Borsos beamed again. Frigyes said, "My, what a clever chap you turn out to be." Kun looked about ready to burst like an egg from rage and jealousy. That made Istvan happier than either officer's reaction. He had to live with Kun all the time.
"Even so, Sergeant. Even so," Borsos answered, beaming still. "By the law of similarity, when I dowse with this rod, I'll sense motion from Unkerlanters, and very little from any other source." He waved the rod as if it were a sword, then thwacked it into the palm of his hand. "It's not perfect-dowsing isn't-but it's pretty good."
"Go ahead, Major," Captain Frigyes said. He wouldn't have talked like that to a real soldier of rank higher than his own. "Let's see what's going on out there."
Major Borsos didn't take offense. He'd probably had officers-real officers, men of noble blood-treat him a good deal worse. He said, "Aye, Captain, just as you please." Holding the handle of the dowsing rod in both hands, he swung it to the east, murmuring as he did so. He hadn't gone far before it dipped sharply. "Something in that direction-not far away, unless I miss my guess."
"Oh, that's where their scouts always hide, sir," Szonyi said. "Nothing much to worry about unless you feel a whole lot of the buggers."
"No," Borsos said, looking down at his hands as if asking them to speak more clearly. After some thought, he nodded. "No, it doesn't feel like a lot of men. One, not far away-that could well be so."
Kun worked his little magic and said, "He's not moving toward us."
"No?" Borsos said. "What charm were you using there, soldier?" He shrugged. "Whatever it is, it won't matter to me. I never have been able to do m uch in the way of magecraft save for dowsing. The art is in the blood, or else it's not. With me, it's not, unless I have a dowsing rod in my hand."
"It's very easy, sir," Kun said, and ran through it.
Borsos tried the charm, then shrugged again. "I can't tell if anyone is moving or not. You have your gift; I have mine. And now, I had better finish doing what I can do." He started working the dowsing rod again.
Kun looked proud that he could do something the dowser couldn't. He didn't bother remembering that Borsos could do something he couldn't-something a great deal larger. People, Istvan had noticed, were often like that.
After sweeping through the entire half-circle, Borsos turned to Frigyes and said, "I see no vast hordes of Unkerlanters set to sweep down on this redoubt. Of course, if they're more than a mile or so away, I probably won't see them. That's the range I can get out of this rod." With a shrug, he put it back into his valise.
"Thanks, Major," Captain Frigyes said. "I didn't really expect an attack, but it's nice to know we haven't got one building... here." He corrected himself before Borsos could do it for him.
"Sir, you could sense Kuusaman ships out beyond the horizon," Istvan said. "Why can't you see that far with your Unkerlanter rod?"
"Mainly because a big moving warship creates a lot more disturbance than even a whole lot of moving men," the dowser answered. "Men aren't all moving in just the same direction. Some of them might even move away on purpose to confuse people like me. This is a funny business I'm in, no two ways about it."
Istvan started to say that he'd trade in a flash, but checked himself. Borsos' job brought him up to the front lines, too, and he was no great shakes at fighting back. Each sheep has its own pasture, Istvan thought. He looked up and laughed a little. His pasture came with altogether too many trees.
***
When Hajjaj walked into General Ikhshid's office, the portly officer started to get to his feet so he could bow. "Don't bother, General, I pray you-don't bother," Hajjaj said. "I am willing-indeed, I am eager-to take the thought for the act."
"You're kind, your Excellency, very kind," Ikhshid wheezed. "Since you say I may, I'm more than content to stay down here on my arse, believe me I am."
"Are you well, General?" the Zuwayzi foreign minister asked in some anxiety-if Ikhshid went down, he didn't know who could replace him. As a soldier, Ikhshid was better than competent, but no more than that. But he had the respect of every clanfather in Zuwayza. Hajjaj couldn't think of any other officer who did.
With another wheeze, the general answered, "I'll last as long as I can-and a little longer than that, with any luck at all. But I didn't ask you to drag your own set of old bones over here for that. I wanted you to take a look at the map and tell me what you see." He gestured toward the map of Derlavai that took up most of one office wall.
