Authors: Harry Turtledove
“So it is,” Leino said. “But the Algarvians were sneaky in a different way, for their ships did not use the ley lines at all: they were just sailing ships, like those of ancient days. They got into the Sibian ports before the defenders even realized they were there.”
Xavega cared nothing for such details. “This fleet is mightier,” she said again, which was indeed true. “Lagoas is mightier than Algarve.” Taken by itself, that struck Leino as much less obviously true.
Coughing a couple of times, he said, “Kuusamo has also had a certain amount to do with this fleet”—that certain amount being about two parts in three.
“Well, aye, a certain amount,” Xavega allowed reluctantly. By her tone, that certain amount might have been about one part in ten.
A shout rose from
Habakkuk\
tall watchtower: “Land ho!” Down on the deck, Leino couldn’t see the Derlavaian mainland, not yet. Before long, though, he would.
Habakkuk
and the other dragon-haulers would want to stay as close to the mainland as they could, to let the beasts aboard them fly as far into Jelgava as they could. Before too long, the Kuusaman and Lagoan dragons would fly from farms on Jelgavan soil, but Kuusaman and Lagoan footsoldiers would first have to take that soil away from the Algarvians.
Xavega said, “Still no trouble from King Mezentio’s men. They are all looking across the Strait of Valmiera, thinking we would try to strike against them there. But we fooled them by sailing out of that eastern port.” She didn’t remember the name.
Leino nodded. “We seem to have fooled them. The better our job of that, the smaller the price we shall have to pay.” He pointed. “Look—some of the ships are sending their landing boats toward the shore.”
Sure enough, men were scrambling down nets and rope ladders from the ley-line transports to the smaller craft that would take them up onto the beaches of southeastern Jelgava. Because a good many ley lines ran toward those beaches, the smaller craft also had sorcerers aboard to take advantage of the world’s energy grid. In earlier invasions by sea, some Kuusamans had had to try to reach Gyongyosian-held islands from their transports in rowboats and little sailboats. Logistics here had improved.
“They are not going to be able to make behemoths, or even unicorns, climb down ladders,” Xavega said. “How do they propose to get them into the battle?”
“I do not know,” Leino answered with a shrug. “I have not tried to find out, either, I must admit. Keeping
Habakkuk
going has been plenty to occupy me for now. If I thought they did not have a way, I would worry. But I expect they do. If I transfer to the land campaign, I suppose I will have to worry about that kind of thing.”
He looked west again. Now he could see the mainland of Jelgava. He’d been here on holiday with Pekka, but that was at the resorts of the far north. Whatever this was, a holiday it was not.
I hope it’s not a holiday for the Algarvians, either. It had better not be, or we’re all in trouble.
He didn’t just see the mainland. He saw smoke rising from whatever Algarvian fortresses or barracks or other installations the dragons could find. And he also saw fountains of water rising from the sea not far in front of the foremost ships of the invasion fleet. He cursed softly in Kuusaman: cursing in classical Kaunian never satisfied him.
The dragons haven’t wrecked all their egg-tossers. Too bad.
An egg landed on one of the small craft taking soldiers toward the shore. After Leino blinked away the flash of light from the burst of sorcerous energy, he stared at the spot, hoping to spy survivors clinging to bits of wreckage. But he saw only empty sea there, empty sea and other landing boats hurrying toward the shore.
Xavega had chanced to be looking in the same direction. “Brave men,” she said quietly.
“Aye.” But Leino wondered. Then he shrugged. Whether they’d been brave or terrified, what difference did it make? The egg hadn’t cared. And what they were now, irretrievably, was sunk. A moment later, another egg struck a boat. That vessel too, vanished as if it had never been.
And, a moment later, alarm bells aboard
Habakkuk
clanged. A dowser shouted, “Enemy dragons!” and pointed toward the west.
For a long moment, Leino didn’t spot them: he was looking high in the sky, where the Lagoan and Kuusaman beasts had flown. When his gaze fell closer to the sea, he spied the dragons—two of them, a leader and his wingman—driving straight toward the fleet just above the wavetops. Each of them flamed a light craft full of soldiers. Then they pressed on toward the bigger ships of the fleet itself.
