The Bastard King tsom-1

by Dan Chernenko

  After a few more minutes, the cuckoo did call once more. Lanius laughed as a new thought crossed his mind. “I wonder what the moncats are doing right now,” he said.

  Sosia laughed, too. “Why do you wonder? They’re trying to get the bird. If one of them can find a way out through a window, he’ll do it, too.”

  “I know,” Lanius said. “We’ve made sure the bars are too narrow to let them get out, but the moncats keep working away anyhow.”

  “They’re stubborner than ordinary cats,” Sosia said.

  “I don’t know whether they’re stubborner or just wilder,” Lanius said. “They do keep working at it, as you say.” He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “And so do we.”

  “Yes, we do.” She smiled. “I wonder if we don’t get along better than my father ever thought we would.”

  “That had occurred to me, too,” Lanius said slowly. “I didn’t want to say anything, for fear of making you angry—and maybe making him angry, too—but it had crossed my mind. I won’t try to tell you any differently.”

  “It doesn’t really matter, you know,” Sosia said.

  “Oh, yes. Whether you’re on your father’s side or mine, what King Grus wants is what Avornis is going to get. I know that. I’d better know it. He’s rubbed my nose in it often enough.”

  He bred moncats and helped the mothers raise the kittens. He went into the archives almost every day, soaking up more lore from the ancient days of Avornis. Without false modesty, he knew he’d learned as much about the past of the city and the kingdom as any man living.

  And so what? he asked himself. What good does that do you ? What good does it do Avornis ? He found no good answers, none at all. As long as he played with things that had no possible consequences, he made King Grus happy. If ever he didn’t, if ever he tried to do anything substantial… He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but he had a good idea of the range of possibilities. He might end up in the Maze. On the other hand, he might end up dead. And whether Sosia was on his side or not wouldn’t matter a bit.

  When Grus came back from beating Pandion, Lanius congratulated him in front of the whole city of Avornis. He felt the irony as he mouthed the words. It wasn’t that he’d wanted Pandion to overthrow Grus. He hadn’t. Lanius had wanted Pandion no more than he wanted Grus—less, in fact.

  What Lanius wanted, as he’d once told Grus, was no protector at all. Though he was King of Avornis, that seemed to be one thing he couldn’t have.

  He retreated into the archives. There, at least, he was master of his world, even if that world was a small one. He pored over some of the oldest records there, trying to learn all he could of the Banished One. But there seemed to be less to learn than he would have hoped. As far as the royal chronicles told the story, the Banished One had simply appeared in the south one day. The power he showed was far beyond any merely earthly—any merely mortal—power. And the exile hadn’t aged, either. That became obvious after a generation, and still seemed true today, all these centuries later. Generations meant nothing to the Banished One. By anything the records showed, centuries meant nothing to him, either.

  What would the world be like if Olor hadn’t cast him out? Lanius wondered. He had no way of answering that. Neither did anyone else. He couldn’t even prove the world would be better. Maybe the long struggle against the Banished One had strengthened, steeled, Avornis. Maybe. He couldn’t prove it hadn’t. But he doubted it.

  He kept hoping his reading would give him some clue or another about the Banished One’s weaknesses. The more he read, the more he doubted that, too. As far as he could tell, the Banished One had no weaknesses—not in the humanly recognizable sense of the word. He wasn’t as strong as a god, not while his self, his essence, rested in the material world rather than in the heavens beyond. Had he been that strong, he would have ruled the world from the moment he found himself cast down into it.

  Suddenly, Lanius had a new thought, one that he didn’t believe had occurred to any Avornan for many long years before his time. Before being cast down from the heavens, the Banished One had surely been a god himself. Which god had he been? Over what heavenly province or attribute had he ruled? The king had never seen the question, let alone the answer, in the royal archives.

  I might be able to find out, Lanius realized. Not many records survived from the days before the Banished One came down to earth, but a few did. If they mentioned a god who was no longer worshiped…

  That thought led to another—I wish Bucco weren’t dead. The old arch-hallow had been a conniver, a serpent, but he’d also been a learned man. He might have known the answer to Lanius’ question, or at least how to go about finding the answer. The clerics had records of their own, records that went back at least as far as those in the royal archives.

