Behind Sabrino, Captain Domiziano must have been thinking along similar lines, for he said, "If a man can't get laid today, sir, it's only because he's not trying very hard."
"You're right about that," Sabrino answered. "You are indeed." He kept eyeing women, though he told himself that was foolish: the ones he passed here would be long gone by the time the parade ended. But his eyes were less disciplined than his mind - or, to put it another way, he enjoyed watching regardless of whether or not he could do anything but watch.
People held up signs saying things like GOODBYE, FORTHWEG! and ONE DOWN, THREE TO GO! and ALGARVE THE INVIN CIBLE! It hadn't been like that in the Six Years' War, Sabrino remembered. The kingdom had fought only reluctantly then. Now, with her neighbors declaring war on her after she had done no more than retrieve what was rightfully hers, Algarve was united behind King Mezentio - and behind the army that had won this triumph.
The parade ended at the royal palace, men and behemoths tramping by under the balcony from which King Mezentio had announced that Algarve was at war with Forthweg and Sibiu, Jelgava and Valmiera.
Mezentio stood there now, reviewing the troops who had won such a smashing victory. Sabrino doffed his hat and waved it in the direction of his sovereign. "Mezentio! " he shouted at the top of his lungs, his cry one of hundreds, thousands, aimed at the king.
Around the palace to the far side, the side opposite the Royal Square and also out of sight of the crowd, the triumphal procession disintegrated.
Behemoth riders took their beasts off through alleys so narrow, they had to go in single file. Martinets led their companies and regiments back toward their barracks. Officers with more heart gave their men liberty.
The released soldiers hurried back toward the Royal Square to see what arrangements they could make for themselves.
Sabrino had just turned his men loose, and was about to follow them back toward the square and try his luck when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun, to find himself facing a man in the green, red, and white livery of a palace servant. "You are the Count Sabrino?" the servitor asked.
"I am," Sabrino admitted. "What do you desire of me?"
Before answering, the servant made a mark on the list, probably checking off his name. Then he said, "I have the honor, my lord, of inviting you to a reception in an hour's time in the Salon of King Aquilante V, wherein his Majesty shall express his gratitude to the nobility for supporting him and Algarve during our present crisis."
"I am honored," Sabrino said, bowing. "You may tell his Majesty that I shall certainly attend him."
He wondered if the servant even heard; the fellow had already turned away to look for the next man on his list. He must have assumed Sabrino would accept the invitation. And why not? Who in his right mind would refuse a summons from his sovereign? Sabrino hurried toward the nearest palace entrance.
Guards there unsmilingly examined his uniform, his dragonflier's badge, and his badge of nobility. They ticked off his name as the servitor who'd tendered him the invitation had done. Irritated, Sabrino snapped, "I am not a Sibian spy, gentlemen, nor a Valmieran assassin, either."
"We believe you, my lord," one of the guards said. "Now we believe you. Pass on, and enjoy the pleasures of the palace."
Sabrino knew his way to the Salon of King Aquilante V; he had attended several other gatherings there. Nonetheless, he did not object when a serving woman stepped forward to guide him. He would have liked it even better had she guided him to her bedchamber, but walking along flirting with her was pleasant enough.
"Count Sabrino!" a herald cried in a great voice when he entered the salon. To his disappointment, the pretty serving girl went off to escort someone else. Faithless hussy, he thought, and laughed at himself Tables piled high with refreshments stood against one wall. He took a glass of white wine and a slice from a round of flatbread piled high with melted cheeses, salt fish, eggplant slices, and olives. Thus equipped, he sallied forth on to the social battlefield.
Naturally, he did his best to put himself in the way of King Mezentio, who circulated through the reception hall. Being a resourceful man he, soon succeeded in drawing the king's notice. "Your Majesty!" and bowed low enough to gladden a protocol officer, s heart spilling a drop of wine or losing a single olive from his flatbread
"Powers above, straighten up!" Mezentio said irritably. "Do you [..]"
"I'm King Swemmel, to need all that head [..] knocking nonsense? He this it makes people afraid of him, but what does an Unkerlanter knowing [..]. Nothing to speak of - Unkerlanters grow like onions, with their heads in the ground."
"Even so, your Majesty," Sabrino said, nodding. "If only there weren't so many of them."
"By the harnhanded way he's fighting that war against Zuwayza, Swemmel is doing his best to make them fewer," the king answered.
"And my congratulations, by the way, on how well you and your wing fought above Wihtgara. I was very pleased by the reports I read of your exploits. "
"I shall pass on your praise to my dragonfliers," Sabrino said with another bow. "They, after all, are the ones who earned it for me."
"Spoken as a good officer should speak," Mezentio said. "Tell me, Count, in your fighting above Forthweg, did you find many of Kaunian blood opposing you on dragons painted in Forthwegian colors?"
"Speaking solely from my own experience, your Majesty, that's hard to say," Sabrino replied. "One often doesn't get close enough to the foe to see exactly who he is. When the dragons fly high, going up there's a chilly business, too, so the men who fly them are often bundled against the cold. I'm given to understand, though, that the Forthwegians set a good many obstacles in the way of Kaunians who seek to fly dragons, the same as they do against Kaunian officers of any sort."
"I know for a fact that last is true." Mezentio frowned. "Curious how the Forthwegians look down their beaky noses at the Kaunians inside their own borders, but follow like lapdogs when the Kaunians in the east seek to savage us."
"They've paid for their folly," Sabrino said.
"Everyone who harms Algarve shall pay for his folly," Mezentio declared. "Everyone who has ever harmed Algarve shall pay for his folly.
We lost the Six Years' War. This time, come what may, we shall win."
"Certainly we shall, your Majesty," Sabrino said. "The whole world is jealous of Algarve, of what we are and of the way we've pulled ourselves up by the bootstraps even after everyone piled on to us in the Six Years' War."
"Aye, the whole world is jealous - the whole world, and especially the Kaunian kingdoms," Mezentio said. "You mark my words, Count: those yellow-haired folk still hate us for destroying their cozy little empire more than a thousand years ago. If they could kill us all, they would.
Since they can't, they seek to crush us so we may never rise again."
"It won't happen." Sabrino spoke with great sincerity.
"Of course it won't," Mezentio said. "Are we as stupid Unkerlanters, to let them scheme and plot to destroy us without making plans of our own?" The king laughed. "And the Unkerlanters are stupid indeed, with Swemmel always bellowing 'Efficiency!' at the top of lungs and then blundering into one idiotic war after another." He turned away from Sabrino toward a noble who stood waiting to be recognized.
"And how are you, your Grace?"
Sabrino went back for another goblet of wine. That was more t than he'd enjoyed with the king in any other meeting. And Mezentio only knew who he was - which he'd expected - but also where his w had served - which he hadn't. He didn't fight to gain royal notice, he wouldn't turn down royal notice if it came his way.
He drifted through the room, greeting men he knew, flirting serving women and the companions of nobles who happened to live Trapani, and keeping his ears open for gossip. There was plenty; the o trouble was, he didn't always know to what it referred. When one [..wh goateed..] general said to another, "We have only to kick in the door the whole rotten structure win come crashing down," what door was talking about? Whoever was standing behind it wouldn't care to hav kicked in on him. Of that Sabri'no was certain.