same things we are. How many fishermen were on their boats when it
happened? How many people were traveling the roads? You could no more
care for all of us than pluck the moon out of the sky."
"I'm sorry for that," Otah said. "Once we've found the poet and talked
to . . ." He stumbled on his words, caught between the expected him and
the more likely her.
Balasar gestured to him, palms up as if displaying something small and
obvious.
"If it wasn't your pet andat that did this, then what hope do you have
of resolving anything?" Balasar asked. "They may have left you your
sight for the moment, but there's nothing you can do. It's the andat.
There's no defense. There's no counterattack that means anything. Gather
your armsmen. Take to the field. Then come back and die beside us. You
can do nothing."
This is my daughter's work, Otah thought but didn't say. I can hope that
she still loves me enough to listen.
"You've never felt this," Balasar said. "The rest of us? The rest of the
world? We know what it is to be faced with the andat. You can't end
this. You can't even negotiate. You have no standing now. The best you
can do is beg."
"Then I will beg," Otah said.
"Enjoy that," Balasar said, sitting back in his chair. It was like
watching a showfighter collapse at the end of a match. The vitality, the
anger, the violence snuffed out, and the general was only a small Galtic
man with crippled eyes, waiting for some kind soul to take away the
remains of his uneaten meal. Otah rose and walked quietly from the room.
All through the city, the scenes were playing out. Men and women who had
been well the night before were in states of rage and despair. They
blundered into the unfamiliar streets, screaming, swinging whatever
weapon came to hand at anyone who tried to help them. Or else they wept.
Or, like Balasar, folded in upon themselves. The last was the most terrible.
Balasar had been only the first stop in Otah's long, painful morning
journey. He'd meant to call on each of the high councillors, to promise
his efforts at restoration and the best of care until then. The general
had spoiled the plan. Otah did see two more men, made the same
declarations. Neither of the others scoffed, but Otah could see that his
words rang as hollow as a gourd.
Instead of the third councillor, Otah went back to his palaces. He
prayed as he walked, that some message would have come from Idaan. None
had. Instead, his audience chambers were filled with the utkhaiem, some
in fine robes hastily thrown on, others still in whatever finery they
had slept in. The sound of their voices competing one over another was
louder than surf and as incomprehensible. Everywhere he walked, their
eyes turned toward him. Otah walked with a grave countenance, his spine
as straight as he could keep it. He greeted the shock and the fear with
the same equanimity as the expressions of joy.
There was more joy than he had expected. More than he had hoped. The
andat had come back to the world, and the Galts made to suffer, and that
was somehow a cause to celebrate. Otah didn't respond to those calls,