Rulers of the Darkness

In the midst of that silence, certain servitors of Swemmel's wheeled a large brass kettle, nearly full of water, into the center of the square. Other servitors piled coal, a great deal of coal, beneath the kettle and lit it. Still others set up a sort of a stand by the kettle; one broad plank projected out over the polished brass vessel. The guards took Raniero up onto the platform, but not yet onto the final plank. Like everyone else, they waited for the water in the kettle to boil.

Raniero had courage. Across the square, he waved to King Swemmel. Rathar murmured, "Your Majesty, I beg you- do not do this thing."

"Be silent," Swemmel said furiously. "Be silent, or join him there." Biting his lip, Rathar was silent.

At length, one of the Unkerlanter soldiers on the platform with Raniero held up his hand. King Swemmel nodded. "Let the usurper perish!" he shouted in a great voice. "Let all who rise against us perish!" He had spoken the identical words when putting his brother Kyot to death at the end of the Twinkings War.

Raniero had courage indeed. Instead of making the guards hurl him into the kettle- as even Kyot had done- he marched out over it, waved to Swemmel again, and with a cry of "Farewell!" leaped into the seething, steaming water.

Courage failed him then, of course. His shrieks ripped through the square, but not for long. Swemmel let out a breathy grunt, as he might have after a woman. "That was fine," he murmured, his eyes shining. "Aye, very fine indeed."

Rathar was glad the breeze blew from him toward the kettle, not the other way round. Even so, he did not think he would eat boiled beef or pork again any time soon.

***

Sidroc stumbled as he came up to the campfire, so that he kicked a little snow onto Sergeant Werferth. Werferth shook a fist at him. "All right, you son of a whore, now you've done it!" he shouted. "Just for that, I order you boiled alive!"

"Oh, come off it, Sergeant," Sidroc said. "I have to be an Algarvian, and a prince to boot, to rate anything so fancy. Why don't you just blaze me and get it over with?"

"Nah, that's what the Unkerlanters do to Grelzers they catch," Werferth said. "You ought to get something juicier."

Ceorl was cooking some horsemeat and buckwheat groats in his mess tin, using a branch as a handle. He said. "The Unkerlanters are liable to do that to us if they catch us, too. We look too much like them."

Sidroc plucked at his beard. Unkerlanters shaved. Forthwegians didn't. When he'd lived in Gromheort, that had seemed plenty to distinguish between his own people and the bumpkins and semisavages of Unkerlant. But when he was in the midst of fighting a war against those bumpkins and semisavages, and when they seldom got a chance to shave because they spent so much time in the field, having a beard didn't seem enough differentiation.

Not that the Unkerlanters wouldn't kill him for being a Forthwegian, too. But they sometimes showed mercy to men from Plegmund's Brigade. To Grelzers who'd fought for King Raniero- dead Raniero now- hardly ever.

Squatting down by the fire, Sidroc said, "Word going around is that we're getting a counterattack ready."

"Aye, well, we'd bloody well better do something," Ceorl said. "If we don't, they'll throw us out of Grelz altogether. Maybe we weren't so cursed smart, joining the Brigade. Looks like Algarve's losing the war."

"Shut your trap," Werferth said flatly. "You're only lucky it was a couple of your squadmates heard that, not somebody who'd report you." He eyed Sidroc. Reluctantly, Sidroc nodded to show he wouldn't. He didn't like Ceorl, not even a little, but the ruffian was a good man to have along in a brawl.

"Ahh, bugger it." Ceorl spat into the fire. "What difference does it make? Not a one of us is ever going to get home to Forthweg anyway. Who cares if our side kills us, or the other bastards do?"

Sidroc waited for Werferth to pitch a fit. But the veteran sergeant only sighed. "Odds are you're right. Powers below eat you for saying so out loud, though."

"Why?" Ceorl sounded genuinely curious.

"Why? I'll tell you why," Werferth answered. "Because we've got to go on fighting like we're on the edge of winning this war, that's why. Because we'll get ourselves killed quicker if we don't, that's why. Because we still might beat the odds, too, that's why."

Ceorl dug into the meat and groats he'd cooked up. His mouth full, he said, "Fat chance."

"No, I think the sergeant's right," Sidroc said.

Ceorl sneered. "Of course you do. He's arguing with me. If he said the sky was green, you'd figure he was right."

"Oh, futter yourself," Sidroc said. "I think he's right on account of I think he's right, and on account of the Algarvians. They're sneakier than the Unkerlanters, and they're smarter, too. The war's not over yet, not by a long blaze. If they kill enough stinking Kaunians…"