Out of the Darkness

Ilmarinen would have praised the powers above more if they’d never let the Derlavaian War start in the first place. But no one had asked his opinion there, and he had to admit that a finished war was better than one still going on. Well, a half-finished war, anyhow, he thought, and looked east, in the direction of Gyongyos. Then he looked west. The Gongs were closer in that direction, even if it wasn’t the one by which Kuusamo got at them.

Talsu was amazed at how readily he adjusted to a new round of life as a captive. Bad food and not enough of it, occasional beatings, interrogations that went nowhere-indeed, that seemed pointless-he’d been through them all before. He didn’t enjoy any of them. But they didn’t come as a shock this time, the way they had during his first stretch of time in a dungeon. The questions were somewhat different. The answers the interrogators-including his old unfriend, the major-wanted from him weren’t the same, either. All the principles behind them remained identical.

He had just been out in the yard-the most precious hour of a captive’s day, when he was reminded that fresh air and sunshine and birds and trees still existed-and was then, as usual, marched back to his cell. The gloom and the stink and the cold hard stone all around were doubly hard to bear after blue sky and bright sun and the scent of something growing. Talsu lay down on his pallet. Something was growing in the straw, too: mildew. As a tailor’s son would, he knew the musty odor only too well. He also knew better than to complain. If he did, he would sleep on stone.

With a squeal of hinges, the door flew open. Alarm blazed through him. Whenever guards came in when they weren’t supposed to, trouble was on the way. He’d learned that lesson when he’d been locked away at Algarvian orders. Having King Donalitu in charge hadn’t changed things a bit.

“Come with us,” one of the guards growled. Two others pointed sticks at Talsu, to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly leap on them and pound them all into the ground. Being thought more dangerous than he really was had seemed flattering the first time it happened. Now it just struck him as absurd.

If he didn’t get up, they would beat him and drag him. He knew that. As he rose, he couldn’t help asking, “What is it this time?” Sometimes they gave him a hint about which way the questioning would go.

Sometimes-but not today. “Shut up,” one of them told him. “Come along,” a second added. “You stinking son of a whore,” the third one said.

Had they let him bathe, he wouldn’t have stunk. He didn’t say anything of the sort. They seemed in an evil temper, even for guards in a dungeon. He hoped that didn’t mean another beating was coming. The bruises from his last one were only just starting to go from purple to yellow.

They frogmarched him down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and into an interrogation chamber. There waiting for him sat the major who’d been a captain when in Algarvian service. The major was a professional. He did his job without mercy, but also without malice: Talsu had seen as much. That made the look of fury on his face all the more frightening.

“You stinking son of a whore,” he said, and Talsu’s testicles tried to crawl up into his belly. Whatever was coming, for whatever reason it was coming, would be very bad. He didn’t know why, but he did know that why often didn’t matter. They had him. They could do as they pleased with him.

“Sir, do we really have to do this?” a guard asked, and all hope within Talsu died. If it worried the guards, it would be dreadful indeed.

“Aye, we do, powers below eat him,” the major replied. He yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out the clothes Talsu had been wearing when he was arrested and the contents of his pockets. Glaring at Talsu, he demanded, “Are these goods yours? Is this everything you had in your possession when you were taken into the custody of King Donalitu’s security personnel?”

“I… think so,” Talsu answered. Now thoroughly confused, he dared ask, “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you what,” the interrogator snarled. “You must have kissed some Kuusaman’s arse, because the miserable slanteyes want you out of here. And so you’re going out of here-way out of here. Get into your clothes. You’ll be their problem from now on, and they’re fornicating well welcome to you.”

Things were happening too fast for Talsu to follow. He wondered if they were going to kill him and give his body to the Kuusamans. Then he decided they wouldn’t do that-the major wouldn’t have been so angry about disposing of his corpse.

He dressed in a hurry. The only Kuusamans with whom he’d had much to do were the mage near Skrunda and the soldiers he’d led past his home town. How could one of them have heard he’d been tossed in a dungeon? How would one of them have had the clout to get him out? He had no idea. He didn’t much care, either.

“Sign this.” The major shoved a leaf of paper at him.