Harry Turtledove - Jaws of Darkness

“Of course, your Majesty,” Lurcanio said, cat-courteous as usual. But he couldn’t quite keep the faintest hint of astonishment-or was it alarm?- from his voice. And he couldn’t keep from glancing over toGrand DukeIvone. Ivone’s smile looked as if it were held in place with carpet tacks.

“This may be an interesting reception after all,” Krasta said as they made their way toward the tables piled high with food and drink.

“So it may.” Lurcanio sounded anything but happy at the prospect. “What in blazes is wrong with Gainibu?”

“He seemed better than he has in a long time,” Krasta said.

“That is what I meant,” Lurcanio snarled. He took a glass of something potent and knocked it back at a gulp. Krasta chose a mug of ale for herself. She had less of an urge to drink herself blind at these affairs than she’d had before she found herself expecting a baby. She couldn’t decide whether that was good or not.

On a raised platform in one corner of the reception hall sat several musicians softly playing. They were Valmierans themselves, but played soft, delicate, tinkling, Algarvian-style music rather than the more emphatic rhythms and more raucous instruments-bagpipes and thumping drums-of their own kingdom. Krasta had got used to hearing the occupiers’ music in the royal palace. Now, for some reason, she noticed it again.

ColonelLurcaniodidn’t need long to notice it, either. “They must have got drunk up there,” he growled, pointing to the men (and one woman) on the low platform. “Either that or they are making a hash of things on purpose just to annoy us.”

“Why would they do that?” Krasta asked.

“It is called kicking a man when you think he is down,” her Algarvian lover answered. His eyes glittered; his smile seemed more carnivorous than usual. “You had better be right, or you will be very sorry.”

But Krasta hardly heard those last few words. Kicking a man when you think he is down. Much suddenly became clear: things she was seeing here, and things she had seen elsewhere. The Valmierans thought their occupiers were in trouble, and so they could afford to show insolence.

Some of them thought that way, anyhow. But a big, swag-bellied man with a provincial accent came up toColonelLurcanio and boomed, “Ho! Congratulations on your armies’ bold, brave defensive stand along the Twegen River.” By his tone, the Algarvians were still cocks o’ the walk.

Lurcanio bowed. “For which I thank you, your Excellency.”

Krasta had never heard of the Twegen River. She’d never heard of a lot of the western places that found themselves written into the chronicles of the war with letters of blood. She stared down into her mug of ale, wishing she felt like drinking more, while Lurcanio and the Valmieran noble from the back of beyond talked endlessly about the fighting and how it was going. After a while, she yawned and found a chair and sat down. Carrying a baby gave her an excuse for showing she was tired and bored.

The Valmieran baron or whatever he was talked loud enough to let the whole reception hall know his opinions-as if anyone cares, Krasta thought acidly. Still booming like a courting grouse, he went on, “Surely the Unkerlanter hosts will break themselves on the rock of your might.”

“May it be so,” Lurcanio answered with another bow. “And now, if you will excuse me-” He hurried off to get himself another drink.

By the time he got back, the Valmieran had gone off to boom in someone else’s ear. Lurcanio poured down the drink even so. “Whatwas he going on about?” Krasta asked.

“Something about which he knows much less than he thinks he does.” A certain amused malice in his voice, Lurcanio went on, “There are, I suspect, a great many things about which he knows much less than he thinks he does.”

Even though Krasta still hadn’t emptied her first mug of ale, that made her giggle. She might have said the same sort of thing herself. Then she quickly got to her feet and curtsied once more: KingGainibu was coming toward her and Lurcanio. The king’s walk had more purpose and less wobble in it than she’d seen for years.

Lurcanio noted the same thing, as he’d noted Gainibu’s unusual steadiness in the receiving line. His bow was politeness personified, but hard suspicion ruled his voice as he murmured, “Your Majesty.”

“Good evening, Colonel… and milady, of course,” Gainibu said. But after that, he might have forgotten Krasta was there. It irked her less than it would have from a lesser personage; the king was the king, and did as he pleased. Swinging his attention back to Lurcanio, he continued, “I told you earlier in the evening that we should have somewhat to discuss.”

“So you did, your Majesty,” the Algarvian replied. “By all means, say on.”

“I shall. You need not worry about that.”KingGainibu ’s wave somehow encompassed not only the reception hall but the whole kingdom of Valmiera. “At some point or other, probably sooner rather than later, you will have to evacuate this land to fight elsewhere.”

“It could be,” Lurcanio said. “It is, on the other hand, anything but certain.”

“Don’t bandy words with me.” Gainibu’s voice was sharp, peremptory- the voice of a king. “You are already moving men out of Valmiera, moving them through Priekule, to fight in the west and the north. Before long, parts of the kingdom will be all but bare of Algarvians.”

“We shall hold what we need, your Majesty.” Lurcanio, for his part, spoke with studied self-assurance. “If you think we shall let ourselves be dispossessed of the main cities and the roads and ley lines between them, I must say I believe you to be mistaken.”

“This may come to a test,” Gainibu said. They’re bargaining, Krasta realized in sudden surprise. The Algarvians hadn’t had to bargain in Valmiera for some time.

She looked around forViscountValnu, but didn’t see him. She shrugged. Even if she had, he probably would have been in the company of one Algarvian officer or another, and she really didn’t want to see him like that. Her free hand went to her belly for a moment. All at once, she hoped Valnu had sired her child. He’d had the first chance, after all. And a Valmieran father might prove much more… convenient than she’d thought only a few weeks before.

She’d missed a little of what the king and Lurcanio were saying. “-would regret it,” came from Lurcanio’s mouth.

“Both sides would regret it,” Gainibu answered. “Do you doubt that? And so, my proposal: if there are no outrages-and you know the sort I mean-you will find your withdrawal easier than it would prove otherwise. If not…” He shrugged. “It will not be withdrawal, but a running fight.”

“Words. Rhetoric.” But Lurcanio sounded uneasy. “How can you hope to make your promises good?”

“I have ways,” the king said. “Remember what Algarve managed after the Six Years’ War despite being beaten and occupied. We can do the same, especially as you will be busy elsewhere. I told Ivone as much. He said you were the man for the details. Good evening, Colonel.” He nodded and walked off.

“What sort of details?” Krasta asked. “What exactly was he talking about?”

“The sort of details, my sweet, that are all too likely to put me in charge of combat troops once more, however tedious that may prove,” Lurcanio answered. Careless of who might be watching, he closed his hand on her breast. “I shall have to make the most of things while I can.”

Hajjaj woke to the sound of distant thunder. That was his first thought. His second thought was that the first was idiotic-thunder in Bishah might have been more likely than snow there at that season (or at any season), but it wasn’t a great deal more likely.