Rulers of the Darkness

"I know," Fernao said again. He might have dragged Siuntio out of the blockhouse when it started to collapse and burn during the Algarvian sorcerous attack. He'd dragged Pekka out instead. She still didn't realize he'd been closer to Siuntio than to her. No matter how much he wanted to bed her, he would never tell her that.

Ptarmigan fluttered away from the sleigh, wings whistling as they took flight. "They are in their full winter plumage now," Pekka said. "The rabbits and the ferrets will be white, too."

"So they will, here," Fernao said. "Up by Setubal- and on the Derlavaian mainland farther north, too- many of them will stay brown the whole winter long. I wonder how they know to go white here, where it snows more, but not to where the winters are milder."

"Savants have puzzled over that for a long time," Pekka said. "They have never yet found an answer that satisfies me."

"Nor me," Fernao agreed. "It almost tempts me to think some inborn sorcerous power is hidden inside animals. But if it is there, no mage has ever been able to detect it, and that makes me not believe in any such thing."

"You are a modern rational man, and I feel the same way you do," Pekka said. "No wonder, though, that our superstitious ancestors thought beasts had the same potential for using magic as people did."

"No wonder at all," Fernao said.

Before he or Pekka could say anything more, the driver reined in and spoke two words of Kuusaman: "We're here."

Fernao got down from the sleigh and extended a mittened hand to Pekka. She set her own mittened hand in his as she alighted. That was the contact of ordinary politeness, and she did not shy away from it. Even through two thick layers of felted wool, her touch warmed him.

Braziers warmed the blockhouse- not nearly so well, as far as Fernao was concerned. Filling it with mages did a better job: did, in fact, too good a job. People shed cloaks and jackets. Fernao started sweating after taking off his coat. He joined the grumbling about how warm it was. But then Pekka's voice crisply cut through that grumbling: "Let us begin, shall we? Crystallomancer, please be so kind as to check with the mages handling the animals. Is everything ready?"

She spoke to the woman in Kuusaman, but Fernao found he had no trouble following her. After a moment, the crystallomancer replied, "They are ready at your convenience, Mistress."

"Good," Pekka said, and recited the ancient phrases with which Kuusamans preceded every sorcery. The other mages in the blockhouse repeated the phrases with her- everyone but Fernao. Nobody bothered him for not joining in the ritual, though one mage or another would sometimes tease him about it back at the hostel.

Before Pekka could begin the spell itself, Ilmarinen let out a sharp bark of warning: "Look out!" Fernao's head came up. He peered north, as if he could see to the Strait of Valmiera, let alone across it. He sensed no sorcerous disturbance, not yet. A moment later, though, one of the mages charged with defending against Algarvian wizardry also exclaimed.

And then Fernao felt it, too- that cantrip that tasted of iron and brimstone and blood, so much blood; that smelled of powers above only knew how many open graves. He couldn't join the Kuusaman mages in their defense against it- their ways were not his. His ways, to his shame, were closer to the school of sorcery that had spawned such monstrousness.

"No!" he shouted in Lagoan, a cry of rejection hardly different from its Algarvian equivalent. He launched his own angry counterspell at Mezentio's mages. He didn't think it would do much good, but he didn't see how it could hurt, either. Then, to his astonishment, he felt his spell lifted, reinforced. He was almost startled enough to break off the chant. Ilmarinen waved for him to continue. So did Pekka. She was incanting furiously.

But she's not aiming at the Algarvians, a tiny part of his mind thought. She's going on with the magic she would have tried anyhow. He didn't dwell on that. He dwelt on nothing but his own magecraft, and on the astonishing boost Ilmarinen was giving it. He couldn't see to the Strait of Valmiera, no, but he felt as if he might reach it and cross it.

He wanted to loose his bolt of sorcerous power, but felt someone- Ilmarinen again? -delaying him, making him hold back. Then he could delay no more- but when he launched it, he also launched all the tremendous energy from the spell Pekka had shaped. Unlike the Kuusamans, the Algarvian mages had been ready only for attack; they hadn't dreamt they would need to defend. Fernao felt the sorcerous counterstroke shatter them. He cried out in triumph and pitched forward on his face in a faint.

***

"We did it!" Pekka exclaimed for about the dozenth time since the mages returned to their hostel. "We truly did it! I didn't think we could, but we did it!"