That was exactly what Grus and Hirundo wanted them to do. The king began to wonder just how much he wanted it when an arrow hissed past his ear. If the nomads could cause chaos in his army…

They thought they could. Like any soldiers worth their hire, the Menteshe were arrogant. Some of them, surely, had fought Avornans north of the Stura. They must have known their foes weren't cowards. But they must also have taken them for fools or madmen – how many years had it been since Avornans came to fight on this side of the river? Why wouldn't they break up and flee when peppered with arrows?

We'll show them why, Grus thought. He waved to Hirundo, who waved to the trumpeters. One of them fell silent in mid-call, choking on his own blood when an arrow pierced his throat. But the rest roared out the command the army had been waiting for. The archers screening the heavy horse drew aside to left and right. Grus and Hirundo both raised their right hands. They both dropped them at the same time. When they did, the horns cried out a new command. The lancers lowered their spears and charged.

Sunlight struck sparks from spearheads as they swung down to horizontal. Hunks of hard earth flew up from under horses' hooves when the chargers thundered ahead. They needed perhaps fifty yards to build up full momentum. They had all the space they needed, and a little more besides.

More than a little more would have been too much. If the Menteshe had had room to turn and flee, they would have done it. They saw nothing shameful in flight, and were past masters at shooting back over their shoulders as they fled. Here, though, they were storming forward themselves.

Grus heard their howls of dismay even above the drumroll of hoofbeats from his heavy horse. That was sweet music in his ears. Beside him, Hirundo's grin was like that of a fox spying an unguarded chicken coop. "By Olor's beard, let's see how they like that," the general said.

The Menteshe liked it not at all. They were at their best darting and stinging like wasps. In close combat against bigger men in stouter armor on heavier horses, they were like wasps smashed against a stone. Lances pierced them and lifted them out of the saddle. The Avornans' big warhorses overbore their plains ponies and sent them crashing to earth. Their slashing sabers would not bite on shields or chainmail. Some of their arrows struck home, but more glanced from helms and other ironwork. Down they went in windrows, the heart suddenly ripped from their battle line.

Those who could did flee then, as fast as their horses would carry them. And they did shoot back over their shoulders, and dropped several Avornans who pressed after them too hard. But Grus soon reined in the pursuit. He'd done what he wanted to do in the first encounter – he'd shown the Menteshe that fighting on their own side of the Stura didn't guarantee victory.

"Very neat," he said to Hirundo.

"Could have been worse," the general agreed. "That charge took them by surprise. Doing it once was easy. Twice won't be."

"Yes, that occurred to me, too," Grus said. "But we've got a victory to start with, and that was what we needed. We'll worry about everything else later."

Out on the battlefield, Avornan soldiers plundered the dead – and made sure those they plundered really were dead. Healers and wizards were doing what they could for wounded Avornans. Seeing the wizards at work made Grus look to Pterocles. The sorcerer said, "You must have caught the nomads napping with that charge, Your Majesty. They didn't have the chance to try any fancy spells against us."

"I'm not sorry," Grus said. By Pterocles' smile, neither was he. The king snapped his fingers and turned back to Hirundo. "Send out some men to tell our soldiers not to kill every single Menteshe they come across. We'll want to ask questions, and a man with a new mouth doesn't talk so well." He drew a finger across his throat to show what he meant.

"I'll see to it, Your Majesty," Hirundo promised.

"Good," Grus said. "If we can take one of their wizards alive, that will be better yet."

Hirundo looked dubious. "Will it? I think I'd rather find a scorpion in my boot."

"You can step on a scorpion," Grus said. "Our wizards can handle the Menteshe. Or if they can't, we had no business crossing the Stura in the first place."

Hirundo nodded. If he hadn't, Grus would have been more dangerous to him than either a scorpion or a Menteshe wizard. The king looked south. No Avornan army had come anywhere near Yozgat for four hundred years. No Avornan king had touched the Scepter of Mercy for that long or a little longer. What would taking it in his hands be like? He had no idea. Maybe Lanius did. Slowly, Grus shook his head. He didn't believe it, no matter how learned Lanius was. The other king would have read about what wielding the Scepter of Mercy was like, but Grus had the feeling that the difference between reading about it and doing it was as vast as the difference between reading about making love and doing that.

For some things, words were enough. Others required real experience. Grus craved real experience here.

Pouncer stared from Lanius to Collurio. They'd taken the moncat to an unfamiliar room. It didn't care. It yawned, exposing formidable fangs. Lanius started to laugh. "Nice to know we impress the miserable creature, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," the animal trainer said. "Dogs are easier, no doubt about it. Dogs are eager to please. Cats please themselves. I see this is no ordinary cat, but it's not so very different, eh?"

"No. There are times I wish it were, but it isn't. You're right about that," Lanius said. "But I saw you could train ordinary cats, and I've already trained Pouncer a little."

"It can be done, yes," Collurio said. "It takes longer, though, and it's not so easy. It's not so reliable. A cat does what it wants, not what you want."

"Really? I'd never noticed that," Lanius said.

Collurio gave him an odd look. Then, realizing the king was joking, the trainer smiled. He said, "You can get cats to do what you want. You just have to make sure it's what they want, too. For instance…"

Standing there beside him on a sturdy base was a pole as thick as his arm and about as tall as he was. He showed Pouncer a scrap of meat, then ostentatiously put it on the pole's flat top. As the moncat swarmed up the pole, claws digging into the wood, Collurio loudly clapped his hands. Pouncer flinched, but went on climbing. The beast perched at the top of the pole to eat its treat.

Collurio waited till it had finished, then lifted it and set it on the floor again. He produced another bit of meat and put it on top of the pole. As Pouncer climbed, Collurio clapped his hands once more.

"That didn't scare him as much as the first time," Lanius said.

"No, it didn't," Collurio agreed as Pouncer captured the prize and gobbled it up. "After we do it a few more times, it won't frighten him at all. And pretty soon he'll get the idea that when I clap my hands he's supposed to go up the pole, because something good will be waiting for him when he does."

"And he'll go on up even if it's not," Lanius said.

"Yes, he will," the animal trainer said. "You don't want to make him do that too often, though, or he'll get confused. Keep things as simple as you can with beasts." He chuckled. "Come to that, keep things as simple as you can with people, too."

Lanius started to say something pleasant and nearly meaningless. Then he stopped and thought about it for a little while. He set a hand on Collurio's shoulder. "Do you know, that's some of the best advice I ever heard."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." This time, Collurio's chuckle sounded distinctly wry. "It's easy to say. Lots of things are easy to say. Doing it… Well, if doing it were easier, then everybody would, don't you think?"