“Good evening, Marshal.” The voice was thin and high and would have been inconsequential, but… “We have a new task for you.”
Of all the things MarshalRathar had expected, thatKingSwemmel himself would meet him at the depot was among the last. He wasted no time in going flat on his belly before his sovereign. The slates of the floor were chilly. So was the air; autumn in Cottbus was a different business from the mild days he’d enjoyed outside of Eoforwic.
“Your Majesty!” he cried, and poured out Swemmel’s required praises, with his forehead knocking the cold stone again and again. Failure to give the king his due would have been as immediate and thorough a disaster for Rathar-though not for the kingdom-as losing Cottbus in the first desperate winter of the war.
“Arise,” Swemmel said when the ritual was done. Rathar got to his feet. The king went on: “Marshal, we are well pleased in you.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Rathar said. If the king praised him in public, he probably wouldn’t get knocked over the head.
“Come with us to the palace,” Swemmel said. “We have a good many things to discuss with you, and they will not wait.”
“As you say, your Majesty, so shall it be.” Swemmel was a notorious insomniac, and if he felt comfortable staying busy half the night, his subjects had to accommodate themselves to his rhythms and his whims. He would not accommodate himself to them. He’d proved that, again and again.
Rathar had wondered if he would ride in the royal carriage. Swemmel had granted only a handful of men that privilege throughout his reign; he’d executed about half of them shortly thereafter. Getting a carriage of his own did not unduly upset the marshal.
Back at the palace, KingSwemmel said, “In the matter of Eoforwic, you have done as we desire in all particulars.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Rathar said. Had he not done as the king desired, Gurmun would have gone into command in the north long before this. And if Gurmun dared go off and try things on his own and had something go wrong, none of his past accomplishments was likely to save him from the royal wrath.
But now Swemmel seemed in as benign a mood as Rathar had ever seen him. Even the king’s smile held little of the malice that usually informed it. Swemmel said, “That being so, we purpose transferring you to the south, that you may lead our armies there as they drive into Algarve and drive toward Trapani. When you take Mezentio’s capital, it is our desire that you leave not a single stone piled upon another. Do we make ourself clear?”
“Aye, your Majesty.” Rathar bowed low. “Thank you, your Majesty. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He’d thanked Swemmel a moment before, too. This time, he really meant it. “Mezentio started this fight. I want to be there when we finish it.”
“You shall have your chance, Marshal,” the king said. “For all your hesitation early in the campaign, you have served us well since, and we are willing to acknowledge that.”
For Swemmel to acknowledge service to anyone else was no small step, as Rathar knew full well. Swemmel was convinced hewas Unkerlant, and all his officers and servitors merely extensions of his will. Rathar didn’t even feel particularly aggrieved at the king’s slighting comment. Ashe remembered things, he hadn’t been hesitant-Swemmel had been too eager. But he wasn’t surprised his sovereign recalled those days differently. Even an ordinary man often remembered things to his own best advantage. How not a king, especially one to whom nobody dared say no?
I dare, every now and again, Rathar thought. Aye, I dare -and every time I dare, I come away shaking, and with my armpits soaked with the stinking sweat of terror. Telling Swemmel anything he didn’t want to hear was no work for the faint of heart.
“How long?” the king asked suddenly.
“Your Majesty?” Rathar said: whateverKingSwemmel was talking about, he hadn’t been able to follow the sudden leap.
“How long?” Swemmel repeated in sharp, impatient tones. Then, grudgingly, he explained: “How long till we get to useKingMezentio as we desire? And of how much of our victory will Lagoas and Kuusamo rob us?”
“Your Majesty, I wouldn’t even hazard a guess about the first,” Rathar replied, which madeKingSwemmel glare at him. “It does not depend on us alone, you see. It also depends on the Algarvians, as you say, and on our allies. Mezentio, right now, faces choices we never had to make, for which I praise the powers above.”
“Never?” Swemmel said. “Not even when we had to choose how much of our kingdom we would yield to the redheads and how much to the Gongs?”
“Not even then,” Rathar said. “The Gyongyosians were never-well, hardly ever-more than a nuisance to us. The Algarvians were the deadly threat. But Mezentio faces dreadful danger from both west and east: if we don’t move on Trapani, the islanders-and, for all I know, the Jelgavans and the Valmierans-will.”
