Into the darkness, p.1
Into the Darkness, page 1
part #1 of Darkness Series
Into the Darkness
Harry Turtledove
CONTENT
Dramatis Personae
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Dramatis Personae
Algarve
Alardo: Duke of Ban
Alcina: Gardener in Tricarico
Balastro: Marquis; Algarvian minister to Zuwayza
Balozio: Man of Kaunian blood in Tricarico
Bembo*: Constable in Tricarico
Borso: Commandant of dragon farm outside Trapani
Cilandro: Colonel of footsoldiers near Tricarico
Corbeo: Dragonflier in Sabrino’s wing
Dalinda: Gardener in Tricarico
Domiziano: Captain-squadron commander in Sabrino’s wing
Dudone: King Mezentio’s predecessor
Elio: Lieutenant in Tealdo’s regiment
Evadne: Kaunian woman in Tricarico; Falsirone’s wife
Falsirone: Kaunian hair stylist in Tricarico; Evadne’s husband
Fiametta: Courtesan in Tricarico
Frontino: Warder in Tricarico
Gabrina: Slattern in Tricarico
Galafrone: Captain replacing Larbino
Ippalca: Algarvian noblewoman
Ivone: Grand duke commanding Algarvian forces in Valmiera
Larbino: Captain in Tealdo’s regiment
Lurcanio: Count and colonel occupying Prickule
Mainardo: Mezentio’s brother, named King of Jelgava
Martusino: Thief in Tricarico
Mezentio: King of Algarve
Mosco Captain: Colonel Lurcanio’s adjutant
Ombruno: Colonel commanding officer of Tealdo’s regiment
Oraste: Constable in Tricarico
Orosio: Senior lieutenant in Sabrino’s wing
Panfilo: Sergeant in Tealdo’s regiment
Pesaro: Constabulary sergeant in Tricarico
Procla: Gardener in Tricarico
Sabrino*: Count and colonel of dragonfliers
Saffa: Constabulary sketch artist in Tricarico
Sasso: Constabulary captain in Tricarico
Spinello: Major commanding occupiers in Oyngestun
Tealdo*: Common soldier
Trasone: Common soldier; Tealdo’s friend
Forthweg
Agmund: Master of Algarvian, Gromheort
Arnulf: Firstman in village in eastern Forthweg
Bede: Master of classical Kaunian, Gromheort
Beocca: Leofsig’s squadmate
Brivibas: Vanai’s grandfather
Brorda: Count of Gromheort
Burgred: Laborer in Leofsig’s gang
Ceolnoth: Magecraft master at Ealstan and Sidroc’s academy
Conberge: Ealstan and Leofsig’s sister
Cynfrid: Brigadier; senior officer in captives’ camp
Ealstan*: Student in Gromheort; Leofsig’s younger brother
Elfryth: Ealstan and Leofsig, and Conberge’s mother
Elfsig: Felgilde’s father
Felgilde: Leofsig’s girlfriend
Frithstan: Professor of ancient history
Gutauskas: Kaunian war captive
Hengist: Sidroc’s father; Hestan’s brother
Hestan: Ealstan, Leofsig, and Conberge’s father—a bookkeeper
Leofsig*: Soldier in King Penda’s levy; Ealstan’s older brother
Merwit: War captive
Odda: One of Ealstan’s classmates
Osgar: Master of herblore in Gromheort
Penda: King of Forthweg
Sidroc: Ealstan’s first cousin
Swithulf: Headmaster of Ealstan and Sidroc’s academy
Tamulis: Kaunian apothecary in Oyngestun
Vanai*: Young Kaunian woman in Forthweg
Womer: Linen merchant in Gromheort
Wulfher: Ealstan’s uncle
Gyongyos
Arpad: Ekrekek (King) of Gyongyos
Borsos: Dowser on Obuda
Gergely: Borsos’s wife
Horthy: Gyongyosian minister to Zuwayza
Istvan*: Common soldier on island of Obuda
Jokai: Sergeant in Istvan’s company
Kisfaludy: Major in Istvan’s battalion
Kun: Soldier on Obuda; former mage’s apprentice
Szonyi: Soldier on Obuda
Turul: Dragonkeeper
The Ice People
Doeg: Caravan master
Jelgava
Adomu: Colonel of Talsu’s regiment, replacing Dzirnavu
Ausra: Talsu’s younger sister
Balozhu: Colonel commanding Talsu’s regiment, replacing Adomu
Donalitu: King of Jelgava
Dzirnavu: Count and colonel of Talsu’s regiment
Laitsina: Talsu’s mother
Smilsu: Talsu’s friend
Talsu*: Common soldier in Bratanu Mountains
Traku: Talsu’s father, a tailor
Vartu: Colonel Dzirnavu’s servant
Kuusamo
