Into The Darkness

After Fernao converted it into Lagoan sceptres, he whistled softly [..Ferrnao anted gauge her.. th, he ith no forget aImost.. W.. you would aninan..] softly.

Cossos did not think small. But Shelomith had gold aplenty. "Agreed," the mage said, and Cossos blinked, evidently having expected him to haggle. Ferrnao added, "I will take any oath you like that I mean Penda no harm."

Cossos shrugged. "It'd cost you less if you did mean him harm," he said. "King Tsavellas would just as soon see him dead. Then he wouldn't have to worry about him any more. Bring me the money and-"

"I'll bring you the first half," Fernao broke in. "The other half comes afterwards, in case you'd just as soon see me dead." Cossos bared his teeth. Fernao stood firm against all his complaints, saying, "You need a reason not to betray me," In the end, grumbling, the steward gave in.

Well pleased with himself, Fernao headed back to the hostel.

Shelomith would pay without blinking; he was sure of that. He was less sure he could walk out of the palace with Penda and with no one the wiser, but he thought so. Lagoan mages knew more than those in this benighted comer of the world. He'd already had a couple of good ideas, and more would come to him.

He rounded the last comer and stopped dead. Green-uniformed con stables surrounded the hostel like ants at an outdoor feast. A couple of them carried a body out on a litter. Fernao knew it would be Shelomith's before he got close enough to recognize it, and it was. The constables were laughing and joking, as if they'd found treasure. They probably had found treasure - Shelomith's treasure. Fernao gulped. Now all he had was the money in his own pouch, and he was alone and friendless in a foreign town.

Dragons swooped low over Trapani. Marching in the triumphal procession through the streets of the Algarvian capital, Colonel Sabrino hoped none of the miserable beasts would choose the moment in which it flew over him to void. Long and intimate experience informed his mistrust of dragons.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he had to step smartly to keep from putting his foot down on a pile of behemoth dung.

Squadrons of the great beasts were interspersed among the marching troops, to give the swarms of civilians who packed the sidewalks something extra at which to cheer.

Sabrino marched with his shoulders back, his head up, his chin thrust forward. He wanted everyone who saw him to know he was a fierce fighting man, one who would never take a step back from the foe.

Algarvians made much of appearances. And why not? Sabrino thought.

Have the mages not proved that appearances help shape reality?

He also wanted people, especially pretty women, to notice. He was happy with his wife, he was happy with his mistress, but he would not have been broken-hearted had some sweet young thing adoringly cast herself at his feet. No, he would not have been broken-hearted at all.

Whether he would find himself so lucky after the end of the parade, he did not know. He was pretty sure a good many soldiers would, though. Women kept running out to kiss them as they tramped past. A lot of the cheers that washed over them weren't the sort of cheers soldiers usually got. They sounded more like the ones excited followers usually gave popular balladeers or actors.

Behind Sabrino, Captain Domiziano must have been thinking along similar lines, for he said, "If a man can't get laid today, sir, it's only because he's not trying very hard."

"You're right about that," Sabrino answered. "You are indeed." He kept eyeing women, though he told himself that was foolish: the ones he passed here would be long gone by the time the parade ended. But his eyes were less disciplined than his mind - or, to put it another way, he enjoyed watching regardless of whether or not he could do anything but watch.

People held up signs saying things like GOODBYE, FORTHWEG! and ONE DOWN, THREE TO GO! and ALGARVE THE INVIN CIBLE! It hadn't been like that in the Six Years' War, Sabrino remembered. The kingdom had fought only reluctantly then. Now, with her neighbors declaring war on her after she had done no more than retrieve what was rightfully hers, Algarve was united behind King Mezentio - and behind the army that had won this triumph.

The parade ended at the royal palace, men and behemoths tramping by under the balcony from which King Mezentio had announced that Algarve was at war with Forthweg and Sibiu, Jelgava and Valmiera.

Mezentio stood there now, reviewing the troops who had won such a smashing victory. Sabrino doffed his hat and waved it in the direction of his sovereign. "Mezentio! " he shouted at the top of his lungs, his cry one of hundreds, thousands, aimed at the king.

Around the palace to the far side, the side opposite the Royal Square and also out of sight of the crowd, the triumphal procession disintegrated.