the absence of Eustin's dry pessimism and distrust. The fervor he saw

here was a different beast. The men here looked to him as something

besides a man. They had never seen him weep over Little Ott's body or

call out into the dry, malign desert air for Kellem. To this army, he

was General Gice. They might be prepared to kill or die at his word, but

they did not know him. It was, he supposed, the difference between faith

and loyalty. He found faith isolating. And it was in this sense of being

alone among many that the messenger from Sinja Ajutani found him.

The day's travel was done, and they had made good time again. His

outriders had made contact with local forces twice-farm boys with rabbit

bows and sewn leather armor-and had done well each time. The wells in

the low towns had been fouled, but the river ran clean enough. Another

two days, three at the most, and they would reach iidun. In the

meantime, the sunset was beautiful and birdsong filled the evening air.

Balasar rested beneath the wide, thick branches of a cottonwood, Hat

bread and chicken still hot from the fires on a metal field plate by his

side, their scents mixing with those of the rich earth and the river's

damp. The man standing before him, hands flat at his sides, looked no

more than seventeen summers, but Balasar knew himself a poor judge of

ages among these people. He might have been fifteen, he might have been

twenty. When he spoke, his Galtic was heavily inflected.

"General Gice," the boy said. "Captain Ajutani would like a word with

you, if it is acceptable to your will."

Balasar sat forward.

"He could come himself," Balasar said. "He has before. Why not now?"

The messenger boy's lips went tight, his dark eyes fixed straight ahead.

It was anger the boy was controlling.

"Something's happened," Balasar said. "Something's happened to one of

yours."

"Sir," the boy said.

Balasar took a regretful look at the chicken, then rose to his feet.

""lake me to Captain Ajutani," Balasar said.

Their path ended at the medical tent. The messenger waited outside when

Balasar ducked through the Hap and entered. The thick canvas reeked with

concentrated vinegar and pine pitch. The medic stood over a low cot

where a man lay naked and bloody. One of Sinja's men. The captain

himself stood against the tent's center pole, arms folded. Balasar

stepped forward, taking in the patient's wounds with a practiced eye.

Two parallel cuts on the ribs, shallow but long. Cuts on the hands and

arms where the bov had tried to ward off the blades. Skinned knuckles

where he'd struck out at someone. Balasar caught the medic's eye and

nodded to the man.

"No broken bones, sir," the medic said. "One finger needed sewing, and

there'll be scars, but so long as we keep the wounds from festering, he

should be fine."

"What happened?" Balasar asked.

"I found him by the river," Sinja said. "I brought him here."

Balasar heard the coolness in Sinja's voice, judged the tension in his

face and shoulders. Ile steeled himself.

"Come, then," Balasar said as he lifted open the tent's wide flap, "eat

with me and you can tell me what happened."

"No need, General. It's a short enough story. Coya here can't speak

Galtic. There's been footmen from the fourth legion following him for

days now. At first it was just mocking, and I didn't think it worth con„

cern.

"You have names? Proof that they did this?"

"They're bragging about it, sir," Sinja said.

Sinja looked down at the wounded man. The boy looked up at him. The dark

eyes were calm, perhaps defiant. Balasar sighed and knelt beside the low

cot.

"Coya-cha?" he said in the boy's own language. "I want you to rest. I'll

see the men who did this disciplined."

The wounded hands took a pose that declined the offer.

"It isn't a favor to you," Balasar said. "My men don't treat one another

this way. As long as you march with me, you are my soldier, whatever

tongues you speak. I'll be sure they understand it's my wrath they're

feeling, and not yours."

"Your dead men are the problem, sir," Sinja said, switching the

conversation back to Galtic.

The medic coughed once, then discreetly stepped to the far side of the

tent. Balasar folded his hands and nodded to Sinja that he should

continue. The mercenary sucked his teeth and spat.

"Your men are angry. Having those shrouds along is like putting a burr

under their saddles. They're calling my men things they didn't when this

campaign began. And they act as if it were harmless and in fun, but it

isn't."

"I'll see your men aren't attacked again, Sinja. You have my word on it."

"It's not just that, sir. You're sowing anger. Yes, it keeps them

traveling faster, and I respect that. But once we reach tldun and

tJtani, they're going to have their blood up. It's easier for ten

thousand soldiers to defeat a hundred thousand tradesmen if the

tradesmen don't think defeat means being beaten to death for sport. And

a had sack can burn in resentments that last for lifetimes. All respect,

those cities are as good as taken, and we both know it. There's no call

to make this worse than it has to be."

"I should be careful?" Balasar said. "Move slowly, and let the cities

fall gently?"

"YOU said before you wanted this done clean."

"Yes. Before. I said that before."

""They're going to be your cities," Sinja said doggedly as a man

swimming against the tide. ""There's more to think about than how to

capture them. It's my guess Gait's going to be ruling these places for a

long time. The less the people have to forget, the easier that rule's

going to he."

"I don't care about holding them," Balasar said. "There are too many to

guard, and once the rest of the world scents blood, it's going to he

chaos anyway. This war isn't about finding ways for the High Council to

appoint more mayors."

"Sir?"

"We are carrying the dead because they are my dead." Balasar kept his

voice calm, his manner matter-of-fact. The trembling in his hands was

too slight to be seen. And I haven't come to conquer the Khaiem, Captain

Ajutani. I've come to destroy them."

THE. FIRST REFUGEES APPEARED WHEN OTAII'S LFI"I'LE ARMY WAS STILL three

days' march from the village of the I)ai-kvo. 't'hey were few and

scattered in the morning, and then more and larger groups toward the