Krispos the Emperor (51 page)

Krispos chuckled, quite unabashed. This time Zaidas ignored him. He took a large silk cloth, big enough for a wall hanging, and draped it over both Phostis and Olyvria. The cloth was of the same sky blue as the candle that stood for the Empire and the orthodox faith. The silk's fine weave let Phostis see through it mistily, as if through fog.

He watched Zaidas take up yet another cloth, this one striped in bright colors. It reminded him of the caftans Artapan had worn. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Zaidas declared, "Now we shall sorcerously show the wicked wizard of Makuran that he shall profit nothing from his courtship of death!" He dropped out of that impressive tone and into ordinary speech for a moment: "Now, young Majesty, comes your time to contribute to this magic. Take your intended in your arms, kiss her, and think on all you might be doing were the rest of us not standing around here making nuisances of ourselves."

Phostis stared at him through the thin silk cloth. "Are you sure that's what you want of us, Uncle Z—uh, sorcerous sir?"

"Do that alone and do it properly, young Majesty, and no one could do more this day. Think of it, if you must, as duty rather than pleasure."

Kissing Olyvria was not a duty, and Phostis refused to consider it one. Her sweet lips and tongue, the soft firmness of her body pressed against his, argued that she, too, enjoyed the task Zaidas had set them. So tightly did Phostis hold her against him that she could not have doubted what he wanted to do with her. He heard her laugh softly, back in her throat.

After a while, he opened his eyes. He'd kissed Olyvria a lot lately, and while he thoroughly enjoyed it, he'd never been part of a major conjuration before. He wanted to see what Zaidas was up to. The first thing he saw was that Olyvria's eyes were already open. That made him laugh.

Zaidas was holding the piece of striped fabric above the flame of the blue candle. He intoned, "As they celebrate life under their cloth, so may that overturn the Makuraner mage who would strengthen himself through death. Let his sorcery be consumed as Videssos' light consumes the cloth of his country." He thrust the fabric into the fire.

Phostis always regretted the silk cloth that hazed his vision; it made him doubt his own eyes. The striped square of fabric flared up brightly the moment the candle flame touched it. For that instant, it burned as if it had been soaked in oil; Phostis wondered if Zaidas could drop it fast enough to save his fingers.

But then the burning cloth flickered and almost went out. Not only that, the part that had been consumed seemed restored, so that the cloth looked bigger than it had when it burned brightest. Zaidas stumbled and almost took it out of the candle flame.

He stood steady, though, and repeated the incantation he'd used when he first put the cloth in the flame. To it he added other muttered charms that Phostis heard only indistinctly. The striped cloth began to burn again, hesitantly at first but then with greater vigor. "You have it, sorcerous sir!" Krispos breathed.

Though he spoke softly, he must have distracted Zaidas, for the flame on the cloth shrank and the cloth itself seemed to expand once more. But Zaidas rallied again. More and more of the cloth burned away. Finally, with a puff of smoke like the one from the expiring Thanasiot candle, it was gone. Zaidas stuck the thumb and forefinger of his right hand into his mouth. They shouldn't have been scorched, though—they should have been burned to the bone.

When he took the fingers out, the wizard said in a worn voice, "What magic can do, magic has done. The good god willing, I have struck Artapan a heavy blow this day."

"How shall you know whether the good god was willing?" Krispos asked.

Instead of answering directly, Zaidas swept the filmy silk cloth away from Phostis and Olyvria and said, "You two can detach yourselves from each other now."

They shook their heads at the same time and both started to laugh. That was what made them break apart. Phostis said, "We liked what we were doing."

"I noticed that, yes," Zaidas said, so dryly it might have been Krispos talking.

Krispos repeated, "How will you know whether you smote Artapan?" 

"Your Majesty, I am about to find that out, for which purpose I require your eldest son once more."

"Me?" Phostis said. "What do I need to do now?"

