"If you swear to serve the High Council of Galt, I'll cut your bonds and

we can both walk out of here," Balasar said. "I'll have to keep you

prisoner, of course. I can't leave you free to gather up an army. But

there are worse things than living under guard."

The Khai almost smiled.

"'There are also worse things than dying," he said.

Balasar sighed. It was a shame. But the man had made his decision.

Balasar raised his hand, and the drums and trumpets called out. The

execution proceeded. When the soldier held up the Khai's head for the

crowd to see, a shudder seemed to run through them, but the faces that

Balasar saw looking out at him seemed bright and excited.

'T'hey know they won't die, he thought. If I'm not killing them, it all

becomes another court spectacle. They'll be talking about it in their

bathhouses and winter gardens, vying for money and power now that the

city's fallen. Half of them will be wearing tunics with the Galtic Tree

on it come spring.

He looked down at the body of the man he'd had killed and briefly felt

the impulse to put "Ian-Sadar to the torch. Instead, he turned and

walked away, going back to the palaces he had taken for himself and for

his men.

Eight thousand remained to him. Several hundred had been lost in battle

or to the raids that had slowed his travel since Nantani. The rest he

had left in conquered I'tani. 'T'here was little enough left of I'dun

that he hadn't bothered leaving men to occupy the city. 't'here was no

call to leave people there to guard ashes.

tltani had offered only token resistance and been for the most part

spared. "Ian-Sadar had very nearly set the musicians to playing and

lined the roads with dancing girls. That wasn't true, but as Balasar

stalked hack through the great vaulted hall of the Khai's palace, his

steps echoing off the blue and gold tilework high above him, his disgust

with the place made it seem that way. They hadn't fought, and while that

might have been wise, it wasn't something to celebrate. The only ones

who had spines had been the poet and the Khai. Well, and the Khai's

wives and children, whom he'd had killed. So perhaps he wasn't really in

the best position to speak about what was honorable and noble after all.

"Darkness has come on as usual, sir;

Balasar looked tip. Eustin stood in salute at the foot of a wide flight

of stairs. His tunic was stained, his chin unshaven, and even from five

paces away, he stank of horses. Balasar restrained himself from rushing

over and embracing the man.

"The darkness," Balasar asked through his grin.

"Always happens at the end of a campaign, sir. You fall into a black

mood for a few weeks. Happened in Eddensca and after the siege at

NIalsam. All respect, sir, it's like watching my sister after she's

birthed a babe."

Balasar laughed. It felt good to laugh, and to smile, and to be reminded

that the foul mood that had come on him was something he often suffered.

In truth, he had forgotten. He took Eustin's hand in his own.

"Good to have you back," Balasar said. "I didn't know you'd returned."

"I would have sent a runner to pass the news, but it seemed faster if I

came myself."

"Come LIP," Balasar said. "Tell me what's happened."

"It might be best if I saw a bathhouse, sir...."

"Later," Balasar said. "If you can stand the reek, I can. And besides,

you deserve some discomfort after that birthing comment. Come up, and

I'll have them send us wine and food."

"Yes, sir," Eustin said.

They sat on couches while pine logs burned in the grate, sap hissing and

popping and sending up sparks. True to his word, Balasar sent for rice

wine infused with cherries and the stiff salty brown cheese that was a

local delicacy of 'Ian-Sadar. Eustin recounted his season-the attack on

Pathai, his decision to split the force before moving on to the poet's

school. Pathai hadn't been as large or as wealthy as a port city like

Nantani, but it was near the Westlands. Moving what wealth it had back

to Galt would be simpler than the other inland cities.

"And the school?" Balasar said, and a cloud passed over Eustin's face.

""They were younger than I'd thought. It wasn't the sort of thing they

sing about. Unless they're singing laments. Then, maybe."

"It was necessary."

"I know, sir. "That's why we did it."

Balasar poured him another cup of the wine, and then one for himself,

and they drank in silence together before Eustin went on with his

report. The men they'd sent to take the Southern cities had managed

quite well, apart from an incident with poisoned grain in Lachi and a

fire at the warehouses of Saraykeht. That matched with what Balasar

himself had heard. All the poets had been found, all the books had been

burned. No Khai had lived or left heir.

In return, Balasar shared what news he had from the North. TanSadar, the

nearest city to the I)ai-kvo, had known about the destruction of the

village for weeks before Balasar's prisoner-envoys had arrived. The

story was also widely known of the battle; one of the Khaiem in the

winter cities had fielded an army of sorts. The estimates of the dead

went from several hundred to thousands. Few, if any, had been Coal's.

The retelling of that tale as much as the sacking of Udun had broken the

back of Utani and Tan-Sadar.

A letter in Coal's short, understated style had conic south after

Amnat-"Ian had fallen. Another courier was due any day bringing the news

of Cetani and Machi. But if Coal had kept to the pace he'd intended,

those cities were also fallen.

"It'll he good to know for certain, though," Eustin said.

"I trust him," Balasar said.

"Didn't mean anything else, sir."

"No. Of course not. You're right. It will he good to know it's done."

Balasar took a bite of the brown cheese and stared at the dancing flames

where the wood glowed and blackened and fell to ash. "You'll put your

men in I'tani?"

"Or send some downriver. Depends how much food there is. There's more

than a few who'd he willing to make a winter crossing if it meant

getting home to start spending their shares."

"We have made a large number of very rich soldiers," Balasar said.

""They'll he poor again in a season or two, but the dice stands in

Kirinton will still he singing our praises when our grandsons are old,"

Eustin said, then paused. "What about our local man?"