Out of the Darkness

“You’re welcome,” she replied, one eyebrow rising in surprise. Then she took another, longer, look at him. Her eyes widened; her mouth fell open. “Ealstan?” she whispered.

He recognized her voice where he hadn’t known her face. “Conberge?” he said, and reached up to embrace his sister. They both burst into tears, careless of the staring Unkerlanters all around them. Ealstan asked, “Are Father and Mother all right? And”--he felt absurdly pleased with remembering--”your husband?” She hadn’t been married when he fled Gromheort.

To his vast relief, she nodded. “They all were this morning, anyhow. We’ve spent a lot of time in the wine cellar, but most of the house is still standing. Well, it was, anyhow.”

“Powers above be praised,” Ealstan said, and let more tears fall. He added, “Mother and Father are grandparents. Vanai and I had a little girl, end of last spring.”

Conberge set a hand on her own stomach. “They will be again, come wintertime.” She added, “How did you turn into an Unkerlanter soldier? What will they do with you, now that you’re hurt?”

“They caught me and gave me a stick. As for the other”--he shrugged-- “we’ll just have to find out.”

Ten

Sakarnu hadn’t been back to Pavilosta since not long before escaping from Merkela’s farm one jump ahead of the Algarvians. Whenever he’d gone into the village before, he’d played the role of a peasant. No, he’d done more than play the role: he’d lived it. He still had the calluses to prove it.

Now, though, he and Merkela and little Gedominu wouldn’t be living at the farm. They would be moving into the castle where the traitor Count Enkuru and his son and successor, the traitor Count Simanu, had dwelt. First, though, there was the matter of formally installing Skarnu as the rightful overlord for the marquisate (newly elevated, by royal decree, from a county).

He asked Merkela, “Are you sure you don’t mind having Raunu take over your farm?”

She shook her head. “I’m just surprised he wanted it. You city people don’t usually have the first notion of what to do out in the country.”

She hadn’t had the first notion of what to do in the city, but Skarnu didn’t press her about that. Instead, he said, “Well, you gave Raunu--and me--a good many lessons, and I think this woman he’s sweet on will teach him a good deal more.”

His old sergeant had found a farm widow, just as he had himself. Raunu’s lady friend was a few years older and a good deal more placid than Merkela. She seemed to suit him well. A lot of widows to choose from, Skarnu thought. Too many to choose from. Too many men dead.

At the edge of Pavilosta’s market square, an enterprising taverner had set up a table with mugs of ale and a selection of news sheets from bigger towns: the village couldn’t support one itself. He waved to Skarnu, calling, “I always knew you were more than what you seemed.”

And Skarnu dutifully waved back. That wasn’t easy. He’d been drinking ale at that table and idly going through a news sheet when he saw that his sister was keeping company with an Algarvian. And now I’ve got a bastard for a nephew, he thought with a sigh. And now it will be a long, long time before anybody will be able to look at Krasta without remembering that. How long does disgrace last?

It had lasted long enough for most of her servants to have deserted her and come out to the countryside with Skarnu and Merkela. That suited Skarnu well. He didn’t know the servitors who’d worked for his predecessors. Maybe they were all right. Maybe they’d collaborated as enthusiastically as Enkuru and Simanu had.

Of course, the servants from the mansion had had redheads there, too. And Bauska had a little girl with hair the same color as that of Krasta’s baby boy. Not many people in Valmiera had completely clean hands these days.

I do, he thought. Merkela does. The only trouble is, she doesn‘t want to yield even an inch to anyone who doesn’t. He sighed. He could see years of trouble ahead for the kingdom from quarrels like that.

But today wasn’t a day to dwell on troubles. “Coming back to Pavilosta feels good,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Merkela answered. “I don’t see how you stood living in Priekule for so long.”

“All what you’re used to,” Skarnu said. But he’d had a couple of years to get used to living in this part of southern Valmiera. The thought of spending a good many years here didn’t horrify him, as it would have before the war.