King Lanius looked out from one of the towers of the royal palace. “They really are pulling back this time,” he remarked.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I do believe they are,” Lepturus agreed. “And about time, too.”
“They couldn’t take the city,” Lanius said with a certain amount of pride.
The guards commander nodded, but his eyes, as usual, were somber. “No, that’s true—they couldn’t,” he said. “But they’ve taken just about everything else—taken it or wrecked it or burned it. The northwest is going to be a long time getting over this—and so will the army.”
“That’s Corvus’ fault,” Lanius said, “his and Corax’s.”
“And Grus‘,” Lepturus added.
“Yes, and Grus‘, I suppose.” Lanius nodded. “If he hadn’t quarreled with Corax—” He kicked at the gray stone under his sandals. “From everything I’ve seen and heard, Corax is pretty easy to quarrel with.”
“Something to that,” the head of the bodyguards said. “And Grus did hurt the Thervings once they’d besieged us.”
“That’s more than you can say Corvus did after he got back to the city of Avornis,” Lanius remarked. “All he did was grumble and make stupid suggestions.”
Lepturus spoke in meditative tones. “As long as he’s here in the city of Avornis, it might not be the worst thing in the world if he stayed here awhile.”
“Hmm,” Lanius said. “You’re right—it might not be. He’s caused the kingdom a lot of trouble. Not much point to giving him the chance to make more, is there? See to it, Lepturus.”
“I’ll take care of it right now, Your Majesty.” Lepturus vanished down into the palace. Lanius watched him go, nodding approval at his broad back. From what he’d seen in his not very many years, most people promised to do something, then forgot all about it as they went off to do what they wanted to do instead. Not Lepturus. When he said he’d take care of something, he took care of it.
Except, this time, he didn’t. He sent a guardsman who found Lanius a couple of hours later, after the young king had come down from the tower and was working his way through some interesting—well, interesting to him—parchments he’d found in the archives. “Marshal Lepturus humbly begs your pardon, Your Majesty—” the bodyguard began.
That was plenty to get Lanius’ nose out of the old tax documents. “What’s gone wrong now?” he asked.
“We can’t arrest Count Corvus, on account of he isn’t in the city of Avornis anymore,” the bodyguard said. “Seems he went south as soon as the Thervings went west and left him a way home. Lepturus says it’d mean civil war to try to seize him there. Is it worth it to you?”
“No,” Lanius said. “Let him go.” At the time, he thought the decision made good sense. Corvus hadn’t actually moved against the Kingdom of Avornis. All he’d done—all!—was lose a battle he might not have fought, or might have won if he’d paid closer attention. That was bad, but it wasn’t really treasonous.
So Lanius calculated then. Lepturus didn’t try to change his mind. Later, they both had plenty of chances to wonder if they’d chosen rightly.
A few days afterward, Lanius rode out of the city of Avornis to look at the devastation the Thervings had caused and to promise people he and the royal government would do everything they could to make losses good. The promises made peasants look happier. Lanius knew too well they weren’t intended to do anything else. The royal government paid the soldiers who protected peasants from invaders—or, sometimes, didn’t protect them—but couldn’t do much more than that.
“It’ll be good when you come of age, Your Majesty,” Lanius heard at least a dozen times. “High time we had a man’s hand on things again.”
Like Arch-Hallow Bucco’s? Lanius wanted to ask. The cleric had made a worse hash of things than Queen Certhia, by far. Lanius was impatient to come of age, too, but not because he thought his mother had done a particularly bad job of ruling Avornis.
When he returned to the capital, he mentioned to Certhia what he’d heard. His mother’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I’ve heard the same,” she said, no small bitterness in her voice. “And it’s not from farmers who haven’t bathed since spring before last, either. It’s from people whose opinions carry weight and whose frowns are like a wasting sickness to my hopes. Corvus was a prop, but he knocked himself out from under me when he failed.”
“What will you do now?” Lanius asked.
“Find another prop, I suppose,” Queen Certhia answered. “But who?”
“Why not Commodore Grus?” Lanius said. “Out of all our leading officers, he’s the only one who didn’t end up looking like a fool or a knave.”
