Daniel Abraham - Autumn War

Utah felt the rage rise up in his breast like a flame uncurling. IIe heard it in his ears.

"You want pardon?"

"For the boys too," Sinja said. "I swear I'll do everything I can to earn it."

You'll swear anything you like and break the oath when it suits you, Otah thought. He bit his lip until he thought it might bleed, but he didn't shout. He didn't call for the armsmen who waited outside the great blue doors. It would have been simple to have the man killed. It would have even felt like justice, he thought. I Its own man. His friend and advisor. Walking beside the Galttc general. Giving him advice. But the rage wasn't only rage. It was also fear. And despair. And so no matter how right it felt, it couldn't be trusted.

"Don't ask me for anything again."

"I won't, Otah-cha." And then a moment later, "You're a harder man than when I left."

"I've earned it."

"It suits von.

A rattle came from the door, and then a polite scratching, and Cehmai, Nlaati, and Liat came in the room. "Their faces were flushed, and Nlaati's breath was heavy as if he'd been running. Otah frowned. He wouldn't have chosen to have Ifiat here, but she'd helped Kiyan with the preparations of the city and the quartering of the refugees of Cetani, so perhaps it was for the best after all. I Ic took a general pose of greeting.

"What's… happened," \Iaati wheezed.

"Wc have a problem," Otah said.

"The Galts?" Liat asked.

"'l'en thousand of them," Kiyan said, speaking for the first time since Sinja had begun his report. Her voice was solid as stone. "Foot soldiers and archers and horsemen. They won't reach it today. But tomorrow, perhaps. 'T'hree days at the most."

Nlaati's face went white and he sat down hard, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. I, iat and Cchmai didn't move to help him. The room was silent except for the murmur of the fire. Otah let the moment pass. "There was nothing he could say just now that they wouldn't think for themselves in the next few heartbeats. Cehmai recovered the fastest, his brows rising, his mouth going tight and hard.

"What do we do?" the younger poet asked.

"We have some advantages," Otah said. "We outnumber them. We know the city. We're in a position to defend, and holding a city's easier than forcing your way in."

"On the other hand," Sinja said, "they're soldiers. You aren't. They know that they need shelter from the cold and need it quickly. Taking Machi's their only option. And they know a fair amount about the city as well."

"You told them that too?" Otah asked.

"They've had their agents and traders in all the cities for generations," Kiyan said softly. "They've put their hands in our affairs. They've walked the streets and sat in the bathhouses. They have trading houses that wintered here when your father was Khai."

"Not to mention the several hundred native guides working for them who aren't me," Sinja said. "I was leading a militia, you'll recall. I've left as many as I could behind, but they've had a season to get any information they wanted."

Otah raised his hands in a pose that abandoned his point. He had the feeling of trembling that he remembered from the aftermath of his battles. From hearing Danat's struggles to breathe when his cough had been at its worst. It wasn't time to feel; he couldn't afford to feel. He tried to push the fear and despair away; he couldn't. It was in his blood now.

"I can try," Nlaati said. "I'll have to try."

"You have a binding ready?" Sinja asked.

"Not ready," Cehmai said. "We have it in outline. It would need weeks to refine it."

"I'll try," Maati said. His voice was stronger now. His lips were pulled thin. "But I don't know that it will help if it comes to a battle. If it works, I can see they never hear children, but that won't stop them in the near term."

"You could make it hurt," Sinja suggested. "Men don't fight as well newly gelded."

Nlaati frowned deeply, his fingers moving on their own, as if tracing numbers in the air.

"Do what you can," Otah said. "If you think a change will make the binding less likely to work, don't do it. We need an andat-any andat. The details aren't important."

"Could we pretend?" Liat asked. "Dress someone as an andat, and send them out with Maati. How would the Galts know it wasn't true?"

"The costume would have to involve not breathing," Cehmai said. Liat looked crestfallen.

"Kiyan," Otah said. "Can we arm the people we have?"

"We can improvise something," his wife said. "If we put men in the towers, we can rain stones and arrows on them. It would make it hard for them to keep to the streets. And if we block the stairways and keep the platforms locked at the top, it would be hard work to get them out."

"Until the cold kills them," Sinja said. "There's not enough coal in the ground to keep those towers warm enough to live in."

"They can survive a few days," Otah said. "We'll see to it."

"We can also block off the entrances to the tunnels," Liat said. "Hide the ventilation shafts and fill as many of the minor ways down as we can find with stones. It would be easier, wouldn't it, if there were only one or two places that we needed to defend?"

"There's another option," Sinja said. "I don't like to mention it, but… If you surrender, Balasar-cha will kill Otah and Eiah and Danat. Cehmai and Maati. The Khai Cetani and his family too, if they're here. He'll burn the hooks. But he'd accept surrender from the utkhaiem after that. It's a dozen or so people. There's no way to do this that kills fewer."

Otah felt himself rock hack. A terrible weight seemed to fall on his shoulders. He wouldn't. Of course he would not. He would let every man and woman in the city die before he offered up his children to be slaughtered, but it meant that every one that died in the next few days would be doubly upon his conscience. Every life that ended here, ended because he had refused to he a sacrifice. He swallowed to loosen the knot in his throat and took a pose that dismissed the subject.

"I had to say it," Sinja said, apologizing with his tone.

"You didn't say my name," Kiyan said. Her eyes turned to Sinja's. "Why didn't you say my name?"

"Well, assuming that you don't all opt for slaughter, there is one other thing we have in our favor," Sinja said. "They sent me here to betray you. Kiyan's safety was my asking price. They expect a report from me when they arrive. If I give them had information, we may he able to trap some of them. Thin their forces. It won't win the battle, but it could help."

Otah raised his hand, and the mercenary stopped. Kiyan was the one who took a querying pose, and it was to Kiyan that he answered.

"The general. Balasar-cha. He doesn't want a bloody battle. He wants it over quickly, with as few of his men lost as he can manage. I agreed to come here and discover your defenses if he spared you. Gave you to me when it was all over with. Prize of war. It's not all that uncommon.

Kiyan rose, her small foxlike face turned feral. Her fingers were splayed in claws, and her chest pressed forward like a bantam ready for the fighting pit. Otah's heart warmed with something like pride. ,, If you let them touch l iah and Danat, I would kill you in your sleep," she said.

"But Balasar-cha doesn't know that," Sinja said, shrugging and looking into the fire. He couldn't meet her eyes. "He expects a report from me, and I'll give him one. I'll give him whatever report you'd like."

"Gods," Kiyan said, her eyes still ablaze. "Is there anyone you haven't betrayed?"

Sinja smiled, but Otah thought there was sorrow in his dark eyes.

"Yes, there is. But she was in love with someone else."

Cchmai coughed, embarrassed. Otah raised his hands.

"Enough," he said. "We haven't got time for this. We may have a little as a day to get ready. Maati, you prepare your binding. Cehmai will help you. Kiyan. Liat. You've arranged food and quarters for two cities. Do what you can to arm them and keep people from panicking. Sinja and I will work out a plan to defend the city and a report to deliver to the Galts."