Rulers of the Darkness

Lie low. Sit tight. Ride it out. At first, that all seemed good advice to Skarnu. But then he started to wonder, and to worry. He'd spent a lot of time with Amatu before they had their break. How much had he said about Merkela? Had he named her? Had he mentioned Pavilosta? If he had, would Amatu remember?

That seemed only too likely. And if he remembered, what would make him happier than betraying Skarnu's lover to the Algarvians? Nothing Skarnu could think of.

If he sat tight, if he lay low, he might save himself- and abandon Merkela, abandon the child he'd never seen, and, not quite incidentally, abandon his old senior sergeant, Raunu, to the tender mercies of Mezentio's men, to say nothing of the Kaunian couple from Forthweg who'd escaped the sabotaged ley-line caravan that was carrying them to their death. Ever since he'd fled Merkela's farm, he'd told himself he would endanger her if he went back. Now he decided she would face worse danger if he stayed away. He left Jurbarkas without a backwards glance and went off down the road toward Pavilosta with a smile on his face.

He slept in a haystack that night, and had a chilly time of it: fall was on the way, sure enough. Because the night was cold, he woke in predawn grayness and got moving before the farmer knew he'd been there. After an hour or so, he came on a roadside tavern, and paid the proprietor an outrageous price for a sweet roll and a mug of hot herb tea thick with honey. Thus fortified, he set out again.

Before long, the road grew familiar. If he stayed on it, he would go straight into Pavilosta. He didn't want to do that; too many of the villagers knew who he was. The fewer folk who saw him, the fewer who might betray him to the Algarvians.

And so he left the road, heading down one narrow dirt track that looked no different from any of the others. The path, and others into which it led, took him around Pavilosta and toward Merkela's farm. He nodded to himself whenever he chose a new track; he knew these winding lanes as well as he knew the streets of Priekule. Soon, he thought. Very soon.

But the closer to the farm he got, the more fear fought with hope. What would he do if he found only an empty, abandoned farmhouse with NIGHT AND FOG scrawled on the door or the wall beside it? Go mad, was the answer that sprang to mind. Setting one foot in front of the other took endless distinct efforts of will.

"Powers above," he said softly, rounding the last bend. "There it is."

Tears sprang into his eyes: tears of relief, for smoke rose from the chimney. The fields were golden with ripening grain, the meadows emerald green. And that solid, stolid figure with the crook, keeping an eye on the sheep as they fed, could only belong to Raunu.

Skarnu hurried forward and climbed over the sun-faded wooden rails of the fence. Raunu trotted toward him, plainly ready to use that crook as a weapon. "Here now, stranger!" he shouted in a voice trained to carry through battlefield din. "What in blazes do you want?"

"I may be shabby, Sergeant, but I'm no stranger," Skarnu answered.

Raunu stopped in his tracks. Skarnu thought he might come to attention and salute, but he didn't. "No, Captain, you're no stranger," he agreed, "but you're an idiot to show your face in these parts. There's a hefty price on your head, there is. Nobody ever gave a fart about a sausage-seller's son" -he jerked a thumb at himself- "but a rebel marquis? The redheads want you bad."

"They're liable to care about you if you're here," Skarnu said, "you and Merkela and the Kaunians from Forthweg." He took a deep breath. "How is she?"

"Well enough, though she'll have that baby any day now," Raunu replied.

Skarnu nodded, but cursed softly under his breath. "That'll make moving fast harder, but we have to do it. I think- I'm pretty sure- this place has been betrayed to the Algarvians." In three or four sentences, he told of Amatu and what the other noble had done.

Raunu cursed, too, with a sergeant's fluency. "You're right- we can't stay. Come on back to the house with me, and tell your lady."

Merkela and Pernavai were kneading bread dough when Raunu and Skarnu walked in. Merkela looked up in surprise. "Why aren't you out in the-?" She broke off abruptly when she saw Skarnu behind the veteran sergeant. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, and then hurried to him.

She moved awkwardly; she was, as Raunu had said, very great with child. When Skarnu took her in his arms, he had to lean forward over her swollen belly to kiss her. She was almost as tall as he. "You have to get away," he said. "The Algarvians know about this place- or they may, anyhow." And he told the story of Amatu again.

Merkela cursed as vividly as Skarnu had. "Nobles like that… If the redheads had smashed them, plenty of people would be glad to follow Mezentio." Her fury made Skarnu ashamed of his own high blood. Before he could say anything, she went on, "Aye, we have to leave. Pernavai, fetch Vatsyunas."