The Scepter's Return (66 page)

After a deep breath, Anser said, “Your Majesty, please let my father out of that monastery. If you do, I swear I'll never ask another thing of you for as long as I live—not even to go hunting with me, if you don't want me to.”

“He would be pleased with you, to know you've asked this,” Lanius said. “He would be proud of you, too.”

“He did everything for me,” Anser said simply. “Plenty of bastards don't even know who their father is. But he made sure I always had enough. And then when he got the crown … Well, look what he did. Do you think I'd be wearing this”—he flapped the sleeve of his robe—“if not for him?” He snorted to show how unlikely that was, then went on, “So you see, Your Majesty, I'd do anything for him, too. I'm not too proud to beg you to set him free. Please.”

With some regret, Lanius shook his head. “I'm not going to do that. I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm the King of Avornis now. I didn't expect to be, not until he'd lived out his days. Frankly, I thought I was sure to lose if I rose against him. Maybe I was wrong—who knows? But if I called him back to the city of Avornis, I couldn't very well do it without seeing the crown go back on his head, too, could I? You may think I'm heartless, but I just don't want to do that.”

“I don't think you're heartless, Your Majesty. I would never think so,” Anser said. “You'll do what you think you have to do, but please understand that I've got to do the same thing.”

“I do understand that,” Lanius said. “And I think it's sad that his legitimate son overthrew him and his bastard is pleading for me to turn the hourglass upside down again, but I can't change that.”

“Neither can I. I wish I could,” Anser replied. “Ortalis … Ortalis always knew he couldn't live up to his father, and he couldn't live up to what his father wanted from him. Me, I was further away. I didn't have to live up to anything at all. I was glad enough just to live, and to live pretty well.”

Lanius thought there was a lot of truth in what his half brother-in-law said—a lot, but not enough. “Not being able to live up to what Grus wanted of him wasn't the only trouble Ortalis had,” the king said. “That mean streak, that taste for blood and pain, was all his own.”

“It was,” Sosia said softly. “He always had it, as far back as I can remember.”

“Well, I didn't know him then—or you, Your Majesty,” Anser said to her. “I'll have to take your word for that.” He turned back to Lanius. “But it doesn't have anything to do with why you should or shouldn't let my father come back. He didn't do anything to deserve what Ortalis did to him. I should say not! Look how much Avornis owes him. The Scepter of Mercy back again! Could anyone have imagined that?”

I had something to do with it, too,
Lanius thought. He couldn't have done it without Grus, but Grus couldn't have done it without him, either. He said, “The Scepter accepts me, too, you know.”

“Oh, of course, Your Majesty! I never said it didn't,” Anser said quickly. “But …” He spread his hands. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Lanius said. “But I'm the king now, and I intend to stay the king for as long as I last.”

Anser sadly bowed his head. “Then there's not much I can do about this, is there? Thanks for hearing me out, anyhow.” He bowed to Lanius, then to Sosia, and left the room.

Sosia sighed. She quickly finished eating and also hurried out. She might understand why Lanius was doing what he was doing, but that didn't mean she liked it, either. Lanius sighed, too. He poured his own cup of wine full again, and then again after that. He wasn't a man in the habit of getting drunk before noon. Today, though, he made an exception.

Grus had won a promotion. From peeling turnips, he'd advanced to measuring out grain and beans and dried peas, pouring them into big iron kettles full of boiling water, and stirring the stews with a long-handled wooden spoon. It wasn't exciting work—he wasn't sure such a thing as exciting work existed anywhere in the monastery—but it was a step up. When Neophron offered it to him, he took it.

As long as he was in the kitchens or at whatever other work Abbot Pipilo set him, he was contented enough. It was something to do, something not too hard, something to keep him busy through most of the day. Things could have been worse.

When he wasn't at his labors, things
were
worse. He couldn't avoid Ortalis and Petrosus; the monastery wasn't big enough. Whenever he got near one of them, he got into a quarrel. He didn't start the arguments, but he didn't back away from them, either. If he hadn't backed away from King Dagipert or the Banished One, he didn't intend to back away from his son or a palace functionary, either.

