The Bastard King (51 page)

"You mean about Dagipert? Oh, yes, Your Majesty." Hirundo nodded. "That's all over the palace by now. It's probably all over the city. I wouldn't be surprised if Corvus and Pandion were gossiping about it in the Maze. Rumor has more legs than a millipede, and runs faster, too."

"Now there's a pretty picture," Grus said. "Rumor happens to be true here, which isn't always so. Prince Berto - King Berto, I should say - is supposed to have less fire in his belly than old Dagipert did."

"He could hardly have more," Hirundo remarked. "But that's just rumor, too, eh?"

"Not entirely," Grus replied. "King Lanius met Berto once, when he came here with his father while Dagipert was laying siege to the city. Still, that was a while ago. In case Berto's changed ..." He took it no further. He didn't want to say Lanius didn't know what he was talking about. He did want to say Avornis couldn't be sure Lanius had everything right, though.

Fortunately, Hirundo understood the fine line he was walking. "You'll want to send soldiers out to the west, just in case Berto turns out to be friskier than we expect."

"That's just what I'll want," Grus agreed. "You'll take care of it for me, I hope? We don't want to look as though we're invading Thervingia, now. We do want to be sure the Thervings won't invade Avornis."

"I understand, Your Majesty," Hirundo said. "I won't go anywhere near the border. But I'll make it very plain I can put up a good fight on the far side of the Tuola."

"That's what I want from you," Grus said. "King Berto will probably send his own ambassador here to announce his accession. That's what the custom is, I think. If he does, I want that ambassador to see your men on the move so he'll know we're ready for whatever happens."

"I'll take care of it," Hirundo promised. Grus dismissed him after that. The king had come to know his general, and to know he could count on a promise of that sort.

And, indeed, Hirundo left for the Tuola and the province beyond it three days before an embassy from Thervingia reached the city of Avornis. At the head of the embassy was Zangrulf, serving Berto as he'd served Dagipert for so many years. He bowed low before King Grus in the throne room. "I gather you will have heard our sad news?" he said in his fluent but gutturally accented Avornan.

"Yes," Grus replied. "Please pass on to King Berto my personal sympathies. I lost my own father a few years ago. It's never easy."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Zangrulf bowed again. "That is ... gracious of you. I am sure the king will appreciate it." His tone sharpened. "I am sure he will appreciate it more than the sight of armed Avornans marching toward Thervingia."

Grus shrugged. "They're marching through Avornis, Your Excellency. They have no intention of starting any trouble between our two kingdoms. But at the start of a new reign, it's hard to know what will happen next."

"May I take your assurance back to King Berto?" Zangrulf asked.

"Certainly," Grus answered. "Tell him that as long as you Thervings stay on your side of the border, we'll stay on ours. I don't want any trouble with Thervingia. I never have."

"Really?" Zangrulf raised a sly eyebrow. "If it weren't for Avornis' trouble with Thervingia, you wouldn't be king today."

That was probably true. As a matter of fact, that was bound to be true. Even so, Grus only shrugged again. "I meant what I said, Your Excellency. It's possible to buy some things too dearly. Didn't King Dagipert finally realize that when he was fighting us?"

"Maybe," the Therving ambassador said. "But maybe not, too."

"By the gods, you're not giving me any great secrets," Grus exclaimed. "Dagipert's dead. He won't be attacking us again, come what may."

"He was my master for many years," Zangrulf said. "I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting him to give me some new order. It doesn't happen. It won't happen. I know that. Most of me knows that, anyhow. But there's still that part.... He was a strong king."

"So he was." Grus couldn't disagree. No one who'd ever had to deal with Dagipert could have disagreed with that. Grus persisted, "But didn't he finally figure out he couldn't hope to beat us, no matter how strong he was?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Zangrulf said again. "I'm not going to say any more than that, Your Majesty. There's still that part that thinks he may be listening. And if he is, he's saying,'Whatever I thought is none of your business, Avornan.'"

Grus laughed. "Have it your way, then, Your Excellency. And would you say King Berto is as strong as King Dagipert was?"

"King Berto is as strong in prayer as King Dagipert was with the sword." Zangrulf picked his words with obvious care.

