The Chernagor Pirates

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In the years since Grus first met Prince Vsevolod, the exiled lord of Nishevatz’s beard had grown whiter. His craggy features, always wrinkled, were now gullied like steep, bare country after hard rain. And his hands put the King of Avornis more in mind of tree roots than ever.

The one thing about Vsevolod that had not changed was the fire in his eyes. As winter reluctantly gave way to spring, the Prince of Nishevatz came up to Grus and said, “You get rid of Vasilko, yes?”

Grus had his problems with Ortalis. Set against Vsevolod’s problems with his son, they hardly seemed worth noticing. Ortalis, after all, had never tried to usurp the Avornan throne. Vasilko had not only tried to steal Nishevatz from Vsevolod, he’d succeeded. Grus replied, “We will go north this spring, Your Highness, yes.”

“This is good. This is very good. I go back to my own city. I rule in my own city. I do not have to live on charity of strangers, on charity of foreigners,” Vsevolod said.

“We have not kept you here out of charity, Your Highness,” Grus said.

“No. This is true. Charity is to help someone out of goodness of your heart,” Vsevolod said. “You do not do this. You help me because of what I can do for you.” He strode away, his back still straight—if stiff—despite his years. Grus stared after him, feeling obscurely punctured.

Regardless of his reasons for harboring Vsevolod in the city of Avornis, Grus did want to return him to the throne of Nishevatz. He assembled men and horses and supplies outside the city of Avornis, ready to move as soon as the weather turned mild and the roads dried out.

With extra men in the south in case the Menteshe decided to fight Avornis instead of among themselves, with sailors filling the growing fleet of Chernagor-style seagoing ships protecting the kingdom’s east coast, Grus’ army was smaller than it had been on either of his two earlier moves up into the Chernagor country. That didn’t unduly worry him, for he thought it would be big enough.

Lanius and Sosia came out from the city to wish him good fortune. His son-in-law and daughter were wary around each other. He understood why. Their quarrels through the winter had hardly stayed secret. Grus wished he were in a position to give Lanius good advice. With one of his own partners waiting in a provincial town to bear his bastard, he wasn’t, and he knew it.

To his surprise, Ortalis and Limosa also came out to wish the army luck. Grus couldn’t remember the last time his legitimate son had cared enough to bid him farewell. Maybe it had been Limosa’s idea. In spite of her irregular marriage to Ortalis, she seemed to be making him a good wife.

Or maybe Ortalis was just interested in looking at men who hunted other men for a living. Grus had sometimes wondered if his son would try to turn into a soldier. That would have given Ortalis a way to let out his thirst for blood without having other people give him strange looks. But Ortalis had never shown any interest in going to war. Of course, in war the people you hunted also hunted you. That might have dampened his enthusiasm for soldiering.

Now he said, “Good fortune go with you, Father.”

“My thanks.” Not even Grus could find anything wrong with that.

“Good fortune go with you indeed,” Lanius said. “May you return Vsevolod to his throne.” He looked around to make sure the Chernagor was nowhere nearby, then quietly added, “May you get Vsevolod out of our hair for good.”

“May it be so.” Grus and Lanius shared a smile. No denying the Prince of Nishevatz had made a difficult guest in the city of Avornis.

Lanius said, “I will also pray for peace inside the kingdom.”

“Good. You do that,” Grus said. He glanced toward the other King of Avornis. Lanius wasn’t looking south toward the Stura. He wasn’t looking east toward the coast. He was looking straight at Sosia. Grus nodded to himself. He’d thought Lanius meant that kind of peace, not the sort that came with armies staying home.

“I know you’ll win, Your Majesty,” Limosa said. “Time is on your side, after all.”

Was it? Grus had his doubts. She might as well have said, Third times the charm —not that it had been. Vasilko had had plenty of time to consolidate himself in Nishevatz. How many people there still longed for Vsevolod’s return? How many people who had longed for Vsevolod s return had Vasilko disposed of? A lot of them—Grus was sure of that. It wouldn’t make reconquering the Chernagor town any easier.

He shrugged. Nothing he could do about it. He said, “If the gods are kind, we’ll come back with victory—and without Vsevolod.”

