Harry Turtledove - The Scepter's return

"Do you?" The Banished One seemed to lean toward him. Even if Lanius was less frightened now than he had been in some other dreams, that alarmed him. In a deadly voice, the Banished One asked, "Why?"

"Because you're a bore," Lanius' dream-self said.

The Banished One's roar of fury was so enormous, Lanius thought for a moment that it was a real sound, not an imaginary one. He burst from sleep as though shot from a stone-thrower, the way he'd gotten used to doing when escaping one of the exiled god's dreams. Sweat ran down his face and trickled along his sides from his armpits. His heart drummed madly.

"What's the matter?" Sosia asked, sleep blurring her voice.

"Bad dream." Lanius' answer, as usual, was true but inadequate.

"You've had a lot of those lately." His wife sounded as sympathetic as she could around a yawn.

"Maybe I have." Lanius knew he had. The Banished One sensed he was doing something out of the ordinary, and tormented him because of it. So far, the Banished One hadn't worked out what the king had in mind. More than anything else, Lanius wanted that very partial ignorance to go on.

Sosia patted the pillow. "Well, go back to bed." She yawned again.

"Later, maybe." As usual after one of these jolts, Lanius was too excited to sleep. He got up and started for the door. He'd put a hand on the latch before noticing he was naked. That would have given any servants going through the palace corridors in the middle of the night something to talk about.

He slipped on the lightest, plainest robe he had, one made of a blend of silk and linen. No one would expect him to wear a heavy robe of state at whatever hour this was. He opened the door, slipped out, and closed it behind him as quietly as he could.

The palace was dim and quiet. Only a few torches were lit, which saved fuel. A little moth fluttered around one of the ones that still flickered. It would be sorry if it flew into the flame.

And what about me? he wondered. Am I flying into the flame when I go against the Banished One? Many before him had burned themselves up. He didn't think he would. But how many of the others had thought so? Hadn't they been sure they were doing something wonderful, something that would make Avornans remember their names until the end of time? Of course they had. The only trouble was, they'd been wrong. He had to hope he wasn't.

Someone came around the comer. It was Ortalis. He seemed as surprised to see Lanius as Lanius was to see him. "Oh, hello," Grus' son said. "What are you doing up at this time of night?"

"I might ask you the same question," Lanius said. "As for me, I had a dream that woke me." That would do. He didn't want or intend to go into details.

One of Ortalis' eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Did you? As a matter of fact, so did I."

"Really?" Lanius was not only surprised but also frightened. A dream bad enough to get Ortalis out of bed was likely to come from the Banished One. Why would the exiled god want to send Ortalis dreams? For no good reason — Lanius would have staked his life on that. Cautiously, he asked, "Was the nightmare very bad?"

"Nightmare?" Ortalis gaped at him as though he'd suddenly started babbling in Thervingian. "Nightmare?" he repeated; he might not have believed his ears. "This was the most wonderful dream I ever had in my life."

"Was it?" Lanius said, surprised all over again.

"It certainly was!" Ortalis had never spoken of anything, even hunting, with such enthusiasm before. Lanius laughed at himself. He'd jumped to a good many wrong conclusions. This looked to be one of the wrongest. Well, good, he thought.

"Here you are, Your Majesty." A weary-sounding courier handed Grus a message tube.

"Thanks," the king said, and then, sympathetically, "Have any trouble coming down here?"

"Did I ever!" The courier got livelier remembering. "This bunch of nomads started chasing me, and I was afraid they'd catch me before I could get to our next little fort. But then this other bunch of Menteshe came out from the side, and I really thought I was a goner. Instead of going after me, though, they pitched into each other, and I got away."

"Good for you!" Grus said. "Nice to know the civil war between Korkut and Sanjar is still going on."

Knowing that was especially nice after Bori-Bars had led the army of both princes' backers against the Avornans. Maybe the Banished One didn't bother uniting the Menteshe unless something more important than one courier was at stake. Or maybe Sanjar's shamans really had worked out a way to keep him from doing that. Grus hoped so.

"I had bad dreams all the way down, too," the courier said. "But the gods in the heavens watched over me and kept me safe."

"No doubt," Grus said, doubting. How often did the gods in the heavens pay any attention to what went on down here in the material world? Not often enough. But, even if Grus had trouble staying confident in them, he didn't want to damage the other man's faith, so he let it go at that.

He opened the message tube and drew out the letter inside.

Another sheet came out with it. Grus unrolled that one first. It was a sketch of a town, as seen from outside. Grus blinked. He'd known Lanius could draw, but he hadn't had any idea the other king was this good.

He started to give his attention to the letter, then looked back at the sketch again. From that sketch, his eyes snapped to the walls of Yozgat. "By the gods!" he muttered. Lanius was not only better than he'd thought, but much better than he'd thought. There could be no doubt about it — the other king had produced an outstanding portrait of a city he'd never seen.

Lanius had made mistakes. The texture of the stone didn't quite match that of Yozgat's walls, and the proportions of the towers were subtly off. But it was unmistakably Yozgat.

More than a little reluctantly, Grus rolled up the sketch and broke the seal on the letter. When he finished reading it, he shook his head in reluctant admiration and respect. The letter was as precise as the sketch — and, like it, had a few details that weren't quite the way they were supposed to be.

As with the sketch, those didn't worry Grus. They just reminded him that Lanius was human — for all his cleverness, he didn't see everything there was to see. Noting as much relieved Grus. He decided there might still be some point after all to his having a share of the crown.

And, here, he saw very clearly what needed doing. He went over to Pterocles' tent and stuck his head inside. "Oh, good," he said. "You're here."

"No, not really," the wizard answered. "But I do expect to get back pretty soon."

"Er — right," Grus said. "You were wondering how we would get the Scepter of Mercy out of Yozgat."

"Something like that had occurred to me, yes," Pterocles agreed. "You told me it was none of my business, though." Resentment stuck up all over him, like spines on a hedgehog.

"Well, it may be after all." Grus thrust Lanius' letter at him. "Here — read this and tell me what you think."

Pterocles obeyed. The more he read, the more astonished he looked. When he was finished, he blurted, "That's the craziest thing I ever heard of."

"Just what I said when King Lanius told me about it last winter," Grus replied. "Suppose we forget it's crazy, though. Suppose we look at what chance it has of working. More than a little, wouldn't you say? Here, look at this, too." He showed Pterocles Lanius' sketch of Yozgat.

"Olor's beard!" the wizard exclaimed, recognizing it at once. "That's — amazing, isn't it?"

"Pretty much so," Grus said. "He's never even gone as far as the Stura, let alone anywhere near here."

"He's got it down, though. Every place where it matters, he's got it down," Pterocles said, and Grus nodded. Pterocles asked, "Where do I come into all this?"