'It went well?'
'Well enough,' Sinja said. 'I made a small mistake and had to do some very pretty dancing to cover it. But the Khai's got few enough hopes, he wants to trust me. flakes things easier. Now, here. These are rough copies of the maps he's used. They're filling in the main entrances to the underground tunnels to keep us from bringing any single large force down at once. The largest paths they've left open are here,' Sinja touched the map, 'and here.'
'And the poets?'
'They have the outline of a binding. I think they're going to try it. And soon.'
Balasar felt the sinking of dread in his belly, and strangely also a kind of peace. Ile wouldn't have thought there was any part of him that was still held hack, and yet that one small fact-the poets lived and planned and Would recapture one of the andat now if they could-took away any choice he might still have had. He looked at the map, his mind sifting through strategies like a tiles player shuffling chits of bone.
''T'here are men in the towers,' Balasar said.
'Yes, sir,' Sinja said. 'They'll have stones and arrows to drop. You won't be able to use the streets near them, but the range isn't good, and they won't be able to aim from so far up. Go a street or two over and keep by the w +alls, and we'll he safe. There won't he much resistance above ground. 'T'heir hope is to keep you at hay long enough for the cold to do their work for them.'
't'hree forces, Balasar thought. One to clear out the houses and trading shops on the south, another to push in toward the forges and the metalworkers, a third to take the palaces. He wouldn't take the steam wagons-he'd learned that much from Coal-so horsemen would be important for the approach, though they might he less useful if the fighting moved inside structures as it likely would. And they'd be near useless once they were underground. Archers wouldn't have much effect. 'There were few long, clear open spaces in the city. But despite what Sinja said, Balasar expected there would he some fighting on the surface, so enough archers were mixed with the foot troops to fire back at anyone harassing them from the windows and snow doors of the passing buildings.
'Thank you, Sinja-cha,' Balasar said. 'I know how much doing this must have cost you.'
'It needed doing,' Sinja said, and Balasar smiled.
'I won't insist that you watch this happen. You can stay at the camp or ride North and Join Eustin.'
'North?'
'I Ie's taken it to guard. In case someone tries to slip away during the battle.'
'That's a good thought,' Sinja said, his tone somewhat rueful. 'If it's all the same, I'd like to ride with Eustin- cha. I know he hasn't always thought well of me, and if anything does go wrong, I'd like to he where he can see I wasn't the one doing it.'
'A pretty thought,' Balasar said, chuckling.
'You're going to win,' Sinja said. It was a simple statement, but there was a weight behind it. A regret that soldiers often had in the face of loss, and only rarely in victory.
'You thought of changing sides,' Balasar said. 'While you were there, with all the people you know. In your old home. It was hard not to stand by them.'
'That's true,' Sinja said.
'It wouldn't have changed things. One more sword-even yours wouldn't have changed the way this battle falls.'
''That's why I came back,' Sinja said.
'I'm glad you did,' Balasar said. 'I've been proud to ride with you.'
Sinja gave his thanks and took his leave. Balasar wrote out orders for the guard to accompany Sinja and other ones to deliver to F. ustin. Then he turned to the maps of Machi. Truly there was little choice. The poets lived. Another night in the cold would mean losing more men. Balasar sat for a long moment, quietly asking God to let this day end well; then he walked out into the late-morning sun and gave the call to formation.
It was time.
23
Liat had expected panic-in herself and in the city. Instead there was a strange, tense calm. Wherever she went, she was greeted with civility and even pleasure. 'T'here were smiles and even laughter, and a sense of purpose in the face of doom. In the interminable night, she had been invited to join in three suppers, as many breakfasts, and howls of tea without number. She had seen the highest of the utkhaicm sitting with metalsmiths and common armsmcn. She had heard one of the famed choirs of h~Iachi softly singing its Candles Night hymns.'1'he rules of society had been suspended, and the human solidarity beneath it moved her to weep.
She and Kiyan had taken the news first to the Khai Cetani and the captains of the battle that had once turned the Galts aside. When the plans had come from Otah's small Council-where to place men, how to resist the Galts as they tried to overrun the city-the Khai Cetani had emerged with the duties of arming and armoring the men who could fight. As the underground city was emptied of anything that could be used as a weapon-hunting arrows, kitchen knives, even lengths of leather and string cut from beds and fashioned into slings-Liar had seen children too young to fight and men and women too old or frail or ill packed into side galleries, the farthest from the fighting. Cots lined the walls, piled with blankets. In some places, there were thick doors that could be closed and pegged from the inside. 'T'hough If the Galts ever came this far, it would hardly matter how difficult it was to open the doors. Everything would already be lost.
Kiyan had made the physicians her personal duty-preparing one of the higher galleries for the care of the wounded and dying who would he coming back before the day's end. They'd managed seventy beds and scavenged piles of cloth high as a man's waist, ready to pack wounds. Bottles of distilled wine stood ready to case pain and clean cuts. A firekeeper's kiln, cauterizing irons already glowing in its maw, had been pulled in and the air was rich with the scent of poppy milk cooking to the black sludge that would take away pain at one spoonful and grant mercy with two. Liat walked between the empty beds, imagining them as they would shortly be-canvas soaked with gore. And still the panic didn't come.
By the entrance, one of the physicians was talking in a calm voice to twenty or so girls and boys no older than Eiah, too young to fight, but old enough to help care for the wounded. Kiyan was nowhere to he found, and Liat wasn't sure whether she was pleased or dismayed.
She sat on one of the beds and let her eyes close. She had not slept all the long night. She wouldn't sleep until the battle was ended. Which meant, of course, that she might never sleep again. The thought carried a sense of unreality that was, she thought, the essential mood of the city. This couldn't be happening. People went about the things that needed doing with a numb surprise that hell had bloomed up in the world. The men in their improvised leather armor and sharpened fire irons could no more fathom that there would be no tomorrow for them than Liat could. And so they were capable of walking, of speaking, of eating food. If they had been given time to understand, the Galts wouldn't have faced half the fight that was hefore them now.
'Mama-kya!' a man's voice said close at hand. Nayiit's. Liat's eyes flew open. lie stood in the aisle between beds, his eyes wide. I)anat, paleskinned and frightened, clung to her boy's robes.
'What are you doing still here?' Liat said.
'Eiah,' Nayiit said. 'I can't find Eiah. She was in her rooms, getting dressed, but when I came back with Danat-cha, she was gone. She isn't at the cart. I thought she might he here. I can't leave without her.'
'You should have left before the sun rose,' Liat said, standing up. 'You have to leave now.'
'But Eiah-'
'You can't wait for her,' Liat said. 'You can't stay here.'
I)anat began to cry, a high wailing that echoed against the high tiled ceiling and seemed to fill the world. Nayiit crouched and tried to calm the boy. Liat felt something warm and powerful unwind in her breast. Rage, perhaps. She hauled her son up by his shoulder and leaned in close.
'Leave her,' she said. 'Leave the girl and get out of this city now. I)o you understand me?'
'I promised Kiyan-cha that I'd-'
'You can't keep it girl fourteen summers old from being stupid. No one can. She made her decision when she left you.'
'I promised that I'd look after them,' Naviit said.