“Not if you hear Corvus or Corax tell it,” his mother said. “And besides, I tried to arrest him after he wouldn’t take the Heruls across the river. Do you think he would forget?”
“To prop up the government?” Lanius said. “I think he’d forget a lot for a chance like that.”
Certhia sniffed, but thoughtfully. “He’s not a noble. He can’t have any nasty, ambitious ideas, the way Corvus or Corax would. He’d be leaning on me as much as I’d be leaning on him.” She smiled. “The more I think about it, the better I like it.”
“Let’s hope it works well,” Lanius said.
His mother’s smile faded. “It had better,” she said. “I hate needing to lean on soldiers and sailors—it’s the drawback to being a woman. But you’re likely right—he’s the only real choice we’ve got.”
As Commodore Grus walked down the gangplank from the Crocodile to one of the quays of the city of Avornis, marines formed up around him. Trumpets and drums began to play, blaring out a fierce and martial music. Anyone listening to it would have thought he was entering the city in triumph. And so, in a manner of speaking, he was. The Thervings had gone back to their own kingdom, and he’d had something to do with that. In a war where most Avornan soldiers had fallen or fled, anyone who’d gained any success looked like a hero by comparison.
That was one reason Grus chose marines as his bodyguards. The other was that they came from the flotilla he’d commanded, and so were likelier to be loyal to him than men who didn’t know him.
The music got louder. Nicator looked at the scarlet silk tunics shot through with sparkling golden threads that the trumpeters and drummers were wearing. “How’d you like to have a shirt like that?” he asked.
“A little gaudy for my taste.” Grus pointed ahead. “And, speaking of gaudy, here come the royal bodyguards.”
They wore tunics—surcoats, really—even fancier than those of the musicians. They left them unbuttoned, too, to show off the gilded mailshirts that matched their gilded, crested helms. But despite those gorgeous uniforms, the men who wore them looked tough and capable. At their head marched Marshal Lepturus. Having dealt with him before, Grus knew he was tough and capable. The two men eyed each other, sizing each other up. Lepturus spoke first. “Welcome to the city.”
“Thanks,” Grus said. “Let’s see what we can do about getting things shipshape again, shall we?”
“Sounds good to me,” Lepturus answered. He turned and gestured to his men, who opened a lane up which two sedan chairs advanced. Queen Certhia got out of one, King Lanius out of the other. The bodyguards moved to form a protective screen between them and Grus’ marines.
Grus bowed low to the head of the regency council, then even lower to the king. “I’m proud to serve Avornis any way I can,” he declared.
Queen Certhia replied—not Lanius. “I’m pleased that you have come to help me restore good order in the kingdom.”
“We can use it, Your Royal Highness, after everything that’s happened this year,” Grus said.
King Lanius nodded. So did his mother. But, by the glance she shot Grus, she still judged some of what had happened this year—maybe more than some—was his fault and no one else’s. Even so, she said the right things. “I am delighted you will support the king and protect the land he rules.” If she looked as though the words tasted bad, how much did that matter?
I’ll find out, Grus thought. Aloud, he said, “Anyone who doesn’t support King Lanius is a traitor to Avornis. Anyone at all.” Corvus and Corax wouldn’t like that when they heard about it. Grus didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, they were already traitors, even if they hadn’t openly declared themselves.
Lepturus said, “When you get to the palace, Commodore, the royal bodyguards will be pleased to take over the job of protecting you and your family.”
Beside Grus, Nicator coughed. Grus needed no signal to recognize the danger that lurked—or might lurk—in that proposal. What he did need was a moment to figure out how to evade it without offending. After that moment, he said, “Thank you, Marshal, but the royal bodyguards should watch over His Majesty here, and over nobody else. My marines are plenty good enough for me. I think I’ll just keep them on, if nobody minds too much.”
“I would be happy to share my guardsmen with you, Commodore,” King Lanius said. “As you guard the kingdom, so they should guard you.”
“That’s very kind of you, Your Majesty,” Grus said, eyeing the young king with curiosity. Lanius was supposed to be clever. Was he clever enough to go along with Lepturus’ scheme for separating Grus from the men most loyal to him, or was he just naive and trying to be helpful? Grus couldn’t decide. He went on, “Any which way, though, the honor’s too much for the likes of me. I’ll stick with marines, the way I said before.”
