Out of the Darkness

“We never imagined the stars had written. . this for us,” Vorosmarty said. The carriage stopped. Vorosmarty opened the door. “Here we are in the heart of the city. Come out, representative of Kuusamo and Lagoas. Come see what your sorcery has wrought.”

Fernao got out and looked around. He wished he didn’t have to breathe. The smell was so thick, he was sure it would soak into the fabric of his tunic and kilt. Here where the sorcery had been strongest, the flames hottest and thickest, next to nothing remained standing. Buildings had melted and puddled. The sun sparkled off curves of resolidified stone as smooth as glass.

Perhaps a quarter of a mile away, something had been massive enough to stay partly upright despite everything the spell had done. Pointing toward those ruins, Fernao asked, “What was that?”

The look Vorosmarty gave him was so savage, he took an involuntary half step back. “What was that?” the Gyongyosian echoed. “Nothing much, out-lander-no, nothing much. Only the palace of the ekrekeks since time out of mind and the central communing place of the stars.” He scowled again, this time at himself. “This language does not let me say how much that means, or even the thousandth part of it.”

“May I go there?” Fernao asked.

“You are the conqueror. You may go where you please,” Vorosmarty replied. When Fernao started straight toward the ruined palace, though, his guide said, “You would be wise to stay on the streets, as best you can. Some of the melted stone is but a crust. Your foot may go through, as with thin ice, and you would cut yourself badly.”

“Thank you,” Fernao said, and then, “I did not suppose that would make you unhappy.”

“It would not,” Vorosmarty said frankly. “But you might blame me for not having warned you, and, since you are the conqueror, who knows what you might order done to me and to this land?”

Fernao hadn’t thought of that. You don’t make the best conqueror, do you? he thought. He hadn’t had much practice for the role. Picking his way with care, he started toward what remained of the very heart of Gyorvar. When he got to the palace, he found people going in and out through an opening-a doorway, he supposed, though no sign of a door remained-in a wall. Vorosmarty said something in Gyongyosian. One of the men nearby answered back. “What does he say?” Fernao asked.

“This sergeant says he saw what you did to Becsehely,” Vorosmarty replied. “He says he wishes everyone would have heeded the warning.” The sergeant added something else. Again, Vorosmarty translated: “He says it is even worse close up than it was from the Kuusaman ship.”

Fernao ducked into the palace. Though the walls had held out the worst of the sorcerous fire, not much inside remained intact. Maybe the Gongs had already carried out what they could salvage. Maybe there hadn’t been much worth salvaging.

Vorosmarty said, “You did this to us, Lagoan, your folk and the Kuusamans. Now a new starless darkness walks the earth. One day, maybe, it will stop at Setubal.”

“I hope not,” Fernao said. “I hope we are coming out of the darkness of these years just past.” Vorosmarty held his peace, but he did not look convinced. Well, he wouldn‘t, Fernao thought. Somehow, that left him less happy, less secure, than he would have liked after such a triumph.

From the crenelated battlements of his castle, Skarnu looked out over his new marquisate. The castle, on high ground, was admirably sited for defense; the traitorous Simanu and Enkuru’s ancestors had known what they were doing when they built here. Not till egg-tossers came along would anyone have had much chance of taking this place.

Merkela came up beside him and pointed to where fields ended and forest began, a mile or two away. “That was where we settled Simanu,” she said. “Good riddance to him, too.”

“Aye.” Skarnu put his arm around her. “It’s over now. We’ve won. Nobody’s at war with anybody, anywhere in the world.” He shook his head, half in sorrow, half in wonder. “And how long has it been since the last time that was so?”

His wife shrugged. She didn’t worry much about the world at large. Her worries, as usual, lay closer to home. “There are still collaborators loose. We have to smoke them out.”

“Aye,” Skarnu repeated. It did need doing, but fewer people, these days, still shared Merkela’s zeal. A lot of them wanted nothing more than to go back to living their lives as if the Derlavaian War had never happened. As day followed day, Skarnu found it harder and harder to blame them.

Merkela said, “Did you see the news sheet that came yesterday? They put that woman in the witness box against Lurcanio.” She still refused to call Krasta Skarnu’s sister. When she hated, she did a thorough job.

“I saw it,” Skarnu answered with a sigh. “At least the news of peace pushed it to the back pages. Every time I think we’ve had all the embarrassment we’re going to get from that, I turn out to be wrong.”