Seasons of War

then?’
    ‘You can have it—’
    ‘Got one, thanks,’ Eustin said. ‘Let’s see this boy of yours.’
    The man hesitated, his eyes darting to the riders, to Eustin. He was thinking of running for it - his little mule against six men on horseback. Sinja took a simple pose that advised against it, and the man looked down, then turned to the back of the little cart.
    ‘Choti-kya,’ he said. ‘Come say hello to these good men.’
    A bundle of brown waxed silk stirred in the back of the cart, rose up, and turned to face them. The boy’s round face was shy and frightened, but also curious. His cheeks were red from the cold, as if someone had slapped him. As the small hands pushed out from his blankets and took a pose of greeting, Sinja sighed.
    Danat. It was Kiyan’s boy. So this man was Nayiit, and all Sinja’s worst fears were unfolding right here before him.
    One of Eustin’s men stepped forward, looking through the cart. Danat shied back from him, but the soldier paid the boy no particular attention.
    ‘What do you think we should do with them, Captain Ajutani,’ he asked. ‘Kill ’em or send them on?’
    Sinja kept his face blank as his mind worked at an answer. Eustin didn’t trust him and never had. Sinja tried to judge what the man would do - follow his advice, or take the opposite. He suspected Eustin would oppose him simply because he could. So the right choice would be to recommend death for Danat and Nayiit. The gamble was higher stakes than he liked. Eustin looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. Sinja was taking too long in answering.
    ‘I don’t like killing children,’ he said in Galtic.
    ‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it since we left Nantani. There was a whole school of them near Pathai. Kill the man, then? And leave the boy in a snowstorm? That seems cruel.’
    Sinja shrugged and took a simple pose of apology.
    ‘I hadn’t known you were a great killer of children,’ he said. ‘We all make our reputations somehow. Do whatever you think best.’
    Eustin scowled and the driver’s face went pale. The man spoke Galtic, then. Sinja wasn’t certain that was a good thing.
    ‘Maybe I should kill the boy and let the man go,’ Eustin said, and Danat’s keeper swung out of the cart, drawing his sword with a shout. Eustin jumped back, pulling his own blade free. It was fast, over almost before it began. The young man swung wild; Eustin parried the blow and sunk his own blade into Nayiit’s belly. Nayiit fell back, clutching at his gut, while Eustin looked down at him in rage and disgust.
    ‘What is the matter with you?’ he said to the wounded man. ‘Look around you. There’s a dozen of us. Did you think you were going to cut us all down?’
    ‘Can’t hurt Danat,’ the driver said.
    ‘Who’s Danat?’
    When the driver didn’t answer, Eustin shook his head and spat. Sinja could see what was coming next from the way Eustin held his shoulders and the blood in his face. Danat, still in the cart, made a mewling sound, and Sinja looked at the boy, looked into his eyes, and took a small pose that told him to prepare himself.
    ‘Well, we aren’t leaving the boy out here, whatever his name is,’ Eustin said. ‘Get him out where this idiot can see the price of attacking a Galt.’
    The soldier nearest the cart grabbed at the boy, and Danat yelped in fear. Eustin swung his blade in the air, his eyes locked on Nayiit’s. Sinja nodded to the man at the cart when he spoke.
    ‘Hold off there,’ he said, then turned to Eustin. ‘You’re a good soldier, Eustin-cha. You’re loyal and you’re ruthless, and I want you to know I respect that.’
    Eustin cocked his head, confused.
    ‘Thank you, I suppose,’ Eustin said, and Sinja drew his sword. Eustin’s eyes went wide, and he barely blocked Sinja’s thrust. Blood showed on his arm, and the other ten men pulled their own blades with a soft sound like a rake in gravel.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Eustin cried.
    ‘Not betraying someone.’
    ‘What?’
    This isn’t how I’d hoped to die, Sinja thought. If the boy had any mother in the world besides Kiyan, he’d stand back and let the thing take its course. Instead, he was going to be cut down like a dog. But if the men were watching him, Danat could slip away. A boy of five summers was no threat. The men might not bother tracking him. Danat might find his way to the tunnel or some low town or into friendly hands. There wasn’t a better option.
    ‘Call them off,