The Scepter's return

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

King Grus sat on the Diamond Throne, the Scepter of Mercy in his right hand. When he rested his arm on the arm of the throne, the base of the Scepter fit perfectly into a small depression there. He smiled to himself. He'd noticed that depression before, but he'd never really thought about why the throne had it.

Up the central aisle of the throne room toward him came a big, burly Therving named Grimoald. He had a hard, ruddy face, a thick, graying tawny beard, and graying tawny hair tied back in a braid that was not the least bit effeminate. Coupled with the wolfskin jacket he wore, he looked almost as much like a beast as a man.

The royal guardsmen in front of the throne must have thought the same thing, for they bristled like dogs scenting a wolf. Grimoald, however, affected not to notice that. He bowed low before Grus. In good if gutturally accented Avornan, he said, "Your Majesty, I bring you greetings and congratulations from my master, King Berto of Thervingia."

"I am always happy to have King Berto's greetings, and I send him my own," Grus replied. "I am also happy that his kingdom and mine have lived side by side in peace for so long, and I hope they go on living in peace for many years to come."

He meant every word of that. Berto's father had come much too close to conquering Avornis. King Dagipert had also almost succeeded in marrying Lanius to his daughter, which would have left him the dominant influence in the kingdom and his grandson, if he had one, probably King of both Avornis and Thervingia. Berto, however, was peaceable and pious by nature — proof, if proof was needed, that sons often differed greatly from their fathers.

Berto's ambassador bowed again. "You are gracious, Your Majesty. My sovereign sent me here as soon as word reached him that the Scepter of Mercy had come back to the city of Avornis after its, ah, long absence. I see the news was true." He stared at the Scepter with poorly disguised wonder. His eyes were blue, though not nearly as blue as the gem topping the talisman.

"Yes, it is true," Grus agreed. "King Lanius and I both did everything we could to bring the Scepter out of Yozgat. Between us, we managed." He might have bragged of his own accomplishments. He might have, yes, if he hadn't been holding the Scepter of Mercy. It didn't approve of boasting, at least not about matters involving it.

Even his modesty was plenty to impress Grimoald. "His Majesty, King Berto, has a favor to ask of you, if your kindness stretches so far," the Therving said.

"I would hear it first," Grus said. He was glad to find the Scepter didn't keep him from being normally cautious.

"Of course," the envoy said. "My king wonders whether he would be welcome if he made a pilgrimage here to see the Scepter of Mercy with his own eyes."

"He would be very welcome," Grus said, not hesitating for even a moment. "Nothing would make me happier than entertaining him here. King Lanius has met him, I believe. I have not had the privilege, though I did meet his father." They'd tried to kill each other, too, but he didn't mention that.

Grimoald's eyes glinted. He was old enough to remember the days when Thervingia and Avornis fought war after war. Maybe he longed for those days. Grus wouldn't have been surprised if a lot of Thervings did; they had always been a fierce folk, and it would likely take more than the reign of one peaceable king to make them anything else. But they hadn't risen against Berto, not once in all the years since he succeeded Dagipert.

Whatever Grimoald's opinion of days gone by might have been, he made a good, solid diplomat. Bowing to Grus once more, he said, "I shall convey your generous invitation to His Majesty. I am sure he will be eager to make the journey."

"Good," Grus said. "And of course there will be gifts for an envoy on such welcome business."

Grimoald bowed yet again. "You are much too kind, Your Majesty. I expected nothing of the kind."

"Well, whether you expected it or not, it's my pleasure," Grus said. Gifts for ambassadors were commonplace — as Grimoald no doubt knew perfectly well. Elaborate custom regulated the ones between the Chernagor city-states and Avornis. Arrangements with Thervingia were less formal, which meant Grus could be more lavish if he chose. Here, he did choose. Grimoald struck him as an able man, one he wanted well disposed toward him and toward his kingdom.

The Therving said, "You can be sure I will do everything I can to make Avornis appear in the best possible light." He understood why Grus was giving him presents, then. Good.

