The Bastard King tsom-1

by Dan Chernenko

  She sounded as though she meant it. Lanius pondered. At last, scowling because he couldn’t come up with a right answer when he needed one most, he shook his head. “No, Mother. I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

  “Well, well. What have we here?” Grus said.

  “What have we here?” Nicator repeated, his voice rising in excitement. “We have us a chance to grab Dagipert’s balls and give ’em a good squeeze, that’s what.”

  “So we do,” Grus agreed. “But that’s what it is—a chance, nothing more. We’ve got to make the most of it.”

  He turned and looked back over the Crocodile’s stern. River galleys and small boats coming up the Asopus from the south had finally brought enough soldiers so that, added in with the flotilla’s marines, they might be able to give Dagipert and the Thervings a hard time. He hoped so. Up till now, the invaders had had everything go their way since breaking into Avornis.

  Nicator said, “The Thervings’ll still have more men all told than we do.”

  “I know.” Grus nodded. “But we can put ours right where we want them, and we can pick them up and take them somewhere else if they get in trouble.” He scuffed his foot across the decking. “When we’re fighting foes who haven’t got any ships of their own, this is a floating fortress—nothing else but.”

  “It had better be,” Nicator said. “After the knife that stinking Corvus stuck in our hopes, it’s not like we’ve got a lot of room for mistakes.”

  Grus wished he could have argued with that, but it was plainly true. He called out to the oarmaster: “Quicken the stroke. We’re going up toward the capital.” And to the boatswain: “Run up the Follow me pennant.”

  The Thervings had learned part of their lesson. They didn’t camp right alongside the Asopus anymore, or next to any other navigable stream. But Thervingia was landlocked and mountainous. Its rivers weren’t navigable. They didn’t realize just what a flotilla could do. Grus was determined to show them.

  He spotted a band of Thervings—about a regiment’s worth of men—marching back toward their main encampment under the walls of the city of Avornis. They trudged along in loose order. Why not? Who would challenge their right to rule this country? No one they’d met lately.

  Boats took some Avornans ashore. River galleys scraped keels on mud and gravel close to the bank so more men could scramble down and rush toward the invaders.

  Shouts of surprise rose from the Thervings. They weren’t shouts of alarm; Dagipert’s warriors had often beaten Avornans in the open field, and no doubt thought they could go right on doing it. Grus hoped they were wrong. He wasn’t sure, but he hoped so. One thing he knew—he was about to find out.

  Slower than they should have, the Thervings formed a battle line perhaps a quarter of a mile from the Asopus. At that range, soldiers and marines might fight them, but the river galleys themselves couldn’t.

  “Don’t you want to be a hero?” Nicator made cut-and-thrust motions. “Charge the Thervings and chop them into steaks?”

  “I’ll fight as much as I have to,” Grus answered. “But I’m a sailor first, not a soldier. If I don’t have to, I won’t mix it up that much myself.” He pointed to Nicator. “I don’t see you charging the Thervings, either.”

  “Me? I’m an old man,” Nicator said, which was on the way to being true but hadn’t gotten there yet. He was also good enough with a sword in his hands. Even so, he added, “I don’t care about being a hero. That’s your job, Skipper—you’re the commodore.”

  “If the soldiers and marines beat the Thervings, I’m a hero, all right,” Grus answered. “If they don’t, I’m just another gods-cursed fool.”

  The Avornans formed their own line of battle. They advanced on King Dagipert’s men. They outnumbered the Thervings, and their lines overlapped the foe to both left and right. The enemy soldiers spread themselves thinner to keep from getting outflanked. That did them little good; many of them found themselves attacked by two or more Avornans at the same time.

  When their line unraveled, it came undone all at once. They stopped trying to hold back the Avornans, and ran for whatever shelter and safety they could find. They found very little. Howling like wolves, the men from the flotilla gave chase, cutting them down from behind. Few Thervings outran their pursuers or got to the shelter of the woods farther from the river.

  “Blow Recall!” Grus told the trumpeter. “I don’t want them running into a Therving ambush.”

