After the downfall

V

Aderno wanted to take Scanno back to Castle Drammen to experiment on him. The wizard didn't put it in quite those words, but that was what it boiled down to. Scanno, not surprisingly, didn't want to go. "You aren't going to play games with me," he said.

"It's for the good of the Lenelli," Aderno said.

Scanno blew beer fumes in his face as he laughed. "Like I care!"

"Come on," Aderno said to Hasso. "We can get him there."

Hasso didn't feel like fighting a drunk who was unlikely even to notice if he got hurt. He also didn't want to wreck whatever chance they had of getting voluntary cooperation from Scanno. "Forget it," he said — in Lenello, so Scanno could follow. "We come back a different time."

"I wouldn't come back here for half the gold in the treasury!" the wizard exclaimed.

"Fine," Hasso said. 'I come back a different time."

"You're a peculiar one," Scanno said. "You belong with me, not with this tight-arsed twit."

"No." Hasso let it go there. He didn't want to tell the renegade that he'd killed Grenye. He didn't want to tell him he was sleeping with the goddess on earth, either. If Scanno asked around, he could hear it for himself. Hasso got to his feet. "Come on. We go."

The tapman gave him a polite nod as he left. He nodded back, which seemed to surprise the Grenye again.

Out on the street, Aderno lost his temper. "What do you think you're doing, taking that lout's side? Are you crazy? Are you a traitor, too?"

"Shut up," Hasso said in Lenello, an officer's snap in his voice. He went on in German, knowing the wizard would understand and the Grenye all around wouldn't: "Let him think I'm on his side, or I might be. Let him think that, and who knows how much we may learn from him? Get rough now, and we end up with nothing."

Aderno gaped. "Maybe you're playing your own game. Maybe you think all of us are children."

"You act like it sometimes." Hasso said that in Lenello. Aderno flushed, for he used the second-person singular, not plural.

A Grenye with a pheasant feather stuck in his cap said something about his nice, clean sister and pointed to the brothel across the street. Hasso shook his head. The Grenye didn't want to take no for an answer. He reached out to tug at Hasso's arm. Aderno said something too fast for the Wehrmacht officer to follow. The Grenye got it, though. He disappeared in a hurry.

"If our magic fails against the Grenye, how are we supposed to conquer Bucovin?" Aderno said.

"Maybe you do it one bite at a time," Hasso answered. "Maybe you go on to Falticeni and take it away from their king."

"Their chief, you mean," the Lenello said scornfully.

"Whatever he is." It didn't matter to Hasso. "Or maybe you decide it's too much trouble and you leave them alone. We had a big neighbor who we thought would be a pushover, too. That's why I was fighting in what was left of my own capital." If the Fuhrer had gone after England instead of trying to knock out Russia… Well, things could hardly have turned out worse.

"This whole land is ours. It is our destiny. If the savages don't bend the knee to us, we'll push them aside like the dirt they are." Aderno didn't care who was listening to him.

Sometimes disasters followed talk like that. Hasso had seen as much at first hand. But sometimes they didn't. The Americans hadn't worried about Indian raids for a lifetime. The aborigines in Australia had even less left to them than the redskins in the New World. Europeans ruled India and Africa. Conquest could work.

"Come on," Hasso said. "Let's get back to the castle."

Aderno went off to commune with a fellow wizard and try to figure out why his magic failed. Hasso thought about telling King Bottero what he'd done, but decided not to. This kingdom was tiny by the standards of the Reich, but not so tiny that the man at the top would want to hear every little detail. Chances were he'd listen politely — once. Hasso didn't care to burn up his credit like that.

He asked one of the guards where Velona was. The fellow shrugged, which made his mailshirt clink ever so slightly. "Don't know," he answered. Maybe he really didn't. Or maybe he didn't care for a jumped-up foreigner. His tone wasn't rude enough to be insubordinate.

Hasso asked the same thing of a Grenye maidservant carrying a heroic amount of laundry wrapped in a sheet. "She is in the chapel, my lord," the woman answered. Her Lenello was fluent, but flavored with an accent that said she'd be more at home in one of the swarthy natives' languages.

"Thank you very much," Hasso said. The maidservant looked as startled as the tapman at Negustor's had. Lenelli didn't waste much politeness on their social and political inferiors.

