Through the Darkness

“Here,” Fernao answered. “More or less here, anyhow.” He took stock. He needed a little while; he could think clearly under the yellow distillate, but he couldn’t think very fast. “Not too bad, all things considered. But there’s a good deal to consider, too.”

“I believe that,” Pinhiero said. “They tell me, though, they won’t have to do any more really fancy repairs on you. Now you’re truly on the mend.”

“They tell you that, do they?” Fernao thought some more, slowly. “They didn’t bother telling me. Of course, up till not too long ago I wouldn’t have had much notion of what they were talking about, anyhow.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back with us, and not too badly off,” Pinhiero said, which only proved he hadn’t been through what Fernao had. The yellow drug took the edge off Fernao’s anger, as it had taken the edge off his pain. The grandmaster went on, “That army colonel and I have had a thing or two to say to each other lately.”

“Have you?” That drew Fernao’s interest regardless of whether he was drugged. “What kinds of things?”

“Oh, this and that.” Pinhiero sometimes delighted in being difficult. Who was the Kuusaman mage who acted even worse? Ilmarinen, that’s what his name was. Dredging it up gave Fernao a brief moment of triumph.

“For instance?” he asked. He knew he had more patience with the drug than he would have without.

“For instance? The business the Kuusamans are playing with. You know what I mean. Is that an interesting enough for-instance for you?” Pinhiero waggled a finger at Fernao. “I know more about it now than I did when I sent you east to Yliharma, too.”

“Do you?” Fernao also knew he should have been more excited, but the drug wouldn’t let him. “What do you know?”

“I know you were right.” Pinhiero swept off his hat and gave Fernao a ceremonious bow. “The Kuusamans have indeed stumbled onto something interesting. More than that I shall not say, not where the walls have ears.”

Had Fernao still been taking the purple distillate, he might have seen, or imagined he saw, ears growing out of the walls. With the purple stuff, it wouldn’t even have surprised him. Now his wits were working well enough to recognize a figure of speech. Progress, he thought. “Are they talking more than they were?” he asked.

“They are.” The grandmaster nodded. “For one thing, we’re allies now. They aren’t neutral any more. But I think the whack Yliharma took counts for more. That’s what showed them they can’t do everything all by themselves.”

“Sounds sensible,” Fernao agreed-but then, Pinhiero was nothing (except possibly devious) if not sensible. After a little more slow thought, the mage added, “When they do finally let me out of here, I want to work on that. I already told Peixoto as much.” He touched one of the scars-scars now, not healing scabs or open wounds-on the arm he hadn’t broken. “And I’ve earned the right.”

“So you have, lad; so you have. Even more to the point, you know where they took flight, and that’ll help you get off the ground.”

“Here’s hoping,” Fernao said. “After dealing with the Ice People for so long, I don’t know if I know anything anymore.”

“You’ll do fine,” Pinhiero told him. “You have to do fine. The kingdom needs you.” As Peixoto had before, he waved and left. He could leave. Even with the yellow distillate dulling his senses, Fernao knew how jealous he was of that.

Three days later, the attendants heaved him onto his feet for the first time since he’d come to Setubal. They gave him crutches. Getting one under the arm still encased in plaster wasn’t easy, but he managed. By then, he was down to a half dose of the yellow drug, so everything hurt. He felt like an old, old man. But he was upright, and managed a few swaying steps without falling on his face. He had to ask the attendants for help in turning him around toward the bed. He made it back there, too. Progress, he thought again.

They weaned him from even the half dose a couple of days after that, and it was. . not too bad. He found himself craving the drugs, which angered and embarrassed him. When he fell asleep in spite of the pain that wouldn’t go away, he felt another small surge of triumph.

Having his head clear was a pleasure in itself. He’d always thought well, and didn’t miss the mist the liquids of one color and another had cast over his mind. When Pinhiero came to see him again, the grandmaster nodded in something like approval. “You’re starting to look more like yourself,” he said.

“I hope so,” Fernao answered. “It’s been a while. I’m glad I don’t know anything about the time in the crate.”

Pinhiero thrust some papers at him. “Time for you to get back into it,” he said. “Read these. Don’t say anything. Just read them. They’re from Kuusamo.”

Fernao read. By the time he’d got halfway down the first sheet, he had to slow down, because he was staring up at Pinhiero every other line. At last, in spite of the grandmaster’s injunction, he did speak: “I’ve been away much too long. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Colonel Lurcanio triumphant annoyed Krasta more than he did any other way, even importunate in bed. He waved a news sheet in her face, saying, “We have crushed them, crushed them-do you hear me? Sulingen is bound to fall, and everything beyond it right afterwards. Swemmel is beaten, lost, overthrown, as surely as the Kaunian Empire was long ago.”

“If you say so.” Krasta had an easier time feigning excitement in the bedchamber when she didn’t feel it there. But then she really did brighten. “That would mean the end of the war, wouldn’t it?” When she thought of the war ending, she thought of the Algarvians going home.

Lurcanio disabused her of that idea. “No, for we still have the Lagoans and Kuusamans to bring to heel. And then we shall shape all of Derlavai into the land of our hearts’ desire.” By his expression, the idea made him ecstatic.

Krasta wasn’t much given to thinking in large terms. But she remembered the crash as the Kaunian Column of Victory went over, and a chill ran through her. In an unwontedly small voice, she asked, “What will you do with Valmiera?” She almost said, What will you do to Valmiera? She didn’t think Lurcanio would like that. On the other hand, he might like it altogether too well.

“Rule it,” the Algarvian officer answered placidly. “Go on ruling it as we rule it now.” He got up from behind his desk, stood in back of Krasta’s chair, and began caressing her breasts through the thin silk of her tunic. She wanted to slap his hands away; he wasn’t usually so crude in reminding her that power, not love, made her take him to her bed. But she didn’t have the nerve, which proved his point.

After a little while, he seemed to recall himself, and sat back down. When he wasn’t touching her, her spirit revived. She said, “Derlavai’s too big to fill up with Algarvians, anyhow.”

“Do you think so?” Lurcanio laughed, as if she’d said something funny. By the look in his eye, he was going to explain just how and why he found her a fool. He’d done that many times. She always hated it, as she always hated submitting to any judgment save her own. But at the last moment Lurcanio checked himself, and all he said was, “Where shall we go for supper tonight?”

“So many restaurants have gone downhill these days,” Krasta said in no small annoyance. “They serve up the most horrible pottages.”

“What they would be serving goes to better use.” Lurcanio didn’t elaborate, but went on, “What do you say to The Suckling Pig? You may rely on its food, for many Algarvian officers visit there.”

“All right,” Krasta said, not making the connection between her remark and Lurcanio’s comment. “Shall we leave here around sunset? I get too hungry to wait long for supper.”

Lurcanio bowed in his seat. “Milady, I am putty in your hands.” Even Krasta knew that was overblown Algarvian courtesy, for Lurcanio’s will prevailed whenever it clashed with hers. He went on, “And now, if you will be so gracious as to excuse me, I must get some small bits of work done to keep my superiors content with me.”

Even Krasta knew that was dismissal. She got up and left, not too ill-pleased despite his roaming hands. Now she knew she had something to do with her evening. Life in Priekule wasn’t what it had been before the redheads came. And life in Priekule without the Algarvians was duller than it was with them. She sighed. Things would have been ever so much simpler had Valmiera won the war.

She reached the front hall just as the postman brought the afternoon delivery. Normally, she didn’t see the mail till the servants had gone through it and got rid of the advertising circulars and anything else that didn’t seem interesting. Today, just to be contrary, she took it all herself and carried it upstairs.