"Sounds reasonable. We ought to put some downstream, too, in case they try to row up against the current," Hirundo said.
"Olor's beard!" Grus exclaimed. "All these years on horseback and I've finally learned to ride. And now here you are, thinking like a river-galley captain. What is this world coming to?"
"Beats me. Whatever it's coming to, I wish it would hurry up and get there," Hirundo said.
As the Avornan army neared Yozgat, the drawbridge rose. The heavy chains that drew it up rattled. After it rose, a massive iron portcullis thudded down in front of it. Grus muttered to himself. The city of Avornis had such fortifications, but he wished Yozgat didn't.
Not all the Menteshe outside Yozgat had gotten in before the defenders sealed off the city. Most of the ones left out there on the plain galloped off. A few rode at the Avornans and shot off the arrows they had in their quivers. Hirundo sent bands of scouts to outflank them. Some of them noticed and fled before the scouts could block their escape. Others, less lucky or less alert, didn't get away.
A herald with a flag of truce came up onto the wall when the Avornan army drew near enough for him to shout out over the moat. In good Avornan, he called, "Prince Korkut commands you to leave this city. If you leave it at once, you may go in peace. Otherwise, the full weight of his wrath, and of the Fallen Star's, will fall on you."
Despite mutterings from his guardsmen – who did their best to make sure with their stout shields that no Menteshe could pick him off at long range – Grus rode up to the edge of the moat and shouted back. "Let Prince Korkut give me one present, and he is welcome to keep his city and his land. I will go home to the Kingdom of Avornis straightaway. I swear it in the names of King Olor and Queen Quelea and the rest of the gods in the heavens."
"We care nothing for those foolish, useless gods," the herald replied. "But say your say. What would you have of His Highness?"
"The Scepter of Mercy," Grus said. Korkut had turned him down the year before. Then, though, the Avornans were far from Yozgat. Now they moved to surround it even as Grus parleyed with Korkut's man.
"He told me you would say this," the herald shouted. "The answer is no, as it has always been, as it will always be."
'Then my answer is also no," Grus said. "The fight will go on. When Sanjar is prince over Yozgat, he will show better sense." That was probably untrue, but it should give Korkut something new and unpalatable to think about. Yozgat was being cut off from the outside world. The defenders couldn't be sure Sanjar hadn't made common cause with Grus.
"You will be sorry," the herald said, and ceremoniously lowered the flag of truce.
"Get back, Your Majesty!" three guardsmen said at the same time, and with identical urgency in their voices. As soon as that flag of truce went down, the Menteshe did start shooting. Arrows thudded into shields near the king. One guard and one horse were wounded before Grus and his men got out of range.
He wished that hadn't happened, but he didn't know what he could have done to stop it. If the Menteshe in Yozgat wanted to parley, he had no choice but to talk to them. There was a chance they would surrender the Scepter in exchange for his withdrawal. He had the feeling Korkut might have done it if he didn't fear the Banished One.
Well, let him, Grus thought. I'll show him he'd better fear Avornis, too.
Avornans shot back at the Menteshe on the walls of Yozgat. The Menteshe, with stronger bows and the advantage of height, had the better of that until Grus' artisans got some dart-throwers in position and started skewering them. Korkut's men did not seem to have any of those up on the walls.
Hirundo said, "I think I'd better get the outer ditch and palisade made before the inner ones this time."
"Oh? Why is that?" Grus answered his own question, saying, "Because every nomad south of the Stura is liable to be heading this way just as fast as he can ride?"
"Not every nomad, Your Majesty." Hirundo pointed to the walls of Yozgat. "A lot of them are already here."
"So they are. That's a relief, isn't it?" Grus said. They both laughed. If they didn't laugh, they would start worrying. Grus knew he would start worrying very soon anyhow. He looked toward Yozgat. "I wonder how much food they've got in there."
"Wonder how much we can scrounge off the countryside, too," Hirundo said. "If we knew this stuff ahead of time, maybe we wouldn't have to fight the battles. Since we don't, we do."
Grus thought about that. After he worked it through, he nodded. "Right," he said, and then, "I think."
"Don't fret, Your Majesty." Hirundo grinned at him. "Let Korkut fret. Let the Banished One fret. Do you think they're not? You'd better think again if you do. When was the last time they had to figure out what to do with an Avornan army besieging Yozgat?"
"If this isn't a first for Korkut, he's a lot older than I think he is," Grus observed, which made Hirundo laugh. Grus added, "It's been a long, long time for the Banished One, too. We're giving him something to think about, anyway."
Korkut kept his archers busy on the walls, making things as hard as they could for the Avornans. That impressed Grus less than it might have. If he'd intended to try to storm Yozgat right away, a strong, aggressive defense would have mattered more. As things were, it just meant the Avornans set up their inner perimeter a little farther from the wall than they would have otherwise. Even so, soldiers and engineers went about their business with unflustered competence. This wasn't the first siege for most of them.
The king's pavilion rose between the inner and outer perimeters. Hirundo's tent and Pterocles' went up nearby. So did the one that Otus shared with Fulca. The ex-thrall bowed to Grus. "It makes me happy to see the Menteshe beaten, Your Majesty," he said. "For so long, I did not know they could be."
"For a long time, I didn't know they could be, either, not south of the Stura," Grus said. "You have Pterocles to thank for that."
"I have Pterocles to thank for me," Otus said. "I have Pterocles to thank for my woman – even if she does tell me what to do."
"That can happen," Grus said. "Do you tell her what to do, too?" When Otus nodded, the king clapped him on the back.
"Then things are pretty near even, sounds like. That's about how they ought to be."
He was glad to go to bed that night. He liked staying in one spot more and more as he got older. Not having to break camp and travel in the morning had a strong attraction for him. Even a siege camp could come to resemble a home as he spent time there.
But he was anything but glad when, sometime in the night, the Banished One appeared before him in all his fearful majesty. "You will not enter Yozgat. You shall never set foot in Yozgat. This I tell you, and tell you truly," the exiled god said.
When that bell-like voice resounded inside Grus' head, not believing it was almost impossible. Grus did his best. "I'll take my chances," he replied.
"They will bring you sorrow." Again, the Banished One left no room for doubt or disagreement.
Instead of disagreeing, Grus tried to deflect. "Life is full of sorrow. Facing sorrow is part of what makes a man."
The Banished One's laughter might have been a lash of ice. "What do you know of sorrow, wretched mortal? I was cast down from the heavens to this accursed place. Shall I rejoice in it? When you know exile, you will understand – as much as a flea understands a dog."
"I don't intend to be exiled, thank you very much." Grus managed such defiance as he could.
All he won was more scorn from the Banished One. "As though what a man intends matters! It will be as I say it will, not as you intend."