Through the Darkness

But now, if the Unkerlanters were giving King Mezentio’s men a run for their money, Vanai would cheer them on. She wished she could do more. If she left the flat, though, she was all too likely to end up sacrificed to fuel the Algarvian mages’ assault on Unkerlant. And so she stayed hidden, and thought kinder thoughts about King Swemmel than she’d ever imagined she would.

From the atlas and the news sheet, her eyes went to the little book called You Too Can Be a Mage. She wondered why she hadn’t pitched it into the garbage. She’d worked magic with it, all right: magic that had almost got her in more trouble than she’d known before. If you were already a mage, the spells in You Too Can Be a Mage might be useful. .. but if you were already a mage, you wouldn’t need them, because you’d already know better.

She complained about that to Ealstan when he came home that evening. He laughed, which made her angry. Then he held up a placating hand. “I’m sorry,” he told her, though he didn’t sound very sorry. “It reminds me of something my father would say sometimes: ‘Any child can do it--as long as he has twenty years of practice.’ “

Vanai worked through that, then smiled in spite of herself. “It does sound like your father, or what you’ve said about him,” she answered. Then her smile faded. “I wish we’d hear from him again.”

“So do I,” Ealstan said, his own face tight with worry. “With Leofsig gone, he must be going mad. My whole family must be, come to that.”

She reached across the small supper table to set her hand on his. “I wish you’d been able to do something about your cousin.”

“So do I,” he growled. “But his regiment or whatever they call it had left the camp outside Eoforwic just before I got the news. And even if it hadn’t...” He grimaced. “What could I have done? Sidroc’s worth more to the Algarvians than I’ll ever be, so they’d surely back him, curse them. Powers below eat them and leave them in darkness forever.”

“Aye,” Vanai whispered fervently. But the Algarvians had to be immune to curses. So many had been aimed their way since the Derlavaian War started, but none seemed to bite.

“I think this may be what growing up means,” Ealstan said, “finding out there are things you can’t do anything about, and neither can anybody else.”

In one way, Vanai was a year older than he. In another, she was far older than that. The second way didn’t always show itself, but this was one of those times. “Kaunians in Forthweg suck that up with their mothers’ milk,” she said. “They have ever since the Kaunian Empire fell.”

“Maybe so,” Ealstan said. “But it’s not bred in you, any more than it’s bred in us. You learn it one at a time, too.”

Vanai remembered Major Spinello. “Aye, that’s so,” she said softly, hoping the redhead who’d taken his pleasure with her to keep her grandfather from working himself to death had met a horrible end in Unkerlant. Then she burst out with what she couldn’t hold in any more: “What will we do if Algarve wins the war?”

Ealstan got up, went over to the pantry, and came back with a jug of wine. After pouring, he answered, “I heard--Ethelhelm says--Zuwayza is letting Kaunians land on her shores.”

“Zuwayza?” Vanai’s voice was a dismayed squeak. “They’re--” She caught herself. She’d been about to say the Zuwayzin were nothing but bare black barbarians. Her grandfather would surely have said just that. She tried something else: “They’re allied with Mezentio, so how long can that last?”

“I don’t know,” Ealstan said. “Ethelhelm says the Algarvians are hopping mad about it, though.”

“How does he know?” Vanai demanded. “Do the redheads whisper in his ear? Why do you believe him when he tells you things like that?”

“Because he’s not wrong very often,” Ealstan said. “What he doesn’t hear, the people in his band do.”

“Maybe,” Vanai said, dubious still. “But where do they hear them? The Algarvians don’t like Etlielhelm’s music.”

“No, but Plegmund’s Brigade does, remember?” Ealstan answered. “He’s played for them, remember, no matter how much I hated that. I still do hate it, but it’s true.”

“Maybe,” Vanai said, this time in rather a different tone of voice. She reached for the jug of wine and poured her own mug full. “I don’t know why I don’t just stay drunk all the time. Then I wouldn’t care.”

“Hard work staying drunk all the time,” Ealstan said. “And it hurts when you start sobering up, too.”

“I know.” What Vanai also knew, and didn’t say, was how much staying sober hurt. Ealstan wouldn’t understand--or he wouldn’t have before Leofsig got killed. Now, he might.