"No tea and wine and cakes?" Hajjaj asked mildly.
"If you want to waste time on frivolities, I'll send for 'em," Ikhshid answered. "Otherwise, I'd sooner talk about what's what."
"From your charm, anyone could guess you'd served in the Unkerlanter army," Hajjaj murmured. That squeezed a breathy snort out of Ikhshid. Hajjaj said, "I suppose we can dispense with ritual." He studied the map. "I am pleased to note the advances our bold Zuwayzi forces have made here in the north."
Ikhshid snorted again, this time in derision. "Cut to the chase, your Excellency. By the powers above, cut to the chase. You see that big ugly bulge down around Durrwangen the same as I do. There can't be a soldier on Derlavai-or on the island, either-who looks at the map and doesn't see that bulge."
"Not just soldiers," Hajjaj said. "Some weeks ago, Marquis Balastro assured me the Algarvians would cut it off as soon as the ground dried." He shook his head. "What a strange notion-ground getting too wet for armies to move across it, I mean."
"I've seen it myself, matter of fact," Ikhshid said. "It'd be like trying to fight in a tin of cake batter. That's what the muddy season's all about down there. But never mind that. The ground's been dry enough to hold armies for a while now, and the Algarvians still haven't moved. How come?"
"You would do better to ask Marquis Balastro or his military attaché," Hajjaj replied. "I fear I cannot tell you."
"I suppose not. But I can tell you, and I'm not an Algarvian," Ikhshid said. "The thing of it is, you think Marshal Rathar doesn't know what's coming next? They might have come close to a surprise if they'd moved as soon as ever they could, but now?" He shook his head. "Now it's a slugging match."
"Ah." Hajjaj studied the map. "If they strike there, they won't have much of an advantage of maneuver, will they?"
Ikhshid beamed so widely, his face showed a net of wrinkles that didn't usually appear. "Your Excellency, when I fall over dead, they can paint stars on your arm and you can take over for me."
"May you live to a hundred and twenty years, then," Hajjaj exclaimed. "The only thing I want to do less than command a few soldiers in the field is command a lot of soldiers in the field. And that is nothing but the truth."
"As may be," Ikhshid said. "But you can see it, too. If Rather can't, he's dumber than I know he is."
"Why are Mezentio's men waiting, then?" Hajjaj asked.
"Only reason I can think of is to get everyone and everything into the fight," Ikhshid answered. "Moving soldiers from every other part of the line, pulling animals off the breeding farms young and half trained... They've hit Unkerlant as hard as they could two summers in a row, and King Swemmel wouldn't fall over. If they hit him again, they'll try to hold a rock in their fist."
"But finding the rock takes time," Hajjaj said.
Ikhshid nodded. "We'll know more about how things look once they finally get around to fighting the battle."
"When Marquis Balastro speaks of this, he'll guarantee Algarvian victory," Hajjaj predicted.
"Of course he will. That's his job," Hajjaj said. "Your job, though, your job is to keep King Shazli from listening to a pack of lies."
Hajjaj bowed where he sat. "I have seldom met a Zuwayzi with such a delicate understanding of what I do and what I'm supposed to do."
"Delicate, my arse," Ikhshid said. "If my men tell me they've seen thus and so in the Unkerlanter lines and it turns out not to be thus and so at all, I look like a fool and some good men end up dead. If you tell King Shazli what isn't so, you can kill more Zuwayzin than I'd ever
dream of doing."
"That, unfortunately, is true." Hajjaj got to his feet. He knees and back and ankles creaked. "Seriously, Ikhshid, I hope you stay well. The kingdom needs you-and I would enjoy harassing a new commander, a serious commander, much less than I like bothering you."
"Well, you're a wizened old thornbush, but Zuwayza's got used to having you around," Ikhshid said. Once more, he didn't get up. He sat on his hams, his eyes turned to the map.
"Your Excellency," Qutuz said when Hajjaj returned to his own office, "the Algarvian minister would confer with you."
"Why am I not surprised?" Hajjaj murmured, and then, "I will see him."
