Seasons of War

Convocate nodded as he plucked a circle of dried apple from the bowl between them. When he spoke again, however, it was as if Balasar’s objection had never occurred.
    ‘Assuming it works, that you can take the andat from the field of play, what’s to stop the Khaiem from having their poets make another andat and loose it on Galt?’
    ‘Swords,’ Balasar said. ‘As you said, fourteen cities in a single season. None of them will have enough time. I have men in every city of the Khaiem, ready to meet us with knowledge of the defenses and strengths we face. There are agreements with mercenary companies to support our men. Four well-equipped, well-supported forces, each taking unfortified, poorly armed cities. But we have to start moving men now. This is going to take time, and I don’t want to be caught in the North waiting to see which comes first, the thaw or some overly clever poet in Cetani or Machi managing to bind something new. We have to move quickly - kill the poets, take the libraries—’
    ‘After which we can go about making andat of our own at our leisure,’ the Lord Convocate said. His voice was thoughtful, and still Balasar sensed a trap. He wondered how much the man had guessed of his own plans and intentions for the future of the andat.
    ‘If that’s what the High Council chooses to do,’ Balasar said, sitting back. ‘All of this, of course, assuming I’m given permission to move forward.’
    ‘Ah,’ the Lord Convocate said, lacing his hands over his belly. ‘Yes. That will need an answer. Permission of the Council. A thousand things could go wrong. And if you fail—’
    ‘The stakes are no lower if we sit on our hands. And we could wait forever and never see a better chance,’ Balasar said. ‘You’ll forgive my saying it, sir, but you haven’t said no.’
    ‘No,’ he said, slowly. ‘No, I haven’t.’
    ‘Then I have the command, sir?’
    After a moment, the Lord Convocate nodded.

3
    ‘ W hat’s the matter?’ Kiyan asked. She was already dressed in the silk shift that she slept in, her hair tied back from her thin foxlike face. It occurred to Otah for the first time just how long ago the sun had set. He sat on the bed at her side and let himself feel the aches in his back and knees.
    ‘Sitting too long,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why doing nothing should hurt as badly as hauling crates.’
    Kiyan put a hand against his back, her fingers tracing his spine through the fine-spun wool of his robes.
    ‘For one thing, you haven’t hauled a crate for your living in thirty summers.’
    ‘Twenty-five,’ he said, leaning back into the soft pressure of her hands. ‘Twenty-six now.’
    ‘For another, you’ve hardly done nothing. As I recall, you were awake before the sun rose.’
    Otah considered the sleeping chamber - the domed ceiling worked in silver, the wood and bone inlay of the floor and walls, the rich gold netting that draped the bed, the still, somber flame of the lantern. The east wall was stone - pink granite thin as eggshell that glowed when the sun struck it. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since he’d woken to see that light. Last summer, perhaps, when the nights were shorter. He closed his eyes and lay back into the soft, enfolding bed. His weight pressed out the scent of crushed rose petals. Eyes closed, he felt Kiyan shift, the familiar warmth and weight of her body resting against him. She kissed his temple.
    ‘Our friend from the Dai-kvo will finally leave soon. A message came recalling him,’ Otah said. ‘That was a bright moment. Though the gods only know what kept him here so long. Sinja’s likely halfway to the Westlands by now.’
    ‘The envoy stayed for Maati’s work,’ Kiyan said. ‘Apparently he hardly left the library these last weeks. Eiah’s been keeping me informed.’
    ‘Well, the gods and Eiah, then,’ Otah said.
    ‘I’m worried about her. She’s brooding about something. Can you speak with her?’
    Dread touched Otah’s belly, and a moment’s resentment. It had been such a long day, and here waiting for him like a stalking cat was another problem, another need he was expected to meet. The thought must have expressed itself in his body, because Kiyan sighed and rolled just slightly away.
    ‘You think it’s wrong of me,’ Kiyan said.
    ‘Not wrong,’ Otah said. ‘Unnecessary isn’t wrong.’
    ‘I know. At her age, you were living on the streets in the summer cities, stealing pigeons off firekeeper’s