Seasons of War

Balasar Gice wasn’t interested in their field prowess. Which meant he either wanted them to lead the charges and soak up a few enemy spears and arrows - hardly a role that asked the general’s presence at the negotiation - or there was something more, something that Sinja was still missing.
    ‘How many of them speak Galt?’
    ‘A third,’ Sinja said, inventing the number on the spot.
    ‘I may have use for them. How loyal are they to you?’
    ‘How loyal do they need to be?’
    The general smiled. There was a touch of sorrow in his eyes and a long, thoughtful pause. Sinja felt a decision being made, though he couldn’t say what the issue was.
    ‘Enough to go against their own kind. Not in the field, but I’ll want them as translators and agents. And whatever you can tell me of the winter cities. I’ll want that as well.’
    Sinja smiled knowingly to cover his racing mind. Gice wasn’t taking his army North. He was going east, into the cities of the Khaiem, with something close to every ablebodied man in Galt behind him. Sinja chuckled to hide a rush of fear.
    ‘They’ll follow you any place you care to go, so long as they’re on the winning side,’ Sinja said. ‘Are you sure that’s going to be you?’
    ‘Yes,’ the general said, and the bare confidence in his voice was more persuasive than any reasoned argument he might have given. If the man had been trying to convince himself, he would have had a speech ready - why this insanity would work, how the army could overpower the andat, something. But Balasar was certain. The general sipped his water, waiting the space of five long breaths together. Then he spoke again. ‘You’re thinking something?’
    ‘You’re not stupid,’ Sinja said. ‘So you’re either barking mad, or you know something I don’t. No one can take on the Khaiem.’
    ‘You mean no one can face the andat.’
    ‘Yes,’ Sinja agreed. ‘That’s what I mean.’
    ‘I can.’
    ‘Forgive me if I keep my doubts about me,’ Sinja said.
    The general nodded, considered Sinja for a long moment, then gestured toward the table. Sinja put down his bowl and stepped over as the general unrolled a long cloth scroll with a map of the cities of the Khaiem on it. Sinja stepped back from it as if there were an asp on it.
    ‘General,’ he said, ‘if you’re about to tell me your plans for this campaign, I think we might be ahead of where we should be.’
    Balasar put a hand on Sinja’s arm. The Galt’s gaze was firm and steady, his voice low and strangely intimate. Sinja saw how a personality like his own could command an army or a nation. Possibly, he thought, a world.
    ‘Captain Ajutani, I don’t share these plans with every mercenary captain who walks through my door. I don’t trust them. I don’t show them to my own captains, barring the ones in my small Council. The others I expect to trust me. But we’re men of the world, you and I. You have something I think I could use.’
    ‘And you have nothing to lose by telling me,’ Sinja said, slowly. ‘Because I’m not leaving this building, am I?’
    ‘Not even to go speak to your men,’ the general said. ‘You’re here as my ally or my prisoner.’
    Sinja shook his head.
    ‘That’s a brave thing to say, General. It’s only the two of us in here.’
    ‘If you attacked me, I’d kill you where you stood,’ Balasar said in the same tone of voice he’d used before, and Sinja believed him. Balasar smiled gently and nudged him forward, toward the table.
    ‘Let me show you why ally would be the better choice.’
    Still, Sinja held back.
    ‘I’m not an idiot,’ he said. ‘If you tell me you plan to take over the Khaiem by flying through the sky on winged dogs, I’ll still clap you on the back and swear I’m your ally.’
    ‘Of course you will. You’ll say you’re my dearest friend and solidly behind me. I’ll thank you and distrust you and keep you unarmed and under guard. We’ll each avoid turning our backs on the other. I think we can take that all as given,’ Balasar said with a dismissive wave. ‘I don’t care what you say or do, Captain. I care what you think .’
    Sinja felt a genuine smile blooming on his lips. When he laughed, Balasar laughed with him.
    ‘Well,’ Sinja said. ‘As long as we’re agreed on all that. Go ahead. Convince me that you’re going to prevail against the poets.’
    They talked for what seemed like the better part of the evening. Outside, the storm slackened, the clouds