he had not noticed before stopped. He could hear the hungry crackle and
roar of the kilns. He lifted his chin, scanning the enemy forces. If
they had come to fight, they would not have announced themselves. And
they'd have had no need of a table. The intent was clear enough.
"Go," Balasar said to the boy at his side. "Get the men. And find me a
banner, if we still have one."
It took a hand and a half for the banner to be found, for someone to
bring him a fresh sword and a gray cloak. Two of the drummers had
survived, and heat a deep, thudding march as Balasar advanced into the
square. It might he a ruse, he knew. The fur-covered men might have bows
and be waiting to fill him full of arrows. Balasar held himself proudly
and walked with all the certainty he could muster. He could hear his own
men behind him, their voices low.
Across the square, the crowd parted, and a single man strode forward.
His robes were thick and rich, black wool shot with bright threads of
gold. But his head was hare and he walked with the stately grace that
the Khaiem seemed to affect, even when they were pleading for their
lives. The Khai reached the table just before he did.
The Khai had a strong face-long and clean-shaven. His long eyes seemed
darker than their color could explain. The enemy.
"General Gice." The voice was surprisingly casual, surprisingly real,
and the words spoken in Galtic. Balasar realized he'd been expecting a
speech. Some declaration demanding his surrender and threatening
terrible consequence should he refuse. The simple greeting touched him.
"Most High," he said in the Khai's language. The Khai took a pose of
greeting that was simple enough for a foreigner to understand but subtle
enough to avoid condescension. "Forgive me, but am I speaking with Machi
or Cetani?"
" Cetani broke his foot in the fighting. I am Otah Mlachi."
The Khai sat, and Balasar across from him. 'T'here were dark circles
under the Khai's eyes. Fatigue, Balasar thought, and something more.
"So," the Khai Machi said. "blow do we stop this?"
Balasar raised his hands in what he believed was a request for
clarification. It was one of the first things he'd learned when studying
the Khaiate tongue, hack when he was a boy who had only just heard of
the andat.
"We have to stop this," the Khai Machi said. "How do we do it?"
"You're asking for my surrender?"
"If you'd like."
"What are your terms?"
The Khai seemed to sag back in his chair. Balasar was pricked by the
sense that he'd disappointed the man.
"Surrender your arms," the Khai said. "All of them. Swear to return to
(salt and not attack any of the cities of the Khaiem again. Return what
you've taken from us. Free the people you've enslaved."
"I won't negotiate for the other cities," Balasar began, but the Khai
shook his head.
"I am the Emperor of all the cities," the man said. "We end it all here.
All of it."