Rulers of the Darkness d-4

by Harry Turtledove

  "And what matters are those?" Sure enough, Lurcanio had a purr in his voice, almost as if he were talking to Krasta after bedding her.

  "They think I am playing some sort of stupid- some sort of idiotic- double game, looking to tear down everything Algarve's done," Valnu answered. "It's a lie! By the powers above, a lie!" He did not draw attention to the kilt he was wearing. At first, Krasta thought that might be a mistake. Then she decided Valnu was making Lurcanio notice it for himself- not a bad ploy.

  She saw the Algarvian eyeing Valnu's bare, knobby knees. But her lover was first and foremost an officer of his kingdom. "You've called on the powers above twice now, Viscount," he said. "By the powers above, sir, why should I believe you and not my kingdom's hounds? Their task, after all, is to sniff out treason and rebellion wherever they find them. If they turn their noses your way…"

  "If they turn them my way, they turn them in the wrong direction," Valnu insisted. "Ask your lady, if you doubt me."

  That made Colonel Lurcanio laugh out loud. "Considering the embrace the two of you were enjoying when I was so inconsiderate as to interrupt you, I might be inclined to doubt her objectivity." But his eyes swung toward Krasta nonetheless. "Well, milady? What say you?"

  Krasta could have said a good deal. Valnu must have known she could have said a good deal. He was betting his life that she didn't want him dead, no matter how much he'd irked her in days gone by- and he'd irked her a great deal indeed.

  If she spoke against him, he was dead. If she spoke for him too fulsomely, Lurcanio wouldn't believe her. What she did say was, "Whatever his problem may be, I wish he wouldn't bring it here at this ridiculous hour of the morning. And that, Colonel, is nothing but the truth."

  "I wish the same thing." Lurcanio fixed Valnu with a hard stare. "To a certain degree, I admire your nerve- but only to a certain degree. Go back to your home. If the hounds come for you, then they come- but I will have them explain themselves to me before they do anything too drastic. That is the most I intend to give you."

  Valnu bowed low again. "I thank you, your Excellency. It is more than I deserve."

  "I am afraid you may be right," Lurcanio answered. "Now get out."

  "Aye, get out," Krasta said. "Let decent people sleep, if you'd be so kind." For reasons she absolutely could not fathom, both Valnu and Lurcanio started laughing at her.

  ***

  Pekka wished things were as they had been before the Algarvians struck at her comrades and her. Without Siuntio, though, they would never be the same. First and foremost, she missed the master mage more with every passing day. She hadn't realized how much she'd relied on his good sense, his resolute optimism, and his capacity for moral outrage till they were gone.

  Second, and as important in a less personal, less intimate way, Siuntio had been the one mage who could keep Ilmarinen under something vaguely resembling control. Ilmarinen was wild for revenge against Algarve, aye, but he was also wild for experimenting with the nature of time and wild for one of the serving women at the hostel (a passion apparently not returned, which somehow didn't seem to bother him in the least) and wild for the birds flocking into the area with the return of spring and wild for…

  "Anything! Everything!" Pekka complained to Fernao in the dining room one morning. "He is supposed to be in charge. He is supposed to be leading us in our work against Mezentio's men. And what is he doing? Running around in all directions at once, like a puppy in a park full of interesting smells."

  The Lagoan mage quirked up a gingery eyebrow. "If you can make similes like that in classical Kaunian, maybe you ought to try writing along with magecraft."

  "I do not want to try writing," Pekka said. "I want to get on with the work we are supposed to be doing. Have we done that under Ilmarinen? He is not the leader I hoped he would be. I hate to say that, but it is the truth."

  "Some people are not made to be either leaders or followers," Fernao observed. "Some people listen only to themselves."

  "That may be so," Pekka replied, reflecting that with Ilmarinen it certainly seemed so. "But leading is the job he has been given."

  Fernao sipped from his mug of tea and looked at her over the top of it with his disconcertingly Kuusaman eyes. "If he is not doing it, maybe you should have it instead."

  "Me?" Pekka's voice rose to a startled squeak, one that made Raahe and Alkio, sitting a couple of tables away, turn and stare at her. She fought for quiet, fought and won it. "How could I take it? By what right? Without Siuntio and Ilmarinen, this project would not exist. The Seven Princes would not have supported it."