"What I tell you." Before explaining what that was, the mage turned to Olyvria and bowed. "My lady, I am grateful for your services against the Makuraner. Your presence is not required for this next conjuration." He made it sound as if her presence was not desired. Though that miffed Phostis, Olyvria nodded and swept down the little hillock. A couple of Halogai trailed after her; the northerners seemed to have accepted her as part of the imperial family.

"Why don't you want her to watch what we're doing?" Phostis asked Zaidas.

"Because I am going to use you to help locate her father Livanios," Zaidas answered. "You were in contact with him; by the law of contagion, you remain in contact. So, for that matter, does she, but no matter how she loves you, I would not use her as the instrument of her father's betrayal."

"A nicety of sentiment the Thanasioi wouldn't give back to us," Krispos said. "But you're right to use it. Carry on, sorcerous sir."

"I shall, never fear," Zaidas answered. "I was just about to explain that Artapan's magic has up to this point shielded the Thanasioi from such direct sorcerous scrutiny. If, however, we have weakened him with the conjuration just completed, this next spell should also succeed."

"Very neat," Krispos said approvingly. "You use the same magic to learn whether the previous one worked and where the heresiarch's main force is. That's economical enough to have sprung from the brain of a treasury logothete."

"I shall construe that as a compliment, and hope it was

meant so," Zaidas said, which squeezed a chuckle out of Krispos.

The conjuration the sorcerer had in mind seemed simple in the extreme. He took some loose, crumbly dirt from the top of the hillock and put it in a large, low bowl. Then he called Phostis over and had him press his hand down onto the dirt. As soon as Phostis drew back a pace, Zaidas began to chant. His left hand moved in quick passes over the bowl.

A few seconds later, hair prickled up on the back of Phostis' neck. The dirt was stirring, shifting, humping itself up into a ridge—no, not a ridge, an arrow, for one end showed an unmistakable point.

"East and a little south," Zaidas said.

"Very, very good," Krispos breathed; as usual, he was quietest when he felt most triumphant. "The mask is down, then—we can see the moves Livanios makes. Have you any idea how far away his force lies?"

"Not precisely, no," the mage answered. "By the speed with which the arrow formed, I should say he is not close. It gives but a rough measure, though." 

"A rough measure is all we need for now. You and Phostis will work this magic every morning from now on, to give us the foe's bearing and your rough measure of how far away he is. Will Artapan know his magic has failed him?"

"I'm afraid so, your Majesty," Zaidas said. "Did you see how the cloth representing Makuran tried a couple of times to reconstitute itself? That was my opponent, attempting to resist and undo my spell. But he failed as I thought he would, for the power of life is stronger than that of death."

Krispos walked over to Phostis and clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "And all of it thanks to you, son. I owe you a great deal; you've done me as much good by returning and aiding me as I feared you'd do me harm had you stayed with the Thanasioi. And besides that, I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad I'm back, too, Father," Phostis said. If Krispos claimed the relationship despite his doubts, Phostis would not quarrel with it. He went on, "And what's this I hear about your missing me so much that you decided to sire a bastard"—He carefully did not say
another bastard
—"to take my place?" The year before, he couldn't have bantered so with Krispos.

The Avtokrator looked startled, then laughed. "Which of your brothers told you that?"

"Evripos, back at Videssos the city."

"Aye, it's true. I hope he also said I didn't intend to let it compromise the rights you three enjoy, even if it is a son."

"He did," Phostis said, nodding. "But really, Father, at your age—"

"That's all of you who've said that now," Krispos broke in. "To the ice with your teasing. As you'll find out, gray in your beard doesn't stop you from being a man. It may slow you down, but it doesn't stop you." He looked defiant, as if waiting for Phostis to find that funny.

But Phostis didn't feel like provoking him any further. Having just found his way onto good terms with Krispos, he wouldn't risk throwing that away for the sake of a few minutes' amusement. He probably wouldn't have made such a calculation the year before; two or three years earlier, he was sure he wouldn't have.