“That would be perfect,” Lanius said. Ortalis didn’t seem so concerned—but then, he’d paid as little attention to Vsevolod as he had to anything else connected to actually ruling Avornis.

Grus turned away from his family and back toward the army. “Let’s move!” he called. A trumpeter echoed his command. The horsemen who’d go out ahead of the rest of the force as scouts urged their mounts into motion. One piece at a time, the remainder of the army followed.

“I’m off,” Grus said when he had to ride or fall out of place. As he used knees and the reins to get his horse moving, Lanius and Sosia and Ortalis and Limosa all waved. He waved back. Then, for the fourth time, he set out for the land of the Chernagors.

Twice, he’d failed to take Nishevatz. Once, he hadn’t even gotten up into the Chernagor country before bad news forced him to turn away. Oddly, those disasters heartened him instead of leaving him discouraged. He’d seen every sort of misfortune when he went north. Didn’t that mean he was due for good luck sometime soon?

He hoped it did. Maybe it meant he’d see no good luck against the Chernagors no matter what happened. He refused to believe that. If he did believe it, he wouldn’t have sent forth this army. He didn’t think he would have, anyhow.

Not far away, Prince Vsevolod rode toward his homeland. Like the rest of the beasts in the army, the Prince of Nishevatz’s horse went at a walk. Vsevolod had to know he couldn’t take back Nishevatz all by himself. Even so, he gave the impression of heading north at a headlong gallop. That impression might have been—was—false, but seemed real all the same.

Hirundo, by contrast, might have been sauntering along. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to Nishevatz. Grus knew he did. But he knew he wouldn’t get there right away, and showed he knew it, too. Grus preferred his attitude. It struck him as being more sensible than Vsevolod’s. And what about me? the king asked himself. He answered with a shrug. With the Menteshe distracted down in the south, he thought he had a better chance on this campaign than on the ones of years gone by—if the nomads were distracted, the Banished One should be distracted, too. Grus hoped to bridge the gap between should be and is. If he did, he might win. If not, he’d come home disappointed again—if he came home at all.

Lanius wondered how long he would have to wait this time for Sosia to let him back into her bed. He was curious and interested for more than one reason. First and… most urgent was the interest any man would have shown about that particular question.

A more abstract curiosity, though, accompanied that… urgent interest. Sosia had to make some careful calculations of her own. If she showed she warmed to him too soon, what would he think? Why, that he could enjoy himself with a serving girl whenever he felt like it. He’d make Sosia angry for a little while, but she’d soon forgive and forget.

But if she really was furious—or wanted him to believe she was— and kept herself to herself for a long time, what would spring from that? He was a man, after all, with a mans desires. Wouldn’t he go looking for another serving girl and slake those desires with her? She wouldn’t want him doing that.

Yes, a nice calculation.

Lanius tried to think along with his wife. She’d known him for a long time now. She would know how much he heated through each day of denial. He had a pretty good notion of when he would get fed up and start smiling at the prettier maidservants if Sosia hadn’t softened by then.

Two days before the time when he figured his impatience would get the better of his good sense, Sosia sighed and said, “I can’t make you change very much, can I?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Lanius answered seriously. “One person usually can’t change another. By the gods, not many people can change themselves.”

His wife studied him. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I have some idea.” His voice was dry.

“Good.” The queen sounded relieved. “I wasn’t sure. Sometimes you see only the questions, not what’s behind them.”

That was true enough. Lanius said, “I’m glad you’re not angry at me anymore,” then quickly amended that to, “Not too angry at me, I mean.”

“Not too angry is right,” Sosia said, “and even that’s just barely right. Still, you’re what I’ve got. I can either make the best of it or else find we’re in even more trouble.”

Her thinking did mirror his. He said, “I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

“I know,” Sosia answered. “You always do when you’re with me. It’s one of the reasons I can stand having you touch me again after—after everything you’ve done.” She looked at him with more defiance than desire on her face. “Shall we?”

“All right.” Lanius was more worried than he wanted her to know. If she didn’t want him to please her, then he wouldn’t, no matter what he did. He’d seen that with her and with other women. Men were simpler there. If it felt good, they didn’t worry about much else. We’re lucky, Lanius thought; he didn’t wonder if it was good luck or bad.

