Into The Darkness

At last, men and beasts cleared the road. Without Krasta's having to say a word, the driver whipped the horses up into a gallop as soon as he could. The carriage shot through the narrow, winding streets of Priekule, almost mowing down a couple of women unwise enough to try to cross in front of it. They shrieked at Krasta. She angrily shouted back: had the carnage hit them, she might have been late to the palace.

As things were, she did arrive in good time. A bowing servant took charge of the carriage. Another helped her alight and said, "If milady the marchioness will be good enough to accompany me to the Grand Hall…"

"Thank you," Krasta said, words she seldom wasted on her own servitors. Here in the palace, though, she was not the ruler, nor even of more than slightly above middling rank. The gold and furs and splendid portraits of kings past reminded her of that. So did the princesses and duchesses who looked down their noses at her as she was accustomed to looking down on the rest of the world.

As soon as she saw a woman who outranked her wearing trousers, she relaxed: even if that proved a mistake, the duchess would get the blame, not she. But, in fact, more women in tunics looked nervous about their outfits than did women in trousers. Safe from censure, she let out a small, invisible sigh of relief

Almost all the noblemen coming into the Grand Hall were in trousers and short tunics. Many of them were in uniform, with glittering badges showing both military and social rank. Krasta looked daggers at a man in a tunic and pleated kilt till she heard him speaking Valmieran with a rhythmic, trilling accent and realized he was the minister from Sibiu in his native costume.

A horn's clear note pierced the chatter. "Forth comes Gainibu III," a herald cried, "King of Valmiera and Emperor of the provinces and colonies across the seas. Give him great honor, as he deserves!"

Krasta rose from her seat and bowed very low, as did all the nobles and diplomats in the Great Hall. She remained standing till Gainibu had taken his place behind the podium at the front of the hall. Like so many of his nobles, he wore a uniform, the chest of which was almost hidden by a great profusion of medallions and ribbons. Some of those showed honorary affiliations. Some were true rewards for courage; while still Crown Prince, he had served with distinction against Algarve during the Six Years' War.

"Nobles and people of Valrmiera," he said, while artists sketched his picture and scribes scribbled down his words for news sheets to reach the people whose villages were too poor and too far from a power point to boast even one crystal, "the Kingdom of Algarve, in willful violation of the ternis of the Treaty of Tortush, has sent armed invaders into the sovereign Duchy of Bari. The Algarvian minister to Valmiera has stated that King Mezentio has no intention of withdrawing his men from the said Duchy, and has positively rejected my demand that Algarve do so.

When this latest outrage is added to the many others Algarve has com mitted in recent years, it leaves me no choice but to declare that, from this moment forth, the Kingdom of Valmiera considers itself to be at war with the Kingdom of Algarve."

Along with the other nobles King Gainibu had summoned to the palace, Krasta applauded. "Victory! Victory! Victory!" The shout filled the Grand Hall, with occasional cries of "On to Trapam'!" thrown in for good measure.

Gainibu held up his hand. Slowly, silence returned. Into it, he said, "Nor does Vahniera go to war alone. Our allies of old are our allies yet."

As if to prove as much, the minister from Jelgava came and stood beside the king. "We too are at war with Algarve," he said. Krasta understood his words with no trouble, though to her ear they had an odd accent: Jelgavan and Valmieran were so closely related, some reckoned them dialects rather than two separate languages.

The tunic the swarthy minister from Forthweg wore could not dis guise his blocky build. Instead of Valmieran, he spoke in classical Kaunian: "Forthweg, free not least because of the courage of Valmiera and Jelgava, stands by her friends in bad times as well as good. We too war with Algarve." Formality fell from him like a mask. He abandoned the ancient tongue for the modem to roar, "On to Trapani!" The cheers were deafening.

"Bari in Algarvian hands is a dagger aimed at Sibiu's heart," the minister from the island nation said. "We shall also fight the common foe."

But the minister from Lagoas, which had been Valmiera's ally in the Six Years' War, stayed silent now. So did the slant-eyed envoy from Kuusamo, which ruled the eastern, and much larger, part of the island it shared with Lagoas. Lagoas was nervous about Kuusamo; Kuusamo was fighting a desultory naval war far to the east against Gyongyos, - though not, strangely, in any real alliance with Unkerlant. The Unkerlanter minister also sat on his hands, as did the envoys from the minor powers between Unkerlant and Algarve.