Daniel Abraham - An Autumn War

uncompromising.

When he became a man of arms in the service of Galt, he had been the

smallest in his cohort. And in time, they had named him general. If the

High Council needed to be convinced, then he would by God convince them.

A polite cough came from the archways behind them, and Balasar turned. A

secretary of the Council stood in the shade of the wide colonnade. As

Balasar and Eustin rose, he bowed slightly at the waist.

"General Gice," the secretary said. "The Lord Convocate requests your

presence.

"Good," Balasar said, then turned to Eustin and spoke quickly and low.

"Stay here and keep an eye on our friend. If this goes poorly, we may

need to make good time out of Acton."

Eustin nodded, his face as calm and impassive as if Balasar asked him to

turn against the High Council half the days of any week. Balasar tugged

his vest and sleeves into place, nodded to the secretary, and allowed

himself to be led into the shadows of government.

The path beneath the colonnade led into a maze of hallways as old as

Galt itself. The air seemed ancient, thick and dusty and close with the

breath of men generations dead. The secretary led Balasar up a stone

stairway worn treacherously smooth by a river of footsteps to a wide

door of dark and carved wood. Balasar scratched on it, and a booming

voice called him in.

The meeting room was wide and long, with a glassed-in terrace that

looked out over the city and shelves lining the walls with books and

rolled maps. Low leather couches squatted by an iron fireplace, a low

rosewood table between them with dried fruits and glass flutes ready for

wine. And standing at the terrace's center looking out over the city,

the Lord Convocate, a great gray bear of a man.

Balasar closed the door behind him and walked over to the man's side.

Acton spilled out before them-smoke and grime, broad avenues where steam

wagons chuffed their slow way through the city taking on passengers for

a half-copper a ride laced with lanes so narrow a man's shoulders could

touch the walls on either side. For a moment, Balasar recalled the ruins

in the desert, placing the memory over the view hefore him. Reminding

himself again of the stakes he played for.

"I've been riding herd on the Council since you gave your report. They

aren't happy," the Lord Convocatc said. "The High Council doesn't look

favorably on men of ... what should I call it? Profound initiative? None

of them had any idea you'd gone so far. Not even your father. It was

impolitic."

"I'm not a man of politics."

The Lord Convocate laughed.

"You've led an army on campaign," he said. "If you didn't understand

something of how to manage men, you'd be feeding some Westland tree by now."

Balasar shrugged. It wasn't what he'd meant to do; it was the mo- nment

to come across as controlled, loyal, reliable as stone, and here he was

shrugging like a petulant schoolboy. He forced himself to smile.

"I suppose you're right," he said.

"But you know they would have refused you."

"Know is a strong word. Suspected."

"Feared?"

"perhaps."

"Fourteen cities in a single season. It can't be done, Balasar. Uther

Redcape couldn't have done it."

"tither was fighting in Eddensea," Balasar said. "They have walls around

cities in Eddensea. They have armies. The Khaiem haven't got anything

but the andat."

""I'he andat suffice."

"Only if they have them."

"Ah. Yes. That's the center of the question, isn't it? Your grand plan

to do away with all the andat at a single blow. I have to confess, I

don't think I quite follow how you expect this to work. You have one of

these poets here, ready to work with us. Wouldn't it be better to

capture one of these andat for ourselves?"

"We will be. Freedom-From-Bondage should be one of the simplest andat to

capture. It's never been done, so there's no worry about coming too near

what's been tried before. The binding has been discussed literally for

centuries. I've found books of commentary and analysis dating back to

the First Empire ..."

"All of it exploring exactly why it can't be done, yes?" The Lord

Convocate's voice had gone as gentle and sympathetic as that of a medic

trying to lead a man to realize his own dementia. It was a ploy. The old

man wanted to see whether Balasar would lose his temper, so instead he

smiled.

""That depends on what you mean by impossible."

The Lord Convocate nodded and stepped to the windows, his hands clasped

behind his hack. Balasar waited for three breaths, four. The impulse to

shake the old man, to shout that every day was precious and the price of

failure horrible beyond contemplation, rose in him and fell. This was

the battle now, and as important as any of those to come.

"So," the Lord Convocate said, turning. "Explain to me how 'annot means

can.

Balasar gestured toward the couches. They sat, leather creaking beneath

them.

""I'he andat are ideas translated into forms that include volition,"

Balasar said. "A poet who's bound something like, for example,

WoodUpon-Water gains control over the expression of that thought in the

world. He could raise a sunken vessel up or sink all the ships on the

sea with a thought, if he wished it. The time required to create the

binding is measured in years. If it succeeds, the poet's life work is to

hold the thing here in the world and train someone to take it from him

when he grows old or infirm."

"You're telling me what I know," the old man said, but Balasar raised a

hand, stopping him.

"I'm telling you what they mean when they say impossible. They mean that

Freedom-From-Bondage can't be held. "There is no way to control

something that is the essential nature and definition of the

uncontrolled. But they make no distinction between being invoked and

being maintained."

The Lord Convocate frowned and rubbed his fingertips together.

"We can bind it, sir. Riaan isn't the talent of the ages, but

FreedomFrom-Bondage should be easy compared with the normal run. The

whole binding's nearly done already-only a little tailoring to make it

fit our man's mind in particular."

"That comes back to the issue," the Lord Convocate said. "What happens

when this impossible binding works?"

"As soon as it is bound it is freed." Balasar clapped his palms

together. "That fast."

"And the advantage of that?" the Lord Convocate said, though Balasar

could see the old man had already traced out the implications.

"Done well, with the right grammar, the right nuances, it will unbind

every andat there is when it goes. All of this was in my report to the

High Council."

The Lord Convocate nodded as he plucked a circle of dried apple from the

howl between them. When he spoke again, however, it was as if Balasar's

objection had never occurred.

"Assuming it works, that you can take the andat from the field of play,

what's to stop the Khaiem from having their poets make another andat and

loose it on Galt?"

"Swords," Balasar said. "As you said, fourteen cities in a single

season. None of them will have enough time. I have men in every city of

the Khaiem, ready to meet us with knowledge of the defenses and

strengths we face. 'T'here are agreements with mercenary companies to

support our men. Four well-equipped, well-supported forces, each taking

unfortified, poorly armed cities. But we have to start moving men now.

This is going to take time, and I don't want to he caught in the North