Out of the Darkness

But Vanai surprised him by answering, “I don’t know. And do you know something else? I don’t care, either. I don’t care at all, if you want to know the truth. The only thing I care about is, the Unkerlanters don’t march through the streets yelling, ‘Kaunians, come forth!’ And if I go outside and my sorcery slips-- or even if I go outside without my sorcery--they won’t drag me off to a camp and cut my throat. They don’t care about Kaunians one way or the other, and you have no idea how good that feels to me.”

Ealstan stared. Maybe because Vanai had looked like Thelberge for so long, he’d let himself forget--or at least not think so much about--her Kaunianity. The Kaunians in Forthweg often found Forthwegian patriotism bewildering, or even laughable. That was one reason, one of many, Forthwegians and Kaunians rubbed one another the wrong way. And he couldn’t blame Vanai for thinking the way she did, not after everything she’d been through. Still. . .

A little stiffly, he said, “When the war is finally over, I want this to be our own kingdom again.”

“I know.” Vanai shrugged. She walked over and gave him a kiss. “I know you do, darling. But I just can’t make myself care. As long as nobody wants to kill me because I’ve got blond hair, what difference does it make?” Ealstan started to answer that. Before he could say anything, Vanai added, “Nobody but a few Kaunian-hating Forthwegians, I mean.”

Whatever he’d been about to say, he didn’t say it. After some thought, he did say, “A lot of those people went into Plegmund’s Brigade--my cursed cousin Sidroc, for instance. I don’t think they’ll be coming home.”

“That’s good,” Vanai admitted. “But there are always more of those people. They don’t disappear. I wish they did, but they don’t.” She spoke with a weary certainty that was very Kaunian indeed.

The day was mild, as even winter days in Eoforwic often were. They had the shutters open wide to let fresh air into the flat. A couple of daggerlike shards of glass remained in the window frames, but no more. Now, maybe, I can think about getting that fixed, went through Ealstan’s mind. Maybe, in spite of everything, this city will come back to life again now that the Algarvians are gone.

Motion down on the street drew his eye. He went to the window for a better look. Through much of the summer and fall, he wouldn’t have dared do any such thing--showing himself would have been asking to get blazed. A couple of Unkerlanters, recognizable by their rock-gray tunics and clean-shaven faces, were pasting broadsheets on still-standing walls and fences. “I wonder what those say,” he remarked.

 “Shall we go down and find out?” Vanai replied. “We can do that now, you know, I can do that now, you know.” To emphasize how strongly she felt about it, she switched from the Forthwegian she and Ealstan usually used to classical Kaunian.

“Why not?” Ealstan replied in the same language. Vanai smiled. Though she was more fluent in Forthwegian than he was in the tongue she’d most often used back in Oyngestun, he pleased her whenever he used classical Kaunian. Maybe it reminded her that not all Forthwegians hated the Kaunians who shared the kingdom with them.

Ealstan scooped Saxburh out of the cradle, where she’d been gnawing on a hard leather teething ring. She smiled and gurgled at him. Her eyes were almost as dark as his, but her face, though still baby-round, promised to end up longer than a pure-blooded Forthwegian’s would have. Vanai threw on a cloak over her long tunic. “Let’s go,” she said, and really did sound excited about being able to leave the flat whenever she wanted.

As usual, the stairwell stank of boiled cabbage and stale piss. Ealstan was resigned to the reek these days, though it had distressed him when he first came to Eoforwic. Back in Gromheort, his family had been well-to-do. He hoped they were well, and wondered when he would hear from them again. Not till the Unkerlanters run the redheads out of Gromheort, he thought. Soon, I hope.

Vanai pointed to the front wall of a block of flats a couple of doors down. “There’s a broadsheet,” she said.

“Let’s go have a look,” Ealstan said. Here in the street, another stink filled the air: that of dead meat, unburied bodies. The Algarvians hadn’t fought house by house in Eoforwic, not when it became plain the city would be surrounded. They’d got out instead, saving most of their men to give battle elsewhere with better odds. But a good many of them had perished, and some Unkerlanters-- and, almost surely, more Forthwegian bystanders than soldiers from both sides put together.