Daniel Abraham - THE

should, I will die first. This one, I can love and never mourn for. That

was all he wanted to leave for Danat and Eiah. The chance of knowing a

love that they would never be called to bury. It was the world as it was

intended to be.

He didn't notice Idaan riding close to him until she spoke. Her voice

was gruff, but he imagined he could hear some offer of comfort in it.

"It's past time to shift. Crawl up on that cart and rest awhile. You've

been riding that thing for five hands together."

"Have I?" Otah said. "I didn't notice."

"I know. It's why I came," she said. After a moment's pause, she added,

"Danat told us what happened."

Otah took a pose that acknowledged having heard her, but nothing more

than that. There wasn't anything more that could be meaningfully said.

Idaan respected it and let him turn his horse aside and shift to the

steamcart where Ana Dasin and Ashti Beg sat, their sightless eyes fixed

on nothing. Otah sat on the wide boards not far from them, but not so

near that their conversation would include him. Ana laughed at something

Ashti Beg had said. The older woman looked vaguely pleased. Otah lay

back, his closed eyes flooded with the red of sun and blood. He willed

himself to sleep, certain that it would elude him.

He woke when the cart jerked to a halt. He sat up, half-thoughts of

snapped axles and broken wheels forming and falling apart like mist in a

high wind. When he was awake enough to make sense of the world, he saw

that the sun had sunk almost to the treetops, and the cart was sitting

in the yard of a wayhouse. The memory of the morning's foul message

flooded back into him, but not so deeply as before. It would rise and

fall, he knew. He would be jarred by the loss of his friend again and

again and again, but less and less and less. It said something he didn't

want to know that mourning had become so familiar. He plucked his

traveling robes into their proper drape and lowered himself to the ground.

The one thing he truly didn't regret about the journey was that his

servants were all in Utani or Saraykeht. Walking into the low, warm main

room of the wayhouse without being surrounded by men and women wanting

to change his robes or powder his feet was a small pleasure. He tried to

savor it.

"Half a day east of here," a young man in a leather apron was saying,

but he was pointing north. "Must have been five or six days ago. Raised

ten kinds of trouble, then left in the middle of the night. So far as I

can see, no one's talked about anything else since."

"Did you see them?" Danat asked. His voice had an edge, but Otah

couldn't see his face to know if it was excitement or anger.

"Not myself, no," the young man said. "But it's the ones you asked

after. An old man with a physician, and nothing but women traveling with

him. There was even some talk he was trying to start a comfort house or

something of that kind, but that was before the baby."

"Baby?" The voice was Ana's.

"Yes. Little one, not more than eight months old from the size. So I'm

told. I didn't see him either, but they all saw him over at Chayiit's

place. Walked right out in the middle of the main room."

Otah slipped down at a bench by the fire grate. The fire was small but

warm. He hadn't realized how cold he'd gotten.

"Those are the people," Danat said.

"Five, six days then," the young man said with a pleased nod. He glanced

over at Otah, their eyes meeting briefly. The other man paled as Otah

took a pose of casual greeting and then turned his attention back to the

flames. The conversation behind him grew softer and ended. Danat came to

sit at his side. Through the open door, the yard fell into evening as

the armsmen finished unloading and leading away their horses.

"We've gotten closer," Danat said. "If they keep traveling as slowly as

they have up to now, we'll overtake them well before Utani."

Otah grunted. There was a deep thump from overhead and voices lifted in

annoyance. Danat's fingers laced his knee.

"I told Balasar that I would beg," Otah said. "I told him that I would

bend myself before this new poet and beg if it meant restoring him and

Galt."

"And now?"

"I don't believe I can. And more than that, having heard Ashti Beg talk

about this Vanjit, it's hard work thinking it would help."

"Maati, perhaps. He holds some sway with her."

"But what can I say that would move him?" Otah asked, his voice thick.

"We were friends once, and then enemies, and friends again, but I'm not

sure we know each other now. The more I look at it, the more I'm tempted

to set some sort of trap, capture the new poet, and give her over to

blind torturers until she makes the world what it should be."

"And what about Eiah?" Danat asked. "If she manages her bind„ ing-

"What if she does?" Otah said. "She's been against me from the start.

She's gone with Maati, and between them they've sunk the fleet, burned

Chaburi-Tan, blinded Galt, and killed Sinja. What would you have me say

to her?"

"You'll have to say something," Danat said, his voice harder than Otah

had expected. "And we'll be upon them soon enough. It's a thing you

should consider."

Otah looked over. Danat's head was bowed, his mouth tight.

"You'd like to suggest something?" Otah asked, his voice low and

careful. The anger in his breast shifted like a dog in sleep. Danat

either didn't hear the warning or chose to ignore it.

"We're trading revenge," Danat said. "The Galts came from anger at our

arrogance and fear of the andat. Maati and Vanjit have struck back now

for the deaths during their invasion. This can't go on."

"It isn't in my power to stop it," Otah said.

"It isn't in your power to stop them," Danat said, taking a pose of

correction. "Only promise me this. If you have the chance, you'll

forgive them."

"Forgive them?" Otah said, rising to his feet. "You want them forgiven

for this? You think it can all be put aside? It can't. If you ask

Anacha, I will wager anything you like that she can't look on the deaths

in Galt with calm in her heart. Would you have me forgive them for what

they've done to her as well? Gods, Danat. If what they've done isn't

going too far, nothing is!"

"He isn't worried for them," Idaan said from the shadows. Otah turned.

She was sitting alone at the back of the room, a lit pipe in her hand

and pale smoke rising from her lips as she spoke. "He's saying there are

crimes that can't be made right. Trying to make justice out of this will

only make it last longer."

"So we should let it go?" Otah demanded. "We should meekly accept what

they've done?"

"It was what you told Eiah to do," Danat said. "She wanted to find a way

to heal the damage from Sterile; you told her to let it go and accept

what had happened. Didn't you?"

Otah's clenched fists loosened. His mind clouded with rage and chagrin.

Idaan's low chuckle filled the room like a growl.

"Which of us is innocent now, eh?" she said, waving her pipe. "It's easy

to counsel forgiveness when you aren't the one swallowing poison. It's

harder to forgive them for having won."

"What would you have me do, then?" Otah snapped.

"In your place, I'd kill them all before they could do more damage,"

Idaan said. "Maati, Vanjit, Eiah. All of them. Even Ashti Beg."

"That isn't an option," Otah said. "I won't kill Eiah."

"So you won't end them and you won't forgive them," Idaan said. "You