Seasons of War

shoulders set.
    ‘There are some among us who look upon what has happened today as a moment of hope. They believe that the andat returned to the world marks the end of our hard times. With all respect, it marks their beginning, and neither I nor . . .’
    Otah turned away, pushing his way down the narrow hall, afraid to let his hands leave the stone for fear he should lose his balance. In the dim hallways, he gathered himself. He had expected shame. Seeing Danat speaking as he himself could not, he thought that he would feel shame. He didn’t. There was only anger.
    The first servant he found, he grabbed by the sleeve and spun halfway around. The woman started to shout at him, then saw who he was, saw his face, and went pale.
    ‘Whatever you were doing, stop it,’ Otah said. ‘Find me the Master of Tides. Bring her to my rooms. Do it now.’
    She might have taken a pose that accepted the command or one of obeisance or any other of the hundred thousand things the physical grammar of the Khaiem might express. Otah didn’t stop long enough to see, and didn’t care.
    In his rooms, he called for a traveler’s basket. The thin wicker shifted and creaked as he pulled the simplest robes from his wardrobes and stuffed them in, one atop the other like they were canvas trousers. The dressing servants made small pawing movements, and Otah didn’t bother to find out whether they were meant to help or slow him before he sent them all away. He found eight identical pairs of strapped leather boots, put three pairs into his basket, then snarled and took the extra ones back out. He only had two feet, he didn’t need more boots than that. He didn’t notice the Master of Tides until the woman made a small sound, like someone stepping on a mouse.
    ‘Good,’ Otah said. ‘You have something to write with?’
    She fumbled with her sleeve and pulled out a small ledger and a finger charcoal. Otah reeled off half-a-dozen names, all the heads of high families of the utkhaiem. He paused, then named Balasar Gice as well. The Master of Tides scribbled, the charcoal graying her fingers.
    ‘That is my High Council,’ Otah said. ‘Here with you as witness, I invest them with the power to administrate the Empire until Danat or I return. Is that clear enough?’
    ‘Most High,’ the Master of Tides said, her face pale and bloodless, ‘there has never . . . the authority of the Emperor can’t be . . . and Gicecha isn’t even . . .’
    Otah strode across the room toward her, blood rushing in his ears. The Master of Tides fell back a step, anticipating a blow, but Otah only plucked the ledger from her hands. The charcoal had fallen to the floor, and Otah scooped it up, turned to a fresh page, and wrote out the investment he’d just spoken. When he handed it back, the Master of Tides opened and closed her mouth like a fish on sand, then said, ‘The court. The utkhaiem. A council with explicit imperial authority? This . . . can’t be done.’
    ‘It can,’ Otah said.
    ‘Most High, forgive me, but what you’ve suggested here changes everything! It throws aside all tradition !’
    ‘I do that sometimes,’ Otah said. ‘Get me a horse.’
    Danat’s force was small - a dozen armsmen with swords and bows, two steamcarts with rough shedlike structures on the flats, and Danat in a wool huntsman’s robes. Otah’s own robe was leather dyed the red of roses; his horse was taller at the shoulder than the top of his own head. The wicker traveler’s basket jounced against the animal’s flank as he cantered to Danat’s side.
    ‘Father,’ Danat said. He took no pose, but his body was stiff and defiant.
    ‘I heard your speech. It was rash,’ Otah said. ‘What was your plan, now that I’ve sent you off to find and kill this new poet?’
    ‘We’re going north to Utani,’ Danat said. ‘It’s central, and we can move in any direction once we’ve gotten word where he is.’
    ‘She,’ Otah said. ‘Wherever she is.’
    Danat blinked, his spine relaxing in his surprise.
    ‘And you can’t announce a plan like this, Danat-kya,’ Otah said. ‘No matter how fast you ride, word will move faster. And you’ll know when the news has reached her, because you’ll be just as crippled as the Galts.’
    ‘You knew about this?’ Danat murmured.
    ‘I know some things. I’d had reports,’ Otah said. His mount whickered uneasily. ‘I had taken some action. I didn’t know it had gone so far. Utani is the wrong way. We need to ride west.