“Are you sure we can’t change your mind?” Queen Certhia asked.
“Your Royal Highness, I’m positive,” Grus answered, and waited to see what would happen next. Certhia’s question convinced him that she and Lepturus and Lanius were all part of this ploy. Grus eyed the king again. He wasn’t anything special to look at—for his age, he was small and skinny. But he did look alert, and anything but naive. Sure as sure, he’d tried to get Grus away from the marines.
How desperate are they? Grus wondered. How much power have I really got? Better to find out here and now. If they kept on trying to thwart him… I’ll have to figure out what to do if they try that.
But they didn’t. Before either Certhia or Lepturus could speak, King Lanius said, “Let it be as you wish. You know best what you require.” His mother and the commander of the royal bodyguards both looked as though they wanted to say something more—Certhia bit her lip—but neither one did. They nodded at about the same time.
Well, well. Isn’t that interesting? Grus thought. Lanius wasn’t of age, but his word carried weight. That was worth knowing. Grus bowed to him once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate it. These boys here”—he gestured to the marines—“have been through a lot with me.”
“A commander should have loyal men,” Lanius said. “So should a king.”
His cheeks were still smooth, though the down on them was starting to turn dark. His voice remained a boy’s treble. Even so, Grus got the feeling that this child-king was very clever indeed. I’m going to have to watch myself. But all he asked was, “Have my wife and son and daughter moved to the palace yet?”
“Oh, yes,” Lepturus replied with a bland nod. “Royal bodyguards took care of that earlier this morning.” He smiled. His words meant, Your marines may watch you, but they can’t be everywhere at once.
“Thank you so much,” Grus said, as blandly. If anything happens to them, you pay.
“I’m sure they’ll be very comfortable there,” Queen Certhia said. For as long as we need you to do these things we can’t do for ourselves, she didn’t add. Again, Grus had no trouble hearing it even so. As soon as that’s taken care of, we’ll throw you out— if we decide to let you live, that is— and we’ll throw them out, too.
“I’m looking forward to doing everything I can,” Grus said.
For a wonder, King Lanius asked him a serious question. “How will you hold back Dagipert and the Thervings when Count Corvus couldn’t?”
“I’d be a liar if I said I knew all the answers yet, Your Majesty,” Grus replied. “The only thing I can promise is, I’ll do my best not to let Dagipert or anybody else catch me napping.”
“Good,” Lanius said. His mother and Lepturus didn’t seem to think it sounded quite so good. When Grus said he wouldn’t let anybody catch him napping, he’d included them along with everyone else. Plainly, they’d understood that.
Lanius had wondered whether having a protector in the palace would be like having his father back again. He didn’t remember King Mergus well; the older he got, the more he realized just how young he’d been when Mergus died. Grus didn’t remind him of the dead king, or try to fill Mergus‘—or even Lepturus’—place. He simply went about the business of trying to put Avornis back together again. Any kingdom that owed its survival only to the strong walls of its capital and to paying tribute needed rebuilding.
He wasted no time in summoning counts Corax and Corvus to the royal palace to account for themselves. He also summoned several other nobles close to the brothers. They all wasted no time in refusing him. Grus sent for them again, this time in King Lanius’ name.
As Lanius signed the orders, he asked Grus, “Why didn’t you summon them in my name in the first place?”
“Well, Your Majesty, if I’m the legal protector, my orders should be good on their own, shouldn’t they?” the naval officer replied. “The other side of the coin is, if they refuse me, it’s not quite treason. Now they’ve had that chance, and they’ve taken it when I wish they wouldn’t have. So we give it another try, this time with your signature. Maybe it won’t drive them into real rebellion. I hope it doesn’t.”
“Do you?” Lanius eyed him. “If you did, wouldn’t you not summon them at all? Wouldn’t you pretend nothing bad had happened?”
“Yes, I suppose I could do that, Your Majesty,” Grus said. “But if I did, who’d be running Avornis? Would you? Would I? Or would Corvus and Corax be calling the shots? If I’m going to play this part, I’ll play it to the hilt.”
“All right,” Lanius said. “That does make some sense. You’re not doing it just because you don’t get along with them.” He raised an ironic eyebrow.
