“Honor? I have my own notions about that. I understand stupidity when I see it. I understand stupidity very plainly,” Grus said. “We should fight on the same side, against Vasilko. Instead, you delayed me, cost me men, cost yourself men, and helped the man you say you oppose. The Banished One understands that sort of honor. You are right when you tell me I do not.”
“We could have put down Vasilko without your interference,” Lev said sullenly.
“That’s not what Vsevolod thought. He was the one who asked Avornis for help.”
“He made a mistake. He made another mistake in slighting me,” Baron Lev said.
“I see.” Grus nodded. “And so you had to make a mistake in turn, to pay Vsevolod back.”
“Yes,” Lev said, and then, “No! It was not a mistake. I did what I had to do.”
Grus turned to Duke Radim, who was listening off to one side. Radim seemed not at all surprised at the way the conversation was going. Indeed, he’d seemed to understand why Lev hadn’t yielded Varazdin even before the fortress fell. If not for that, Grus would have wondered whether the Banished One was somehow clouding Lev’s thoughts, such as those were.
“Let me ask another question,” Grus said. “Now that we’ve peeled you out of your shell here”—he pointed to Varazdin, which dominated the horizon from where they stood—“will you and your men fight for Vsevolod?”
“Of course.” Now the baron sounded surprised. Grus glanced Radim’s way once more. Radim nodded. He believed Lev. Grus was not at all sure he did. Still, he’d just proved he didn’t understand how Chernagor nobles’ minds worked. If Radim was willing to rely on Lev, he supposed he would, too… up to a point.
He also looked toward General Hirundo. His own countryman seemed about ready to jump out of his shoes at the idea of trusting Lev. Grus saw that, but he’d known Hirundo for many years. He doubted the Chernagors would realize just how upset Hirundo was.
“Very well. I accept your service,” Grus said to Lev, and then, “Excuse me for a moment.” He took Hirundo aside and spoke in a low voice. “We’ll break up his men into small bands and put them among Avornans. If they turn their coats, we’ll slaughter them. Does that suit you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hirundo said at once. “I was afraid you’d lost your mind, too.”
“Oh, no,” Grus said. “Not me.”
King Lanius wished he ruled Avornis instead of just reigning over it. When a courier came rushing into the palace and was brought before Lanius, he felt for a heady moment as though he did rule. The man looked weary unto death. Sweat streaked his dirty face. He stank of more sweat, and of horse.
“I hope my mount lives, Your Majesty,” he said around an enormous yawn. “It’s not the first beast I almost killed, coming up from the south with the news.”
“It must be important, then,” Lanius said gravely. The courier nodded. The king went on, “Suppose you tell me what it is.”
The courier looked flabbergasted. “King Olor’s beard,” he muttered. “I haven’t said, have I?”
“No,” Lanius said. “You haven’t.”
“I’d better, then. Here it is, Your Majesty—on the way up from the south behind me is an ambassador from Prince Ulash, the Menteshe lord.”
“Oh.” Lanius had to force the word out through lips suddenly numb. Ulash was far and away the most important of the princes ruling the southern nomads who bowed down to the Banished One—the Fallen Star, they called him. That wasn’t because he had the widest realm, though he did. It wasn’t because his capital, Yozgat, housed the Scepter of Mercy, though it did. It was because he’d held his place for almost forty years. He was a sly old fox who got what he wanted as much through guile as through the arrows and scimitars of his hard-riding horsemen.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the courier said. “I knew you and King Grus had to know as soon as you could.” He paused, seeming to realize for the first time that he was speaking with the ceremonial king, not the real one. “Where is King Grus?”
If he’d just ridden up from the south, he wouldn’t have heard. “He’s in the land of the Chernagors,” Lanius answered. “There’s civil war among them; we’re seeing what we can gain from it.”
Now the courier said, “Oh,” in a dispirited way. Lanius understood what that meant—he would have to deal with Ulash’s envoy himself. He wouldn’t have been disappointed then to have Grus back in the capital to take care of that for him.
It could be worse, he told himself, and then immediately asked, How? But that had an answer. Once, the Banished One himself had sent an ambassador to the city of Avornis—the first time he’d done so in more than a hundred years. The kingdom had gotten through that; Lanius supposed it would get through this, too.
He asked, “When will the Menteshe get here?”
“Not for a while, Your Majesty,” the courier replied. “Nobody down south’ll hurry him along. We know you need to get ready.”
“Good,” Lanius said.
“Will King Grus be able to get back in time to deal with him?” the courier asked hopefully.
“No.” That was the only answer Lanius could give. The courier looked disappointed. The king affected not to notice. This fellow had done all he could to help. What would Grus do for a man like that? He’d reward him, that’s what. Lanius said, “You’ll have gold for your hard ride.”
He was annoyed at himself. He should have thought of that without needing to think of Grus. The courier didn’t seem upset—of course, he couldn’t know what was in Lanius’ mind. He only knew he was getting a gift. Bowing low, he said, “Thank you very much, Your Majesty!”
“You’re welcome. You’ve earned it.” Lanius snapped his fingers.
“One thing more. Does Ulash’s ambassador have a wizard with him, or is he by any chance a wizard himself?”
“He had several servants with him when he crossed over the Stura, but I didn’t see one who looked like a wizard,” the rider said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one dressed up like an ordinary servant. And I have no idea whether he’s a wizard himself. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
“It’s all right. You’ve told me what you know, and you haven’t tried to make up stories to pad that out.” Lanius gestured in dismissal. The courier bowed again and left his presence. To stay on the safe side, I’ll have to have a wizard with me when the envoy gets here, Lanius thought.
He wished Alca the witch were still in the city of Avornis. She remained the best sorceress he’d known. He also wished Grus hadn’t taken Pterocles with him when he went north to the land of the Chernagors. Now he would have to find someone else, someone whose power and reliability he wouldn’t know nearly so well.
No help for it, though, not unless he wanted to face Ulash’s man without any wizard at his side. And he didn’t. Ulash was a powerful prince in his own right. That made him dangerous. But he was also a glove manipulated by the hand of the Banished One. That made him dangerous, too, but in a different way. “A wizard,” Lanius muttered. “I must see about a wizard.” The wizard he needed to see was Pterocles… and Pterocles, unfortunately, was far, far away.
Grus’ army advanced through fog. Men muttered about the uncanny weather. As they came down into the seaside lowlands of the Chernagor country, they met these ghostly mists almost every morning. “Do they know what they’re talking about?” Grus asked his wizard. “Is there anything unnatural about these fogs?”
“Not that I can find, Your Majesty,” Pterocles answered. “We’re down by the Northern Sea, after all. It’s only to be expected that we have fog in the morning. Men who come from the plains and the uplands haven’t seen anything like it, and so they get upset. Foolishness, if you ask me. You don’t see the Chernagors jumping up and down and flapping their arms, do you?”