The guards commander nodded. “All right. By all the signs, you’ll do a better job than a secretary’s liable to. Tell him to come tomorrow, in the middle of the morning. The rest will be taken care of. Easier and neater here than at the cathedral.”
“Taken care of how?” Lanius asked. Lepturus just looked at him, and Lanius realized he wouldn’t get any more answer than that. He started to get angry, but checked himself. “Never mind. I’ll write the letter.”
He did, and sent it off by a servant he trusted more than most of the others. The man brought back a reply from Bucco. I shall be there, Your Majesty. You may rely on it, the arch-hallow wrote. I trust I shall be able to persuade you to reconsider.
“Ha!” Lanius said. “I trust you won’t.”
Bucco came at the appointed hour. Lanius received him in as much state as he could. He had no formal power in Avornis, but he had rank, and rank could look like power. Arch-Hallow Bucco wore his most ornate crimson robe, shot through with gold thread and encrusted with pearls and rubies and sapphires. He played the same game as Lanius, but he had power to go with his rank.
He’d just launched into his speech to Lanius when Queen Certhia strode into the audience chamber, backed by Lepturus and two squads of royal bodyguards. “Mother!” Lanius exclaimed, and ran to her.
“Halt!” Bucco commanded. Lanius, to his own astonished dismay, halted just beyond the reach of his mother’s arms. Bucco stabbed a forefinger at Certhia. Had he worn a sword on his belt, he might have stabbed with that, instead. The arch-hallow said, “You were banned from the palace, madam.”
“And now you are, sir.” Certhia laced the title with cold contempt. She beckoned to Lanius. He realized he didn’t have to obey the arch-hallow, and threw his arms around his mother.
“On what authority?” Bucco demanded.
“Mine,” Queen Certhia said.
“And mine,” Lepturus added. The guards commander had a sword on his belt, and didn’t seem likely to be shy about using it.
Certhia went on, “And the other regents have voted you off the council for daring to propose this marriage alliance. They agree with me that it would do nothing but deliver Avornis into Dagipert’s bloodstained hands. Here is the notice of their vote.”
She handed Bucco a sheet of parchment. “They have also voted me, as King Mergus’ widow, its head until King Lanius comes of age.”
Bucco read the parchment, then crumpled it and threw it down. “This is outrageous! This is illegal!”
“After the fiasco you’ve caused, you’d better be grateful you’re getting off with a whole skin,” Lepturus said. “If you let your jaw flap, maybe you won’t.” Bucco gave him a terrible look, but found it better to say nothing. His stiff back radiating fury, he stalked away.
“Does this mean I won’t have to marry King Dagipert’s daughter?” Lanius asked.
“Let’s see him try to marry her to you,” his mother answered. Lanius clapped his hands.
CHAPTER SIX
The Otter glided along the Tuola River, on patrol against the Thervings. Now that Arch-Hallow Bucco no longer headed the regency, now that Queen Certhia had taken his place, King Lanius would not be betrothed to Princess Romilda of Thervingia. Grus approved of that. He didn’t expect King Dagipert would, though. No one in Avornis expected Dagipert would. War was coming now. The only question was when.
“We never should have landed in this mess in the first place,” Nicator grumbled. “Bucco never should have made that bargain.”
“Of course he shouldn’t,” Grus said. “I just think it’s a gods-cursed shame he’s still in the cathedral. They should have thrown him out of there when they flung him out of the palace.”
“I hear old Megadyptes didn’t want the arch-hallow’s job back,” Nicator answered. “He’s too holy for his own good, you ask me.”
“Me, I’d sooner have an arch-hallow who spends his time praying than one who tries to run the kingdom.”
Nicator grunted. “I don’t mind Bucco trying so much as I mind him botching the job. And he cursed well did. And we’ll have to pay for it.”
“Don’t remind me,” Grus said. The Otter and the rest of his flotilla could give the Thervings a hard time if they tried to cross the Tuola. But the river galleys could go only so far up the stream. Past that, Avornis’ horsemen and foot soldiers and wizards had to hold back Dagipert’s army. Could they? We’ll find out, Grus told himself, trying to smother his own doubts. Wistfully, he added, “It would be nice if somebody could run the kingdom, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, you just might say so, yes,” Nicator answered. He looked northwest, toward the rapids that kept the river galleys from moving any farther up the Tuola. Water boomed and thundered over black jagged rocks. Rainbows came and went in the flying spray. “What do we do when the Thervings try to go around us? They will, you know.”
“Of course they will,” Grus said. “We’ll just have to work with the soldiers as best we can, that’s all.”
“Happy day.” Nicator sounded unimpressed—but then, Nicator made a habit of sounding unimpressed. “If those bastards had any brains, they wouldn’t have been soldiers in the first place.”
Plump and fussy, Turnix bustled up to Grus and waited to be noticed. The commodore nodded to him now. “What’s up?”
“Something’s stirring, sir,” Turnix answered.
“What do you mean, stirring?” Grus demanded. “And where?”
Turnix pointed toward Thervingia. “Something there. Something magical. Something big, or I wouldn’t know anything about it. I do believe they’re trying to mask it, but it’s too big for that. I know it’s there even through their spells.”
“Ax is going to fall,” Nicator said grimly.
“I think you’re right,” Grus said. “Turnix, can you tell exactly where this spell’s coming from?”
“I haven’t tried, not up till now,” the wizard said. “I will if you like. The Thervings’ masking makes it harder.”
“Do your best,” Grus said. “It’s important.”
“Well, it may be important,” Nicator said. “Their wizards may be trying to bluff us about whatever they’re keeping under wraps.”
Grus didn’t want to think about that. By Turnix’s pained expression, the wizard didn’t, either. It wasn’t that Nicator was wrong. It was only that knowing he was right made everyone’s life more complicated. Grus spoke to Turnix. “See if you can find it. Maybe that will tell you whether it’s real or not.”
“Good enough.” Turnix turned toward Thervingia. He took an amulet set with a translucent green stone out from under his shirt and held it up so that the sun sparkled off it. Then he began to chant. He made one pass after another with his left hand. A couple of minutes into the spell, he staggered and muttered to himself.
“Are you all right?” Grus asked.
“I think so,” Turnix said. “They’ve got wizards looking for people who try to sneak through their masking spells, too. Whatever they’re doing, they don’t want anybody knowing about it.”
“All the more reason for us to find out,” Grus said.
Turnix nodded. He started chanting again, and swung the amulet back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly, he let out a sharp exclamation of triumph. The stone in the amulet turned clear as glass on part of the arc. Turnix pointed. “There!”
“Toward the northwest, where we’d expect to have trouble,” Grus noted.