“Why, Your Majesty!” Grus said, eyes widening. “Would I do such a thing?”
“Probably,” Lanius answered. “If people get to the top, one of the things they do is pay back their enemies.”
He watched Grus watching him. Grus’ mouth twitched. Anger? A suppressed smile? Lanius couldn’t tell. At last, the commodore said, “No, you’re no fool, are you?”
“I try not to be,” Lanius answered. “I’m never going to be a big, strong man. If I don’t use my head, what have I got going for me?”
“What? I’ll tell you what. You’re the king, that’s what,” Grus said.
“How long will I stay the king if I don’t know what I’m doing?” Lanius returned. He felt himself flushing, and hoped Grus wouldn’t see. “And even if I do stay king, what does it matter?”
Again, Grus thought before he spoke. When he did, he said, “The first part of that is a real question. As for the second, though, Your Majesty, being king matters a lot. Never doubt it. If it didn’t, why would so many people want the job?”
Lanius considered that. It was his turn not to answer for a while. He finally said, “There’s more to you than meets the eye, I believe. You think about these things.”
“Who, me?” Grus shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m just a tool your mother picked up on account of it was handy. She’ll use it till it does what she needs or till it breaks, whichever happens first. Then she’ll get herself another tool, and use that instead. If you don’t believe me, just ask her.”
Lepturus presumed to be sardonic in Lanius’ presence. So did his tutor. They both enjoyed an immunity based on long acquaintance. Grus didn’t. He spoke his mind anyhow. He spoke it as though he didn’t care what Lanius thought of him. Maybe he truly didn’t. Maybe he wanted Lanius to think he didn’t. The more Lanius saw of him, the deeper he seemed.
“What are you planning to do about the Thervings?” Lanius asked him. “That’s why you’re here, after all.”
“Can’t go fight ’em in their country, not the way things are,” Grus answered, and the king couldn’t disagree. “I can—I hope I can—pick generals who’re able to see past the end of their noses. And I can hold the city of Avornis, and King Dagipert knows I can, too. That means he can’t conquer the kingdom, no matter how much trouble he makes. It’s an edge for us.”
“Yes.” Lanius nodded. “You’re no fool, either.”
Grus only shrugged. “Like you said, I try not to be. If you don’t think I am, Your Majesty, I take that for a compliment. And now, if you’ll forgive me…” He bowed and left Lanius’ presence.
Before long, Queen Certhia came into Lanius’ room. “Well, you suggested him,” she said. “Now that he’s here, what do you think of him?”
“There’s more to him than meets the eye, isn’t there?” Lanius said after some thought.
“Yes, and I don’t know that I like it,” his mother answered. “He’s got a lot of his marines here inside the city of Avornis. They’re behaving most correctly, but they’re here, and that’s a worry.”
“Why?” Lanius said, and then, feeling the fool Grus had said he wasn’t, “Oh.” The walls of the capital could hold out Dagipert and the Thervings, yes. But they could also hold out anyone else who wanted—or needed—to get into the city of Avornis. That included soldiers who might need to come to the king’s rescue. “Can Lepturus do anything about it?”
Certhia shook her head. “I don’t think so. Grus’ men outnumber the royal guards. This is Grus’ city right now.” Her mouth tightened. “I didn’t intend for it to work out like that. He talks like a bumpkin, but he doesn’t act like one. That makes him more dangerous than I thought he was.”
“What are you going to do about it? What can you do about it?” Lanius asked.
His mother’s lips got even thinner and paler than they had been. “I don’t know, Son,” she said. “I don’t know that I can do anything, not when he has so many men here. Trying something and failing would be worse than not doing anything.”
“Yes, I think you’re right about that,” Lanius agreed. “Best you don’t try anything, then.”
“Best I don’t fail,” Queen Certhia said.
Grus drummed his fingers on the table in front of him. He glared across the table at his son. Ortalis glared back. That meant nothing. Ortalis always seemed to glare. Grus said, “Son, I don’t mind you bedding a serving girl. Boys do that, when they can. When I was your age, I got it wherever I could, too.”
“Then what are you bothering me for?” Ortalis asked sullenly.