The chapel wasn't so fancy as its name suggested. Hasso heard it with Christian ears, which gave him expectations the Lenelli didn't have. The room was small and simple and spare. It had an altar with a low relief of the goddess carved into soft golden limestone. The lithe silhouette might have been taken from Velona's — except that the altar had crossed with early Lenello settlers.

But for the altar and a few stools, the chapel was bare. Maybe Christianity needed more in the way of display because, in Hasso's world, miracles were hard to come by. Here, with magic working and the goddess taking possession of her mortal acolyte, the impossible was as real as a punch in the nose.

Velona had prostrated herself before the altar. She didn't notice Hasso come in. Was that a faint radiance hovering around her? He wouldn't have sworn it wasn't, not after the way she seemed to glow as she strode naked toward Bottero on the night of the solstice. Hasso grimaced, not wanting to remember the rest of that night.

He wondered if he ought to cough, or if it would break some kind of spell. Erring on the side of caution, he stood and waited. After a couple of minutes, Velona stood up and turned toward him. When she did, her eyes flashed fire like a wild animal's. Human eyes didn't do that… except hers did. Hasso had no doubt of what he saw.

"Who disturbs the goddess?" The voice wasn't quite hers. It was deeper, more reverberant, as if it came from deep inside her — or maybe from far beyond her. Either way, the hair at the back of Hasso's neck wanted to stand on end. "Who dares?"

"I is sorry," he said, startled out of his grammar. He didn't care to admit, even to himself, that he was scared out of it.

She recognized his voice. He could tell the moment she did: it was the moment her aura died away. Suddenly she was just a woman, just his woman, again. "Oh. Hasso," she said, and her voice was the one he knew. "You… surprised me."

"Sorry," he said again, now certain to whom — and to what — he was apologizing. "Not mean to bother."

"It's all right. You didn't know any better. I was almost done communing anyhow." She made him feel like a kid who'd interrupted something very important that he wasn't big enough to understand. The more she pretended it was all right, the more certain he got that it wasn't. She tried to be brisk: "Well, you must have had a reason to come looking for me. What was it?"

In his halting Lenello, he told her about the curse Aderno had tried to drop on Scanno, how he'd failed, and how, despite failing, he'd seen that no magic protected the renegade. "I think you need to know this," he finished.

"Well, you're right," she said. "I do. Thank you. The goddess needs to know it, too." She kissed him. For a split second, the tingle that shot through him seemed even more than the high voltage Velona put into whatever she did. Imagination? In the world he came from, he would have thought so. Here? He had no way to know.

"What do you do about it?" he asked. "What does goddess do?"

She set a forefinger between her breasts. "I will take the word to the king. It marches too well with what happened to me when I went into Bucovin. One by one, my disguises and wards failed, but not for any reason I could find."

"The wizard tell — tells — he, too," Hasso said.

"No doubt. But Bottero will take it more seriously from me, because I am who I am and what I am," Velona said. "As for the goddess…" Hasso could see the deity come forth in her. Her eyes brightened and focused somewhere not of this world. Her hair spread and thickened till it reminded him of a lion's mane. She seemed altogether larger; though he still looked down at her, he felt as if she were peering down at him from a considerable height. She went on, "The goddess will deal with it in her own way." Then divinity disappeared, and she was Velona again.

What is the goddess' way? Hasso wondered. He didn't ask, though. He didn't have the nerve.

Her gaze sharpened in a merely human way. "If Aderno's spell won't bite on this wretch of a Scanno, what does that say? That he's in Bucovin's service, most likely. That he's a spy, a viper. You should have brought him here. Pins and pincers would tear the truth out of him even if magic failed."

If the Grenye in Bucovin couldn't find a better spy than a man busy drinking himself to death, they were in more trouble than they knew what to do with. But that thought led Hasso to another: "Can — how you say? — test Grenye? If magic works, ordinary, safe people. If magic does not work, maybe they have to do with Bucovin. Yes? No? Maybe?"

Velona thought about that. Her eyes glowed in an entirely human fashion. The way she showed she liked an idea was more drastic than he'd known from any other woman, to say nothing of more enjoyable. Was it sacrilege on a stool in the chapel? Not, he supposed, if your panting partner was a part-time goddess.

"What if someone comes in?" he asked afterwards, but only afterwards — he didn't worry about that, or anything else, while she straddled him.

