Feeling his own imagination failing, Grus looked around for Pterocles. When he didn't see the sorcerer close by, he sent horsemen out to hunt him down. Before long, Pterocles rode up on his mule. "What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" he asked.
"Come aside with me a little ways." The king rode off until no one could hear what he and the wizard had to say to each other. Pterocles followed. The royal guards stationed themselves to ensure that no one approached the two of them. Grus said, "If you were the Banished One, what would you do to Avornis now?"
"Why ask me?" Pterocles said, his indignation at least partly genuine.
"Because whatever he does, it will probably be through magic," Grus replied. "Who here knows more about magic than you? The answer had better be nobody, or I'm putting my trust in the wrong man."
The wizard's shrug was altogether fatalistic. "I can't tell you anything about that, Your Majesty. All I can tell you is, the Banished One has noticed some of what I've done, and he's decided he doesn't like me." He spread his hands, palms up. "That's really about all. Believe me, he knows more about me than I do about him."
Grus looked south again. Reluctantly, he found himself nodding. He had also felt the futility of trying to outguess a being far older, far wiser, and far stronger than himself. "All right." He explained his own reasoning, such as it was, and went on, "So I was trying to figure out what he might do if he didn't decide to give us another hard winter, or maybe what he might do on top of another hard winter."
"Ah. I see. Well, that makes more sense than asking what I would do if I were the Banished One." Pterocles' voice was tart. "Put that way…" He didn't look south. He looked up to the heavens, his eyes far away. Was he asking the gods for guidance, or was he just making his own calculations, as a man will? Grus couldn't tell and didn't want to ask. At last, the wizard came out of his reverie. "Hunger. Disease. Fire. Fear," he said. "Those are the weapons he has, it seems to me. Which one will he use? How will he use it? Will he use more than one?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I have no way of knowing. Before too long, I expect we'll find out."
Grus expected the same thing. Hunger? Hunger went hand in hand with bad weather. Anyone to whom the Banished One had appeared in a dream learned more than he ever wanted to know about fear. Disease? Fire? Now the king was the one who nodded. Yes, those were surely possible. "What can you do against him? What can any of our wizards do against him?"
"What can I – what can we – do?" For a man who was cheerful most of the time, Pterocles smiled a peculiarly bleak smile now. "Why, the best I can, of course, Your Majesty."
"I see." Grus almost asked the wizard how good he thought that best would be. But part of him feared Pterocles didn't know. Another part feared Pterocles did know, and would tell him. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Well, we'll do what we can to hold on here, and then we'll go home, and then… then we'll see what happens next."
"That's right, Your Majesty," Pterocles said with another of those bleak smiles. "Then we'll see what happens next."
Ortalis didn't say anything to Lanius about the king's latest quarrel with Sosia. Lanius hadn't really thought he would, but was glad to be proved right. Ortalis never had gotten along very well with his sister; he made no bones about that. Then again, Ortalis never had gotten along very well with anybody.
A moment after that thought crossed the king's mind, he shook his head. Ortalis and Anser managed to stay on good terms, not least because sunny Anser stayed on good terms with everyone. And Ortalis seemed genuinely devoted to Limosa – and she to him.
He eyed Limosa's swelling belly with the same anxious pride most new fathers showed. He had more reasons for pride than most prospective fathers did, too. "I hope it's a boy," he told Lanius one day when they met in a corridor. "I want a son of my own."
"I know," Lanius said, as politely as he could. Ortalis had never figured out much about politics. If he had a son, it would complicate the succession. It would endanger the place Lanius' son Crex held now. The smartest thing he could have done was keep his mouth shut about what he wanted when he was talking to Lanius. Ortalis seldom did the smartest thing.
Ortalis probably wasn't thinking about the succession right this minute, for he asked, "Do you have your boy crawling around in the archives with you? I know that's your favorite sport. I can't see why, but I know it is."
"Crex… hasn't shown much interest in it yet," Lanius answered. That his son hadn't was a grief to him. He kept telling himself that there was time, that Crex might yet see how important and how fascinating state papers could be. He kept telling himself, yes, but he had a harder and harder time making himself believe it.
Ortalis laughed. Why shouldn't he? It wasn't his worry. Lanius came close to hating him in that moment. Then Ortalis said, "Maybe he'd rather get out to the woods and see what he could do with a bow in his hands."
"He's still a little young for that, I think," Lanius said, and went on his way before his brother-in-law could find some other way to make him feel bad. Ortalis had jabbed at exactly what Lanius feared most – that Crex might sooner have a good time than gain the knowledge he needed to make a proper ruler. Lanius wondered what he could do about that. He wasn't sure he could do anything – another grief, one that wouldn't go away.
A royal guardsman tramping stolidly up the corridor sketched a salute as the king walked by. His mailshirt jingled. He smelled of leather and stale sweat. Lanius stopped and looked after him, a thoughtful expression on his face.
If I order the guards to seize Ortalis and take him to the Maze – and Limosa with him – will they obey? The king plucked at his beard. These days, he was the effective ruler of Avornis, or at least of the city of Avornis, when Grus went out on campaign. Most of what he did, though, was as close to what Grus would have done as he could come. That was how Grus had let him accrue bits of power little by little – Lanius had made sure that what he was given wouldn't be threatening.
Grus would not send his legitimate son to the Maze, not for complicating the succession. After all, Ortalis' son would be as much Grus' grandson as Crex was. If Lanius banished Ortalis, would Grus let it stand? Lanius sighed. He didn't think so. And he didn't think he had a prayer of resisting or defeating Grus, especially not when his father-in-law would be coming back from the first successful Avornan campaign south of the Stura in centuries.
"Too bad," Lanius murmured. "Too bad, too bad, too bad."
He wondered what Sosia thought. If she believed he could get away with it… He shook his head. He couldn't trust her judgment in this. She was biased, too. But – another interesting problem – which way was she biased? Against Ortalis, for threatening Crex's succession? Or against Lanius himself, for his choice of amusements? He still thought the former, but the latter was a long way from impossible, and he knew it. He would have to decide for himself.
And he did. He decided he couldn't take the chance of getting rid of Ortalis like that. Chances were, he wouldn't get away with it. He would have to hope Limosa had another girl. Plenty of people did, he thought optimistically.
As King Grus rode north toward the Stura, he had one of the few experiences that made him really and truly glad he'd taken his share – or, as Lanius no doubt would have seen it, more than his share – of the Avornan crown. Again and again, freed thralls came running up to him. "King Olor bless you!" they would shout. "Queen Quelea bless you! All the gods bless you!"