"A good deal of the answer to that depends on whether we succeed here, would you not agree?" Fernao said. Pekka nodded; she agreed, at any rate.
But Ilmarinen, contrary as usual, said, "Suppose we fail here. Sooner or later, we'll still have big armies in the field against the Algarvians. Sure as Mezentio's got a pointy nose, they'll start killing Kaunians to try to stop us. What do we do then?"
That was a large, important question. The only time the Lagoans and Kuusamans had had a large army in the field against Algarve after Mezentio's men unveiled their murderous magic was down in the land of the Ice People. Sure as sure, the Algarvians had tried to turn back their foes by butchering blonds. But the magic had gone wrong, there on the austral continent. It had come down on the Algarvians' heads, not those of their foes. That wouldn't happen on the mainland of Derlavai. Too many massacres had proved as much.
Pekka said, "We cannot match them in murder. That is the best argument I know for mastering them with magecraft."
"Suppose we fail," Ilmarinen repeated. "We'll be fighting Mezentio's men even so. What do we do when they start killing? We had better think about that, you know- I don't mean us here alone, but also the Seven here and King Vitor and his counselors in that small town of yours, Fernao. The day is coming. We've all heard the name Habakkuk- no use pretending we haven't."
"I have heard the name, but I do not know what it means," Fernao said.
"My husband works with Habakkuk, and I do not know what he does," Pekka added. "I do not ask, any more than he asks me what I do."
"You are the soul of virtue." Ilmarinen's voice was sour. "Well, I know, because I have no virtue save perhaps that of thinking backwards and upside down. I will spare your tender virgin ears the details, but I trust I do not shock you when I say Habakkuk isn't intended to make Mezentio sleep easier of nights."
"If Mezentio can sleep at all, after the things he has done, his conscience is made of cast iron," Fernao said, "and doubtless he can, so doubtless it is."
"All right, then." Ilmarinen took his usual pleasure in making himself as difficult as possible. "Thanks to Habakkuk, among other things, we come to grips with Algarve on land. Mezentio's mages kill Kaunians to throw us back. What comes next?"
"There are blocking spells," Fernao said. "If you and Siuntio had not used them then, we probably would not be here to have this discussion."
"Aye, they helped- some," Ilmarinen answered. "How would you like to be a foolish young man, more balls than brains, trying to kill other foolish young men in a different uniform, with your mages helping you with a spell that leaks as much as it shields? Before very long, wouldn't you sooner take after them than after the enemy soldiers? I would, and I wouldn't take long to get there, either."
"Master Ilmarinen, you have just shown why we so badly have to succeed," Pekka said.
"No." The master mage shook his head. "I've shown why we so badly need to succeed. But have to?" He shook his head again. "Life does not come with a guarantee, except that it will end. What I tried to show you was that we'd better find some answers somewhere else in case we don't find them here. But you don't want to listen to that. And so…" He got to his feet, gave Fernao and Pekka nicely matched mocking bows, and departed.
"I am always so grateful for such encouragement," Pekka said.
"As am I," Fernao agreed. He made as if to rise and follow Ilmarinen. "And now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go back to my room and slit my wrists."
Pekka stared at him, then laughed when she realized he was joking. "Be careful with what you say," she warned. "I took you seriously for a moment."
"He asks interesting questions, does he not?" Fernao said. "If he were as interested in answering them as he is in asking them…" He shrugged. "If that were so, he would not be Ilmarinen."
"No- he would come closer to being Siuntio," Pekka said. "And Siuntio is the mage we need most right now. Every day without him proves that." Her hands folded into fists. "Powers below eat the Algarvians. Curse their magic."
Fernao nodded. But the question Ilmarinen had posed kept rattling around in his mind, whether he wanted it to or not. "If we fail here, how do our kingdoms beat the Algarvians without sinking into the swamp that has already taken them?"
"I do not know," Pekka said. "If we do sink down into the swamp with the Algarvians, does it matter in the end whether we win or lose?"
"To us, aye, it matters." Fernao held up a hand to show he hadn't finished and to keep Pekka from arguing. "To the world, it probably does not."
Pekka pondered that, then slowly nodded. "If Algarve beats Unkerlant, we have Mezentio's minions eyeing us from across the Strait of Valmiera. And if Unkerlant beats Algarve, we have Swemmel's minions eyeing us instead. But the one set would not be much different from the other, would it?"
"The Algarvians would tell you more about the differences than you would ever want to hear," Fernao answered. "So would the Unkerlanters. My opinion is that they would not matter much."
"I think you are right," Pekka said. "You see through the show to the essential. That is what makes you a good mage."
"Thank you," Fernao said. "Praise from the praiseworthy is praise indeed." That was a proverb in classical Kaunian. He brought it out as if he'd thought of it on the spur of the moment.
Kuusamans were swarthy; he couldn't be sure whether Pekka blushed. But, by the way she murmured, "You do me too much honor," he judged he'd succeeded in embarrassing her. He didn't mind. He wanted her to know he thought well of her. Even more, he wanted her to think well of him. He wished he could come right out and say that. He knew he would ruin everything if he did.
He sighed, both because of that and for other reasons. "One way or another," he said, "the world will not be the same after this war ends."
Pekka thought about that, then shook her head. "No. One way and another, the world will not be the same after this war ends. We are changing too many things ever to be the same again."
"True enough," Fernao said. "Too true, if anything." He waved in the direction of the blockhouse. "If all goes well, we help set the tone of the changes. That is no small privilege."
"That is no small responsibility." Pekka sighed. "I wish it were not on my shoulders. But what we wish for and what we get are not always the same. I know that I can deal with the world the way it is, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise."
Fernao inclined his head to her. "We are lucky to have such a leader." Part of that was flattery. A larger part was anything but.
"If we were lucky, we would still have Siuntio," Pekka answered. "Whenever we run into trouble, I ask myself how he might fix it. I hope I am right more often than I am wrong."
"You could do worse," Fernao said.
"I know," Pekka said bleakly. "And, one of these days, I probably will." Try as he would, Fernao found no flattering answer for that.
When Istvan looked up at the night sky from the island of Becsehely, he had no trouble seeing the stars. The didn't glitter so brilliantly as they did in the clear, cold air of his own mountain valley, but they were there, from horizon to horizon. "It almost seems strange," he remarked to Szonyi. "After so long in the accursed woods of western Unkerlant, I'd got used to seeing a star here, a star there, but most of them blotted out by branches overhead."
"Aye." Szonyi's fingers writhed in a sign to avert evil. "Me, too. No wonder I felt forsaken by the stars while I was there."
"No wonder at all." Some of Istvan's shiver had to do with the night air, which was moist and chilly. More sprang from dread and loathing of the forest he and his companions had finally escaped. "There are places in those woods that no star saw for years at a time."