The Chernagor Pirates

by Harry Turtledove

  He knew one more thing, too—he was glad Sosia wasn’t one of those women (or, if she was, that no one had caught her at it). If she were, he would have been even more upset with her than she was with him now. He was sure he would have.

  With a sigh, he said, “I’ll try, Sosia.”

  How would she take that? She didn’t seem to know how to take it for a little while. Then, slowly, her face cleared. “That’s as much as I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?” she said. “Maybe you even mean it.”

  “I do,” he said, wondering if he did.

  “You’ll try,” she said bitterly. “You’ll try, and every so often you’ll do what you please anyway. And you’ll be sorry afterwards. You’re always sorry afterwards, when it doesn’t do anybody any good. What should I do the next time you’re sorry afterwards? Practice my aim so I hit you with the first cup?”

  Lanius’ ears burned. He looked at the broken crockery by his feet. Whether or not Sosia had hit him with a cup, her words had struck dead center. She saw what lay ahead the same way as he did. If he admitted as much, he delivered himself into her hands.

  Instead of admitting it, he said, “I am sorry. I will try.” His wife nodded, as though she believed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In the years since Grus first met Prince Vsevolod, the exiled lord of Nishevatz’s beard had grown whiter. His craggy features, always wrinkled, were now gullied like steep, bare country after hard rain. And his hands put the King of Avornis more in mind of tree roots than ever.

  The one thing about Vsevolod that had not changed was the fire in his eyes. As winter reluctantly gave way to spring, the Prince of Nishevatz came up to Grus and said, “You get rid of Vasilko, yes?”

  Grus had his problems with Ortalis. Set against Vsevolod’s problems with his son, they hardly seemed worth noticing. Ortalis, after all, had never tried to usurp the Avornan throne. Vasilko had not only tried to steal Nishevatz from Vsevolod, he’d succeeded. Grus replied, “We will go north this spring, Your Highness, yes.”

  “This is good. This is very good. I go back to my own city. I rule in my own city. I do not have to live on charity of strangers, on charity of foreigners,” Vsevolod said.

  “We have not kept you here out of charity, Your Highness,” Grus said.

  “No. This is true. Charity is to help someone out of goodness of your heart,” Vsevolod said. “You do not do this. You help me because of what I can do for you.” He strode away, his back still straight—if stiff—despite his years. Grus stared after him, feeling obscurely punctured.

  Regardless of his reasons for harboring Vsevolod in the city of Avornis, Grus did want to return him to the throne of Nishevatz. He assembled men and horses and supplies outside the city of Avornis, ready to move as soon as the weather turned mild and the roads dried out.

  With extra men in the south in case the Menteshe decided to fight Avornis instead of among themselves, with sailors filling the growing fleet of Chernagor-style seagoing ships protecting the kingdom’s east coast, Grus’ army was smaller than it had been on either of his two earlier moves up into the Chernagor country. That didn’t unduly worry him, for he thought it would be big enough.

  Lanius and Sosia came out from the city to wish him good fortune. His son-in-law and daughter were wary around each other. He understood why. Their quarrels through the winter had hardly stayed secret. Grus wished he were in a position to give Lanius good advice. With one of his own partners waiting in a provincial town to bear his bastard, he wasn’t, and he knew it.

  To his surprise, Ortalis and Limosa also came out to wish the army luck. Grus couldn’t remember the last time his legitimate son had cared enough to bid him farewell. Maybe it had been Limosa’s idea. In spite of her irregular marriage to Ortalis, she seemed to be making him a good wife.

  Or maybe Ortalis was just interested in looking at men who hunted other men for a living. Grus had sometimes wondered if his son would try to turn into a soldier. That would have given Ortalis a way to let out his thirst for blood without having other people give him strange looks. But Ortalis had never shown any interest in going to war. Of course, in war the people you hunted also hunted you. That might have dampened his enthusiasm for soldiering.

  Now he said, “Good fortune go with you, Father.”

  “My thanks.” Not even Grus could find anything wrong with that.