“I’m bothering you because you had no business bruising her like that,” Grus snapped. “It wasn’t even that she said no, and you hurt her then. She said yes, and you hurt her just for the fun of it. Your fun, not hers.”
“So what?” Ortalis said. “She’s only a serving girl.”
“No. That’s not how it works,” Grus said. “For one thing, I got called here to protect Avornis from the Thervings. If you think I won’t protect Avornans from my own son if I have to, you’re wrong. And there’s something more. If you hurt your women, people start talking about you. They start laughing at you behind your back. They start doing the same about me, because I’m your father. Or they would. This is not going to happen again. Do you understand me?”
“She just wants money, the little whore. Give her some silver. That’ll shut her up,” Ortalis said.
“I’ve already given her some,” Grus said. “But she won’t keep quiet. She’ll say why she got it. People do things like that. They aren’t toys. You can’t put one here or move another one there and expect them to stay where you leave them. You can’t hurt them for the sport of it, either.”
He might have been speaking Chernagor for all the sense he made to Ortalis—he could see as much. His son’s eyes were opaque as jet, hard as glass. You do see people that way, don’t you? Grus thought sadly. As your toys, as your puppets. But they aren’t, and you’ll be sorry if you try to make them so.
“Are you done?” Ortalis asked at last.
“No.” Grus shook his head. “The next time you hurt a girl like that, I’ll hurt you worse. I promise you, I will. Do you believe me?”
Ortalis’ eyes weren’t opaque enough to hide fear. His father had the strength to check his viciousness. If Grus promised he’d suffer for doing something, he knew he might suffer. Looking away, he muttered, “I believe you.”
“Good. You’d better, because I mean it. Now get out of my sight,” Grus said.
Ortalis stormed from the room. Grus let out a long, sad sigh. Hard when I can’t trust my son at my back— gods-cursed hard. But he couldn’t, and he knew it. Ortalis could be more dangerous to him than King Dagipert ever dreamt of being. Grus drummed his fingers some more. What went wrong with him? He shrugged. He doubted he’d ever know.
After a moment, he shook his head. One of the things that had gone wrong with Ortalis was that Grus himself had done so little to raise him. How could I? he thought. I was keeping the Menteshe and the Thervings out of Avornis. That was true. He knew it was true. Also true was that the job had desperately needed doing. But still, had I been there more, would Ortalis have turned out better? Grus shrugged. He could think that likely, and he did, but he knew it wasn’t something he could be sure of.
Sosia’s fine, he reminded himself. But it wasn’t the same. Estrilda had always been there for their daughter. She’d been there for Ortalis, too, but that wasn’t quite the same, either. A mother and a grandfather couldn’t make up for a father who wasn’t there. Maybe Crex hadn’t tried enough to make Ortalis behave. On the other hand, maybe he’d tried too hard. Either way, he was with the gods now.
And how many people with you were with the gods now? Grus asked himself. The list seemed depressingly long. King Dagipert, perhaps some folk here in the palace, Count Corvus, Count Corax, the Avornan nobles who leaned their way, Prince Ulash and the other Menteshe lords down in the south, perhaps the Banished One behind the Menteshe… The Banished One, of course, wasn’t a person, or wasn’t merely a person.
As Kings of Avornis and others who’d held or longed for power in the kingdom for the past four hundred years had done, Grus thought, I wish I held the Scepter of Mercy. They would have to take me seriously then. He closed his eyes, to make the wish seem more real.
When he opened them again, his first thought was that someone had blown out the lamps in his chamber, leaving it in darkness. Fear slammed down a couple of heartbeats later, when he remembered it was the middle of the afternoon and no lamps were lit. Someone had stolen the light from the room—or rather, from his eyes—even so.
Small, soft, hungry noises came from the clotted darkness. Grus didn’t know what the creatures that made those noises were hungry for. He didn’t know, but he could guess. If they were hungry for anything but him, he would have been astonished. And what would be left of him once they’d fed? He didn’t want to think about that. No, he didn’t want to think about that at all.
As quietly as he could, he got to his feet. The small, soft noises were getting louder, as though whatever made them was getting closer. Grus blinked and blinked, however little it helped. But even though he couldn’t see the things making the noises, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Oh, no. It didn’t mean anything of the sort.
