The Scepter's Return (23 page)

But even though he'd done all that, he hadn't given the proper Avornans their souls again. He couldn't have. They already had them. The thralls, now … The thralls and their ancestors had gone on for centuries with something missing from their spirits—most of what separated men from beasts. Thanks to Grus (and to Pterocles; he didn't aim to steal the wizard's credit), they had that part of themselves back again. They had it, and they knew they had it, and they were grateful.

“Don't let it worry you,” Hirundo told him. “Give them some time to get used to it and they'll be as selfish as anybody else.”

Grus made a horrible face. “I'll remember you in my nightmares,” he said. He was laughing, but quickly sobered. His nightmares featured not Hirundo but the Banished One. And if Hirundo was right—well, so what? One of his goals in coming over the Stura was to turn the thralls into normal human beings. And one thing normal human beings did was sometimes act like ungrateful wretches. He couldn't complain if that happened here.

One evening not long before he'd go back over the river, Otus approached him as he sat eating supper outside his pavilion. Guards hung by the first freed thrall, but unobtrusively. They didn't really believe Otus remained under the spell of the Banished One, but they were still guards.

But Grus also didn't think the Banished One was looking out through Otus' eyes right this minute. He recognized the expression on the thrall's face—that of a man who wanted something. Unlike the thralls south of the Stura, Otus had been free for a while, and he seemed very much a normal man.

“Hello,” Grus said. “What can I do for you today?”

Otus bowed. He'd learned court ceremonial—no doubt the first thrall who ever had. “Your Majesty, they have freed the village with my woman in it.”

“Have they?” Grus said. “That's good news.” It was very good news, since he hadn't expected his men to go so far west. The Menteshe had proved weaker than he'd thought.

“I—think so, yes.” Otus sounded distinctly nervous.

He's not worrying about the Menteshe,
Grus realized. “You had a woman in that village, didn't you?” the king said, and then the light dawned. “And you also have a woman back in the city of Avornis, eh?” He started to laugh, not that Otus was likely to find it funny. He understood those difficulties only too well. So did Lanius, come to that. And now the ex-thrall?

Otus nodded. Yes, he looked distinctly nervous, too. “What am I going to do, Your Majesty? What
can
I do?”

“You can choose one of them, or you can choose the other one, or you can hope they won't gang up on you if you try to keep them both,” Grus answered. “These are the choices a free man has to make.”

“Sometimes this business is not so easy,” Otus observed.

“No, sometimes it isn't,” Grus said. “Have you seen your woman here now that she's had the spell lifted?”

“No, not yet.”

“Go do that first. You can't decide anything—not so it makes sense—till you know where you stand with her. Maybe she isn't the person you thought she'd be. Maybe whatever you saw in her when you were both thralls, it won't be there anymore. If it's not, that will tell you what you need to do. And if it is, well, bring her along up into the north if you want to. The choice is yours.”

“You are a wise man, Your Majesty,” Otus said humbly.

Grus laughed out loud. “Ask my wife about me and women and you'll get a different story, I promise. If I were wise in such things, I would have gotten into a lot less trouble than I have.”

“But you give good advice.”

“Giving good advice is easy.” Grus laughed again, at himself. “What's hard is taking good advice, by Olor's beard.” Otus didn't look as though he believed the king. If that didn't prove how inexperienced he was, Grus couldn't imagine what would.

The freed thrall rode off the next morning. Grus sent a squad of horsemen with him; he didn't want Otus gallivanting over the countryside by himself. Being the first freed thrall might still make him special. Grus didn't want Menteshe raiders grabbing him and taking him away so the Banished One could find out exactly how he'd been freed.

After Otus rode away, Grus forgot about him for a little while. Part of the Avornan army would stay behind in the south to protect the land they'd won this campaigning season. Getting the rest back across the Stura was a large, complicated job. Coping with it, and especially coping with the absence of some barges that should have been there, kept the king busy for several days.

