Grus laughed. They were all waiting to see how he'd done – or to see if he'd survived. He held up the Scepter of Mercy. The sun made the jewel sparkle as though alive. When Grus looked at the sun, he was amazed to see how low in the eastern sky it still stood. By the way he felt, the confrontation with the Banished One might have gone on for hours. In fact, though, it had lasted only a few minutes.
When Grus didn't speak right away, Pterocles and Otus and Collurio all asked, "Well?" at the same time, and in identical anxious tones.
That made Grus want to laugh again. He didn't. This was a serious business, as no one knew better than he. "Very well, and I thank you," he said. "I have met the Banished One, and he has no choice but to obey the Scepter of Mercy." He held it up again. The jewel sparkled once more. Maybe that wasn't the sun glancing off it. Maybe it really did have an inner fire, an inner life, of its own.
They crowded around him then, exclaiming and congratulating him. So did the pavilion guards. Hirundo took the liberty of slapping him on the back. Grus didn't mind at all. The general, a practical man, asked, "What did you squeeze out of him?"
"First, he won't help or incite any of our neighbors to war on us again," Grus answered. Everyone who heard him cheered.
He did wonder whether that pledge was good for all time. He wouldn't have bet on it. If the Scepter was ever lost again, or maybe even if Avornis had a king who lacked the will or the strength or whatever it was that he needed to use the Scepter as he should… In that case, the exiled god might well stir up trouble once more. But Grus did dare hope that evil day, if ever came, lay many years away.
"You said first," Pterocles remarked. "That should mean there's a second, maybe even a third." He waited expectantly
"There is – a second, anyway." Grus nodded, "He will no longer make or back up spells of thralldom, or even the weaker sort of mind-dulling magic he used on the Menteshe this campaigning season."
This time, Otus and Fulca cried out louder than the rest. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek He enjoyed that liberty more than the one Hirundo had taker and squeezed her for a moment before letting her go. He wondered if he could have gotten more from her, and wouldn't have been surprised. A little regretfully, he put the idea aside. He' enjoyed himself with a good many women, before and after he was married, but he'd never tried to sleep with a friend's wife He thought that record worth keeping.
"Is there a third?" Pterocles asked.
"Aren't those two enough?" Hirundo said.
"Those two are enough," Grus said. "The Banished One.. is what he is. I don't think even the Scepter of Mercy can make him anything else. The only way he'll ever change is by deciding he wants to or has to, if he ever does. If he hasn't for this long, I don't suppose he will any time soon."
He looked at the Scepter again. Did the fault lie in it, or in the Banished One, or in his own ignorance of how to use it? He didn't know. Thanks to that ignorance, he couldn't know, no now – maybe not ever. But he wouldn't have been surprised if all three were involved.
"What happens next?" Hirundo asked. "Are you going to go on with the siege of Yozgat? Or is the Scepter of Mercy; enough?" He eyed it with something not far from awe of his own. After a moment, he resumed. "Heading for home might be better. The sooner we can get it back to Avornis, the less chance the Menteshe have of stealing it again." After another pause, he added, "The choice is yours, Your Majesty. I know that. I was just – thinking out loud, you might say."
"I understand. I've been thinking about the same thing – only more quietly," Grus said. Hirundo made a face at him. The king went on, "I think we will go back. I told Korkut he was welcome to this place if he gave up the Scepter, and I meant it."
"It's all right with me," Hirundo said. "I just hope the Banished One doesn't whip the nomads into a fit to get it back, that's all."
"He can't. His Majesty made sure he couldn't," Pterocles pointed out. He also kept staring at the Scepter of Mercy. Some of his expression was awe like Hirundo's; the Scepter naturally brought it out. But his face also showed intense curiosity. He wanted to know what all the Scepter could do and how it did it.
That worried Grus for a moment, but only for a moment. He was sure of one thing – the Scepter would not let itself be used wrongly. If the Banished One hadn't been able to do that, Pterocles wouldn't be, either. Grus said, "We'll need to be careful no matter what. The Menteshe will probably strike at us whether the Banished One whips them on or not. They really do worship him."
"I'll do everything I can, Your Majesty," Hirundo promised. "I suppose it's possible they can beat the whole army. You can have my head, though, if they catch us by surprise."
If the Menteshe caught the Avornans by surprise, they would probably have Hirundo's head, and Grus', too. Grus didn't point that out. Instead, he gestured with the Scepter. By the way everyone's eyes, even his own, followed it, he couldn't have found anything more effective to do. He said, "Let's get ready to go home."
The soldiers wouldn't be sorry to break off the siege. Most of them liked having campaigned much more than they liked campaigning. Since Grus felt the same way, he couldn't get angry at them for that. And they would likely stay healthier on the move than settled down here. Fluxes of the bowels and other sicknesses cut short more sieges than enemy soldiers did.
"When we first met – when you were a river-galley skipper and I ran a troop of horsemen – did you ever dream it would come to… this?" Hirundo asked.
"No," Grus answered. If he tried to say yes, Hirundo wouldn't need the Scepter of Mercy to know he was lying. He pointed at the general. "How about you?"
"Me? Back then, all I worried about was driving the Menteshe out of the kingdom. It seemed like plenty, too – plenty and then some."
"It did, didn't it?" Grus agreed. Hirundo sketched a salute and went off to start readying the withdrawal from Yozgat.
"Your Majesty?" Otus asked, and then paused. Only when Grus nodded did the former thrall go on, "Did you really mean that, Your Majesty? Thralldom is gone? All the thralls are themselves again?"
"I… think so," Grus answered cautiously. "When we go back, we'll send out riders to villages where our wizards have never gone. We'll find out for sure then. But that was the promise I got from the Banished One. I don't believe he can break a promise he makes through the Scepter."
"This is good. This is gooder – better – than anything I can think of." Otus looked at the Scepter, then toward the south. When his eyes swung back to the king, they had a twinkle in them. "I would kiss you, too, but I know you like it better from Fulca."
Grus laughed. "Well – yes," he said, and Otus laughed with him. The world seemed fresh and new and wonderful. When was the last time he'd had that feeling? After his first girl, maybe. He shook his head. As far as he could see, this was even better than that, and he'd never imagined anything could be.
What's left for me to do? he wondered. In the short run, several things needed taking care of. He knew what they were. He intended to deal with them. But after that? Once he'd recovered the Scepter, wasn't everything else an anticlimax? I'll worry about it when I get back to the capital, he told himself. I've had plenty of worse things to worry about, by the gods.
One of the things that needed taking care of now was a talk with Korkut. He approached the moat under flag of truce, but with enough shieldsmen and other guards to make sure the Menteshe couldn't hope to break the truce and kill him. When he called for Korkut, one of the defenders who understood Avornan shouted back, asking him to wait. He waved to show that he would.