“She heads the regency council now. She doesn’t have to change her mind for anybody,” Lepturus said, and Lanius nodded unhappily. Lepturus went on, “I don’t know that she ought to change her mind here, either, meaning no disrespect to you.”
“Wouldn’t the soldiers fight better if they knew the king shared danger with them?” Lanius asked. The books said things worked that way.
And Lepturus didn’t laugh, or chuckle, or even smile. He just rubbed his bearded chin and looked thoughtful. “They might,” he admitted. “They just might.”
Lanius leaned forward. “Will you talk to my mother, then?” His heart thudded in excitement.
Lepturus rubbed his chin some more. At last, slowly, he nodded. “I might,” he said. “I just might.”
Aboard the Otter, Grus waited for trouble. It hadn’t come yet. What had come was a message from the city of Avornis that astounded everyone aboard, from him down to the juniormost sailor.
“King Lanius is leading the army against the Thervings.” Nicator still sounded disbelieving.
“Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye,” Grus said.
“He’s a boy. There could hardly be less to him than meets the eye, now could there?” Nicator answered.
“He’s a boy, but he’s the King of Avornis,” Grus said.
“He’s the King of Avornis, but he’s a boy,” Nicator retorted.
“If he carried the Scepter of Mercy, how old he is wouldn’t matter,” Grus said.
Nicator scowled. “There weren’t any Thervings in the mountains the last time a King of Avornis wielded the Scepter of Mercy. The Banished One stole it before they filtered off the plains to the east.”
“I know that. Everybody knows that, the same way everybody knows the Banished One can’t use the Scepter of Mercy.”
“Sending a little boy into the field isn’t the way to make up for not having it,” Nicator said.
“How do you know he was sent?” Grus said. “Maybe he wanted to go.”
“Not likely,” Nicator disagreed. “I wouldn’t want to go face the Thervings when King Dagipert’s feeling testy. Neither would anybody else in his right mind—and if Lanius does, he likely isn’t in his right mind.”
“Well, if you put what you’re trying to show into what you claim, that does make arguing easier,” Grus said, more annoyed at Nicator than he usually let himself get.
Before the veteran could answer back, a watchman called out and pointed to the bank of the Tuola, where a ragged-looking fellow who might have been either an Avornan or a Therving stood waving by a horse on its last legs. At least he’s not a soul-dead thrall, Grus thought, and ordered the Otter to a halt. He hailed the stranger. “Who are you, and what do you want with us?”
“I’m Count Corax, by the gods,” the ragged man replied, as though Grus were supposed to know who he was. And, in case Grus didn’t, he went on, “I’m just back from a mission to the Heruls, on the far side of the Bantian Mountains.”
“Ah,” Grus said, and called an urgent order to his sailors. “Man the boat and bring him aboard.”
As they hurried to obey, one of them asked, “What about the horse, Skipper?”
“If you can get it onto the boat without any trouble, fine,” Grus answered. “If you can’t, too bad. I don’t think Corax there will miss it.”
Sure enough, the horse stayed behind. Corax scrambled up from the boat onto the river galley. No matter how ragged he looked, he carried himself like an Avornan noble, sure enough—one of the arrogant type. He looked at the Otter as though it were as much his to command as the horse had been.
“Take me to the city of Avornis, so I may speak to the regents at once,” he said.
Grus shook his head. “Sorry, Your Excellency, but I can’t do it.”
Count Corax turned red. Grus got the idea he wasn’t used to hearing people say no. “Why not?” he demanded.
“For one thing, I’m on war patrol,” Grus answered. “I can take you to the nearest town and put you on a better horse than the one you had, but that’s it. And, for another, the regents aren’t—or at least Queen Certhia isn’t—at the city of Avornis.”
“Well, where are they?” Corax asked. “Wherever it is, you have to take me there right away.” He looked set to add, Now hop to it, gods curse you, but somehow held back.
“I can’t do that, either,” Grus said.
“Well, what in creation can you do?” Count Corax barked.
“I can tell you that Queen Certhia has taken the field against the Thervings,” Grus replied. “I can tell you that King Lanius is in the field, too. And I can do what I said I’d do before that—I can take you to the next town and put you on a horse. The army is covering territory river galleys can’t reach.”
Corax swore. He kept on swearing for the next several minutes, hardly seeming to draw breath and not repeating himself once. At last, he calmed down enough for a coherent sentence. “I need to see the queen this instant.”
“I do understand that it’s important, Your Excellency,” Grus said. “I’m doing the best I can for you.”
“It isn’t good enough,” Corax snarled.
“Tell me, Your Excellency, are you by any chance related to Count Corvus?” Grus asked.
Corax blinked. “He’s my brother. Why do you ask? Do you know him? I don’t recall hearing that he knows you.” Suspicion filled his voice.
“We met once, a long time ago,” Grus said. “And I’ve heard a lot about him.” None of what he’d heard was good. And Corax sounded as hard and unpleasant as his brother.
One thing Corax couldn’t do was take a hint. “I should hope you’ve heard about him,” he said. “All of Avornis should know about us.” The Otter’s bow dipped. He grabbed for the rail.
“I’m sure all of Avornis will.” Grus didn’t mean it as a compliment, but Corax didn’t need to know that.
Nicator asked, “What about the Heruls?”
“What business of yours are they?” The nobleman looked down his nose at the river-galley officer.
“Well, if I’m going to fight me a war, I’d sort of like to know how big a war I’m fighting,” Nicator answered. “If the Heruls will pitch into Thervingia, King Dagipert can’t hit us near as hard as he can if they sit on their hands.”
Corax weighed a sardonic reply. Grus reluctantly gave him credit for deciding against it. The envoy did say, “You need to worry less than you may have thought you did.”
“Oh, I always worry,” Nicator said. “But you’re right—the thing is, how much?”
Grus always worried, too. He was more imaginative than Nicator, and so found more things to worry about. A kingdom full of bad-tempered, haughty nobles like Corax and Corvus came to mind. They could do whatever they pleased, especially when the King of Avornis was weak. How many men, all through the realm, were busy lining their pockets because nobody was keeping an eye on them? The answer was, too many.
When he let Corax off the Otter at the town of Veteres the next day, the noble started screaming at the people there to get him a horse and get out of his way. Grus looked at Nicator. “You see?” he said. “He’s like that with everybody.”
Even before Count Corax galloped off to the northwest, Grus had the Otter heading back out toward midstream to resume his patrol. He took war patrol duties seriously. And he needed to. That very afternoon, another horseman came galloping down to the riverbank. This fellow had a bloody bandage on one arm and an arrow sticking out of the saddle behind him. “The Thervings!” he cried. “The Thervings are over the border!”