That's what Little Ott died for. Not for money or conquest or glory.
"I'm saving the world," Balasar said. "So, now. Say you'd rather drown
than help me."
1
It had rained for a week, the cold gray clouds seeming to drape
themselves between the mountain ranges to the east and west of the city
like a wet canopy. The mornings were foggy, the afternoons chill. With
the snowdrifts of winter almost all melted, the land around hlachi
became a soupy mud whose only virtue was the spring crop of wheat and
snow peas it would bring forth. Travel was harder now even than in the
deadly cold of deep winter.
And still, the travelers came.
"With all respect, this exercise, as you call it, is ill-advised," the
envoy said. His hands still held a pose of deference though the
conversation had long since parted from civility. "I am sure your
intentions are entirely honorable, however it is the place of the I)ai-kvo-"
"If the I)ai-kvo wants to rule hfachi, tell him to come north," the Khai
NIachi snapped. "He can pull my puppet strings from the next room. I'll
make a bed for him."
The envoy's eyes went wide. He was a young man, and hadn't mastered the
art of keeping his mind from showing on his face. Utah, the Khai Machi,
waved away his own words and sighed. He had gone too far, and he knew
it. Another few steps and they'd he pointing at each other and yelling
about which of them wanted to create the 'T'hird Enr pire. The truth was
that he had ruled hlachi these last fourteen years only by necessity.
The prospect of uniting the cities of the Khaiem under his rule was
about as enticing as scraping his skin off with a rock.
The audience was a private one, in a small room lined with richly carved
hlackwood, lit by candles that smelled like rich earth and vanilla, and
set well away from the corridors and open gardens where servants and
members of the utkhaiem might unintentionally overhear them. This wasn't
business he cared to have shared over the dances and dinners of the
court. Otah rose from his chair and walked to the window, forcing his
temper back down. He opened the shutters, and the city stretched out
before him, grand towers of stone stretching up toward the sky, and
beyond them the wide plain to the south, green with the first crops of
the spring. He pressed his frustration back into yoke.
"I didn't mean that," he said. "I know that the Dai-kvo doesn't intend
to dictate to me. Or any of the Khaiem. I appreciate your concern, but
the creation of the guard isn't a threat. It's hardly an army, you know.
A few hundred men trained up to maybe half the level of a Westlands
garrison could hardly topple the world."
"We are concerned for the stability of all the cities," the envoy said.
"When one of the Khaiem begins to study war, it puts all the others on
edge."
"It's hardly studying war to hand a few men knives and remind them which
end's the handle."
"It's more than any of the Khaiem have done in the past hundred years.
And you must see that you haven't made it your policy to ally yourself