The Chernagor Pirates (17 page)

“Yes it will, and yes it is,” Grus agreed. “I don't see any way around it, though. Most of our galleys sail the Nine Rivers. Some of them scuttle along the coast, but I don't see how I could bring them up to the Chernagor country. One storm along the way and …” He shook his head.

“Wouldn't storms wreck the Chernagor ships, too? Then you wouldn't have to worry about them.”

Moodily, Grus shook his head. “It's not that simple. Their ships are made to sail on the open sea. Ours mostly aren't. Ours are fine for what they do, but sailing on the Northern Sea isn't it. For the Chernagors, it is. They build stronger than we do. They need to, traveling from one little island to the next the way they do.”

“You'll find something.” When it came to ships, Estrilda had confidence in the onetime river-galley captain she'd married. When it came to women—she had confidence there, but confidence of the wrong sort.

When Grus thought about it, he had to admit he'd given her reason.

Lanius came out of the city to see him and the army off. “Gods go with you,” the other king told him. “We both know how important this is, and why.” Again, he didn't say the name Milvago, or even suggest it. Even so, it was there.

Prince Ortalis came out, too. He said not a word to Grus. Grus said nothing to him, either. Each of them looked at the other as though he hoped never to see him again. That was likely to be true.

“Gods bless this army and lead it to victory.” Arch-Hallow Anser sounded more cheerful than either Grus or Lanius. If he noticed the way Grus and Ortalis eyed each other, it didn't show on his smiling face.

With a resigned sigh, Grus swung up into the saddle of his horse.
Another summer of riding lessons,
he thought.
I'm turning into a tolerable horseman in spite of myself.

The only ones who looked eager to return to the land of the Chernagors were Prince Vsevolod and his countrymen who'd gone into exile in Avornis with him. “I will see my son again,” Vsevolod said, in tones of fierce anticipation. Grus realized that, as badly as he got along with Ortalis, the two of them were perfect comrades next to Vsevolod and Vasilko.

“Are we ready?” Grus asked General Hirundo.

“If we're not, by Olor's beard, we've certainly wasted a lot of time and money,” Hirundo answered.

“Thank you so much. You've made everything clear,” Grus said. Hirundo bowed in the saddle. Grus laughed. Prince Vsevolod scowled. Vsevolod, as Grus had seen, spent a lot of time scowling. Grus waved to the trumpeters. The sun flashed golden from the bells of their horns as they raised them to their lips. Martial music filled the air. The Avornans began moving north.

King Lanius wore shabby clothes when he went exploring in the archives. That kept the palace washerwomen happy. It also let him feel easier about putting on hunting togs to go hunting with Arch-Hallow Anser. Was he in perfect style? He neither knew nor cared. If anyone but Anser had invited him out on a hunt, he not only would have said no but probably laughed in the other man's face. But he really liked Anser, and so he'd decided to see just what it was the arch-hallow so enjoyed.

Grus joked about being uncertain on a horse. Lanius really was. He felt too high off the ground, and too likely to arrive there too suddenly. He also felt sure he would be saddlesore come morning. If Olor had meant men to splay their legs apart like that, he would have made them bowlegged to begin with.

Anser took his bow from the case that held both it and a sheaf of arrows. He skillfully strung it, then set an arrow to the string, drew, and let fly. The arrow quivered in the trunk of a tree, a palm's breadth above a prominent knot. “A little high,” he said with a rueful shrug. “You try.”

Clumsily, Lanius strung his own bow. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held a weapon in his hand. Even more clumsily, he fitted an arrow to the string. Drawing the bow made him grunt with effort. The shaft he loosed came nowhere near the tree, let alone the knot.

Some of the beaters and bodyguards riding along with the king and the arch-hallow snickered. “Oh, dear,” Anser said. It wasn't scornful, just sympathetic. There were reasons why everyone liked him.

“I'm in more danger from the beasts than they are from me,” Lanius said. If he laughed at himself, maybe the rest of the hunting party wouldn't, or at least not so much.

“You will not be in any danger, Your Majesty,” one of the bodyguards declared. “That's why we're along.” He had a thoroughly literal mind. No doubt that helped make him a good guard. No doubt it also helped make him a bore.

