Jaws of Darkness d-5

by Harry Turtledove

  “Raahe and Alkio and I were talking about that before you got here,” Fernao said.

  He didn’t sound as if he had any second thoughts about bedding her. Why should he? Pekka thought. It’s not as if he betrayed his wife

  … At least, I don’t think it is. She suddenly realized just how much she didn’t know about the Lagoan mage’s past and background. What kind of fool was I, to go to bed with him? One corner of her mouth quirked upward. The answer to that was only too plain: a hot fool, a lickerish fool.

  Again, she made herself think about what she had to do, not about what she’d already done. “What in particular were you talking about?” she asked.

  “Ways to simplify the spell while keeping the energy level high,” Fernao replied. “Raahe has some good ideas, I think.”

  Piilis said, “I’ve been doing some calculations of my own along those lines.” He took folded papers from his belt pouch and spread them out on the table-this just as Linna came out of the kitchen with his breakfast.

  The serving girl gave him a severe look. “If you don’t eat, sorcerous sir, you won’t be strong enough to follow whatever it is you’ve written down there.”

  “Sorry.” Piilis cleared some room in front of him. Linna set down his smoked salmon and eggs and went off. He promptly leaned over the plate of food so he could explain his line of thought. The other theoretical sorcerers leaned forward, too. The only heed Piilis gave the salmon and eggs was to keep from putting his elbow in the plate.

  As Pekka and Fernao leaned toward his papers, their knees and thighs brushed under the table. Pekka was acutely aware of it. If Fernao was, he gave no sign. He didn’t press himself against her to remind her of what they’d done. She nodded to herself. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know.

  “Let me have a look at those,” Raahe said, and turned Piilis’ calculations so that she could read them-which meant they were upside down for Pekka. But when Pekka sighed and started to ease back in her seat, she brushed up against Fernao again. That kept her leaning forward. Then Raahe turned the leaves of paper back around once more, remarking, “That’s not the approach I was taking, but you could be on to the same thing.”

  “No.” Fernao sounded regretful, but very sure. He sounded so sure, in fact, that all four Kuusaman mages around the table bristled at him. But then he reached out and tapped a line about halfway down the second leaf of paper. “This whole expansion sequence is forbidden in this context. MistressRaahe ’s approach will work. This…” He shrugged. “Following it will be like following a will-o’-the-wisp: you will never end up anywhere worth going, but only in the middle of a swamp.”

  Pekka took a longer look at the calculations. “You… may be right,” she said.

  “So you’ll believe Fernao even when he leads you into a swamp, eh?” The voice from behind her made her start and whirl. There stood Ilmarinen, looking down on her with a sardonic grin. He shook his head. “How very strange. You wouldn’t have said that even a little while ago.”

  Before you went to bed with him, was what he meant. Pekka glared. “See for yourself,” she snapped.

  “I was trying to.” Ilmarinen didn’t bother with his spectacles, but read at long range. After perhaps half a minute, he let out a soft grunt. “Sorry, Piilis. I don’t think the Lagoan’s the least bit cute, but he’s right. You can’t expand it that way.”

  For the life of her, Pekka didn’t know whether to thank him or to brain him with a teapot. By the look on Fernao’s face, he was even closer to swinging the teapot than she was.

  “My, my,” Colonel Sabrino murmured as his wing came spiraling down to land at the new dragon farm in southern Unkerlant to which they’d been ordered. “Isn’t that fascinating?” He’d let the wind blow his words away, but now he activated his crystal and repeated himself forCaptainOrosio: “Isn’t that simply fascinating?”

  “That’s one word, Colonel,” the squadron commander answered. “Maybe not the one I would’ve used, but one word. Who would’ve thought we’d end up flying alongside Yaninans again?”

  They’d been together a long time. Sabrino nodded. “We haven’t for a while now,” he said. “Not since we were down in the land of the Ice People.”

  “I almost forgot the Yaninans were still in the war.” Orosio’s lip curled scornfully, as any Algarvian’s might have done while he contemplated his kingdom’s allies. His chuckle held scant mirth. “And don’t you just bet all the cursed Yaninans wish they could forget they were still in the war, too?”

  “Heh,” Sabrino said-one syllable’s worth of bitter laughter. He did his best to look on the bright side of things: “I’ve seen plenty of dragon farms I liked less.”

