Into The Darkness

"In the last war, we'd throw eggs at forts and then just charge right at e" P id. "Maybe they've learned something since."

"If they'd learned anything since, we wouldn't be in a war now, Skarmi answered. The veteran sergeant blinked, then slowly nodded.

Off to the north, Valmieran egg-tossers started lobbing destruction at the line of forts. The burst resounded like distant thunder. Skarmi wondered how much damage they were doing. Not so much as he would have liked: he was certain of that. The Algarvians had used stone and earth and cement and iron and bronze to fashion a line of death that ran for many miles north and south and was most of a mile deep.

How long would soldiers batter their heads against that line, as Raunu had said, in search of a breakthrough that might not be there at all?

Forever?

Probably not. Even so, Skarmi sighed as he said, "They built that to dare us to try to go through it, to dare us to spend the men we'd need to get to the other side. They don't think we have the nerve to do it."

"I wouldn't be sorry if they were night, either," Raunu said.

"Would you rather fight inside Valmiera, the way we did for most of the Six Years' War?" Skarmi returned.

"Sir, it's like you said: if you ask me what I'd rather, I'd rather not fight at all," the sergeant said.

Skarmi clicked his tongue between his teeth. Sergeant Raunu had indeed used his own words to reply to him, which meant he could hardly take exception to what the veteran said. But he'd seen that a good many of the common soldiers had little stomach for the fight against Algarve in general, and even less for the assault on the forts. He said, "We should have pushed harder, so we would have been through this line before,the Forthwegians collapsed."

"Aye, I see what you're saying, sir, but I don't know how much difference that would have made." Raunu pointed ahead. "Doesn't look like the cursed redheads have put any new men in their lines, even if they don't have to worry about their western front any more."

"They don't have to worry about Forthweg any more," Skarmi corrected. "Now they're face to face with Unkerlant. If they're not worried about that, they're fools."

"Of course they're fools. They're Algarvians." Raunu spoke with an automatic scorn Skarmi's sister Krasta might have envied. But then, as Krasta would never have done, he changed course slightly: "They're fools most ways, I mean. They make good soldiers, whatever else you say about'em."

"I wish I could tell you were wrong," Skarmi said. "Our lives would be easier." The Algarvians had resisted the Valmieran advance to the fortified line with only light forces, but they'd fought stubbornly.

They'd also fought skillfully, perhaps more skillfully than the men he commanded. Had there been more of them, he wondered if his men would have been able to advance at all. Along with most of his other worries, he kept that one to himself.

A runner came up to him. "My lord marquis?" the fellow asked.

"Aye?" Skarmi said in some small surprise. Far more often these days, he was addressed by his military rank, not title. After a moment, a possible reason for this exception came to mind.

And, sure enough, the runner said, "My lord, his Grace the Duke of Klaipeda bids you sup with him and with some of the other leading officers of our triumphant army at his headquarters this evening. The sup per shall begin an hour past sunset."

"Please tell his Grace I am honored, and of course I shall attend him," Skarmi answered. The runner bowed and hurried away.

Raunu eyed Skarmi. He'd understood Skarmi was a noble, of course.

That was one thing. An invitation extended to a captain to sup with the commander of an army of tens of thousands was something else again.

Almost defensively, Skarmi said, "I went to school with his Grace's son.

"Did you, sir?" the sergeant said. "Well, you'll get a good meal out of [..the or ed say men..] other days, [..pos e of ading e sup him, ourse ith the again...] races out of it, and that's the truth. I will say, though, sir, the men think well of you for eating out of the same pot they use."

"It's the best way I could think of to make sure they got decent food," Skarmi said. "Nobody cares when a common soldier fusses and com plains. When a captain grumbles, though, people start to notice."

"Aye, sir," Raunu said, "especially when he's a captain who went to school with the Duke of Klaipeda's son." More than half to himself, he added, "It's a wonder you're just a captain and not a colonel."

Skarmi wished he hadn't had to mention his connection with the duke, whose son, while not the depraved little monster so beloved of romancers without much imagination, had been one of the most boring youths he'd ever met. He also wished the duke were paying more atten tion to the commanders who would lead great parts of the Valmieran army into battle and less to his son's social connections.