Darkness Descending

“This is the bargain for which I spirited myself out of Bishah? This, and nothing more?” Hajjaj asked. When Ansovald nodded, the Zuwayzi foreign minister felt betrayed. He said, “I cannot take it back to my own sovereign--who is King of Zuwayza, whether Swemmel recognizes him or not. I had hoped you might have some room to dicker, considering how much of Unkerlant Algarve holds these days.”

“Less today than yesterday,” Ansovald said, drawing himself up with touchy pride. “Less tomorrow than today. We will whip them out of our kingdom altogether before spring--and when we do, your turn comes next.”

Hajjaj did not think that would happen. “It was only weeks ago that Cottbus was on the point of falling,” he pointed out.

“It’s not on the point of falling now,” Ansovald growled. “By this time next year, Trapani will be on the point of falling to our brave Unkerlanter soldiers. You and your chief who calls himself a king had best bear it in mind and behave yourselves accordingly.”

With dignity undamaged by creaking knees, Hajjaj got to his feet. Bowing to Ansovald, he said, “I had hoped to be dealing with a reasonable man.” Since the Unkerlanter came as King Swemmel’s envoy, that was probably optimistic, but he had hoped. He went on, “If you truly believe what you just told me, I can only conclude some malignant mage has stolen your wits.”

“King Mezentio’s armies are falling to pieces on the snow-covered plains of Unkerlant,” Ansovald insisted.

“We shall see,” Hajjaj said politely. “But I cannot tell you that I believe you are right, and I cannot see much point to any further discussions between us so long as we differ so widely.” He bowed again. “Your safe-conduct will carry you back through our lines to your own kingdom.” As a parting jab, he added, “You must remember, though, that it will not protect you from any Algarvian soldiers you may meet on your way back to Cottbus.”

Ansovald gave him a dirty look. It was also, Hajjaj judged, an alarmed look; Ansovald knew where the lines ran. Gruffly, the Unkerlanter put the best face on it he could: “Less snow up here than in the rest of the kingdom. But we’ll root the whoresons out of these parts, too; see if we don’t.”

“Good day, sir,” Hajjaj said, and left Ansovald’s chamber. He thought Ansovald said something after he closed the door but didn’t bother going back to find out; the Unkerlanter sounded unhappy with the world.

Sighing, Hajjaj went downstairs and out of the hostel. He was unhappy with the world, too. Zuwayza wouldn’t be able to get out of the Derlavaian War so easily as he’d hoped. He sighed once more. That, all too often, was the way things worked: easier to get into trouble of any sort than to get free of it afterwards.

He made his way back to the ley-line caravan depot. Lying on a ley line was Jurdhan’s reason for being. The next northbound caravan wouldn’t be heading back to Bishah for several hours. He didn’t have a special caravan laid on; the Algarvians might have noticed, and he--and his king--didn’t want them to find out he’d been talking with the Unkerlanters. The redheads would seek to become even more overbearing allies than they were already.

He wished Zuwayza could have gone on without any allies at all. Then he sighed one more time. That wasn’t the way things worked, worse luck.

Along with the rest of the Lagoan force on the austral continent, Fernao trudged west toward Heshbon, the easternmost colony the Yaninans had carved out for themselves on the northern coast of the land of the Ice People. He’d visited Heshbon before, after spiriting King Penda of Forthweg out of Yanina. He would willingly--eagerly--have forgone visiting the place again, but nobody’d asked his opinion.

“Well, you were right about one thing,” Affonso said as the two mages kicked their way through the snow.

Fernao eyed his colleague and tentmate. “I’m right about any number of things,” he said with a sorcerer’s almost unconscious arrogance. “Which one have you got in mind?”

“I wouldn’t eat camel meat if I had any choice,” Affonso answered, “and neither would anyone else in his right mind.”

“The Ice People like it.” Fernao paused meditatively. “Of course, that proves your point, doesn’t it?”

“Aye.” The younger mage’s sigh sent a foggy cloud out in front of him. “Cinnabar.” He made the word into a curse. “No one would ever come here if it weren’t for that. I wish I never had, I’ll tell you that.”

“There are furs, too,” Fernao said, as the Lagoans did whenever discussions of why anyone bothered coming to the land of the Ice People began. Affonso proceeded to tell him, in great detail, what he could do with the austral continent’s furs. His argument made up in intensity what it lacked in coherence. Fernao laughed loud and long.

After Affonso regained some of his temper, he said, “Do you suppose the Yaninans will come out and fight us this side of Heshbon?”