Through the Darkness

And Major Merovec had been right--but for his ponytail, Count Gusmao, Lagoas’ minister, did look like an Algarvian as he strode along beside Moisio. He even walked like an Algarvian, with the air of a man who owned the world and expected you to know it. He was tall and long-faced and redheaded, and wore tunic and a kilt that showed his knobby knees. Maybe the styles of those garments were subtly different from the ones Mezentio’s men would have worn, but few Unkerlanters cared for subtleties. Rathar wasn’t the only man who wanted to bristle at the sight of Gusmao. The real Algarvians had come too close to swarming over the palace here.

Still in unison, Gusmao and Moisio bowed before King Swemmel. Not being his subjects, they didn’t have to prostrate themselves. Moisio spoke first, which had probably been decided by the toss of a coin: “I bring greetings, your Majesty, from my masters, the Seven Princes of Kuusamo.” His Unkerlanter had an odd drawl.

Swemmel leaned forward and peered down at him. “Most men have trouble enough serving one master. We have never fathomed serving seven.”

“I manage,” Moisio said cheerfully. He nudged Gusmao.

The nobleman who looked too much like an Algarvian said, “And I bring greetings from King Vitor, who congratulates your Majesty on your brave resistance against Mezentio’s hungry pack.” He didn’t sound like an Algarvian; his accent, though probably thicker than Moisio’s, lacked the trilling lilt Mezentio’s men gave to Unkerlanter.

“We greet you, and Vitor through you,” Swemmel said. He glared down at both diplomats. “More gladly, though, would we greet soldiers from Lagoas or Kuusamo fighting our common foe on the mainland of Derlavai, where this war will be won or lost. Our men fight here. Where are yours?”

“All over the seas,” Gusmao answered. “In Siaulia. On the austral continent. In the air above Valmiera and above Algarve itself.”

“Everywhere but where it matters,” Swemmel said with a sneer. “You had some on the Derlavaian mainland, and the redheads--the other redheads, I should say--ran you off it. What heroes you must be!”

“We shall be back,” Gusmao answered. “Meanwhile, we tie up plenty of Algarvians and Yaninans who would be fighting you.”

Swemmel’s glance flicked, fast as a striking snake, at Rathar. Ever so slightly, the marshal nodded. Gusmao was telling the truth there, or a good part of it, no matter how welcome Lagoan soldiers on Derlavai would have been. All that meant at the moment was Swemmel swinging his eyes toward Moisio. “And you, sirrah, what lying excuses will you give us?”

“I don’t know,” Moisio answered easily. “What sort of excuses would you like, your Majesty?” Rathar didn’t think Swemmel would order a friendly land’s minister boiled alive, but he wasn’t altogether sure. Few people had the nerve to talk back to the King of Unkerlant. Even he trembled every time he had to try it. But Moisio went on, “The plain truth is, we are not ready to fight on the mainland yet. We would not have been in this war at all had the Algarvians not started killing Kaunians to power their sorcerers’ spells against you.”

Don‘t push us too far, or we can still back out. That was what Rathar thought the Kuusaman meant. He hoped King Swemmel understood as much. Swemmel’s storms of temper were famous, but now would be a very bad time for him to have one.

The king glared at Moisio. The Kuusaman minister looked steadily back. In his quiet, understated way, he had sand. After a silence that stretched, Swemmel said, “Well, now you have seen for yourselves what their wizards can do. If you are not yet ready to fight hard, you had better be soon.”

“We work toward it,” Moisio answered. “As soon as we can, we aim to hit Algarve a good, solid blow.”

“As soon as you can.” Swemmel was sneering again, though not so fiercely. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? We have been bearing this burden by ourselves since last summer.”

“We bore it alone for most of a year,” Gusmao said.

King Swemmel looked daggers at him. “But Mezentio’s men could not come to grips with you, not when you hid behind the sea. If they could have, your kingdom would have rolled onto its belly soon enough. We did not. We have not. We fight on.”

Rathar coughed. If the king ever wanted help from Kuusamo and Lagoas, he would be wise not to antagonize their ministers now. Gusmao was scowling back at the King of Unkerlant. Lagoans weren’t quite so proud and touchy as their Algarvian cousins, but they had their limits.

Then Moisio said, “We need to remember the enemy we all fight.”

And that, for the first time in the audience, struck the proper chord with Swemmel. “Aye!” he exclaimed. “By the powers above, aye! But you two, your lands are all but untouched. We have taken many heavy blows. How many more can we take before our hearts break?”