  Anser wouldn’t know. Anser wouldn’t care, either. Lanius snapped his fingers. “A secretary will know,” he said aloud. “Secretaries always know.” Top officials came and went. Secretaries went on forever. They were the memory of Avornis. “When I get around to it, I’ll ask one of the arch-hallow’s secretaries. He may not know the answer, but he’ll know where to find out.”

  He knew it wasn’t anything he had to do in a hurry. The answer, if indeed it existed in the clerics’ archives, had been sitting there for centuries. A few days one way or the other weren’t going to matter.

  And then a messenger came riding into the city of Avornis from out of the west. He’d almost killed his horse; it was lathered and blowing under him. And the news he brought to the royal palace drove any thoughts of the Banished One and the clerics’ archives right out of Lanius’ head.

  “King Dagipert is dead!” the messenger cried. “Dagipert of Thervingia is dead at last!”

  King Grus sat on the royal throne. “Give me all you know about what happened in Thervingia.”

  “I only know it was sudden,” the man replied. “One day he was ruling the kingdom, the next he was dead. The gods finally got tired of him tormenting us.”

  “Well, he’s in their hands now,” Grus said. “I’m going to—” He stopped.

  “Going to what, Your Majesty?” the messenger asked.

  “Nothing. Never mind.” Grus had started to say he was going to order the cathedrals to offer up prayers of thanksgiving for Dagipert’s death. But the Thervings worshiped the same gods Avornis did. Publicly thanking those gods for ridding the world of King Dagipert would have insulted Thervingia. Better for Grus to offer his own private thanksgiving. Remembering the niceties, he said, “I’ll have to send Prince Berto—King Berto, now—my condolences.”

  Lanius had said Berto was a man more interested in cathedrals and prayer than in coming over the border at the head of a long column of warriors in chain mail carrying axes. I’ll send some fine Avornan architects to Thervingia to build him there the fanciest cathedral his heart desires. Making Berto happy that way had to be cheaper than fighting a war.

  “It’s the end of an era,” the messenger said.

  King Grus nodded. “It certainly is. King Dagipert was a strong man and a nasty foe.” He added, “You’ll have your reward, of course, for bringing the news here so quickly. There’s not much that could be more important.”

  The messenger bowed. Grus caught a distinct whiff of horse from him; he’d ridden hard indeed. “Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. You’ve earned it. That’s the point.”

  Another bow. “Thank you again. I was thinking, the only thing bigger than Dagipert dying’d be the gods-cursed Menteshe invading us again. Thank the gods they’ve been quiet lately.”

  “Yes.” Grus had no idea how much the gods did, or could do, to stop the Menteshe—and the Banished One, their patron— from acting as they pleased. They’d cast the Banished One into the material world and then turned their backs on him… hadn’t they?

  He couldn’t be sure. He needed to remind himself of that every now and again. If he couldn’t fully understand the Bani
shed One, who dwelt in this world with him, how could he hope to understand the gods still up in the heavens?

  Stick to affairs of this world, then, he told himself. To a junior courtier, he said, “Fetch General Hirundo, if you’d be so kind.”

  The man went off at a run. A polite request from the king counted as an order, and he knew it.

  Hirundo came to the throne room in a hurry, too. Grus smiled, if only to himself. He’d discovered people paid much more attention to his commands now that he was king than they ever had when he was a mere commodore of river galleys. “You’ll have heard the news?” he asked the general.

  “You mean about Dagipert? Oh, yes, Your Majesty.” Hirundo nodded. “That’s all over the palace by now. It’s probably all over the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if Corvus and Pandion were gossiping about it in the Maze. Rumor has more legs than a millipede, and runs faster, too.”

  “Now there’s a pretty picture,” Grus said. “Rumor happens to be true here, which isn’t always so. Prince Berto—King Berto, I should say—is supposed to have less fire in his belly than old Dagipert did.”

  “He could hardly have more,” Hirundo remarked. “But that’s just rumor, too, eh?”