  "As may be." Fernao shrugged. "But now that they are supporting it, do you not think they expect success to follow from that support?"

  "I couldn't," Pekka muttered in Kuusaman, more to herself than to him. "It would be like throwing my father out onto the street."

  But the Lagoan mage's grasp of her language got better day by day. "Not to do with family," he said in Kuusaman, and then returned to classical Kaunian: "This is not even the business of the kingdom. This is the business of the world."

  "I couldn't," Pekka repeated.

  Now Fernao eyed her with the first open disapproval she'd seen from him. "Why not?" he asked pointedly. "If not you, who? I am an ignorant foreigner. The newcomers?" He lowered his voice a little further. "They are all a step below you and two steps behind you. If it is not to be Ilmarinen…"

  He had confidence in her where she had none in herself. Pekka had never known that from anyone but her husband before. She wished Leino were here now. He would know how to gauge things. In the aftermath of the Algarvians' sorcerous assault, she'd lost her feel.

  And then, when she was hoping Fernao would leave her alone, he found one more question: "How long do you suppose it will be before Mezentio's mages strike us again? If they do, can we withstand them?"

  "Why should they strike us again?" Pekka asked. "Since they hit us the last time, what have we done that would draw their notice?" She rose from the table and left in a hurry. If she hadn't just made Fernao's point for him, what had she done? He called after her, but she kept walking.

  Going up to her room didn't help. She looked out and saw mud and rock where snow had lain, mud and rock with grass and bushes growing furiously. Here, almost as in the land of the Ice People, everything had to grow furiously, for winter came early and left late, giving life little time to burgeon.

  Buntings and pipits chirped. Insects buzzed. Before long, Pekka knew, there was liable to be a plague of gnats and mosquitoes, again as happened on the austral continent. The bog the countryside became after the snow melted made a perfect breeding ground for all sorts of bugs.

  But the signs of spring did nothing to cheer Pekka. Instead, they reminded her how time was running out, slipping away through her fingers. Experiments should have resumed. They should have been strengthened. They hadn't. The landscape by the blockhouse should have had new craters. It didn't.

  "Curse me if Fernao isn't right," Pekka exclaimed, though no one was there to hear her. "If I don't do something, who will?"

  She left her room and walked down the hall to Ilmarinen's. Her knock was sharp and peremptory. Ilmarinen opened the door. When he saw her, he smiled in something that looked like relief and said, "Oh, good. I thought you were Linna." That was the serving woman with whom he was infatuated. "If she knocked like that, she'd want to knock my block off next thing."

  "I want to knock your block off," Pekka said. "Why aren't we working more? When Mezentio's mages attacked us, you promised vengeance for Siuntio. Where is it? How far away is it? How long does his shade have to wait?"

  "Well, well," Ilmarinen said, and then again: "Well, well. Who's been feeding you raw meat, my dear?"

  "I am not your dear," Pekka snapped, "not when you sit there and twiddle your thumbs instead of doing what needs doing. If you don't move this project forward, Master Ilmarinen, who will?"

  "I am moving it forward," Ilmarinen answered, a little uneasily, "and we will get b
ack in the field very soon."

  "When is soon?" Pekka asked. "We should have been back weeks ago, and you know it as well as I do. What are the Algarvians doing while we do nothing? How are we remembering Master Siuntio?"

  Ilmarinen fell back a step in the face of that barrage of questions. Uneasiness gave way to anger on his face. "If you think going forward is so very easy, Mistress, if you think it can be done just like that" -he snapped his fingers- "maybe you ought to try running this mess yourself."

  Fernao had told Pekka that. She'd told herself that. Now Ilmarinen was telling her that, too? With a crisp nod, she said, "Aye, I think you're right. I ought to. Let's go to the crystallomancer so we can let Prince Juhainen know we're making the change. Come on."

  "You're serious." Ilmarinen spoke in tones of wonder.

