Into The Darkness

Now… Now there wasn't much food of any sort to be had. Ley-line caravans carried what the Algarvians told them to carry, not what the towns and villages of Forthweg needed. The redheads plundered what they would. Fighting had wrecked many farms and left many farmers dead or captive.

Vanai wondered where it would end. Forthweg hadn't known famine during her lifetime, but she'd read of it. If this went on…

The wood bin and the coal scuttle weren't so full as they should have been, either. Coal, especially, was hard to come by. She might reach the point where she had food but no fuel with which to cook it.

With such gloomy reflections filling her, she didn't hear Brivibas come into the kitchen. "Ali, here you are, my granddaughter," he said.

"Here I am," Vanai agreed resignedly.

"I try my best to do what is right for you," her grandfather said. "I may not always be correct, but I do have your interest at heart." With no small surprise, she realized he was, in his fusty way, trying to apologize.

"Very well, my grandfather," Vanai said; arguing with Brivibas was more trouble than it was worth. In any case, she would see Ealstan again only by accident. Sooner or later, Brivibas would realize that for himself, and then, with luck, he would stop bothering her. Hoping to get his [..te ras..] mind off the subject of the Forthwegian, she asked, "Can I cut you some bread and cheese?"

"No, never mind. I have no great appetite," Brivibas said. Vanai nodded; that was true most of the time. Then, to her surprise, her grandfather brightened. "Did I tell you the news I had yesterday?"

"No, my grandfather," Vanai answered. "What news is this? So little gets into Oyngestun these days, I'd be glad to hear any."

"Well, I had a note from the Journal of Kaunian Studies in Jekabpils, her grandfather said, using the classical Kaunian name for Gromheort.

"They tell me the Algarvian occupying authorities will allow them to resume publication before long, which means I shall have an outlet for my scholarship."

"That is good news," Vanai said. If he could not publish his articles, Brivibas would grow even more peevish than usual. He would also have more leisure in which to try to oversee every facet of her life, which was nothing she wanted.

"On the whole, it is good news," he said, donning an indignant expression. "The drawback is, all submissions must henceforth appear in either Forthwegian or Algarvian. Those offered in classical Kaunian, the language of learning, must be rejected unread, by order of the occupiers."

Vanai shivered, though the kitchen was warm enough. "What right have the redheads to say our language is not to be used?" she asked.

"The conqueror's right: the right they understand best," Bri'vibas answered bleakly. He sighed. "I have not attempted serious composition in Forthwegian for many years. Who would, with Kaunian to use instead? I suppose I must make the effort, though, if I am to continue setting my researches before any part of the scholarly community." Not setting his researches before the scholarly community plainly never occurred to him.

Before Vanai could reply, shouts and the sound of running feet came [..Orn..] outside. She peered through the kitchen window, a narrow slit intended to give a little fresh air, not any great view: for views, all folk of Forthweg, regardless of their blood, far preferred their courtyards to the streets. She got a glimpse of a yellow-haired man running as if his life depended on his feet. And so it might have, for a couple of Algarvian soldiers pounded after him, sticks in hand.

They shouted again, first in their language, then in Forthwegian: "Halt!"

One of them dropped to a knee to take dead aim at the fleeing Kaunian.

The fellow must have ducked around a comer before he could bla though, for he sprang to his feet once more with what sounded like a cur

"Halt!" his comrade yelled again. They both pounded after the fugitive.

"I wonder what he did," Vanai said. "I wonder if he did anything."

"Probably not." Her grandfather's voice was weary and bitty.

"Having done something is by no means a requirement for pumishme not where the Algarvians are concerned." Vanai nodded. She'd already seen as much for herself.

Bembo tramped up and down the meadow outside Tricarico's munic ipal stadium. Though the day was on the chilly side, sweat ran down his face and threatened to leave his mustache as limp as if he'd forgotten t wax it. The constable, a pudgy man, hadn't done much in the way o marching for a good many years.

Not that the drill sergeant cared. "Powers below eat all of you!" he screamed, in a temper extravagant even by Algarvian standards. "I bite my thumb at you! I bite my thumb at your fathers, if you know who they are!" From a civilian, that would have provoked a flock of challenges. But a soldier in the service of King Mezentio enjoyed even broader immunity from having to defend his honor than did a constable.