After Grimoald had made his final bows and left the throne room, Grus descended from the Diamond Throne. "A King of Thervingia visiting here?" said one of his guardsmen, a veteran — the soldier was perhaps forty-five, not far from Grimoald's age. "Not hardly like it was in the old days, and that's the truth. If Dagipert had, ah, visited here, he would've torn the palace down around our ears."

"Yes, the same thing crossed my mind," Grus answered. "And do you know what else? I'll bet it crossed Grimoald's, too. He had that look in his eye."

"D'you think so?" the guardsman said. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised. I wonder if we tried to murder each other, him and me, back when Berto's old man sat on their throne."

"It could be," Grus said. "Here's one more thing, though." He paused. The royal guardsman nodded expectantly. Grus continued, "It's better this way." The guardsman nodded again, this time in complete agreement.

Lanius approached the Scepter of Mercy furtively, almost as though he were sneaking up on it. He wasn't really, of course.

He couldn't, not when so many guardsmen watched it all the time. No one was going to make off with it again, not if the two Kings of Avornis had anything to say about it.

The guardsmen bowed and saluted their sovereign. Lanius nodded back, trying to hide his apprehension. He closed his hand on the Scepter and lifted. Up it came from the velvet cushion on which it rested. Lanius breathed a silent sigh of relief and set it down again.

"That's a marvelous thing, Your Majesty," a guard said.

"Yes, isn't it?" Lanius agreed. He didn't tell the guardsman — he didn't intend to tell anyone — the Scepter had let him pick it up even though he'd sneaked a serving girl into the archives. Whatever it expected of Kings of Avornis, it didn't insist on sainthood. He hadn't been sure. Had things turned out the other way, he would have been as penitent as he could — and he would have put the maidservant aside. Maybe that would have been enough. He could hope so, anyway.

"Is it really true that one of your moncats stole the Scepter out of Yozgat?" the guardsman asked.

"It's really true," Lanius said solemnly. "And if you don't believe me, you can ask Pouncer."

The soldier started to nod, then stopped and sent him a look somewhere between quizzical and aggrieved. Lanius smiled to himself as he went on his way. He didn't want people taking him for granted.

King Grus came around the comer. "What are you looking so pleased about, Your Majesty?" Grus asked. "The Scepter?"

"Well, yes, in a manner of speaking." Lanius looked back over his shoulder to make sure the guardsman couldn't hear, then explained how he'd confused the man.

He got a laugh from Grus. "You never know — maybe the moncat would tell him," the other king said.

"Maybe Pouncer would," Lanius agreed. "With that beast, you never know for sure until you see what happens."

"Maybe the gods in the heavens were working through him," Grus said. "We'll never know, not for certain."

"Maybe." But Lanius went on, "I can't imagine a better disguise for a god than a moncat."

That made Grus laugh again. "No doubt you're right. At least the Banished One didn't get into him." The other king was joking, but Lanius felt a chill all the same. The Banished One probably could have done something like that. Why hadn't he? The only answer that occurred to Lanius was that, if the exiled god despised people, wasn't he likely to despise animals even more?

Lanius didn't say that out loud. No dreams had troubled him since the Scepter came back to the capital, but who could say how long the Banished One's reach was even now? Instead, the king changed the subject. "So Berto truly is coming? It's been a long time since I've seen him. I was still a boy."

"Berto's really coming. Yes, indeed." Grus nodded. "Grimoald should be back in Thervingia by now, telling him we'd be glad to see him. And you're one up on me, because I've never set eyes on the man. Dagipert… Dagipert's a different story."

"In all kinds of ways," Lanius said, and Grus nodded once more. Lanius went on, "It's funny, you know, that Berto's more pious than we are." He thought of his sport with the serving girl. The Scepter of Mercy had forgiven him — either that, or found there was nothing that needed forgiving. "Of course, he knows less than we do, too." He mouthed Milvago's name, but didn't say it aloud. "A good thing, too," he finished. "If Thervingia had pitched into us while we were fighting the Chernagors or the Menteshe…"

"Yes, that's a nightmare right there, isn't it?" Grus said. "I worried about it for a while after Dagipert died. I couldn't believe that iron-handed old tyrant would have a son who cared for nothing but praying. Only goes to show you never can tell, doesn't it?"