What does that signify?
he wondered.
Is it what they mean by growing up?
But he already was grown up. He had been for years—hadn't he? Scratching his head, he walked back to the tent he shared with Olyvria.

"Due east now, your Majesty," Zaidas reported. "They're getting close, too; the arrow formed almost as soon as Phostis took his hand from the ensorceled soil."

"All right, sorcerous sir, and thank you," Krispos answered. For the last week he'd been maneuvering to place the imperial army square in the path of the withdrawing Thanasioi. "If the lord with the great and good mind is kind to us, we'll swoop down on them before they even know we're in the neighborhood."

"May it be so," Zaidas said.

"Due east, you say?" Krispos went on musingly. "They'd be somewhere not far from, hmm, Aptos, I'd say. Is that about right?"

"Given where we are now—" The mage frowned in concentration, then nodded. "Somewhere not far from there, yes."

"Uh, Father...
?"
Phostis began in a tentative voice.

He hadn't sounded tentative since he'd escaped from the

Thanasioi. Krispos gave him a curious look, wondering why he did now. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uh," Phostis said again. By the hangdog look on his face, he regretted having spoke up. He needed a very visible rally before he continued. "When I had to go out on that Thanasiot raiding party, Father—remember? I told you of that."

"I remember," Krispos said. He also remembered what a turn news of Phostis' movement had given him, and how much he'd feared the youth really had decided to follow the gleaming path.

"When I was on that raid," Phostis resumed, "to my shame, I had to join in attacking a monastery. I know I wounded one of the holy monks; if I hadn't, he'd have broken my bones with his cudgel. And my torch was one that helped fire the place."

"Why are you telling me this?" Krispos asked. "Oxeites the patriarch is a better one to hear it if you're after the forgiveness of your sin."

"I wasn't thinking of that so much—more of making amends," Phostis said. "By your leave, I'd like to set aside a third of my allowance for the next couple of years and devote it to the monastery."

"You don't need my leave; the gold I give you each month is yours to do with as you will," Krispos said. "But this I will say to you: I'm proud of you for having the idea." He thought for a moment. "So you'd give them eighty goldpieces a year, would you? How would it be if I matched that?"

He watched Phostis' face catch fire. "Thank you. Father! That would be wonderful."

"I'll leave my name off the money," Krispos said. "Let them think it all comes from you."

"Uh." Phostis said for a third time. "I hadn't planned on putting my name on, either."

"Really?" Krispos said. "The most holy Oxeites would tell you an anonymous gift finds twice as much favor with Phos as the other kind, for it must be given for its own sake rather than to gain acclaim. I don't know about that, but I admit it sounds reasonable. I know I'm all the prouder of you, though."

"You know, you tell me that now twice in the space of a couple of minutes, but I'm not sure you ever said it to me before," Phostis said.

Had he spoken with intent to wound, he would have infuriated Krispos. But he had the air of a man just stating a fact. And it
was
a fact; Krispos' memory confirmed that too well. He hung his head. "You shame me."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know," Krispos said. "That makes it worse."

Sarkis rode up then, rather to Krispos' relief. After saluting, the cavalry general asked, "Now that the heretics are drawing near, shall we send out scouts to learn exactly where they are?"

Instead of answering at once, Krispos turned to Phostis. "Your store of wisdom seems bigger than usual this morning. What would
you
do?"

"Urk," Phostis said.

Krispos shook a finger at him. "You have to answer without the foolish noises. When the red boots are on your feet, these are the questions you must deal with. You can't waste time, either." He studied the youth, wondering how he'd do.

As if to redeem that startled squawk, Phostis made his voice as deep and serious as he could: "Were the command mine, I'd say no. We're tracking the Thanasioi well by magic, so why let them blunder against our men before the last possible moment? If Zaidas' magic has worked as well as he hopes, Artapan should be nearly blind to us. The more surprise we have, the better."