Seasons of War

seemed like a man gone mad. It was near enough to the truth.
    The night air was cold and his robes insufficient. He went back to the wayhouse more for warmth than the desire to continue any conversation. There was an odd silence in his mind now that felt fragile and comforting. He knew as he stepped into the yard that he wouldn’t be able to maintain it.
    Voices raised in anger filled the yard. Danat and the captain of the armsmen stood so close to each other their chests nearly touched, each of them shouting at the other. Idaan stood at Danat’s right, her arms crossed, her expression deceptively calm. The captain had his armsmen arrayed behind him, lit torches in their hands. Otah made out words like protection and answerable from the captain and disrespect and mutiny from Danat. Otah rubbed his hands together to fight off the numbness and made his way toward the confrontation. The captain saw him first and stopped talking, his face flushed red by blood and torchlight. Danat took a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder.
    ‘I suppose this is to do with me,’ Otah said.
    ‘We only wanted to see that you were safe, Most High,’ the captain said. The words were strangled. Otah hesitated, then took a pose of apology.
    ‘I needed solitude,’ he said. ‘I should have told you before I left. But if I’d been clear-minded, I likely wouldn’t have needed to leave. Please accept my apology.’
    There was little enough the man could do. Moments later, the armsmen were scattering back to the wayhouse or the stables. The smell of doused torches filled the air like a forest on fire. Danat and Idaan stood side by side.
    ‘Should I apologize to you as well?’ Otah asked with a half-smile.
    ‘Isn’t called for,’ Idaan said. ‘I was only keeping your boy near to hand in case you reconsidered my death order.’
    ‘Next time, maybe,’ Otah said, and Idaan grinned. ‘Is there anything warm to drink in this place?’
    The young keeper brought them the best food the wayhouse had to offer - river fish baked with red pepper and lemon, sweet rice, almond milk with mint, hot plum wine, and cold water. They arrayed themselves through the main room, all other guests being turned away by the paired guards at every door. Ana and Ashti Beg were in a deep conversation about the strategies they’d developed in their new sightlessness. Danat sat nearer the fire, watching them with a naked longing in his expression that would have made Ana blush, Otah thought, had she been able to see it. Otah and Idaan sat together at a low table, passing the chipped lacquer bowls back and forth. The armsmen who weren’t on duty had taken a back room, and their voices came in occasional outbursts of hilarity and song.
    It could have been the image of peace, of something approaching a family passing a road-wearied night in warmth and companionship. And perhaps it was. But it was other things as well.
    ‘You look better,’ Idaan said, freshening the wine in his bowl. Fragrant steam rose from it, astringent and rich with the scent of the fruit.
    ‘I am for now,’ Otah said. ‘I’ll be worse again later.’
    ‘Have you made up your mind, then?’ she asked. He sighed. Ashti Beg illustrated some point with a wide, vague gesture. Danat placed a new length of pine on the fire.
    ‘There isn’t an answer,’ Otah said. ‘They have all the power. All I can do is ask them to reconsider. So I suppose I’ll do that and see what happens next. I know that you think I should go in and kill them all—’
    ‘I didn’t say that,’ Idaan said. ‘I said it was what I would do. My judgment on those matters is . . . occasionally suspect.’
    Otah sipped his wine, then put the bowl down carefully.
    ‘I think that’s the nearest you’ve ever come to apologizing,’ he said.
    ‘To you, perhaps,’ Idaan said. ‘I spent years talking to the dead about it. They didn’t have much to say back.’
    ‘Do you miss them?’
    ‘Yes,’ Idaan said without hesitation. ‘I do.’
    They lapsed into silence again. Danat and Ashti Beg were in the middle of a lively debate over the ethics of showfighting, Ana listening to them both with a frown. Her hand pressed her belly as if the fish was troubling her.
    ‘If Maati were here tonight,’ Otah said, ‘and demanded that he be named emperor, I think I’d give it to him.’
    ‘He’d hand it back in a week,’ Idaan said with a smile.
    ‘Who’s to say I’d take it?’
    They left in the morning, the