Physical acts counted, too. He worked especially hard to give Sosia pleasure when they lay down together. And, to his relief, he succeeded. She murmured something wordless, then stroked the back of his head. “You,” she said, and her voice sounded as much accusing as anything else.

“At your service,” he said. “And now—” He poised himself above her. He’d wondered if she would just lie there when they joined, to punish him for making love with Zenaida. But she didn’t. Even as his own pleasure built, he nodded in respect. Sosia didn’t stint. She deserved credit for that.

Afterward, he kissed the side of her neck. She wiggled; that was a ticklish spot for her. “You,” she said again, even more accusingly than before.

“Yes, me,” Lanius said. “You… had better believe it.” He’d almost said, You were expecting someone else? Considering that he’d enjoyed himself with someone else, she might have answered, What if I was? Better not to travel some roads than to see where they led.

“When we started,” Sosia said, “I wasn’t sure I really wanted you touching me, kissing me, kissing me there, at all. But you know what you’re doing.” In the dark stillness of the bedchamber, her eyes were enormous. “Do you study that along with everything else?”

“Not much in the archives about it,” Lanius said. A man studied such things whenever he made love with a woman, but that wasn’t what Sosia had meant. He didn’t think many men realized that was what they were doing. The more fools they, he thought.

“Archives,” Sosia muttered, so maybe she had something else in mind for the source of his research. But she didn’t snipe at him. Instead, she asked, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Put up with me, I hope,” Lanius answered. “I’ll try to do the same for you.”

“For me? Why do I need putting up with?” But then Sosia shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I’ll try to put up with you, you try to put up with me, and we’ll both try to get along. Bargain?”

“Bargain,” Lanius said. They clasped hands.

Up ahead of the Avornan army, Chernagor cavalry skirmished with King Grus’ scouts. More Chernagor horsemen galloped off toward the north. Grus cursed, more in resignation than anything else. “So much for surprise,” he said.

“Did you really think we’d keep it?” Hirundo asked. “We can’t just appear out of nowhere, like ghosts in a story to frighten children.”

“Maybe not, but we’d win a lot of battles if we could,” Grus said.

He wondered whether the men of Nishevatz would try to hold Varazdin against him, but his men found the fortress not only abandoned but destroyed, the keep wrecked and one of the outer walls pulled down. Maybe they thought he could quickly overcome whatever garrison they put into the place, or maybe they were saving everything they had to defend the walls of their city-state.

Either way, Grus thought they were making a mistake. Had he been in charge of Nishevatz, he would have defended the place as far forward as he could. If Vasilko was willing to let him get close, he would say thank you and do his best to take advantage of that. He pressed on into the land of the Chernagors.

Three days later, one of his scouts came riding back to the main body of the army, calling, “The sea! The sea!” The man pointed north.

Grus soon rode up over a low rise and spied the sea for himself. As always, he was struck by how different it was from the Azanian Sea on the east coast of Avornis. The waters there were blue and warm and inviting, the beaches made from golden sand. The beaches here were mud flats. The sea was greenish gray, a color that didn’t seem quite healthy to him. The sky was gray, too, the gray of newly sheared wool before it was washed. Wisps of mist kept the king from getting as good a view of either sea or sky as he would have wanted.

“No wonder the Chernagors like to turn pirate,” Hirundo said, gazing out at the bleak landscape. “If I lived in country like this, I’d do my best to get away from it, too.”

Sandpipers scurried along at the border between sea and land, poking their beaks into the mud to look for whatever little creatures they hunted. Gulls mewed overhead, soaring along on narrow pointed wings. The air smelled of moisture and salt and seaweed and faintly nasty things Grus couldn’t quite name.

Prince Vsevolod rode up to him. The Chernagors eyes shone, though his breath smoked each time he exhaled. “Is wonderful country, yes?” he boomed.

“I’m glad it pleases you, Your Highness,” Grus answered, as diplomatically as he could.

“Wonderful country,” Vsevolod repeated. “Not too hot like Avornis, with sweat all time in summer. Not cold all through winter, either. Just right.”

“To each his own,” Grus said.