  Sure enough, this one was bigger than most of those from which his wing had been flying. It looked to have been here a while, too. Heavy sticks ringed it, sticks potent enough to blaze marauding Unkerlanter dragons out of the sky. The Yaninan dragonfliers lived in huts, not tents. The only thing wrong with them is, they’re Yaninans, Sabrino thought. Had their dragons been painted green, red, and white instead of just white and red…

  But Sabrino shook his head. Even that wasn’t fair. Down on the austral continent, ColonelBroumidis ’ dragonfliers had fought just about as well as the men Sabrino himself led. Yaninan footsoldiers.. . Sabrino shook his head again, this time for a different reason. He didn’t want to think about Yaninan footsoldiers. They’d proved less than Algarve would have wished in the land of the Ice People, and they’d proved even less than that here in Unkerlant. If they hadn’t given way at exactly the wrong time, the great disaster at Sulingen might not have happened.

  If there were enough Algarvians to go around, Sulingen wouldn ‘t have happened, Sabrino thought. A lot of other things wouldn’t have happened, either; he was certain of that. He was every bit as certain that there weren’t enough Algarvians to go around, though. Had there been, his wing’s true strength wouldn’t have stood at less than half of the sixty-four dragons it carried on paper-and that after reinforcement.

  His own mount beat it’s great, membranous wings a couple of times and settled to the ground. His teeth clicked together; he’d known gentler landings. But he’d also known worse ones-at least he hadn’t bitten his tongue this time.

  A Yaninan dragon handler, a swarthy little bandy-legged fellow with a big black mustache and bushy side whiskers, came hurrying up to the dragon and chained it to a stake so it couldn’t fly off whenever the notion came into its tiny, savage mind. The Yaninan did the job as well as any Algarvian could have. Sabrino had trouble taking him seriously, even so. His tights and his tunic with big, puffy sleeves were bad enough. The shoes with bobbling pompom ornaments-Sabrino had to look away, lest he burst out laughing and offend the little man.

  As Sabrino descended from the dragon, a Yaninan officer strode up to greet him. The Yaninan had a crown and star on each shoulder strap, which made him a major. He saluted Sabrino and spoke in pretty good Algarvian: “Hello, Colonel. Welcome to Plankenfels.” His wave encompassed the dragon farm. “And I have the honor to beMajorScoufas, at your service.”

  Sabrino returned the bow and gave his own name. “Happy to be able to help my kingdom’s allies,” he said politely.

  Something sparked in Scoufas’ dark, almost fathomless eyes. “You are gracious,” he remarked. “If all Algarvians were like you, we would be happier in our alliance. Believe me, we already know we are your poor relations. Some of you want to remind us of it whenever you find the chance.”

  Sabrino had seen that for himself. He’d also seen that some Algarvians had good reason for treating Yaninans with something less than perfect courtesy and respect. He didn’t say that; Scoufas wouldn’t have appreciated it. What he did say was, “I am sorry about that, Major. Of course, your kingdom’s other choice is Unkerlant. I’m sureKingSwemmel ’s men would prove the picture of politeness.”

  Scoufas winced. “Savages,” he muttered; Yanina feared Unkerlant, but did not love her. The dragonflier pulled himself tog
ether. “Your wing will be of great help in holding the river line there.” He pointed west to show where the front lay.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Sabrino agreed. “And now that we are here, maybe you can give me a little more in the way of a briefing.”

  With a shrug-not an elaborate Algarvian shrug, but one in the Yaninan style, one that said things weren’t all they might be, but nobody could do anything about it-Scoufas replied, “This is where the front was when the thaw pinned things in place. We are trying to keep it here. We have not enough men, not enough behemoths, not enough egg-tossers-but we are trying.”

  “Not enough dragons, either, I suppose.” Sabrino fought to keep irony from his voice. Yaninans weren’t the greatest warriors in Derlavai, but who came close to them when it got down to complaining?

  “No, not enough dragons, either,”MajorScoufas said gravely. He bowed to Sabrino. “Your coming will make a difference there, of course.”

  How big a difference? Sabrino wondered, returning the bow. But thinking about dragons naturally led him to his next question: “How are you fixed for cinnabar?”