She only laughed. "You ask the strangest questions. No one would come near the chapel while I was in it. No one but you, I mean, because you don't know our ways."

"Oh." How big a blunder had he made? A good thing she was fond of him, or even standing in the doorway might have been dangerous.

Velona had no trouble figuring out what he was thinking. "Don't worry about it. You told me things I needed to know. I did and the goddess did. Who knows? Maybe she even led you here."

Even though he'd begun to realize they didn't always fit in this world, Hasso clung to the rational, orderly patterns of thought he'd brought from the one that bred him. "How can she did that if she is here with you? If she is here in you?" he asked.

By the way Velona looked at him, the question had never occurred to her. The idea that there could be a question had never occurred to her. "She is the goddess. She can do anything she pleases," she said, as if stating an axiom of geometry.

How am I supposed to argue with that? he wondered, and then, Why do I want to argue with it? What would have happened to someone who argued about the Virgin Birth with a bishop in the tenth century? Hasso didn't know, not in detail, but it wouldn't have been pretty. He was sure of that. "All right," he said quickly.

Too quickly. Velona knew he wasn't in the habit of backing down. "You don't believe it," she said.

"I not say that," Hasso protested.

"I didn't say you said it. I said you believed it." Velona turned toward the altar. "If the goddess wanted to make that rise up in the air, she could."

It weighed several hundred kilos. If it was going to rise up in the air, the goddess had to lift it. If she didn't, nothing this side of a massive block and tackle would. Hasso was going to make a polite noise of agreement and escape the argument when he realized Velona wasn't paying any attention to him. Again, he had the feeling he was standing too close to where lightning had just crashed down. Power filled her. He watched it happen, as if he could watch a battery taking a charge. She pointed at the altar again, this time with an air of command.

And it rose about half a meter into the air.

That was impossible. Hasso knew as much. He also knew that what he knew wasn't worth as much as he thought — convoluted, but true. Velona lowered her hand, and the altar descended, too. The stones under it creaked as they took up the weight again.

"You see?" Velona said. Did the goddess still resonate in her voice? Maybe a little.

"I see," Hasso agreed. Did astonishment still resonate in his voice? He knew damn well it did. Fear- sweat prickled at his armpits. Velona was a hell of a high-powered woman all by herself. When you added in the other…

"If you see, what do you have to say now?" She sounded like herself again. Like herself, yes, but proud of what she and the goddess had done.

"Why she not do that to Bucovin?" Hasso asked. "Pick up, then drop and smash?"

Velona started to answer, then suddenly stopped. She looked very human then, human and confused. "I don't know, Hasso Pemsel," she said after that longish pause. "That is the goddess' truth, and she keeps it to herself. I've prayed. All the Lenelli have prayed. The power to do that doesn't seem to be there. Maybe she wants us to overcome the challenge on our own. Some people think so."

"Maybe Bucovin has a power, too," he suggested.

By the way she looked at him, he'd said something stupid. "Bucovin is full of Grenye. Grenye have no power. That's what makes them Grenye." Again, it sounded like a geometry lesson.

"Why Lenelli not beat Bucovin by now, then?" Hasso asked.

"Some of it's bad luck," Velona answered. "Some of it… Well, we've been on this side of the sea a while now. The Grenye in Bucovin have had all that time to learn to fight the way we do. And some of it… some of it, I can't tell you the reason. That's why I went to Bucovin — to try to find out."

"But no luck?" Hasso said.

"Well, some luck," she said. "I found you, didn't I? If you're not a gift from the goddess, I don't know what you are."

"I am a man," Hasso said.

She kissed him. "I should hope you are, sweetheart. But you're a gift from the goddess, too." He wasn't sure he liked that. He wanted to count for himself, not for any… theological reasons. By the way she said it, though, he didn't get a vote.

King Bottero's mounted lancers and archers were pretty good. Hasso enjoyed watching them practice on the meadows outside of Drammen. The lancers tore bales of straw to shreds. The archers pincushioned targets. He wondered how he would handle the Schmeisser from horseback. He could ride, but he was no cavalryman.

"Lancers tear hole, then archers and foot soldiers go through?" he asked Lugo, who was also watching the soldiers drill. Panzers opened the way for infantry in his world. He figured knights would do the job here.