Alkio: Theoretical sorcerer; Raahe’s husband
Elimaki: Pekka’s sister
Ilmarinen: Raffish elderly master theoretical sorcerer
Joroinen: One of the Seven Princes of Kuusamo
Leino: Pekka’s husband; a practical mage
Olavin: Elimaki’s husband—a banker
Pekka*: Professor of theoretical sorcery, Kajaani City College
Piilis: Theoretical sorcerer
Raahe: Theoretical sorcerer; Alkio’s wife
Risto: Admiral fighting in the Bothnian Ocean
Siuntio: Elderly master theoretical sorcerer
Uto: Pekka and Leino’s son
Lagoas
Brinco: Secretary to Grandmaster of Lagoan Guild of Mages
Ebastiao: Naval captain in Setubal
Fernao*: First-rank mage
Pinhiero: Grandmaster of the Lagoan Guild of Mages
Ramalho: Naval lieutenant in Setubal
Ribiero: Naval commodore in Setubal
Rogelio: Captain of the Leopardess
Shelomith: A spy
Sibiu
Burebistu: King of Sibiu
Cornelu*: Commander and leviathan-rider, Sibian navy
Costache: Cornelu’s wife
Delfinu: Commodore, Sibian navy
Propatriu: Captain of the Impaler
Vitor: King of Sibiu
Unkerlant
Agen: A peasant in Zossen
Annore: Garivald’s wife
Ansovald: Unkerlanter minister to Zuwayza
Berthar: One of Leudast’s squadmates
Dagulf: A peasant in Zossen; Garivald’s friend
Droctulf: General commanding Unkerlanter attack on
Zuwayza
Garivald*: Unkerlanter peasant in the village of Zossen
Gernot: Soldier in Leudast’s squad in Forthweg
Gurmun: Droctulf’s successor in command in Zuwayza
Herka: Firstman Waddo’s wife
Herpo: A traveling spice seller
Huk: Soldier in Leudast’s squad in Forthweg
Ibert: Deputy foreign minister
Kyot: Swemmel’s deceased twin brother
Leuba: Garivald and Annore’s baby daughter
Leudast*: Common soldier
Magnulf: Sergeant in Leudast’s company
Merovec: Major; Marshal Rathar’s adjutant
Nantwin: A soldier in Leudast’s company
Rathar*: Marshal of Unkerlant
Roflanz: Colonel commanding regiment in western Forthweg
Swemmel: King of Unkerlant
Syrivald: Garivald and Annore’s son
Trudulf: Soldier in Leudast’s company in western Forthweg
Uote: An old peasant woman in Zossen
Urgan: Leudast’s company commander
Waddo: Firstman of Zossen
Werpin: General in the attack over the Wadi Ugeiga
Wisgard: One of Leudast’s squadmates
Zaban: Foreign ministry official
Valmiera
Bauska: Krasta’s maidservant
Enkuru: Count in southern Valmiera
Erglyu: Public affairs officer in the war ministry
Gainibu: King of Valmiera
Gedominu: Elderly farmer near Pavilosta; Merkela’s husband
Kestu: Valmieran duke
Krasta*: Marchioness in Priekule; Skarnu’s sister
Marstalu: Duke of Klaipeda; commander of the Valmieran army
Merkela: Gedominu’s young wife
Raunu: Senior sergeant in Skarnu’s company
Rudninku: Captain fighting in southern Valmiera
Skarnu*: Marquis; captain; Krasta’s brother
Valnu: Viscount in Priekule
Yanina
Cossos: One of Tsavellas’s stewards
Gyzis: Varvakis’s clerk
Tsavellas: King of Yanina
Varvakis: Purveyor of delicacies
Zuwayza
Hajjaj*: Foreign minister of Zuwayza
Hassila: Hajjaj ’s middle wife
Jamila: Hajjaj’s daughter
Kolthoum: Hajjaj’s senior wife
Lalla: Hajjaj’s junior wife
Mithqal: Military mage of the second rank
Shaddad: Hijjaj’s secretary
Shazli: King of Zuwayza
Tewfik: Hajjaj’s elderly majordomo
*denotes a viewpoint character
One
EALSTAN’S MASTER of herblore droned on and on about the mystical properties of plants. Ealstan paid him no more attention than he had to, no more attention than any other fifteen-year-old boy would have given of a warm summer afternoon. He was thinking about stripping off his tunic and jumping in the stream that flowed past Gromheort, about girls, about what his mother would fix for supper, about girls, about the health of the distant and ancient Duke of Bari, about girls … about everything under the sun, in short, except herblore.