  As the notes rang out, horns from the other ships of the flotilla echoing them, Grus hoped the Avornans would heed the call. If their blood was up, they might keep going, and run headlong into trouble. More than once, armies had thrown away victories doing that.

  Not here, though. Grus made a fist and pounded it against his thigh in silent celebration as the Avornan sailors and marines started back toward the Asopus. “Well done!” he shouted to them when they got close enough for his voice to carry. “Now we go on up the river and hit them again.”

  The Avornans raised a cheer coming back. They hadn’t had much to cheer about lately. They boarded boats and river galleys with more spirit than Grus had seen for a long time. He waved to the oarmaster, who bawled, “Back oars!” The Crocodile freed herself and started up the Asopus once more. Grus scanned the riverbank for Thervings.

  Later that afternoon, he ordered the soldiers and marines ashore again. Again, they rushed at a startled band of Thervings who’d been tramping through the Avornan countryside without the slightest notion they might have to fight. Again, they punished the Thervings and then returned to Grus’ flotilla.

  “This is fun,” Nicator said. “We can do it as often as we want.”

  “Yes, for a while we can,” Grus agreed. “Sooner or later, though, they’ll figure out what’s going on.”

  That took longer than he’d expected. He sent the Avornans forth against King Dagipert’s men twice more the next day, and won another couple of quick, easy victories. The morning after that, he spotted yet another band of Thervings out in the open close by the river, apparently going about their business without a care in the world.

  “Shall we hit ’em again. Skipper?” Nicator asked.

  Grus shook his head. Nicator blinked in surprise. But Grus pointed to the trees on either side of the clearing where those Thervings displayed themselves. “What do you want to bet those woods are full of archers?” he said. “That’s how Dagipert ruined Corvus. If it worked once, why wouldn’t it work again?”

  Nicator plucked at his beard as he thought that over. “You may have something there,” he said at last. “We leave ’em alone, then?”

  “I intend to,” Grus answered. “Maybe we waste a chance. But we’re just here to harass the Thervings, anyhow. We can’t conquer them, not with what we’ve got—and we can’t afford to waste more men in an ambush, either. Better safe.” Nicator thought some more, then nodded.

  CHAPTER TEN

  King Lanius looked out from one of the towers of the royal palace. “They really are pulling back this time,” he remarked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I do believe they are,” Lepturus agreed. “And about time, too.”

  “They couldn’t take the city,” Lanius said with a certain amount of pride.

  The guards commander nodded, but his eyes, as usual, were somber. “No, that’s true—they couldn’t,” he said. “But they’ve taken just about everything else—taken it or wrecked it or burned it. The northwest is going to be a long time getting over this—and so will the army.”

  “That’s Corvus’ fault,” Lanius said, “his and Corax’s.”

  “And Grus‘,” Lepturus added.

  “Yes, and Grus‘, I suppose.” Lanius nodded. “If he hadn’t quarreled with Corax—” He kicked at the gray stone under his sandals. “From everything I’ve seen and heard, Corax is pretty easy to quarrel with.”

  “Something to that,” the head of the bodyguards said. “And Grus did hurt the Thervings once they’d besieged us.”

  “That’s mor
e than you can say Corvus did after he got back to the city of Avornis,” Lanius remarked. “All he did was grumble and make stupid suggestions.”

  Lepturus spoke in meditative tones. “As long as he’s here in the city of Avornis, it might not be the worst thing in the world if he stayed here awhile.”

  “Hmm,” Lanius said. “You’re right—it might not be. He’s caused the kingdom a lot of trouble. Not much point to giving him the chance to make more, is there? See to it, Lepturus.”

  “I’ll take care of it right now, Your Majesty.” Lepturus vanished down into the palace. Lanius watched him go, nodding approval at his broad back. From what he’d seen in his not very many years, most people promised to do something, then forgot all about it as they went off to do what they wanted to do instead. Not Lepturus. When he said he’d take care of something, he took care of it.

