Harry Turtledove - Rulers of the Darkness

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!"

"So we did." Fernao spoke in classical Kaunian rather than Kuusaman. He still looked pale and drawn, though a couple of mugs of ale had gone some way toward restoring his color. "Not quite the experiment we had in mind when we went to the blockhouse, but success is never an orphan: only failure has to look for a father."

"It was your success," Pekka said. "Everyone else thought only of holding off the Algarvians. You were the one who struck back."

He shrugged. "Ilmarinen here helped. And I have Algarvic blood in me, and I am trained in Algarvic-style magecraft. I hoped they would prove all sword and no shield, and I was lucky enough to be right. It turned out better than I thought it would, in fact."

"It turned out better than I dreamt it could," Pekka exclaimed. She sipped from a small goblet of brandy flavored with almond paste. "The Algarvians will not try to strike us again any time soon, not that way."

Ilmarinen gave her a sour stare. "If you gush any more, my dear, you'll turn into a hot spring."

She reminded herself that Fernao had needed the master mage's help to launch his counterspell at Mezentio's mages. That helped her keep her temper now. "The Algarvians are the ones gushing hot tears now," she said. "We put a lot of their sorcerers out of business today."

"Well, so we did." But even that didn't much impress Ilmarinen. He went on, "It won't bring the Kaunians they killed back to life, though."

"Did I say it would?" Pekka returned. "But it may give them less reason to kill more of them. That also counts for something."

Perhaps because of the brandy, she felt her temper slipping out from under her control whether she wanted it to or not. Had Ilmarinen argued further, she would have scorched him. To her relief, he didn't, or not very much, anyhow. He said, "Aye, I suppose that's true, not that it does the poor blond buggers they sacrificed this time any good." Then he gulped the last of the ale in his mug, slammed it down on the table, and stalked away.

Fernao stared after him. "I almost think he would be happier if we were losing than he is to have struck the Algarvians a solid sorcerous blow," the Lagoan mage observed.

With a sigh, Pekka answered, "I fear you are exactly right. He would feel more needed were that so, and we would be more inclined to make the kind of experiments he wants." She shrugged. "As things are, I am the one who judges what is important and what is not, and I say that what we did here today was one of the most important things we have ever done."

"I think you are right," Fernao said. "We proved we could project that power a long way- a lot farther than we would have tried had the Algarvians not pushed us."

"Everything we have done up till now, we have done because the Algarvians are pushing us," Pekka said. "This time, though, we pushed back."

"Aye." Fernao turned in his chair till he was facing north and ever so slightly west. He pointed in that same direction. "Along this bearing- this is the direction from which their attack came, and the direction along which we aimed our answer. If we sent a dragon flying along this line, I wonder what its flier would see after it got to the coast of Valmiera."

"We ought to do that," Pekka said, and scribbled a note to herself. "We ought to find out what our magic does in the field rather than on the testing range, as we have been using it here."