Once the army had crossed, Grus let everyone rest in Anna for a while before pressing on up to the capital. He and Hirundo were making sure everything was going smoothly when Otus walked up to them. With him was a dark, quiet-looking woman. Otus' face lit up whenever he looked at her. He said, “Your Majesty, this is Fulca. My woman.” Pride filled his voice.

“I'm pleased to meet you, Fulca,” Grus said gravely. “I'm glad you're free.”

“Glad to be free.” Like any newly liberated thrall, she spoke hesitantly. She hadn't needed many words when she lay under that dark magic. She pointed to Otus. “He knows you? Knows king? Really? Truly?”

“Really. Truly,” Grus assured her.

“I told you so,” Otus said. By that alone, he and Fulca might have been married for a long time.

She sniffed in response. “Tell all sorts of things. Tell is easy. Tell true? No, tell true not so easy. Even free, not so easy.”

Grus was no prophet, no soothsayer. But he would have bet anything he owned that Otus' serving girl in the palace was going to end up disappointed. Fulca had a spark Otus plainly responded to. And that was the way she was now, with the veils of thralldom newly lifted. How she'd be once she really learned to speak, really learned to think … How would she be? She'd be formidable, that was how. Grus beamed at Otus. “You did the right thing, deciding to go over there.”

Otus beamed back. Grus had let Fulca think coming for her was Otus' idea. A white lie wouldn't hurt here, the king judged. Otus still needed some practice at being a man.
As who does not?
Grus thought.
As who does not, by the gods?

Lanius had often ridden out of the city of Avornis to greet Grus and a returning army. More often then not, he'd been annoyed and resentful at having to help aggrandize the other king. Today, though, he rode out and waited for the army without the least bit of resentment. Considering who—considering what—Grus' principal foe had been, how could he do anything else?

“I want to see the soldiers, Father,” Crex said from a pony beside Lanius.

“Soldiers!” Pitta added. Lanius wasn't at all sure she cared about them, but she wasn't going to let her brother get away with anything.

“They'll be here soon,” Lanius promised. “Be patient, both of you.”

They looked at him as though the word did not belong to the Avornan language. As far as they were concerned, it didn't.

Anser was also there to greet the returning army. Even dressed in the arch-hallow's red robe, he looked as though he would rather be hunting. Sosia and Estrilda had made the journey as well. Grus' daughter and wife talked quietly with each other. Lanius suspected he was lucky he could not hear what they were saying.

Ortalis and Limosa had stayed back at the royal palace. Limosa could use her pregnancy as an excuse for not getting on horseback. Ortalis? Ortalis rarely showed any interest in Grus' campaigns—or in doing anything that would please his father. In a way, that was a relief to Lanius. In another way, he thought it was too bad.

Scouts rode past, saluting Lanius and the rest of the royal family and the arch-hallow—who was also part of the royal family, even if he was on the wrong side of the blanket. More horsemen trotted by. Then Grus came into sight, guardsmen in front of him and behind him, Hirundo on his right, Pterocles on his left. The leading guardsmen reined in. So did Grus, when he was directly in front of Lanius. He inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” Lanius echoed. He hated giving Grus the royal title. He did it as seldom as he could. Grus seldom tried to force it from him. Here, though, he didn't see what choice he had. If he insulted Grus by refraining in front of the army, which was the other king's instrument … No good would come of that.

Still speaking formally, Grus went on, “We have taken the arms of Avornis beyond the Stura River. We have defeated the Menteshe in battle. We have taken the city of Trabzun, with many smaller towns. We have freed thralls beyond counting from the evil magic of the Banished One.”

Lanius had wondered if he would dare name the exiled god, and admired his nerve for doing so. Lanius also heard the pride under Grus' formality. Like Grus or not, the other king had earned the right to be proud. No King of Avornis since the loss of the Scepter of Mercy could say what he had just said.

“It is well. It is very well,” Lanius replied. “All of Avornis rejoices in what you and your men have done.”

“I thank you, Your Majesty,” Grus said.

