Sipping, he eyed the gathering. It was not what it would have been in times of peace. Ansovald, the Unkerlanter minister, had been sent south over the border once more when war between his kingdom and Zuwayza resumed. The ministries of Forthweg and Sibiu and Valmiera and Jelgava stood empty, untenanted. Zuwayza was not formally at war with either Lagoas or Kuusamo, but Algarve was, and Balastro could hardly have been expected to invite his king’s foes.
That left delegations from Algarve, from Yanina, from Gyongyos, from small, neutral Ortah (which no doubt thanked the powers above for the mountains and swamps that let her stay neutral), and, of course, from Zuwayza: Hajjaj was far from the only dark-skinned person making the best of clothes tonight.
The Yaninan minister to Zuwayza was a plump, bald little man named Iskakis. He had the hairiest ears of any man Hajjaj had ever seen. On his arm was his wife, who couldn’t have had more than half his years, and whose elegant, sculpted features bore an expression of permanent discontent. Hajjaj knew--he wasn’t sure whether she did, too--Iskakis had a taste for boys. For a man with that taste to be married to such a woman seemed a sad waste, but Hajjaj could do nothing about it.
Iskakis was telling a Gyongyosian almost twice his size about the triumphs Yaninan soldiers were running up in Unkerlant. Neither he nor the big, yellow-bearded man spoke Algarvian perfectly. Being from the other side of broad Derlavai, the Gyongyosian might not know most of the triumphs Iskakis was describing were as imaginary as the Yaninan’s command of the perfect tense. The Yaninan minister did not brag of his kingdom’s might to Algarvians.
Horthy, the Gyongyosian minister to Zuwayza, made his way over to Hajjaj. He was a big man, too, his beard streaked with gray. “You do not seem joyful, your Excellency,” he said in classical Kaunian, the only tongue he and Hajjaj had in common.
Hearing Kaunian spoke inside the Algarvian ministry and using it himself made Hajjaj s mouth twist. Again, he put that aside, answering, “I have been to too many of these gatherings to let one more overwhelm me. The wine is very good.”
“Ah. Is it so? I understand that. I have not seen so many as you, sir--I honor your years--but I too have seen enough.” Horthy pointed to the goblet. “And you say you esteem that wine?”
“I do.” Hajjaj’s smile held an edge of self-mockery. “But it is made from a fruit of my country”--to his annoyance, he couldn’t come up with the classical Kaunian word for
“I shall try it,” the Gyongyosian minister declared, as if Hajjaj had questioned his manhood. He marched over to the bar and returned with a goblet of Shamiyah wine. Raising it to his lips, he said, “May the stars grant you health and many more years.” He sipped, paused thoughtfully, and sipped again. After another pause, he delivered his verdict: “I would not care to drink it and nothing else, but it goes well enough as a change from the usual.”
“Most Zuwayzin say the same of grape wine,” Hajjaj said. “As for myself, your Excellency, I agree with you.”
“Marquis Balastro is a good host: he lays in something to please all of us.” Horthy leaned forward, toward Hajjaj, and lowered his voice. “Now if only he had laid in victory, too.”
“He did invite us here some little while ago,” Hajjaj replied, also quietly. “Perhaps he expected to be celebrating victory tonight. And, in truth, Algarve has won great victories against Unkerlant--as has Gyongyos, of course, your Excellency.” He bowed to Horthy, not wanting to slight his kingdom.
“Our war against Unkerlant is what our wars against Unkerlant have always been,” the Gyongyosian minister replied with a massive shrug: “a slow, hard, halfhearted business. In that countryside, what else can it be?” He laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. “Do you see the irony, sir? We of Gyongyos pride ourselves--and with justice--on being a warrior race, yet the stars have decreed that we are, because of our placement in the uttermost west of Derlavai, hard pressed these days to fight a war worthy of our mettle.”
Hajjaj raised an eyebrow. “I hope you will not take it amiss if I tell you that kingdoms may have troubles far worse than the one you name.”
“I did not expect you to understand.” Horthy sipped again at the date wine. “Few if any outside the dominions of Ekrekek Arpad do. The Algarvians sometimes come near to the thing, but even they ...” He shook his big head.
“I believe they, at the moment, face a problem the opposite of yours,” Hajjaj said. Now Horthy’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. Hajjaj explained: “Do you not think Algarve may have undertaken a war beyond her mettle, however great that may be?--and I hasten to add I think it is very great indeed.”
“I mean no offense when I say I believe you are mistaken,” Horthy replied, “and is it not so that you may be speaking too soon? King Mezentio’s armies still move westward.”
