Out of the Darkness

To his vast relief, most of the people started shouting Swemmel’s name. He suspected they did so for the same reason he’d pointed to the king: simple fear. If a vast throng of folk started crying Rathar’s name, Swemmel was too likely to think his marshal planned to try to steal his throne-and to make sure Rathar had no chance to do so. As for the folk who’d started yelling for Rathar, all of them had to know one of the men and women standing nearby was bound to be an inspector. The mines always needed fresh blood, despite the great glut of captives in them now. Inside a couple of years, most of those captives would be dead.

Behind Rathar came a block of footsoldiers. Behind them trudged weary, hungry-looking Gyongyosian captives. Most of those men would probably head for the Mamming Hills after their display here. Or maybe Swemmel had canals he wanted dug or rubble that needed carting away. The possibilities, in a kingdom ravaged by war, were endless.

After the Gongs marched a regiment of unicorn-riders, and then a regiment of behemoths. Rathar could hear the chain-mail clanking on the great beasts through the rhythmic thud of marching feet. Hearing that clank reminded him of reports the islanders had come up with behemoth armor better at stopping beams than anything his own kingdom had. One more project to keep the mages busy-as if they didn’t have enough.

More behemoths hauled egg-tossers of all sizes through the square. Another shambling throng of Gyongyosian captives came after them, followed by more Unkerlanter footsoldiers. Those Gongs and soldiers might have to watch where they put their feet. Dragons painted rock-gray flapped past overhead. They were incontinent beasts, too; Rathar hoped none of them chose the wrong moment to do something unfortunate.

As he passed the reviewing stand-which, along with Swemmel and his guardsmen, held Unkerlanter courtiers and foreign dignitaries and attaches (the latter sure to be taking notes on the parade)-Marshal Rathar met the king’s eye and saluted him. King Swemmel gave back his usual unwinking stare. But then, to the marshal’s surprise, he deigned to return the salute.

Rathar almost missed a step. Did a formal, public salute from Swemmel mean the king truly trusted him? Or did it mean Swemmel wanted to lull his suspicions and put him out of the way? How could he tell, till the day came or didn’t?

You could rebel, he thought. Plenty would back you. But, as always, he rejected the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. For one thing, he didn’t want the throne. For another, he was sure Swemmel would win in a game of intrigue. He was doing what he wanted to do. He did it well. The crown? If Swemmel wanted it so badly, he was welcome to it.

Out of the square marched Rathar, out of the square and down Cottbus’ main avenue. The sidewalks there were packed, too; only a continuous line of constables and impressers held the crowd back. Men and women cheered much more enthusiastically than Unkerlanters usually did. If they were proud of what their kingdom had accomplished, they’d earned the right to be. And if they were relieved Unkerlant had survived, they’d also earned that right. How many of them had tried to flee west when Cottbus looked like falling to the Algarvians almost four years before? More than a few-Rathar was sure of that. How many would admit it now? Next to none, and the marshal was sure of that, too.

People who didn’t have the pull to get into the central square shouted Swemmel’s name more often than they shouted Rathar’s. These are the poor people, the ignorant people, Rathar thought. They don’t really know who did what.

That thought salved his vanity. Even so, he wondered how much truth it really held. Aye, Rathar had been the one who’d made the plans and given the orders that led to the defeat of the redheads and the Gyongyosians. But King Swemmel had been the one who refused even to imagine that Unkerlant could be beaten. Without such an indomitable man at the top, the kingdom might have fallen to pieces under the hammer blows the Algarvians struck during the first summer and autumn of the war.

Of course, if we hadn‘t been readying our own attack on Mezentio ‘s men, if we’d paid more attention to defending our kingdom against them, they might not have been able to strike those hammer blows. Rathar shrugged. It was years too late to worry about such things now.