Every heavy stick aboard those bigger ships started blazing at the Algarvian dragonfliers. None struck home, though. The dragons flamed a few men on the deck of a ley-line cruiser not far from
Habakkuk.
That done, they dodged their way back toward the Jelgavan mainland.
“I hope they get home safe,” Xavega said. “I do not care if they are the foe. They have great courage.”
Algarvic peoples—Lagoans as well as Algarvians—were prone to such chivalrous notions. Leino didn’t argue with Xavega, but he didn’t agree with her, either. As far as he was concerned, a particularly brave enemy was an enemy who particularly needed killing.
The Algarvian dragons did escape the massed blazing power of the whole allied fleet. But they were the only two enemy dragons Leino saw that whole day long. And, even as they escaped, the first small craft let their soldiers out on the beaches of Jelgava. Now the Algarvians had a new fight on their hands.
Talsu was discovering that life in a tent was less different from life in his home than he’d expected. He was warm enough. He had a roof over his head. True, it was a cloth roof, but with spring edging toward summer that mattered very little in Skrunda. If he was still under canvas when rain came with fall and winter, that would be a different story. He’d worry about it then, though—he couldn’t change it now. After the eggs from Kuusaman and Lagoan dragons burned him and his family out of their house, he was glad they were all alive and in one piece.
Worst about sharing the tent on the edge of town—one of many—with his father and mother and sister was that he and Gailisa had so little privacy. His parents were considerate enough to go out walking every now and then, and he and his wife did the same for them (both pairs taking Ausra along as needed), but still… .
He also went out walking and into town for other reasons than privacy these days. For most of four years, ever since the Jelgavan army collapsed and King Donalitu fled to Lagoas, he’d taken Algarvian occupation for granted. It wasn’t that he liked the redheads—he despised them. But he hadn’t seen anything that would get them out of his kingdom. In certain minimal ways— accepting coins with King Mainardo’s beaky profile on them, in making clothes for Algarvian officers, in not using his every waking moment thinking up ways to dismay or kill them—he’d acquiesced in their presence in Skrunda.
Everything was different now. After days of uneasy silence, Skrunda’s news sheets had to catch up with rumor and admit what could no longer be denied: the islanders had landed on the Derlavaian mainland. They’d landed, in fact, not far from Balvi—the capital of Jelgava lay close to the beaches where they’d come ashore.
After fetching a news sheet back to the tent, Talsu waved it in his father’s face. “Just listen to this.”
“Well, I will, if you ever read it to me,” Traku answered.
“All right.” Talsu stopped waving the sheet and started reading from it: “ ‘King Mainardo, the rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Jelgava, expresses his complete confidence that his forces and those of his valiant Algarvian allies will succeed in repelling the vicious invasion by the air pirates whose raids have already caused the Jelgavan people so much hardship.’ “
“He’d be pissing in his pants if he wore pants instead of Algarvian kilts.” Traku had heard enough news-sheet stories to have little trouble extracting accurate meaning from deliberately inaccurate words. He screwed up his face and made as if to spit. “I’m sure Mainardo loses hours and hours of sleep worrying about the Jelgavan people. Aren’t you?” He spoke in a low voice; canvas walls were thinner than those of brick and wood.
“Aye, worrying about how to do more and worse to us than he has up till now,” Talsu said, also quietly. “But wait—there’s more. ‘Jelgavan forces and their bold Algarvian comrades have inflicted heavy losses on the enemy and are making gains in several areas. Fierce fighting continues all along the line. The invaders’ hopes for a speedy triumph are doomed to disappointment.’ You know what that’s really saying, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” His father looked irate. “Think I’m stupid or something? It means the redheads tried to boot ‘em back into the ocean and they cursed well couldn’t do it. Or d’you think I’m wrong?”
“Not me.” Talsu shook his head. “That’s what I think it means, too. And here’s the best part of all: ‘An impostor claiming to be the abdicated fugitive King Donalitu has been reported to be in the grasp of the invaders. This effort to incite the contented populace of Jelgava will surely meet the failure it deserves.’ “
“So the real king’s back, eh?” Traku said.
“Can’t very well mean anything else, can it?” Talsu returned.
“No.” Traku’s tough, rather battered features wore a thoughtful expression. “Those fellows who were scrawling street signs about the king coming back knew what they were talking about, didn’t they?”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Talsu said. “I wish I knew who in blazes they were. I’d join ‘em in a minute, and you’d best believe that’s true.” There, his voice dropped to a whisper.
