Some of the lighter boats could go out into the marsh, at least partway. The rest unloaded their supplies, which went into more wagons. That made the army slower and more unwieldy than it had been, but Hasso didn’t know what anybody could do about it. You needed things to fight, and you needed to haul them to where you fought.
His horse’s hooves drummed on the planks of a bridge that took him over the Drammion to the south bank. Grenye farmers looked up from their fields to stare at the Lenelli riding by. In their dull homespun, the peasants seemed hardly more than domestic animals themselves. Looks could deceive, though – and probably did.
In Russia, the Germans hadn’t paid much attention to the peasants. Once the Red Army was beaten, the new overlords would get around to the muzhiks. Then the partisans started dynamiting railroad lines and sniping from the woods.
How many of these Grenye would try to slip off and let Bucovin know which way the Lenelli were going? Too many – Hasso was sure of that. His security cordon had stopped a lot of the natives from succeeding as spies. Had it stopped all of them? Could it? He knew better.
He rode up alongside the king. Pointing out the peasants in the fields, he said, “More spy trouble.”
“Well, we’ll deal with it,” Bottero answered. “By now, we’re moving as fast as they are. They won’t get to Bucovin much ahead of us.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Hasso said – that was true. “I wished they like Lenelli better than they do.”
“I don’t care what they think about us. As long as they don’t make trouble, they can think whatever they want,” the king said.
In a way, he made sense. That offered the Grenye a safety valve. In another way, though … “If they think bad things about Lenelli, maybe they try to do bad things, too,” Hasso said.
“Let them try. We’ll squash them. We’ve done it before – we can do it again.” Bottero didn’t lack confidence. From everything Hasso had seen, Lenelli rarely did. But the Germans had been sure they would have no trouble ruling Russia. Maybe they wouldn’t have, had they won.
The Lenelli would be fine, too – as long as they kept winning. So it seemed to Hasso, anyway. If they ever started to lose…
With magic on their side, could they lose? Were the Grenye really forever barred from it? What about halfbreeds? There had been renegade wizards – Bottero had spoken of them. What if another one arose?
Hasso laughed at himself. Was he trying to see how much trouble he could borrow? The laughter died. Every time he’d done that in the Wehrmacht, there always turned out to be even more than he thought.
He had a tent for himself and Velona. He wondered why she’d come along. Was she a mascot for Bottero’s army? Did she intend to fight? He knew she was strong enough and skilled enough to do that if she wanted to. She’d gone into Bucovin all alone, without an army at her back.
She’d gone in alone, yes, and she’d barely come out alive. If not for somebody literally falling into the swamp from another world, she wouldn’t have. The Grenye would have caught her and killed her. What did that say?
Whatever it said, she didn’t want to talk about it. All she wanted to do was joke. Holding her nose, she said, “You smell like a horse, my dear.”
“So do you,” Hasso answered. She did, too. But she also smelled like herself – better than any other woman Hasso had ever known. Still bantering, he went on, “I love you anyhow.”
That sobered her as effectively as a bucket of cold water in the face. “Be careful, Hasso Pemsel,” she said, her voice altogether serious. “It is dangerous to love me too much. Deadly dangerous for a Lenello. Deadly dangerous for you, too, unless you’re much more different from us than I think you are.”
“How can anyone help it?” he asked.
“Men can’t help it,” she answered, without modesty and also without doubt. “That’s part of what makes it so dangerous.”
“Only part?” He kept trying to tease.
But Velona’s nod was the next thing to somber. “Yes, only part. Remember, I am the goddess, too. A man, a mere man, who loves me is like a moth that loves a torch. He flies too close – and he burns.”
“What about King Bottero?” No, the night of the summer solstice wouldn’t go away. And the autumn equinox was coming. Would Bottero and Velona – and the goddess – celebrate it in front of the army? If they did, Hasso expected another drunken night and another painful morning.
In the dim lamplight, Velona’s eyes went even wider and bigger than they were already. “By the goddess, no!” she exclaimed. “He enjoys me. I know that. But love me? He’s not so foolish – he knows better.”
“But I don’t? Is that what you mean?” Hasso didn’t try to hide his bitterness.
