“You’d have to ask her that,” Lepturus said. “Me, I’ll take her what you said, and I hope she pays attention.”
He strode out of King Lanius’ chamber. Not too many days passed before palace servants reported to Lanius that a lot more barges and boats than usual were stopping at the docks. All were full of wheat and barley and rye. He nodded, pleased with himself. Nobody out there in the city is likely to know it, but I’ve done something right, he thought.
And not long after that, an embassy from the south came up into the city of Avornis. The princes of the Menteshe treated with Avornis as did King Dagipert and the lords of the cities of the Chernagors. This embassy was different. It wasn’t a mission from the Menteshe, but from their overlord—from the Banished One himself.
His envoy was a Menteshe, of course, a round, swarthy man named Karajuk. The Banished One hadn’t spoken this directly with Avornis in almost a century. Queen Certhia kept Karajuk and his henchmen outside the walls of the city for a couple of days while secretaries pawed through musty scrolls to make sure they received him as their forefathers had received the Banished One’s last embassy. More than any mere mortal, the Banished One had a long memory. He would not overlook a slight, even an inadvertent one.
Because the reigning King of Avornis had received his last embassy, Lanius had to sit on the Diamond Throne to receive this one. Loremasters worried that having Karajuk come before Queen Certhia would be reckoned an insult, even if she did head the regency council. Certhia fretted. “What if he does something to you?”
“I’ll have wizards warding me,” Lanius answered patiently. “It will be all right. If he wanted to kill me, he’d use an assassin, not an ambassador.”
“Is there a difference to the Banished One?” his mother asked bleakly.
Lanius had no good answer for that. The Banished One was a law—or rather, no law—unto himself. But one of the protocol experts said, “We dare not offend him, Your Royal Highness,” and Certhia had to yield to his advice.
Thus Lanius sat enthroned in his heaviest, most gorgeous robe, the spiked crown of Avornis heavy on his head, as Karajuk and four followers—there had been four a hundred years ago, so there were four now—approached. The envoy wore a wolfskin hat, a snow-leopard jacket, and deerskin trousers. His supporters had a similar style with less rich garments.
Karajuk bowed low to Lanius. “I greet you, Your Majesty, in the name of my Master.” He spoke excellent, unaccented Avornan. Something glittered in his dark eyes as he added, “One day soon, maybe, he will come forth to greet you in person.”
Not for nothing had Lanius looked through the old documents the loremasters had unearthed. He said, “The Banished One’s last emissary said the same thing on his visit. He himself has not come yet.”
Karajuk studied him. “Yesss,” the Menteshe murmured, drawing the word out into a long hiss. “Your Majesty, my Master bids me say, you are not so clever as you think you are.”
“Neither is he,” Lanius replied. “If he were, he would still live with the other gods.”
Behind Karajuk, his henchmen muttered in their own language. If the gibe sank deep, the ambassador did not show it. He looked at Lanius once more. Were those his own eyes boring into the King of Avornis, or did the Banished One look out through them? Lanius didn’t know. He wondered if Karajuk did.
“You had better listen to me, Your Majesty,” Karajuk said. “You had better hear the words of my Master.”
Queen Certhia, who sat below and to the right of the throne, and Lepturus, who stood below and to the left, both stirred angrily. Lanius just looked down at the Menteshe, as though he’d found him on the bottom of his sandal. “Say on,” he said.
“Good. Maybe you have good sense after all,” Karajuk said. “My Master asks, how bad will this winter be? How long will this winter last?”
“The gods know that,” Lanius answered. “No one else does.”
Karajuk smiled a singularly nasty smile. Since being cast forth from the heavens, the Banished One wasn’t exactly a god. On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly not a god, either. Could he know things like that? Lanius wasn’t sure. Another question occurred to him, one he wished he hadn’t thought of. Could the Banished One influence things like that? Lanius wasn’t sure there, either, and wished he were.
By his smile, Karajuk suggested an answer. Of course, he would have suggested that answer regardless of whether it was true. He said, “Do you really want to find out, Your Majesty? You will. Oh, indeed you will. And when ice grips your rivers in the cold fingers of death, how will you feed your people?”
Certhia stirred again. She looked up to Lanius. Ever so slightly, he shook his head. He didn’t want the Banished One’s envoy hearing he’d already started bringing extra provisions into the city of Avornis. If Karajuk—if his Master—learned that, a different threat might come next—one he wasn’t so well able to meet.
He said, “You tell me the Banished One will ease the winter if I do what he wants? What is his price?”
“Yes, my Master will do that,” the Menteshe answered. He didn’t call the Banished One by that name. As far as the Banished One was concerned, he’d done nothing to deserve being ousted from the heavens. Master pleased him much better. Karajuk went on, “What do you have to do? You have to yield up the province of Perusia, north of the Stura. Set Perusia in my Master’s hands and you will pass through this winter untroubled by his wrath.”
“Yes—this winter. But what of next winter, or the winter after that?” Lanius shook his head. “You may tell the Banished One no. I will take my chances. My city will take its chances.”
“On your head shall it be,” Karajuk said. “I tell you—I tell you in my Master’s mighty name—you will regret your foolishness.”
“I will take my chances. The city of Avornis will take its chances,” Lanius replied. “You are dismissed. Go back to him with my words.”
“I will,” the Menteshe said. “You have already heard his words. Soon you will see how he keeps his promise.” He bowed and left the throne room. His henchmen glared back over their shoulders at Lanius as they followed him.
After the Menteshe had departed, Lepturus turned and nodded up at Lanius. The King of Avornis only shrugged by way of reply. He had no idea whether he’d done the right thing. I’ll find out, he thought, and then shook his head. Come what might, he would have plenty to eat. The city of Avornis would find out.
An icy storm whipped the waters of the Stura up into whitecaps. Sleet and flurries of snow blew almost horizontally. Icicles hung from the Pike’s rigging and from the river galley’s yard. Little icicles also clung to Grus’ beard and mustache. “Isn’t this a bastard?” he shouted to Nicator.
“Never seen anything like it in all my born days,” the veteran captain answered. “Never once. And down here, where the weather’s supposed to be good. Gods only know what it’s like up by the city of Avornis, places like that. Got to be pretty foul, though. Only stands to reason.”
“Yes, it does,” Grus agreed, and shivered. “Somebody ashore told me the Banished One’s embassy to the king came back with one unhappy envoy.”
“Oh, too bad.” Nicator’s voice dripped false distress. “That breaks my heart, that does. Tears me all in two, yes indeed.”
“I can tell,” Grus said dryly. “But do you think the one has got anything to do with the other?”
“Don’t know.” Now Nicator sounded thoughtful. “Who can say for sure what the Banished One’s full powers are? Curse me if I’m certain he knows himself.”