you feel isn't loyal, one of my men that you think isn't yours, I'd

recommend you kill him now. "There's no room on a campaign like this for

someone who'll take up arms against the man that pays his wage.

Balasar nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"I think we understand each other," he said.

"Let's he certain," Sinja said, and put his hands open and palms-down on

the table between them. "I'm a mercenary, and to judge by that pile of

silk and cedar chests you're about to ship hack to Galt, you're the man

who's got the money to pay my contract. If I've given you reason to

think there's more happening than that, I'd rather we cleared it up now.

Balasar chuckled. It was a warm sound. That was good.

"Are you ever subtle?" Balasar asked.

"If I'm paid to be," Sinja said. "I've had a had experience working for

someone who thought I might look better with a knife-shaped hole in my

belly, sir, and I'd rather not repeat it. Have I done something to make

you question my intentions?"

Balasar considered him. Sinja met his gaze.

"Yes," Balasar said. "You have. But it's nothing I would be comfortable

hanging you for. Not yet at least. The poet, when you killed him. He

addressed you in the familiar. Sinja-kya."

"Men begging for their lives sometimes develop an inaccurate opinion of

how close they are to the men holding the blades," Sinja said, and the

general had the good manners to blush. "I understand your position, sir.

I've been living under the Khaiem for a long time now. You don't know my

history, and if you did, it wouldn't help you. I've broken contracts

before, and I won't lie about it. But I would appreciate it if we could

treat each other professionally on this."

Balasar sighed.

"You've managed to shame me, Captain Ajutani."

"I won't brag about that if you'll agree to he certain you've a decent

cause to kill me before taking action," Sinja said.

"Agreed," Balasar said. "But your men? I meant what I said about them."

"I'll be sure they understand," Sinja said, then swigged down the last

of his wine, took a pose appropriate to taking leave of a superior, and

walked hack into the streets of the fallen city, hoping that it wouldn't

be clear from his stride that his knees felt loose. Not that a sane

measure of fear could be held against him, but there was pride to

consider. And someone was watching him. He could be damned sure of that.

So he walked straight and calm through the streets and the smoke and the

wailing of the survivors until he reached the camp outside the last

trailing building of Nantani. The tents were far from empty-the thugs

and free armsmen of Nlachi didn't all have a stomach for looting

Nantani- but he didn't speak to his men until just after nightfall.

They had a fire burning, though the summer night wasn't cold. The light

of it made the tents glow gold and red. The men were quiet. The boasting

and swaggering that the Galts were doing didn't have a place here. It

would have if the burning city had been made from gray Westlands stone.

Sinja stood at the front on a plank set up on chairs in a makeshift

dais. He wanted them to see him. The scouts he'd sent out to assure that

the conversation was private returned and took a confirming pose. If

General (;ice had set a watch over him, they'd gone to their own camps

or else come from within his own company. He'd done what he could about

the first, and the second there was no protection for. He raised his hands.

"So most of what we've done since the spring opened has been walk," he

said. "Well, we're in summer now, and you've seen what war looks like.

It's not the war I expected, that's truth. But it's the one we've got,

and you can all thank the gods that we're on the side most likely to

win. But don't think that because this went well, this is over with.

It's a long walk still ahead of us."

He sighed and shifted his weight, the plank wobbling a little under his

feet. A log in the fire popped, firing sparks up into the darkness like

an omen.

"There arc a few of you right now who are thinking of leaving. Don't ...

Quiet now! All of you! Don't lie to yourselves about it and don't lie to

me. This is the first taste of war most of you've seen. And some of you

might have had family or friends in Nantani. I did. But here's what I

have to say to you: Don't do it. Right now it looks like our friends the

Galts can't be stopped. All the gods know there's not a fighting force

anywhere in the cities that could face them, that's truth. But there's

worse things for an army to face than another army. Look at the size of

this force, the simple number of men. It can't carry the food it needs

with it. It can't haul that much water. We have to rely on the land

we're covering. The low towns, the cities. The game we can hunt, the

trees and coal we can feed into those traveling kilns of theirs. The

water we can get from the rivers.

"If the cities North of here can organize-if they can burn the food and

the trees so we have to spend more of our time finding supplies, if they

foul the wells so that we can't move far from the rivers, if they get

small, fast bands together to harass our hunting parties and scouts-we

could still be in for hell's own fight. We took Nantani by surprise.

"I'hat won't happen twice. And that's why I need every man among you

here, keeping that from happening. And besides that, any of you that

leave, the general's going to hunt down like low-town dogs and slit your

bellies for you."

Sinja paused, looking out at the earnest, despairing faces of the boys

he'd led from Machi. He felt old. He rarely felt old, but now he did.

"Don't be stupid," he said, and got down from the plank.

The men raised a late and halfhearted cheer. Sinja waved it away and

headed back to his tent. Overhead, the stars shone where the smoke

didn't obscure them. The cooks had made chicken and pepper rice.

Stinging flies were out, and, to Sinja's mild disgust, Nantani seemed to

be a haven for grass ticks. He spent a quiet, reflective time plucking

the insects out of his skin and cracking them with his thumbnails. It

was near midnight when he heard the roaring crash, thunder rolling

suddenly from the ruined city, and then silence. The dome had fallen, then.

How many of his men would know what the sound had meant, he wondered.

And how many would understand that he'd given them all the strategy for

slowing the Galts, point by point by point. And how many would have

snuck away to the North by morning, thinking they were being clever. But

he could tell the general he'd done as he was told, and no man present

would be able to say otherwise. So maybe he could lull the general back