Sinja had wintered in Nantani for a few seasons, retreating from the

snowbound fields of the Westlands to wait in comfort for the thaw and

spend the money he'd earned. He knew the scent of the sea here, the feel

of the soft, chalky soil beneath his feet. He knew of an old man who

sold garlic sausages from a stall near the temple that were the best

he'd had in the world. He knew the sound of the great sun chime. He had

not known that the deep, throbbing tone would also come when the palace

below it burned.

There were other fires as well: pillars of black, rolling smoke that

rose into the air like filthy clouds. The doors he passed as he walked

down to the seafront were broken and splintered. The shutters at the

windows clacked open and closed in the breeze. Often they passed wide

swaths of half-dry blood on the ground or smeared on the rough white walls.

The city had been home to over a hundred thousand people. It had fallen

in a morning.

l3alasar had sent three forces in through the wide streets to the Khai's

palace, the poet's house, the libraries. When those three things were

destroyed, the signal went out-brass horns blaring the sack. When the

signal reached the remaining forces, it was a storm of chaos. Some men

ran for the inner parts of the city, hoping to find richer pickings.

Others grabbed the first mercantile house they saw and took whatever was

there to find-goods, gold, women. For the time it took the sun to travel

the width of a man's hand, Nantani was a scene from the old stories of

hell as the soldiery took what they could for themselves.

And then the second call came, and the looting stopped. Those few who

were so maddened by greed or lust that they ignored the call were taken

to their captains, relieved of what wealth they had grabbed, and then a

fifth of them killed as an example to others. This was an army of

discipline, and the free-for-all was over. Now the studied, considered

dismantling of the city began.

Quarter by quarter, street by street, the armies of Galt stripped the

houses and basements, outbuildings and kitchens and coal stores. Sinja's

own men led each force, calling out in breaking voices that Nantani had

fallen, that her people were permanently indentured to Galt, their

belongings forfeit. And all the wealth of the city was stripped down,

put on carts and wagons, and pulled to a great pile at the seafront.

Some men fought and were killed. Some fled and were hunted down or

ignored, at the whim of the soldiers who found them. And the great

blackening dome of jade sang out its grief and mourning.

Sinja caught sight of the pavilion erected by the growing pile of

treasure. The banners of Galt and Gice hung from the bar that topped the

fluttering canvas. Sinja and the soldiers Balasar Gice had sent to

collect him strode to it. At the seafront, ships stood ready to receive

what had once been Nantani, and was now the fortune of Galt. Balasar

stood at a writing desk, consulting with a clerk over a ledger. The

general still wore his armor-embroidered silk as thick as three fingers

together. Sinja had seen its like before. Armor that would stop a spear

or a sword cut, but weighed likely half as much as the man who wore it.

And still when Balasar caught sight of them and walked forward, hand

outstretched to Sinja, there was no weariness in him.

"Captain Ajutani," Balasar said, his hand clasping Sinja's, "come sit

with me."

Sinja took a pose appropriate for a guard to his commander. It wasn't

quite the appropriate thing, but it came near enough for the general to

take its sense. Sinja walked behind the man to a low table where a

bottle of wine stood open, two perfect porcelain wine bowls glowing

white at its side. Balasar waved the attendant away and poured the wine

himself. Sinja accepted a bowl and sat across from him.

"It was nicely done," Sinja said, gesturing with his free hand toward

the city. "Well-managed and quick."

Balasar looked up, almost as if noticing the streets and warehouses for

the first time. Sinja thought a hint of a smile touched the general's

lips, but it was gone as soon as it came. The wine was rich and left

Sinja's mouth feeling almost clean.

"It was competent," Balasar agreed. "But it can't have been easy. For

you and your men."

"I didn't lose one of them," Sinja said. "I don't know that I've ever

seen a campaign start where we took a city and didn't lose anyone."

"This is a different sort of war than the usual," Balasar said. And

there, in the pale eyes, Sinja saw the ghosts. The general wasn't at

ease, however casual he chose to he with his wine. It was an interesting

fact, and Sinja put it at the back of his mind. "I wanted to ask after

your men."

"Have there been complaints?"

"Not at all. Every report suggests that they did their work admirably.

But this wasn't the adventure they expected."

"They expected the women they raped to look less like their sisters,

that's truth," Sinja said. "And honestly, I expect we'll lose some. I

don't know how it is in Galt, sir, but when I've taken a green company

into battle the first time, we always lose some."

"Inexperience," Balasar said, agreeing.

"No, sir. I don't mean the enemy spits a few, though that's usually true

as well. I mean there are always a few who came into the work with epics

in their heads. Great battles, honor, glory. All that pig shit. Once

they see what a battlefield or a sacked town really looks like, they

wake up. Half these boys are still licking off the caul. Some of them

will think better and sneak off."

"And how do you plan to address the problem?"

"Let them go," Sinja said and shrugged. "We haven't seen a fight yet,

but before this is finished, we will. When it happens I'd rather have

twenty soldiers than thirty men looking for a reason to retreat."

The general frowned, but he also nodded. At the edge of the pier, half a

hundred seagulls took to the air at once, their cries louder than the

waves. They wheeled once over the ships and then settled again, just

where they had been.

"Unless you have a different opinion, sir," Sinja said.

"Do this," Balasar said, looking up from under his brow. "Go to them.

Explain to them that I will never turn against my men. But if they leave

me . . . if they leave my service, they aren't my men any longer. And if

I find them again, I won't he lenient."

Sinja scratched his chin, the stubble just growing in, and felt a smile

growing in his mind.

"I can see that they understand, sir," he said. "And it might stop some

of the ones who'd choose to hang up their swords. But if there's someone