But the Lenello didn't understand what he was talking about. "Lancers fight on the line," he said. "Archers on the wings, to harry the enemy. Infantry in the rear, to try to protect if things go wrong."

Haven't they ever heard of the Schwerpunkt? Hasso wondered. The French had scattered their panzers all along the line. They'd paid for it, too, when German armored divisions punched through them. Hasso thought the same thing could work here, too. Why wouldn't it?

He tried to explain, using pebbles and twigs to show what he meant. Lugo looked at what he was doing, looked at him, and shook his head. "This is how we've always fought," he said. "I don't see any reason to change."

That pissed Hasso off. "You not want to win? You not want to beat Bucovin? You not want to beat other Lenello kingdoms? Why not?"

"This is how we've always fought," Lugo repeated. "It works fine."

For ten pfennigs, Hasso would have blown his brains out, assuming he had any. To Lugo, Hasso was a no-account foreigner to be tolerated as the goddess' bed-warmer but not taken seriously. Maybe letting the Lenelli think the goddess sent him wasn't such a bad idea after all. "We see what the king thinks," he said.

"If his Majesty wants to let you waste his time, that's his business." The marshal looked down his nose at Hasso. Since he was a short Lenello, he had to tilt his head back to do it, which didn't stop him.

"I hope he listens. Why not? You not win with what you do now. Maybe you win with a different thing, a new thing," Hasso said.

"And maybe we lose, too." By the way Lugo said it, that blew up a mine under the idea right there.

"Maybe," Hasso said, and the Lenello gaped in amazement that he would admit the possibility. He added, "How are you worse off to lose new way, not old way?"

Lugo didn't answer him. Hasso chose to believe that was because he couldn't answer him. The marshal took himself off, leaving the twigs and pebbles behind like untranslated hieroglyphics. Hasso wanted to kick him in the ass to speed him in the air, but feared giving him a brain concussion if he did.

What would the lancers think of being used as a breakthrough group? Only one way to find out, he thought, and walked over toward them. Their leader was a captain named Nornat. Captain, here, more or less equaled lieutenant colonel. The Lenelli had soldiers and sergeants and lieutenants — who were kids getting their feet wet — and captains and marshals, and that was about it. Who ranked whom depended far more on prestige than on a table of organization. The system caused more friction than Hasso liked, but he had more urgent things to worry about.

Where he fit himself was an interesting question. He was a captain of sorts, but only of sorts. Velona's favor helped. Surviving against Orosei — who, like a lot of very senior noncoms, had more clout than most captains — helped more. Whatever he was, he wasn't just someone who'd fallen off the turnip wagon.

Nornat led another charge. After his line of lancers shredded some more bales of straw, he guided his dappled gray up to Hasso. Mail jingled on his shoulders. Sweat ran down his face from under his conical helm. The bar nasal on the helmet didn't protect his face as well as the German would have liked. "What do you think, foreigner?" Nornat asked. By the pride in his voice, Hasso had better not think anything bad.

"Strong. Tough," Hasso said. Nornat's grin showed a couple of missing front teeth. A scar twisted his upper lip. No, a bar nasal didn't cover everything. We shredded Polish lancers, went through Hasso's mind. You wouldn't have lasted any longer. But that didn't matter here. Hasso cast his line: "Want to be more tougher?"

Nornat snapped like a trout. "How?"

"I show you," Hasso said.

When Nornat saw that he meant it literally, he swung down from his mount. The animal lowered its head and started cropping grass. Nornat crouched by Hasso. The Lenello smelled of sweat and leather and iron and horse — all familiar military scents. Hasso made lines of pebbles and twigs. Then he made a column and aimed it at a line. "You charge, and — " He stopped, waiting to see whether Nornat would get it.

And Nornat did. His eyes lit up. "We charge, and we smash right through, and we tear the guts out of whatever's in our way!" He straightened up in a single smooth motion, which impressed the hell out of Hasso — that mailshirt wasn't light. "Carsoli! Sanfrat! Come over here! You've got to take a look at this!" he yelled.

Carsoli was a big man. Sanfrat was bigger, so big that only a brewery-wagon horse could haul him around. Hasso didn't like feeling like a dink among the Lenelli, but he didn't know what the devil he could do about it, either.