  Scoufas shrugged again. “Not very well. Such is life, these days. The Unkerlanters have plenty. Their dragons can flame farther than ours, thanks to all the quicksilver they give them. We fly better than they do, though, which takes away some of their advantage.”

  “All right.” It wasn’t all right-it wasn’t even close to all right-but Sabrino couldn’t do anything about it. “Let’s get my dragons seen to, let’s get my men settled, and then you’ll show me the map.”

  “Everything shall be just as you say, of course,” Scoufas replied with another bow.

  The Yaninan dragon handlers did seem capable enough. They fed the newly come Algarvian dragons chunks of meat rubbed in ground brimstone, and they gave them some meat rubbed in cinnabar-about as much, or rather as little, as their Algarvian opposite numbers would have had available. The Yaninans had huts waiting and ready for Sabrino’s dragonfliers. Sabrino could think of major generals who would be sleeping rougher than he was.

  But when he got a look at the map, he forgot about everything else. “Powers above!” he burst out. “If they push hard-no, when they push hard-how in blazes do you propose to stop them?”

  “I am not a major of footsoldiers,” Scoufas said, which wasn’t an answer. “We shall do everything in our power, I assure you,” he added, which wasn’t an answer, either. Then that rather nasty glint came back to his eyes. “Of course, you Algarvians have had a certain amount of trouble stopping the Unkerlanters, too.”

  Sabrino would have resented that more if it hadn’t been true. From the freezing Narrow Sea in the south to the warm Garelian Ocean in the north, the Algarvians were stretched too thin against their bigger foe. This, though-what passed for the Yaninan line looked like a wool tunic after an army of moths had found it in a closet.

  Scoufas added, “You Algarvians often say Yaninans can’t fight. Then you go to war with your great plenty of all the tools. The Unkerlanters-they too have a great plenty of all the tools. And what have we? Bodies. With bodies, Colonel, we do what we can.”

  Sometimes what those bodies did was run away as fast as they could go, sometimes even throwing away their sticks to flee the faster. Sabrino knew that. Scoufas doubtless knew it, too, even if he didn’t feel like owning up to it. Like a lot of Yaninan officers, he had pride and to spare. And he needed it, for it was about the only thing of which he had plenty.

  “My men and I will do what we can for you, Major,” Sabrino said.

  The Yaninan shrugged another pessimistic shrug. “If your wing were not battered and used up, your superiors would never have sent it here,” he said. “We know we get your leavings.” He waited for Sabrino to argue. Sabrino didn’t. He couldn’t. That was also true. When he didn’t, Scoufas raised an elegantly arched eyebrow and asked, “Tell me, if you would be so kind, what you did to get yourself sent among Yaninans?”

  “Do you want to know the truth?” Sabrino asked, and Scoufas dipped his head. Yaninans often did that instead of nodding; Sabrino had seen as much down in the land of the Ice People. He went on, “I toldKingMezentio he was wrong about something, and I happened to be right.”

  “Ah,” Scoufas said. “If you had done such a thing withKingTsavellas, it might have proved a fatal error.”

  Who says it isn‘t? Sabrino thought. But he would not say that to a Yaninan. Instead, he said, “I’ve been a colonel a long time. I’ll keep right on being a colonel for a long time to come.”Unless I get killed, of course. He shrugged. /have only my wife to provide for these days, now that Fronesia’s squeezing money out of that footsoldier instead.

  “What did you, ah, say to your king to fall from his good graces?” Scoufas asked.

  Sabrino didn’t intend to answer that, but decided it couldn’t make any difference. “I told him sacrificing Kaunians for the sake of strong sorcery would turn out to be a mistake, and it did.”

  “Well.” Whatever Scoufas had expected, that plainly wasn’t it. “You surprise me, Colonel. I thought all Algarvians killed Kaunians with a smile on their faces, I have not seen any who did not, at any rate, not till now.”

  “Life is full of surprises,” Sabrino said, at which Scoufas dipped his head again.

  Two days later, when Sabrino’s wing flew their first mission alongside Scoufas’ Yaninan dragonfliers, he got another surprise. It wasn’t that the Yaninans performed well enough. He’d looked for that, remembering how wellColonelBroumidis ’ men had flown down on the austral continent. What really startled him was how weak the Unkerlanter forces opposite the Yaninans were. His wing came back from smashing up the enemy’s outposts not only without losing a man but also without the feeling of having been in real danger.

