Darkness Descending

For the third time, the strange smile appeared on Chlodvald s face. “If only you had come twenty years ago, we should have welcomed you with open arms. But now it’s too late. We were just getting back on our feet after the Six Years’ War and the Twinkings War, and now you come and throw us back so we shall have to start all over again. Now we are fighting for Unkerlant, and in that cause we are all united.”

Sabrino eyed his officers. They all looked amused, as he felt amused. Politely inclining his head to Chlodvald, he said, “Your Excellency, Unkerlant may be united, but we would not be here by Sommerda were that doing King Swemmel any enormous amount of good.”

“Perhaps not,” the retired--forcibly retired--Unkerlanter general replied. “But then again, while you are winning, you have not yet won. Tell me: has the fight been easy for you?”

Sabrino started to nod. In some ways, the fight had been very easy. The Unkerlanters weren’t skilled, either in the air or on the ground. They blundered into traps that would have fooled no Valmieran or Jelgavan officer. Sometimes, though, they battered their way out of those traps, too, as the Valmierans or Jelgavans would not have even tried to do. They fought hard all the time; if they were doomed to defeat, they did not admit it even to themselves.

“You have not answered me, Count Sabrino,” Chlodvald said.

“Easy enough,” Sabrino said, and tossed an egg of his own: “How is it that all of Unkerlant’s neighbors have joined against her? That speaks volumes about how well King Swemmel is loved throughout Derlavai.”

“All of Algarve’s neighbors joined against her, too,” Chlodvald observed. “And what does that say about King Mezentio?”

“Yanina marches with us!” Captain Domiziano blurted.

Chlodvald raised his snowy eyebrow and said not another word. After a moment, Domiziano turned red. Sabrino had all he could do not to laugh at his squadron leader. He still wasn’t sure having the Yaninans as allies helped Algarve more than it helped Unkerlant.

Chlodvald got to his feet. Rather stiffly, he nodded to Sabrino. “You Algarvians were a polished lot when you fought us in the Six Years’ War. I see that has not changed. But I will take the liberty of telling you one thing more before I leave you: Unkerlant is a kingdom--Unkerlant is a land--that rubs the polish from invaders no less than from its own folk. Good night.” He turned away.

“Good night,” Sabrino called after him. “We may not meet again: before long, we shall be advancing once more.”

Chlodvald did not reply; Sabrino wondered if the old man heard. He watched Chlodvald walk through deepening twilight back toward the manor house and go inside. No lamps showed at the windows; the Unkerlanter general was too courteous to try to betray his foes in such a way. Even so, Unkerlanter dragons came over that night, dropping eggs all around the Algarvian dragon farm. They killed only a couple of dragons and no fliers, but their stubbornness made Sabrino thoughtful.

Lalla stamped her foot. The angry gesture set her bare breasts bouncing prettily. “But I already ordered that emerald necklace!” she said. “What do you mean, I can’t have it? The jeweler will deliver it soon.”

“No, he won’t,” Hajjaj said wearily. “As for you can’t,’ my dear, don’t you speak Zuwayzi? I told you before you went and ordered it that you might not have it, for it cost too much. If you ignore my instructions, you must expect me to ignore your desires. I have had too many of these scenes with you.”

His third wife set her hands on her hips. “Old man, you have been ignoring my desires since our wedding night. You might expect me to minister to the pleasure of your body, but you will not even let me adorn mine. Please?” She went from vicious to cajoling in the space of a couple of sentences.

Hajjaj eyed her body. It was well worth adorning: broad-hipped, wasp-waisted, full-breasted. He’d wed her in the hope of sensual pleasure, and he’d had more than a little from her. But he’d also had more than a little--too much more than a little--aggravation from her. Because she pleased him in the bedchamber, she’d grown convinced he was assotted of her and would grant her every wish, no matter how extravagant. Anyone who had such ideas about the Zuwayzi foreign minister knew him less well than she imagined.

With a sigh, he said, “I am an old man. Whether you grasp it or not, however, I am not necessarily a fool. If I were a fool, I would let you buy that necklace even after I told you not to do it. Instead, I shall send you back to the head of your clan. You may see how well you cajole him.”

Lalla stared, realizing too late that she’d gone too far. “Have mercy, my lord, my husband!” she cried, and threw herself down on her knees before him, beseeching and inviting him at the same time. “Have mercy, I beg!”