  "By the powers above, I am," Pekka said. "We've been frozen while the ground was melting. Time to let Juhainen know we're going to thaw out." She sighed. Juhainen wasn't quite so solidly behind the research project as his predecessor and uncle, Prince Joroinen, had been. But Joroinen was dead, buried in the rubble of the princely palace when Algarvian magic smote Yliharma. Still, since Juhainen's princely domain included her home town of Kajaani, she expected he would take her more seriously than any of the other Seven.

  Ilmarinen followed her down the hall. "If you're trying to cast me out like an Algarvian bandit overthrowing his chieftain, why do you suppose I'd want to work with you- work under you- afterwards?"

  "Why?" Pekka spun on her heel and glared at the older mage. "I'll tell you why, Master Ilmarinen: because I will break you in half with my own hands if you try to leave. Now, have you got that? At the moment, it would be a pleasure."

  Pekka waited. If Ilmarinen's temper, always uncertain, did burst like an egg, what could she do about it? Nothing that she could see. And if the senior theoretical sorcerer did decide to abandon the project, could she really stop him? She feared she couldn't.

  Sometimes, though, just showing you were ready to face a question meant you didn't have to. As her son Uto usually did when she took a firm stand, Ilmarinen yielded. "Take it, then, and welcome," he growled. "May you have more joy of it than I did when it landed in my lap."

  "Joy?" Pekka shook her head. "Not likely. But, by the powers above, I am going to have my revenge if it's there to have. Now let's get along to the crystallomancer and let Prince Juhainen know." She didn't intend to give Ilmarinen any chance to change his mind once the shock of being confronted wore off.

  And he not only came with her, he spoke in favor of the change when Juhainen's image appeared in the crystal. "For some reason or other- probably doing as I please all these years- I appear to make a better sorcerer than administrator," he told the prince. "Putting Mistress Pekka in charge of things here will move us ahead faster than we could go if I tried to steer us down the ley line."

  Juhainen said, "If you both think this is for the best, I will not quarrel with it. Moving down the ley line is what matters. I don't care how you do it, and I don't think any of my colleagues will, either."

  "Thank you, your Highness," Pekka said with considerable relief. Juhainen was a young man, hardly more than a youth, but he looked to be showing the common sense that had marked his uncle, Prince Joroinen.

  His answer displayed more of that common sense: "I don't know why you are thanking me. You've just had a lot more hard work land on your head."

  "It needs doing," Pekka said. "With the help of everyone here" -she let her eyes flick toward Ilmarinen- "I think I can get it done."

  "Let it be so, then," Prince Juhainen said, and turned back to whatever he'd been doing when the call came in. The crystal into which Pekka had been speaking flared briefly before returning to quiescence.

  Ilmarinen gave Pekka a bow half mocking, half respectful. "Let it be so, then," he echoed. "But you can't just let it be so, you know. You have to make it be so. Lucky you."

  "For now, what I have to do is let the others know it is so," Pekka said. "Will you come down with me, or would you rather I did that myself?"

  "Oh, I'll come," Ilmarinen said. "Some of them may care to see that you haven't murdered me. Of course, some of them may not, too."

  When Pekka got down to the dining hall, she was surprised to find Fernao and Raahe and Alkio still there. Piilis had come down to eat, too. Her rebellion- my successful rebellion, she thought dizzily- hadn't taken long. Fernao's eyes widened when he saw Ilmarinen behind her. Pekka said, "Ah, good. Now I can tell everyone at once. With the agreement of Prince Juhainen, I am now responsible for taking our work forward. If the weather lets us do it, I want us experimenting again within three days."

  She'd spoken Kuusaman. She started to turn her words into classical Kaunian for Fernao, but the Lagoan mage waved to show her she needn't bother. Her eyes darted to the other theoretical sorcerers. No one burst into applause- that would have been cruel to Ilmarinen- but everyone looked pleased. It's mine now, Pekka thought, and responsibility, heavy as the weight of the world, came pressing down on her shoulders.

  ***

  Qutuz came into Hajjaj's office. "Your Excellency, the Marquis Balastro is here to see you," the Zuwayzi foreign minister's secretary said.

  "I thank you," Hajjaj answered. "Show him in- as you see, I am ready to receive him." He wore an Algarvian-style tunic and pleated kilt. With every day that spring advanced, clothes grew less comfortable for him, but discomfort was part of the price he paid for diplomacy.