Nornat explained his idea at least as well as he could have himself — probably better, because Nornat was a working cavalry officer with a working cavalry officer's appreciation of problems. "What do you think, boys?" he asked when he finished.

"I don't know," Carsoli said; by his tone, he didn't like it but didn't want to stick his neck out, either.

"Stinking Grenye won't be looking for it — that's for sure," Sanfrat said. "Ought to win us a battle or two just from surprise." He might be big — hell, he was enormous — but he wasn't slow or stodgy.

"What did Marshal Lugo have to say? You were talking about it with him, weren't you?" Nornat was quick on the uptake, too.

Hasso wished he could lie, but knew he'd get found out if he tried. "He does not like it. He says the old way to fight is good enough."

Sanfrat snorted. "I'm surprised he ever lost his cherry. He would've said playing with himself was good enough."

Nornat laughed. So did Hasso. He'd never known any soldiers who didn't have pungent opinions about their superiors. Even the Ivans joked about their commissars after they got captured. Carsoli bared his teeth in a sort of a smile, but that was all. Hasso feared the marshal would hear about the gibe in nothing flat.

"How do we" — Hasso gestured — "get around the marshal?"

"Just talk to the king," Nornat answered. "He'll listen to you, or I think he will. I'll talk to him, too, by the goddess. And you're friends with Orosei, right?"

"Mm — maybe." Hasso didn't know if he would go that far. He and the master-at-arms had a strong mutual respect, the kind two tough men who knew each could maim the other tended to acquire. Whether that equaled friendship wasn't so obvious.

"Well, try him," the cavalry captain said. "He likes your throws. I was watching when the two of you tangled. I lost some money, because I thought he'd pound you into the ground. But he's game for new things, so chances are he'd go for this column fighting. And I don't care what his rank is — he has Bottero's ear."

Carsoli looked about ready to burst, like a man who needed to run for the jakes. Hasso caught Sanfrat's eye, then flicked his gaze back to the dubious officer. Sanfrat got it without anything more than that. He didn't even nod. He just smiled a little, crookedly. Something would keep Carsoli from blabbing to Lugo right away. Something immense and muscular and blond, most likely.

Hasso's smile was as crooked as Sanfrat's. He would have handled things the same way in the Wehrmacht. Yes, people were people, whether they carried Schmeissers or lances, rode horses or panzers.

Were the Grenye people, too? Hasso hadn't worried about Jews in his own world; he didn't worry much about the Grenye here. They were the enemy. What more did a soldier need to know about them?

Orosei lifted his mug of beer in salute to Hasso, who sat across the table from him in the buttery. Hasso had been using bits of stale bread and raisins to demonstrate his idea. "I like it," Orosei told him. "You can stab right through the line that way. And once you do, the bastards on the other side won't know what the demon to try next."

"That is how I see it," Hasso agreed. "Marshal Lugo does not think so, though."

"Lugo doesn't think, and that's about the size of it." The master-at-arms didn't bother lowering his voice. If Lugo decided he was insulted, he would have to challenge. Here as in the Reich, the challenged party got to choose the weapons. Orosei was sudden death on two legs with any weapon or none. Lugo was brave enough and tough enough, but he wasn't in the master-at-arms' class. Orosei went on, "We can do this. It wouldn't be hard. We really can — and we ought to."

"We see things the same way, then," Hasso said.

Orosei drained his mug and waved for a refill. A Grenye serving girl came over with a pitcher. "Thanks, sweetheart," Orosei said, and swatted her on the backside. She squeaked, but she was smiling as she scurried away. Chuckling, Orosei went on, "Let's both talk to his Majesty. Lugo's a marshal, but he isn't a god. The two of us can cancel him out."

"I would love to," Hasso said.

"You're all right. By the goddess, you are," the master-at-arms said. "I wasn't sure Velona knew what she was doing till I got to know you, but she did. She usually does. You've got your head nailed down tight, bugger me if you don't." Hasso would have said Orosei had his head on straight, but it amounted to the same thing.

"I thank you," the Wehrmacht officer answered. "You, too."

"Well, I try," Orosei said. "Some of the people in this castle don't know enough to squat before they shit, if you know what I mean. But you aren't like that. You've got your fancy weapon, but it doesn't mean you don't know how to fight."

"I thank you," Hasso said again. Praise from a soldier as capable as Orosei really meant something to him.

