Through the Darkness

cursed mosquitoes, I’ll say. Don’t you want to lick the lousy Lagoans right out of their boots?”

“On the austral continent, sir, everything bites you in the summertime,” Sabrino answered. His joke did not go over so well as the wounded trooper’s had. After a moment, he went on, “I’d sooner lick Unkerlant. If we do that, we can settle Lagoas later.”

“King Mezentio doesn’t think the same way, not at all he doesn’t,” Zerbino said. “We came down here to help the Yaninans. Best way to do it is to give the Lagoans a good boot in the arse, and that’s what we’re doing.”

“But, sir-” Sabrino began.

“But me no buts.” The marquis made a sharp chopping gesture with his right hand. “Just have your dragons ready to go after the Lagoans whenever I give the word. You can do that, can’t you? If you can’t, you’d better give me the reason why right now.”

“I can do that, sir,” Sabrino agreed. Having been doing it for a good deal longer than Zerbino had been on the austral continent, he spoke with some asperity.

If the marquis noticed, he affected not to. “That’s fine, that’s fine,” he said. “Finish your wine and I’ll fill you up again. This isn’t the sort of country you want to face sober, after all.”

Before the Algarvian buildup sent supplies flooding across the Narrow Sea, Sabrino had been drinking camel’s milk, sometimes fermented, sometimes not, and boiled water. He said, “Thank you, sir. I don’t mind if I do. Good to see wine again. Even better to taste it.”

“Enjoy it,” Zerbino said. “We’ll slaughter all the Lagoans and drive them out of this miserable place, and then we won’t have to worry any more about cinnabar going across the Narrow Sea.”

He made it sound so easy. Sabrino wondered where he’d fought before coming to the austral continent. Valmiera, most likely, he thought. Zerbino couldn’t have seen much duty in Unkerlant, or he wouldn’t have been able to keep that particular brand of optimism. Whenever Sabrino thought of Unkerlant, he wished he were back there, in the bigger, harder fight. “This is a sideshow,” he said once more. “The real war’s against King Swemmel.”

“Aye, and we’re winning it,” Brigadier Zerbino answered after his large larynx worked to get down a swallow of wine. “We’re bloody well winning it. We drive them in the south, the same as we drove them all along the frontier last summer.”

Algarve wasn’t driving all along the frontier in Unkerlant this campaigning season. Sabrino understood why: King Mezentio didn’t have the men to do it. Had Zerbino come to the same conclusion? He gave no sign of it. Sabrino upended his goblet to pour the last of the wine down his throat. “I thank you for the hospitality, sir,” he said. “My dragons will be ready for whatever you may need from us.”

“I know that,” Zerbino said. “You’ve even got the Yaninan dragons flying as if the men on them know what they’re doing. That’s not easy. Allies!” He let out a loud, disdainful sniff.

“That’s more Colonel Broumidis’ doing than mine, sir,” Sabrino said. “He’s a good officer, and nobody anywhere would say anything else. Some of his junior men handle themselves well, too. When they get good leaders, the Yaninans can fight.”

“You couldn’t prove it by me, not with what I’ve seen of their foot-soldiers.” Zerbino sniffed again, even more noisily than before. How many goblets of wine had he had before Sabrino came to see him? No way to tell. He bowed, and straightened readily enough. “You are dismissed.”

With a salute, Sabrino left the new commandant’s tent. As he walked back toward the makeshift dragon farm, he had to fight hard to keep from muttering curses under his breath. King Mezentio had decided not just to keep the Lagoans from making trouble for the cinnabar shipments from the austral continent but to conquer it, to the degree that men from Derlavai could conquer the land of the Ice People. Wasteful, Sabrino thought, but the word didn’t pass his lips. King Swemmel would have called the plan inefficient-and, as far as Sabrino was concerned, the half-mad King of Unkerlant would have been right.

Colonel Broumidis came up to Sabrino as he returned to the dragons. As always, Sabrino had trouble fathoming the expression on Broumidis’ face. The Yaninan’s large, dark eyes held depths that made a mockery of the confident way Algarvians viewed the world. Doing his best to hide his unease, Sabrino asked, “And what can I do for you today, Colonel?”