"It does indeed." Lanius favored Grus with a brief but speculative glance.

To his acute embarrassment, his father-in-law burst out laughing one more time. Grus aimed an accusing finger at him. "By Olor's beard, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you're looking at another iron-handed old tyrant."

"You're not a tyrant," Lanius blurted. Grus laughed harder than ever. Lanius got more embarrassed than ever.

"Oh, dear," Grus wheezed at last. "The worst of it is, you're not even slightly wrong. I'm never going to be young again, that's for sure. And the Chernagors and the Menteshe and a good many Avornan nobles will tell you what an iron-handed rogue I am. Come to that, those Avornan nobles will likely call me a tyrant, too.

"I didn't," Lanius said virtuously.

"So you didn't," Grus agreed. "And the Scepter of Mercy doesn't think I'm a tyrant, either, or it wouldn't let me pick it up. And do you know what? I care more about what it thinks than I do about any Avornan noble."

Lanius had no idea whether the Scepter thought in manlike terms. He was inclined to doubt it. But he knew what the other king meant all the same. "Oh, yes," he said, remembering his relief of a little while before. "The Scepter is an honest judge."

Grus smiled. "Do you want to know something funny?"

"I would love to know something funny," Lanius answered.

"Right this minute, I hardly know how to be king," his father-in-law said. "We haven't got any enemies. The Chernagors are quiet. The Menteshe are quiet. The King of Thervingia isn't just quiet — he's coming here on a pilgrimage. Even our nobles are quiet. What am I supposed to do? Sit on the Diamond Throne and twiddle my thumbs?" He started twiddling them even though he wasn't on the throne.

"There are worse troubles to have," Lanius said, and started twiddling his own thumbs. Grus chuckled. Lanius went on, "Enjoy the quiet while you can, because it won't last. It never does. The Chernagors will get bored not being piratical. Sooner or later, Korkut or Sanjar is bound to win that civil war. Then the Menteshe will start trying to take bites out of what we've won south of the Stura, and maybe on this side of the river, too. They don't need the Banished One to make them want to raid us."

"This thought had already crossed my mind," Grus said.

"Things won't stay quiet forever inside Avornis, either," Lanius added. "Somebody with a lot will decide that, however much he has, it isn't enough. And he'll blame you — or maybe me — for that, and he'll start making trouble. I don't think it'll happen tomorrow, but I don't think we'll have to wait very long, either."

"That all sounds sensible. You usually do make good sense, Your Majesty. So I'll have things to worry about again, will I? My heart wouldn't break if I didn't," Grus said.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to. Things work that way," Lanius said.

Grus only shrugged. "Do you know what else? After bringing the Scepter back, getting excited about any of them won't be easy." Lanius thought the other king was joking, then took a second look at him and decided he wasn't.

In Ortalis' dream, he held Avornis in the palm of his hand. The kingdom was his, and rightfully his. He didn't know what had happened to his father or to Lanius, but they weren't around to give him trouble. He did know that.

"You see?" the Voice told him. "You can do it. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't do it. This kingdom belongs to you. They may try to keep you from taking what's yours, but they won't get away with it, will they?"

"No!" dream-Ortalis said.

"Avornis is yours, and Marinus' after you. Isn't that right?" the Voice asked.

"You'd better believe it is!" dream-Ortalis answered.

"And if they do try to steal your birthright? What will you do then?" the Voice inquired. "What can you do then?"

"Punish them!" dream-Ortalis exclaimed.

"How would you do that?" the Voice asked, as smoothly and suavely as though it were at some elegant reception.

Ortalis' response was anything but elegant. "With whips!" he shouted. "With whips, until they scream for mercy. Or maybe I'd take them out to the woods and… and hunt them! Yes, maybe I'd do that!" Excitement surged through him. His father and Lanius and even Anser had kept him from ever really hunting people. In his dreams, though, it was perfectly all right. In his dreams, in his special dreams, everything went just the way he wanted.

"Once you caught them, you could mount their heads on the wall of the royal bedchamber," the Voice mused. "They would look good there."

