of welcome and obeisance as servants and slaves fanned them. A hidden choir burst into song somewhere to his left, the voices in complex harmony. The litter stopped before the grand palace, the first palace, the Emperor's palace. Otah stepped out, sweeping his gaze over the ordered rows of servants and high officials until he saw the one man he'd longed for.
Danat was in his twentieth summer, his face a mixture of Otah's long, northern features and Kiyan's, thin and foxlike. The planes of his cheeks had sharpened since Otah had gone. He looked older, more handsome. He wore a robe of deep gray set off with a rich, red sash that suited him. And still, Otah could see all the boys that had made this man: the babe, the bumbling child new to his own feet, the long-ill boy kept in his bed, the awkward and sorrowful youth, and the young heir to the Empire. All of them stood before him, hands in a pose of formal welcome, a smile glittering in his eyes. Otah broke protocol, embracing his son. The boy's arms were strong.
"You've done well," Otah murmured.
"None of the cities actually burned down while you were gone," Danat replied softly. There was pride in his voice, pleasure at the compliment.
"But you sound too much like Sinja."
"You knew that was a risk."
Otah laughed and let the swarm of servants precede him to his chambers. There would be no end of ceremonies later. Welcomes would drag on for weeks, audiences, special pleadings, feasts, dances, negotiations, councils. It all lay before him like a life's work started late. But now, sitting in the cool breeze of his private apartments with Sinja across from him and Danat pouring chilled water into stone bowls, the world was perfect.
Except, of course, that it wasn't.
"Perhaps we can mend both breaks with the same nail," Sinja said. "A strong showing against the pirates protects ChaburiTan and warns Obar State to keep to its own house."
"And a weak showing against them?" Otah asked.
"Shows we're weak, after which things go poorly," Sinja said. "But if we're going to assume failure from the start, there's not going to be anything of use that I can offer."
Otah propped up his feet. The palaces still felt as if they were swaying: the ghost motion of weeks aboard ship. The feeling was oddly pleasant.
"On the other hand," he said, "if we plan to decimate the enemy with a flower and a pillow, it's not going to help us. How strong is our fleet? Do we have enough men to take the pirates in a fair fight?"
"If we don't have them now, we certainly won't next year when all the sailors are a year older," Sinja said. "Even if you magically transport every fertile girl in Galt straight to some poor bastard's bed, it will be ten years before they can deliver us anyone strong enough to coil rope, much less fight. If we're going to do anything, it has to be now. We're going to grow weaker before we're strong."
"If we manage to get strong," Otah said. "And I don't know that we can spare the ships. We have eleven cities and the gods alone know how many low towns. We're talking about moving half a million of our men to Galt and bringing back as many of their women."
"Well, yes, shipping out anyone we have of fighting age now won't help the matter," Sinja said.
"Galt could do it," Danat said. "They have experience with sea wars. They have fighting ships and the veterans."
Otah saw the considering expression on Sinja's face. He let the silence stretch.
"I don't like it," Sinja said at last. "I don't know why I don't like it, but I don't."
"We're still thinking of our problems as our own," Danat said. "Asking Galt to fight our battles might seem odd, but they'd be protecting their own land too. In a generation, ChaburiTan is going to be as much their city as ours."
Otah felt an odd pressure in his chest. It was true, of course. It was what he had spent years working to accomplish. And still, when Danat put it in bare terms like that, it was hard for him to hear it.
"It's more than that,"
Danat was in his twentieth summer, his face a mixture of Otah's long, northern features and Kiyan's, thin and foxlike. The planes of his cheeks had sharpened since Otah had gone. He looked older, more handsome. He wore a robe of deep gray set off with a rich, red sash that suited him. And still, Otah could see all the boys that had made this man: the babe, the bumbling child new to his own feet, the long-ill boy kept in his bed, the awkward and sorrowful youth, and the young heir to the Empire. All of them stood before him, hands in a pose of formal welcome, a smile glittering in his eyes. Otah broke protocol, embracing his son. The boy's arms were strong.
"You've done well," Otah murmured.
"None of the cities actually burned down while you were gone," Danat replied softly. There was pride in his voice, pleasure at the compliment.
"But you sound too much like Sinja."
"You knew that was a risk."
Otah laughed and let the swarm of servants precede him to his chambers. There would be no end of ceremonies later. Welcomes would drag on for weeks, audiences, special pleadings, feasts, dances, negotiations, councils. It all lay before him like a life's work started late. But now, sitting in the cool breeze of his private apartments with Sinja across from him and Danat pouring chilled water into stone bowls, the world was perfect.
Except, of course, that it wasn't.
"Perhaps we can mend both breaks with the same nail," Sinja said. "A strong showing against the pirates protects ChaburiTan and warns Obar State to keep to its own house."
"And a weak showing against them?" Otah asked.
"Shows we're weak, after which things go poorly," Sinja said. "But if we're going to assume failure from the start, there's not going to be anything of use that I can offer."
Otah propped up his feet. The palaces still felt as if they were swaying: the ghost motion of weeks aboard ship. The feeling was oddly pleasant.
"On the other hand," he said, "if we plan to decimate the enemy with a flower and a pillow, it's not going to help us. How strong is our fleet? Do we have enough men to take the pirates in a fair fight?"
"If we don't have them now, we certainly won't next year when all the sailors are a year older," Sinja said. "Even if you magically transport every fertile girl in Galt straight to some poor bastard's bed, it will be ten years before they can deliver us anyone strong enough to coil rope, much less fight. If we're going to do anything, it has to be now. We're going to grow weaker before we're strong."
"If we manage to get strong," Otah said. "And I don't know that we can spare the ships. We have eleven cities and the gods alone know how many low towns. We're talking about moving half a million of our men to Galt and bringing back as many of their women."
"Well, yes, shipping out anyone we have of fighting age now won't help the matter," Sinja said.
"Galt could do it," Danat said. "They have experience with sea wars. They have fighting ships and the veterans."
Otah saw the considering expression on Sinja's face. He let the silence stretch.
"I don't like it," Sinja said at last. "I don't know why I don't like it, but I don't."
"We're still thinking of our problems as our own," Danat said. "Asking Galt to fight our battles might seem odd, but they'd be protecting their own land too. In a generation, ChaburiTan is going to be as much their city as ours."
Otah felt an odd pressure in his chest. It was true, of course. It was what he had spent years working to accomplish. And still, when Danat put it in bare terms like that, it was hard for him to hear it.
"It's more than that,"
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