"When the first wagon reaches that stand of trees, call the halt," lie
said. ""That will still give the men half a hand to forage before sunset."
"Yes, sir," Eustin said. "And that other matter, sir?"
"After dinner," Balasar said. "You can bring Captain Ajutani to my tent
after dinner."
His impulse had been to kill the poet as soon as the signal arrived. The
binding had worked, the cities of the Khaiem lay open before him. Riaan
had outlived his use.
Eustin had been the one to counsel against it, and Sinja Ajutani had
been the issue. Balasar had known there was something less than trust
between the two men; that was to be expected. lie hadn't understood how
deeply Eustin suspected the Khaiate mercenary. He had tracked the
man-his visits to the poet, the organization of his men, how Riaan's
unease had seemed to rise after a meeting with Sinja and fall again
after he spoke with Balasar. It was nothing like an accusation; even
Eustin agreed there wasn't proof of treachery. The mercenary had done
nothing to show that he wasn't staying bought. And yet Eustin was more
and more certain with each day that Sinja was plotting to steal Riaan
back to the Khaiem, to reveal what it was he had done and, just
possibly, find a way to undo it.
The problem, Balasar thought, was a simple failure of imagination.
Eustin had followed Balasar through more than one campaign, had walked
through the haunted desert with him, had stood at his side through the
long political struggle that had brought this army to this place on this
supreme errand. Loyalty was the way Eustin understood the world. The
thought of a man who served first one cause and then another made no
more sense to him than stone floating on water. Balasar had agreed to
his scheme to prove Captain Ajutani's standing, though he himself had
little doubt. He took the exercise seriously for Eustin's sake if
nothing else. Balasar would be ready for them when they came.
I lis pavilion was in place before the last light of the sun had
vanished in the west: couches made from wood and canvas that could be
broken down flat and carried on muleback, flat cushions embroidered with
the Galtic 'I gee, a small writing table. A low iron brazier took the
edge from the night's chill, and half a hundred lemon candles filled the
air with their scent and drove away the midges. He'd had it set on the
top of a rise, looking down over the valley where the light of cook
fires dotted the land like stars in the sky. A firefly had found its way
through the gossamer folds of his tent, shining and then vanishing as it
searched for a way out. A thousand of its fellows glittered in the
darkness between camps. It was like something from a children's story,
where the Good Neighbors had breached the division between the worlds to
join his army. He saw the three of them coming toward him, and he knew
each long before he could make out their faces.
Eustin's stride was long, low, and deceptively casual. Captain Ajutani
moved carefully, each step provisional, the weight always held on his
back foot until he chose to shift it. Riaan's was an unbalanced,
civilian strut. Balasar rose, opened the flap for them to enter, and
rolled down the woven-grass mats to give them a level of visual privacy,