"He says he will be here in half an hour," Qutuz said.
"Time enough for me to get dressed." Hajjaj let out a heartfelt sigh. "With the weather warmer than it was, I'm starting to feel that I'm martyring myself for the sake of diplomacy again."
"What if he comes naked?" Qutuz asked. "What if he comes showing off his circumcision?" He sounded as queasy talking about that as a prim and proper Sibian would have sounded while taking about going naked.
"I don't expect it," the Zuwayzi foreign minister replied. "He's only done it a couple of times, and then as much to startle us, I think, as to conform to our customs. If he does... if he does, I'll get out of my own clothes again, and I'll spend the time he's in my office not looking between his legs." The idea of mutilating oneself, and especially of mutilating oneself there, left him queasy, too. He went on, "Make sure you fetch in the tray of tea and wine and cakes. With Balastro, I may want to spin things out as long as I can."
His secretary bowed. "Everything shall be just as you say, your Excellency."
"I doubt it," Hajjaj answered bleakly. "Not even a first-rank mage can make that claim. But we do what we can, so we do."
He'd started quietly baking in his Algarvian-style clothes when Marquis Balastro came strutting into his office. The Algarvian minister, to Hajjaj's relief, was himself clothed. After the handshake and bows and protestations of esteem-some of which approached sincerity-Hajjaj said, "You look extraordinarily dapper today, your Excellency."
Balastro chortled. "How in blazes would you know?"
Hajjaj shrugged. "So much for diplomacy. Take a seat, if you'd be so kind. Qutuz will be here with tea and wine and cakes in a moment."
"Will he?" The Algarvian minister sent him a sour look. "Which means there are things about which you don't care to talk to me. Why am I not surprised?" But even as Balastro grumbled, he made a nest for himself in the pillows that took the place of chairs in Hajjaj's office. "Tell me, my friend, since you can't very well say a bare-naked man is looking dapper, what do you say for polite chitchat along those lines? 'Hello, old fellow. Your wen's no bigger than it was the last time I saw you'?"
"If it's not," Hajjaj answered, which made Balastro laugh. "Or you can talk about sandals or jewelry or hats. Hats do well."
"Aye, I suppose they would, with so little competition." Balastro nodded to Qutuz, who fetched in the traditional Zuway zi refreshments. "Good to see you. Nice hat you're not wearing."
Qutuz stooped to set the tray on Hajjaj's low desk. Then he bowed to Balastro. "I thank you very kindly, your Excellency," he replied in good Algarvian. "I hope you like it just as much the next time you don't see it." He bowed again and departed.
Balastro stared after him, then chortled again. "That one's dangerous, Hajjaj. He'll succeed you one of these days."
"It could be." Hajjaj poured wine. It was, he saw, date wine, which meant Qutuz hadn't been so diplomatic as all that; Zuwayzin were the only folk with a real taste for the stuff. "Most people, however, prefer not to think of their successors, and in this I must confess to following the vulgar majority."
At last, as the tea and wine and cakes failed, so did the small talk. Leaning forward a little, Hajjaj asked, "And how may I serve you today, your Excellency?"
"It appears likely that Kaunian marauders have made their way back to Forthweg from the refuge places Zuwayza had unfortunately granted them," Balastro said. "I will have you know that King Mezentio formally protests this outrage."
"His protest is noted," Hajjaj replied. "Be it also noted that Zuwayza has done everything possible to prevent such unfortunate incidents. Our navy has sunk several boats sailing east toward Forthweg for unknown but suspicious purposes." How many more had slipped past Zuwayza's small, not very energetic navy, he couldn't begin to guess.
Balastro's snort said he couldn't begin to guess, either, but assumed the number was large. Hajjaj didn't worry overmuch about that snort. If the Forthwegian Kaunians were all that Balastro had on his mind, the Zuwayzi foreign minister would be well content.
But, snort aside, Balastro still had reasons to confer with Hajjaj. Hajjaj had been mournfully certain he would, and even on which topic. Sure enough, Balastro said, "You are doubtless wondering why we have not struck at the Unkerlanters."
