Out of the Darkness

She shook her head. “I’m just surprised he wanted it. You city people don’t usually have the first notion of what to do out in the country.”

She hadn’t had the first notion of what to do in the city, but Skarnu didn’t press her about that. Instead, he said, “Well, you gave Raunu-and me-a good many lessons, and I think this woman he’s sweet on will teach him a good deal more.”

His old sergeant had found a farm widow, just as he had himself. Raunu’s lady friend was a few years older and a good deal more placid than Merkela. She seemed to suit him well. A lot of widows to choose from, Skarnu thought. Too many to choose from. Too many men dead.

At the edge of Pavilosta’s market square, an enterprising taverner had set up a table with mugs of ale and a selection of news sheets from bigger towns: the village couldn’t support one itself. He waved to Skarnu, calling, “I always knew you were more than what you seemed.”

And Skarnu dutifully waved back. That wasn’t easy. He’d been drinking ale at that table and idly going through a news sheet when he saw that his sister was keeping company with an Algarvian. And now I’ve got a bastard for a nephew, he thought with a sigh. And now it will be a long, long time before anybody will be able to look at Krasta without remembering that. How long does disgrace last?

It had lasted long enough for most of her servants to have deserted her and come out to the countryside with Skarnu and Merkela. That suited Skarnu well. He didn’t know the servitors who’d worked for his predecessors. Maybe they were all right. Maybe they’d collaborated as enthusiastically as Enkuru and Simanu had.

Of course, the servants from the mansion had had redheads there, too. And Bauska had a little girl with hair the same color as that of Krasta’s baby boy. Not many people in Valmiera had completely clean hands these days.

I do, he thought. Merkela does. The only trouble is, she doesn‘t want to yield even an inch to anyone who doesn’t. He sighed. He could see years of trouble ahead for the kingdom from quarrels like that.

But today wasn’t a day to dwell on troubles. “Coming back to Pavilosta feels good,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Merkela answered. “I don’t see how you stood living in Priekule for so long.”

“All what you’re used to,” Skarnu said. But he’d had a couple of years to get used to living in this part of southern Valmiera. The thought of spending a good many years here didn’t horrify him, as it would have before the war.

People from Pavilosta, the nearby village of Adutiskis, and the farms on the countryside in the area packed the market square. A good many of them waved to Skarnu as he and Merkela made their way through the crowd toward the traditional seat of installation. Every so often, he would spot someone he knew and wave back. Had he stayed in these parts as a peasant, the locals would have reckoned him that fellow who’s not from around here till the day he died. They would probably say the same thing about him as a marquis-but they might not say it so loud.

A band struck up a thumping tune. Merkela drew herself straight with pride. “That’s the count’s air,” she said, and then corrected herself: “No, I mean the marquis’ air, don’t I?” She squeezed Skarnu’s hand.

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “See what you get for taking in strange men who come stumbling out of the woods?”

“I never thought it would come to this,” she said. Whether that meant marrying him or coming back to Pavilosta in such style, he didn’t know and didn’t ask. The two of them had finally made their way up to the seat, which was in fact two seats, one facing one way, one the other.

Skarnu sat down in the seat facing west, towards Algarve. That symbolized the feudal lord’s duty to defend the peasantry against invasion. No doubt, in years gone by, it had been only one more formality in this ceremony. But, with the redheads only a few months gone from Valmiera, opposing them took on a new urgency. And people hereabouts knew Skarnu had been part of the underground. He really had done what he could to fight Mezentio’s men. Murmurs of approval and even a few cheers rang out as he took his seat.

A peasant from just outside of Adutiskis sat in the other half of the ceremonial seat. Counts-and now a marquis-were traditionally installed in Pavilosta, so the other village provided the second actor in the drama. “Congratulations, your Excellency,” the fellow said in a low voice.

“Thanks,” Skarnu said. “Shall we get on with it?”

“Right you are,” the peasant replied. “You do know how it’s supposed to go?”