That stretched the truth a bit, and Grus knew it. Corvus had proclaimed he wouldn’t do anything to Lanius. The countryside in the south had risen against Grus himself, not against his colleague on the throne. He intended to go right on telling his version of the story, though. People would feel better about his crushing Corvus if they thought Corvus threatened the old dynasty. Grus was every bit as much a usurper as the nobleman who’d rebelled against him. The only difference between them was that Grus was more successful than Corvus.
That’s the difference that matters, Grus thought, and then, One of these years, some dusty chronicler pawing through the archives Lanius loves so much is liable to realize Corvus’ revolt was aimed at me, not at Lanius at all. He’ll write it all down, and everybody will call me a liar. Grus considered that, then shrugged. People will call me a King of Avornis who was a liar. That’s what counts.
Hirundo brought him back to the here-and-now by asking, “You don’t intend to try storming that place, do you?”
“By the gods, no!” Grus exclaimed. “I’d have about as much chance as the Banished One would of storming his way back into the heavens.”
Hirundo’s expressive features showed his relief. He accepted the figure of speech as meaning Grus knew he had no chance of storming Corvus’ keep. Grus had meant it that way, too. But he realized he didn’t know what kind of chance of storming back into the heavens the Banished One had. All he knew was that the Banished One hadn’t done it yet, not in all the time he’d spent here in the material world. By human standards, he’d been banished a very long time. By his own? Who could say, except for him?
Contemplating how to take Corvus’ stronghold was more comforting than thinking about the Banished One’s return to the heavens. What would he do, if he ever forced his way back? Nothing pretty—Grus was sure of that.
Up on the walls of the grim gray stone keep, men moved. Grus could barely make out the distant motion, like that of ants on the ground as seen by a man standing upright. Hirundo looked toward the castle, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. He stared so fixedly, Grus wondered if he could make out more than someone with ordinary eyesight might have done. But before Grus could ask, Hirundo turned to him with a question of his own. “If Corvus yields himself to you, will you let him live?”
Grus scratched at the corner of his jaw. “I would have, if he hadn’t sent that sorcerously disguised fellow to try to murder me.” He sighed. “I suppose I would even now, for the sake of having the civil war over and done with. We don’t have time for it, you know—not with Dagipert still in arms against us and with the Menteshe ready to come to the boil whenever they choose.” Another, longer, sigh. “Yes, if Corvus wants to live out his days somewhere in the very heart of the Maze, in a place he’ll never come out of, I’ll let him do it.”
“All right, then,” Hirundo said. “You should send a messenger and let him know as much, in that case. His keep will take a lot of besieging, and who knows what may go wrong while we’re waiting down here to starve him out?”
Grus said one more time, “You make more sense than I wish you did. I’ll do it.”
He sent a young officer up the slope, a white banner in hand to show he had no hostile intent. The youngster went up to the wall of the keep. Grus made out his progress by keeping an eye on the white moving against the dark background. After a while, his officer trudged down the slope once more. Little by little, he grew from moving white speck to man once more.
“Well?” Grus asked him when he came back into the encampment.
“Sorry, Your Majesty, but he says no.” By the indignation on the young man’s face, Count Corvus had not only said no but embellished upon it. “He says he can’t trust you.”
“I like that!” Grus exclaimed. “He rebelled when I was crowned, he just sent a sorcerously disguised assassin against me, and now I’m the one who can’t be trusted! Some people would call that funny.”
“I said as much,” the young officer answered. “And when I said it, Count Corvus called me a traitor.”
“He can say whatever he likes.” Grus’ smile was predatory. “That’s what he’s got left—nasty talk from a mewed-up castle. I hope he enjoys it.”
“I wonder how much grain he has in there, and how many men,” Hirundo said.
“Yes, those are the questions,” Grus agreed. “I’m sure he’s wondering the same thing. The answer will tell him how long he can hold out. He doesn’t have enough men to sally against us. I’m sure of that, or he wouldn’t have let himself be locked away in his lair.”
“Does he think we’ll go away before he starves?” Hirundo said. “Not likely!”
“No,” Grus said. But it was perhaps more likely than his general thought. If the Thervings or the Menteshe started moving, Grus knew he might have to break off the siege to deal with them. Corvus was playing a desperate game, yes, but not quite a hopeless one.
These days, Lanius needed approval from a wizard or witch before he could come into Grus’ presence. That would have offended him more had not Grus required sorcerous approval of himself before he saw Lanius. He was equitable in small things. Maybe he thought that made his usurpation of all large things more tolerable to Lanius. Sometimes, it even did.
Having proved he was himself, Lanius told Grus, “I know how we can solve all these questions of who’s who.”
“Oh?” Grus said. “Well, tell me, Your Majesty.”
“Send me back to the city of Avornis,” Lanius answered. “I’m of no use to you here, and of no use to myself here, either. I’d like to go home to my wife. I’d like to go home to the mon-cats. I’d like to go home to the archives.”
Grus eyed him. “And when I go home, Your Majesty, would I find the city of Avornis closed up tight against me? The question I’m asking is, How do I trust you?”
That he’d made Lanius his son-in-law apparently counted for nothing. And, perhaps, with reason. Had Lanius thought he could get away with revolt, he might have tried it. But this journey with Grus warned him he would only lose if he rebelled. And so he said, “Send enough soldiers back to keep an eye on me, if you feel the need. But send me home.”
“I’ll think about it,” Grus said, and no more.
King Lanius thought that would prove nothing more than a polite dismissal. He wondered if he ought to be glad to get a polite one. Whenever Grus thwarted him, his first reaction was usually to get angry. His second reaction was usually to think, Well, that could have been worse. So it was here.
And, a couple of days later, Grus came to him. Alca the witch meticulously made sure Grus was himself before the other King of Avornis strode up to Lanius. “I’ve made up my mind,” Grus said.
“Yes?” Lanius braced himself for the rejection he was sure would follow.
But Grus said, “All right, Your Majesty. Back to the city of Avornis you may go, if that makes you happy.”
“Really? Thank you very much!” Only afterward did Lanius pause to wonder if he should have been so grateful. At the moment itself, glad surprise filled him too full to worry about such trifles.
“Yes, really.” Grus seemed amused. “But you’ll do it my way. I’m sending Nicator back with you to command in the city till I get back.”
“Ah?” Lanius said cautiously. If he had been thinking about rebellion, that would have made him think twice. Nicator was not only altogether loyal to Grus, he was popular with the men he would lead.