When Grus looked toward the doorway, he couldn’t see it. That left him unsurprised and also, somehow, unafraid. Plainly, he wasn’t meant to come out of this room alive. But just because he couldn’t see the door didn’t mean he didn’t know where it was. He started toward it, wondering if he would get there before the other things he couldn’t see tore him to pieces.
His hand scraped against the planks of the door. The latch was—where? He almost wept with relief when he found it and opened it. He could see no more out in the corridor than he could in his room. But his hearing, like his fingers, still worked. He’d put those small, hungry noises behind him, at least for a little while. Soon, though, they would come after him.
He blundered along the hallway, feeling for the wall like a blind man—which, at the moment, he was. “Commodore Grus!” someone exclaimed. “Is something wrong? Do you need a healer?”
“I need a wizard,” Grus answered hoarsely. “Someone’s… something’s… ensorcelled me. Quick!” He didn’t think he was hearing those noises with ears alone, but they were getting closer again.
The servant or soldier or whoever it was took off at a dead run. Grus did hear his sandals slapping against stone in the ordinary way. Grus went on down the corridor, too, still feeling his way along. Now, though, he was pursued. Whatever was after him had a good notion of where he was and in which direction he was moving. The noises still weren’t very loud, but they sounded hungrier than ever.
They’re going to catch me, Grus thought. Gods curse me if I’ll let them pull me down from behind. I’ll give them the best fight I can. He turned at bay. His right hand found the hilt of the knife he wore on his belt. Could it do any harm to these things? He didn’t know, but he intended to find out.
His left hand went to his throat. That was as much to protect a vulnerable place as for any other reason, but his fingers brushed against the amulet he wore under his shirt. Something close to hope caught fire in him. He’d worn that amulet for a long time, and it had warded him before. Turnix had said it was strong when he gave it to him. How strong was it? Grus knew he was about to learn.
He yanked out the amulet and clutched it tight. “Protect me, King Olor! Protect me, Queen Quelea! Protect me, all ye gods!” he gasped, hoping with every fiber of his being that Turnix hadn’t botched the spell. Turnix, unfortunately, had been known to do exactly that.
But not this time. The amulet didn’t completely return Grus’ sight—return Grus’ self—to what was known in the ordinary world. It gave him a glimpse of that world, though, as well as giving him a glimpse of the other world, the world into which the wizardry had cast him. It also gave him a glimpse of the creatures pursuing him in that world. The glimpse was blurry and shifting, as though through running water. He was glad it was no more distinct; most of him wished he hadn’t had it at all.
Those horrid creatures seemed to sense he could see them. They drew back in what might have been alarm. Was he as revolting to them as they were to him? He didn’t know. He didn’t much care, either. As long as they stayed away, what did why matter?
More running footsteps, these coming toward him. Some small part of him noted that the servant and the wizard—no, he realized after a moment; she was a witch—looked as fuzzy and indistinct as the creatures from the other plane of reality, and almost as appalling. But Grus had to rely on them, and especially on the witch. “Help me!” he cried. “I’m beset!”
The witch began a spell. Grus had no idea whether the woman could actually see the creatures or just sense them in some sorcerous way. That was one more thing he didn’t care about. He wished he couldn’t see them himself.
Whether the witch could see them or not, she knew which charm to use. In that curious half-vision of Grus‘, he watched the creatures turn tail—though they didn’t exactly have tails to turn—and run away. As they did, the last of the darkness lifted from his sight. With an almost audible snap, he returned completely to the real world he’d taken for granted up till a few minutes before.
“Well!” The witch sounded pleased and surprised. “I didn’t think that would work so nicely. Someone put a nasty sending on you, sir, a very nasty sending indeed. You’re lucky you lasted long enough to cry for help, let alone till it got to you.”
Grus stood there shaking. Sweat dripped from him. He’d never felt so drained in all his life. “I have—a good—amulet.” He had to force the words out one or two at a time.
“You must, sir. Truly, you must.” The witch liked to repeat herself.
“My thanks,” Grus told her, a little slower than he should have. And then, again a beat late, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Me, sir? I’m Alca.” The woman was a few years younger than Grus, her brown hair getting its first streaks of silver. Her face wore a look of intense concentration. Grus wondered whether that meant she was wise or simply shortsighted.