  “Good fortune go with you indeed,” Lanius said. “May you return Vsevolod to his throne.” He looked around to make sure the Chernagor was nowhere nearby, then quietly added, “May you get Vsevolod out of our hair for good.”

  “May it be so.” Grus and Lanius shared a smile. No denying the Prince of Nishevatz had made a difficult guest in the city of Avornis.

  Lanius said, “I will also pray for peace inside the kingdom.”

  “Good. You do that,” Grus said. He glanced toward the other King of Avornis. Lanius wasn’t looking south toward the Stura. He wasn’t looking east toward the coast. He was looking straight at Sosia. Grus nodded to himself. He’d thought Lanius meant that kind of peace, not the sort that came with armies staying home.

  “I know you’ll win, Your Majesty,” Limosa said. “Time is on your side, after all.”

  Was it? Grus had his doubts. She might as well have said, Third time’s the charm—not that it had been. Vasilko had had plenty of time to consolidate himself in Nishevatz. How many people there still longed for Vsevolod’s return? How many people who had longed for Vsevolod’s return had Vasilko disposed of? A lot of them—Grus was sure of that. It wouldn’t make reconquering the Chernagor town any easier.

  He shrugged. Nothing he could do about it. He said, “If the gods are kind, we’ll come back with victory—and without Vsevolod.”

  “That would be perfect,” Lanius said. Ortalis didn’t seem so concerned—but then, he’d paid as little attention to Vsevolod as he had to anything else connected to actually ruling Avornis.

  Grus turned away from his family and back toward the army. “Let’s move!” he called. A trumpeter echoed his command. The horsemen who’d go out ahead of the rest of the force as scouts urged their mounts into motion. One piece at a time, the remainder of the army followed.

  “I’m off,” Grus said when he had to ride or fall out of place. As he used knees and the reins to get his horse moving, Lanius and Sosia and Ortalis and Limosa all waved. He waved back. Then, for the fourth time, he set out for the land of the Chernagors.

  Twice, he’d failed to take Nishevatz. Once, he hadn’t even gotten up into the Chernagor country before bad news forced him to turn away. Oddly, those disasters heartened him instead of leaving him discouraged. He’d seen every sort of misfortune when he went north. Didn’t that mean he was due for good luck sometime soon?

  He hoped it did. Maybe it meant he’d see no good luck against the Chernagors no matter what happened. He refused to believe that. If he did believe it, he wouldn’t have sent forth this army. He didn’t think he would have, anyhow.

  Not far away, Prince Vsevolod rode toward his homeland. Like the rest of the beasts in the army, the Prince of Nishevatz’s horse went at a walk. Vsevolod had to know he couldn’t take back Nishevatz all by himself. Even so, he gave the impression of heading north at a headlong gallop. That impression might have been—was—false, but seemed real all the same.

  Hirundo, by contrast, might have been sauntering along. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to Nishevatz. Grus knew he did. But he knew he wouldn’t get there right away, and showed he knew it, too. Grus preferred his attitude. It struck him as being more sensible than Vsevolod’s.

  And what about me? the king asked himself. He answered with a shrug. With the Menteshe distracted down in the south, he thought he had a better chance on this campaign than on the ones of years gone by—if the nomads were distracted, the Banished One should be distracted, too. Grus hoped to bridge the gap between should be and is. If he did, he might win. If not, he’d come home disappointed again—if he ca
me home at all.

  Lanius wondered how long he would have to wait this time for Sosia to let him back into her bed. He was curious and interested for more than one reason. First and … most urgent was the interest any man would have shown about that particular question.

  A more abstract curiosity, though, accompanied that … urgent interest. Sosia had to make some careful calculations of her own. If she showed she warmed to him too soon, what would he think? Why, that he could enjoy himself with a serving girl whenever he felt like it. He’d make Sosia angry for a little while, but she’d soon forgive and forget.

  But if she really was furious—or wanted him to believe she was—and kept herself to herself for a long time, what would spring from that? He was a man, after all, with a man’s desires. Wouldn’t he go looking for another serving girl and slake those desires with her? She wouldn’t want him doing that.

