when you decided on this."
Cehmai stepped between them, his hands on Maati's arms. The younger
poet's face was ashen, and Nlaati could feel the trembling in his hands
and hear it in his voice.
"Maati-kvo, you have to get control of it. Quickly."
"I can't," Maati said, knowing as he did that it was true.
"Then let it go."
"Not until the price is paid," it said. "And I think I know where to begin."
"No!" Maati cried, pushing Cehmai aside, but Eiah's mouth had already
gone wide, her eyes open with surprise and horror. With a shriek, she
fell to her knees, her arms clutching at her belly, and then lower.
"Stop this," Maati said. "She hasn't done anything to deserve this."
"And all the Galtic children you'd planned to starve did?" the andat
asked. "This is war, Maati-kya. This is about being sure that they all
die, and you all survive. Hurt this one, it's a crime. Hurt that one,
it's heroism. You should know better."
It stooped, pale, beautiful arms gathering Eiah up. Cradling her. Maati
stepped forward, but it was already speaking to her, its voice low and
soothing.
"I know, love. It hurts, I know it hurts, but be brave for me. Be brave
for a moment. Just for a moment. Hush, love. Don't call out like that,
just hush for a moment. There. You're a brave girl. Now listen. All of
you. Listen."
With Eiah's cries reduced to only ragged, painful breath, Maati did hear
something else. Something distant and terrible, rising like a wave. He
heard the voices of thousands of people, all of them screaming. The
andat grinned, delight dancing in its black eyes.
"Cehmai," Maati said, his eyes locked on the andat and the girl. "Go get
Otah-kvo. Do it now."
25
Sinja jumped back again, blocking Eustin's swing. The Galt was practiced
and his arm was solid; their blades rang against each other. Sinja could
feel the sting of it in his fingers. The world had fallen away from him
now, and there was just this. Watching Eustin's eyes, he let the tip of
his blade make its slow dance. No matter how well a man trained, he
always led with his eyes. And so he saw it when the thrust was about to
come; he saw the blade rise, saw Eustin's shoulder tense, and still he
barely had time to slip under it. The man was fast.
"You could surrender," Sinja said. "I wouldn't tell anyone."
Eustin's lips curled in disgust. Another high thrust, but this time, the
blade fell low, its edge grazing against Sinja's thigh as he danced
back. There wasn't any pain to it. Not yet. Just a moment's heat as the
blood came out, and then the cold as it soaked his leggings. It was the
first wound of the fight, and Sinja knew what it meant even before he
heard the voices of the ten soldiers surrounding them shouting
encouragement to their man. Fights were like drinking games; once
someone started losing, they usually kept losing.
"You could surrender," Eustin said. "But I'd kill you anyway."
"Thought you might," Sinja grunted. He feinted left with his shoulders,