The Chernagor Pirates

The farmer bowed and made his escape from the throne room. He would have quite a tale to tell the cousin he was staying with. Lanius found new worries of his own. He’d never given orders to any soldiers except the royal bodyguards. Would the men obey him? Would they refer his orders to Grus, to make sure they were real orders after all? Or would they simply ignore him? Grus was the king with the power in Avornis, and everybody knew it.

Should I write to Grus myself? That might get rid of trouble before it starts, Lanius thought. But it would also delay things at least two weeks. Lanius wanted to punish Clamator as quickly as he could, before the baron got word he was going to be punished. I’ll write Grus, telling him what I’m doing and why. That pleased Lanius. It would work fine… unless the soldiers refused to obey him at all.

His heart pounded against his ribs when he summoned an officer from the barracks. He had to work hard to hold his voice steady as he said, “Captain Icterus, I am sending you and your troop of riders to the south to deal with Baron Clamator. He is laying hold of peasant land in a way King Grus’ laws forbid.” He hoped that would help.

Maybe it did. Or maybe he’d worried over trifles. Captain Icterus didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word about referring the question to King Grus. He just bowed low, said, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and went off to do what Lanius had told him to do. His squadron rode out of the city of Avornis that very afternoon.

Yes, this is what it’s like to be a real King, Lanius thought happily. His sphere was no longer limited to the royal chambers, the archives, and the rooms where his moncats and monkeys lived. With Grus away from the capital, his reach stretched over the whole kingdom.

It did, at least, until he wrote to the other king to justify what he’d done. Writing the letter made him want to go wash afterwards. It wasn’t merely the most abject thing he’d ever written. It was, far and away, the most abject thing he’d ever imagined. It had to be. He knew that. Grus would not take kindly to his behaving like a real king. But reading the words on parchment once he’d set them down… He couldn’t stomach it. He sealed the letter without going through it a second time.

Sosia said, “I’m proud of you. You did what needed doing.”

“I think so,” Lanius said. “I’m glad you do, too. But what will your father think?”

“He can’t stand nobles who take peasants under their own wing and away from Avornis,” his wife answered. “He won’t complain about whatever you do to stop them. You’re not about to overthrow him.”

“No, of course not,” Lanius said quickly. He would have denied it even if—especially if—it were true. But it wasn’t. He didn’t want to try to oust Grus. For one thing, his father-in-law was much too likely to win if they measured themselves against each other. And, for another, this little taste of ruling Lanius was getting convinced him that Grus was welcome to most of it. When it came to animals or to ancient manuscripts, Lanius was patience personified; the smallest details fascinated him. When it came to the day-to-day work of governing, he had to fight back yawns. He also knew he would never make a great, or even a good, general. Grus was welcome to all of that.

Sosia said, “I wish things were going better up in the Chernagor country. Then Father could come home.”

“I wish things were going better up in the Chernagor country, too,” Lanius said. “The only reason they aren’t going so well is that the Banished One must be stronger up there than we thought.”

“That’s not good,” Sosia said.

“No, it isn’t.” Lanius said no more than that.

Sosia asked, “Can we do anything here to make things easier for Father up there? Would it be worth our while to start trouble with the Menteshe, to make the Banished One have to pay attention to two places at once?”

Lanius looked at her with admiration. She thought as though she were King of Avornis. He answered, “The only trouble I can see with that is, we’d have to pay attention to two places at once, too. Would it work a bigger hardship on the Banished One or on us? I don’t know, not offhand. One more thing to go into a letter to your father.”

“One more thing?” Sosia cocked her head to one side. “What’s Ortalis gone and done now?”

“I don’t know that he’s done anything since the last time,” Lanius said. They both made sour faces. Saying he didn’t know that Ortalis had done anything new and dreadful wasn’t the same as saying Sosia’s brother hadn’t done any such thing. How much had Ortalis done that nobody but he knew about?

Lanius shook his head. Whenever Ortalis did such things, somebody else knew about it. But how many of those somebodies weren’t around anymore to tell their stories? Only Ortalis knew that.

“He should start hunting again,” Sosia said. Something must have changed on Lanius’ face. Quickly, his wife added, “Hunting bear and boar and birds and deer and rabbits—things like that.”

“I suppose so.” Lanius wished he could sound more cheerful. For a while, Ortalis had seemed… almost civilized. Hunting and killing animals had let him satiate his lust for blood and hurt in a way no one much minded. If only it hadn’t lost the power to satisfy him.

Sosia said, “I wish things were simpler.”

“Wish for the moon while you’re at it,” Lanius said. “The older I get, the more complicated everything looks.” He was married to the daughter of the man who’d exiled his mother to the Maze. Not only that, he loved her. If that wasn’t complicated enough for any ordinary use, what could be?

CHAPTER FIVE

King Grus looked from Hirundo to Pterocles to Vsevolod, then back again. They nodded, one after another. Grus’ eyes went to the walls of Nishevatz. They frowned down at him, as they had ever since the Avornan army came before them. “We are agreed?” Grus said. “This is the only thing we have left to do?”

The general, the wizard, and the deposed Prince of Nishevatz all nodded again. Hirundo said, “If we didn’t come to fight, why did we come?”

“I haven’t got an answer for that,” Grus said. But oh, how I wish I did! Since he didn’t, he also nodded, brusquely. “All right, then. We’ll see what happens. Go to your places. I know you’ll all do everything you can.”

Hirundo and Pterocles hurried away. Vsevolod’s place was by Grus. “I thank you for this,” he said in his ponderous Avornan. “I will do, my folk will do, all things possible to do to help.”

“I know.” Grus turned away. He thought Vsevolod meant well, but still had other things on his mind. A trumpeter stood by, face tense and alert. Grus pointed to him. “Signal the attack.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The trumpeter raised the horn to his lips. Martial music rang out. Only for a moment did it come from one trumpet alone. Then every horn player in the Avornan army blared forth the identical call.

Cheering Avornan soldiers swarmed forward. Grus wouldn’t have cheered, not attacking a place like Nishevatz. Maybe the common soldiers didn’t realize what they were up against. Some of them came within arrow range of that formidable wall and started shooting at the defenders on top of it, trying to make them keep their heads down. Others carried scaling ladders that they leaned up against the gray stone blocks. More Avornans— and some Chernagors, too—raced up the ladders toward the top of the wall.

“Come on!” Grus muttered, watching them through the clouds of dust the assault kicked up. “Come on, you mad bastards! You can do it! You can!”

He blinked. Beside him, King Vsevolod exclaimed in his own guttural language. Vsevolod grabbed Grus’ arm, hard enough to hurt. The old man still had strength. “What is that?” he said. “I see ladders. Then I see no ladders.”

Pterocles was doing his job. “I hope Prince Vasilko’s men don’t see them, either,” Grus said. “If the men can get to the top of the wall, get down into Nishevatz…”

“Yes,” Vsevolod said. “Then to my son I have some things to say.” His big, gnarled hands opened and