  Qutuz, being a mere secretary, did not have to drape himself in cloth that clung and held the heat. After bowing to Hajjaj, he went out to the antechamber and returned with Algarve's minister to Zuwayza. Balastro wore tunic and kilt, too, and was sweating in them even more than Hajjaj.

  The Algarvian minister offered his hand. Hajjaj clasped it. Balastro said, "You look very well, your Excellency. And you are the picture of sartorial splendor- for the year after the end of the Six Years' War."

  Hajjaj laughed. "What I usually wear never goes out of style- another advantage to skin, if you care what I think."

  "As much as I ever do." Balastro's grin showed teeth white but slightly crooked. He was a bluff, blocky, middle-aged man with sandy-red hair streaked with gray. He wasn't subtle, but he wasn't stupid, either. On the whole, Hajjaj liked him- not that he let that get in the way of doing what he needed to do for his kingdom.

  "And how can I help you today, your Excellency?" Hajjaj inquired. "Besides amusing you with my wardrobe, I mean. Would you care for some refreshments?"

  Before answering, Balastro lowered himself to the carpeted floor and piled up cushions till he'd made a comfortable nest. More than most foreign envoys who came to Zuwayza, he imitated local customs. Once he was reclining, he grinned at Hajjaj and shook his head. "Since you give me the choice, I'll decline. How many hours over the years have you kept me simmering while we sip and nibble?"

  "As many as I thought were needed," Hajjaj answered imperturbably, which made Balastro laugh out loud. Hajjaj piled up pillows, too, by his low desk. "If, today, I claim I am simply aiming to get out of these unpleasantly warm garments before too long, I doubt you will be able to contradict me."

  "If you like, I'll take off my clothes so you can shed yours," Balastro said. He'd done that a few times, which made him unique in the annals of diplomacy in Zuwayza. With his pale body and his circumcision, though, he did not make an inconspicuous nude in this kingdom- on the contrary.

  And so Hajjaj said, "Never mind. By all means do say on, though. I listen with great attention." He had to listen with great attention, Algarve being Zuwayza's cobelligerent against King Swemmel of Unkerlant and much the bigger power of the two.

  "Things are looking up," Balastro said. "It's been a hard winter, aye, but things are looking up. I can, I think, say that truthfully now, looking at the way things down in the south have gone."

  "Considering how things were there a few weeks ago, Algarve does seem to have managed a revival," Hajjaj agreed. "After Sulingen
fell, there was some small concern lest your entire position in the south unravel." A lifetime of diplomacy had taught him to minimize things. Zuwayza and Yanina and even neutral, landlocked Ortah had all been terrified of the prospect of swarms of Unkerlanters rolling down on their kingdoms without any Algarvian armies left to throw them back.

  "Well, it didn't. It didn't, and it won't." Balastro always spoke confidently. Here, his confidence seemed justified. He went on, "We've stabilized the battle line, and we're deeper into Algarve than we were a year ago." That was all true, even if mildly obscene. Of course, it said nothing of the debacle at Sulingen. But then, Balastro did not pretend to be objective.

  "I am pleased to hear it," Hajjaj said. "General Ikhshid has been full of admiration for the way you let the Unkerlanters overextended themselves and then struck them in the flanks and rear."

  "For which I think him," Balastro, as if the generalship were his. He continued, "Pity we couldn't drive them out of Durrwangen again, too, but the mud got too thick too fast. When it dries out again, we'll deal with them there."

  "May it be so," Hajjaj said, on the whole sincerely. He knew of Unkerlanter mud, of course, but it didn't seem quite real to him, any more than the savage summer heat of Bishah would seem real to a man from Durrwangen hearing about it without having experienced it.

  "Oh, it will." Balastro might have been talking about tomorrow's sunrise. "We've pushed well past the place to both east and west, even if we couldn't quite break in. A couple of attacks to pinch off the neck of the salient" -he gestured- "and the head falls into the basket."

  "A vivid image." Deadpan, Hajjaj asked, "Are you sure you will have enough Kaunians to make it real?"

  "You need have no fear on that score," the Algarvian minister replied. He impaled Hajjaj with a cold green stare. "We would have even more if you weren't harboring those cursed refugees."