He thought that was obvious. But, by the alarm flaring in Swemmel’s eyes, it hadn’t been obvious enough. “No!” the king said hoarsely. “They mustn’t! They can’t! Trapani shall be ours. Ours, do you hear me?” His voice rose to a frightened shout. A bodyguard peered into the audience chamber to make sure he was all right. Cursing, he waved the man away.
MarshalRathardid his best to calm the king: “As I say, your Majesty, we have only so much control over all this. If Mezentio’s men fight us with everything they have but go easy in the east…” Had he been King of Algarve, he might have given orders like that. Fighting the Lagoans and Kuusamans remained a polite, civilized business. But the war between Algarve and Unkerlant had seen no quarter asked or given since the moment it began.
“If they steal our victory so…” Swemmel’s voice was low, low but full of deadly fury. “If they think they can batten on the blood we spill, we shall show them they are wrong even if it takes us a thousand years.”
Rathar wasn’t worried about what would happen a thousand years from now; he couldn’t do anything about that. What would happen in the next few days, the next few weeks, the next few months, was his province. He said, “Your Majesty, always remember: the Algarvians are our greatest danger. Once we crush them, we can worry about other things. Until we crush them, we have to keep them first in our thoughts.”
“A thousand years,” Swemmel muttered. But then, to Rathar’s vast relief, he nodded. “Algarve first, aye. But we do not forget anything else. Lagoas and Kuusamo may steal some of our glory, but we shall take it back.”
“When the time comes, your Majesty,” Rathar said soothingly. Then he changed the subject: “Er, your Majesty-is it true the islanders have some new strong sorcery, of a different sort from what the redheads-and we- have been using? The reports I’ve received haven’t been clear.” He hoped it was true; he loathed the murderous magecraft the Algarvians had devised and Unkerlant had had to copy.
“We are not surprised the reports have been unclear,” the king said with a scornful sniff. “We doubt whetherArchmageAddanz understands everything he hears of these matters. We often doubt whether he understands anything he hears of these matters, come to that. There is some new sorcery, and it has been used in Jelgava and perhaps on the sea. Past that, we know little- but we are working to learn more.”
“Good,” Rathar said. Worried about everyone around him, Swemmel had built up a highly efficient corps of spies.
“Not so very good,” Swemmel grumbled. “Addanz should have seen to this some time ago, without our urging.” Rathar only shrugged. Addanz was a fine courtier, but no great shakes as a mage. Expecting him to act like what he wasn’t asked too much. After a moment, Swemmel went on, “You should also know that Hajjaj of Zuwayza has come to Cottbus.”
“Has he?” Rathar said. “Aye, your Majesty, you’re right-Ishould know that. For what purpose has he come?”
“For what purpose would you think?”KingSwemmel demanded. “To yield himself to us, of course.”
Nineteen
Hajjaj hated coming to Cottbus for any number of reasons. He disliked having to wear clothes. He really disliked goin
g out in weather cold enough to make wearing clothes a good idea. Most of all, though, he disliked having to come to beg for mercy for his defeated kingdom.
“So good to see you again, your Excellency,” said Ansovald, who had beenKingSwemmel ’s minister to Zuwayza and was now… what? The man who delivered Swemmel’s terms to Hajjaj, certainly. Past that, the Zuwayzi foreign minister didn’t know and preferred not to guess.
“Always a pleasure,” Hajjaj lied. As far as he was concerned, Ansovald was even more boorish than most Unkerlanters.
“Funny we’re both speaking Algarvian, isn’t it?” Ansovald said now. His laugh showed large, yellow teeth. “Pretty soon we’ll squash the redheads flat, and nobody will need to speak their miserable language anymore.”
“I assure you, the irony was not lost on me, either,” Hajjaj said. “But, unfortunately, my Unkerlanter has never been fluent.” That was true, though Unkerlant had held Zuwayza throughout his youth and young manhood.
Ansovald grunted. “Your folks probably thought it was beneath ‘em to have you learn.” That was also true, though Hajjaj, unlike his host, was too polite to say any such thing. Ansovald went on, “Fat lot of good your Algarvian will do you from here on out.”