"They might," Ortalis murmured. "Yes, they just might."

"Might what?" Limosa asked, breaking off the dream and returning Ortalis to everyday reality. It seemed much less real than the bright, vivid scene he'd just left. His wife, oblivious, went on, "You were talking in your sleep."

"Was I?" Ortalis blinked, there in the darkness of his bedroom. The brilliant light by which he'd seen things in his mind's eye was gone, gone. Yet the sense of excitement he'd felt in his dreams remained. There was excitement, and then there was excitement. "Maybe I was thinking I might do… this." He reached for Limosa.

She squeaked as his hands roamed her. "What? In the middle of the night?" she said, as though the very idea were a crime against nature. She shoved him away.

When she did something like that, it only excited him more. "Yes, in the middle of the night," he said, and began to caress her again.

If she'd kept on struggling, he would have taken her by force. He enjoyed that, though it appealed to Limosa less than the special thrill of the whip. But she must have decided he was going to do what he wanted whether she came along or not, and that she would have a better time coming along. Instead of trying to fight him off, she began to stroke him in turn and to urge him on.

He needed very little urging. He drove home, again and again, until Limosa gasped and shuddered beneath him. A moment later, he spent himself, too. "Maybe you should talk in your sleep more often," Limosa purred.

"Maybe I should," Ortalis said. He stood up, used the chamber pot, and lay down again. Sleep came quickly, but all his dreams were ordinary.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt vaguely cheated. Not even Limosa's smile, bright as the sunshine outside, could drive that feeling away from him. In his dreams, his special dreams, he was everything he was supposed to be, and everything went the way he wanted it to. And the Voice was there, urging, explaining, supporting. The Voice seemed more real and more full of character than most of the people he knew in the clear light of day.

He called a servant, and told the man to have his breakfast and Limosa's brought to the bedchamber. "Yes, Your Highness," the man said, and hurried away.

"You don't want to eat with the king?" Limosa asked.

"No, not today," Ortalis answered, and let it go at that. She meant Lanius, of course. But Ortalis' father was back in the palace, too, and the prince especially did not want to eat with him.

"I hope His Majesty won't be offended," Limosa said.

"It'll be all right." Ortalis didn't much care whether it would or not. But he thought it would. Lanius was soft. Even when he was slighted, he hardly seemed to notice most of the time.

Ortalis laughed. I know better than that, he thought. He never forgot an insult. One of these days, I'll pay everybody back for everything. Lanius, Anser, his father — everyone. He was starting to get the feeling that that day wasn't so far away, either.

A knock on the door said breakfast had arrived. Ortalis took the tray from the servant and brought it back to the bed. It wasn't anything fancy — barley porridge enlivened with chopped onions and chunks of sausage, with wine to wash it down — but it was good, and it filled the belly.

Limosa put on a tunic and a long skirt. "I'm going to see how the children are," she said.

"All right," Ortalis answered. "Better Marinus' howling while he's teething should keep a nursemaid up half the night than that it should bother us."

"Well, yes," Limosa said, "but plenty of people who don't have the money for nursemaids have children, too. They must get through teething and sick babies by themselves, or there wouldn't be any more people."

"Gods know how they manage it," Ortalis said.

"What will you do today?" Limosa asked.

"Beats me," Ortalis said cheerfully. He lay down on the bed again. "Maybe I'll just go back to sleep." He hoped he could. He wished he could. The kingdom of his special dreams and the seductive soothing of the Voice were ever so much more attractive than the mundane reality of the Kingdom of Avornis.

His wife's sniff told him that wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. "They're your children, too," she said pointedly.

"I'll be along in a while," he said. If that didn't make her happy, too bad.

She knew better than to push an argument very far with him. "All right," she said, and left the bedchamber.

Ortalis did lie down again. But, no matter how he tried, sleep would not come.

From the city of Avornis, the Bantian Mountains were barely visible — a purple smear on the horizon on a clear day, a smear that vanished with the least fog or haze. Here on the frontier between Avornis and Thervingia, the mountains' saw-backed shape defined the boundary between land and sky.