  Except, this time, he didn’t. He sent a guardsman who found Lanius a couple of hours later, after the young king had come down from the tower and was working his way through some interesting—well, interesting to him—parchments he’d found in the archives. “Marshal Lepturus humbly begs your pardon, Your Majesty—” the bodyguard began.

  That was plenty to get Lanius’ nose out of the old tax documents. “What’s gone wrong now?” he asked.

  “We can’t arrest Count Corvus, on account of he isn’t in the city of Avornis anymore,” the bodyguard said. “Seems he went south as soon as the Thervings went west and left him a way home. Lepturus says it’d mean civil war to try to seize him there. Is it worth it to you?”

  “No,” Lanius said. “Let him go.” At the time, he thought the decision made good sense. Corvus hadn’t actually moved against the Kingdom of Avornis. All he’d done—all!—was lose a battle he might not have fought, or might have won if he’d paid closer attention. That was bad, but it wasn’t really treasonous.

  So Lanius calculated then. Lepturus didn’t try to change his mind. Later, they both had plenty of chances to wonder if they’d chosen rightly.

  A few days afterward, Lanius rode out of the city of Avornis to look at the devastation the Thervings had caused and to promise people he and the royal government would do everything they could to make losses good. The promises made peasants look happier. Lanius knew too well they weren’t intended to do anything else. The royal government paid the soldiers who protected peasants from invaders—or, sometimes, didn’t protect them—but couldn’t do much more than that.

  “It’ll be good when you come of age, Your Majesty,” Lanius heard at least a dozen times. “High time we had a man’s hand on things again.”

  Like Arch-Hallow Bucco’s? Lanius wanted to ask. The cleric had made a worse hash of things than Queen Certhia, by far. Lanius was impatient to come of age, too, but not because he thought his mother had done a particularly bad job of ruling Avornis.

  When he returned to the capital, he mentioned to Certhia what he’d heard. His mother’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I’ve heard the same,” she said, no small bitterness in her voice. “And it’s not from farmers who haven’t bathed since spring before last, either. It’s from people whose opinions carry weight and whose frowns are like a wasting sickness to my hopes. Corvus was a prop, but he knocked himself out from under me when he failed.”

  “What will you do now?” Lanius asked.

  “Find another prop, I suppose,” Queen Certhia answered. “But who?”

  “Why not Commodore Grus?” Lanius said. “Out of all our leading officers, he’s the only one who didn’t end up looking like a fool or a knave.”

  “Not if you hear Corvus or Corax tell it,” his mother said. “And besides, I tried to arrest him after he wouldn’t take the Heruls across the river. Do you think he would forget?”

  “To prop up the government?” Lanius said. “I think he’d forget a lot for a chance like that.”

  Certhia sniffed, but thoughtfully. “He’s not a noble. He can’t have any nasty, ambitious ideas, the way Corvus or Corax would. He’d be leaning on me as much as I’d be leaning on him.” She smiled. “The more I think about it, the better I like it.”

  “Let’s hope it works well,” Lanius said.

  His mother’s smile faded. “It had better,” she said. “I hate needing to lean on soldiers and sailors—it’s the drawback to being a woman. But you’re likely right—he’s the only real choice we’ve got.”

  * * *

  As Commodore Grus walked down the gangplank from the Crocodile to one of the quays of the city of Avornis, marines formed up around him. Trumpets and drums began to play, blaring out a fierce and martial music. Anyone listening to it would have thought he was entering the city in triumph. And so, in a manner of speaking, he was. The Thervings had gone back to their own kingdom, and he’d had something to do with that. In a war where most Avornan soldiers had fallen or fled, anyone who’d gained any success looked like a hero by comparison.

  That was one reason Grus chose marines as his bodyguards. The other was that they came from the flotilla he’d commanded, and so were likelier to be loyal to him than men who didn’t know him.

  The music got louder. Nicator looked at the scarlet silk tunics shot through with sparkling golden threads that the trumpeters and drummers were wearing. “How’d you like to have a shirt like that?” he asked.

  “A little gaudy for my taste.” Grus pointed ahead. “And, speaking of gaudy, here come the royal bodyguards.”