  Yes, a nice calculation.

  Lanius tried to think along with his wife. She’d known him for a long time now. She would know how much he heated through each day of denial. He had a pretty good notion of when he would get fed up and start smiling at the prettier maidservants if Sosia hadn’t softened by then.

  Two days before the time when he figured his impatience would get the better of his good sense, Sosia sighed and said, “I can’t make you change very much, can I?”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Lanius answered seriously. “One person usually can’t change another. By the gods, not many people can change themselves.”

  His wife studied him. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “I have some idea.” His voice was dry.

  “Good.” The queen sounded relieved. “I wasn’t sure. Sometimes you see only the questions, not what’s behind them.”

  That was true enough. Lanius said, “I’m glad you’re not angry at me anymore,” then quickly amended that to, “Not too angry at me, I mean.”

  “Not too angry is right,” Sosia said, “and even that’s just barely right. Still, you’re what I’ve got. I can either make the best of it or else find we’re in even more trouble.”

  Her thinking did mirror his. He said, “I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

  “I know,” Sosia answered. “You always do when you’re with me. It’s one of the reasons I can stand having you touch me again after—after everything you’ve done.” She looked at him with more defiance than desire on her face. “Shall we?”

  “All right.” Lanius was more worried than he wanted her to know. If she didn’t want him to please her, then he wouldn’t, no matter what he did. He’d seen that with her and with other women. Men were simpler there. If it felt good, they didn’t worry about much else. We’re lucky, Lanius thought; he didn’t wonder if it was good luck or bad.

  Physical acts counted, too. He worked especially hard to give Sosia pleasure when they lay down together. And, to his relief, he succeeded. She murmured something wordless, then stroked the back of his head. “You,” she said, and her voice sounded as much accusing as anything else.

  “At your service,” he said. “And now—” He poised himself above her. He’d wondered if she would just lie there when they joined, to punish him for making love with Zenaida. But she didn’t. Even as his own pleasure built, he nodded in respect. Sosia didn’t stint. She deserved credit for that.

  Afterward, he kissed the side of her neck. She wiggled; that was a ticklish spot for her. “You,” she said again, even more accusingly than before.

  “Yes, me,” Lanius said. “You … had better believe it.” He’d almost said, You were expecting someone else? Considering that he’d enjoyed himself with someone else, she might have answered, What if I was? Better not to travel some roads than to see where they led.

  “When we started,” Sosia said, “I wasn’t sure I really wanted you touching me, kissing me, kissing me there, at all. But you know what you’re doing.” In the dark stillness of the bedchamber, her eyes were enormous. “Do you study that along with everything else?”

  “Not much in the archives about it,” Lanius said. A man studied such things whenever he made love with a woman, but that wasn’t what Sosia had meant. He didn’t think many men realized that was what they were doing. The more fools they, he thought.

  “Archives,” Sosia muttered, so maybe she had something else in mind for the source of his research. But she didn’t snipe at him. Instead, she asked, “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Put up with me, I hope,” Lanius answered. “I’ll try to do the same for you.”

  “For me? Why do I need putting up with?” But then Sosia shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I’ll try to put up with you, you try to put up with me, and we’ll both try to get along. Bargain?”

  “Bargain,” Lanius said. They clasped hands.

  Up ahead of the Avornan army, Chernagor cavalry skirmished with King Grus’ scouts. More Chernagor horsemen galloped off toward the north. Grus cursed, more in resignation than anything else. “So much for surprise,” he said.

  “Did you really think we’d keep it?” Hirundo asked. “We can’t just appear out of nowhere, like ghosts in a story to frighten children.”

  “Maybe not, but we’d win a lot of battles if we could,” Grus said.

  He wondered whether the men of Nishevatz would try to hold Varazdin against him, but his men found the fortress not only abandoned but destroyed, the keep wrecked and one of the outer walls pulled down. Maybe they thought he could quickly overcome whatever garrison they put into the place, or maybe they were saving everything they had to defend the walls of their city-state.