King Grus and his soldiers waited for King Berto to cross over the border. Grus had waited with soldiers for King Dagipert to cross the border, too. Then he'd waited — and waited anxiously — to do battle. Now the soldiers were an honor guard.

One of his guardsmen pointed east. "Here come the Thervings, Your Majesty," the man said.

Grus shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand. "You're right," he said after a moment. "Is that Berto, there in the middle? The one whose beard is going gray?" He wasn't sure just how old Berto was. Older than Lanius and younger than he was himself, but that covered a lot of ground.

"I think so, Your Majesty," the guardsman replied. "Yes — I'm sure it is. He's wearing a coronet."

Even as he spoke, the King of Thervingia's gold circlet flashed in the sun. Grus nodded. "Well, so he is. He doesn't have very many men with him, does he?" The troopers who rode with Berto were far fewer than the men accompanying Grus. If he'd wanted to… But he didn't. If Dagipert had given him a chance like this, he would have been sorely tempted. Dagipert, of course, had been far too canny ever to make such a mistake.

Chuckling, Grus remembered his last meeting with Berto's father. They'd each rebuilt part of a bridge over the Tuola River, a bridge that had long been cast down to help keep the Thervings out of the heartland of Avornis. They'd spoken across a gap too wide to let either reach the other with a weapon. And after the parley, Avornans and Thervings wrecked what they'd built.

These days, the bridge over the Tuola stood again. Grus had crossed it on the way to the border. Therving traders and Avornan merchants went over it every day. Soldiers — soldiers in arms, anyhow — didn't seek to cross it. That was why it stood again.

Berto had almost reached the granite pillar that marked the border. Dagipert had knocked that pillar over not long after the start of his reign, but it too stood once more. Grus waved to the approaching King of Thervingia. "Welcome, Your Majesty!" he called, first in Avornan, then in Thervingian. He didn't speak much of the latter, but he'd made sure to learn that phrase.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Berto answered, first in his own tongue, then in almost accentless Avornan. He kept on using Grus' language as he continued, "I am glad to enter your kingdom as a peaceful pilgrim."

"And we are glad to have you here." Grus rode up to the pillar, but not an inch beyond. He held out his hand. Berto took it. His clasp was stronger than Grus had expected. He might not be a warrior, but he was no weakling.

Berto rode past Grus and into Avornis. "It's been many years since I've seen your capital," he said, and smiled. "This time, my people won't have to besiege it to let me get inside."

Grus smiled back. "You've always been welcome to visit, Your Majesty, as long as you didn't try to bring your whole kingdom along."

"Here I am," Berto said. "I think the men I have with me will be plenty. In fact, I think I could have come alone and been as safe as though I'd stayed at home — maybe safer. Any man who could use the Scepter of Mercy, any man who could bring it back from the south, would not betray his trust with a guest."

And what am I supposed to say to that? Grus wondered. The first thing that came into his mind and out of his mouth was, "You do me too much credit."

"I don't think so," Berto said. "The Scepter of Mercy!" His gray eyes went wide with what Grus slowly recognized as awe. 'Real proof that the gods in the heavens care about us and care for us."

"Well, so it is." Grus didn't mention that it seemed to him to be proof the gods in the heavens didn't care about the material world very much. If they had, would they have let the Scepter stay lost for so many centuries? Would they have let so many generations of thralls live and die one short step above beast-hood? Grus suspected they worried more about the Banished One and his chances of storming into the heavens again than about Avornis or Thervingia or anything else merely human.

He didn't say any of that to Berto. If the other king wanted to believe in merciful gods who watched over him, why not? Grus wished he could do the same.

"Shall we go on, then, Your Majesty?" Berto said.

"I am at your service, Your Majesty," Grus replied. He waved to his men. They all swung their horses back toward the east, back toward the city of Avornis. Dust kicked up from the animals' hooves as they began to walk. Grus smiled again. Going places at a walk was a pleasure, a luxury, all by itself. He'd spent a lot of years trying to get from here to there in a tearing hurry. Right this minute, he didn't have to, and he wanted to savor the sensation of slowness.

