Rulers of the Darkness

Would Sibiu truly be free, with Lagoan and Kuusaman soldiers holding the Algarvians at bay? It was bound to be freer. For now, that would do. "Powers above be praised," Cornelu said. "I can go home again." He could, aye. He needed a moment to remember that he might not want to.

***

An early fall rain- early for Bishah, at any rate- had turned the road between Hajjaj's estate in the hills and the capital of Zuwayza to mud. The foreign minister was almost perfectly content to stay where he was. His contentment would have been complete had the roof not developed a couple of what seemed like inevitable leaks.

"There ought to be an ordinance against roofers, as against any other frauds and cheats," he fumed. "And, of course, they can't come out to fix the damage till the rain stops, at which point no one needs them anymore." He was content to be isolated from Bishah, aye. He didn't care so much to have Bishah isolated from him.

His majordomo didn't point that out. Instead, Tewfik said, "Well, young fellow, it's not so bad as it could be. When you get as old as I am, you'll realize that." Hajjaj was no youngster himself- was anything but a youngster, in fact. But he was likely to be dead by the time he got as old as Tewfik. The family servitor looked ready to go on forever.

A younger, sprier servant came up to them and told Hajjaj, "Your Excellency, your secretary would speak to you by crystal."

"I'm coming," Hajjaj said. "Run on ahead and tell him I'll be right there." The servant, perhaps a third of Hajjaj's age, hurried away. The Zuwayzi foreign minister followed at a more stately pace. Stately, he thought. That's a pretty-sounding word old men use when they mean slow.

Hajjaj's back twinged when he sat down on the carpet in front of the crystal. "Hello, your Excellency," Qutuz said from out of the globe of glass. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thanks, except that my roof leaks and the roofers are thieves," Hajjaj replied. "What's come up?" Something had to have, or Qutuz wouldn't have called him. On the crystal, unlike in person, he didn't have to go through long courtesies before getting to the point.

Qutuz said, "Your Excellency, I have waiting on another crystal Minister Hadadezer of Ortah. He wishes to speak with you, and was disappointed to learn you hadn't come down to the palace today. I have a mage waiting to transfer his emanations to your crystal there, if you give me leave."

"By all means," Hajjaj said at once. "Talking with the Ortaho is always a treat." Because of the swamps and mountains that warded Ortah, it had always been all but immune to pressure from the outside, even though it lay between Algarve and Unkerlant. Ortaho foreign relations were a luxury, not a necessity as they were in the rest of the world. Hajjaj couldn't help wishing Zuwayza might say the same. He asked, "Do you know what he has in mind?"

"No, your Excellency." Qutuz shook his head. "But just let me give the word to the mage here, and you can find out for yourself." He turned away and said, "Go ahead," to someone Hajjaj couldn't see.

A moment later, Qutuz's image faded from the crystal. But light didn't flare from it, as it would have were the etheric connection broken. After a pause of a few heartbeats, a new image formed in the crystal: that of a man whose long white beard began to grow just below his eyes, and whose hairline was hardly separable from his eyebrows. Most savants reckoned the Ortahoin cousins to the Ice People of the austral continent.

Hajjaj gave Hadadezer a seated bow. "Good day, your Excellency," he said in Algarvian, a language the Ortaho minister also used. "As always, it is a privilege to speak to you. I should be delighted to enjoy the privilege more often."

"You are too kind," Hadadezer replied. "You will, I hope, remember our conversation this past winter."

"Aye, I do indeed," Hajjaj said. Sulingen had been on the point of falling then. "It was a worrisome time."

"Worrisome." The minister from Ortah nodded. "The very word. It surely was. You may perhaps also remember the concerns of my sovereign, King Ahinadab."

"I do recall them," Hajjaj agreed soberly. "You are perhaps wise not to speak of them too openly. It is probably that no one but ourselves is picking up these emanations, but it is not certain." Ahinadab had worried that, for the first time in generations, war might bear down on his kingdom in the aftermath of the Algarvian defeat. To Hajjaj, that proved the King of Ortah was no fool.

Now, speaking like a man in mortal torment, Hadadezer said, "What King Ahinadab feared has now come to pass. Algarvian soldiers have begun retreating into Ortah to escape the Unkerlanters, and King Swemmel's men are hard on their heels."

"Oh, my dear fellow!" Hajjaj said, as he had the winter before when Hadadezer spoke of his sovereign's concern. "Do I understand, then, that Ortah lacks the strength to keep them out?"