The Chernagor Pirates

Sosia found a different question. She asked, “Are you going to have a baby?”

Limosa turned from one of them to the other. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she told the king. A moment later, she said the same thing to the queen, adding, “Until this”—she gulped—“I managed to keep it a secret. I wanted to see how long I could.”

“Well, you did,” Lanius said. “Congratulations!” Sosia echoed him. Lanius turned to Ortalis and congratulated him, too. He hoped he didn’t sound grudging. Ortalis had behaved… pretty well lately.

“I thank you.” Grus’ legitimate son raised his wine cup. “Here’s hoping it’s a boy.”

For the sake of politeness, Lanius drank to that. So did Sosia. But their eyes met with complete understanding and agreement. They both hoped Limosa had a little girl—had lots of little girls, if she conceived again. Boys would make the succession more complicated. Grus and his family had managed to graft themselves on to the ancient ruling dynasty. That was one thing. Uprooting it altogether—having the crown descend through Ortalis and his line—would be something else again.

Ortalis had never shown any great interest in ruling Avornis. If he had a son, he might change his mind. That would make court intrigue all the more intriguing. Lanius hoped he didn’t, but how much was such hope worth?

That evening, Sosia seemed not just willing but actually eager to make love for the first time since she found out about Zenaida. While she and Lanius caressed each other and then joined, he accepted that as good luck. Afterwards, she rolled over and went straight to sleep. The king smiled a little. She was doing what men were supposed to do, and he wasn’t.

He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. With no lamp burning, it was just part of the darkness. As he hadn’t before, he wondered what made Sosia act the way she had. He didn’t need to wonder long. What was likelier to drive her into his arms than a threat from outside?

He would rather have believed his own charms had more to do with it. But, since she’d had no trouble resisting those charms before Limosa’s news, he couldn’t very well do that. Every so often, he wished he were better at fooling himself. This was one of those times.

In the morning, he went to see Otus. Every time he did, the man from south of the Stura seemed more like an ordinary Avornan and less like a thrall. More and more, Lanius believed the guards who surrounded Otus’ chamber were unnecessary. He didn’t order them away, though. He might have been wrong, and being wrong here could have unfortunate consequences.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Otus said, and bowed politely. His eyes went to the guards who came in with the king, too. He didn’t complain about them. As far as Lanius knew, he never complained. That did set him apart from ordinary Avornans.

“Good morning to you,” the king replied. “You speak very well these days. You’ve learned a lot.”

“I like to learn things,” Otus said. “I never had the chance before.” He paused and shook his head. “I never could before.”

That let Lanius ask a question he’d wanted to ask for a long time. “What was it like, being a thrall? Now you have the words to talk about it, which you didn’t before.”

Otus looked startled, another mark of how far he’d come. “Why, so I do,” he said. “It was hard. It was boring. If you had a cow that could talk, it would tell you the same thing, I think. As far as the Menteshe cared, I was a cow. Oh, I could do more than a cow. I was smarter than a cow. But they treated me like a beast. I was a beast, near enough.”

“What made you decide to cross over the Stura, to come into Avornis?” Lanius asked.

“I didn’t decide,” Otus said at once. He repeated that. “I didn’t decide. I just did it. It came into my head that I had to, and I went. I left my woman. I left my children. I went.” He stopped, biting his lip.

Gently, Lanius asked, “Do you miss your wife?”

“Woman,” Otus said again. “We weren’t—like people are. I couldn’t be with her now. She hasn’t… changed. It would be like… screwing a cow, almost. But if the wizard cured her, then—oh, then!” His face lit up. Plainly, the thought was crossing his mind for the first time. He was becoming a man, beginning to think beyond himself as men could— and did, though not often enough.

Lanius wondered if the female thrall would care for him once she was fully herself. The king didn’t say anything about that. Even a man who had been a thrall was entitled to his dreams.

Suddenly, Otus pointed at him. “One of these days, you go south of the river. Avornis goes south of the river,”

“Maybe,” Lanius answered, embarrassed at being unable to say more. “That’s more for King Grus to decide than it is for me. I know he wants to go south of the Stura. I don’t know whether he thinks he can.”

Otus paid no attention to him. The cured thrall—Lanius had an ever harder time thinking of him as the possibly cured thrall —went on, “You will go south of the river. You have the wonderful magic that set me free. You can use that magic on the other thralls, on the rest of the thralls. So many men, so many women, made into beasts.” He took Lanius’ hands in his. “Save them, Your Majesty! You can save them!”

Lanius didn’t know what to say to that. What he did finally say was, “I’ll try.” Otus’ face lit up. That only made Lanius turn away so the other man wouldn’t see him blush. His words might have sounded like a promise— Otus had taken them for one—but he knew they were anything but. He still lacked the power to make a promise like that. Only Grus had it, and Grus was far off in the north.

Watery sunshine—the only kind the Chernagor country seemed to know—did little to make the walls of Nishevatz seem anything but unlovely. The sunshine did help King Grus spot the town’s defenders; it sparkled off swords and spearheads and the tips of arrows and shone from helms and mailshirts. The men who followed Prince Vasilko looked ready to fight, and to fight hard.

Whether they were ready might prove a different question. They hadn’t tried to keep the Avornans from shutting them up inside Nishevatz, preferring to stand siege rather than to come forth and challenge their foes. But how much in the way of supplies did they have? Grus dared hope it wasn’t so much.

He also dared hope the other Chernagor city-states allied with Nishevatz had no luck shipping grain into the town. So far, they hadn’t had the nerve to try. If that wasn’t a compliment to Pterocles’ sorcery— and a sign they had no counterspell for it—Grus didn’t know what would be. The Chernagors presumed the wizard had come north with the Avornan army. That also made them presume he would burn their ships if they tried to feed their allies. Grus hoped they were right. (In fact, he hoped he didn’t have to find out. If the other Chernagors didn’t try to feed Nishevatz, he wouldn’t have to.)

“Do you aim to assault the town?” Hirundo asked after the siege lines on land were as tight as the Avornans could make them.

“Not right away,” Grus answered. “They’ve made us pay every time we did. Or do you think I’m wrong?”

“Not me, Your Majesty,” the general said. “I’d rather be at the top of a wall pushing a scaling ladder over than at the bottom trying to get up the ladder before it tips and smashes.”

“Yes. If it will.” Grus looked out to the farmland that had fed Nishevatz. Now it would have to feed his men instead. Could it? He wouldn’t be taking grain from it, not this early in the year—and not much later, either, if it wasn’t cultivated in the meanwhile. Livestock was a different story, though. Cows and pigs and sheep—if need be, horses and donkeys—would feed Avornan soldiers well.

After a little thought, Grus nodded to Hirundo. “Fetch me one of Vsevolod’s pals,” he said‘.

“I’ll get you one,” Hirundo said. “I take it you don’t want Vsevolod to notice me doing this?”

“How right you are,” the king said fervently, and his general chuckled.

Hirundo brought Grus a nobleman named Beloyuz. He was one of the younger men who clung to Vsevolod’s cause, which meant his bushy beard was gray rather than white. “What do you wish of me, Your Majesty?” he asked in Avornan better than Prince Vsevolod’s.

“I would like you to go up to the walls of Nishevatz, Your Excellency,” Grus replied. “I want you to tell the Chernagors in the city that they won’t have to go through this siege if they cast out Vasilko and give the throne back to Vsevolod.”

Beloyuz plucked at that bushy gray beard. “His Highness should do this,” he said, his voice troubled.