“You may be right,” Hajjaj said in tones as chilly as he could make them. “Shall we get down to business?”
“That’s what you’re here for-to get the business.” Ansovald laughed. Hajjaj managed something an inattentive man might have reckoned a smile. But the Unkerlanter wasn’t wrong. He was crude, but he wasn’t wrong. Swemmel could dictate terms to Zuwayza. He could, and he would.
“Go ahead,” Hajjaj said. Outside, there was frost in the gutters. Here in this stuffy chamber of the royal palace, sweat ran down his face. That had only a little to do with the Unkerlanter-style tunic he wore. As if to make up for the cold in which they lived, Unkerlanters heated their buildings well past what even a Zuwayzi thought the point of comfort.
“I have here a list of conditions, prepared for me by His Majesty, KingSwemmel himself,” Ansovald declared. He took a leaf of paper from his belt pouch, unfolded it, and studied it portentously.
“Go ahead,” Hajjaj repeated. He knew he sounded weary. He felt weary, down to the very core of his being. He’d hoped for more than four years that this day would never come. He’d feared for two years that it would. Now it was here, and he had to endure it.
“Item,” Ansovald said. “Henceforward, the border between Unkerlant and Zuwayza shall be that which was established by treaty here in Cottbus at the end of the last war between our two kingdoms.”
“On behalf ofKingShazli, I accept,” Hajjaj said at once. He tried not to show how relieved he was. Both he and his king had feared the Unkerlanters would use the victories they’d won against Zuwayza to extinguish the kingdom altogether. Anything short of that was, by Unkerlanter standards, generosity.
“Item,” Ansovald went on, inexorable as a landslide. “For the rest of the war against Algarve, and for fifteen years afterwards, Unkerlant shall freely be able to move ships into and out of the ports on the east coast of Zuwayza, and shall freely be able to draw any necessary supplies from those ports.”
“I accept,” Hajjaj said again, reflecting that it could have been worse. “Your admirals should bear in mind that our ports there are small. They do not overflow with supplies.”
“That’s your worry, not ours,” Ansovald told him. Hajjaj returned another of those almost-smiles. Ansovald continued, “Item: Zuwayza shall give up her alliance with Algarve and enter into alliance with Unkerlant againstKingMezentio and all who fight alongside him.”
“I accept,” Hajjaj said once more. Again, he’d expected nothing less.
“Item,” Ansovald said. “Zuwayzi soldiers shall capture, disarm, and turn over to Unkerlant all Algarvian soldiers, sailors, and dragonfliers now in your kingdom.”
“We shall do everything we can in that regard,” Hajjaj said. “You must understand, though, that Mezentio’s soldiers are resisting my countrymen by force of arms even as we speak.” Much of that was an elaborate charade to let the Algarvians safely withdraw from Zuwayza. Hajjaj knew as much, and also knew Ansovald and Swemmel had better never find out.
Ansovald’s sniff said he had his suspicions, but he did no more than sniff. He proceeded. “Item: Zuwayza shall henceforth, in her dealings with other kingdoms, consult with Unkerlant wherever necessary, and shall bear Unkerlant’s interests in mind at all times.”
Hajjaj couldn’t smile at that. KingSwemmel was imposing a protectorate after all. Still, though, it was a partial, relatively polite, protectorate. He wasn’t setting Ansovald up in Bishah as governor of a new-or rather, old-Unkerlanter province. And, Hajjaj told himself, we never can forget our big southern neighbor, however much we wish we could. “I accept,” he said. He knew he sounded wounded, but he couldn’t do anything about that.
“Item,” Ansovald went on. “For the damage Zuwayza has done to Unkerlant, you shall pay an indemnity of seventy million Unkerlanter thals, in silver or in kind, in the space of three years after signing this agreement.”
Once more, Hajjaj said what he had to say: “I accept.” That would beggar the kingdom. It would beggar it, aye, but wouldn’t quite break it. Someone had done some very precise calculating there. Silence fell. Hajjaj looked across the table at Ansovald. “What else, your Excellency?”