  “Not entirely,” Grus replied. “King Lanius met Berto once, when he came here with his father while Dagipert was laying siege to the city. Still, that was a while ago. In case Berto’s changed…” He took it no further. He didn’t want to say Lanius didn’t know what he was talking about. He did want to say Avornis couldn’t be sure Lanius had everything right, though.

  Fortunately, Hirundo understood the fine line he was walking. “You’ll want to send soldiers out to the west, just in case Berto turns out to be friskier than we expect.”

  “That’s just what I’ll want,” Grus agreed. “You’ll take care of it for me, I hope? We don’t want to look as though we’re invading Thervingia, now. We do want to be sure the Thervings won’t invade Avornis.”

  “I understand, Your Majesty,” Hirundo said. “I won’t go anywhere near the border. But I’ll make it very plain I can put up a good fight on the far side of the Tuola.”

  “That’s what I want from you,” Grus said. “King Berto will probably send his own ambassador here to announce his accession. That’s what the custom is, I think. If he does, I want that ambassador to see your men on the move so he’ll know we’re ready for whatever happens.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Hirundo promised. Grus dismissed him after that. The king had come to know his general, and to know he could count on a promise of that sort.

  And, indeed, Hirundo left for the Tuola and the province beyond it three days before an embassy from Thervingia reached the city of Avornis. At the head of the embassy was Zangrulf, serving Berto as he’d served Dagipert for so many years. He bowed low before King Grus in the throne room. “I gather you will have heard our sad news?” he said in his fluent but gutturally accented Avornan.

  “Yes,” Grus replied. “Please pass on to King Berto my personal sympathies. I lost my own father a few years ago. It’s never easy.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Zangrulf bowed again. “That is… gracious of you. I am sure the king will appreciate it.” His tone sharpened. “I am sure he will appreciate it more than the sight of armed Avornans marching toward Thervingia.”

  Grus shrugged. “They’re marching through Avornis, Your Excellency. They have no intention of starting any trouble between our two kingdoms. But at the start of a new reign, it’s hard to know what will happen next.”

  “May I take your assurance back to King Berto?” Zangrulf asked.

  “Certainly,” Grus answered. “Tell him that as long as you Thervings stay on your side of the border, we’ll stay on ours. I don’t want any trouble with Thervingia. I never have.”

  “Really?” Zangrulf raised a sly eyebrow. “If it weren’t for Avornis’ trouble with Thervingia, you wouldn’t be king today.”

  That was probably true. As a matter of fact, that was bound to be true. Even so, Grus only shrugged again. “I meant what I said, Your Excellency. It’s possible to buy some things too dearly. Didn’t King Dagipert finally realize that when he was fighting us?”

  “Maybe,” the Therving ambassador said. “But maybe not, too.”

  “By the gods, you’re not giving me any great secrets,” Grus exclaimed. “Dagipert’s dead. He won’t be attacking us again, come what may.”

  “He was my master for many years,” Zangrulf said. “I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting him to give me some new order. It doesn’t happen. It won’t happen. I know that. Most of me knows that, anyhow. But there’s still that part… He was a strong king.”

  “So he was.” Grus couldn’t disagree. No one who’d ever had to deal with Dagipert could have disagreed with that. Grus persisted, “But didn’t he finally figure out he couldn’t hope to beat us, no matter how strong he was?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Zangrulf said again. “I’m not going to say any more than that, Your Majesty. There’s still that part that thinks he may be listening. And if he is, he’s saying, ‘Whatever I thought is none of your business, Avornan.’ ”

  Grus laughed. “Have it your way, then, Your Excellency. And would you say King Berto is as strong as King Dagipert was?”

  “King Berto is as strong in prayer as King Dagipert was with the sword.” Zangrulf picked his words with obvious care.

  “May the gods love him, then,” Grus said—as safe an answer as he could find. Zangrulf confirmed what Lanius had said about Dagipert’s son. Grus added, “May he bring peace, and may the gods love that, as well.”