  “Maybe I should have said even more rude things to his Majesty,” Sabrino toldCaptainOrosio once they got back to the dragon farm. “This isn’t war-it’s more like the rest cure they give consumptives.”

  “Swemmel’s whoresons sure fight us a lot harder than they go after these buggers,” Orosio agreed. “Till we got here, I didn’t think the Unkerlantershad a second team. We’ve never seen it before, by the powers above.”

  “Of course,” Sabrino said musingly, “itis all they need against the Yaninans.”

  “Oh, aye-no doubt about that.” His squadron commander didn’t bother hiding his scorn. “Powers above, if Swemmel had a third team, he could get away with using that, too. Hit Tsavellas’ odds and sods with a real army and they’d break like a dropped pot.”

  “Aye, they would, wouldn’t they?” Sabrino looked around, more than a little nervously. He wished Orosio hadn’t put it quite that way.

  Seven

  Bembo swaggered through Eoforwic exactly as he’d swaggered through Gromheort farther east. Thanks to Delminio, his new partner, he’d already made the acquaintance of a good many taverns and eateries and bakeries where a hungry man could get what he needed to sustain himself through a long, hard, wearying shift on the beat. He was sustaining himself so much, he was thinking of letting out the belt that held up his kilt another notch.

  He didn’t enjoy going into the Kaunian quarter when his partner and he drew that duty, but he didn’t shrink from it. And it had compensations patrolling the rest of Eoforwic didn’t offer. As Delminio put it, “The blond women throw themselves at our feet or on their knees or however we want them.” By the smug smile on his face, he’d had no trouble getting at least one exactly how he wanted her.

  “Aye, no doubt about it,” Bembo agreed. He’d had good luck with Kaunian women, too. As an Algarvian constable, one could hardly help having good luck with Kaunian women. “Hardly seems sporting, does it? They’ll do anything, or a lot of ‘em will, on account of they think we can keep ‘em alive if we want to.”

  “Sporting?” Delminio shrugged. “Who cares about sporting? What I care about is getting my ashes hauled.”

  “Sounds right,” Bembo said. Delminio didn’t hate Kau
nians the way Oraste, his old partner, had. But Delminio didn’t hesitate in taking advantage of the blonds whenever he saw the chance, either. Since Bembo rarely hesitated himself when he saw that kind of chance, they got along fine.

  After walking on for a few paces, Bembo said, “There are times I wish we hadn’t started sending ‘em west. I don’t know what in blazes it’s got us. The Unkerlanters are doing their own dirty work, and it pretty much cancels ours out.”

  With another shrug, Delminio said, “I don’t worry about stuff like that. If it’s good enough forKingMezentio, I figure it’s good enough for me, too.”

  “You’ve got a sensible way of looking at things,” Bembo said. That was plenty to make Delminio strut and preen as if he’d just been named a duke. Bembo wished he could take the whole Kaunian business so lightly. He could sometimes, as when he was getting a blond woman to go to bed with him. But he had more trouble shutting down his mind the rest of the time than Delminio seemed to.

  A Kaunian woman came out of a block of flats. As soon as they saw her golden hair shining in the sun, Bembo and Delminio both swung their heads toward her, a motion as automatic as breathing to them. And then, when they noticed she was very pregnant, they both looked away again, too.

  As for her, she looked through them as if they didn’t exist. That was the common reaction among Kaunian women who didn’t care to give themselves to the Algarvians. “Wonder if one of us stuck that baby in her,” Delminio remarked.

  “I doubt it,” Bembo said, as the young woman waddled around a corner. “She doesn’t look like she hates us enough for that.” He fancied himself a connoisseur of such reactions.

  “Mm, you’re probably right,” Delminio said. Either he agreed with Bembo or he didn’t feel like arguing. Odds are he thinks I’m right, Bembo thought. We Algarvians, we’re an argumentative bunch.

  Bells began ringing, not just in the Kaunian quarter but all over Eoforwic. Blonds started running. Delminio started cursing. So did Bembo. “Stinking Unkerlanter dragonfliers,” he snarled. “Over in Gromheort, we didn’t have to worry about this much.”