Cattle and sheep grazed in the meadows. Farmers tended their fields — harvest time wasn't far away. When Dagipert warred against Avornis, this province west of the Tuola had been a ravaged wasteland, fought over and plundered by both sides. Peace had a lot to be said for it.

"I've always wanted to meet you," Berto said. "My father admired you greatly."

"Did he?" Grus hoped he didn't sound too surprised. "I always had great respect for him, too." In less polite language, that meant, He scared the whey out of me. "He was a formidable man."

"He would say, 'The cursed Avornans found somebody who knew what he was doing, and just in the nick of time.' " Berto's voice was mild, on the border between tenor and baritone. He deepened and roughened it to give a pretty good impression of the way his father had sounded. He went on, "I mean no offense — that was how he talked. And he'd say, 'If not for that miserable Grus, I'd have Avornis in my belt pouch.' "

Dagipert had come close as things were. Grus said, "Both sides spilled a lot of blood and a lot of treasure. You should always be able to fight at need, but you shouldn't go looking for the need all that often."

"I agree," Berto said, and said no more.

Once again, Grus wondered how he would have done if he'd had to worry about Thervingia along with the Chernagors and Menteshe. Not very well, he thought. Yes, who would have imagined the ferocious Dagipert could have a peaceable, pious son? Grus sent a sudden, startled glance upward. Maybe the gods in the heavens did.

"What is it?" Berto asked.

"Nothing," Grus answered. Then, because he was an honest man (except sometimes when he was talking to his wife), he added, "I don't think it's anything, anyway." It certainly wasn't anything he or Lanius or Pterocles would be able to prove. The most they would ever be able to do was wonder.

To his relief, King Berto proved incurious. "All right." he said, and let it go at that. The two sovereigns and their retinues rode deeper into Avornis.

The gates to the city of Avornis stood open. Lanius waited on his horse not far outside the one that faced west. Beside him, looking much more comfortable on horseback, sat Anser. The arch-hallow had other things than horsemanship to worry about today. "I'm not used to riding in these robes," he muttered. The crimson vestments of his office were indeed a far cry from the hunting clothes he usually chose when he got on a horse.

"Can't be helped," Lanius said. "King Berto expects you to look like a holy man."

"I know. I'll do it," Anser said. "He doesn't know just what he's getting, though, does he?"

"He's getting the arch-hallow," Lanius told him. "That's all he has to worry about." He looked down the road that led to Thervingia, the road along which so much trouble for Avornis had come in years gone by. The dust from Berto's followers and Grus' had been visible for some little while. Now he could make out the horses that were kicking it up. "They won't be long."

"So they won't," Anser agreed. "I'll show Berto the great cathedral, and then he'll go over to the palace and slobber on the Scepter of Mercy."

That was inelegant, which didn't make it any less likely to be true. Up rode King Grus and King Berto. Grus bowed in the saddle and nodded to Lanius. "Your Majesty, I am pleased to present to you His Majesty, King Berto of Thervingia."

Lanius held out his hand to Berto. "We've met before, Your Majesty."

The Therving had been smiling before. His smile got broader now. "Why, so we have. I was not sure you would remember."

"Oh, yes," Lanius said, although in fact he could not recall Berto's face. "Welcome to the city of Avornis." He waved back toward the open gate. "You are welcome here."

No Therving, not even the mighty Dagipert, had ever forced his way into the capital. But Berto hadn't tried to force his way in; he came in peace. He was looking from Anser to Grus and back again. More than Ortalis back at the palace, Anser favored his father. Berto didn't remark on it, not out loud. All he said was, "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Most Holy."

"And I yours, Your Majesty. I hope the gods in the heavens looked over you on your way here and gave you a safe and pleasant journey." Though not an especially holy man, Anser could sound like one when he had to.

"Yes, thank you," Berto said. "I so look forward to seeing the great cathedral once more — and then, perhaps, if all of you would be so kind, the Scepter of Mercy itself?"

"Without a doubt, Your Majesty," Lanius said. Grus nodded. Anser's expression was full of I-told-you-so.

