Seasons of War

For all his discomfort and the dread in his belly, this gray-green world was lovely. He tried not to think of Nayiit or of the men whom his boy had asked permission to die with. We are his fathers, Maati had said, and Otah had agreed. He wondered if the others would also see Nayiit’s duty as a protection of him. He wondered if they would guess that Danat wasn’t his only son. He hoped that they would all live long enough for such problems to matter.
    The scout came just before midday. He’d seen a rider in Galtic colors. He’d been seen as well. Otah accepted the information and set the couriers to ride closer and in teams. He felt his belly tighten and wondered how far from its main force the Galts would send their riders. That was the distance between him and his first battle. His first war.
    It was near evening when the two armies found each other. The scouts had given warning, and still, as Otah topped the rise, the sight of them was astounding. The army of Galt stood still at the far end of the long, shallow valley, silent as ghosts in the gray rain. Their banners should have been green and gold, but in the wet and with the distance, they seemed merely black. Otah paused, trying to guess how many men faced him. Perhaps half again his own. Perhaps a little less. And they were here, waiting for him. The Dai-kvo’s village was behind them.
    He wondered if he had come too late. Perhaps the Galts had sacked the village and slaughtered the Dai-kvo. Perhaps they had had word of Otah’s coming and bypassed the prize to reach him here, before his men could take cover in the buildings and palaces of mountain. Perhaps the Galts had divided, and the men facing him were what he had spared the Dai-kvo. There was no way to know the situation, and only one course available to him, whatever the truth.
    ‘Call the formation,’ Otah said, and the shouts and calls flowed out behind him, the slap of leather and metal. The army of Machi took its place - archers and footmen and horsemen. All exhausted by their day’s ride, all facing a real enemy for the first time. From across the valley, a sound came, sharp as cracking thunder - thousands of voices raised as one. And then, just as suddenly, silence. Otah ran his hand over the thick leather straps of the reins and forced himself to think.
    In the soft quarter of Saraykeht, Otah had seen showfighters pout and preen before the blows came. He had seen them flex their muscles and beat their own faces until there was blood on their lips. It had been a show for the men and women who had come to partake of brutality as entertainment, but it had also been the start of the fight. A display to unnerve the enemy, to sow fear. This was no different. A thousand men who could speak in one voice could fight as one. They were not men, they were a swarm; a single mind with thousands of bodies. Hear us , the wordless cry had said, and die .
    Otah looked at the darkening sky, the misty rain. He thought of all the histories he had read, the accounts of battles lost and won in ancient days before the poets and their andat. Of the struggles in the low cities of the world. He raised his hands, and the messengers, Nayiit among them, came to his side.
    ‘Tell the men to make camp,’ he said.
    The silence was utter.
    ‘Most High?’ Nayiit said.
    ‘They won’t begin a battle now that they’d have to finish in darkness. This is all show and bluster. Tell the men to set their tents and build what cook fires we can in all this wet. Put them here where those bastards can see the light of them. Tell the men to rest and eat and drink, and we’ll set up a pavilion and have songs before we sleep. Let the Galts see how frightened we are.’
    The messengers took poses that accepted the order and turned their mounts. Otah caught Nayiit’s gaze, and the boy hesitated. When the others had gone, Otah spoke again.
    ‘Also find the scouts and have them set a watch. In case I’m wrong.’
    He saw Nayiit draw breath, but he only took the accepting pose and rode away.
    The night was long and unpleasant. The rain had stopped; the clouds thinned and vanished, letting the heat of the ground fly out into the cold, uncaring sky. Otah passed among the fires, accepting the oaths and salutes of his men. He felt his title and dignity on his shoulders like a cloak. He would have liked to smile and be charming, to ease his fears with companionship and wine, just as his men did. It would have been no favor to them,