keeping account, though. I'm not opening the coffers to every tiles

player and alley worker in the Westlands."

"We have enough silver then, sir?"

"We'll have more when we've reached Nantani," Balasar said. "If the men

are a little hungry before then, that might even serve us."

A gust of wind brought the harsh blast of rain and a salting of tiny

hailstones. Other than raising his voice slightly, Balasar ignored it.

"And the girl herself will have to die," he said. "Tell her employer

I'll pay the house fair price for the lost income."

Eustin was silent. Balasar looked at him, and the man's face was dark.

The general felt his mouth curled in a deep frown.

"Say it," Balasar said.

"I think you're wrong, sir."

Balasar took Eustin's elbow and angled off from the street under a

covered stone archway. A girl stood there, a cart of green winter apples

at her feet, looking out at the gray-white rain and the foul, brown

brook at the edge of the street. Balasar scooped up two of the apples

and tossed the girl a wide copper coin before finding a low bench and

nodding for Eustin to sit.

He handed his captain one of the apples and said, "Make your case."

Eustin shrugged, bit the apple, and chewed thoughtfully for a long

moment. A glance at the apple seller, and then he spoke, his voice so

low it was nearly inaudible over the clatter of the storm.

"First off, we haven't got so much gold we can afford to spend all of it

here. Having the men hungry, well, that's one thing. But five legions is

a lot of men. And there's no cause for this, not really. Any of the

other men did the thing, you'd take it out of their skins. And they know

it."

"I half think you're sweet on the girl," Balasar said.

"I've got a certain respect for her," Eustin said with a grin, but then

sobered. "The thing is, you're not treating him like he was long-term,

if you see. The story for the High Council is that once we've settled

the Khaiem out, our man Riaan's to hook these andat to our yoke. Tell

the Lord Convocate otherwise, and it would be someone else leading this.

But if that's true, Riaan's going to be around for the rest of your life

and mine, and a damned important man at that. All apologies, but you're

dancing to his tune like you're hoping he'll kiss you."

Balasar tossed the apple from hand to hand and waited for the flush of

anger to recede.

"I need the man," Balasar said. "If I have to how and scrape for a time-"

"That's just it, though. For a time. None of the men are used to seeing

you drink piss and smile. They're waiting to see you crack, to see you

put him in his place. It keeps not happening, and they're wondering why.

Wondering how you can stand the idea of a life licking that little

prick's boot. Time will come they'll understand you aren't thinking of

him in the long term."

Balasar needed a moment to think that through. He hit the apple; it was

tart and chalky and squeaked against his teeth. He tossed the rest of it

out into the street where the rain took it rolling downhill, white flesh

and green skin in the dark water.

"I)o you think Riaan suspects?" Balasar asked at length.

Eustin snorted. "He can't believe the tide would go out so long as he

was on the beach. The waves all love him too much to leave. But the men,

sir. They'll figure you're planning to kill him. And if they do, they

may slip."

Balasar nodded. Eustin was right. He was acting differently than he

would have had Riaan been a problem with a future. It hadn't been

difficult to let the Councilmen in Acton blind themselves to the poet's

character. Visions of godlike power, of magic bent to the High Council's

will, were enough to let them overlook the dangers. The captains, the

men who spoke with Riaan, would be more likely to understand why he

wasn't to be trusted. They might well see what Balasar had seen from the

beginning, even before he had made the doomed journey into the desert:

that the andat were a dangerous tool, best discarded the moment the need

had passed.

But, and here was the trouble, not a moment before that. If the poet

failed him, everything was lost. He weighed the risks for a long moment

before Eustin spoke again.

"Let me send the girl away, sir. I'll give her enough silver to take

herself out into the farmland for half a year, and tell her that if we

see her in the city, I'll have her head on a pike for true. I'll send

the poet a pig heart, say we cut it out of her. The man that runs the

comfort house'll know. I'll tell the men it was your idea."

"It's a gamble," Balasar said.

"It's all a gamble, sir," Eustin said, and then, "Besides. He really did

earn it."

To the east, lightning flashed, and before the thunder reached them,

Balasar nodded his assent. Eustin took his leave, stalking out into the

downpour to make this one more tiny adjustment to the monumental plan

Balasar had devised and directed. At the end of the pathway, the

apple-selling girl sensed some slackening, pulled a hood up over her

fair hair, and darted out into the city. For a time, Balasar sat

quietly, feeling the weariness in his flesh that came from tension

without release. He let his gaze soften, the white walls of the city

fading, losing their separate natures, becoming different shades of

nothing, like the shadows of hills covered by snow.

He wondered what Little Ott would have made of all this: the campaign,

the poet, the wheels within wheels that he'd put in motion. If it came

together as he planned, Balasar would save the world from another war

like the one that had toppled the Old Empire. If it failed, he might

start one. And whatever happened, he had sacrificed Bes, Laran, Kellem,

Little Ott. Men who had loved him were dead and would never return. Men

alive now who trusted him might well die. His nation, everyone he'd

known or cared for-his father growing bent with age, the girl he'd lost

his heart to when he was a boy shaking the petals off spring cherry

trees, Eustin, Coal-they might all be slaughtered if he once judged

poorly. It was something he tried not to consider, afraid the weight of

it might crush him. And yet in these still moments, it found him. The

dread and the awe at what he had begun. And with it the certainty that

he was right.

He imagined Bes standing in the street before him, wide face split in

the knowing grin that he would never see again outside memory. Balasar

lifted a hand in greeting, and the image bowed to him and faded. They

would have understood. All the men whose blood he'd spilled for this