King Swemmel glared out of the crystal at Marshal Rathar. Rathar stolidly stared back; he much preferred dealing with the King of Unkerlant at a distance to trying to deal with him face-to-face. “We are not amused, and we are not pleased,” Swemmel said in his harsh, high-pitched voice.

“I’m sorry to hear that, your Majesty,” Rathar replied. That, on the whole, was true; when Swemmel felt aggrieved, he was even more hair-raisingly erratic than in his calmer moods.

“They mocked us,” the king snarled. “They mocked us most unforgivably-Count Gusmao and in especial Lord Moisio. Were they not ministers of kingdoms also at war against Algarve”-he couldn’t bring himself to say, friendly kingdoms-”their heads should answer for it. We do not tolerate insolence.”

Rathar wondered when anyone had last dared be insolent to Swemmel. Not for a good many years; the marshal was sure of that. But the ministers from Lagoas and Kuusamo had the advantage of not being Unkerlanter subjects. Swemmel risked real wrath if he abused them. Of course, even that might not stop him if he reckoned himself provoked enough.

“They have the gall to say, ‘I told you so,’ to us. To usl” Swemmel snapped, still fuming.

Gusmao and Moisio had told Swemmel what was going to happen. And they’d told him the truth. He hadn’t seemed much interested in hearing it at the time-he’d actively resisted believing it at the time-but it had turned out to be true. And… “Your Majesty, now that the Lagoans and the Kuusamans finally are on the Derlavaian mainland, that can only help us,” Rathar said. “The redheads can’t concentrate all their strength against Unkerlant alone.”

“That is so.” Swemmel sounded unhappy about admitting even that much. But Rathar had distracted him. “Aye, that is so. And we shall make the Algarvians pay.” He stabbed a finger out at Rathar; even though it was only an image in the crystal, the marshal had all he could do not to flinch. “Do you suppose that, if they capture the Algarvian pretender in Jelgava, they shall use him as we used the Algarvian pretender in Grelz?”

“I… don’t know, your Majesty.” Rathar tried to imagine the Kuusamans boiling King Mainardo alive. The picture refused to form in his mind. But he couldn’t very well tell his sovereign that.

“Well, never mind.” Swemmel waved a hand. “You carry on with what you have been ordered. And mind you, Marshal-we expect to see results.” His image vanished. The crystal flared, then went back to being an inert glass globe.

As often happened after a conversation with the king, Rathar needed to shake himself to return to the real world. The commandant’s headquarters in Pewsum weren’t so very much, not as the real world went. Rathar got up, stretched, and walked out onto the street. No one followed him. No one dared disturb his privacy. Who would disturb the most powerful man in Unkerlant save Swemmel alone?

After a little while, General Gurmun dared. Gurmun, from everything Rathar had seen, had as much daring as any officer needed, and a little more besides. “What news from the king?” he asked.

Marshal Rathar eyed him. Gurmun also had as much ambition as any officer needed, and a little more besides. One of the posts to which an ambitious Unkerlanter general might aspire was the one Rathar held. Even so, the question was reasonable. Picking his words with care, Rathar replied, “His Majesty is irked at the Kuusaman and Lagoan ministers for not being as polite as they might have when talking about their invasion of Jelgava.”

“He’s got a right to be irked, too, if anybody wants to know what 1 think,” Gurmun answered. “We’ve been carrying the load against Algarve all by ourselves the past three years. And now the islanders are crowing like roosters because they’ve taken on a little? Powers below eat ‘em, I say.”

That held some truth. It certainly matched Swemmel’s view of things. Rathar said, “They haven’t been idle, not altogether.” Gurmun snorted. The marshal went on: “And, as I told his Majesty, the more the redheads have to put into fighting Lagoas and Kuusamo, the less they’ll have left to use against us.”

“Well, that’s true enough.” Gurmun nodded vigorously. “It should have happened last year, or maybe even the year before, but it is true now. We’ll make Mezentio’s men pay, too.”

“I expect we will,” Rathar agreed. “Our edge has always been in manpower and behemoths and dragons. Now it will be a bigger edge, and I intend to take advantage of it.” He pointed to General Gurmun. “You’re going to help me do it, too.”

Gurmun showed his teeth in a wolfs smile. “That’s just what I’ve got in mind, lord Marshal. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“We’re all looking forward to it, General,” Rathar replied. “We’ve been looking forward to it for a long time. If all goes well, we get to show the Algarvians what good scholars we’ve been these past three years.”

“Did the king say anything about the timing of what we’ve got laid on?” Gurmun asked.

“Not a word.” More than a little relieved at that, Rathar shook his head. “We’re still two weeks away, more or less. That’s always provided the redheads don’t do something we didn’t expect.”

“They’re not bloody likely to attack us first, not with everything they’ve got on their plate,” Gurmun exclaimed.

“I should hope not.” But then Rathar shook his head again. “No-I should hope so. If they want to waste their substance, they’re welcome to do it as far as I’m concerned. But that isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then, sir?” General Gurmun sounded suspicious. He didn’t care for Rathar’s seeing things he couldn’t.

Here, Rathar wasn’t sure what he was seeing, or whether he was seeing anything at all. He answered, “It’s just that… you never can tell with the redheads. They might pull some new sorcery out from under their kilts, they might not try to stand their ground, they might have ready lines farther east…”

“No sign of it from the dragons,” Gurmun said. “No sign of it from the mages. No real sign they even know what’s building against them here in the north. As far as we can tell, they’re still worried most about the Duchy of Grelz.”

“Aye, as far as we can tell,” Rathar agreed. “I just hope we can tell far enough.” His chuckle held no mirth. Back in the days of the Twinkings War, he’d always had a good notion of what Kyot’s forces were likely to do. Like him, they were Unkerlanters; he’d understood how they thought. “Anybody who’s sure he understands what the Algarvians are up to deserves to get his head handed to him, and he probably will.”

“They aren’t as smart as they think they are, and we aren’t as stupid as they think we are,” Gurmun said. “We’ve used that against them a few times.”

Rathar nodded. Pretending to do something foolish in the hope the Algarvians would pounce on it and thus fall into a later trap they hadn’t foreseen, had worked well fairly often, in fact. Mezentio’s men were proud of their own cleverness. If they saw the ignorant Unkerlanters acting stupid, they felt duty bound to punish them-and ended up punishing themselves in the process. And, in their arrogance, they had trouble realizing what they’d done wrong.

“Are your behemoths in place?” the marshal asked.

Gurmun’s blunt-featured head bobbed up and down. “I’m right on schedule, lord Marshal. If we weren’t moving only at night, if we weren’t keeping quiet with our crystals, we’d be farther along still. Not being able to send a message ahead to let people prepare for the beasts slows us down.”

“I know,” Rathar said. “But all the emanations we’ve been able to intercept from the redheads show they don’t know what’s coming. That’s just how I want things to stay. The surprise will make up for everything.”

“I hope you’re right, sir.” Gurmun’s eyes flashed. If you’re wrong, King Swemmel will hear about it. I’ll make sure he hears about it.