“You’re welcome to mine,” Grus said. The general laughed. More seriously, Grus went on, “I don’t know as much about these ships as I wish I did. No Avornan does. I don’t even know if they’ll be able to find the pirates on the sea and keep them from landing. We’ll find out, though.”
Hirundo nodded. “Oh, yes. The next question, of course, is when we’ll find out. Are the pirates going to keep us from getting up into the Chernagor country again?”
“No,” Grus declared. “No, by Olor’s beard. I’ll let the garrisons and the ships deal with the Chernagors in the south. It’s not just a question of throwing Prince Vasilko out on his ear. If it were, I wouldn’t worry so much. We have to drive the Banished One out of the land of the Chernagors.”
“When we started out in this fight, I wondered whether Vasilko or Vsevolod was the Banished One’s cat’s-paw,” Hirundo said.
“I spent a lot of time worrying about that, even though Vsevolod would probably want to strangle me with his big nobbly hands if he ever found out,” Grus said. “But there’s not much doubt anymore.”
Hirundo considered that. “Well,” he said, “no.”
Grus sent out orders for cavalrymen and foot soldiers to gather by the city of Avornis. He also sent out other orders this winter, strengthening the garrisons in the river towns near the Azanian Sea and moving the river-galley fleets toward the mouths of the Nine. That meant he would take a smaller force north with him this coming spring when he moved against Nishevatz. But it also meant—he hoped it meant— the Chernagors wouldn’t be able to pull off such a nasty surprise in the new campaigning season.
No sooner had his couriers ridden away from the capital than a blizzard rolled out of the north and dumped a foot and a half of snow on the city and the countryside. Grus tried to tell himself it was only a coincidence. The Banished One didn’t really have anything to do with it… did he?
The king thought about asking Pterocles, thought about it and then thought better of it. He’d asked that question of Alca once before, in an earlier harsh winter. He’d found out the Banished One had used the weather as a weapon against Avornis, but the deposed god had almost slain Alca and him and Lanius in the aftermath of the witch’s magic. Some knowledge came at too high a price.
Mild weather returned after this snowstorm finally blew itself out. That made Grus doubt the Banished One lay behind it. When he struck at Avornis, he sent blizzard after blizzard after blizzard. He was very strong, and reveled in his strength. Being so strong, he’d never had to worry much about subtlety. He left his foes in no doubt about what he was doing, and also in no doubt that they couldn’t hope to stop him.
Milvago. Had the Banished One been as overwhelmingly mighty in the heavens as he was here on earth? Perhaps not quite, or the gods he’d fathered would never have been able to cast him out, to cast him down to the material world. But Grus would have been astonished if they hadn’t used their sire’s strength against him. Maybe he’d been arrogant, thinking they couldn’t possibly challenge him.
He knew better than that now—one more thought Grus wished he hadn’t had.
Soldiers started coming up out of the south to gather for this year’s invasion of the land of the Chernagors. A new blizzard howled down on the capital once their encampment began to swell. By then, though, winter was dying. Even the Banished One had limits to what he could do to the weather… if he was doing anything. Grus still hoped he wasn’t.
He couldn’t stop the sun from climbing higher in the sky every day, couldn’t stop the days from getting longer and warmer, couldn’t stop the snow from melting. Even after it vanished from the ground, Grus had to wait a little longer, to let the roads dry out and keep his army from bogging down. As soon as he thought he could, he climbed aboard a horse—mounting with the same reluctance Hirundo showed at boarding a river galley—and set off for the north.
Every so often, he looked back over his shoulder, wondering if a messenger was galloping up behind the army with word of some new disaster elsewhere in Avornis that would make him turn around. Every time he saw no such messenger, he felt as though he’d won a victory. On went the army, too, toward the Chernagor country.
Each time Grus set out on campaign, Lanius waved farewell and wished him good fortune. And each time Grus set out on campaign, Lanius’ smile of farewell grew wider. With Grus off to or beyond the frontiers, power in the city of Avornis increasingly rested in Lanius’ hands.
Lanius thought he could rise against Grus with some hope of success. Thinking he could do it didn’t make him anxious to try, though. For one thing, he wasn’t a man to take many chances. For another, even success could only mean winning a civil war. He doubted there was any such thing as winning a civil war. If he and Grus fought—if they wasted Avornis’ men and wealth, who gained besides the Banished One? Nobody Lanius could see. And, though he didn’t like to admit it even to himself, having someone in place to handle those parts of kingship he didn’t care for wasn’t always the worst thing in the world. He was no campaigner, and never would be. Having authority in the palace was a different story.
As usual, Queen Sosia, Crex, Pitta, Queen Estrilda, and Arch-Hallow Anser came out beyond the walls of the capital to send Grus off and wish him well. Also as usual, Prince Ortalis stayed away.
That worried Lanius. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him. If Ortalis had to choose between Grus and the Banished One, which would he pick? Remembering what had happened in Nishevatz, remembering how Prince Vasilko had risen against his father and helped the Banished One enter his city-state, did nothing to give Lanius peace of mind.
Normally, he would have talked things over with Sosia and found out how worried she was. Ortalis was her brother, after all; she knew him better than Lanius did. But she was still touchy—which put it mildly—about Cristata, and so Lanius didn’t want to provoke her in any way.
He thought about hashing it out with Anser, too. But Anser wasn’t the right man to deal with such concerns. With his sunny nature, he had a hard time seeing the bad in anyone else. And he didn’t know enough about the true nature of the Banished One, nor did Lanius feel like instructing him.
With nobody to talk to about Ortalis, Lanius did his brooding in privacy on the way back to the royal palace. He was used to that. Once upon a time, he’d resented being so much alone. Now he took it for granted.
When he and the rest of the royal family returned to the palace, they found the servants in a commotion. “He’s done it! He’s gone and done it!” they exclaimed in ragged chorus.
That sounded inflammatory. It didn’t sound very informative. “Who’s gone and done what?” Lanius asked.
The servants looked at him as though he were an idiot for not knowing. “Why, Prince Ortalis, of course,” several of them answered, again all at once.
Lanius, Sosia, Estrilda, and Anser all looked at one another. Crex and Pitta were too small to worry about what their uncle did, and ran off to play. Lanius said, “All right, now we know who. What has Ortalis done?” He braced himself for almost any atrocity. Had Ortalis hurt another serving girl? Had he decided to have a couple of moncats served up in a stew? The king wouldn’t have put anything past him.
But the servants replied, “He’s gotten married.”
“He has?” Now the king, two queens, and the arch-hallow all cried out in astonishment. That wasn’t just news; that was an earthquake. Grus had been trying to find Ortalis a bride on and off for years. He hadn’t had any luck, either. Ortalis’ reputation was too ripe. Grus had sent Lepturus, the head of the royal bodyguards, to the Maze for refusing to let his granddaughter marry the prince. And now Ortalis had found himself a wife?