Wherever the truth lies there, they failed, and have paid dearly for failing."

"Swemmel has a way of striking before he is fully ready," Hajaj replied. "It cost him in the war against his twin brother, it made him start the pointless war against Gyongyos, and now it hurts him again "Only against Forthweg did striking soon serve him well," Shazli said.

"Algarve did most of the hard work against Forthweg," Hajaj said.

"All Swemmel did there was jump on the carcass and tear off some me

This is, of course, also what he seeks to do against us."

"He has paid blood," Shazli said, sounding fierce as any warrior prin in Zuwayza's brigand-filled history. "He has paid blood, but has no to show for it."

"Not yet," Hajaj said. "As you say, we have blooded one Unkerlant army. Swemmel will send others after it. We cannot gather so many in together, try as we will."

"You do not believe we can win?" The king of Zuwayza look wounded.

"Win?" Hajaj shook his graying head. "Not if the Unkerlanters persist. If any of your officers should tell you otherwise, tell him in return that he has smoked too much hashish. My hope, your Majesty, is that can hurt the Unkerlanters enough to keep more of what is ours than the demand, and not to let them gobble us down, as they did before. Even that, I judge, will not be easy, for has not King Swemmel shouted he [..ai.] to rule in Bishah?"

"The generals do indeed speak of victory," Shazli said.

Hajaj bowed in his seat. "You are the king. You are the ruler. You are the one to decide whom to believe. If my record over the years caused you to lose faith in me, you have but to say the word. At my [..a..] I shall be glad to lay down the burdens of my office and retire to home, my wives, my children, and my grandchildren. My fate is in your hands, as is the kingdom's."

No matter what he said, he did not want to retire. But he did not want King Shazli carried away by dreams of glory, either. Threatening to resi was the best way Hajaj knew to gain his attention. If the ploy failed then it failed, that was all. Shazli was a young man. Dreams of glory root in him more readily than in his foreign minister. To Hajaj's way thinking, that was why the kingdom had a foreign rminister. Shazli might think otherwise.

"Stay by my side," Shazli said, and Hajaj inclined his head in obedience - and to keep from showing the relief he felt. The king went on, shall hope my generals are right, and shall bid them fight as fiercely a cleverly as they can. If the time comes when they can fight no more shah rely on you to make the best ternis with Unkerlant you may. Does that suit you?"

"Your Majesty, it does," Hajaj said. "And I, for my part, shall hope the officers are right and I wrong. I am not so rash as to reckon myself infallible. If the Unkerlanters make enough mistakes, we may indeed emerge victorious."

"May it be so," King Shazli said, and gently clapped his hands in the Zuwayzi gesture of dismissal. Hajaj rose, bowed, and left the palace.

When he was sure no one could see him, he let out a long sigh. The king still had confidence in him. Without that, he was nothing - or nothing more than the retired diplomat he had said he might want to become. He shook his head. Whom else could King Shazli find to do such a good job of lying for the kingdom?

One of the privileges the foreign minister enjoyed was a carried at his beck and call. Hajaj availed himself of that privilege now. "Be so good as to take me home," he told the driver, who doffed his broad-brimmed hat in token of obedience.

Hajaj's home lay on the side of a hill, to catch the cooling breezes.

Bishah had few cooling breezes to catch, but they did blow in spring and fall. Like many houses in the capital, his was built of golden sandstone. Its wings rambled over a good stretch of the hillside, with gardens among them. Most of the plants were native to Zuwayza, and not extravagant of Water.

The majordomo bowed when Hajaj went inside. Tewfik had been a family retainer longer than Hajaj had been alive; he was well up into his elahties, bent and wrinkled and slow, but with wits and tongue still unimpaired. "Everyone's still going mad with celebrating, eh, lad?" he croaked.

He was the only man alive who called Hajaj lad. "Even so," the foreign minister said. "We have won a victory, after all."

Tewfik grunted. "It won't last. Nothing ever lasts." If anything refuted that, it was himself. He went on, "You'll want to see the lady Kolthoum, then." It was not a question. Tewfik did not need to make it a question.

He knew his master.

And Hajaj nodded. "Aye," he said, and followed the majordomo.

Kolthoum was his first wife, the only person in the world who knew him better than Tewfik. He'd wed Hassila twenty years later, to cement a clan tie. Lalla was a recent amusement. One day before too long, he'd have decide whether she'd grown too expensive to be amusing any more.

For now, though Kolthoum. She was embroidering with one Hassila's daughters when Tewfik led Hajaj into the room. One look at her husband's face and she told the girl, "Run along, Jamila. I'll show more about that stitch later. Right now, your father needs to talk -V me. Tewfik-"

"I shall fetch refreshments directly, senior wife," the majordomo said.

"Thank you, Tewfik." Kolthoum had never been a great beauty, had put on flesh as she aged. But men paid attention to her because of voice, and also because she made it very plain that she paid attention them. As soon as Tewfik shuffled away, she said, "It's not as good as crystal makes it sound, is it?"

"When is anything ever as good as the crystal makes it sound?" He returned. His senior wife laughed. He went on, "You aren't the only who thinks it is, though, and you have friends in high places." He [..t.] her about his conversation with King Shazli, and about what he'd has do; when speaking with his wife, he did not need to wait through ritual of tea and wine and cakes.

"A good thing he didn't take you up on it!" Kolthoum said ind nantly. "What would you do, underfoot here all day? And what do we do, with you underfoot here all day?"

Hajaj laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Powers above be pray that I have a wife who truly understands me."

"Well, of course," Kolthoum said.

Fernao had visited Yanina a couple of times before what news she in Setubal were calling the Derlavaian War broke out. Unless his memo had slipped, Patras, the capital, hadn't been so frantic then. Yaninans frantic - or, at least, they looked that way to foreigners - but they seemed less on edge then.

Of course, he thought, being a small kingdom sandwiched [.bitwe.] Algarve and Unkerlant went a long way toward helping to make a [.fo.] frantic. Having King Penda of Forthweg cooped up somewhere in the royal palace couldn't have helped matters, either, not with King Swemmel breathing down King Tsavellas's neck to get his hands on Penda.

And so broadsheets sprouted on every wall. Fernao couldn't [.re.] them; the Yaninans used a script all their own - as much to be difficult as for any other reason, as far as the Lagoan mage was concerned. But they were full of pictures of soldiers and dragons and red ink and the punctuation marks for excitement and urgency that a lot of scripts shared. If they didn't mean something like LOOK OUT! WE'RE GOING TO BE IN A WAR! - if they didn't mean something like that, Fernao understood nothing of symbols.

Two Yaninans were quarreling on the plank sidewalk in front of the doorway to the shop Fernao wanted to enter. They were going at it hammer and tongs, getting madder by the minute. In Fernao's ears, Yaninan sounded like wine pouring out of a jug too fast, glug, glug, glug. He knew only a handful of phrases of it; it wasn't a tongue closely related to any other.

A crowd gathered. Arguing and watching arguments seemed to be the Yaninan national sports. Men in tunics with puffy sleeves and tights and women with kerchiefs on their heads egged on the two combatants. At last, one of the skinny, swarthy men grabbed the other's bushy side whiskers and yanked. With a shriek, the second man hit the first in the belly. They grabbed each other and rolled into the street, clawing and gouging and cursing. The crowd surged after them.