  Either way, Grus thought they were making a mistake. Had he been in charge of Nishevatz, he would have defended the place as far forward as he could. If Vasilko was willing to let him get close, he would say thank you and do his best to take advantage of that. He pressed on into the land of the Chernagors.

  Three days later, one of his scouts came riding back to the main body of the army, calling, “The sea! The sea!” The man pointed north.

  Grus soon rode up over a low rise and spied the sea for himself. As always, he was struck by how different it was from the Azanian Sea on the east coast of Avornis. The waters there were blue and warm and inviting, the beaches made from golden sand. The beaches here were mud flats. The sea was greenish gray, a color that didn’t seem quite healthy to him. The sky was gray, too, the gray of newly sheared wool before it was washed. Wisps of mist kept the king from getting as good a view of either sea or sky as he would have wanted.

  “No wonder the Chernagors like to turn pirate,” Hirundo said, gazing out at the bleak landscape. “If I lived in country like this, I’d do my best to get away from it, too.”

  Sandpipers scurried along at the border between sea and land, poking their beaks into the mud to look for whatever little creatures they hunted. Gulls mewed overhead, soaring along on narrow pointed wings. The air smelled of moisture and salt and seaweed and faintly nasty things Grus couldn’t quite name.

  Prince Vsevolod rode up to him. The Chernagor’s eyes shone, though his breath smoked each time he exhaled. “Is wonderful country, yes?” he boomed.

  “I’m glad it pleases you, Your Highness,” Grus answered, as diplomatically as he could.

  “Wonderful country,” Vsevolod repeated. “Not too hot like Avornis, with sweat all time in summer. Not cold all through winter, either. Just right.”

  “To each his own,” Grus said.

  “To each his own, yes.” Vsevolod seemed to cherish the cliché. “And Nishevatz—Nishevatz is my own.”

  “May we soon set you back on the throne there, then,” Grus said, thinking, And if I never see you again, that will not disappoint you, and it will not disappoint me, either.

  They’d come to the sea east of the town, and moved toward it until they made camp for the night. Grus took care to post sentries well out from the camp, to bring back warning if the Chernagors tried to strike. And, remembering the disaster th
at had almost befallen his army while fighting the Menteshe, he summoned Pterocles. “Be sure you drink your fill of wine this evening,” he told the wizard. “If you have to ease yourself, you’ll beat any sleep spell the enemy sends your way.”

  Pterocles smiled. “I will set up sorcerous wards, too, Your Majesty,” he replied. “They will not take me by surprise twice the same way.”

  “Good.” Grus nodded. “Do you have any idea what new surprises they’ll try to use?”

  “If I did, they wouldn’t be surprises, would they?” Pterocles held the cheerful expression.

  “Do you sense the Banished One?” Grus asked.

  Now the wizard’s smile blew out like a candle flame. “So far, I have not, except in a general way. This is a land where he has an interest, but it is not a land where he is concentrating all his attention, the way he did when he laid me low.”

  “He has other things on his mind right now,” Grus said, and Pterocles nodded. The king went on, “As long as Sanjar and Korkut keep whacking away at each other, the Banished One ought to worry most about the south.” Pterocles nodded again. Grus finished, “In that case, I hope they fight each other for the next ten years.”

  “That would be nice,” Pterocles agreed, and some of his smile came back.

  The army went on toward Nishevatz the next morning. Offshore, far out of bowshot or even catapult range, tall-masted Chernagor ships sailed along, keeping an eye on the Avornans. Grus wished he had tall ships of his own in these waters; the little flotilla Lanius sent out had come back to Avornis during the winter, having lost one ship, sunk several, and earned what the Chernagors of Durdevatz said would be their undying gratitude. Every so often here, one of these ships would sail off to Nishevatz, presumably to report on whatever its crew had seen. The rest kept on shadowing Grus’ army.

  After a while, he got fed up with that and called for Pterocles again. “You made a magic against the Chernagor transports,” he said. “Can you use the same spell against these snoops?”