Darkness Descending

A beam burned a furrow in the snow not far from him. That reminded him he needed to roll away, to make sure he didn’t make a fat, juicy target by staying in one place too long. As he rolled, he also made sure his knife was loose in its sheath. With sticks so weakened, this little battle would be fought at close quarters.

Rolling did one more thing--it coated his long sheepskin jacket with snow, making him all but invisible. Sure enough, an Unkerlanter ran right past him, not having any idea he was there. Istvan rose from the snowy ground like one of the mountain apes he’d been talking about a little while before. But he had better weapons than a mountain ape’s teeth and muscles, better even than the club the ape he’d killed might have been carrying.

He stabbed the Unkerlanter in the back. The fellow let out a scream that held almost as much surprise as pain. He threw out his arms. His stick flew from his hand. Red stained the snow as he fell. Istvan sprang onto him and slashed his throat, spilling more scarlet onto white.

“Arpad! Arpad! Arpad!” Those were Gyongyosians, coming to the rescue of their beleaguered comrades. Istvan feared the Unkerlanter egg-tossers would take a heavy toll on them, but King Swemmel’s men back at the tossers had trouble spying them because of the blizzard, and they made short work of the Unkerlanter footsoldiers.

“Forward!” a Gyongyosian officer shouted.

“Stay spread out,” Istvan added. “Don’t bunch up and let one egg take out a lot of you.” That proved good advice: the Unkerlanters finally realized their attacking party had failed and started lobbing more eggs toward the mouth of the pass. By then, it was too late. Istvan’s countrymen began the business of taking another valley away from Unkerlant. The only thing that could have made Istvan happier was thinking anybody would want the valley once Gyongyos had it.

Eleven

Rain splashed down outside the tailors shop in Skrunda where Talsu helped his father. The bad weather pleased Traku, who said, “We’ll have some wet people coming to buy cloaks today.”

“Aye, but half of them will be Algarvians,” Talsu answered.

His father made a sour face. “They’re the ones with the money,” he said. “If it weren’t for them, we’d have had a lean time of it.” He let out a long, slow exhalation. “I keep telling myself it’s worth it--and telling myself, and telling myself.”

“You keep telling yourself what?” Talsu’s mother asked, coming down the stairs from the living quarters above the shop.

“That you’re nosy, Laitsina,” Traku replied.

Laitsina snorted. “Why do you keep saying that? If you have so much trouble remembering it, it can’t be true.” Before Traku could answer, his wife went on, “Out with it, now.”

Talsu smiled. His mother was nosy. She knew it, too, but that didn’t make her stop. After a couple of wordless grumbles, his father said, “Oh, all right, all right.” He usually did. That was safer than really annoying Laitsina by not telling her what was going on.

When Traku was done, Laitsina said, “Well, we’ll sit around getting lean tonight if you or Talsu don’t go over to the grocer’s and buy some dried chickpeas and some olives and some beans.”

“I’ll do it,” Talsu replied at once.

His mother and father both laughed. “Are you sure you want to head out in the rain?” Traku said. “I can go a little later, if it lets up.”

“That’s all right,” Talsu answered. “I don’t mind. I don’t mind a bit.”

Traku and Laitsina laughed again, louder this time. Shaking a finger at Talsu, his mother asked, “Would you be so keen about getting wet if the grocer didn’t have a pretty daughter?”

That made Talsu’s parents laugh harder than ever. His ears heated. “Just let me have the money and I’ll go,” he muttered.

Traku pulled coins from his pocket. “Here you are,” he said. “I remember how much soap I used to buy because the soapmaker had a pretty daughter.” He grinned at Laitsina, who waved her hand as if to say she’d never imagined such a thing. Traku added, “I must’ve been the cleanest fellow in Skrunda in those days.”

“Oh, there were some others buying plenty of soap, too,” Laitsina said. “But I do think you got the most. Probably the reason I chose you--I can’t think of any other, not after all these years.”

Leaving his parents to their good-natured bickering, Talsu grabbed his own cloak from a peg near the door and headed down the street toward the grocery, which wasn’t far from the market square. His fellow Jelgavans hurried wherever they were going, with hats pressed low on their foreheads or hoods drawn up from their cloaks. Rain didn’t come to