western rooftops like a priest offering blessing to a crowd.
The man was weeping, Otah saw. Tears streaking down his cheeks and into
his heard. A terrible, rending crash came from the forges. Otah turned
to peer through the rising smoke and the falling snow. He expected to
see one of the great copper roofs sitting at an angle, but nothing
seemed to have changed. The sound was a mystery.
"I can't stand this," Otah said, stalking back to the Khai Cetani and
the servants. There was snow gathering on the servants' shoulders. "I
don't know what's happening. I can't command a battle blind and
guessing. Where are the runners?"
The eldest of the servants took a pose of apology.
"Then go find out," Otah said.