"I don't waste time buttering people up," Orosei said. "Life's too short for that crap. So we'll go to the king and see what he says, and then we'll go from there."

"What if he says no?" Hasso asked.

The master-at-arms shrugged. "Then it's better luck next time, that's all. What his Majesty says, goes. But the idea's too good not to try it out. It isn't like we've had much luck against Bucovin. Everybody knows how things keep going wrong there. Maybe this will make them go right instead. Here's hoping." He raised his mug again.

In the hallway outside the buttery, a woman said, "No! No! No! No! No!" Her voice got higher and shriller every time she repeated it. Hasso didn't wait to hear any more. He bounced to his feet and ran out to see what was going on. Orosei was right behind him.

Aderno was dragging a Grenye woman, a serving wench, along by the wrist. She didn't want to come, but he was much bigger and much stronger. "By the goddess, wizard, can't you find a willing woman?" Orosei didn't bother hiding his scorn.

"I don't want her for that," Aderno said.

"What, then?" Hasso demanded. Everything about the scene, from Aderno's grip to the woman's eyes, so wide with fear that you could see white all around the irises, looked like a prelude to rape.

"It was your idea," Aderno answered. "I want to try that spell on her, the one that didn't work on Scanno. If it doesn't work on her, either, then Bucovin's got claws in the palace. That's something we need to know."

Orosei relaxed. "Ah. All right. Makes sense."

Hasso didn't. "Can't you use a different spell? A spell that doesn't do what the one with Scanno would?"

"No." The wizard shook his head. "I want everything to be the same except for the person I'm aiming at."

A scientific sorcerer, Hasso thought. "Can you cure the spell once you cast it?" he asked. He didn't like the idea of slagging her face with boils and carbuncles and whatever else Aderno would conjure up.

"Maybe." Aderno didn't sound as if he cared, or as if he intended to try. "Any which way, I'll learn something."

"She do something to deserve something bad happen to her?" Hasso asked. The Grenye woman started shrieking and wailing again — now she knew something bad would happen.

"She walked by when I needed somebody. That's all that matters," Aderno replied.

"No. Let her go," Hasso said.

"What? Are you out of your mind? I'd just have to go and catch another one." The wizard might have been talking about rabbits.

"Let her go," Hasso repeated. "Find a Grenye who does something bad. Find one who… should have it happen." He couldn't come up with the word deserve in Lenello, but he got his meaning across.

"Listen, Hasso, take it easy. She's only a Grenye," Orosei said.

"In Bucovin, do they say, 'He is only a Lenello'?" Hasso asked.

The master-at-arms bristled. So did Aderno. "They'd better not," Orosei growled. "They're only Grenye, sure, but they're not that stupid."

"Come on." Aderno tugged at the woman. "We've already wasted too much time on this nonsense."

Hasso realized he would have to hurt the wizard, maybe kill him, to make him stop. He hesitated before doing that. The way Orosei went along with Aderno made him hesitate more. They'd lived here all their lives. They knew how things were supposed to work. He hadn't, and didn't. With a disgusted noise, he turned away.

Aderno dragged the Grenye woman down the hall. As she went, she stretched out a hand to Hasso. "You tried, lord. Thank you for trying. Nobody ever did before." Then she was gone.

"Jesus!" Hasso kicked the wall as hard as he could. Pain shot up his leg. He hadn't thought he could feel any worse, and didn't like finding he was wrong.

"What are you throwing a fit for?" Honest puzzlement filled Orosei's voice.

"Anybody'd think you were laying her or something. If you were, you should've said so. The wizard would've snagged somebody else. But if you were, you'd better light out for the tall timber starting yesterday, on account of the goddess won't be very happy with you."

"Not laying her," Hasso said. The master-at-arms was right; Velona wouldn't be happy with him if he were, and that was putting it mildly. "Just… bad to take advantage of weak."

"Why? What else are they there for?" No, Orosei didn't get it. Would Hasso, had he come here flush with victory in 1940? He didn't think so. Defeat was always so much more instructive than victory. Germany had learned a lot from World War I, France next to nothing. What would the Reich learn this time around?

Not to mess with the goddamn Russians, that's what, he thought. Not messing with the USA looks like a pretty good idea, too. And messing with both of them at once is really, really dumb.

