an uncomfortable glance at Maati, and changed the subject.

"Forgive me, Maati-cha, but I thought there was some question about

Nayiit's ... ah ... parentage? I know the Khai signed a document denying

him, but that was when there was some question about the succession, and

I'd always thought he'd done it as a favor. If you see what I ..."

Maati put down his tea bowl and took a pose that disagreed.

""There's more to being a father than a few moments between the sheets,"

Maati said. "I was there when Nayiit took his first steps. I sang him to

sleep as often as I could. I brought food for him. I held him. And

tonight, Cehmai. He came to me. He talked to me. I don't care whose

blood he has, that boy's mine."

"If you say so," Cehmai said, but there was something in his voice, some

reservation. Maati felt his face begin to flush. Anger straightened his

hack. Stone-Made-Soft raised a wide, thick hand, palm out, silencing

them both. Its head tilted, as if hearing some distant sound.

Its brow furrowed.

"Well," the andat said. "That's interesting."

And then it vanished.

Maati blinked in confusion. A few heartbeats later, Cehmai drew a long,

shuddering breath. The poet's face was bloodless.

Maati sat silently as Cehmai stood, hands trembling, and walked back

into the dimness of the house, and then out again. Cehmai's gaze darted

one direction and another, searching for something. His eyes were so

wide, the whites showed all the way around.

"Oh," Cehmai said, and his voice was thin and reedy. "Maati ... Oh gods.

I didn't do anything. I didn't ... Oh gods. Maati-kvo, he's gone."

Nlaati rose, brushing the crumbs from his robes with a sense of profound

unreality. Once before, he had seen the last moments of an andat in the

world. It wasn't something he'd expected to stiffer again. Cehmai paced

the wide porch, his head turning one way and another, directionless as a

swath of silk caught in the wind.

"Stay here. I'll get Otah-kvo," hlaati said. "He'll know what to do."

THE WALLS OF THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER SWOOPED UP, GRACEFUL AS A DOVE'S wing.

The high, pale stone looked as soft as fresh butter, seamless where the

stones had joined and been smoothed into one piece by the power of the

andat. 'T'iny webworks of stone fanned out from the walls at shoulder

height, incense smoke rising from them in soft gray lines. High above,

windows had been shaped by hand. Spare and elegant and commanding, it

was a place of impossible beauty, and Otah suspected the world would

never see another like it.

He sat in the black chair his father had sat in, and his father before

him, and on hack through the generations to when the Empire had still

stood, and the name Khai had meant honored servant. Before him, seated

on soft red cushions and intricately woven rugs, were the heads of the

highest families of the utkhaiem. Vaunani, Radaani, Kamau, I)aikani,

Dun, Isadan, and half a dozen others. For each of these, there were ten

more families. Twenty more. But these were the highest, the richest, the

most powerful men of %fachi. And they were the ones who had just

suffered the worst loss. Otah waited while his news sank in, watched the

blood drain from their faces. Otah kept his visage stern and his posture

formal and rigid. His robes were simple, pale, and severe. His first

impulse-a ceremonial black shot with red and long, flexible bone sewn in

to give it shape-had been too gaudy; he would have seemed to be taking

refuge in the cloth. The important things now were that they know he was

in control and that they put trust in him. It would he too easy for the

city to fall into panic, and here, now, through the force of his own

will, he could hold it hack. If these men left the room unsure, it would

be too late. He could hold a stone, but he couldn't stop a rockslide.

"C-Can we get it hack?" Wetai I)un asked, his voice shaking. "There are

andat that poets have caught three, four times. Water-MovingDown was..."

Otah took a deep breath. "There is a chance," he said. "It has been

done, but it will be harder than it was the first time. The poet who

does will have to create a binding sufficiently different from the

original. Or it could he that the Dai-kvo will be able to give us an

andat that is different, but that still speeds the mining trades."

"How long will it take?" Ashua Radaani asked. The Radaani were the

richest family in the city, with more silver and gold in their coffers

than even Otah himself could command.

"We can't know until we hear from the Dai-kvo," Otah said. "I've sent my

best courier with enough gold in his sleeve to buy a fresh horse every

time he needs one. We will hear back as soon as it is possible to know.

Until that happens, we will work as we always have. Stone-MadeSoft made

the mines here and in the North the most productive in the world, that's

true. But it didn't run the forges. It didn't smelt the ore. The stone

potters will have to go back to working clay, that's true, but-"

"How did this happen?" Caiin Dun cried. His voice was as anguished as if

he'd lost a son. "There was a stirring in the air. Fear. Without

thinking, Otah rose, his hands flowing into a pose of censure.

"Dun-cha," he said, his voice cold as stone and harder. "You are not

here to shout me down. I have brought you here as a courtesy. Do you

understand that?"

The man took an apologetic pose, but Otah pressed.

"I asked whether you understood, not whether you were regretful."

"I understand, Most High," the man muttered.

"The potters will have to work clay until some other accommodation can

be made," Otah said. "With proper control, this will be an

inconvenience, not a catastrophe. The city is wounded, yes. We all know

that, and I won't have that made worse by panic. I expect each of you to

stand with your Khai, and make your people know that there is nothing to

fear. The contracts directly affected by this loss will be brought to me

personally. I will see to it that any losses are recompensed so that no

one family or house carries more of this burden than its share. And any

contracts not directly affected by the andat's absence are still in

force. Do each of you understand that?"

A low chorus of affirmation rose. They sounded as reluctant as boys

before a tutor.

"Also I have put armsmen on the bridge. Any house who chooses this time

to relocate its wealth to some other city will forfeit their holdings

here. Any silver over a hundred lengths that leaves Machi at one time

must be allowed by me."

Ashua Radaani took a pose that begged permission to speak. It was proper