He was a little too obviously not thinking about herblore. The master’s voice came sharp as a whipcrack: “Ealstan!”
He started, then sprang to his feet, almost knocking over the stool on which he’d been perched. “Master Osgar!” he said, while the other boys whom Osgar taught snickered at his clumsiness—and in relief because the master had caught him instead of them.
Osgar’s gray-streaked beard seemed to quiver with indignation. Like most men of Forthweg—like Ealstan himself—he was strong and stocky and dark, with an imperiously curved nose and with eyes that, at the moment, flashed fire a wardragon might have envied. His voice dripped sarcasm. “Perhaps you will do me the honor, Ealstan, of reminding me of the chiefest property of the herb snake’s-grass.” He whacked a switch into the palm of his hand, a hint of what Ealstan would get if he did not do him that honor.
“Snake’s-grass, Master Osgar?” Ealstan said. Osgar nodded, anticipation on his face: if Ealstan needed to repeat the question, he hadn’t been listening. And so, indeed, he hadn’t. But his uncle had used snake’s-grass the year before, which meant he knew the answer: “May it please you, Master Osgar, if you set the powder of snake’s-grass and three-leaved grass under a man’s pillow, he will not dream of himself afterwards ever again.”
It did not please the master of herblore. His expression made that plain. But it was the right answer. Reluctantly, Osgar nodded and said, “Resume your seat—without making the countryside fear an earthquake, if that be possible. And henceforth, make some effort to appear as if you care what passes here.”
“Aye, Master Osgar. Thank you, Master Osgar.” Ealstan sat as carefully as he could. For a little while, till the master of herblore stopped aiming glances sharp as a unicorn’s horn his way, he paid attention to Osgar’s words. There were apothecaries in his family, and he’d thought more than idly of going into that trade himself one day. But he had so many other things to think about, and …
Thwack! The switch came down, not on his back, but on that of his cousin Sidroc. Sidroc had been thinking of something else, too, and hadn’t been lucky enough to get a question he could handle with what he already knew. All the boys in Osgar’s class looked diligent then, whether they were or not.
After what seemed like forever, a brazen bell released them. As they filed out, Osgar said, “Study well. We meet again tomorrow afternoon.” He contrived to make that sound like a threat.
To Ealstan, tomorrow afternoon felt a million miles away. So did his morning classes in Forthwegian literature and ciphering. So did the work he would have to do tonight for all of those classes and more besides. For now, as he left the gloomy corridors of the academy and stepped out into bright sunshine, the whole world seemed his—or, if not the whole world, at least the whole town of Gromheort.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the whitewashed stone keep where Count Brorda made his residence. As far as he was concerned, neither Brorda nor Gromheort got their due from King Penda, nor from anyone else in Eoforwic, the capital. To them, Gromheort was just a medium-sized town not far from the border with Algarve. They did not grasp its magnificent uniqueness.
