As soon as they had a chance to put their desires into action, they made the most of it. They could go no faster traveling south than they had traveling west, but they were much happier stuck in the mud while homeward bound than they had been on their way to attack Hrvace.
Even the weather seemed to think turning south was a good idea. Two days after Grus reluctantly decided to abandon his campaign in the land of the Chernagors, the rain stopped and the sun came out again. It shone as brightly as it had in the middle of summer, Grus said several more things Hirundo hadn’t heard before. He said them with great feeling, too. The road remained muddy, and would for several more days. Even so, there was mud, and then there was
There was one more thing, too. “You know what would happen if I tried to use this good weather and went east again, don’t you?” Grus asked Hirundo.
The general nodded. “Sure I do, Your Majesty. It would start raining again. And it wouldn’t stop until we all grew fins.”
“That’s right. That’s just exactly right.” Grus waved his hands. All around him, the landscape gently steamed as the warm sun began drying up the rain that had already fallen. “But Pterocles tells me it’s just an ordinary storm. The Banished One has nothing to do with it, he says. By Olor’s beard, if he doesn’t know, who’s likely to?”
“Nobody,” Hirundo said.
“Nobody,” Grus agreed sadly. “No matter how hard a time I have believing it, it’s only a what-do-you-call-it. A coincidence, that’s what I’m trying to say.”
“Pterocles usually knows what he’s talking about, sure enough,” Hirundo said. “When it comes to magic, I usually don’t, any more than Pterocles knows how to drive home a cavalry charge.”
“He was brave inside Nishevatz,” Grus said.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be afraid to try a spell—not afraid like that, anyway,” Hirundo said. “That doesn’t mean a spell I tried would work. I haven’t got the training, and I haven’t got the talent.”
“Neither have I.” The king looked warily up at the sun. It smiled back, for all the world—
For now… for now, he was going home. If he hadn’t done everything he’d wanted to, he had managed most of it. That wouldn’t have impressed the gods in the heavens. In the world where mere mortals had to live, it wasn’t bad at all. Plenty had tried more and accomplished less. So Grus told himself, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
King Lanius waited outside the brown stone walls of the city of Avornis as King Grus brought the army back to the capital. The whole royal family had come out to see Grus off. Lanius was there by himself to welcome the other king and the army back. King Grus waved from horseback. Lanius solemnly waved back.
“Welcome home,” he called.
“By Olor’s beard, it’s good to be back,” Grus answered.
“Congratulations on driving the Banished One from Nishevatz, and from the land of the Chernagors.” Lanius did not mind praising Grus for that.
“I thank you,” the other king replied. “I’m not sure we drove him out of the Chernagor country altogether, but we did weaken his hold there.” He had a strong streak of honesty in him—except, perhaps, when he was talking to his wife about other women (but how many men had that particular streak of honesty in them?).
Grus guided his horse away from the rest of the army and over beside Lanius. He always joked about what a bad rider he was, but he handled the animal perfectly well. Lanius wished he were as smooth. Grus reviewed the soldiers as they rode and marched past and into the city. The men were hard and scrawny and scraggly- bearded. Some of them limped; others showed fresh scars on faces or forearms.
One of the foot soldiers waved to Grus and called, “We earned our pay this time, didn’t we, Your Majesty?”
“I’d say you did, Buteo,” Grus answered. The soldiers face stretched to hold a pleased smile. He waved again, and kept looking back over his shoulder until the gateway hid him.
“You know him?” Lanius asked. “Was he one of your guards up there?”
“Buteo? No, just a soldier,” Grus said. “He’s brave, but not too smart. He’ll never even make sergeant, not if he lives to be a hundred. But he’s a good man at your back in a scrap.”
“Is he?” Lanius said. Grus nodded. Lanius asked, “How many soldiers do you know by name—and by what they can do, the way you did with him?”
“I never thought about it.” Now Grus did. “I can’t tell you exactly,” he said at last. “But I’ve got some notion of who about every other man is. Something like that. I know more about some—a lot more about some—and not so much about others.”
Lanius believed him. Lanius didn’t see how he could do anything else; Grus radiated conviction. “How do you manage that?” Lanius asked. “I couldn’t begin to, not to save my life.”
“How do you remember all the things you find in the archives? How do you put them together in interesting patterns?” Grus returned, “/couldn’t do that.”
“But knowing people, knowing how they work—that’s more important.” Lanius was sure it was more important, not least because he couldn’t do it himself. “I wish I were better at it.”
“You’ve done all right, seems to me,” Grus said. “If you hadn’t, more people would have taken advantage of you by now.”
“You did,” Lanius said. It was the first thing that came into his mind, and he brought it out with less bitterness than he would have expected.
It still made Grus give him a sharp look. “I wouldn’t be where I am if your mother hadn’t tried to kill me by sorcery,” the other king said. Grus barked laughter. “I wouldn’t be where I am if she’d done it, either.”
“Well, no,” Lanius admitted. Over the years, Grus had done any number of things he didn’t like. Lanius could hardly deny that Grus might have done far worse than he had. It was funny, if you looked at it the right way. He had to like Grus to a certain degree, because he couldn’t dislike him as much as he might have.
“How’s my daughter?” Grus asked—a question any father-in-law might ask of a son-in-law.
“She’s fine,” Lanius said. By and large, it was true. If Sosia sometimes had reason to throw things at him, that was none of Grus’ business. And it wasn’t as though Estrilda didn’t sometimes have reason to throw things at Grus.
“And what about Ortalis?” Grus said. “That was some nasty news you sent me about him and the servant.”
Carefully, Lanius said, “You will know that Ortalis and I don’t always get along as well as we might.” Grus nodded. Lanius went on, “Even I will say it wasn’t altogether Ortalis’ fault. Bubulcus provoked him—provoked him outrageously. Something should have happened to Bubulcus. What did happen, though, shouldn’t have.”
“That’s about how it seemed to me from your letter,” Grus agreed. “At least he didn’t do it for sport. That was what I was afraid of.”
“Oh, yes.” Lanius didn’t try to pretend he misunderstood. “That was what I was afraid of, too. I don’t know what I would have done then.” He gnawed on the inside of his lower lip. He was glad he hadn’t had to find out.
To his relief, Grus let it go there. He said, “And I’ve got a new granddaughter?”
“That’s right.” Lanius felt guarded there, too. If Capella had been a boy, what
King Grus chuckled. “Yes, I can see how you might.” But the older man’s grin slipped. “Limosa.” He said the name of Ortalis’ wife as though it tasted bad. “He finally found somebody who likes the welts he gives her.” Grus made as though to spit in disgust, then—barely— thought better of it.
“She loves him,” Lanius said, which didn’t contradict Grus.