“I thank
you,
Your Majesty,” Lanius said. If he was going to give Grus his due, best to give with both hands. He went on, “The kingdom and the city of Avornis have remained at peace behind you.” After Grus' vaunting claims, that one seemed small, but it was the most Lanius could offer.

Grus could have mocked him for it. He could have, but he didn't. “That is the best news you could give me, Your Majesty,” he said. “May I never hear anything less.” Along with Hirundo and Pterocles and the guardsmen, he took his place with Lanius and the other members of the royal family.

Greeting Grus was hard enough for Lanius. Reviewing the soldiers who rode and marched into the capital was harder, in a different way; Lanius had to fight to keep boredom from overwhelming him. One thing court life trained him in, though—not showing what he thought. The men who saluted and received his answering salutes had no idea that he would rather have been almost anywhere else.

At last, there were no more soldiers. Lanius let out a silent sigh of relief. Grus still seemed fresh and resilient. “Shall we go into the city, Your Majesty?” he said.

“Yes, let's.” Lanius' voice showed only polite acquiescence, not the quivering eagerness he really felt.

As he and Grus had watched soldiers go by—endlessly—so the people of the capital lined up to watch the royal family and high functionaries return to the palace. Lanius didn't care to have so many people he didn't know staring at him. That was one reason he went out into the city of Avornis only rarely. Being the center of all eyes didn't seem to bother Grus. Hirundo, for his part, reveled in it. He smiled and waved and, whenever he saw a pretty girl, blew kisses.

Under cover of the shouts from the people, Lanius said, “The spell to free the thralls works as it should, then?”

“So it would seem.” Grus nodded, partly to Lanius and partly, Lanius thought, to himself. “Yes—so it would seem. Pterocles and the other wizards did a fine job.”

“Very glad to hear it,” Lanius said. “Next campaigning season, then, you'll … move farther south?” He didn't want to speak of Yozgat, much less of the Scepter of Mercy.

“That's what I have in mind, yes,” Grus answered. “I think we'll also have to see what, ah, happens this winter, though.”

What the Banished One does,
Lanius translated. “What do you think will happen?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Grus said. “That's what I told you—we'll just have to see.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Every time a cloud rolled across the sky, Grus worried. Every time rain fell, he frowned. Every time a funeral procession wound through the city of Avornis taking a body to its pyre, he bit his lip. Every time a fire broke out, he grimaced. Every time anything went on, he jumped more nervously than one of Lanius' moncats.

The other king noticed. That told Grus how nervous he must have been, for Lanius failed to notice a good many things. “What
is
troubling you?” Lanius asked. “You should be happy. If you're not happy now, seeing what you did south of the Stura, when will you be?”

“It's because of what I did south of the Stura that I'm not so happy now,” Grus answered. Lanius looked baffled. Grus glanced around. You never could tell when a servant might be listening—or when someone else might be listening through a servant's ears. “Where can we talk without being overheard?”

“Why, the archives, of course,” Lanius said.

Grus laughed, more in surprise than for any other reason. The archives weren't
of course
to him; he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he'd gone into them since becoming king. But that didn't mean Lanius was wrong. “Let's go, then.”

Men bowed and women dropped curtsies as the two kings walked through the palace. Grus nodded back. So did Lanius, when he happened to see them—which was about half the time. The younger king chatted about this and that till he closed the heavy doors to the archives behind himself and Grus. Then his attention sharpened. “Well?” he asked.

Before answering, Grus looked up at the smeared skylights. The piles and crates of documents, the dusty sunshine, the musty smell … Yes, this was a place that suited Lanius. The other king
belonged
here, the way Grus
belonged
on the deck of a river galley. This was where Lanius would be at his best. Grus repeated, “Because of what I did south of the Stura.” He went on, “Now I have to wonder what the Banished One will do on account of it.”

“Ah.” Lanius might be vague when it came to people, but not to something like that. “Do you think we'll have another one of those unnatural winters? Shall we start laying in extra grain again?”

“It wouldn't be a bad idea,” Grus replied. “Or he might do something different. A pestilence, maybe. Maybe something else. No way to tell what, not until it happens. But
something.”