Through the Darkness

Balastro glared. “Perhaps we will.” His voice was as cold as winter in Sulingen. “Perhaps you will recall on whose side you are, and whose friendship has let you--helped you--take back what is rightfully yours.”

That was, unfortunately, a straight blaze. “King Tsavellas, unlike my sovereign, is your ally only because he fears Swemmel more than you,” Hajjaj said. “We Zuwayzin like Algarvians--or we did, till you began what you began.” Many--maybe even most--of his people still did, but he forbore to mention that.

“If Tsavellas tries to diddle us, we’ll give him reason to fear us, by the powers above,” Balastro snarled. His eyes bored into Hajjaj’s. “And the same goes for King Shazli, your Excellency. You would do well to remember it.”

“Oh, I do,” Hajjaj said. “You may rest assured, I do.” He wasn’t sure Balastro heard that; the Algarvian minister’s image had disappeared after he delivered his threat. Hajjaj cursed softly. He would have loved to abandon Algarve. The only trouble was, King Shazli also feared Swemmel of Unkerlant more than Mezentio--and he too had good reason to do so.

Eighteen

Sleet and occasional spatters of pea-sized hail pelted Krasta’s mansion on the edge of Priekule. The mood inside the building was as cold and nasty as the weather outside. One of the things that had made Algarvians appealing and attractive to the marchioness was their panache, the sense that nothing could make them downhearted. That sense was conspicuously absent these days.

So were several of the redheaded military bureaucrats who had helped administer Priekule, to whose leers Krasta had resigned herself. And when they absented themselves, no one took their places. Their desks stood empty, abandoned, for day after day.

“Where have they gone? And when will you get replacements for them?” Krasta asked Colonel Lurcanio. “Those desks reflect poorly on you.” And, of course, anything that reflected poorly on Lurcanio also reflected poorly on her.

“Where? They are on holiday in Jelgava, of course,” Lurcanio snapped. Then, seeing Krasta believed him, he abandoned sarcasm (not without rolling his eyes) and gave her a straight answer: “They are bound for Unkerlant, to fight in the west. As for replacements . . .” He laughed bitterly. “My sweet, I count myself lucky that I have not been packed aboard a ley-line caravan to join them. Believe me, I count myself lucky indeed.”

“You?” Krasta gestured as if telling him not to be foolish. “How can they pack you off to Unkerlant? You’re a colonel and a count, after all.”

“Aye, so I am,” Lurcanio agreed. “And one of the duties of a colonel and count is to command a regiment or brigade in the service of his king. A good many regiments and brigades want colonels to command them these days, because a good many colonels who commanded them in days gone by are dead.”

The chill that ran through Krasta had nothing to do with the weather. The war hadn’t come to Priekule, not in person; King Gainibu had yielded before the Algarvians attacked the capital of Valmiera. Here and now, though, the war was reaching into Priekule through the bursting eggs and blazing sticks on the far side of the world--which was how she viewed Unkerlant.

Lurcanio went on, “A good many people are pulling all the wires they can to stay in Valmiera. Given the choices involved, I must say I understand this. Would you not agree?”

“No one in his right mind would go to Unkerlant if he could stay in Priekule.” Krasta spoke with great conviction.

“You are right, even if you do not fully understand the reason,” Lurcanio said. With what looked to Krasta like a deliberate effort of will, he grew more cheerful. “I am given to understand that your Viscount Valnu is giving an entertainment this evening. Shall we go and see what new scandal he comes up with?”

“He’s not my Viscount Valnu,” Krasta said with a sniff and a toss of the head, “but I’m always game for scandal.”

“That I have seen.” Maybe Lurcanio was amused, maybe not. “You will, however, do me the courtesy of not making me wait for you tonight.”

Krasta thought hard about making him do exactly that. In the end, she didn’t dare. With Lurcanio’s temper uncertain, he might grow.. . unpleasant if crossed.

When she did come downstairs in good time, he nodded grave approval. He could be charming when he chose, and he did choose charm during the carriage ride to Valnu’s mansion. He made Krasta laugh. He made himself laugh, too. If his mirth seemed a little strained, Krasta didn’t notice.

“Hello, sweetheart!” Valnu cried when they arrived. He kissed Krasta on the cheek. Then he turned to Lurcanio and cried, “Hello, sweetheart!” again. Lurcanio got a kiss identical to Krasta’s.

“Your versatility does you credit,” the Algarvian officer said. Valnu sniggered and waved him out of the entry hall and into the enormous front room.