“I do not know if there is anything you can do for me, Colonel,” Broumidis replied. Something sparked in those usually fathomless eyes. “In any case, I should be the one asking you what I can do. This is Algarve’s war now, with Yanina playing the part of the poor relation, as usual. Or am I wrong?”

Policy demanded that Sabrino insist Broumidis was indeed mistaken. Right this minute, he couldn’t stomach policy. He rested his hand on Broumidis’ shoulder for a moment in silent sympathy.

The Yaninan officer said, “You are a good chap-is that the right word?” He didn’t wait to hear whether that was the right word, but went on, “If more Algarvians were like you, I should not mind so much being subordinated to them. As things are, however …”

He didn’t go on. Sabrino understood what he was saying, though. Yaninans didn’t take kindly to being subordinated to their own countrymen, let alone to foreigners. “It can’t be helped, my dear Colonel,” he said. “If only-” He stopped much more abruptly than Broumidis had.

“If only we Yaninans could have beaten the Lagoans on our own-that is what you meant, is it not?” Broumidis asked, and Sabrino could but miserably nod. Broumidis sighed. “I wish it had been so. If you think I enjoy being a joke to my allies, you may think again. Actually, Colonel, I do not believe you believe such a thing yourself, though I would not say the same for a good many of your countrymen.”

“You are a gentleman,” Sabrino answered, uneasily remembering how many unkind things he’d had to say about the Yaninans’ fighting abilities.

Before Colonel Broumidis could politely deny any such thing, an Algarvian dragonflier came running toward him and Sabrino, shouting, “Crystal says the Lagoans and Kuusamans are flying this way.”

Broumidis bowed to Sabrino. “We can take up this discussion another time. For now, we have business.” He ran back toward the dragons he commanded, shouting orders in his own throaty language.

Sabrino started shouting orders, too. He already had dragons in the air; now that both sides had good-size forces of dragonfliers, he always took that precaution. He still wished he’d also taken it before the Lagoans wrecked his earlier dragon farm, though wishes there did no good. If he could prevent another such disaster and make the enemy pay, that would do.

His wing, full of veteran fliers and of dragons trained as well as they could be, wasted no time getting into the air. He noted with approval that Broumidis’ Yaninans were not behind them. In a good army, Broumidis might have gained marshal’s rank. Even as a colonel in a bad army, he made the men he led far better than they would have been without him.

And here came the Lagoans and Kuusamans, half the dragons gaudy in red and yellow, the other half hard to see because their paint blended in with sky and landscape. Zerbino and his reinforcements had driven the Lagoans back from their latest advance on Heshbon, but hadn’t broken their spirits.

Lagoans flew dragons much as Algarvians did: aggressively, thinking the best thing they could do was close with their opponents. The Kuusamans fought in a different style. They were precise and elegant in the air, looking for any chance to cause trouble and causing plenty when they found one.

Their combined force slightly outnumbered the one Sabrino led. They were on the point of gaining the upper hand when Colonel Broumidis, careless of tactics, hurled all the Yaninan dragons against them and threw them into momentary confusion. Sabrino shouted himself hoarse, then shouted into his crystal: “All right, Broumidis-get out now. You’ve done your job, and more than done it.”

“I am so sorry, my dear Colonel, but I cannot understand a word you say,” the Yaninan answered. A moment later, his dragon, assailed by three at once, plummeted to the ground. Sabrino cursed loudly and foully, which did no good at all. His dragons and the remaining Yaninans drove the Lagoans and Kuusamans back toward their own army-and he had the dreadful feeling that did no good, either.

Ealstan was happier when Ethelhelm brought his band back to Eoforwic. The musician was a friend, or as close to a friend as he had in the occupied Forthwegian capital. More than ever, he wished Vanai could meet the band leader. But Vanai couldn’t come out of the flat, and Ethelhelm was far too prominent and easily recognized to let him visit without drawing notice.

“Did you bring back enough from your swing around the kingdom to make reckoning it up for you worth my while?” Ealstan asked him.