After the Downfall

“The goddess’ rules are different from anyone else’s,” Zgomot said quietly.

“Ja,” Hasso said, and then did a double take. “Are you sure you are not a wizard, Lord?” He didn’t like being so transparent. It was dangerous. And if Zgomot could read him like that, couldn’t Drepteaza do the same thing?

“I am only a man, Hasso Pemsel,” the Lord of Bucovin answered. “But I am a man who knows something of women – as much as a man can, anyhow. And I am a man who has heard a lot about the Lenello goddess. I am jealous of you – maybe only half an hour’s worth of jealous, but jealous even so.”

Half an hour’s worth of jealous … That sounded about right. Would you throw away the chance for happiness for the rest of your life for half an hour? If the half-hour was with Velona, you just might. And for a while afterwards you might think you’d made a good bargain, too. If that wasn’t power, what was it?

With a shiver, Hasso said, “Let’s beat them, Lord.” Zgomot nodded.

XXVI

Drepteaza rode with the army, too. Hasso wasn’t sure she was there to help him translate or just because she couldn’t bear to stay behind. He wouldn’t have wanted to wait back in Falticeni, either. Better to know than to worry about every courier who came into town.

Whatever her reasons, he was glad she was there. She had the same fears as Zgomot. They boiled down to one basic question, which she asked Hasso in the tent they shared the night after they set out from the capital: “Can we really beat the big blond pricks?”

“Can we?” the German echoed. “Yes, of course we can.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Will we?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. The look got more exasperated. But he went on, “I am not a god, to know things ahead of time. Maybe they ambush us. Maybe their magic works in spite of amulets. Maybe … I don’t know what. All kinds of things can go wrong.” His mouth twisted. “Believe me when I say that. I know what I talk about.”

Could Germany have beaten Russia? Maybe, if the Yugoslavs hadn’t fought, costing the Wehrmacht six weeks of good weather in the East. Maybe, if the second year’s campaign that led to Stalingrad hadn’t got fucked up from the start. Maybe Germany could have got a draw if she hadn’t thrown away so many panzers in the Kursk bulge. Almost two years lay between Kursk and Berlin, but it was downhill all the way after that.

“What are our chances?” Drepteaza asked.

That was a better question. Hasso shrugged. “Better than they would be without gunpowder. Better than they would be without amulets. Better than they would be without the Hedgehogs.”

“You’re supposed to pat me on the back and tell me everything will be fine,” Drepteaza said.

“Maybe it will. I hope so,” Hasso said. “But what you hope and what you get are two different beasts. I make no promises. I can’t without lying.”

“What if we lose?” she persisted.

“Even if we lose, I think we scare the Lenelli out of their hair.” That was what you did in Bucovinan instead of scaring somebody out of a year’s growth. “I think they think twice about messing with Bucovin after this fight.”

“Either that or they all get together and jump on us while they still can.” Drepteaza’s mood swung much more than usual. “If they see dangerous Grenye, then they will make friends. And they will stay friends till we are beaten.” The priestess sounded very sure of herself.

Hasso wanted to tell her she was wrong, but that wasn’t so easy. The Lenelli were full of contempt for the Grenye. It sprang from their certainty that the natives couldn’t really be dangerous. If the Grenye suddenly turned out to be opponents worth fighting, the Lenelli might go after them like hunters after wolves – or maybe more like hunters after mad dogs.

“About time they find out they make too many mistakes when it comes to Grenye,” Hasso said. “My kingdom made mistakes about its neighbors. It will spend a long time paying for them.”

“You see? You can make the verbs behave when you think about it,” Drepteaza said. For a moment, he was annoyed she’d changed the subject. Then he was just surprised. And, after that, he decided he’d eased her mind, at least a little.

Now if only he could ease his own.

Bucovinans with pots of gunpowder, fuses, and spades – and others with fuses and spades but no pots of gunpowder – did their best to delay Bottero’s march east. Hasso figured they would blow up a few Lenelli and make the rest thoughtful. None of them knew how to make gunpowder; he wanted to hold that secret as tight as he could as long as he could. It would leak eventually – such things always did. But eventually wasn’t now, and now was what counted.