Out of the Darkness

Now Ilmarinen had all the chances he wanted to see Unkerlanters up close. A regular ferry service ran across the Albi River, which separated Kuusaman occupiers of Algarve on the east bank from Swemmel’s soldiers on the west. Ilmarinen found the idea of a ferry interesting, too. In Kuusamo, where the rivers froze up in wintertime, they were used less often than here in the mild north of Derlavai.

Ilmarinen, of course, found almost everything interesting. Whenever he got the chance, he stuck his mage’s badge in the pocket of his tunic and crossed over to the west side of the Albi to learn what he could about the Unkerlanters. The ferry, a stout rowboat, had a crew half Kuusaman, half Unkerlanter. When a man from one land needed to talk to one from the other, he was more likely to use Algarvian than any other tongue. For the master mage, that was one more irony to savor.

On the west bank of the Albi, the Unkerlanters looked less than delighted about having visitors from the east. But the Kuusamans were their allies, so they couldn’t very well point sticks at them and keep them out. Ilmarinen wondered what Swemmel’s men made of him. Without his mage’s badge, what was he? A colonel with too many years on him and too much curiosity for his own good.

As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as too much curiosity for his own good. He walked here and there, peered at this and that, and asked questions whenever he found someone who would admit to speaking a civilized language-which didn’t happen very often; a lot of Unkerlanters seemed to go out of their way to deny knowing anything.

For a while, that not only perplexed Ilmarinen but also annoyed him. But he had a mind quick to see patterns. If Swemmel was apt to make someone disappear for saying or doing the wrong thing, what could be safer than saying and doing nothing? But Swemmel’s people couldn’t very well have beaten the Algarvians by doing nothing. It was a puzzlement. Ilmarinen loved being puzzled.

He did find a young lieutenant named Andelot who spoke some Algarvian and didn’t seem afraid to speak it to him. The fellow said, “Aye, is true. We have not so much initiative. Is a word, initiative?”

“It’s a word, sure enough,” Ilmarinen answered. “How in blazes did you win without it?” He had a good many shortcomings of his own. Lack of initiative had never been one of them. Too much initiative? That was a different story.

“By doing what our commanders order us to do,” Andelot replied. “This is most efficient way we find.” When he spoke Algarvian, he seemed stuck in the present indicative.

“But what happens when your commanders make a mistake?” Ilmarinen asked. Obeying without question struck him as inhuman. He had a certain amount of trouble-perhaps more than a certain amount-obeying at all. “What happens when a lieutenant like you or a sergeant, say, needs to fix a mistake? How do you do that when you have no initiative?”

“We have some. We have less than Algarvians, maybe, but we have some. I admit, if we have more, we do better.” Lieutenant Andelot turned and called in Algarvian to another, older, man, who came over and saluted. Returning to a language Ilmarinen could follow, Andelot said, “Here is Sergeant Fariulf. I am sorry, but he speaks Algarvian not. He has initiative. He shows over and over.”

“Well, good for him,” Ilmarinen said. At first glance, Fariulf was just another peasant in uniform, one badly in need of a shave and a bath. First glances, though, showed only so much. “Ask him how he decides to use it, then.”

Andelot spoke again in Unkerlanter. Fariulf replied in the same tongue. His eyes were guarded as they flicked first to his superior officer, then to Ilmarinen. Andelot said, “He says, if I do it not, who does? When I need to do, I do.”

Ilmarinen hardly heard the answer. He was staring at Fariulf. Sometimes- not always-a mage could feel power. Ilmarinen felt it here. It wasn’t sorcerous power, or not exactly sorcerous power, but it radiated out from the man like heat from a fire. Finding such in an Unkerlanter peasant was the last thing Ilmarinen had expected. He was so startled, he almost remarked on it.

A second look at Fariulf convinced him that wouldn’t be a good idea. The sergeant would have hidden that power if he could; Ilmarinen sensed as much. Whatever was inside Fariulf-if that was even the man’s true name, which Ilmarinen suddenly doubted-he didn’t want anyone else to know it was there. Andelot didn’t know; Ilmarinen was sure of that.

The lieutenant had said something. Lost in his own thoughts, Ilmarinen had no idea what it was. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“I say, how you give better answer about initiative?” Andelot repeated.

“I doubt you could.” But Ilmarinen was still eyeing the sergeant. And Fariulf, or whatever his real name was, was eyeing him, too. Something like shock showed itself in the Unkerlanter’s eyes. He knew Ilmarinen knew what he was- or some of what he was, anyhow. That alarmed him.