After the seventh or eighth shouting match in the courtyard, he did go to see Pipilo in the abbot's office. Pipilo was scribbling something on a piece of parchment when Grus knocked on the open door and stood waiting in the doorway. “Come in, Brother,” Pipilo said. “And what can I do for you today?”

His tone said,
Let's get this over with so I can go back to the important things I was doing before I had to deal with the likes of you.
Grus fought to hide a smile. Sure enough, the abbot was a king in his own little realm. Grus couldn't begin to remember how many times he'd used that same tone himself.

“Father Abbot, isn't this supposed to be a place of peace?” he asked.

“Of course, Brother,” Pipilo answered. “But what a place is supposed to be and what it turns out to be aren't always the same. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I don't think you'll say I'm lying.”

“No, not at all,” Grus agreed. “Still, I would like to be able to get through a day without at least one screaming row.”

“I can see how you might, yes,” the abbot said judiciously. “It was perhaps unfortunate that three men who have such strong reasons to disagree with one another were all gathered together in the same place.”

“Perhaps it was.” Grus went along with the understatement. “Is there any chance one or two of us might be moved to another monastery?”

Pipilo spread his hands, as though to show the limits of his domain. “I have not the authority to make such a transfer, Brother. It is possible to send a petition back to the city of Avornis, a petition I would endorse. But what my endorsement would do, if anything, I am not sure. This is the most, ah, secure monastery in the kingdom, which is why each of the three of you was sent here.”

Why each of the three of you will stay here,
he might as well have said. “By your leave, I will write that petition,” Grus said. “The worst I can hear is no, and no leaves me no worse off.”

“By all means, Brother. You may have parchment and pen for the purpose,” Pipilo said. “And I wish you good fortune from it—not because I am not glad of your company here, for you have shown yourself a worthy monk, but because, if the king grants it, you will find more tranquility in your life.”

“Tranquility,” Grus murmured. He'd had a lot of things in his life, but, up until now, rarely that. Did the abbot really think him a worthy monk? Pipilo must have. He didn't need to keep Grus sweet. It was the other way around here. Grus hadn't had many finer compliments than that.

If only he didn't have to worry about Ortalis and Petrosus … Yes, he would write that petition, as soon as he could.

Brother Grus to King Lanius—greetings, Your Majesty.
Lanius wasn't used to getting letters from Grus without the royal seal stamped in wax to help hold them closed. This one had no seal of any sort. As usual, Grus came straight to the point.
Here in this monastery,
he wrote,
Ortalis and Petrosus and I quarrel like so many crabs in a kettle with the water getting hot. I do not ask to be released from this place back into the world. I know you would say no at once. But could you please arrange it so the three of us are in three separate places? It would take a miracle for us to get along here, and miracles are in moderately short supply lately. I hope the kingdom runs smoothly. I know it is in good hands.

“Well, well,” Lanius said under his breath. Grus had never been a man to show self-pity, and he showed even less now than the king would have expected. Lanius would have granted his petition without the least hesitation … if he weren't in the strongest monastery in the Maze. He seemed content as a monk now, but how could anyone guess if he would stay that way?

And Ortalis had a claim on the throne—had held it, if not for long and not well. And Petrosus was father to a princess who'd briefly been a queen (and was now a nun) and was grandfather to a young prince and princess. All three men could become problems if they found themselves in a place easier to escape from than that monastery.

It would take a miracle for us to get along here.
Lanius sighed when he read that again. It wasn't that he didn't believe it. On the contrary—it seemed much too likely. Ortalis had never gotten along with his father. Petrosus had no reason to.

“A miracle,” Lanius repeated. A slow smile spread over his face. He didn't know if he had a miracle handy. On the other hand, he didn't know he didn't, either, and that was more than most men could say.