And, of course, whether the anti-Algarvian underground would want anything to do with him was a different question. He knew it. He’d gone into a dungeon, and then he’d come out again. The assumption had to be that anybody who came out of a dungeon cooperated with the redheads. And so Talsu had, at least by giving them names. That the names were of people at least as likely to collaborate with them as to struggle against them might not matter. He knew as much, though it pained him. His hand went to the scar on his flank, the scar from an Algarvian soldier’s knife. That had pained him, too, and a great deal more.
Outside, some called in fair but Algarvian-accented Jelgavan: “Is this being where I am finding Traku the tailor?”
“Aye,” Traku and Talsu said together. Talsu didn’t know what was going through his father’s mind. As for him, he quickly had to send his thoughts down different ley lines. The redheads might be in trouble in Jelgava, but they hadn’t been heaved out of Skrunda—and Skrunda, unlike Balvi, lay a long way from the invasion. Here, the Algarvians still ruled the roost. As the redhead—a captain, by his rank badges—ducked into the tent, Talsu cautiously asked, “What can we do for you today, sir?”
“You are still getting cloth? I am needing a new kilt,” the officer answered. His eye fell on the news sheet, which Talsu had set on a blanket. He pointed to it. “You are reading this?” Talsu stood mute. So did his father. Admitting it might land them in trouble. Denying it might be too obvious a lie. The Algarvian’s laugh was bitter. “What are you saying when my back is turning?”
Talsu saw even less way to answer that than the other question, and so he didn’t. Traku must have been thinking along with him, for all he said was, “Aye, I can get cloth—the bank didn’t burn, so I’ve still got some money. What sort of kilt will you need, sir? Lightweight, or something heavier?”
Are you staying here, or have they sent you to Unkerlant?
“Lightweight,” the redhead said. “I am to be staying and fighting in Jelgava. I am to be staying until they are capturing me or until they are killing me. The officers over me are so ordering, and I am obeying. And the powers below are eating everything here.”
“Lightweight,” Talsu echoed. He’d borrowed a tape measure from another tailor who remained in his own shop. “If you’ll let me take your measurements …”
The Algarvian laughed. It was not a happy laugh. Talsu had laughed that same kind of laugh sitting around a fire with other soldiers while he was in the army. It said,
Here we are, and we may as well laugh, because nothing else is going to help, either.
Having laughed, the captain said, “I am seeing your troubles. You are not knowing if I am trying to trap you.”
Again, Talsu stood mute. So did his father. The Algarvian was right, but admitting as much was dangerous. Talsu stepped forward with the tape measure.
“I am telling you this,” the Algarvian said. “You are not having to say anything. Algarve in Jelgava is …” He used a word in his own language. Talsu didn’t know what it meant, but the officer’s gestures were expressive enough for him to get the idea:
ruined was
the politest term he could think of. Idly, he wondered if Algarvians would be able to talk at all with their hands tied. “How are we fighting here?” the redhead asked. “All our good men, all our good behemoths and dragons—where are they being? Here? No, Unkerlant!” He used that word again, with vast scorn.
“If that’s what you think, why fight?” Talsu asked. “Why not just give up?”
“No, no, no, no.” The Algarvian wagged a forefinger under Talsu’s nose. “No doing that. I am being a soldier. Fighting is what I am doing. And who is knowing?” He shrugged an elaborate Algarvian shrug. “Maybe Kuusamo and Lagoas will be making mistakes. We can be doing that—so can they be doing it. If they are making mistakes, we may be winning yet. And so”— another shrug—”I am fighting still.”
He sounded like a soldier, sure enough. Talsu hadn’t gone into the fight against Algarve with any great hope or expectation of victory, but he’d kept at it till his superiors surrendered. On a personal level, he didn’t suppose he could blame the redhead for doing the same. On a level slightly different from the personal …
Talsu shook his head. If he started thinking that way, he’d stab the officer instead of measuring him for a kilt. Were the fighting right outside of Skrunda, he would have thought about that. As things were, nobody was going to kick the Algarvians out of this part of Jelgava any time soon. And so, with a small sigh, he advanced with the tape measure, not with a knife.