Seasons of War

drill.’
    ‘Have they?’
    ‘They have the impression their lives may rest on it. And the lives of their families. And, forgive me, Most High, but your life too.’
    Otah leaned forward, his hands taking a questioning pose.
    ‘They’re afraid of failing you,’ Nayiit said. ‘It’s why no one would come to you and complain. I’ve been keeping company with a man named Saya. He’s a blacksmith. Plow blades, for the most part. His knees are swollen to twice their normal size, and he wakes before dawn to tie on leather and wool and swing sticks with the others. And then he walks until he can’t. And then he walks farther.’
    Nayiit’s voice was trembling now, but Otah couldn’t say if it was with weariness or fear or anger.
    ‘These aren’t soldiers, Most High. And you’re pushing them too hard.’
    ‘We’ve been moving for ten days—’
    ‘And we’re coming near to halfway to the Dai-kvo’s village,’ Nayiit said. ‘In ten days . And drilling, and sleeping under thin blankets on hard ground. Not couriers and huntsmen, not men who are accustomed to this. Just men. I’ve spoken to the provisioners. We left Machi three thousand strong. Do you know how many have turned back? How many have deserted you?’
    Otah blinked. It wasn’t a question he’d ever thought to ask.
    ‘How many?’
    ‘None.’
    Otah felt something loosen in his chest. A warmth like the first drink of wine spread through him, and he felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes. If he had been less exhausted, it would never have pierced his reserve, and still . . . none .
    ‘With every low town we pass, we take on a few more,’ Nayiit was saying. ‘They’re afraid. The word has gone out that all the andat are gone, that the Galts are going to invade or are invading. It’s the thing every man had convinced himself would never happen. I hear the things they say.’
    ‘The things they say?’
    ‘That you were the only one who saw the danger. You were training men even before. You were preparing. They say that you’ve traveled the world when you were a boy, that you understand it better than any other Khai. Some of them are calling you the new Emperor.’
    ‘They should stop that,’ Otah said.
    ‘Most High, they’re desperate and afraid, and they want a hero out of the old epics. They need one.’
    ‘And you? What do you need?’
    ‘I need Saya to stop walking for a day.’
    Otah closed his eyes. Perhaps the right thing was to send the experienced men on ahead. They could clear spaces for the camps. Perhaps missing a single day would not be too much. And there was little point in running if it was only to be sure they came to the battle exhausted and ready for slaughter. The Dai-kvo would have gotten his warning by now. The poets might even now be in flight toward Otah and his ragtag army. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. Letting his body collapse with it.
    ‘I’ll consider what you’ve said, Nayiit-cha,’ Otah said. ‘It wasn’t where my mind had led me, but I can see there’s some wisdom in it.’
    Nayiit took a pose of gratitude as formal as any at court. He looked nearly as spent as Otah felt. Otah raised his hands in a querying pose.
    ‘The utkhaiem didn’t feel comfortable bringing these concerns to me,’ he said. ‘Why did you?’
    ‘I think, Most High, there’s a certain . . . reluctance in the higher ranks to second-guess you again. And the footmen wouldn’t think of approaching you. I grew up with stories about you and Maati-cha, so I suppose I can bring myself to think of you as one of my mother’s friends. That, and I’m desperately tired. If you had me sent back in disgrace, I could at least get a day’s rest.’
    Otah smiled, and saw his own expression reflected back at him. He had never known this boy, had never lifted him over his head the way he had Danat. He had had no part in teaching Nayiit wisdom or folly. Even now, seeing himself in his eldest son’s movements and expressions, he could hardly think of him with the bone-deep protectiveness that shook him when he thought of Eiah and Danat. And yet he was pleased that he had accepted Nayiit’s offer to join him in this half-doomed campaign. Otah leaned forward, his hand out. It was the gesture of friendship that one seafront laborer might offer another. Nayiit only looked shocked for a moment, then clasped Otah’s hand.
    ‘Whenever they’re too nervous to tell me what I’m doing wrong, you come to