"What's that saying about getting punished for your good deeds and not for your bad ones?" Anser clucked sympathetically. Then he did something more practical – he refilled Lanius' winecup. Lanius drank without hesitation; no, he wouldn't have minded getting drunk by then, not at all. The arch-hallow poured his own mug full again, too. After a sip, he went on, "I'll do what I can, Your Majesty, but I don't know how much that'll be."

"I understand. Believe me, I understand," Lanius said. "When Ortalis gets an idea into his head, he – " He stopped so hard, he almost bit his tongue. What had almost come out of his mouth was he beats it to death. It wouldn't have been anything but a figure of speech, but it would have been a disastrous one here.

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Anser said. Maybe he was just responding to the pause. Lanius dared hope. The other choice was that Anser knew exactly what he hadn't said, which would be almost as embarrassing as though he'd actually said it. He can't prove that was what I meant, Lanius thought. Anser, who didn't need to prove a thing, continued, "I'll try. I said I would, and I will. We don't need this kind of foolishness in the palace when we're fighting the Menteshe, too."

"You've got good sense," Lanius said gratefully.

"A whole fat lot of good it's liable to do me here, too," the arch-hallow replied with a wry grin. Knowing that also showed he had good sense. He added, "You do pretty well that way yourself, Your Majesty. Ortalis, though, once he gets angry, everything else flies out of his head."

Again, he wasn't wrong. Lanius took a long pull at his wine. "I don't expect miracles," he said. "Miracles are for the gods, not for us. Do what you can, and I'll be glad of it no matter what it is."

"Thanks. The family ought to stick together. And we – " Now Anser was the one who broke off in a hurry.

Lanius wondered why. Then, all at once, he didn't. Had Anser swallowed something like, We bastards ought to stick together, too? Lanius didn't, wouldn't, think of himself as a bastard, but Anser really was one. Did he ever wonder if he might have been in line for the throne had his birth turned out different? He'd hardly be human if he didn't. But he wasn't – he never had been – a jealous man, which was probably all to the good. Lanius would have been furious at almost anyone who suggested he might not be legitimate. But how could he get angry at Anser, who really wasn't?

"By Olor's prong, we should, shouldn't we?" Lanius said.

If he'd talked about some other part of Olor's anatomy, Anser might not have been sure he'd filled in what the arch-hallow hadn't said. As things were, Anser turned red as a modest maiden hearing her beauty praised for the first time. "I meant no offense, Your Majesty," he mumbled.

"I took none," Lanius said quickly. "And I thank you very much for trying to talk to Ortalis. If he'll listen to anybody, he'll listen to you."

"Yes," Anser said with a nod. "If."

When the Avornan army stopped for the evening south of the Stura, Hirundo always threw out sentries all around it. Whenever he found the chance, he had the men run up a rampart around the encampment, too, made up of whatever timber or stones and rubble they could get their hands on. They sometimes grumbled. Hirundo took no notice of that, not where they could hear.

"I know it's not the strongest defense, and I know it's work nobody likes to do," he said to Grus on an evening when the complaints were louder than usual. "But it's better than nothing, and it'll slow the nomads down, maybe even throw 'em into confusion, if they try hitting us at night."

"You're right. You couldn't be lighter," Grus said. "Do you want me to say a few words – or more than a few words – to the soldiers about that?"

Hirundo shook his head. "I think that would make things worse, not better. They're following orders. They just don't like them very much. If you start fussing about it, they're liable to decide they have to have their own way no matter what. That's how mutinies start."

"All right. You know best." Grus thought for a little while, then slowly nodded. "Yes, if I had grumbling sailors to deal with, I'd probably handle them the same way. As long as they don't think you think something's worth pitching a fit about, they won't get too excited themselves."

"That's it exactly," Hirundo agreed. "They need to be worrying about the Menteshe, not about earthworks and such. This should just be part of routine. And it is, pretty much. It's a part they don't care for, that's all."

"All sorts of things down here I don't care for." Grus looked back toward the north. "One of them is that we aren't getting as many wagonloads of supplies as I hoped we would."

Hirundo looked unhappy. The lamplight inside Grus' pavilion deepened the shadows in his wrinkles and made him seem even less pleased than he would have in the daytime. "Miserable nomads have been raiding the wagon trains. They've decided they can make trouble for us that way without meeting our main force face-to-face, strength to strength."

"And they're right, too, curse them," Grus said. Hirundo didn't deny it. Grus hadn't thought he would. The king asked, "What can we do about it?"

"We're doing what we can," Hirundo answered. "We've got solid guard parties going with the wagons. If they were any stronger, we'd start weakening the army here. We've built a line of real strongpoints back to the Stura. All of that only helps so much. The Menteshe get to pick and choose where they'll hit us. That gives them the edge."

Grus drew his sword. The blade gleamed in the buttery light. "I'd like to give them the edge of this, by the gods," he growled.

"We gain. In spite of everything, we gain," Hirundo said. "We've done better down here than I thought we would. Those thrall-freeing spells really work."

"They'd better, by Olor's strong right hand!" Grus said. "I wouldn't have had the nerve to stick my nose across the Stura without them."

Musingly, the general said, "Even if we lose here, we'll still have caused the Menteshe a lot of trouble. With the people who do their work for them able to think for themselves, the nomads won't have it all their own way anymore."

He was right, no doubt about it. Grus scowled even so. "I didn't cross the river to lose. I crossed the river to lay siege to Yozgat, take the Scepter of Mercy away from whichever Menteshe prince happens to be hanging on to it, and to bring it back to the city of Avornis where it belongs."

Hirundo stared south. "I don't know whether we'll be able to get there by the end of this campaigning season. That's a cursed long advance to make in one summer – and a cursed long supply line to protect, too. We're already seeing some of the joys there."

He was right about that, too. His being right made Grus no happier- – just the opposite, in fact. "We'll do what we can, that's all," the king said. "And if we don't get everything done that we hoped for…" He did some more scowling. "If that's how things work out, then we go back and try again next year. We had to keep going back to the Chernagor country till things finally turned our way. If that happens here… then it does, that's all."

"All right," Hirundo said evenly. "I did want to make sure you were thinking about all the possibilities."

"Thank you so very much," Grus said, and Hirundo laughed out loud, for he sounded anything but grateful.

Pouncer swarmed up a stick. When the moncat got to the top, it waited expectantly. Collurio gave it a bit of meat. Then Pouncer jumped to the next stick, which ran horizontally, and hurried along it. Lanius waited at the other end. "Mrowr?" Pouncer said.

The king gave the moncat a treat. Pouncer ate it with the air of someone who'd received no less than his due. Lanius turned to Collurio. "You've taught this foolish beast more in a few weeks than I did in years."