Alca was wise enough to have done the job. What else counted? Nothing Grus could see. He said, “Well, my friend, I can’t pay you back for what you did—who can give back fair payment for his life? But what I can give, believe me, I will.”
“Thank you, sir, but I didn’t do it for money,” Alca replied. “As I said, a very nasty sending. It deserved to be stopped, and I’m glad I could.”
“So am I, believe me!” Grus said. “Now the next question is, who would want me out of the way enough to try to get rid of me like that?”
“I… wouldn’t know, sir,” Alca said uncomfortably.
Grus needed a moment to realize why she sounded uncomfortable. When he did, he said, “Oh,” softly to himself. Then he asked Alca, “Whoever did this—the wizard, I mean, not the person who arranged for it—is here in the palace, isn’t he?”
Picking her words with care, Alca said, “I don’t know that for a fact, sir. But it does seem reasonable, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” Grus agreed. “And whoever wanted me dead is likely to be here, too, eh?”
He had good reasons for hoping it wasn’t the king. As the upstart son of Crex the Unbearable, he felt no small respect for a ruler who was about the dozenth member of his dynasty to come to the throne. He knew the people of Avornis felt the same way, too.
“Indeed, sir. May the gods forbid it,” Alca said. “His Majesty and… all those who work to make Avornis a better, safer place should fight our foreign foes, not one another.” She’d chosen her words with great care there, too, and had managed to sound loyal to King Lanius without sounding as though she opposed Grus. That couldn’t have been easy, and Grus admired her for it.
Since Alca had, after all, saved him from the sending, Grus thought he could ask, “Will you help me find out who did it?”
Alca licked her lips. “That depends. What will you do when you know?”
“That depends, too,” Grus answered. “Whatever I have to do. I didn’t come to the city of Avornis to let myself get killed, you know. I can’t very well worry about the Thervings if I’m dead.” He didn’t mention the Banished One. If a fallen god hated him enough to try to get rid of him, it wouldn’t be with anything so trivial as a sending. He eyed Alca, waiting to hear what the witch would say. If Alca said no, they wouldn’t stay friends even though she’d saved him.
But, after a long, long pause, she nodded. “Yes, I will do that. As I say, there are means, and then there are means. No one should use a black sending like that; it would sicken a Menteshe.”
That wasn’t quite how Grus had thought of it, but maybe it wasn’t so far removed, either. He said, “I’ll talk to each of them in turn, with you behind an arras. Will you be able to tell if I’m talking to a liar?”
“I believe so, sir,” Alca replied. “There are wards against truth spells, but those are also likely to reveal themselves.”
“All right, then,” Grus said. “Let’s get on with it.” He wanted to find out as soon as he could, before whoever’d come so close to killing him tried again.
When Lepturus came at a servant’s request, the guards commander asked, “You all right? Some funny stories are going through the palace.”
“And well they might.” Grus briefly explained what had happened, finishing, “I am… interested in getting to the bottom of this, you understand.”
“I should hope so,” Lepturus said. “I’ll tell you straight out, Commodore—I didn’t do it, and I don’t know who did. I don’t love you, but you haven’t done anything to make me want you dead.” He scowled. “I don’t like a lot of the thoughts I’m thinking.”
“I’m thinking them, too, and I don’t like them, either.” Grus nodded to the marshal. Face full of thunderclouds, Lepturus left. Alca emerged from behind the arras. “Well?” Grus demanded.
“He spoke the truth,” the witch answered. Grus nodded. He’d thought so, too. He sent out another servant to ask Queen Certhia to see him.
One look at her face when she saw him hale told him everything he needed to know, even without Alca’s help. He asked a short, sad question—“Why?”
“To keep you from stealing the throne from my son,” she said. “Your men are everywhere in the city. Even a blind beggar could tell what you were up to, and I’m not blind. I’m not sorry I did it. I’m only sorry it didn’t work.”
Maybe she didn’t know what sort of sending her wizard had used. Maybe. Grus said, “You’re wrong. I meant no such thing.” Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe. He went on, “But now, I’m afraid, you’ve forced my hand.”