Regardless of his reasons for harboring Vsevolod in the city of Avornis, Grus did want to return him to the throne of Nishevatz. He assembled men and horses and supplies outside the city of Avornis, ready to move as soon as the weather turned mild and the roads dried out.
With extra men in the south in case the Menteshe decided to fight Avornis instead of among themselves, with sailors filling the growing fleet of Chernagor-style seagoing ships protecting the kingdom’s east coast, Grus’ army was smaller than it had been on either of his two earlier moves up into the Chernagor country. That didn’t unduly worry him, for he thought it would be big enough.
Lanius and Sosia came out from the city to wish him good fortune. His son-in-law and daughter were wary around each other. He understood why. Their quarrels through the winter had hardly stayed secret. Grus wished he were in a position to give Lanius good advice. With one of his own partners waiting in a provincial town to bear his bastard, he wasn’t, and he knew it.
To his surprise, Ortalis and Limosa also came out to wish the army luck. Grus couldn’t remember the last time his legitimate son had cared enough to bid him farewell. Maybe it had been Limosa’s idea. In spite of her irregular marriage to Ortalis, she seemed to be making him a good wife.
Or maybe Ortalis was just interested in looking at men who hunted other men for a living. Grus had sometimes wondered if his son would try to turn into a soldier. That would have given Ortalis a way to let out his thirst for blood without having other people give him strange looks. But Ortalis had never shown any interest in going to war. Of course, in war the people you hunted also hunted you. That might have dampened his enthusiasm for soldiering.
Now he said, “Good fortune go with you, Father.”
“My thanks.” Not even Grus could find anything wrong with that.
“Good fortune go with you indeed,” Lanius said. “May you return Vsevolod to his throne.” He looked around to make sure the Chernagor was nowhere nearby, then quietly added, “May you get Vsevolod out of our hair for good.”
“May it be so.” Grus and Lanius shared a smile. No denying the Prince of Nishevatz had made a difficult guest in the city of Avornis.
Lanius said, “I will also pray for peace inside the kingdom.”
“Good. You do that,” Grus said. He glanced toward the other King of Avornis. Lanius wasn’t looking south toward the Stura. He wasn’t looking east toward the coast. He was looking straight at Sosia. Grus nodded to himself. He’d thought Lanius meant that kind of peace, not the sort that came with armies staying home.
“I know you’ll win, Your Majesty,” Limosa said. “Time is on your side, after all.”
Was it? Grus had his doubts. She might as well have said, Third times the charm —not that it had been. Vasilko had had plenty of time to consolidate himself in Nishevatz. How many people there still longed for Vsevolod’s return? How many people who had longed for Vsevolod s return had Vasilko disposed of? A lot of them—Grus was sure of that. It wouldn’t make reconquering the Chernagor town any easier.
He shrugged. Nothing he could do about it. He said, “If the gods are kind, we’ll come back with victory—and without Vsevolod.”
“That would be perfect,” Lanius said. Ortalis didn’t seem so concerned—but then, he’d paid as little attention to Vsevolod as he had to anything else connected to actually ruling Avornis.
Grus turned away from his family and back toward the army. “Let’s move!” he called. A trumpeter echoed his command. The horsemen who’d go out ahead of the rest of the force as scouts urged their mounts into motion. One piece at a time, the remainder of the army followed.
“I’m off,” Grus said when he had to ride or fall out of place. As he used knees and the reins to get his horse moving, Lanius and Sosia and Ortalis and Limosa all waved. He waved back. Then, for the fourth time, he set out for the land of the Chernagors.
Twice, he’d failed to take Nishevatz. Once, he hadn’t even gotten up into the Chernagor country before bad news forced him to turn away. Oddly, those disasters heartened him instead of leaving him discouraged. He’d seen every sort of misfortune when he went north. Didn’t that mean he was due for good luck sometime soon?
He hoped it did. Maybe it meant he’d see no good luck against the Chernagors no matter what happened. He refused to believe that. If he did believe it, he wouldn’t have sent forth this army. He didn’t think he would have, anyhow.
Not far away, Prince Vsevolod rode toward his homeland. Like the rest of the beasts in the army, the Prince of Nishevatz’s horse went at a walk. Vsevolod had to know he couldn’t take back Nishevatz all by himself. Even so, he gave the impression of heading north at a headlong gallop. That impression might have been—was—false, but seemed real all the same.
Hirundo, by contrast, might have been sauntering along. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to Nishevatz. Grus knew he did. But he knew he wouldn’t get there right away, and showed he knew it, too. Grus preferred his attitude. It struck him as being more sensible than Vsevolod’s. And what about me? the king asked himself. He answered with a shrug. With the Menteshe distracted down in the south, he thought he had a better chance on this campaign than on the ones of years gone by—if the nomads were distracted, the Banished One should be distracted, too. Grus hoped to bridge the gap between should be and is. If he did, he might win. If not, he’d come home disappointed again—if he came home at all.
Lanius wondered how long he would have to wait this time for Sosia to let him back into her bed. He was curious and interested for more than one reason. First and… most urgent was the interest any man would have shown about that particular question.
A more abstract curiosity, though, accompanied that… urgent interest. Sosia had to make some careful calculations of her own. If she showed she warmed to him too soon, what would he think? Why, that he could enjoy himself with a serving girl whenever he felt like it. He’d make Sosia angry for a little while, but she’d soon forgive and forget.
But if she really was furious—or wanted him to believe she was— and kept herself to herself for a long time, what would spring from that? He was a man, after all, with a mans desires. Wouldn’t he go looking for another serving girl and slake those desires with her? She wouldn’t want him doing that.
Yes, a nice calculation.
Lanius tried to think along with his wife. She’d known him for a long time now. She would know how much he heated through each day of denial. He had a pretty good notion of when he would get fed up and start smiling at the prettier maidservants if Sosia hadn’t softened by then.
Two days before the time when he figured his impatience would get the better of his good sense, Sosia sighed and said, “I can’t make you change very much, can I?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Lanius answered seriously. “One person usually can’t change another. By the gods, not many people can change themselves.”
His wife studied him. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“I have some idea.” His voice was dry.
“Good.” The queen sounded relieved. “I wasn’t sure. Sometimes you see only the questions, not what’s behind them.”
That was true enough. Lanius said, “I’m glad you’re not angry at me anymore,” then quickly amended that to, “Not too angry at me, I mean.”