“Now there’s a pretty picture,” Grus said. “Rumor happens to be true here, which isn’t always so. Prince Berto—King Berto, I should say—is supposed to have less fire in his belly than old Dagipert did.”
“He could hardly have more,” Hirundo remarked. “But that’s just rumor, too, eh?”
“Not entirely,” Grus replied. “King Lanius met Berto once, when he came here with his father while Dagipert was laying siege to the city. Still, that was a while ago. In case Berto’s changed…” He took it no further. He didn’t want to say Lanius didn’t know what he was talking about. He did want to say Avornis couldn’t be sure Lanius had everything right, though.
Fortunately, Hirundo understood the fine line he was walking. “You’ll want to send soldiers out to the west, just in case Berto turns out to be friskier than we expect.”
“That’s just what I’ll want,” Grus agreed. “You’ll take care of it for me, I hope? We don’t want to look as though we’re invading Thervingia, now. We do want to be sure the Thervings won’t invade Avornis.”
“I understand, Your Majesty,” Hirundo said. “I won’t go anywhere near the border. But I’ll make it very plain I can put up a good fight on the far side of the Tuola.”
“That’s what I want from you,” Grus said. “King Berto will probably send his own ambassador here to announce his accession. That’s what the custom is, I think. If he does, I want that ambassador to see your men on the move so he’ll know we’re ready for whatever happens.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Hirundo promised. Grus dismissed him after that. The king had come to know his general, and to know he could count on a promise of that sort.
And, indeed, Hirundo left for the Tuola and the province beyond it three days before an embassy from Thervingia reached the city of Avornis. At the head of the embassy was Zangrulf, serving Berto as he’d served Dagipert for so many years. He bowed low before King Grus in the throne room. “I gather you will have heard our sad news?” he said in his fluent but gutturally accented Avornan.
“Yes,” Grus replied. “Please pass on to King Berto my personal sympathies. I lost my own father a few years ago. It’s never easy.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Zangrulf bowed again. “That is… gracious of you. I am sure the king will appreciate it.” His tone sharpened. “I am sure he will appreciate it more than the sight of armed Avornans marching toward Thervingia.”
Grus shrugged. “They’re marching through Avornis, Your Excellency. They have no intention of starting any trouble between our two kingdoms. But at the start of a new reign, it’s hard to know what will happen next.”
“May I take your assurance back to King Berto?” Zangrulf asked.
“Certainly,” Grus answered. “Tell him that as long as you Thervings stay on your side of the border, we’ll stay on ours. I don’t want any trouble with Thervingia. I never have.”
“Really?” Zangrulf raised a sly eyebrow. “If it weren’t for Avornis’ trouble with Thervingia, you wouldn’t be king today.”
That was probably true. As a matter of fact, that was bound to be true. Even so, Grus only shrugged again. “I meant what I said, Your Excellency. It’s possible to buy some things too dearly. Didn’t King Dagipert finally realize that when he was fighting us?”
“Maybe,” the Therving ambassador said. “But maybe not, too.”
“By the gods, you’re not giving me any great secrets,” Grus exclaimed. “Dagipert’s dead. He won’t be attacking us again, come what may.”
“He was my master for many years,” Zangrulf said. “I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting him to give me some new order. It doesn’t happen. It won’t happen. I know that. Most of me knows that, anyhow. But there’s still that part… He was a strong king.”
“So he was.” Grus couldn’t disagree. No one who’d ever had to deal with Dagipert could have disagreed with that. Grus persisted, “But didn’t he finally figure out he couldn’t hope to beat us, no matter how strong he was?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Zangrulf said again. “I’m not going to say any more than that, Your Majesty. There’s still that part that thinks he may be listening. And if he is, he’s saying, ‘Whatever I thought is none of your business, Avornan.’ ”
Grus laughed. “Have it your way, then, Your Excellency. And would you say King Berto is as strong as King Dagipert was?”
“King Berto is as strong in prayer as King Dagipert was with the sword.” Zangrulf picked his words with obvious care.
“May the gods love him, then,” Grus said—as safe an answer as he could find. Zangrulf confirmed what Lanius had said about Dagipert’s son. Grus added, “May he bring peace, and may the gods love that, as well.”
“I hope it will be so. I think it will be so,” Zangrulf said. He didn’t say whether he thought that would be good. By his tone, he had his doubts. The Thervings were an iron-bellied folk, most of them. Would Berto be able to hold them to peace, even if that was what he intended? Grus shrugged—a shrug so small he could hope his robes hid it from Zangrulf.
“I will give gifts,” the king said. “Some to you, for bringing King Berto’s greetings, and some to him, in the hope of a long reign for him and peace between our two kingdoms.”
Zangrulf bowed. His eyes gleamed. He seemed no more immune to gifts than anyone else. Grus resolved to make them generous, in the hope of getting some use from the man. “Thank you very much, Your Majesty. Your openhandedness is famous throughout the world,” the Therving said.
That made Grus smile. He was no more openhanded than he had to be, and everyone who knew him knew as much. Maybe Zangrulf was wangling for fancier presents. If he was, he’d probably get them. Here, Grus could see he did have to be open-handed, and so he would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
King Lanius was picking fleas off Topaz, one of Snitch’s kittens, when King Grus came into the chamber where the moncats dwelt. “Don’t mean to bother you, Your Majesty,” Grus said, by which Lanius was sure he meant to do exactly that, “but there’s something I’d like you to take care of for me.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Lanius caught a flea and crushed it between his thumbnails, the only sure way he’d found to be rid of them.
“King Berto has sent a couple of his yellow-robed clerics to the city of Avornis,” Grus answered. “They’re touring cathedrals—looks like Berto is a pious fellow, just the way you said. Would you be kind enough to show them around a bit?”
“Why me?” As soon as Lanius stopped paying attention to Topaz, the moncat, which didn’t like him picking through its fur, fled. The grab he made for it proved futile. Muttering, he went on, “Wouldn’t showing cathedrals to the Thervings be Arch-Hallow Anser’s job, not mine?”
As he hoped, he succeeded in embarrassing his father-in-law. Reddening, Grus said, “Well, it might be, but Anser’s still learning about what he’s doing, and you know more of the history about such places than he does right now.”
Aside from doing what Grus wanted, Anser didn’t seem very interested in learning an arch-hallow’s duties. Hunting, with or without Ortalis, excited him far more. Grus had to know that at least as well as Lanius did. Lanius just folded his arms across his chest and looked back at his fellow king.
He was hoping he could make Grus turn red. He didn’t; Grus owned more than his share of self-possession. The older man went on, “Besides, having a King of Avornis escort the Thervings would be a privilege for them. It would make Berto feel we were giving him special honors, honors other sovereigns wouldn’t expect.”
“What other sovereigns?” Lanius asked. “The chiefs of the Chernagor city-states? They wouldn’t get honors to match Thervingia’s anyhow. Savages like the Heruls? They don’t worship our gods at all. Neither do the princes of the Menteshe— they bow down to the Banished One, instead.”