That this was also Count Brorda’s view of the situation, and one he assiduously cultivated in the folk of Gromheort, had never crossed Ealstan’s mind.
It didn’t cross his mind now, either. Sidroc made as if to hit him, saying, “Curse you, how did you come up with that about snake’s-grass? When I strip off for the baths, everyone’s going to tease me about the welt on my back.”
“Uncle Wulfher used the stuff, remember, when he thought he had a sending of nightmares,” Ealstan replied.
Sidroc snorted. He didn’t want an answer; he wanted sympathy. Ealstan was his cousin, not his mother, and had scant sympathy to give.
Bantering with their friends, they made their way through the streets of Gromheort toward their homes. Ealstan blinked against the impact of the strong northern sun against whitewash and red tile roofs. Until his eyes got used to the light, he sighed with relief whenever he ducked under an olive tree or one full of ripening almonds. Goodbyes came every couple of blocks as one boy after another peeled off from the group.
Ealstan and Sidroc were halfway home when one of Count Brorda’s constables held up a ceremonial sword to halt foot traffic and wagons on their street. He shouted curses at a luckless man who didn’t stop fast enough to suit him. “What’s going on?” Sidroc asked, but Ealstan’s ears had already caught the rhythmic clip-clop of cavalry.
Both boys shouted cheers as the unicorns trotted by. One of the officers made his mount rear for a moment. The sun shone bright as silver off its iron-shod horn and off its spotless white coat, a white that put whitewash to shame. Most of the troopers, though, had sensibly daubed their mounts with paint. Dun and sand and even muddy green were less likely to draw the notice of the foe and a streak of spurting fire, even if they seemed less magnificent than white.
A couple of slim, fair, trousered Kaunians, a man and a woman, cheered the cavalry along with everyone else. In their hatred of Algarve, they and the rest of the folk of the Kingdom of Forthweg agreed. After the constable waved traffic forward, Ealstan watched the woman’s hips work in those revealing pants. He licked his lips. Forthwegian women went out in long, loose tunics that covered them from neck to ankles and kept their shapes decently disguised. No wonder people talked about Kaunians the way they did. And yet the woman strode along as if unaware of the spectacle she was creating, and chattered with her companion in their own sonorous language.
Sidroc watched her, too. “Disgusting,” he said, but, by his avid voice and by the way he eyes kept following her, he was perhaps not altogether disgusted.
“Just because they dressed that way in the days of the Kaunian Empire, they think they have the right to keep on doing it,” Ealstan agreed. “The Empire fell more than a thousand years ago, in case they hadn’t noticed.” “Because the Kaunians de-gen-er-ated from wearing clothes like that.” Sidroc pronounced with exaggerated care the long word he’d learned from the history master earlier in the year.
He and Ealstan had gone a couple of more blocks when someone came running up the street behind them shouting, “He’s dead! He’s dead!”
“Who’s dead?” Ealstan called, but he was afraid he knew.
“Duke Alardo, that’s who,” the man answered.
“Are you sure?” Ealstan and Sidroc and several other people asked the question at the same time. Alardo of Bari had been at death’s door more than once in the nearly thirty years since his domain was forcibly detached from Algarve in the aftermath of the Six Years’ War. He’d been vigorous enough to pull through every time. If only, Ealstan thought, he’d been vigorous enough to sire a son …
But the man with the news was nodding vigorously. “I have it straight from my brother-in-law, who has it from Count Brorda’s secretary, who heard the message with his own ears when it reached the keep by crystal.”
Like everyone else in Gromheort, Ealstan fancied himself a connoisseur of rumors. This one sounded highly probable. “King Mezentio will claim Bari,” he said grimly.
“If he does, we’ll fight him.” Sidroc sounded grim, too, grim and excited at the same time. “He can’t fight Forthweg and Valmiera and Jelgava all at once. Not even an Algarvian would be crazy enough to try that.”
“Nobody knows what an Algarvian is crazy enough to try,” Ealstan said with conviction. “He may have more enemies than that, too—Sibiu doesn’t like Algarve, either, and the islanders are supposed to be tough. Come on—let’s hurry home. Maybe we can be first with the news.” They both began to run.