Ansovald refolded the paper and set it on the tabletop. “Those areKingSwemmel ’s requirements for peace with Zuwayza.”
Is that all? Hajjaj didn’t say it, though he came undiplomatically close. Swemmel could have done far worse. He’d expected Swemmel to do far worse. His suspicion kindled. Why hadn’t Swemmel done worse? He couldn’t ask Ansovald. The only thing that occurred to him was that Swemmel wanted to fight Algarve without distractions, and so granted Zuwayza relatively-but only relatively-mild terms.
“I shall adviseKingShazli to agree to these terms,” Hajjaj said. “They are not too high a price for us to pay for leaving this war.”
“You should have thought of that before you got into it,” Ansovald said.
“No doubt,” Hajjaj said politely. “Life would be simpler if we could know such things ahead of time.” He paused, then added, “I do have one question for you.”
“Go ahead,” Ansovald said. “But if you think his Majesty will change anything in there, you can think again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of imagining such a thing,” Hajjaj said, and meant it. “But there were once some broadsheets scattered about that spoke of a Reformed Principality of Zuwayza under a certainPrinceMustanjid. Do I gather from what I see here thatKingSwemmel no longer supports any such entity, whatever it may have been?”A threat to overthrow Shazli, that’s what it was.
“Did you hear it mentioned anywhere in these terms?” Ansovald asked.
“I did not,” Hajjaj admitted.
“Then acknowledging it is not required of your kingdom,” Ansovald told him. Hajjaj nodded and said no more. Up in northern Unkerlant or southern, occupied, Zuwayza, the Zuwayzi noble who’d kissed King Swemmel’s foot-or some other portion of Swemmel’s anatomy-was probably feeling ill-used right now: the Unkerlanters wouldn’t install him as King, or even Reformed Prince, of Zuwayza after all. Hajjaj was not prepared to waste much sympathy on Mustanjid.
“May I have access to a crystallomancer, to tellKingShazli your terms before I sign them?” he asked.
“If you insist,” Ansovald said. “But I thought you came here as a plenipotentiary, with full power to make agreements on your own.”
“I did come here so. I do have that power,” Hajjaj said. “But KingShazli is my sovereign, asKingSwemmel is yours. Would you do anything without letting your sovereign know you were going to do it?”
“No.” For a moment, stark fear glinted in Ansovald’s eyes. Hajjaj was not afraid of Shazli; he liked the bright young man who ruled Zuwayza, as he’d liked Shazli’s father before him. But he’d thought he knew what Unkerlanter
s thought of their king, and what sort of power Swemmel enjoyed in this great, broad land. Now he saw he was right, and the seeing saddened him. Ansovald needed to gather himself before he could say, “It shall be as you wish. You may speak to your king.”
When things happened in Unkerlant, they happened with a furious energy that almost kept a stranger from noticing how often they did not happen at all. Not five minutes after Hajjaj had made his request, a crystallomancer stood beside him and-after a brief colloquy with Ansovald in Unkerlanter-spoke to him in halting Algarvian: “Your king, Excellency.”
“I see. Thank you.” Hajjaj sank down on a stool before the crystal that held Shazli’s image. “Your Majesty, let me give you the terms they will impose on us,” he said, switching to Zuwayzi.
“Go ahead,” Shazli answered in the same language. He stiffened ever so slightly, like a man bracing himself for a blow.
Hajjaj went through them one by one. Shazli asked a few questions; he answered them. When he was finished, he said, “Your Majesty, unless you order me not to do so, I shall accept these terms. I do not think we can do anything to improve them, and they are not so harsh as they might have been.” More than that he would not say, not when Swemmel surely had someone who spoke Zuwayzi listening to this conversation.
“They are not light, either,” Shazli said, which was also true. From a different kingdom, they might even have been reckoned onerous. But Swemmel was willing to leave Shazli on the throne and Zuwayza a kingdom in its own right. Had he chosen to go further, he could have. With a sigh, Shazli said, “I agree. Things being as they are, we must accept. Go ahead, your Excellency.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Hajjaj said. He turned to Ansovald and came back to the Algarvian they shared: “The king agrees, as I was sure he would. The terms are acceptable to Zuwayza.”
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