Rulers of the Darkness

Spinello scratched his head. "You'd better tell me more," he said at last. The sergeant had to know what happened to most of the Kaunians the Algarvians brought into Unkerlant. Spinello wondered if Yadwigai did.

"Well, it's like this, sir," the sergeant said, halting the wagon in front of the firstman's house. "We picked her up in a village in western Forthweg when we first started fighting Swemmel's buggers, and we've brought her along ever since. We've had good fortune ever since, too, and I don't think there's a man among us who wouldn't die to help keep her safe. She's… sweet, sir. You know what I'm saying?"

"All right, Sergeant. I won't mess with your good-luck charm." Spinello could see that any other answer would land him in trouble with his new brigade before he met anyone in it but this fellow driving him.

He got down from the wagon and went into the firstman's hut. Along with the benches against the walls that marked Unkerlanter peasant houses, the main room held an Algarvian-issue cot, folding table, and chairs. A map was tacked down on the table. Spinello studied it while the sergeant brought in his carpetbag, set it down beside the cot, and went out again.

Officers started coming in to greet their new commander a few minutes later. The brigade was made up of five regiments. Majors led four of them, a captain the fifth. Spinello nodded to himself. He'd led a regiment as a major, too.

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen," he said, bowing. "By what I saw on the map, we have a good deal of work ahead of us to make sure King Swemmel's whoresons stay where they belong, but I think we can bring it off. I tell you frankly, I'd be a lot more worried if we didn't have Yadwigai here to make sure everything turned out all right."

The officers stared. Then they broke into broad smiles. A couple of them even clapped their hands. Spinello smiled, too, at least as much at himself as at his subordinates. Sure as sure, he'd got his new command off on the right foot.

***

"With your kind permission, milady," Colonel Lurcanio said, bowing, "I should like to invite Count Amatu to supper again tomorrow night."

Krasta drummed her fingers on the frame of the doorway in which she was standing. "Must you?" she said. "I don't like hearing my brother cursed in the house that is- was- his home."

"I understand that." Lurcanio bowed again. "I shall do my best to persuade Amatu to be moderate. But I should be grateful if you would say aye. He needs to feel… welcome in Priekule."

"He needs to feel not quite everybody hates him, you mean." Krasta tossed her head. "If he curses Skarnu, I will hate him, and I will let him know about it. Even you don't do that."

"For which praise, such as it is, I thank you." Lurcanio bowed once more. "Professionally speaking, I quite admire your brother. He is as slippery as olive oil. We thought we had him again not long ago, but he slipped through our fingers again."

"Did he?" Krasta kept her voice as neutral as she could. She was glad the Algarvians hadn't caught Skarnu, but knew Lurcanio could and would make her unhappy for showing it. Changing the subject and yielding on the side issue struck her as a good idea; with a theatrical sigh, she said, "I suppose Amatu is welcome- tomorrow night, you said? -if he behaves himself."

"You are gracious and generous," Colonel Lurcanio said- qualities few people had accused Krasta of having. He went on, "Might I also beg one more favor? Would it be possible for your cook to serve something other than beef tongue?"

Krasta's eyes sparkled. "Why, of course," she said, and her prompt agreement made Lurcanio bow yet again. Krasta kissed him on the cheek and hurried into the kitchen. "Count Amatu will be coming for supper again tomorrow night," she told the cook. "Do you by any chance have some tripe in the rest crate there?"

He nodded. "Aye, milady. I do indeed." He hesitated, then said, "From what I know of Algarvians, the colonel will be less happy at eating tripe than Count Amatu will."

"But Amatu is our honored guest, and so his wishes must come first." Krasta batted her eyes in artful artlessness. She doubted she convinced the cook. If Lurcanio asked him why he'd prepared a supper unlikely to be to an Algarvian's taste, though, he had only to repeat what she said and she would stay out of trouble. She hoped she would stay out of trouble, anyhow.

The cook dipped his head. "Aye, milady. And I suppose you will want the side dishes to come from the countryside, too." He didn't quite smile, but something in his face told Krasta he knew what she was up to, sure enough.

All she said was, "I'm certain Count Amatu would enjoy that. Pickled beets, perhaps." Lurcanio wouldn't be happy with tripe and pickled beets or whatever else the cook came up with, but she didn't think he would be so unhappy as to do something drastic.