“Me, I don’t miss Regulus,” Nicator remarked.
“No, I don’t miss him, either,” Grus answered. “He wanted to be King of Avornis, and we’ve already got one.”
“He wouldn’t have made a good one, either,” Nicator said. “Bastard thought he knew everything when he didn’t know enough to stay out of a trap that shouldn’t have fooled a halfwitted dog. The Thervings would have served him up for supper—with garlic bread, by the gods.”
Grus nodded. His own opinion of Regulus was no higher. On the other hand… “Now our army in front of the city of Avornis has no general at all, not to speak of.”
“It didn’t before,” Nicator said scornfully. “Just a sorry bastard with more ambition than brains. And speaking of sorry bastards—” He jerked a thumb toward the Menteshe. “What do you suppose he’s up to?”
“Just keeping an eye on us, I hope,” Grus replied. “They haven’t got many river galleys of their own, so they use horsemen instead. We’ve seen it before.”
“Haven’t seen one of the buggers dog us quite like this.” Nicator scowled. “He’s up to something.”
“Maybe. If he is, we can’t do much about it,” Grus said. “We can’t give the Menteshe any excuse to go to war with Avornis, not when King Dagipert’s ready to throw every Therving in the world across our western border.”
“If we had the Scepter of Mercy, we’d make ’em all think twice,” Nicator muttered. He sighed. “And if pigs had wings, everybody’d need to stay under shelter.”
“Shelter,” Grus said. Involuntarily, he looked up into the sky. No fat porkers overhead—only a few swifts and swallows after the insects buzzing above the river. Somehow, the sight of them helped him make up his mind. He raised his voice to call, “Turnix!”
“Yes, Commodore?” the wizard answered, hurrying back from the Osprey’s bow. The gray in his beard reminded Grus how long they’d been together. Not as long as with Nicator, but still quite a while. Turnix went on, “What can I do for you?”
Grus pointed to the Menteshe rider. “Can you tell me what he’s up to?”
“I can try. If a Menteshe wizard has warded him, I may not succeed. If the Banished One has warded him”—his fingers twisted in a sign to turn aside evil, which Grus imitated—“I won’t succeed.”
“Try,” Grus urged. “And why would the Banished One care about one river galley in particular? Avornis has a fine, big fleet.”
“Yes, Commodore,” Turnix said, “but Avornis has only one Grus.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grus shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just tend to your wizardry, all right?”
“Of course, Commodore.” But Turnix’s eyes gleamed. He might obey, but he would go on thinking his own thoughts. He took from his belt pouch a stone of sparkling, shifting color. Holding it up to Grus, he said, “This is the famous amandinus, from out of the distant east. It’s an antidote to poison; it makes a man overcome his adversaries; it lets him prophesy and interpret dreams; and it makes him understand dark questions, questions hard to solve.”
“That all sounds splendid,” Grus said agreeably. “So long as it does what I want, too.” Before Turnix could reply, Grus went on, “One thing I’ve always wondered—if a wizard has a stone like that, why doesn’t he quickly become very powerful?”
“Well, for one thing, sir, this isn’t the only bit of amandinus in the world, you know,” Turnix said. “And, for another, there are other magics besides the one inherent in the stone. But it does have its uses even so.”
“All right. I’m answered. I’ll let you tend to your business.”
“I think I can manage, sir.” Turnix aimed the amandinus stone at the Menteshe. He began a chant of which Grus understood not a word. He did understand that, had the wizard aimed an arrow, instead, he would have been drawing back a bow. The chant grew higher and sharper. Turnix called out one last word.
The nomad cried out as though he had been pierced by an arrow. He spurred south as fast as he could ride. “Nicely done,” Grus said. “I don’t think we’ll see him again anytime soon.”
“No.” But Turnix’s voice was troubled. “He was well warded, sir. But one thing I noted beyond any doubt.”
“What’s that?” Grus asked, as he was meant to do.
“He wasn’t riding along to keep an eye on the Osprey, sir,” Turnix replied. “He was keeping an eye on you—on you in particular, I mean.”
“Well, what of it?” Grus tried not to take that too seriously. “I’m not unknown down here in the south. I’ve been commanding river galleys and flotillas of river galleys in these parts for a good many years now. If the Menteshe didn’t know who I was and worry about me, I’d be disappointed.”
Turnix shook his head. “That’s not why he was following this ship.” He sounded very sure of himself. “If he’s not heading straight back to a wizard with connections to the Banished One—or maybe to the Banished One himself—I’d be amazed.”
“Why would the Banished One care so much about me? I’m not that important in the scheme of things,” Grus said. The wizard only shrugged. Grus muttered something under his breath. Now he wished he hadn’t summoned Turnix.
As the Osprey approached the little riverside town of Tharrus, a dispatch boat shot out from the waterfront. The rowers pulled as though demons were right behind them. Grus had intended to pass Tharrus by, but slowed down to let the dispatch boat come alongside. “Permission to come aboard?” one of the men on her called.
“Granted,” Grus replied.
“Here you are, Commodore Grus,” the fellow said when he stood on the planks of the Osprey’s, deck. He thrust a rolled-up scroll at Grus.
“I expect you want me to read this now, don’t you?” Grus asked. That was wasted irony—the other man just nodded. Sighing, Grus broke the seal. He read and sighed again. After that, he rolled up the parchment and stood there without a word.
“Well?” Nicator asked at last.
Grus shook his head. “Not very well. Not very well at all, I’m afraid. The Thervings are over the border in the northwest, and there’s not a single, solitary thing between them and the city of Avornis.”
A few weeks before, Lanius had been able to look out from the royal palace and see the encampment of the Avornan army beyond the walls of the capital. He saw an army encamped there once more, but it wasn’t an Avornan army—the Thervings had come to the city of Avornis. If they broke in, he wouldn’t be King of Avornis anymore. If they broke in, Avornis wouldn’t be a kingdom anymore, only a conquered part of Thervingia.
Arch-Hallow Bucco stood on the tower with him. “How do you explain this?” Lanius asked him.
“How do I explain it?” Bucco echoed, as though wondering whether he’d heard right. “What do you mean?”
Is he really so thick? Lanius wondered. He doubted it. “You head the Council of Regents, don’t you? That means you do now what I’ll do when I’m older, doesn’t it? You rule Avornis, don’t you? That means that” —Lanius pointed out toward Dagipert’s host—“is your fault. And if it’s your fault, you’d better explain it, hadn’t you?”
Bucco looked as though he hated him. Bucco undoubtedly did hate him. The arch-hallow opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again. “Our army would have been better off with a general at its head.”