Into The Darkness

Krasta hardly noticed the ornissions. With her allies, Valmiera would surely punish the wicked Algarvians. They had brought the war on themselves - now let them see how they liked it. "On to Trapani!" she yelled.

Count Sabrino elbowed his way through the crowd in Trapani's Royal Square, toward the balcony from which King Mezentio would address the people and nobles of Algarve. He wanted to hear Mezentio's words with his own ears, not read them later on or, if he was lucky, catch them from a crystal some nearby sorcerer was holding.

People gave way before him, men with nods that would have to make do in the crush for bows, women, some of them, with inviting similes.

Those had nothing to do with his noble rank. They had everything to do with his tan uniform, with the three silver pips of a colonel on each shoulder strap, and, most of all, with the prorminent Dragon Corps badge just above his heart.

Close by, a man with his mustache going from red to white spoke to a younger woman, perhaps a daughter, perhaps a mistress or new wife: I was here, darling, night here, when King Dudone declared war on Unkerlant all those years ago."

"So was I," Sabrino said. He'd been a youth then, too young to fight until the Six Years' War had nearly run its course. "People were afraid then. Look now." He waved, ending with a typically flamboyant Algarvian twist of the wrist. "This might be a festival!"

"We're taking back our own this time, and everybody knows it," the older man said, and his female companion nodded vigorous agreement.

Noticing the silver dragon coiled on Sabrino's chest, the man added, "And the greatest good luck to you in the air, sir. Powers above keep you safe."

"For which you have my thanks, poor though they be." Crush or no crush, Sabrino bowed to both the man and his lady before pressing on.

He brought a chunk of melon wrapped in a parchment - thin slice of ham from a vendor with an eye for the main chance, and advanced with only one elbow to clear his path while he ate. He hadn't come quite so far as he wanted when King Mezentio appeared on the balcony: a tan, lean man, his golden crown glearming even more brightly in the noonday sun than his bald scalp would have.

"My friends, my countrymen, we are invaded!" he cried, and Sabrino, to his relief, found he had no trouble hearing. "All the Kaunian countries want to gnaw our bones. The Jelgavans are attacking us in the mountains, the Valrmierans have swarmed out of the marquisate on this side of the Soretto they stole from us in the Treaty of Tortusso, and Forthweg's fierce cavalry sweeps over the plains in the northwest. Even Sibiu, our own blood kin, plunges the dagger into our back, assaulting our ships and burning our harbors. They think - they all think - we shall be meat for their butchering. My friends, my countrymen, what say you about that?"

"No!" Sabrino shouted it at the top of his lungs, along with everyone else. The roar was terrific, overpowering.

"No," Mezentio agreed. "We have done nothing but take back that which is rightfully ours. Even doing that, we were calm, we were reasonable. Did we war with the traitor Duke of Ban', Alardo the lick spittle? We had every reason to war with him, but we let him live out his long and worthless span of days. Only after the flames claimed his carcass did we reclaim the Duchy - and the people of Bari welcomed us with flowers and kisses and songs of joy. And for those songs of joy, we are plunged into a war we do not want.

"My friends, my countrymen, did we claim the Marquisate of Rivaroli, which Valmiera cut from the body of our kingdom after the Six Years' War for their foothold on this side of the Soretto? We did not. We do not, though King Gainibu's men mistreat the good Algarvians who live there. I thought no one could doubt the justice of our claim to Bari.

It seems I was wrong.

"It seems I was wrong," Mezentio repeated, bringing his right fist down on the waist-high marble balustrade. "The Kaunians and their jackals sought any excuse for war, and now they think they have one. My countrymen, my friends, mark my words: if we lose this struggle, they win ruin us. Jelgava and Forthweg will join hands in the north across the corpse of our kingdom, cutting us off forevermore from the Garelian Ocean. In the south, the Treaty of Tortusso gave barely a taste of what Valmiera and Sibiu, aye, and Lagoas, too, would do to us if only they could."

Sabrino frowned a little. Since the Lagoans had not declared war on Algarve, he would not have mentioned them. He did not for a moment think King Mezentio wrong about what Lagoas wanted, merely a trifle impolitic.

Mezentio went on, "As I speak here, our enemies bum our fields and farms and villages. Their dragons carry eggs of devastation and destruction and death to our towns and cities. My friends, my countrymen, shall we do what is in our poor power to throw them back?"

"Aye!" Again, Sabrino yelled as loud as he could. Again, he could hardly hear himself for the outcry around him.