“Some of what I mean.” Velona was nothing if not blunt. Maybe some of that had to do with the indwelling divinity she carried. More, though, Hasso judged, came from her own nature. She went on, “The other difference is, I like Bottero, but I really care for you. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because of me, but it may.”
“If you care for someone” – he stayed away from the explosive word love – “you worry about things like that. I thank you.” He gave her a gesture that was half a nod, half a salute.
She sighed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re thinking of a broken heart. You can get a broken heart if you fall in love with a milkmaid. Even a Grenye in love with another ugly little Grenye can get a broken heart. But if the goddess ever has reason to be angry at you…” She left it there.
Hasso started to ask her what might happen. Maybe she’d already answered him, though. Like a moth that loves a torch. In his world, it would have been one more figure of speech. Here? He wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out.
“Have to keep the goddess happy with me, then,” he said, and reached for Velona. “Even if she does smell like a horse.”
Laughing, Velona kissed him. But then she said, “Oh, no – that’s just me.” He thought about teasing her some more. It didn’t seem like a good idea. Making love, on the other hand … never seemed like a bad idea. He blew out the lamp.
Castle Pedio, hard by the border between Bottero’s kingdom and Bucovin, was less a fortress than an observation post. It had the tallest towers Hasso had seen since coming to this new world. The reason was simple: those towers let the Lenelli see as far into Bucovin as they could.
Half a kilometer east of Castle Pedio rose another structure, one that looked a lot like it. Castle Galats, that one was called. The Grenye had built it. It was clumsier, heavier – the Grenye didn’t have the tools or the skills the Lenelli did. But Castle Galats served its purpose: a signal fire at the top warned Bucovin that King Bottero was on his way by this route.
Hasso swore when he saw the fire. “Should take that castle by surprise when you decide to go to war,” he told Bottero. “Then signal doesn’t go out.”
The king frowned. “You tell me that now. I see it makes sense, but why didn’t you suggest it before?”
“I don’t know this castle is here then,” Hasso answered with a shrug. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Everyone must have thought you did know,” Bottero said. “Anybody who knows anything about the border would.” He stopped and sighed. “But you don’t know anything much about the border, do you?”
“Only what I hear,” Hasso said. “I don’t hear about watchtowers – I’m sorry. But this is the first time I am here, your Majesty. I am stranger here. This place can still surprise me. It still does surprise me every day.”
“Well, you surprise us, too – mostly in good ways,” King Bottero said. “Except when you show you don’t belong here, we think you do.”
“Thank you,” Hasso said, even if the king meant, You don’t seem too barbarous most of the time. He pointed toward Castle Galats. “Do we take that place, or do we just mask it?”
“Mask it,” Bottero said at once. “The men from Castle Pedio can do that. Neither place has a big garrison.”
“However you like,” Hasso said. “I just don’t want any nasty surprises when we go by. I don’t like getting nasty surprises. Giving is better.” He pointed toward the beacon fire in the Grenye tower. “We don’t give any for a while now.”
“Sooner or later, we will.” As usual, the king sounded confident. “When the Grenye try to face us, we’ll make them pay. Your striking column will help, by the goddess.”
“I hope so.” Hasso had all kinds of reasons for saying that. He wanted to make Marshal Lugo look like the stick-in-the-mud, the French general in Lenello’s clothing, that he was. He wanted to make his own stock rise. And he wanted to beat Bucovin, which would help him reach both those other goals.
The Grenye in Castle Galats jeered at the Lenelli as the invaders went by. Bottero’s men stayed out of arrow range of the watchtower, so Hasso couldn’t get a close look at the barbarians’ equipment. Some of the Grenye seemed to be wearing iron, while others made do with bronze.
“They know iron when Lenelli come here?” Hasso asked Aderno.
“Yes, but they were just learning to use it.” The wizard looked as if he’d just bitten down on a particularly sour pickle. “They’ve learned a lot more since – from us. They buy as much as they make themselves – from us.”
“Why sell to them?”
“Some people care more about money than anything else, and don’t care how they get it,” Aderno replied. “Is it not the same in your world?”