Darkness Descending

Sabrino bowed and kissed her hand. “Good of you to say so, my dear,” he replied. His wife was a handsome, determined-looking woman not far from his own age. He respected her and liked her well enough. As Algarvian nobles went, they had a tranquil marriage, not least because neither pretended to be in love with the other.

“With things as they are in the west, I truly didn’t expect to have you back in Trapani any time soon,” Gismonda said. No, she was anything but a fool.

“I have new orders. They take me out of Unkerlant,” Sabrino said. His wife asked no more questions. That was only partly because she understood that, as a soldier, he couldn’t tell her everything. More had to do with the polite pretenses and silences noble husbands and wives used to keep their lives tolerable.

Gismonda turned to the kitchen wench. “Fetch us a bottle of sparkling wine and two crystal flutes.” After the girl had gone, Sabrino’s wife looked back at him. “And when did you come to Trapani?”

Have you already gone to your mistress to shame me? was what she meant. She knew how he thought. He’d been wise to come here first: indeed he had. “Not an hour and a half ago,” he replied. “If you sniff, you can smell the brimstone reek of dragon on me yet. I want to make myself presentable before going to the palace.”

Gismonda did sniff--and nodded, satisfied. “Will you take me to the palace?”

With another bow, Sabrino shook his head. “Would that I could, but I may not. I shall not wait on the king for pleasure, but in connection with these orders I have got.”

“Will he change them for you?” his wife asked.

“I doubt it,” Sabrino answered. “He trusts his generals--and he’d better, for if they aren’t to be trusted, powers above preserve the kingdom. But I hope he will let me see some of the sense behind them, if any there be.” Gismonda raised an eyebrow; that let her know what he thought of things.

Better for a hot soak, Sabrino changed into a fresh uniform, one that didn’t bear the effluvium of dragon. Then, after a last nod to his wife, he caught a ley-line caravan for Palace Square, the power point--in more ways than one--at the heart ofTrapani.

Walking into the palace, he felt a curious sense of diminution. Anywhere else in the kingdom and he, a count and a colonel, was a presence of considerable consequence. In the building that housed the king, though ... The servitors gave him precisely measured bows, less than they would have given were he a marquis, much less than they would have given were he a duke.

“His Majesty is not receiving at present,” a gorgeously dressed fellow informed Sabrino. “A reception is planned for later this evening, however. Is your name on the list of invited guests, your Excellency?”

“Not likely, since I was in combat in Unkerlant till day before yesterday, but I’ll be there anyway,” Sabrino answered.

Had the palace official argued with him, Sabrino would have drawn the sword that was for the most part only a ceremonial weapon. But the man nodded, saying, “His Majesty is always pleased to greet members of the nobility who have distinguished themselves in action. If you will please give me your name ...”

Sabrino did, wondering how pleased King Mezentio would be to greet him.

He’d roused the king’s ire by trying to talk him out of slaughtering Kaunian captives to power sorcery against the Unkerlanters. Mezentio had been sure that would win the war. It hadn’t. No king was fond of meeting subjects who could say, “I told you so.”

But there were other things Sabrino wanted to tell Mezentio. And so he nodded his thanks to the splendid flunky and then left the palace to sup and drink a couple of glasses of wine before returning. When he came back, he wondered if the servitor had just been getting rid of him. But no: now his name was on the list of Mezentio’s guests. A serving woman whose kilt barely covered her buttocks led him to the chamber where the king was receiving. He enjoyed following her more than he expected to enjoy talking with his sovereign.

Flutes and viols and a tinkling clavichord wove an intricate net of sound as background to the gathering. Sabrino nodded approval as he headed over to get a glass of wine. No strident thumpings here. However civilized the Kaunians claimed to be, he couldn’t stand their music.

Goblet in hand, he circulated through the building crowd, bowing to and being bowed to by the other men, bowing to and receiving curtsies from the women. He wouldn’t have minded receiving more than a curtsy from some of them, but that would have to wait on events: and besides, he hadn’t called on Fronesia yet.

King Mezentio seemed in good spirits. His smile didn’t falter as Sabrino bowed low before him. “I greet you, my lord Count,” he said with nothing but courtesy in his voice. But then, he was Sabrino’s age or older; he’d had plenty of time to learn to hide what he thought behind a mask of policy.