“To each his own, yes.” Vsevolod seemed to cherish the cliché. “And Nishevatz—Nishevatz is my own.”

“May we soon set you back on the throne there, then,” Grus said, thinking, And if I never see you again, that will not disappoint you, and it will not disappoint me, either.

They’d come to the sea east of the town, and moved toward it until they made camp for the night. Grus took care to post sentries well out from the camp, to bring back warning if the Chernagors tried to strike. And, remembering the disaster that had almost befallen his army while fighting the Menteshe, he summoned Pterocles. “Be sure you drink your fill of wine this evening,” he told the wizard. “If you have to ease yourself, you’ll beat any sleep spell the enemy sends your way.”

Pterocles smiled. “I will set up sorcerous wards, too, Your Majesty,” he replied. “They will not take me by surprise twice the same way.”

“Good.” Grus nodded. “Do you have any idea what new surprises they’ll try to use?”

“If I did, they wouldn’t be surprises, would they?” Pterocles held the cheerful expression.

“Do you sense the Banished One?” Grus asked.

Now the wizard’s smile blew out like a candle flame. “So far, I have not, except in a general way. This is a land where he has an interest, but it is not a land where he is concentrating all his attention, the way he did when he laid me low.”

“He has other things on his mind right now,” Grus said, and Pterocles nodded. The king went on, “As long as Sanjar and Korkut keep whacking away at each other, the Banished One ought to worry most about the south.” Pterocles nodded again. Grus finished, “In that case, I hope they fight each other for the next ten years.”

“That would be nice,” Pterocles agreed, and some of his smile came back.

The army went on toward Nishevatz the next morning. Offshore, far out of bowshot or even catapult range, tall-masted Chernagor ships sailed along, keeping an eye on the Avornans. Grus wished he had tall ships of his own in these waters; the little flotilla Lanius sent out had come back to Avornis during the winter, having lost one ship, sunk several, and earned what the Chernagors of Durdevatz said would be their undying gratitude. Every so often here, one of these ships would sail off to Nishevatz, presumably to report on whatever its crew had seen. The rest kept on shadowing Grus’ army.

After a while, he got fed up with that and called for Pterocles again. “You made a magic against the Chernagor transports,” he said. “Can you use the same spell against these snoops?”

The wizard eyed the clouds and swirling mist overhead. He spread his hands in apology—or started to. His mule chose that moment to misstep, and he had to make a hasty grab for the reins. Some people really do ride worse than I do, Grus thought, amused. Pterocles said, “Your Majesty, I can try that spell. But it works best with real sunshine to power it. It may well fail.” He rode on for half a minute or so before something else occurred to him. “The Chernagors may have worked out a counterspell by now, too. These things do happen. Spells are often best the first time you use them, because then you catch the other fellow by surprise.”

“I see.” Trouble was, Grus did; what Pterocles said made altogether too much sense. Now the king rode thoughtfully for a little while before saying, “Well, when you see the chance, take it.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” Pterocles said.

As though to mock Grus’ hopes, a fine drizzle began sifting down out of the sky. Grumpily, he put on a broad-brimmed felt hat to keep the water off his face and to keep it from trickling down the back of his neck. “Remind the men to grease their mail well tonight,” he called to Hirundo. “Otherwise, it will rust.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hirundo promised.

But the drizzle also made it harder for the Chernagors aboard ship to watch the Avornan army. They had to come closer and closer to the shore, until finally they were almost within bowshot. Curses wafted across the water when one of them ran aground. Grus cursed, too, for he couldn’t do anything about it. There was no point to assembling his catapults to pound the ships when they would be as useless with wet skeins of hair as a bow with a wet string.

Hirundo shared his frustration, but said, “They’re still in trouble out there, whether we put them in trouble or not.”

“I suppose so,” Grus said. “I wish we could take better advantage of it, though.” He shrugged ruefully. “I wish for all sorts of things I won’t get. Who doesn’t?”

“Best way to take advantage is to take Nishevatz,” Vsevolod said. “When we take Nishevatz, we punish all traitors. Oh, yes.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of doing just that.