"May the gods love him, then," Grus said - as safe an answer as he could find. Zangrulf confirmed what Lanius had said about Dagipert's son. Grus added, "May he bring peace, and may the gods love that, as well."

"I hope it will be so. I think it will be so," Zangrulf said. He didn't say whether he thought that would be good. By his tone, he had his doubts. The Thervings were an iron-bellied folk, most of them. Would Berto be able to hold them to peace, even if that was what he intended? Grus shrugged - a shrug so small he could hope his robes hid it from Zangrulf.

"I will give gifts," the king said. "Some to you, for bringing King Berto's greetings, and some to him, in the hope of a long reign for him and peace between our two kingdoms."

Zangrulf bowed. His eyes gleamed. He seemed no more immune to gifts than anyone else. Grus resolved to make them generous, in the hope of getting some use from the man. "Thank you very much, Your Majesty. Your openhandedness is famous throughout the world," the Therving said.

That made Grus smile. He was no more openhanded than he had to be, and everyone who knew him knew as much. Maybe Zangrulf was wangling for fancier presents. If he was, he'd probably get them. Here, Grus could see he did have to be open-handed, and so he would be.

King Lanius was picking fleas off Topaz, one of Snitch's kittens, when King Grus came into the chamber where the moncats dwelt. "Don't mean to bother you, Your Majesty," Grus said, by which Lanius was sure he meant to do exactly that, "but there's something I'd like you to take care of for me."

"Oh? What's that?" Lanius caught a flea and crushed it between his thumbnails, the only sure way he'd found to be rid of them.

"King Berto has sent a couple of his yellow-robed clerics to the city of Avornis," Grus answered. "They're touring cathedrals - looks like Berto
is
a pious fellow, just the way you said. Would you be kind enough to show them around a bit?"

"Why me?" As soon as Lanius stopped paying attention to Topaz, the moncat, which didn't like him picking through its fur, fled. The grab he made for it proved futile. Muttering, he went on, "Wouldn't showing cathedrals to the Thervings be Arch-Hallow Anser's job, not mine?"

As he hoped, he succeeded in embarrassing his father-in-law. Reddening, Grus said, "Well, it might be, but Anser's still learning about what he's doing, and you know more of the history about such places than he does right now."

Aside from doing what Grus wanted, Anser didn't seem very interested in learning an arch-hallow's duties. Hunting, with or without Ortalis, excited him far more. Grus had to know that at least as well as Lanius did. Lanius just folded his arms across his chest and looked back at his fellow king.

He was hoping he could make Grus turn red. He didn't; Grus owned more than his share of self-possession. The older man went on, "Besides, having a King of Avornis escort the Thervings would be a privilege for them. It would make Berto feel we were giving him special honors, honors other sovereigns wouldn't expect."

"What other sovereigns?" Lanius asked. "The chiefs of the Chernagor city-states? They wouldn't get honors to match Thervingia's anyhow. Savages like the Heruls? They don't worship our gods at all. Neither do the princes of the Menteshe - they bow down to the Banished One, instead."

King Grus let out a sigh of exaggerated patience.
"Please,
Your Majesty," he said. "I've already told them you'd do it."

"Oh." Lanius drummed his fingers on his thigh. "That means I'm stuck with the job, doesn't it? All right. But I'll thank you not to make any more plans for me without telling me you're doing it."

"I expect that's fair enough, Your Majesty." After a few heartbeats, Grus seemed to realize something more was called for, for he went on, "I won't do it again." That was better, but not good enough. Lanius waited without a word. Again, Grus paused. Again, he found words, this time saying, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Lanius said, but that was what he'd been waiting to hear. He sighed. "Let's get it over with."

The clerics' names were Grasulf and Bench. Grasulf was tall and fuzzily bearded, while Berich was squat and fuzzily bearded. They both spoke good Avornan, and they both seemed honored that Lanius was taking them around the cathedrals of the city of Avornis. Grasulf said, "King Berto will be so jealous when we go home and tell him all that we have done in your kingdom."

Voice dry, Lanius answered, "King Berto's father did quite a lot in our kingdom, too."

To his amazement, both Therving clerics looked embarrassed. Berich said, "That is too bad, Your Majesty. Many of us thought so even while the war was going on. This is where the worship of the true gods centers. To fight against Avornis is to fight against the gods."