"Things you do, sometimes they come back and — " Hasso mimed biting.

Orosei threw his hands in the air. "Oh, by the goddess! She's only a Grenye. She's not even a cute Grenye. I'm glad you're not screwing her — I wouldn't think much of your taste if you were. I mean, sure, pussy's pussy, but you can do better than that. Demons! You have done better than that, way better."

"You think Grenye don't remember everything Lenelli do to them?" Hasso asked.

"Let 'em remember. They can't do anything about it. They're — "

"Only Grenye," Hasso finished for him. How many times had he heard that since finding himself here? The Lenelli sure believed it. Did the Grenye? If they did, how come Bucovin stayed on its feet?

"That's right. That's all they'll ever be." Orosei thumped him on the back. "Come drink some more beer. You look like you could use it. You're kind of green around the gills. You fit in so well here, sometimes I almost forget you're a foreigner with funny notions. Every once in a while it comes out, though — no offense."

A foreigner with funny notions. Hasso found himself nodding. He was that, all right. Back in the Reich, he'd taken things for granted. Why not? They were what he'd grown up with. Here, unfairness struck him like a poke in the eye.

Or was it unfairness? What if the Grenye really were… only Grenye? Then wasn't it natural for the Lenelli to ride roughshod over them? Natural or not, it was what the Lenelli were doing. And, with his plan for a striking column of lancers, it was what he was helping them to do.

He let Orosei steer him back to the buttery. A Grenye servant brought him more beer. The swarthy little curly-haired man stared at him out of eyes as big and wide and dark as a deer's. How much of what went on out in the hallway had he heard? What kind of gossip would wildfire through the servants in Castle Drammen by this time tomorrow? How much trouble would Hasso land in because of it?

Off in the distance — but not nearly far enough off in the distance — a woman screamed, and went on screaming. Orosei pretended not to hear, the way someone who'd done a lot of interrogations might pretend not to hear a prisoner's screams from the next room. Hasso tried pretending, too, but didn't have much luck. Getting smashed let him forget about the noise — and, eventually, about everything else.

When he woke up, he had no idea how he'd got to his own bed. Velona made a face at him. "Was she worth it?" the goddess on earth asked, a certain malicious glee in her voice.

Things came back in a hurry in spite of Hasso's headache. "I don't touch her," he said. "I don't even know her name."

"Her name is Zadar. And I know you didn't touch her, or" — Velona's eyes flashed — "you'd be roasting over a slow fire right now." Hasso didn't think she was using a figure of speech. She went on, "You were stupid even trying to get in Aderno's way."

"Aderno is a beast," Hasso said. "He likes hurting people. He does it for fun." He got out of bed, grabbed the chamber pot, and pissed and pissed and pissed. He didn't bother turning his back. The gurgling stream was part of his opinion of Aderno, too.

Velona understood as much. "If he hurts our enemies, more power to him," she said.

"If you get in his way, he hurts you, too," Hasso said.

Those perfect blue eyes widened. Velona's nostrils flared. Then she relaxed and started to laugh. "Oh, I see. You mean Aderno would hurt anyone who got in his way. You didn't mean he'd hurt me." She didn't believe anyone — except the Grenye, who were beyond the pale of civilized behavior — would want to hurt her.

But Hasso shook his head even though it hurt. "I mean you, sweetheart. Aderno wants what Aderno wants. Anyone who wants something else? Something bad happens to him — or to her."

"The goddess would not allow it." Velona sounded certain.

After some of the things Hasso had seen, he wasn't sure she was wrong. But he wasn't sure she was right, either. "The goddess almost lets the Grenye catch you," he pointed out.

"So she did." Trouble flicked across Velona's face for a moment, but then it blew out like a candle in a hurricane. "Instead of letting them catch me, though, she sent you here. You saved me — or she saved me through you. And now Orosei tells me you've got a fine new scheme for smashing Bucovin."

Orosei made a pretty fair politician. Hasso supposed that was part of the master-at-arms' job, too. "Smashing? I don't know." He shrugged like a Frenchman, because the Lenelli liked overacting. "I hope we can win some battles with it. King Bottero has to say yes first."

"Oh, I think we can arrange that." She sounded confident again. How would she go about persuading the king, if that was what she needed to do? Do I want to know? Hasso wondered, and needed no more than a heartbeat to decide he didn't.