with a knife.

"Captain Ajutani," Balasar said.

The stool came down, and the captain rose, sheathing his blade and

bowing in the same motion.

"I appreciate the time, General," he said. "I know you've a great deal

on your mind just now."

"I'm always available," Balasar said. "Though the surroundings are...

"Yes. Your man Eustin seemed to think it more appropriate for me to wait

here. I'm not sure he likes me." The captain was more amused than

offended, so Balasar also smiled and shrugged.

"Your men are in place?" he asked.

"Yes, Yes. Broken into groups of three or four, each assigned to one of

your sergeants. Except for myself, of course."

"Of course."

"Only I wanted to ask something of you, General. A favor of sorts."

Balasar crossed is arms and nodded for the man to continue.

"If it fails-if our friend Riaan doesn't do his magic trick well

enough-don't kill them. My boys. Don't have them killed."

"Why would I do that?" Balasar asked.

"Because it's the right thing," Sinja said. The amusement was gone from

the man's eyes. He was in earnest now. "I'm not an idiot, General. If it

happens that the binding fails, you'll be standing here in Aren with an

army the size of a modest city. People have already noticed it, and the

curiosity of the Khaiem is the last thing you'd want. They'd still have

their andat, and all you'd have is explanations to give. You'll turn

North and make all those stories about conquering the whole of the

Westlands to the border with Eddensea true just to make all this-" The

captain gestured to the door at Balasar's back. "-seem plausible. All I

ask is, let us go with you. If it happens that you have to keep to this

coast and not the cities of the Khaiem, I'll re-form the group and lead

them wherever you like."

"I wouldn't kill them," Balasar said.

"It would be dangerous, letting them go back home. Stories about how

they were set to be interpreters and guides? Not one of them knows the

Westlands except the part we walked through to get here. If the Khaiem

are wondering whether you had some other plan to start with ..."

Sinja raised his hands, palms up as if he were offering Balasar the

truth resting there. Balasar stepped close, putting his own hands below

the captain's and curling the other man's fingers closed.

"I won't kill them," Balasar said. "They're my men now, and I don't kill

my own. You can tell them that if you'd like. And that aside, Riaan

isn't going to fail us."

Sinja looked down, his head shifting as if he were weighing something.

"I can be sure," Balasar said, answering the unasked question.

"I've never seen one of these before," Sinja said. "Have you? I mean, I

assume there's some ceremony, and he'll do something. If there was an

andat beside him at the end, you'd have proof, but this thing you're

doing ... there's nothing to show, is there? So how will you know?"

"It would be embarrassing to walk into Nantani and have the andat

waiting to greet us," Balasar agreed. "But don't let it concern you.

Riaan isn't going to mumble into the air and send us all off to die.

I'll be certain of that."

"You have a runner in Nantani? Someone who can bring word when the

andat's vanished?"

"Don't concern yourself, Sinja," Balasar said. "Just be ready to move

when I say and in the direction I choose."

"Yes, General."

Balasar turned and strode to the door. He could see Eustin standing

close, his hand on his sword. It was a reassuring sight.

"Captain Ajutani," Balasar said over his shoulder. "What were you

speaking to Riaan about before we came?"

"Himself mostly," the captain said. "Is there another subject he's

interested in?"

"He was concerned when I spoke with him. Concerned with things that

never seemed to occur to him before. You wouldn't have anything to do

with that, would you?"

"No, General," Sinja said. "Wouldn't be any profit in it."

Balasar nodded and resumed the path to his rooms. Eustin fell in beside him.

"I don't like that man," Eustin said under his breath. "I don't trust him."

"I do," Balasar said. "I trust him to be and to have always been my

staunchest supporter just as soon as he's sure we're going to win. He's

a mercenary, but he isn't a spy. And his men will be useful."

"Still."

"It will be fine."

Balasar didn't give his uncertainties and fears free rein until he was

safely alone in the borrowed library, and then his mind rioted. Perhaps

Sinja was right-the poet could fail, the Khaiem could divine his

purpose, the destruction he'd dedicated himself to preventing might be

brought about by his miscalculation. Everything might still fail. A

thousand threats and errors clamored.

He took out his maps again for the thousandth time. Each road was marked

on the thin sheepskin. Each bridge and ford. Each city. Fourteen cities

in a single season. They would take Nantani and then scatter. The other

forces would come in from the sea. It was nearing summer, and he told

himself again and again as if hoping to convince himself that after the

sun rose tomorrow, it would be a question only of speed.

In the first battle he'd fought, Balasar had been a crossbowman. He and

a dozen like him were supposed to loose their bolts into the packed,

charging bodies of the warriors of Eymond and then pull back, letting

the men with swords and axes and flails-men like his fathermove in and

take up the melee. He'd hardly been a boy at the time, much less a man.

He had done as he was told, as had the others, but once they were safely

over the rise of the hill, out of sight of the enemy and the battle,

Balasar had been stupid. The grunts and shrieks and noise of bodies in

conflict were like a peal of thunder that never faded. The sound called

to him. With each shriek from the battle, he imagined that it had been

his father. The nightmare images of the violence happening just over the

rise chewed at him. I le'd had to see it. He had gone back over. It had

almost cost him his life.

One of the soldiers of Eymond had spotted him. He'd been a large man,

tall as a tree it had seemed at the time. He'd broken away from the

fight and rushed up the hill, axe raised and blood on his mind. Balasar