"King Dagipert didn't think so," Lanius said.

"Dagipert was a very strong king," Grasulf said. "While he lived, we had to do what he said. But there is not a cleric in Thervingia who is not glad to have peace with Avornis at last. And the same holds for our soldiers. We fought against your kingdom year after year, and what did we get because of it? Nothing anybody can see. So says King Berto, and we think he is right."

Of course you do, or say you do,
Lanius thought.
He is your new king, and you have to obey him. You had better think he is right.
He couldn't say that to Grasulf and Berich, not when what they thought - what Berto thought - was exactly what he wanted Thervingians to think. He did say, "I am glad to hear you speak so. As long as you do, the Banished One will never gain a foothold in Thervingia."

He made the gesture that was supposed to ward off the Banished One (how much good it really did, or whether it did any good at all, he couldn't have said). The two yellow-robed clerics used the same gesture. Berich said, "May his followers never come into our land."

"Yes, may that be so," Lanius agreed.

Grasulf looked over his shoulder, as though afraid Dagipert might still somehow hear what he said. When he spoke, it was in a low voice. "They do say the Banished One sent minions to him who was our king. They say it, though I do not know if it was true."

"I have heard it," Lanius said. "I do not know if it was true, either."

"I believe it," Berich said. "Gods curse me if I do not believe it. Dagipert was always one to trust in his own strength. He would dare hear the Banished One's envoys. He would be sure he could use the Banished One for his own purposes, and not the other way around."

"He would be sure, yes," Grasulf said solemnly. "But would he be right?"

"Who can say?" Berich replied. "That he was confident in his own strength does not mean he was right to be confident."

"True," Lanius said. Such rumors had floated around Dagipert for years, though he always denied them. Lanius had hoped to learn the truth after the formidable King of Thervingia was dead. But maybe Dagipert had been the only one who knew what the truth was, and had taken it onto his pyre with him.

Lanius shook his head.
The Banished One knows,
he reminded himself.
The Banished One knows, and he dies not.
Thinking so vividly of Avornis' great foe made him wonder if he would dream of him that night. He didn't, and wondered why.
Maybe,
he thought,
I worried enough about him that he doesn't need to visit me in dreams. I've already done his work for him.

That worried him even more than dreaming of the Banished One might have done.

King Grus watched Avornis go through much of a quiet summer. The Thervings left his kingdom alone. So did the Menteshe. No irate baron rose up against him. The first thing he wondered - and it was an amazement that lasted through that easy season - was what had gone wrong; what the gods were planning to make him sorry for those warm, lazy, peaceful months.

Estrilda laughed at him when he said as much to her in the quiet of their bedchamber. "Don't you think you're entitled to take it easy for a little while?" she asked.

"No!" His own vehemence surprised even him, and plainly alarmed his wife. He went on, "When have I ever taken it easy? When have I ever had the chance to take it easy? When, in all the years since I first went aboard a river galley? Why should I start doing it now?"

"You always worked hard," Estrilda said, nodding. "You worked hard so you could get someplace you'd never gone before. But, sweetheart" - she took his hands in hers - "you're King of Avornis. You can't rise any higher than this, can you? Since you can't, you've earned the right to relax."

Grus thought about that. Had he done all he'd done for the sake of getting ahead? Some of it, maybe, but all? He doubted that. The more he thought about it, the more he doubted it, too.

He'd worked hard because he liked working hard, because he was good at it. Claiming anything else would be a lie.

And he certainly could rise or fall even though he was King of Avornis. He could be a good king or a bad one, remembered with a smile, remembered with a shudder - or, perhaps worst of all, not remembered. He dreaded that. Women had children to let them know they were immortal. What did men have? Only their names, in the minds and in the mouths of others after they were gone.

If I could be the king who reclaimed the Scepter of Mercy from the Banished One ... They'd remember me forever, then, and cheer my name whenever they heard it.
Grus laughed at himself. When he thought about getting the Scepter of Mercy back, he wasn't just measuring himself against every King of Avornis who'd reigned over the past four hundred years. He was also, in effect, standing back to back with the Banished One himself. If that wasn't mad and overweening pride, what would be?