Darkness Descending

to send brave Zuwayzin to a land in which bare skin is hardly a fitting uniform, however well it may fit.” He laughed.

“What then?” Hajjaj asked, though by now he thought he knew. Balastro had glided down this ley line before.

Sure enough, the Algarvian marquis said, “King Mezentio would have you strike hard at the Unkerlanters here in the north, to tie down as many of their men as you can and to keep them from sending reinforcements to put in the line against us.”

“I understand why you say this,” Hajjaj answered slowly. “But I would remind you, your Excellency, that Zuwayza has already done everything in this war that she set out to do. We have taken back the line set up in the Treaty of Bludenz, and more land beyond it. That suffices. The clanfathers would not rejoice to hear that they needed to send their men into new battles.”

“Would they rejoice to hear that everything they’ve won might be lost again through dithering?” Balastro returned.

Hajjaj had to work to hold his face impassive. Balastro had unerringly found the best argument he could use. But Hajjaj said, “I think we understand the notion of ‘enough’ better than you Algarvians. Some of the things you’ve done in your fight against Unkerlant--” He broke off. He’d long since made his feelings about massacring Kaunians plain to Balastro.

The Algarvian minister quoted another proverb in the original Kaunian: “ ‘For a good cause, wrongdoing is virtuous.’ “

Hajjaj didn’t know whether to admire Balastro’s gall or to be horrified by it. After a moment’s struggle, horror won. “Your Excellency, considering what your kingdom is doing, how can you in good conscience let that language flow from your lips?”

“They would have done it to us if only they’d thought of it,” Balastro said. Hajjaj shook his head. The Kaunian kingdoms had had a good many Algarvians under their rule when the Derlavaian War began. They hadn’t slaughtered them. Maybe, as Balastro said, they hadn’t thought of it. Hajjaj s guess was that they never would have thought of such an appalling thing.

He poured himself another cup of wine and tossed it down. That showed more of what he thought than he was in the habit of doing, but he couldn’t help it. “We are your cobelligerents, your Excellency, not your servants,” he said at last.

Balastro said, “This will serve your own interest as well as Algarve’s. If we are beaten, will you be better for it?”

That would depend on how badly you hurt Unkerlant before Swemmel’s men took you down, Hajjaj thought. Saying as much aloud struck him as undiplomatic. What he did say was, “This is a proposition I can take to his Majesty. The final choice lies in his hands.”

“Oh, aye, likely tell,” Balastro said. “Anyone who’s neither blind nor deaf knows where Zuwayza comes by her dealings with other kingdoms.” He pointed straight at Hajjaj.

“You are mistaken,” said the foreign minister, who knew perfectly well Balastro wasn’t. “King Shazli is his own man. Mine is but the privilege of advising him.”

Balastro’s laugh was loud and long and merry. “I haven’t heard anything so funny since the story about the girl who trapped the eel, and I was only twelve years old then, so I doubt that one would hold up. Yours will.”

“You do me too much credit,” Hajjaj said.

“In a pig’s arse,” Balastro said cheerfully. “But all right: we’ll play it your way. Since you know King Shazli so well, what do you suppose he’s likely to say about what you’ll ask of him?”

“I think he would be likely to ask the generals and the clanfathers for their views,” Hajjaj replied.

Balastro sighed. “I was hoping you--ah, that is, of course, King Shazli-- might make up ... his mind more quickly, but I suppose it can’t be helped. All right, your Excellency, I don’t suppose I can complain. But tell your generals and clanfathers not to take too long deciding, because this dragon is going to fly with you or without you . . . and Algarve will remember which.”

“I understand,” Hajjaj said. Unkerlant would not let Zuwayza out of the war; Algarve insisted Zuwayza go in deeper. Trapped, Hajjaj thought, not for the first time. Like all the rest of the world, we’re trapped.

Bembo and Oraste walked warily along the paths that meandered through the biggest park in Gromheort. The moon had set an hour before; they had nothing but starlight by which to see. No braver than he had to be, Bembo carried his stick in his hand, not on his belt. “Anything could be lurking in here,” the Algarvian constable complained. “Anything at all.”

“I’m not worried about anything” Oraste answered. “Anybody, now--that’s a different business.” His head kept turning now this way, now that.