them. And the walkers have been rising early to drill."

"Have they?"

"They have the impression their lives may rest on it. And the lives of

their families. And, forgive me Most High, but your life too."

Otah leaned forward, his hands taking a questioning pose.

"They're afraid of failing you," Nayiit said. "It's why no one would

come to you and complain. I've been keeping company with a man named

Saya. He's a blacksmith. Plow blades, for the most part. I Iis knees are

swollen to twice their normal size, and he wakes before dawn to tic on

leather and wool and swing sticks with the others. And then he walks

until he can't. And then he walks farther."

Nayiit's voice was trembling now, but Otah couldn't say if it was with

weariness or fear or anger.

"These aren't soldiers, Most High. And you're pushing them too hard."

"We've been moving for ten days-"

"And we're coming near to halfway to the Dai-kvo's village," Nayiit

said. "In ten days. And drilling, and sleeping under thin blankets on

hard ground. Not couriers and huntsmen, not men who are accustomed to

this. Just men. I've spoken to the provisioners. We left Nlachi three

thousand strong. Do you know how many have turned hack? How many have

deserted you?"

Otah blinked. It wasn't a question he'd ever thought to ask.

"How many?"

"None."

Otah felt something loosen in his chest. A warmth like the first drink

of wine spread through him, and he felt tears beginning to well up in

his eyes. If he had been less exhausted, it would never have pierced his

reserve, and still ... none.

"With every low town we pass, we take on a few more," Nayiit was saying.

"They're afraid. The word has gone out that all the andat are gone, that

the Galts are going to invade or are invading. It's the thing every man

had convinced himself would never happen. I hear the things they say."

"The things they say?"

""That you were the only one who saw the danger. You were training men

even before. You were preparing. They say that you've traveled the world

when you were a boy, that you understand it better than any other Khai.

Some of them are calling you the new Emperor."

`T 'hey should stop that," Otah said.

"Most High, they're desperate and afraid, and they want a hero out of

the old epics. They need one."

"And you? What do you need?"

"I need Saya to stop walking for a day."

Otah closed his eyes. Perhaps the right thing was to send the

experienced men on ahead. They could clear spaces for the camps. Perhaps

missing a single day would not be too much. And there was little point

in running if it was only to be sure they came to the battle exhausted

and ready for slaughter. The I)ai-kvo would have gotten his warning by

now. The poets might even now be in flight toward Otah and his ragtag

army. IIe took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose.

Letting his body collapse with it.

"I'll consider what you've said, Nayiit-eha," Otah said. "It wasn't

where my mind had led me, but I can see there's some wisdom in it."

Nayiit took a pose of gratitude as formal as any at court. He looked

nearly as spent as Otah felt. Otah raised his hands in a querying pose.

"The utkhaicm didn't feel comfortable bringing these concerns to me," he

said. "Why did you?"

"I think, Most High, there's a certain ... reluctance in the higher

ranks to second-guess you again. And the footmen wouldn't think of

approaching you. I grew up with stories about you and Maati-cha, so I

suppose I can bring myself to think of you as one of my mother's

friends. That, and I'm desperately tired. If you had me sent back in

disgrace, I could at least get a day's rest."

Otah smiled, and saw his own expression reflected back at him. He had

never known this boy, had never lifted him over his head the way he had

Danat. He had had no part in teaching Nayiit wisdom or folly. Even now,

seeing himself in his eldest son's movements and expressions, he could

hardly think of him with the hone-deep protectiveness that shook him

when he thought of Eiah and Danat. And yet he was pleased that he had

accepted Nayiit's offer to join him in this halfdoomed campaign. Otah

leaned forward, his hand out. It was the ges ture of friendship that one

seafront laborer might offer another. Nayiit only looked shocked for a

moment, then clasped Otah's hand.

"Whenever they're too nervous to tell me what I'm doing wrong, you come

to me, Nayiit-cha. I haven't got many people I can trust to do that, and

I've left most of them hack in Mach 1.11

"If you'll promise not to have me whipped for impertinence," the boy said.

"I won't have you whipped, and I won't have you sent hack."

""I'hank you," Nayiit said, and again Otah was moved to see that the

gratitude was genuine. After Nayiit had gone, Otah was left with the

aches in his body and the unease that came with having a man with a wife

and child thank you for leading him toward the real chance of death. The

life of the Khai Machi, he thought, afforded very few opportunities to

he humbled, but this was one. When the attendant returned, Otah didn't

recognize the sound of his scratching until the man's voice came.

"Most High?"

"Yes, come in. And bring that ointment here. No, I can put it on myself.

But bring me the captains of the houses. I've decided to take a day to

rest and send the scouts ahead."

"Yes, Most High."

"And when you've done with that, there's a man named Saya. He's on foot.

A blacksmith from Machi, I think."

"Yes, Most High?"

"Ask him to join me for a howl of wine. I'd like to meet him."

MAA7'I WOKE TO FIND LIAT ALREADY GONE. HIS HAND TRACED THE INI)EN-

tation in the mattress at his side where she had slept. The world

outside his door was already bright and warm. The birds whose songs had

filled the air of spring were busy now teaching their hatchlings to fly.

The pale green of new leaves had deepened, the trees as rich with summer

as they would ever be. High summer had come. Maati rose from his bed

with a grunt and went about his morning ablutions.

The days since the ragged, improvised army of Machi began its march to

the east had been busy. The loss of Stone-Made-Soft would have sent the

court and the merchant houses scurrying like mice before a flood even if