The Chernagor Pirates by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page A

beyond those ghosts. He hoped his senses were wrong. He also hoped his outriders would note other creatures that made noise be fore they could be seen.
    Pterocles was muttering to himself. He would drop the reins, make a few passes, and then grab for what he’d just dropped; he wasn’t much of a horseman. Alca had never had any trouble casting a spell and staying on her horse at the same time. Grus did a little muttering of his own. Law allowed a King of Avornis six wives. Estrilda, whom Grus had married long before he dreamt of becoming King of Avornis, had strong opinions on the subject—opinions that had nothing to do with what the law allowed.
    When Pterocles went on muttering and mumbling, Grus pushed Alca out of his mind—a relief and a pain at the same time—and asked, “Something?”
    â€œI don’t know,” the wizard answered, which was not at all what Grus wanted to hear. Pterocles went on, “If I had to guess, I’d say it was another wizard, feeling for me the same way as I’m feeling for him.”
    â€œI … see.” Grus drummed the fingers of his right hand against his thigh. “You’re not supposed to guess, not on something like this. You’re supposed to know.”
    â€œI work magic, Your Majesty. I don’t work miracles,” Pterocles said tartly. “If I had to guess”—he took an obvious sour pleasure in repeating the phrase—“that other groping wizard out there is as confused as I am.”
    No, you don’t work miracles, Grus thought. But the Banished One is liable to. He didn’t say that to Pterocles. His wizard had to know it already. Harping on it would hurt the man’s confidence, which wouldn’t help his magic.
    From out of the mist ahead came a shout. “Who goes there?” Grus needed a moment to realize the call was in Avornan, which meant it had to have come from the throat of one of his own scouts. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He hated fighting from horseback. Whether he hated it or not, though, it was enormously preferable to getting killed out of hand.
    An answering shout came back. Grus did some muttering and mumbling of his own. The fog played tricks with sound as well as with sight. Not only did he fail to make out any words in that answer, he couldn’t even tell in what language it had been. Logically, those had to be Chernagors out there … didn’t they? What do you expect? he asked himself. Menteshe to spring out of nowhere, here, hundreds of miles from their land?
    He wished he hadn’t just thought that the Banished One might work miracles.
    But it wasn’t the Banished One. A couple of minutes later, the scout came back to the main body of the Avornan army. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! We’ve met Prince Vsevolod and his men!”
    For a moment, Grus took that for good news. Then, realizing what it was likely to mean, he cursed furiously. “Why isn’t Vsevolod in Nishevatz, by the gods?” he demanded.
    The answer was what he’d feared. The scout said, “Because Prince Vasilko’s cast him out.” Grus cursed again. He’d come too late. The man the Banished One backed had seized the city.

CHAPTER THREE
    The more Lanius thought about it, the more he wondered why on earth he’d ever wanted to rule Avornis. Too much was happening too fast, and not enough of it was good. Prince Ulash’s ambassador now waited in a hostel only a couple of blocks from the royal palace. Lanius didn’t want to have anything to do with the fellow, whose name was Farrukh-Zad. The king had sent quiet orders to delay the envoy’s arrival as much as possible. He’d hoped Grus would get back and deal with the fellow. But Grus had troubles of his own in the north.
    His father-in-law couldn’t do much about the Menteshe while he was campaigning up in the Chernagor country. And the news Grus sent back from the north