Through the Darkness

In his own way, Swemmel was clever. He never would have raised the possibility of defeat to his own people. If these foreigners thought Unkerlant might give up, though, what would they not do to keep her in the fight? If Unkerlant went under, Kuusamo and Lagoas would have to face a Derlavai-bestriding Algarve allied with Gyongyos. Rathar wouldn’t have wanted to try that.

By their expressions, neither Lord Moisio nor Count Gusmao relished the prospect. Gusmao said. “We of Lagoas have not given up, and we know our brave Unkerlanter comrades will not give up, either. We’ll help you in every way we can.”

“And we,” Moisio agreed. “It would be easier if we didn’t have to dodge so many Algarvian ships to bring things to you, but we manage every now and then.”

“A pittance,” Swemmel said. Rathar suppressed a deadly dangerous urge to turn and kick his sovereign in the ankle. But then the king seemed to realized he’d gone too far. “But all aid, we grant, is welcome. We are in danger, and stretched very thin. Aye, all aid is welcome.”

When Gusmao and Moisio used we they were plainly speaking of their people. With King Swemmel, Rathar often had trouble figuring out whether he was talking about Unkerlant or himself. He certainly seemed stretched very thin these days--one more reason Rathar wished he were back on the battlefield and away from the subtle poisons of the capital.

Not two minutes after the ministers from Kuusamo and Lagoas bowed their way out of the throne room--before most of the Unkerlanter courtiers had had the chance to leave--a runner came up the aisle toward Rathar. “Lord Marshal!” he called, and waved a folded sheet of paper.

Rathar waved back. “I am here.”

Swemmel leaned down from the throne. “How now?”

“I don’t know, your Majesty.” Rathar could think of nowhere he less wanted to open an urgent dispatch than under the king’s eye. But he had no choice--and the news was urgent indeed, even if it was news he would sooner not have had. He looked up toward Swemmel. “Your Majesty, I must tell you that, since you summoned me up here to attend this audience, the Algarvians have broken through in the direction of Sulingen.”

“And why is that, Marshal?” King Swemmel rasped. “Is it because you botched the defenses while you were there, or because you are the only one of our generals with any wits at all?”

Rathar bowed his head. “That is for your Majesty to judge.” If Swemmel still felt liverish because of the imperfectly satisfying meeting with the ministers of Lagoas and Kuusamo, his head might answer.

But the king said only, “Well, you’d better get back down there and tend to things, then, hadn’t you?”

After a long but, he hoped, silent breath of relief, Rathar answered, “Aye, your Majesty.” He almost added, Thank you, your Majesty. He didn’t. He was beholden to Swemmel, of course, but not, he hoped, overtly so. Staying official was easier and safer.

Traveling south to Sulingen wasn’t so easy, and on one stretch of the journey Algarvian dragons dropped eggs from on high, trying to wreck his ley-line caravan. They missed, but not by much.

When he did make it to the city on the Wolter, he found that General Vatran had set up his headquarters in a cave in the side of a steep gully that led down to the river. The only light in the place when Rathar ducked inside came from a candle stuck into the mouth of an empty jar of spirits. The jar sat on a folding table, at which Vatran was scribbling orders. He looked up from his work and nodded. “Back from the capital, eh, lord Marshal?” he said. “Well, welcome home, then.”

“Home?” Rathar looked around. The walls of the cave were nothing but dirt. When he looked back through the opening, most of what he saw was rubble and wreckage. Smoke and the smell of death filled the air. He grabbed a folding chair and sat down beside Vatran. “Thanks. What do we need to do here?”

Sergeant Istvan sneaked toward the forest village with nothing but suspicion. Most of these places were only Unkerlanter strongpoints these days. King Swemmel’s soldiers looked to have forgotten about this one, though. Maybe they didn’t never know it was here. Maybe.

Corporal Kun was as delighted to find the village as he was. “If only we had a couple of light egg-tossers, we could knock the place flat without needing to go in there and do the job ourselves. That’s expensive.”

“I know. There’s you and me and Szonyi--I don’t think anything the stars shine on will kill Szonyi any time soon,” Istvan said. “But there’s an awful lot of new fish, too, and they die easier than they should.”

Kun said, “We’re not getting the best of the levies, either. I heard Captain Tivadar grousing about that. They’re sending the men they like best out to the islands in the Bothnian Ocean to fight the Kuusamans. We get what’s left.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” Istvan said. “Only thing that surprises me is how long it took ‘em back home to figure out this miserable war here isn’t ever going to get anywhere.”