Off on the other side of the city, the sounds of skirmishing went on. Grus heard a sharp thud as a stone smacked into the wall. Distant shouts said the Menteshe didn't like that. But the walls were well made. Stone-throwers could pound them for a long time – maybe forever – without knocking them down.
Bats and nightjars came into sight every now and then when they swooped close to torches to snatch insects out of the air. They paid the fighting no attention; it meant no more to them than the taste of a moth meant to Grus. He wondered whether he ought to envy them.
It was the dark of the moon. Nothing but starlight would be in the sky until the sun came up. Even though Grus knew as much, he found himself looking toward the east. That was nothing but foolishness; if his senses hadn't told him dawn was still far away, the positions of the stars as they wheeled through the sky would have.
"How much longer?" Crinitus asked.
"However long it takes," Grus answered. "Until the moncat comes back, or until we're sure it won't."
Collurio pointed not east but south. "What's that?"
For a moment, Grus thought it was a red star he hadn't spied before, throbbing down there just above the southern horizon. As he'd moved from the Stura to Yozgat, northern constellations hung lower in the sky, while southern ones climbed higher and a few stars he'd never seen before came into view. But then he realized this wasn't a star. He thought of a great leaping flame, but that didn't seem quite right, either. "I don't know what it is," he said at last.
Pterocles looked at the pulsing point of scarlet light, too. "Isn't that about where… he's supposed to have his lair in the Argolid Mountains?"
Grus considered. "Yes, I think it is," he said at last. "But why can we see it now? It's never lit up like that before."
"Maybe he's never had anything much to worry about up until now," Pterocles said. "Maybe…"
"Olor's beard," Grus whispered, awe in his voice. If Pouncer had penetrated the defenses that would have stopped the boldest human thief far from his goal… Oh, if Pouncer had.!
No sooner had the thought crossed Grus' mind than Yozgat went wild. It seemed as though all the Menteshe in the town started shouting at one another at once. All Grus could see was the top of the wall. That made him grind his teeth in frustration, for it meant he could get only the vaguest idea of what was going on down in Yozgat itself.
Things on the wall were lively enough. Menteshe ran this way and that. They were all yelling at the top of their lungs. Some of them carried torches; others didn't. He got to see one spectacular pratfall, as a plainsman with a torch tripped over someone or something. The man fell with a splat. His torch flew out and down and hissed into extinction in the moat.
That, luckily, was some way down the wall from where the King of Avornis, the animal trainers, and the wizard stood. Not even the falling torch threw much light on them. None of the Menteshe seemed to have any idea they were there. None of the plainsmen seemed the least bit interested in what was happening outside of Yozgat. All their attention focused on whatever had gone wrong within the walls. That the commotion inside might be connected to the Avornans outside didn't look to have crossed their minds.
"I wish somebody had told me the city would go crazy while the moncat was inside it," Collurio said worriedly. "I would have trained the beast to be used to the noise and the fuss. This way, it may scare him out of doing what he's learned."
That was the last thing Grus wanted to hear. Lanius, you thought of everything else. Why didn't you think of this, too? But he didn't – he couldn't – really blame the other king. Lanius had taken an idea no one else would have come up with and made it real. And so have I, by the gods. So have I, Grus thought. "We've come this far," he said. "With any luck at all, we'll be able to go as much further as we need."
More shouts rang out inside Yozgat. Somebody bellowed what was plainly an order. Someone else yelled what was just as plainly defiance. Iron clanged on iron. Wounded men shrieked. Did they have any idea why they were fighting one another? Grus wouldn't have bet on it.
That wasn't his worry. It was theirs – and the Banished One's. His worry was Pouncer. Where was the moncat? What was it doing? Was it doing anything past hiding from the chaos all around or maybe chasing a tasty-smelling southern mouse? Grus didn't know. He couldn't know, even if he could guess and hope. Not knowing gnawed at him.
The base of the pole stirred, there in the dirt by the edge of the moat. Pterocles and Crinitus both grabbed it, both steadied it. Either the Menteshe had found the other end at the edge of the wall and were starting to pull it up or…
Grus peered toward the top of Yozgat's works. "There's Pouncer!" he said – as joyous a whisper as he'd ever used.
Down came the moncat, quick and graceful as ever. Was it holding something in one of its clawed hands? Lanius had grumbled when it stole spoons from the kitchens in the palace. What had it stolen now, and from where?
"Mrow," the moncat said as it left the pole for solid ground. It glared at Collurio. He took a piece of mutton from Pterocles.
"No, let me," King Grus said, and solemnly handed out the last reward. And, as Pouncer ate, Grus took the Scepter of Mercy into his own hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"You!" The Banished One's bellow was full of rage and desperation and despair. "You thief! You bandit! You brigand! You have taken that which is mine, that to which you have no right. Do you think you can flout me so?"
In Lanius' dream, he looked at the exiled god. As always, the Banished One's countenance seemed perfectly beautiful, perfectly calm
… or did it? Wasn't that the faintest trace of a frown line by the side of his mouth? It marred his inhumanly cold magnificence as a broken window might have marred a building.
And, no matter how impassioned the Banished One sounded, he wasn't telling the truth, not as Lanius understood it. "Years ago, you took what belonged to Avornis," the king replied. "How can you complain when we do what we have to do to get it back?"
"It is not something mortals deserve to have. It is not something mortals should profane with their touch," the Banished One said furiously.
Lanius shook his head. The motion felt completely real, although, as always when he faced the Banished One, he knew he was dreaming. "You are the one whose touch profanes it," Lanius said. "If you could use it, if you were meant to use it, you would have been able to hundreds of years ago. It is not yours. It does not belong to you. It is not for you."
"It is my key to regaining the heavens," the Banished One said. "It is mine – mine, I tell you! With it in my hands, the so-called gods who cast me down cannot hope to stand against me."
"But it's no good in your hands, is it?" Lanius said. "It's no good at all to you. You can't even pick it up. While a – " He broke off. He did not want to tell the Banished One a moncat could do what the exiled god could not. He didn't know whether Pouncer was still inside Yozgat or had succeeded in escaping the city. No point to saying anything more than he had to, and a great deal of point to telling the Banished One as little as he could.
Luck – or, just possibly, the protection of the gods in the heavens – stayed with him. The Banished One was so agitated; he didn't notice Lanius' hesitation and didn't probe for what might have caused it. "It should be mine. It must be mine. It shall be mine!" the Banished One shouted.
"It belongs to Avornis again," Lanius said. "It always was ours, even if you'd stolen it. We can use it. We can – and we will."
Grus will use it, Lanius thought, there in the middle of his dream. Even then, that irked him. He'd realized Pouncer, who stole kitchen spoons, might steal other things, grander things, if properly trained. He'd had Tinamus build a segment of Yozgat in the countryside. He'd hired Collurio to make sure the moncat learned what it was supposed to do. What had Grus done that compared, that gave him the right to wield the Scepter of Mercy?