"You can do this and still leave a large enough force in reclaimed Forthweg to guard against Algarvian treachery?" Swemmel demanded.

"We can," Rathar said. Unkerlanter officers had been planning for war against Zuwayza since the day Swemmel drove Kyot's forces out of Cottbus. Some of those plans involved fighting Zuwayza while holding the line against Algarve in the east. It was just a matter of pulling the right sheet of orders from the file, adapting them to the precise circumstances, and issuing them.

"How soon can we begin to punish the desert-dwellers?" Swemmel asked.

Before answering, Rathar reviewed in his mind the man he was like liest to use. "Not so many ley lines leading up toward Zuwayza as we would like, your Majesty," he said. "Not many through the desert leading toward Bishah, either. If we hadn't already established supply caches up there, we'd be a good while preparing. As things are… We can move in three weeks, I would say." In practice, it would take rather longer, as such things had a way of doing, but he was sure he would be able to keep King Swemmel from actually ordering the assault till everything was ready.

But, as he'd thought only a few minutes before, you never could ten with Swemmel. The king screwed up his face till he looked like an infant about to throw a tantrum. "We cannot wait that long!" he shouted. "We will not wait that long! We have been waiting for twenty years!"

Rathar spoke in what he thought to be the voice of reason: "If you have been waiting so long, your Majesty, would you not be wise in waiting just a little longer, to make sure everything goes forward as it should?"

"If you show yourself a disobedient servant, Marshal, we shall find another to wield the righteous sword of Unkerlant," Swemmel said in a deadly voice. "It is our will that our army redeem the land the Zuwayzin stole from us beginning no later than ten days hence."

If someone else suddenly became Marshal of Unkerlant, he would make a worse hash of the war against Zuwayza, and of any later wars, than Rathar would himself Rathar knew the men likeliest to replace him if he fell, and knew without false modesty that he was abler than any of them.

Not only that, but he had his hands on the reins and knew exactly how to guide the horse. Anyone else would need a while to figure out how to do whatever needed doing.

All that went through Rathar's mind before he worried about his own extinction. He was not sure his wife would miss him; they spent little time together these days. His oldest son was a junior officer. His fall would injure the lad's career - or Swemmel might decide to destroy the whole family, to make sure no trouble arose later.

Steadily, even stolidly, Rathar asked, "Would you throw away twenty years of waiting, your Majesty, because you cannot bear to wait twenty days?"

Swemmel's chin was hardly the more prepossessing Rathar had ever seen. Nonetheless, the king stuck it out. "We shall not wait even an instant longer. Will you or will you not launch the assault in ten days' time, Marshal?"

11 If we strike too soon, without all our regiments in their proper places, the Zuwayzin win be far better able to resist," Rathar said.

King Swemmel's eyes bored into his. Rathar dropped his own eyes, staring down at the green carpet on which he stood. Nevertheless, he felt the king's gaze like a physical weight, a heavy, heavy weight. Swemmel said, "We would not have so much patience with many men, Marshal.

Do you obey us?"

"Your Majesty, I obey you," Rathar said. Obeying Swemmel would cost lives. Odds were, it would cost lives by the thousands.

Unkerlant had lives to spend. Zuwayza did not. It was as simple as that.

And with Rathar in command, the king's willfulness would not cost so many lives as it would under some other commander. So he told so himself, at any rate, salving his conscience as best he could.

When he looked up at Swemmel again, the king was relaxed, or as relaxed as his tightly wound spirit ever let him be. "Go, then," he said.

"Go and ready the army, to hurl it against the Zuwayzin at our command. We shall publish to the world the indignities Shazli and his burnt skinned, naked minions have committed against our kingdom. No one will lift a finger to aid them."

"I should think not," Rathar said. With the rest of the world embroiled in war, who would even grieve over one small, distant kingdom?

"Go, then," Swemmel repeated. "You have shown yourself to be a good leader of men, Marshal, and the armies you commanded did all we expected and all we had hoped in taking back Forthweg. Otherwise, your insolence here would not go unpunished. Next time, regardless of circumstances, it shall not go unpunished. Do you understand?"

"I am your servant, your Majesty," Rathar said, bowing low. "You have commanded; I shall obey. All I wanted was to be certain you fully grasped the choice you are making."

"Every man, woman, and child in Unkerlant is our servant," King Swemmel said indifferently. "A marshal's blade makes you no different from the rest. And we make our own choices for our own reasons. We need no one to confuse our mind, especially when we did not seek your views on this matter. Do you understand that?"

"Aye, your Majesty." Rathar's face showed nothing of what he thought. So far as he could, his face showed nothing at all. Around King Swemmel, that was safest.

"Then get out!" Swemmel shouted.

Rathar prostrated himself again. When he rose to retreat from the king's chamber, he did so without turning around, lest his back offend his sovereign. In the antechamber, he buckled on his ceremonial sword once more. A guard matter-of-factly got between him and the doorway through which he'd come, to make sure he could not attack the king.

Sometimes the idea was tempting, though Rathar did not let his face show that, either.

He went off to do his best to get the army ready to invade Zuwayza at

King Swemmel's impossible deadline. His aides exclaimed in dismay.

Normally as calm a man as any ever born, Rathar screamed at them. After his audience with Swemmel, that made him feel a little better, but not much.

Tealdo liked being stationed in the Duchy of Banijust fine, even if, as a man from the north, he found oncoming autumn in this part of Algarve on the chilly side. The folk of the Duchy remained thrilled to be united with their countrymen, from whom old Duke Alardo had done his best to sunder them. And a gratifying number of girls in the Duchy remained thrilled to unite with Algarvian soldiers.

"Why shouldn't they?" Tealdo's friend Trasone said when he remarked on that. "It's their patriotic duty, isn't it?"

"If I ever told a wench it was her patriotic duty to lay me, she'd figure it was her patriotic duty to smack me in the head," Tealdo said, which made Trasone laugh. Tealdo went on, "The other thing I like about being here is that I'm not blazing away at the Valmierans or the Jelgavans – and they're not blazing away at me.

Trasone laughed again, a big bass rumble that suited his burly frame.

"Well, I won't argue with that. Powers above, I can't argue with that.

But sooner or later we'll have to do some blazing, and when we do it's liable to be worse than facing either one of the stinking Kaunian kingdoms. "

"Sooner or later will take care of itself," Tealdo said. "For now, nobody's blazing at me, and that's just fine."

He strode out of the barracks, which were made of pine timber so new, they still smelled strongly of resinous sap. Off in the distance, waves from the Narrow Sea slapped against the stone breakwater that shielded the harbor of Imola from winter storms. Endless streams of birds flew past overhead, all of them going north. Already they were fleeing the brief summer of the land of the Ice People. Soon, very soon, they would be fleeing the Duchy of Bari, too, bound for warmer climes. Some would stop in northern Algarve and Jelgava; some would cross the Garelian Ocean and winter in tropic Siaulia, which hardly knew the meaning of the word.