If that didn’t make a deadlock, Grus didn’t know what could. He sketched a salute to Lanius, then rode off. He didn’t look back at his son-in-law, not even once.
“Come on,” he snapped at the captains who served him. “The sooner we close with the rebels and smash them up, the better off we’ll be, and the better off Avornis will be, too.”
The army trampled fields as it advanced. Whatever livestock it got its hands on, it devoured. Grus had known those sorts of things would happen. Part of him exulted; they would make it harder for Corvus and Corax to keep on fighting against him. But part of him mourned, for everything that hurt his foes also hurt Avornis. That was the curse of civil war. No help for it, though.
Thinking of curses made him order a couple of wizards to stick close by Lanius. The rebels might try to steal a victory the same way Queen Certhia had tried against him. Sorcerously killing the king from the ancient dynasty was one obvious way to go about it. Sorcerously killing Grus was another obvious way. He didn’t go too far from wizards himself, either.
Things would have been easier had Corvus and Corax quietly stayed in the trap and let themselves be ground to bits between Grus’ army and Hirundo’s. But, like Grus, they had swarms of scouts out and about.
“They’re falling back to the south, Your Majesty,” one of Grus’ riders reported. “Sure as anything, they’ve figured out how close we are.”
“Too bad,” Grus growled. “We’ll just have to press them hard, then.” He turned to the trumpeters and shouted orders. Once again, they blew Advance. His men cheered as they went forward. They thought they had the rebels on the run.
And what would the soldiers whom Corvus and Corax commanded think? With any luck, they would think they were in trouble. Thinking that could help turn it true. Only the very greatest generals could take a retreating army and make it fight hard once it stopped retreating. From everything Grus had seen, Corvus and Corax weren’t generals of mat stripe. He didn’t want them suddenly proving him wrong now.
Not much later, another rider came in to report to him—not one who’d traveled with him through the Maze, but an unfamiliar fellow. Grus’ guards and the wizards with the army all kept a wary eye on the newcomer—another quick way for Corvus and Corax to win their fight would be by sending out an assassin.
But the rider said, “General Hirundo’s compliments, Your Majesty, and he’s ready to work with you any way you like.”
“That’s good news,” Grus answered, thinking, That’s good news if it’s true. He went on, “How am I to know you come from Hirundo and not from the rebels?”
“You could just keep me prisoner and take my head if the general doesn’t vouch for me when he joins you,” the scout said. “Or you could let me tell you that Hirundo says the two of you first met down in the south, where he drove the Menteshe to the Stura River and your galleys kept them from crossing back to the land they hold.”
“We did meet that way,” Grus said, nodding. “But even so, I am going to keep you here till he vouches for you—just to be sure. I don’t think Corvus and Corax know that story, but they could.”
The scout nodded. “The general told me you’d probably say that. He said you didn’t like to take chances unless you had to.”
“Did he?” Grus murmured. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “Well, I suppose he’s right.” He turned to the guards. “Treat this fellow well, but don’t let him go anywhere till we find out exactly who he is.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they chorused.
“Sounds to me like General Hirundo was right,” the rider said as Grus’ soldiers led him off.
When the sun was setting that day, Hirundo himself rode into Grus’ camp. He rode in with no ceremony at all. In fact, Grus’ guards greeted him with as much suspicion as they had the rider he’d sent before him. He’d shed all trappings of rank, and wore plain, grimy clothes and a broad-brimmed hat as disreputable as any Grus had ever seen.
Grus greeted him with, “I’d say you don’t mind taking chances for the fun of it.”
“Ah.” Hirundo grinned. “Dromas got here ahead of me, did he? And you probably went and clapped him in irons because you weren’t sure I’d sent him.”
“I did not,” Grus said indignantly. “But I didn’t let him go, either. Now that you’re here, I will.”
“That’ll make him happy,” Hirundo said. “And as for me, I figured I’d take fewer chances gallivanting over the landscape like this than I would in gilded mail and helmet. Nobody takes scouts seriously. Even if the rebels caught me, they wouldn’t do anything much to me. But if they’d captured me while I was dressed as the famous and ferocious General Hirundo, they’d either kill me or hold me for ransom.”
“Famous and ferocious?” Grus said.
“At the very least, Your Majesty.” Hirundo’s grin got wider. “And very much at your service, I might add.”
“Glad to hear it,” Grus said, meaning every word. “Pity we couldn’t quite catch Corax and Corvus between us.”
“When children play at war, or when poets write about it, they make it easy,” Hirundo answered. “We know better, or we’re supposed to. The gods-cursed bastards on the other side have plans of their own, and they’re rude enough to think we’re the gods-cursed bastards. We just have to keep after ’em, that’s all, and show ’em they’re wrong.”
“Anyone would guess you’ve been doing this for a little while,” Grus observed.
“Who, me, Your Majesty? I started day before yesterday. Next battle I see will be my first.”
“If I had the Scepter of Mercy in my hands right this minute, I do believe I’d clout you in the head with it,” Grus said, and Hirundo laughed out loud. After a bit of thought, Grus shook his head. “No, I’d save it, and clout Corvus and Corax in the head with it instead.”
“Clout them in the head with what?” asked King Lanius, who, unlike anyone else in the encampment, had no trouble getting through Grus’ guards.
“Oh, hello, Your Majesty. Allow me to present General Hirundo to you,” Grus said. “Hirundo, here is my colleague, King Lanius.” Lanius and Hirundo said all the right things. Hirundo was much more polite with Lanius than with Grus, whom he knew well. After the formalities, Grus went on, “I’d like to clout the rebels in the head with the Scepter of Mercy.”
“Would you?” Lanius sounded prim and disapproving; rough soldiers’ jokes were not usually for him. But then he surprised Grus by saying, “Well, if that’s what you have in mind, I can tell you how to go about it.”
“I know how to go about it,” Grus answered. “All I have to do is march halfway down from the Stura River to the southern hills, beat all the Menteshe who try to stop me, lay siege to Yozgat, beat the Banished One in person if he tries to stop me, take up the Scepter, and start clouting.” He snapped his fingers. “What could be simpler?”
Lanius’ face froze. “Since you already have all the answers, I won’t trouble you any further.” He nodded to Hirundo. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, General.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away.
“Oh, dear,” Grus said. “I put his back up, didn’t I? He looks like a cat after you’ve rubbed its fur the wrong way.”
“I wonder what he was going to tell you about the Scepter of Mercy,” Hirundo remarked.
Grus shrugged. “Could have been almost anything. He knows… a lot, is all I can tell you. But he doesn’t always know which parts of what he knows are worth knowing, if you know what I mean.” He paused. That had confused even him. After a moment, he resumed. “Whatever he knows, though, it doesn’t matter, because every word I said was true, too. I can talk about the Scepter of Mercy till I’m blue in the face, but I can’t get my hands on it, no matter how much I’d like to. Corvus and Corax, now, they’re a different story. Them, I can reach. Since we didn’t manage to trap them this time around, the next thing we need to try is…”