The guards in front of the Scepter of Mercy stiffened to attention when Lanius walked up. “Your Majesty!” they chorused.

“As you were,” the king said, and the guardsmen relaxed. Lanius picked up the Scepter. Being able to pick it up encouraged him; as King Cathartes had written centuries before it was stolen, it would not let itself be used for anything unrighteous.

Lanius thought carefully about how to seek what he wanted from the Scepter. If he sought to make Grus and Ortalis and Petrosus suddenly love one another, he was sure his wish would go ungranted. There was such a thing as asking—and asking for—too much.

Up until now, he'd used the Scepter of Mercy for things that would obviously help Avornis as a whole. Chief among them was seeking better harvests in the lands the Menteshe had ravaged in their invasion before Prince Ulash died. Even with that help, he feared the southern provinces would still be a long time recovering.

This … This was something else. Whether he used the Scepter of Mercy or didn't, Avornis wouldn't change one way or the other. Few people outside the monastery would have any idea of what he'd done. This almost struck him as a task too small and trivial to bring to the Scepter's notice, as it were.

But there were small mercies as well as large ones. If Grus and Ortalis and Petrosus had to live together—and they did—couldn't they live together without rubbing one another raw every day of their enforced cohabitation? It didn't seem too much to ask. Grus particularly deserved peace and quiet, if that was what he'd found at the monastery.

Lanius aimed the Scepter in the general direction of the Maze. He wasn't sure that helped, but he didn't see how it could hurt. He shaped the idea behind what he wanted until it was clear in his mind. Then he sent it forth, out through his will, out through his arm, out through the Scepter.

He'd felt power thrum through the Scepter of Mercy when he used it to do what he could for the southern croplands. He felt it again now, but not nearly to the same degree. That made him smile at himself. Not even he believed this was as important as anything he'd done with the Scepter before. All the same, that didn't mean it wasn't worth doing.

“What did you do, Your Majesty?” one of the guardsmen asked as Lanius set the Scepter of Mercy back on its velvet cushion.

He smiled again, a little sheepishly. “I'm not quite sure. I hope I find out in a while.” The guard smiled back, thinking he'd made a joke. The smile slowly faded as the man realized Lanius meant it.

Because Grus had always been in the habit of rising early, the call to sunrise prayer worked no great hardship on him. Even back in the palace, he would have been up soon anyhow. He rolled his eyes. From the Maze, the palace seemed farther than Yozgat had from the city of Avornis.

He'd gotten to Yozgat. He didn't think he'd get back to the palace. What still surprised him was how little that seemed to matter. He slid out of bed, belted his robe around him, and joined the stream of monks trudging down the hallway toward the chapel.

The sky was bright in the east as he walked across the courtyard, but the sun hadn't risen. Night's chill still lingered, though it wouldn't much longer. The day would be warm and muggy. The air was full of the damp, mostly stagnant smell that pervaded the Maze. A jay flew by overhead, screeching.

In their robes, monks often appeared interchangeable. Grus didn't notice he was walking only a few feet from Petrosus until he'd been doing it for some little while. The former treasury minister saw him, too, but didn't say anything. Neither did Grus.

That could have been worse,
he thought as he went into the chapel. Along with the rest of the monks, he offered up the day's first hymns to King Olor and Queen Quelea and the other gods in the heavens. He sang with better conscience than he would have before the Scepter of Mercy came back to the city of Avornis. The gods probably didn't pay much attention to what went on here in the material world, but sometimes they did, and it mattered that they did. He hadn't been convinced that was so. Now he believed it.

When the service was over, the monks trooped into the refectory for breakfast. Grus took a bowl of barley porridge and a mug of ale from one of the servers, then sat down at a bench and a table just like all the other benches and tables in the large hall. Again, he wasn't as far from Petrosus as he wished he were. The other man left him alone. That suited him fine.

After breakfast, Grus went into the kitchens himself to wash dishes. That kept him busy for most of the morning. The head cook came over to watch him. “You sure don't mind work, do you?” Neophron said.