The Chernagor Pirates

indeed cured of the exiled god’s baneful influence. But how much were those appearances worth? Below them, was the Banished One still watching and listening and laughing? Lanius didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t altogether sure whether Pterocles, for all his skill, could tell, either. That being so, he knew he wouldn’t trust Otus’ cure any time soon.

Grus read the letter from the south with a satisfaction he could hardly disguise. “You know what this says?” he asked the courier.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man answered. “I had to read it, in case it came to grief while I traveled.”

“Good.” Grus nodded. “Now—do you know anything more than what’s written here?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I don’t,” the courier said. “I’ve never been down near the Stura. I only brought this the last thirty miles.”

“All right.” Grus did his best to hide his disappointment. “The news in here”—he tapped the parchment—“is plain enough, anyhow.”

He dismissed the courier and summoned General Hirundo. When Hirundo walked into the audience chamber, he looked grumpy. “Did it have to be right now, Your Majesty?” He sounded grumpy, too. “You spoiled what might have been a tender moment with a maidservant. She was certainly tender, and I didn’t have to do much more to get her to say yes.”

“This is more important than fooling around with a woman,” Grus declared.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Hirundo’s words were perfectly obedient. Only a raised eyebrow reminded Grus of Alauda and all the other women the general might not happen to know about.

Grus felt himself redden. He passed Hirundo the letter that had just come up from the south. “Here,” he said. “See for yourself.”

Hirundo started the letter with the same perfect but sarcastic obedience he’d used to answer the king. He didn’t get very far, though, before the sarcasm disappeared. “Well, well,” he said when he was through. “You were right. Every once in a while, the gods do answer a prayer, don’t they?”

“I was thinking something along those very same lines, as a matter of fact,” Grus replied. “We couldn’t have asked King Olor for anything much nicer than a real civil war between Sanjar and Korkut.”

The general tapped the letter with his index finger. “Sounds like they’re going at it hammer and tongs, too.”

“Who do you suppose will win?” Grus asked.

“Beats me,” Hirundo said cheerfully. “Let’s sit back and drink some wine and watch and find out.”

“I don’t intend to do anything else,” Grus said. “I hope they spend the next five years smashing away at each other, and that all the other Menteshe jump into the fight and jump on each other, too. That way, with a little luck, they’ll stay too busy to bother Avornis. And after what they did to us this past year, we can use the time to heal.”

“If I could tell you you were wrong, that would mean we were stronger than we really are,” Hirundo said.

“We’ll have to strengthen the river-galley fleet on the Stura,” Grus said. “I was going to do that anyway, but now it’s especially important. I don’t want the Menteshe getting distracted from their own fight to go after us.”

Hirundo gave him a brisk nod. “Makes sense. You do most of the time, Your Majesty.” He paused, then added, “So does Lanius, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, so he does,” Grus admitted, a little uncomfortably. The more sense Lanius showed, the more worrisome he became. He also became more valuable to the kingdom; Grus consoled himself with that.

“With the Menteshe busy playing games among themselves, what do you aim to do about the Chernagors?” Hirundo asked.

“You’re thinking along with me. Either that means you make sense, too, or else we’re both crazy the same way,” the king said. Hirundo laughed. So did Grus, although he hadn’t been kidding, or at least not very much. He went on, “If Korkut and Sanjar are still bashing each other over the head come spring, I do aim to go north. We’ll never have a better chance to take Nishevatz without distractions from the south— or from the Banished One.”

“You’ll make Prince Vsevolod happy,” the general observed.

“I know.” Grus heaved a sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to do it anyhow.” Again, Hirundo laughed. Again, so did Grus. Again, though, he hadn’t been kidding, or at least not very much.

Lanius was pleased with himself as he walked back toward the royal bedchamber. He’d had a good day in the archives, coming up with a map of Nishevatz as it had been when it was the Avornan city of Medeon. Vsevolod, no doubt, would laugh at the map and go on about how much things had changed. But no one had been able to get Vsevolod to sit down and draw his own map of Nishevatz. Even old clues were better than no clues at all.

He opened the door. Sosia was standing by the bed, about fifteen feet away. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.

Instead of smiling back, she picked up a cup and flung it at him. “Sweetheart!” she screeched. The cup smashed against the wall, six inches to the left of his head. A sharp shard scored his cheek.

“What the—?” Lanius yelped.

Sosia grabbed another cup. She let fly again. This one smacked against the door, about six inches to the right of Lanius’ head. “Zenaida!” Sosia shouted. She had one more cup handy. She threw it without a moment’s hesitation.

This one was aimed dead center. But Lanius ducked.

Now he knew what the trouble was. “Stop that!” he said, straightening up. He hoped Sosia would. She was, after all, out of cups. But the brass tray on which they’d stood remained handy. A moment later, it clanged off the wall. She didn’t aim well, “Stop that!” Lanius said again.

“I told you to stop that after Cristata, and see how you listened to me,” Sosia retorted. Now the closest available thing to throw was a table. Sosia looked tempted, but she didn’t try it. She said, “Why did I ever let you touch me?”

“Because we’re married?” Lanius suggested.

“That hasn’t made any difference to you. Why should it make any to me?” Sosia said. “I thought you weren’t going to wander around like a dog in heat anymore, and—”

“This was different,” Lanius said. “It wasn’t like what it was with Cristata.”

“Oh? How was it different?” his wife inquired acidly. “Did you find a posture you hadn’t used before?”

Lanius’ ears heated. “No,” he said, which happened to be the truth, but which wasn’t the part of the truth he wanted to get across. “I meant, I didn’t fall in love with Zenaida, or anything like that.”

Sosia stared at him across the gulf separating men and women. “Queen Quelea’s mercy!” she exclaimed. “Then why did you bother?”

“Why did I bother?” Lanius stared back; the gulf was as wide from his side as from hers. “Because…” Because it’s fun, came to mind. So did, Because I could. Even from across the gulf, he could see neither of those would strike her as a good enough explanation. “Just because,” he said.

His wife rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said in tones that wished half the human race would tumble into the chasm separating the sexes and never be seen again. “And my own father is the same way.”

“Yes, he is a man,” Lanius said, although he knew that wasn’t what Sosia had meant. He also knew, or at least had strong suspicions, that Grus had found company for himself while campaigning in the south. He didn’t say anything about that. If Sosia or Estrilda found out about it, he didn’t want them finding out from him. He had to get along with his father-in-law, and didn’t want the other king to think he’d told tales out of school.

But Sosia only snapped, “Don’t you play the fool with me. You’re a lot of different things, and I’m not happy with any of them, but you’re not stupid, and you don’t do a good job of acting stupid. You know what I meant. You both lie down with sluts whenever you find the chance.”

Lanius stirred at that. He didn’t think of Cristata as a slut, or Zenaida. He also didn’t think of Alca the witch as one, and he was sure Grus didn’t, either. If you lay down with a woman who would lie down with anyone, what made you special? The other side of that coin was, if you lay down with any woman yourself, what would make