  “I hope it will be so. I think it will be so,” Zangrulf said. He didn’t say whether he thought that would be good. By his tone, he had his doubts. The Thervings were an iron-bellied folk, most of them. Would Berto be able to hold them to peace, even if that was what he intended? Grus shrugged—a shrug so small he could hope his robes hid it from Zangrulf.

  “I will give gifts,” the king said. “Some to you, for bringing King Berto’s greetings, and some to him, in the hope of a long reign for him and peace between our two kingdoms.”

  Zangrulf bowed. His eyes gleamed. He seemed no more immune to gifts than anyone else. Grus resolved to make them generous, in the hope of getting some use from the man. “Thank you very much, Your Majesty. Your openhandedness is famous throughout the world,” the Therving said.

  That made Grus smile. He was no more openhanded than he had to be, and everyone who knew him knew as much. Maybe Zangrulf was wangling for fancier presents. If he was, he’d probably get them. Here, Grus could see he did have to be open-handed, and so he would be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  King Lanius was picking fleas off Topaz, one of Snitch’s kittens, when King Grus came into the chamber where the moncats dwelt. “Don’t mean to bother you, Your Majesty,” Grus said, by which Lanius was sure he meant to do exactly that, “but there’s something I’d like you to take care of for me.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” Lanius caught a flea and crushed it between his thumbnails, the only sure way he’d found to be rid of them.

  “King Berto has sent a couple of his yellow-robed clerics to the city of Avornis,” Grus answered. “They’re touring cathedrals—looks like Berto is a pious fellow, just the way you said. Would you be kind enough to show them around a bit?”

  “Why me?” As soon as Lanius stopped paying attention to Topaz, the moncat, which didn’t like him picking through its fur, fled. The grab he made for it proved futile. Muttering, he went on, “Wouldn’t showing cathedrals to the Thervings be Arch-Hallow Anser’s job, not mine?”

  As he hoped, he succeeded in embarrassing his father-in-law. Reddening, Grus said, “Well, it might be, but Anser’s still learning about what he’s doing, and you know more of the history about such places than he does right now.”

  Aside from doing what Grus wanted, Anser didn’t seem very interested in learning an arch-hallow’s duties. Hunting, with o
r without Ortalis, excited him far more. Grus had to know that at least as well as Lanius did. Lanius just folded his arms across his chest and looked back at his fellow king.

  He was hoping he could make Grus turn red. He didn’t; Grus owned more than his share of self-possession. The older man went on, “Besides, having a King of Avornis escort the Thervings would be a privilege for them. It would make Berto feel we were giving him special honors, honors other sovereigns wouldn’t expect.”

  “What other sovereigns?” Lanius asked. “The chiefs of the Chernagor city-states? They wouldn’t get honors to match Thervingia’s anyhow. Savages like the Heruls? They don’t worship our gods at all. Neither do the princes of the Menteshe— they bow down to the Banished One, instead.”

  King Grus let out a sigh of exaggerated patience. “Please, Your Majesty,” he said. “I’ve already told them you’d do it.”

  “Oh.” Lanius drummed his fingers on his thigh. “That means I’m stuck with the job, doesn’t it? All right. But I’ll thank you not to make any more plans for me without telling me you’re doing it.”

  “I expect that’s fair enough, Your Majesty.” After a few heartbeats, Grus seemed to realize something more was called for, for he went on, “I won’t do it again.” That was better, but not good enough. Lanius waited without a word. Again, Grus paused. Again, he found words, this time saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” Lanius said, but that was what he’d been waiting to hear. He sighed. “Let’s get it over with.”

  The clerics’ names were Grasulf and Bench. Grasulf was tall and fuzzily bearded, while Berich was squat and fuzzily bearded. They both spoke good Avornan, and they both seemed honored that Lanius was taking them around the cathedrals of the city of Avornis. Grasulf said, “King Berto will be so jealous when we go home and tell him all that we have done in your kingdom.”

  Voice dry, Lanius answered, “King Berto’s father did quite a lot in our kingdom, too.”

  To his amazement, both Therving clerics looked embarrassed. Berich said, “That is too bad, Your Majesty. Many of us thought so even while the war was going on. This is where the worship of the true gods centers. To fight against Avornis is to fight against the gods.”