Out of the Darkness

other-didn’t land on him, which meant it survived. He heard more buzzes in the hall. Something there bit him. He slapped at it, but didn’t think he got it.

He was muttering to himself when he went into his chamber. Pekka sat studying a grimoire there, as engrossed as the crystallomancer had been in her book. She looked up from it with a smile, which faded when she saw how grim Fernao looked. “You didn’t have a happy time with your grandmaster, did you?” she said.

“Worse than I thought I would,” Fernao answered. “I told him he could send someone to learn what I know once I get settled in Kajaani. I think I would be foolish to go back to Setubal any time soon. For all practical purposes, I’ve walked away from my kingdom.”

Pekka put down the sorcerous text without bothering to mark her page. “You had better be quite sure you want to do that.”

He limped over to her and let his free hand, the one without the cane, rest on her shoulder. She set her hand on top of his. “I’m sure,” he answered. “It follows everything else that’s been on this ley line we’ve traveled.”

“Will it be all right? Truly?” she asked. “Can you live in Kajaani after Setubal?”

“The company’s better,” he said, which made her smile. He went on, “Besides, once Pinhiero’s man squeezes everything I know about this business out of me, the Lagoan Guild of Mages will forget I was ever born. You wait and see whether I’m right. You won’t do any such thing.”

“I should hope not!” Pekka squeezed his hand.

Fernao hoped not, too. He was betting his happiness on it. “In the end,” he said, “people matter more than kingdoms do. The kings who would say different aren’t the sort of rulers I care to live under.” He thought of Mezentio, of Swemmel, of Ekrekek Arpad, and shook his head. “We have one more job to do-if we must do it-and then two of them won’t trouble us anymore.”

Pekka nodded. “And one will hold more of Derlavai in his sway than any one sovereign ever did before.”

“So he will,” Fernao agreed. “But he’ll be more afraid of us than we are of him, and he’ll have reason to be, too.”

“That’s true,” she admitted.

“When this war’s finally over, spending some quiet years in Kajaani will look very good to me,” Fernao said. “Very, very good.” Pekka squeezed his hand again.

Fifteen

Garivald’s company stood at attention in the town square of Torgavi, not far from the Albi River, the river dividing the part of Algarve occupied by Unkerlant from the part the Kuusamans had overrun. Lieutenant Andelot strode along in front of the soldiers in their rock-gray tunics. “All men who have volunteered for further service in King Swemmel’s army, one step forward!” he commanded.

About half the soldiers took that step. Here, for once, they were genuine volunteers. Along with the rest of the men who wanted nothing more than to go home, Garivald stayed where he was. Andelot dismissed the men who wanted to go on soldiering. He dismissed the common soldiers who’d chosen to leave the army. He talked briefly to one corporal who also wanted to leave, then sent him away, too. That left him alone in the square with Garivald.

“At ease, Sergeant Fariulf,” he said, and Garivald relaxed from the stiff brace he’d been holding. Andelot eyed him. “I wish I could talk you into changing your mind.”

“Sir, I’ve done enough,” Garivald answered. “I’ve done more than enough. Only thing I want is to get back to my farm and get back to my woman.” Obilot would have clouted him in the ear for talking about her like that, but she was far, far away, which was such a big part of what was wrong.

“You can’t possibly hope to match a sergeant’s pay and prospects with some little plot of ground down in the Duchy of Grelz,” Andelot said.

“Maybe not, sir,” Garivald said, “but it’s my little plot of ground.” And that was true, now. Whoever had owned that farmhouse before Garivald and Obilot took it for their own was most unlikely to come back after it. The house that had been his own-the village that had been his own-no longer existed.

“I ought to order you to stay in,” Andelot said. “You’re far and away the best underofficer I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garivald said. “If you gave me an order like that, though, I probably wouldn’t stay the best underofficer you ever had for long.”

“You’d end up sorrier about that than I would,” Andelot said, which was bound to be true. But the young officer didn’t go on with his threat. Instead, he threw his hands in the air. “I still wish I could talk you into changing your mind.”

“Sir, I want to go home,” Garivald said, stubborn as only an Unkerlanter peasant knew how to be.

“Curse it, you even learned to read and write here in the army,” Andelot exclaimed.

“And I thank you for teaching me, sir,” Garivald said. “I still want to go home.”

“All right,” Andelot said. “All right. I could keep you here regardless of what you want. I expect you know that.” He waited for Garivald to nod, then continued, “But you did serve me, and serve the kingdom, well enough to deserve better than that. If you hadn’t spotted that sorcerously disguised redhead, who knows how much mischief would have come to our bridgehead by Eoforwic? Go home, then, and good luck to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garivald said. Andelot was at bottom a decent fellow, which made him unusual among the officers Garivald had seen-and which put him at a disadvantage when trying to deal with peasant stubbornness.

“I’ll give you your mustering-out papers tomorrow, and passage on westbound ley-line caravans to … what’s the name of the closest town to your farm?”

“Linnich, sir,” Garivald answered. “Thank you very much.”

“I’m not at all sure you’re welcome,” Andelot told him. “Go on. Get out of my sight. I tell you frankly, I wish I had some good reason to change my mind. If this regiment had been sent west to fight the Gyongyosians. . But we weren’t, and so you get what you want.”

Garivald hurried away. Algarvians on the streets of Torgavi hurried to step aside. A couple of bold redheaded women-sluttish redheaded women, in the reckoning of someone from a Grelzer peasant village-made eyes at him. He ignored them; he knew they wanted money or food from him, and cared nothing about himself. He’d visited a brothel a couple of times. There, at least, the bargain was open.

An Algarvian man in a filthy, threadbare uniform tunic and kilt stared at Garivald, too, and then turned away. Some surrendered soldiers were starting to come back to their home towns. Garivald knew he would have a hard time putting his life together once he got back to the farm. How much harder would it be for the redheads, with their kingdom under Unkerlant’s heel?

He didn’t waste much sympathy on them. They’d done their best to conquer his kingdom and to kill him. They’d come much too close to managing both, too. That fellow on the street looked as if the war hadn’t ended in his eyes.

When morning came, Andelot asked, “Have you by any chance changed your mind?”

“No, sir,” Garivald replied without hesitation.

“Very well. Here are your orders.” Andelot handed him a folded leaf of paper. “This includes your travel authorization. A westbound caravan leaves from the depot in about an hour. Good luck to you, Sergeant.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Garivald said once more. As soon as Andelot left, he unfolded the orders to make sure they were what the company commander had said. He didn’t want to get off the caravan car to find that the orders told whoever checked his papers there to arrest him on sight. But everything was as it should have been. The only mention of his destination was as the place where he was to receive his mustering-out bonus. He wondered if he really would get the money. Getting his back pay would have been plenty to satisfy him.

Soldiers with duffel bags slung over their shoulders crowded the depot. Most of them made way for him: the sergeant’s emblems he wore on the collar tabs of his tunic still carried weight. He got a seat without trouble, too, and no one presumed to take the space next to his. He put his own duffel there. This wouldn’t be such a bad trip: nothing to do but look out the window till he got home.