Out of the Darkness

That was a joke, but it also held no small amount of truth. His wife was as she was, and nothing he could do would change her very much. He’d taken a while to realize that, but was convinced he’d touched truth there. So far as he could tell, Merkela hadn’t tried very hard to make him over. Maybe that showed good sense. Maybe it just showed she’d been married once before.

He waved up toward the goshawk. The bird, of course, paid him no attention. It rode the breeze that ruffled his hair. The air was its element, as the ground was his. “Good hunting,” he called to it, and he went down the spiral stair to his own proper place.

They made them turn this way so attackers would have the wall hampering their right arms, while defenders could freely swing their swords, he thought. Even in the long-gone days, they worried about tactics.

When he came down into the main hall, Valmiru the butler said, “I’m glad to see you, your Excellency.” His tone implied, I’d have come to get you if you’d stayed up there much longer.

“Are you?” Skarnu asked suspiciously. Any time a servitor used a tone like that, it made him doubt he was glad to see the said servitor. “What’s gone wrong now?”

Valmiru gave him an appreciative nod. “A gentleman-a country gentleman- requests a few moments of your time.” He coughed. “His request was, ah, rather urgent, your Excellency.”

A junior servant piped up: “He said he’d whale the stuffing out of anybody who got in his way. He’s drunk as a lord, he is.” Then, realizing he hadn’t picked the best simile, he gulped. “Begging your pardon, your Excellency.”

“It’s all right.” Skarnu turned to the butler. “And what is this. . country gentleman’s name, and why does he want to see me so badly?”

“He called himself Zemaitu, sir,” Valmiru answered. “He would not tell me precisely what he wants. Whatever it is, though, he is most emphatic in wanting it. And he is indeed somewhat elevated by spirits.”

“Well, I’ll listen to him,” Skarnu said. “If he’s too greatly elevated, we’ll just throw him out.” After his time in the army and the underground, dealing with one drunken peasant didn’t worry him.

But when he saw Zemaitu, he had second thoughts. Here stood a bear of a man, taller than Skarnu and broad as an Unkerlanter through the shoulders. By the aroma that hovered around him, he might have come straight from a distillery. He gave Skarnu a clumsy bow. “You’ve got to help me, your Excellency,” he said. His voice was surprisingly high and light for a man of his bulk.

“I will if I can,” Skarnu answered. “What am I supposed to help you about, though? Till I know that, I don’t know what I can do.”

“I want to marry my sweetheart,” Zemaitu said. “I want to, but her old man won’t let me, even though we made our promises back before the war.” A tear ran down his stubbly cheek; he was very drunk indeed.

“Why won’t he?” Skarnu asked. He thought he could guess the answer: one of them, would-be groom or prospective father-in-law, was accusing the other of getting too cozy with the redheads.

And that turned out to be close, though not quite on the mark. “I was in the army,” Zemaitu said, “and I got captured when Mezentio’s whoresons broke through in the north. I spent a while in a captives’ camp in Algarve, and then they put me to work on a farm there, growing things so their men could go off and fight. And now Draska’s pa, he says I sucked up to the Algarvians, and he don’t want me in the family no more. You got to help me, your Excellency, sir! What in blazes could I have done but work where they told me to?”

“That’s all you did? You worked on a farm?” Skarnu asked sternly.

“By the powers above, sir, I swear it!” Zemaitu said. “You got a mage, sir, he can see for hisself. I ain’t no liar, not me!”

A truth spell was a simple thing. Skarnu set a hand on the peasant’s shoulder. “We’ll do that,” he said. “Not because I don’t believe you, but to convince your sweetheart’s father. When you were in their power, they could set you to work where they pleased. You’re lucky they didn’t do worse to you.”

“I know that, sir,” Zemaitu said. “I know that now.”

“All right, then. I’ll settle it,” Skarnu said. Zemaitu started sniffling again. Skarnu clapped him on the back. Sometimes, his post was worth having.

Eighteen

Good day to you,” Valamo said in classical Kaunian as Talsu walked into the Kuusaman tailor’s shop.

“Good day to you, sir,” Talsu answered in Kuusaman. A word, a phrase, a conjugation at a time, he was picking up the language of the land that had taken him in. The flat vowels, some short, some long, still felt strange in his mouth, but people understood him when he spoke. Unless they slowed down for him, though, he had trouble understanding them.