Grus wondered how much like Vsevolod his son Vasilko was. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Vasilko took after his father a great deal indeed. And if Vsevolod had followed the Banished One, would Vasilko have fled to the city of Avornis and bowed down to Olor and Quelea and the rest of the gods in the heavens? Grus wouldn’t have been surprised there, either. Whatever one of them chose, the other seemed to want the opposite.

That didn’t mean Vsevolod was wrong here. “We’ll do our best, Your Highness,” Grus said. “Then you should do your best.”

“Oh, I will,” Vsevolod said. “I will.” His tone suggested that what he meant by best was likely to be different from what Grus meant by the word. Whether what he thought best for him would also prove best for Nishevatz was liable to be an… interesting question.

I’ll worry about that later, Grus told himself. One thing at a time. Getting Vasilko out of Nishevatz, getting the Banished One’s influence out of Nishevatz— that comes first. Everything else can wait. If Vsevolod turns out to be intolerable, maybe I’ll be able to do something about it.

He rode on toward Nishevatz for a while. Then something else occurred to him. If a lot of people in Nishevatz hadn’t already decided Vsevolod was intolerable, would they have banded together behind Vasilko and helped him oust his father? Grus sighed. He looked over to the white-bearded Prince of Nishevatz. The longer he looked, the more he wished he hadn’t thought of that.

“Excuse me,” Limosa said. Ortalis’ wife got up and left the supper table faster than was seemly. When she came back a few minutes later, she looked more than a little green.

“Are you all right?” Lanius asked.

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.

“Maybe,” Grus said, “but he has enough enemies inside the walls, it would not be safe to have him go up to them.” He didn’t mention that most of the Chernagors inside Nishevatz had made it plain they preferred Vasilko to Vsevolod.

Beloyuz’s eyes said he knew what Grus was thinking. They also said he was grateful Grus had found a way not to come right out and say it. He bowed stiffly to the king. “All right, Your Majesty. Let it be as you say.”

With Avornan shieldmen accompanying him forward, Beloyuz approached the walls the next morning. One of the shieldmen carried a flag of truce, but they all remained very alert. They could not be sure the Chernagors would honor that flag. Beloyuz began to speak in the throaty, guttural, consonant-filled Chernagor language. Grus did not understand it, but he had a good idea of what the noble would be saying.

The defenders did not need to hear much before they made up their minds. They roared abuse at Beloyuz. Some of them shot arrows despite the flag of truce, but Grus didn’t think they were trying to hit the nobleman or his protectors. Beloyuz took no chances, but hastily retreated out of range. Grus didn’t see how he could blame him for that.

Vsevolod came over to Grus in high dudgeon, demanding, “Why I not go to wall?”

“I did not want the folk of Nishevatz to insult you, your Highness,” Grus replied, which was perhaps a tenth part of the truth.

“I do not worry over insults,” Vsevolod said. “I can tell folk of Nishevatz better than Beloyuz can.”

That’s what I was afraid of, Grus thought. He reminded himself he had to be tactful when speaking to Vsevolod. He needed to remind himself, because the temptation to tell the unvarnished truth was very strong. Choosing his words with care, then, he said, “The people of Nishevatz had heard you before, Your Highness, and did not decide to cast Vasilko out and bring you back into the city. I thought Beloyuz could give them a different slant on your virtues.” Such as they are, Your Highness. The only one Grus could think of offhand was Vsevolod’s genuine and sincere opposition to the Banished One.

With a sniff, Vsevolod drew himself up very straight. “I know my virtues better than any of my followers.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Grus hoped his resignation wasn’t too obvious—but if it was, he intended to lose no sleep over it. He said, “No harm done. Beloyuz didn’t persuade them, either, but he got away safe. Now we’ll go on with what we were going to do anyhow. We’re going to take Nishevatz away from Vasilko. That’s what we came here for, and that’s what we’ll do.”

Prince Vsevolod didn’t want to let him off the hook. “You say this before,” the Chernagor grumbled. “You say before, and then something else happen, and then you change mind.”

“I am allowed to defend my own homeland,” Grus said mildly. “But, with a better fleet on our east coast to guard against Chernagor pirates and with the Menteshe caught in their own civil war, I don’t think we’ll have to break things off this time.”

“Better not,” Vsevolod rumbled in ominous tones. “By gods, better not.”