"Good luck," Grus told him. "Part of what makes being free, being a whole man, worthwhile is that it isn't simple. You may not always believe that, or want to believe it, but it's true."
Otus went on his way scratching his head. Grus hoped he would work things out with Fulca, for her sake as much as for his. She didn't know enough yet to have an easy time as a free woman. If she had to, though, Grus suspected she would get along. Just how much would Avornis gain from the suddenly released talents of so many thralls? More than a little – he was sure of that.
At the midwife's suggestion, Limosa had nursed Marinus for the first few days after he was born. Lanius remembered Netta giving Sosia the same advice after she bore Crex and Pitta. She'd said babies whose mothers did that ended up healthier. That had persuaded Sosia, and it persuaded Limosa, too.
After those first few days, Limosa let her own milk dry up and brought in a wet nurse. With Sosia as grumpy as she was, Lanius wondered how she would react to a woman who often bared her breasts in the palace. That turned out not to be an issue. The wet nurse Limosa hired was almost as wide as she was tall, and had eyes set too close together, a big nose, and a mean mouth. Maybe Limosa was taking no chances with Ortalis, too.
Not long after Marinus' birth, the winter turned nasty. Three blizzards roared through the city of Avornis one after another, snarling the streets, piling roofs high with snow, and making Lanius wonder whether the Banished One had decided to use the weather as a weapon after all. As the city began to dig out, several people were found frozen to death in their homes and shops. That happened after almost every bad storm, but it worried the king all the same.
And then the sun came out. It got warm enough to melt a lot of the snow – not quite springlike, but close enough. Here and there, a few prematurely hopeful shoots of grass sprouted between cobblestones.
Lanius laughed at himself. Plucking one of those little green shoots outside the palace, he held it under Grus' nose. 'This probably won't be a winter like that dreadful one," he said.
He must have held the shoot too close to Grus' nose, for the other king's eyes crossed as he looked at it. "I'd say you're right," Grus answered. "Of course, there's still some winter left. Other thing is, just because he's not sending snow and ice at us doesn't mean he won't do something."
"And here I wanted to be happy and cheerful," Lanius said. "How am I supposed to manage that when you keep spouting common sense at me?"
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." Grus bowed almost double; he might have been a clumsy servant who'd dropped a pitcher of wine and splashed Lanius' robe. "I'll try not to let it happen again."
"A likely story," Lanius said, laughing. "You can't help being sensible any more than I can, and you know it."
"Well, maybe not," Grus said. "Between us, we make a pretty fair pair – now that each of us knows he can trust the other one with his back turned."
That had taken a while for Lanius. After Grus took more than his share of the crown, Lanius had feared the other king would dispose of him and rule on his own. Odds were Grus was strong enough and well enough liked to have gotten away with it. But it hadn't happened. For his part, Grus had taken even longer to learn to trust Lanius. Grus had kept him nothing but a figurehead for years. Little by little, though, when Grus went on campaign, Lanius began handling things in – and from – the capital.
"Here we are, getting along… well enough." Try as Lanius would, he couldn't make his agreement any warmer than that. Wanting to lighten things with a joke, he added, "And all we have to worry about is the Banished One."
Grus laughed – not the sort of laugh that says something is really funny, but more the kind that comes out when the choice is between laughter and a sob. The other king said, "I'm not worried about that. After all, you've got things all figured out, don't you? As soon as we get to Yozgat, the Scepter of Mercy falls into our hands." He laughed again.
"I wish things would be that simple," Lanius replied. "Still, though, there's no denying that some of the things we've both done have made the Banished One sit up and take notice."
He waited to see if Grus would try to deny that, or would try to deny him any credit for it. The other king didn't. He just said, "To tell you the truth, Your Majesty, I could do without the honor."
"So could I," Lanius said. "I've come awake in my bed too many times with the memory of… him staring at me." Grus nodded. As anyone who'd known them could testify, dreams from the Banished One seemed more vivid, more real, and certainly more memorable, than most things in the waking world. Lanius went on, "If he didn't worry about us, about what we're doing, he wouldn't trouble us so. That is an honor of a kind."
"Of a kind," Grus agreed. "Or we tell ourselves it is, anyhow. We don't know much about the Banished One for certain. Maybe he doesn't send dreams to some other people because he can't, not because he doesn't think they're important."
"Maybe." Lanius was usually polite. But he didn't believe it. If someone worried the Banished One in any real way, the exiled god threatened that person. Who the victim was – king or witch or animal trainer – didn't seem to matter.
Before they could take the argument any further – if that was what Grus had in mind – someone in the palace started calling, "Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
Lanius and Grus looked at each other. They both smiled. Lanius said, "I don't know which one of us he wants, but I think he's going to get both of us."
They went toward the noise until a servant coming out from it ran into them and led them back to a weather-beaten courier who smelled powerfully of horse. Bowing, the man said, "Sorry it took me so long to come up from the south, Your Majesty – I mean, Your Majesties – but the weather's been beastly until a couple of days ago." He took a waxed-leather message tube off his belt and thrust it at the two kings – at both of them, but not quite at either one of them.
They both started to reach for it. At the last instant, Lanius deferred to Grus – things coming out of the south were the older man's province, and he'd earned the right to know of them first. With a nod and a murmur of thanks, Grus took the waterproofed tube and worked off the lid. He pulled out the letter inside, unrolled it, and began to read. His face got longer and longer.
"What is it?" Lanius asked. "Something's gone wrong – I can tell. Where? How bad is it?"
"Down south of the Stura," Grus told him. "And it's not good. Thralls and freed thralls… they're dying like flies."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Like almost every wizard Grus had ever known, Pterocles normally rode a donkey or a mule. He was on horseback now, on horseback and apprehensive at how high off the ground he perched and how fast he was going. The king showed him no mercy. "By Olor's beard, we need to get there as fast as we can," Grus growled.
Pterocles sent him a piteous stare. "What good will I be to you if I fall off and break my neck long before we get near the Stura?
"Oh, nonsense," Grus said, or perhaps something stronger than that. He waved at the snowdrifts to either side of the road. "If you fall off, you'll go into the snow here, see? It's nice and soft – just like your head."
"Thank you so much, Your Majesty," the wizard said stiffly.
"Any time." Grus couldn't have been less sympathetic. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "Look at me, why don't you? I didn't know what to do on a horse for years – I was a river-galley captain, remember? But I managed. I'm still not what you'd call pretty on horseback, but even Hirundo hardly bothers teasing me anymore, because I got the job done." He did some more glowering. "I get the job done – and so will you."
"You're a cruel, hard man." Pterocles sounded like a convict who'd been denied clemency.