Bird chirped in the oaks and elms and chestnuts. Lanius heard several different songs. He wondered which one went with which bird. “Look!” He pointed. “That one has something in its beak.”

“Building a nest,” Anser said. “It's that time of year.”

Sunlight came through the leaves in dapples. The horses wanted to stop every few steps and nibble at the ferns that sprang up at the bases of gnarled tree trunks. Lanius would have let them, but Anser pressed on, deeper into the woods. The city of Avornis was only a few miles away, but might have lain beyond the Northern Sea. City air stank of smoke and people and dung. The air here smelled as green as the bright new leaves on the trees.

Wildflowers blazed in a meadow. Butterflies, flitting jewels, darted from one to another. A rabbit nibbled clover. “Shoot it!” Anser said.

“What?” Lanius wondered if he'd heard straight. “Why?”

“Because you're hunting,” Anser replied with such patience as he could muster. “Because we want the meat. Rabbit stew, rabbit pie, rabbit with pepper, rabbit … Rabbit's run off now.”

Lanius almost said,
Good.
If he'd been out with anyone but Anser, he would have. He was more interested in watching the rabbit than in shooting it or eating it. Alive and hopping about, it was fascinating. Dead? No.

Anser made the best of things. “Not easy to shoot a rabbit anyhow. They're best caught with dogs and nets.”

“You chase them with
dogs
?” Lanius knew he should have kept quiet, but that got past him. Weakly, he added, “It doesn't seem sporting.”

“The idea
is
to catch them, you know,” Anser said.

“Well, yes, but …” Lanius gave up. “Let's ride some more. It's a nice day.”

“So it is,” Anser said agreeably. On they rode. If they were going to hunt something, Lanius had imagined bear or lion—something dangerous, where killing it would do the countryside good. When he said as much to the arch-hallow, Anser gave him an odd look. “Aren't deer and boar enough to satisfy you? A boar can be as dangerous as any beast around.”

They saw no bears. They saw no lions. They saw no boar, which left Lanius not at all disappointed. They saw a couple of deer. Anser courteously offered Lanius the first shot at the first stag. He thought about shooting wide on purpose, but then decided he was more likely to miss if he aimed straight at it. Miss he did. The stag bounded away, spoiling any chance Anser might have had of hitting it.

Anser didn't say anything. If he thought Lanius had intended to miss, he was too polite and good-natured to start a quarrel by accusing him of it. The next time they saw a deer, though, Anser shot first. “Ha! That's a hit!” he shouted.

“Is it?” Lanius had his doubts. “It ran away, too.”

“Now we track it down. I hit it right behind the shoulder. It won't go far.” Anser rode after the wounded animal. Wounded it was, too—he used the trail of blood it left to pursue it. The blood came close to making Lanius sick. When he thought of shooting an animal, he thought of it falling over dead the instant the arrow struck home. He'd seen one battle. He knew people didn't do that. But, no matter what Anser said, the trail of blood was much too long to suit Lanius. He tried to imagine what the deer was feeling, then gulped and wished he hadn't.

When they caught up with it, the deer was down but not dead. Blood ran from its mouth and bubbled from its nose. It blinked and tried to rise and run some more, but couldn't. Anser knelt beside it and cut its throat. Then he slit its belly and reached inside to pull out the offal. How Lanius held down his breakfast, he never knew.

“Not such a bad day,” Anser said as they rode back toward the city of Avornis. Lanius didn't reply.

But he also didn't refuse the slab of meat the arch-hallow sent to the palace. Once the cooks were done with it, it proved very tasty. And he didn't have to think of where it came from at all.

As they had the year before, the farmers along the path Grus' army took toward the north fled when it came near. The army was bigger this year, which only meant more people ran away from it. They took their livestock, abandoned their fields, and ran off to the hills and higher ground away from the road.

Prince Vsevolod seemed surprised that bothered Grus. “Is an army,” he said, waving to the tents sprouting like mushrooms by the side of the road.

“Well, yes,” Grus agreed. “We're not here to churn butter.”