"I?" Hajjaj contrived to look innocent. "Even if such a thought were in my mind-
"
Balastro cut him off with a sharp gesture, more the sort an Unkerlanter might have used than anything he would have expected from an Algarvian. "We're getting ready, that's all. We're not leaving anything to chance this time. When we hit them, we're going to hit them with everything we've got. And we're going to smash them flat."
"May it be so." On the whole, Hajjaj meant it. Algarve was a nasty cobelligerent. Unkerlant was a nasty neighbor, which was worse. King Swemmel rampant in triumph... His mind shied away, like a horse from a snake.
"Believe it!" Balastro said fervently. "Only believe it, and it becomes that much likelier to be true. He whose will fails first fails altogether."
"It's rather harder than that, I fear," Hajjaj said. "If it weren't, you would not have needed to pause to gather all your forces in the south." Balastro stared at him, as if astonished to be called on the inconsistency. Hajjaj didn't care, not about that; part of the diplomatist's art was knowing when not to be diplomatic.
***
As Cornelu urged the leviathan west, islands rose up out of the sea. He couldn't see all of them, even if the leviathan stood on its tail, but he knew how many lay ahead of him: five good-sized ones, one for each crown on the breast of the rubber suit he wore.
"Sibiu," he whispered. "My Sibiu."
The last time he'd gone back to his Sibiu, the Algarvian occupiers had killed his leviathan out from under him. But the Algarvians had done worse than that; they'd killed his family out from under him, even though Costache and Brindza remained alive.
He was glad this scouting mission didn't take him to Tirgoviste town, didn't take him to Tirgoviste island. How alert were Mezentio's men around Facaceni island, the westernmost of the main five? If they were too alert, of course, he wouldn't bring the leviathan back to Setubal, but that would tell the Lagoan naval officers something worth knowing, too.
He kept an eye peeled for dragons, another for ley-line warships. So far, no sign of either. The Algarvians, these days, had a lot of coast to watch: Sibiu's, of course, but also their own and Valmiera's and Jelgava's and Forthweg's and, Cornelu supposed, Zuwayza's and Yanina's as well. The Algarvian navy hadn't been enormous before the war began. It also had to hold off Unkerlant's, to try to keep an eye on the land of the Ice People, and to help colonial forces keep the sputtering war going in tropical Siaulia. Looked at that way, was it any wonder Cornelu saw no warships?
Maybe the Lagoans and Kuusamans could send a fleet into Sibiu and snatch it out from under the Algarvians' noses. Maybe. That was one of the reasons Cornelu and his leviathan were here. If they didn't spot any patrollers, maybe Mezentio's minions were sending everything west for the big fight, the fight that couldn't be ignored, the fight against Unkerlant.
What sort of garrison stayed in Facaceni town? Real soldiers? Or beardless boys and gray-haired veterans of the Six Years' War? Cornelu couldn't tell that, not from the sea, but Lagoas and Kuusamo were bound to have spies in the town, too. What were they
telling the spymasters in Setubal and Yliharma? And how much of what they were telling those spymasters could be believed?
On swam the leviathan, pausing or turning aside now and again to snap up a fish. Somewhere along the coastline, the Algarvians would have men with spyglasses or perhaps mages watching for the approach of foes from the west. Cornelu and his leviathan would not draw the mages' notice, for he pulled no energy from the ley lines that powered fleets. And to a man with a spyglass, one spouting leviathan looked much like another. For that matter, from farther than a few hundred yards, a spouting leviathan looked much like a spouting whale.
As he rounded the headland and neared Facaceni town, Cornelu saw several sailboats bobbing in the water. They wouldn't draw the notice of any mages, either. Cornelu grimaced. The Algarvians had conquered Sibiu through a daring reversion to the days before ley lines were known: with a fleet of sailing ships that reached Cornelu's kingdom unseen and undetected in dead of night. In a world of ever-growing complexity, the simple approach had proved overwhelmingly successful.
Turtledove, Harry - Darkness 04 - Rulers Of The Darkness Page 40
