“You’re not a mage, Colonel--you have no notion how filthy it feels to me,” Fernao said. “If you’ve called me here to try to put a stop to it, I am your man, and with all my heart.” He emptied his wineglass, then poured it full again.
“Well, in a manner of speaking, sir mage, in a manner of speaking,” Peixoto said. “We aim to put a thorn under the wings of King Mezentio’s dragons, so we do. And from all I can see”--he rustled papers on his desk--”you are the perfect man--the perfect man, I tell you--for the job.”
“Say on,” Fernao told him.
“I’ll do just that,” Colonel Peixoto replied. “Curse me if I won’t. Now, then--I see you’ve served as a ship’s mage. You were doing that when the war broke out, weren’t you? Can’t very well hit the Algarvians a proper lick unless we cross the sea to get at ‘em, can we?”
“No, indeed,” Fernao said. The wine lent his voice extra solemnity. “Although the research I’m working on now is important, if you think I could best serve the kingdom by going back to sea, I’ll do it.”
Peixoto beamed. “Spoken like a patriot, my dear sir. But that’s not precisely what we have in mind for you, by your leave. You’re not far off--don’t get me wrong--but you’re not quite on, either. Plenty of mages--plenty of Lagoan mages, anyhow--go to sea. But do you know--do you know, sir?--that only a handful of Lagoan mages, and fewer of the first rank, have ever set foot on the land of the Ice People?”
Fernao discovered he’d made a mistake, a dreadful mistake, when he’d decided he didn’t care why he’d been called to the palace so long as it had nothing to do with King Penda. “Colonel,” he said plaintively, “have you ever eaten boiled camel hump? Have you ever tried to gnaw through strips of dried and salted camel meat?”
“Never once, powers above be praised.” Colonel Peixoto sounded pleased that that was true, too, for which Fernao could hardly blame him. The mage wished it were true for himself. Peixoto went on, “But since you have, that makes you all the more valuable for this expedition. You must see that, mustn’t you?”
“What expedition?” demanded Fernao, who was not in the mood to see anything if he could help it.
“Why, the one we’re planning to the austral continent, of course,” Peixoto said. “With a little bit of luck--with only a little bit of luck, mind you--we’ll throw out the Yaninans and however many Algarvians they’ve got down there to give them a hand, and then where will they be? Eh? Where then?”
“Somewhere warm and civilized,” Fernao answered. Colonel Peixoto laughed heartily, as if he’d said something funny rather than speaking simple truth. The mage asked, “Why on earth are we mad enough to want to take the land of the Ice People away from the Yaninans? As far as I’m concerned, they did us a favor when they ran us out of it last year.”
“What’s on the earth there doesn’t matter, not a bit--no, not a bit. It’s what’s in the earth that counts.” Peixoto leaned forward and breathed a wine-smelling word into Fernao’s face: “Cinnabar.”
“Ah,” the mage said. “Indeed. But still--”
“But me no buts, my dear sir,” Peixoto said. “Without the austral continent, Algarve has not got a lot of cinnabar. Without cinnabar, her dragons cannot flame nearly so fiercely as they can with it. If we take it away, that makes fighting the war harder for them. Can you tell me I am mistaken in any particular there?”
“No,” Fernao admitted. “But can you tell me that whatever we have to spend to take the cinnabar from the land of the Ice People away from Mezentio’s men won’t be twice--three times--five times--what it costs them to do without?”
Peixoto beamed at him. The colonel really was too cheerful to make a typical soldier. “Ah, a very nice point, a very nice point indeed! But you must recall, we can think differently now that Kuusamo has joined the fight on our side and we don’t have to worry about being stabbed in the back. Algarvian folly there, nothing else but.”
“I do recall that, aye,” Fernao said. He’d hoped it would mean the Kuusamans would start sharing whatever they know of whatever they weren’t talking about. So far, it hadn’t; they’d kept blandly denying everything. Pointing to a map on the wall by the desk, he continued, “But I also recall that Sibiu sits over our route to the austral continent, and that there are a certain number of Algarvians and Algarvian ships and Algarvian leviathans and Algarvian scouting dragons in Sibiu.”
“It’s true. Every bit of it’s true.” Nothing fazed Peixoto. “I never said this would be easy, sir mage. I said we were going to undertake it. If we succeed in landing men and dragons on the austral continent, we will require sorcerers somewhat familiar with conditions there--and also with conditions in the waters thereabouts. Can you deny you are such a mage?”
After his journey by leviathan back from the land of the Ice People to Lagoas, Fernao was more familiar with those waters than he’d ever wanted to be. “I don’t suppose I can deny it, no,” he said, wishing he could. “Even so--”
Colonel Peixoto held up a hand. “My dear sir, your voluntary cooperation would be greatly appreciated--greatly appreciated indeed. It is not a requirement, however.”
Fernao glared at him. That was plain enough--unpleasant, but plain. “You will dragoon me, then.”
“If we must, we will,” Peixoto agreed. “We need you. I promise you this: the rewards of success will not be small, neither for the kingdom nor for yourself.”
“Nor will the penalties--for me, anyhow--be small if we fail,” Fernao said. “The kingdom, I expect, will survive it.” He sighed. “At least I’ll have till spring to prepare for this . . . adventure.”
“Oh, no.” Peixoto shook his head. “It will not be at once, but we aim to move later in the winter. The bad weather in the south will make it harder for the Algarvians to spy out what we’re doing, and we have more practice sailing in those waters during wintertime than they do.”
“Practice dodging icebergs, you mean,” Fernao said, and the colonel, curse him, nodded. The mage went on, “And I suppose you intend landing your army at the edge of the ice pack and letting everyone march to real ground.”
He’d intended that for sarcasm. To his dismay, Colonel Peixoto nodded. “Aye. Nothing better than taking the foe by surprise.”
“A blizzard at the wrong time would take us by surprise,” Fernao remarked. Peixoto shrugged, as if to say such things couldn’t be helped. Fernao tried again: “What do you propose that we eat once we get down there?”
“We’ll manage,” Peixoto said. “After all, the Ice People do.”
“You’re mad,” Fernao said. “Your superiors are mad. And you want me to help save you from yourselves.”
“If that’s how you care to put it,” Peixoto said. “I’m going along, when we go. I’m not asking anything of you I dare not do myself.”
“Oh, don’t turn Algarvian on me,” Fernao said crossly. “I’ll go.” He wondered how big a fool he was being. No--he didn’t wonder. He knew.
Eight
Leofsig turned to his younger brother and asked, “Who’s your friend in Oyngestun? This is the third letter you’ve got from there in the last couple of weeks.”
He hadn’t meant anything in particular by the question. The last thing he expected was for Ealstan to blush and look embarrassed and stammer out, “Oh, just, uh, somebody I, uh, got to know, that’s all.”
It so patently wasn’t all, Leofsig started to laugh. Ealstan glared at him. “Somebody you got to know, eh? Is she pretty?” he asked, and then went on, “She must be pretty, to get you all flustered like that.”