Along with his followers, the two Kings of Avornis, the arch-hallow, and the men who had ridden with Grus, King Berto rode over the drawbridge and entered the capital. Local citizens came out to cheer him. The older ones no doubt had fearful memories of less friendly Therving visits to the neighborhood of their city, but Dagipert had been dead for a good many years now. Palace officials made sure the crowd was friendly, sometimes with small bribes. That had been Grus' idea; Lanius, who wouldn't have thought of it himself, admired it all the more because he wouldn't have.

King Berto pointed toward the great cathedral's spire, a landmark that stood out more than the palace's disorderly sprawl. "It's as splendid as I remember, leaping to the heavens," Berto said. "Will the arch-hallow lead a service for me?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. I would be honored," Anser said smoothly. And when they got inside the cathedral, he did a perfectly capable job of saying the required prayers and chanting the hymns that went with them. How deeply he felt what he was doing — indeed, whether he felt it at all — was a different question, but, with luck, not one that occurred to the King of Thervingia.

The more obvious question had occurred to Berto. "He looks like you," he murmured to Grus during a lull in the services.

Lanius wondered how the other king would handle that. "D'you think so?" Grus answered, his voice bland. But then he relented. "He is my son, Your Majesty, but on the wrong side of the blanket, if you know what I mean."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Berto did his best to look worldly-wise. "You seem to have found a good place for him here, for I can tell how much he loves the gods."

That meant Anser made a better actor than Lanius had suspected. If Berto had spoken of the chase… There, the arch-hallow's enthusiasm was altogether unfeigned. Well, Anser had earned some good hunting with his performance here today.

Berto bowed and knelt and prayed and chanted with unfeigned enthusiasm of his own. Lanius tried his best to match, or at least to appear to match, the King of Thervingia's piety. He noticed Grus doing the same thing. His eye slid to the Thervings who'd accompanied their king to the city of Avornis. They also did not seem to be merely going through the motions. Maybe they were as sincere as Berto, or maybe, like courtiers everywhere, they simply had the sense to follow him in whatever direction he went.

"Coming here does my soul good," Berto said when the service ended. "This wonderful building reminds me how important the gods are to us all. You Avornans are so lucky, to be able to worship here whenever you please." He paused. Lanius and Grus both nodded politely. Neither said anything. Berto went on, "Would it be… could it be possible for me to see the Scepter of Mercy now?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Lanius and Grus said together. Lanius added, "The palace is only a short walk away."

Queen Estrilda waited at the entrance. So did Queen Sosia, with Crex and Pitta. And so did Prince Ortalis and Princess Limosa, with Capella and baby Marinus. King Berto was unfailingly polite to the rest of the Avornan royal family. It was plain, though, that they interested him not in the least. And why-should they have? Next to the Scepter of Mercy, they were only… people.

Lanius hoped the servants had gotten all the trophies won in battle against the Thervings out of sight. He didn't want to remind Berto how often their kingdoms had clashed in days gone by.

Guardsmen drew themselves up to stiff attention as the three kings came up to the Scepter of Mercy. "How beautiful it is!" Berto whispered. "That jewel… Yes, you are lucky, all of you. You tempt me to go to war to carry it back to Thervingia." He laughed. "That is a joke, my friends. No one who does not serve the Banished One could want to take the Scepter away from its proper home."

If it was a joke, Lanius found it far from funny. He thought of a way to test it. He lifted the Scepter of Mercy and handed it to Grus, hoping the other King of Avornis was thinking along with him. And Grus was. Most ceremoniously, he passed the Scepter to Berto.

The King of Thervingia gasped at the honor the Avornans had done him. And it was an honor. But it was also a test. If he wanted to steal the Scepter, wouldn't it sense as much and not let him hold it? So Lanius reasoned, anyhow.

But King Berto had no trouble holding the Scepter. An exalted look spread over his face. "In my hands," he murmured. "In my hands.." He bowed deeply to Lanius and to Grus, then returned the Scepter of Mercy to Lanius. "I prove myself worthy of it by giving it back."

At that, Lanius and Grus both bowed to him. "We realized the same thing, Your Majesty," Lanius said respectfully. "If the Scepter has a secret, that is it." And it was a secret the Banished One would never, ever understand.