Through the Darkness

“That’s not what you want to ask. What you want to ask is, will they have anything left to throw across the Wolter once they’ve finished clearing the town, and will Swemmel’s men have anything left to throw at ‘em while they’re trying to do it?” He waited. Hajjaj obediently asked him those two questions. Ikhshid gave him a wry grin. “Your Excellency, I haven’t the faintest idea. If we knew ahead of time how a war was going to turn out, we usually wouldn’t have to fight it.”

“I thank you.” Hajjaj inclined his head to the general. “Truly you are a font of wisdom.”

Ikhshid waggled a forefinger at him. “You’re so cursed smart all the time, Hajjaj--did you know who would win when the redheads took on Valmiera? They tried going east in the last war, too, and it bloody well didn’t work. The Valmierans didn’t think it would work this time, either. Turned out they were wrong.”

“So it did.” After some thought, Hajjaj nodded again. “Very well. I take your point. Since we cannot know what happens till it happens, we had best be as ready as we can for all the possibilities.”

“There you are.” Now General Ikhshid beamed at him. “I always knew you were a smart fellow, your Excellency. And you do keep proving it.”

“Do I?” Hajjaj scratched his head. “Easy enough to see what wants doing. How to do it? That is a very different question, General.”

“You’ll find a way,” Ikhshid said. “I don’t know what it is yet, and you don’t, either, but you will. And Zuwayza will be better off with you as foreign minister than we would be without you.”

Hajjaj considered that. Without false modesty, he decided Ikhshid was likely to be right. He gave the general a seated bow. “You pay me a great compliment.”

“You’re likely to earn it.” Ikhshid opened one of his desk drawers. Like Hajjaj’s, his desk stood low to the ground, so he could work at it while sitting on the floor. From the drawer he took a squat jar of Forthwegian apricot brandy and a couple of earthenware cups. He poured them both full, then handed Hajjaj one. “And now, your Excellency, what shall we drink to?”

This time, Hajjaj replied at once: “To survival.” Ikhshid nodded and raised his cup in salute. They both knocked back the potent spirits. When Ikhshid offered the jar again, Hajjaj did not say no.

Ealstan and Vanai walked hand in hand through the streets of Eoforwic. He was still bemused whenever he glanced toward her; with her sorcerous disguise, she could have been his sister new-come from Gromheort. But that she looked like Conberge was in the eyes of the world a small thing. That she looked like a Forthwegian, any Forthwegian, mattered far more.

In her free hand, Vanai was carrying a wickerwork basket. She held it up and smiled. “I wonder what sort of mushrooms we’ll find,” she said.

“Me, too.” Ealstan also carried a basket. “We’re probably out too early, though. The fall rains have hardly started. Things will be better in another couple of weeks.”

“I don’t care,” Vanai said. “We can go out then, too, if you want. I’ll never say no to going after mushrooms. But I want to get an early start.”

He squeezed her hand. She’d been trapped inside the flat for most of a year. He couldn’t blame her for going out at any excuse or none. And they weren’t the only people on the street with baskets in their hands and looks of happy anticipation on their faces. In Forthweg, people thought any chance of getting mushrooms was worth taking.

“There’s that park I was telling you about.” Ealstan pointed ahead. The grass in the park hadn’t been trimmed in a long time--probably not since the Unkerlanters took Eoforwic, almost certainly not since the Algarvians drove the Unkerlanters off to the west. “See--it’s a good big stretch of ground. We might find almost anything in here.”

Vanai looked discontented. Ealstan knew why she did. Before he could say anything, she did it for him: “I know we can’t go out into the countryside. Things won’t last long enough to let us.”

Things. She wouldn’t talk about the spell, not in so many words, not where other people could hear. Ealstan had no doubt that was wise. A couple of Algarvian constables came by just then. Vanai started to flinch. Ealstan kept on holding her hand and wouldn’t let her. He found a way to harass the redheads: holding up the basket, he smiled and said, “Shall we get some for you?”

The constables understood enough Forthwegian to know what he meant. They made horrible faces and shook their heads. “How can they eat those miserable, nasty things?” one of them said to the other in their own language. The second constable gave an extravagant Algarvian frown. Ealstan didn’t let on that he’d understood.

“That was wonderful,” Vanai whispered, which made Ealstan feel twice as tall as he really was, twice as wide through the shoulders, and as heavily armored as a behemoth. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. It wasn’t at all like kissing Conberge.