Darkness Descending

Rathar fixed him with a stare that would have chilled the heart of every Unkerlanter breathing--except King Swemmel. “Well, go find out,” he growled, and folded thick arms across his broad chest, as if to say he wouldn’t move from where he stood till he got an answer. The servant eyed him, then fled.

He came back looking very unhappy. Rathar would have bet Swemmel had scorched him, too. But he said, “His Majesty will receive you in the audience chamber in a quarter of an hour.” Rathar nodded, a single sharp jerk of his big head. He cared not a copper for the servitor’s feelings. Getting to see King Swemmel . . . aye, he cared about that.

In the anteroom in front of the audience chamber, the marshal endured removing his sword and permitting the guards their intimate search of his person. He endured the prostrations and acclamations he had to make before Swemmel once admitted to the royal presence. At last, with security and ritual satisfied, the king rasped, “Get up and say whatever it is you have to say. “We shall listen, though why we should, with the kingdom in such straits, is beyond us.”

“Your Majesty, I ask you one question,” Rathar said: “Would the kingdom be in better straits with another man commanding your armies? If you think so, give him my sword and my baton and give me a stick, so I can go out and fight the Algarvians as a common soldier.”

Swemmel stared down at him from his high seat. The king’s eyes glowed. His shoulders hunched forward, giving him the aspect of a vulture peering around for carrion. His embroidered robe, encrusted with pearls and jewels, seemed hastily thrown on for this audience. “Rest assured, Marshal: did we think that, you would long since have gone forward thus.”

“Good,” Rathar said. A sour odor came to him from Swemmel. Was the king drunk? Or, worse, was he hung over? Were his wits working at all, or would he blindly lash out at whatever displeased him? Rathar took a deep breath. He’d find out.

“What do you propose now?” the king demanded. “You could not defend the border, you could not hold Herborn--and now you must defend Cottbus. How will you go about it?”

“Your Majesty, the enemy has taken Lehesten. He threatens Thalfang. We must retake the one and keep the other from falling, or else we are ruined and Cottbus falls.” There. Now it was said. How would Swemmel take it?

“Cowards,” Swemmel muttered. “Cowards and traitors. They’re everywhere--everywhere, curse it.” His gaze paralyzed Rathar as readily as the marshal had overawed the servant. “How are we to overcome tliem?”

“We’d better beat Mezentio’s men first,” Rathar answered. “If we don’t do that, nothing else matters. We need every soldier now--every soldier, your Majesty, and every dragon, and every behemoth, and our little surprise for the Algarvians as well. Such things are best saved for when they are needed most, and this is the time.”

“Can our person be properly protected if these men and beasts are taken away?” Swemmel asked anxiously.

“Can your person be properly protected if you have to try to flee for your life from Cottbus with the redheads closing a ring around it after they push on from Thalfang and Lehesten?” Rathar returned.

King Swemmel grunted, a sound full of pain. “Traitors,” he muttered again. “Who will save us from traitors?” He glared at Rathar.

“One way or another, my head will answer for this, your Majesty,” the marshal said. “Whatever happens, I am not going west from Cottbus. If we have to fight here in the city, then here I will fight.”

“If only this whole kingdom had but a single neck!” Swemmel cried. “Then I’d take its head and use its energy to build a magical fire that would burn Mezentio in his palace in Trapani--aye, and all his kingdom with him.”

Rathar believed every word. Could Swemmel have done it, he would joyously have swung the sword. Rathar said, “Your Majesty, we have . . . reduced the power of their magecraft.” He wondered how many Unkerlanter peasants had paid with their lives for that reduction. Better not to know. Aye, better by far. War of a more ordinary sort was his proper business, and he stuck to it: “It’s more nearly man against man and beast against beast than it was for a time. But we need the men and beasts. We need all the men and beasts.” He realized he was pleading. King Swemmel seldom listened to pleas.

After a long pause, the king said, “We have learned there were riots against the Algarvians in Eoforwic yesterday.”

“That’s good news!” exclaimed Rathar, who hadn’t heard it. “Anything that keeps the redheads from using all they have against us is good news.”

“Aye,” Swemmel agreed, though he sounded almost indifferent. “Kaunians and Forthwegians went into the streets together, we have heard. Perhaps your notion of sending Kaunians back to Forthweg with their tales of woe bore fruit after all.”