Rulers of the Darkness

"Not just soldiers," Hajjaj said. "Some weeks ago, Marquis Balastro assured me the Algarvians would cut it off as soon as the ground dried." He shook his head. "What a strange notion- ground getting too wet for armies to move across it, I mean."

"I've seen it myself, matter of fact," Ikhshid said. "It'd be like trying to fight in a tin of cake batter. That's what the muddy season's all about down there. But never mind that. The ground's been dry enough to hold armies for a while now, and the Algarvians still haven't moved. How come?"

"You would do better to ask Marquis Balastro or his military attachй," Hajjaj replied. "I fear I cannot tell you."

"I suppose not. But I can tell you, and I'm not an Algarvian," Ikhshid said. "The thing of it is, you think Marshal Rathar doesn't know what's coming next? They might have come close to a surprise if they'd moved as soon as ever they could, but now?" He shook his head. "Now it's a slugging match."

"Ah." Hajjaj studied the map. "If they strike there, they won't have much of an advantage of maneuver, will they?"

Ikhshid beamed so widely, his face showed a net of wrinkles that didn't usually appear. "Your Excellency, when I fall over dead, they can paint stars on your arm and you can take over for me."

"May you live to a hundred and twenty years, then," Hajjaj exclaimed. "The only thing I want to do less than command a few soldiers in the field is command a lot of soldiers in the field. And that is nothing but the truth."

"As may be," Ikhshid said. "But you can see it, too. If Rather can't, he's dumber than I know he is."

"Why are Mezentio's men waiting, then?" Hajjaj asked.

"Only reason I can think of is to get everyone and everything into the fight," Ikhshid answered. "Moving soldiers from every other part of the line, pulling animals off the breeding farms young and half trained… They've hit Unkerlant as hard as they could two summers in a row, and King Swemmel wouldn't fall over. If they hit him again, they'll try to hold a rock in their fist."

"But finding the rock takes time," Hajjaj said.

Ikhshid nodded. "We'll know more about how things look once they finally get around to fighting the battle."

"When Marquis Balastro speaks of this, he'll guarantee Algarvian victory," Hajjaj predicted.

"Of course he will. That's his job," Hajjaj said. "Your job, though, your job is to keep King Shazli from listening to a pack of lies."

Hajjaj bowed where he sat. "I have seldom met a Zuwayzi with such a delicate understanding of what I do and what I'm supposed to do."

"Delicate, my arse," Ikhshid said. "If my men tell me they've seen thus and so in the Unkerlanter lines and it turns out not to be thus and so at all, I look like a fool and some good men end up dead. If you tell King Shazli what isn't so, you can kill more Zuwayzin than I'd ever dream of doing."

"That, unfortunately, is true." Hajjaj got to his feet. He knees and back and ankles creaked. "Seriously, Ikhshid, I hope you stay well. The kingdom needs you- and I would enjoy harassing a new commander, a serious commander, much less than I like bothering you."

"Well, you're a wizened old thornbush, but Zuwayza's got used to having you around," Ikhshid said. Once more, he didn't get up. He sat on his hams, his eyes turned to the map.

"Your Excellency," Qutuz said when Hajjaj returned to his own office, "the Algarvian minister would confer with you."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hajjaj murmured, and then, "I will see him."

"He says he will be here in half an hour," Qutuz said.

"Time enough for me to get dressed." Hajjaj let out a heartfelt sigh. "With the weather warmer than it was, I'm starting to feel that I'm martyring myself for the sake of diplomacy again."

"What if he comes naked?" Qutuz asked. "What if he comes showing off his circumcision?" He sounded as queasy talking about that as a prim and proper Sibian would have sounded while taking about going naked.

"I don't expect it," the Zuwayzi foreign minister replied. "He's only done it a couple of times, and then as much to startle us, I think, as to conform to our customs. If he does… if he does, I'll get out of my own clothes again, and I'll spend the time he's in my office not looking between his legs." The idea of mutilating oneself, and especially of mutilating oneself there, left him queasy, too. He went on, "Make sure you fetch in the tray of tea and wine and cakes. With Balastro, I may want to spin things out as long as I can."

His secretary bowed. "Everything shall be just as you say, your Excellency."

"I doubt it," Hajjaj answered bleakly. "Not even a first-rank mage can make that claim. But we do what we can, so we do."

He'd started quietly baking in his Algarvian-style clothes when Marquis Balastro came strutting into his office. The Algarvian minister, to Hajjaj's relief, was himself clothed. After the handshake and bows and protestations of esteem- some of which approached sincerity- Hajjaj said, "You look extraordinarily dapper today, your Excellency."