  They wore tunics—surcoats, really—even fancier than those of the musicians. They left them unbuttoned, too, to show off the gilded mailshirts that matched their gilded, crested helms. But despite those gorgeous uniforms, the men who wore them looked tough and capable. At their head marched Marshal Lepturus. Having dealt with him before, Grus knew he was tough and capable. The two men eyed each other, sizing each other up. Lepturus spoke first. “Welcome to the city.”

  “Thanks,” Grus said. “Let’s see what we can do about getting things shipshape again, shall we?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Lepturus answered. He turned and gestured to his men, who opened a lane up which two sedan chairs advanced. Queen Certhia got out of one, King Lanius out of the other. The bodyguards moved to form a protective screen between them and Grus’ marines.

  Grus bowed low to the head of the regency council, then even lower to the king. “I’m proud to serve Avornis any way I can,” he declared.

  Queen Certhia replied—not Lanius. “I’m pleased that you have come to help me restore good order in the kingdom.”

  “We can use it, Your Royal Highness, after everything that’s happened this year,” Grus said.

  King Lanius nodded. So did his mother. But, by the glance she shot Grus, she still judged some of what had happened this year—maybe more than some—was his fault and no one else’s. Even so, she said the right things. “I am delighted you will support the king and protect the land he rules.” If she looked as though the words tasted bad, how much did that matter?

  I’ll find out, Grus thought. Aloud, he said, “Anyone who doesn’t support King Lanius is a traitor to Avornis. Anyone at all.” Corvus and Corax wouldn’t like that when they heard about it. Grus didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, they were already traitors, even if they hadn’t openly declared themselves.

  Lepturus said, “When you get to the palace, Commodore, the royal bodyguards will be pleased to take over the job of protecting you and your family.”

  Beside Grus, Nicator coughed. Grus needed no signal to recognize the danger that lurked—or might lurk—in that proposal. What he did need was a moment to figure out how to evade it without offending. After that moment, he said, “Thank you, Marshal, but the royal bodyguards should watch over His Majesty here, and over nobody else. My marines are plenty good enough for me. I think I’ll just keep them on, if nobody minds too much.”

  “I would be happy to share my guardsmen with you, Commodore,” King Lanius said. “As you guard the kingdom, so they should guard you.”

  “That’
s very kind of you, Your Majesty,” Grus said, eyeing the young king with curiosity. Lanius was supposed to be clever. Was he clever enough to go along with Lepturus’ scheme for separating Grus from the men most loyal to him, or was he just naive and trying to be helpful? Grus couldn’t decide. He went on, “Any which way, though, the honor’s too much for the likes of me. I’ll stick with marines, the way I said before.”

  “Are you sure we can’t change your mind?” Queen Certhia asked.

  “Your Royal Highness, I’m positive,” Grus answered, and waited to see what would happen next. Certhia’s question convinced him that she and Lepturus and Lanius were all part of this ploy. Grus eyed the king again. He wasn’t anything special to look at—for his age, he was small and skinny. But he did look alert, and anything but naive. Sure as sure, he’d tried to get Grus away from the marines.

  How desperate are they? Grus wondered. How much power have I really got? Better to find out here and now. If they kept on trying to thwart him… I’ll have to figure out what to do if they try that.

  But they didn’t. Before either Certhia or Lepturus could speak, King Lanius said, “Let it be as you wish. You know best what you require.” His mother and the commander of the royal bodyguards both looked as though they wanted to say something more—Certhia bit her lip—but neither one did. They nodded at about the same time.

  Well, well. Isn’t that interesting? Grus thought. Lanius wasn’t of age, but his word carried weight. That was worth knowing. Grus bowed to him once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate it. These boys here”—he gestured to the marines—“have been through a lot with me.”

  “A commander should have loyal men,” Lanius said. “So should a king.”

  His cheeks were still smooth, though the down on them was starting to turn dark. His voice remained a boy’s treble. Even so, Grus got the feeling that this child-king was very clever indeed. I’m going to have to watch myself. But all he asked was, “Have my wife and son and daughter moved to the palace yet?”