General Hirundo snickered. He took himself even less seriously than Grus did. “Churning butter?” Vsevolod said with another of his fearsome frowns—his big-nosed, strong-boned, wrinkled face was made for disapproval. “What you talk about? Is an army, like I say. Army steals. Army always steals.”

“An army shouldn't steal from its own people,” Grus said.

Vsevolod stared at him in even more confusion than when he'd talked about butter. “Why not?” the Chernagor demanded. “What difference it make? No army, no people. So army steal. So what?”

“You may be right.” Grus used that phrase to get rid of persistent nuisances. Vsevolod went off looking pleased with himself. Like most nuisances, he didn't realize it wasn't even close to the agreement it sounded like.

The breeze brought the odors of sizzling flatbread, porridge in pots, and roasting beef to Grus' nostrils. It also brought another savory odor, one that sent spit flooding into his mouth. “Tell me what that is,” he said to Hirundo.

Hirundo obligingly sniffed. “Roast pork,” he answered without hesitation.

“That's what I thought, too,” Grus said. “Now, did we bring any pigs up from the city of Avornis?”

They both knew better. Pigs, short-legged and with minds of their own, would have been a nightmare to herd. Grus couldn't imagine an army using them for meat animals, not unless it was staying someplace for months on end. The only place soldiers could have gotten hold of a pig was from farmers who hadn't fled fast enough.

“Shall I try to track down the men cooking pork?” Hirundo asked.

“No, don't bother,” Grus answered wearily. “They'll all say they got it from someone else. They always do.” Vsevolod hadn't been wrong. Armies
did
plunder their own folk. The difference between the Prince of Nishevatz and the King of Avornis was that Grus wished they didn't. Vsevolod didn't care.

When morning came, the army started for the Chernagor country again. Day by day, the mountains separating the coastal lowlands from Avornis climbed higher into the sky, notching the northern horizon. Riding along in the van, Grus had no trouble seeing that. Soldiers back toward the rear of the army probably hadn't seen the mountains yet, because of all the dust the men and their horses and wagons kicked up. When the king looked back in the direction of the city of Avornis, he couldn't see more than half the army. The rest disappeared into a haze of its own making.

The army had come within two or three days' march of the mountains when a courier rode up from the south. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” he shouted, and then coughed several times from the dust hanging in the air.

“I'm here,” Grus called, and waved to show where he was. “What is it?” Whatever it was, he didn't think it would be good. Good news had its own speed—not leisurely, but sedate. Bad news was what had to get where it was going as fast as it could.

“Here, Your Majesty.” The courier came up alongside him. His horse was caked with dusty foam. It was blowing hard, its dilated nostrils fire-red. The rider thrust a rolled parchment at Grus.

He broke the seal and slid off the ribbon that helped hold the parchment closed. Unrolling it was awkward, but he managed. He held it out at arm's length to read; his sight had begun to lengthen. Before he got even halfway through it, he was cursing as foully as he knew how.

“What's gone wrong, Your Majesty?” General Hirundo asked.

“It's the Chernagors, that's what,” Grus answered bitterly. “A whole great fleet of them, descending on the towns along our east coast. Some are sacked, some besieged—they've caught us by surprise. Some of the bastards are sailing up the Nine Rivers, too, and attacking inland towns by the riverside. They haven't done anything like this in I don't know how long.”
Lanius could tell me,
he thought. But Lanius wasn't here.

Hirundo cursed, too. “What do we do, then?” he asked.

Grus looked ahead. Yes, he could cross into the land of the Chernagors in two or three days. How much good would that do him? Nishevatz was ready, more than ready, to stand siege. While he reduced it—if he could reduce it—what would the Chernagor pirates be doing to Avornis? What did he have to put into river galleys and defend his own cities but this army here? Not much, and he knew it. Tasting gall, he answered, “We turn around. We go back.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

King Lanius had hoped to welcome King Grus back to the city of Avornis as a conquering hero. Grus was back in the capital, all right, but as a haggard, harried visitor, ready to rush toward the south and east to fight the Chernagors. “You got this news before I did,” Grus said in his brief sojourn in the palace. “What did you do?”

“Sent it on to you,” Lanius answered.

Grus exhaled through his nose. “Anything else?”