Harry Turtledove - Krispos of Videssos

"This is a sound strategy," Sarkis said, his voice filled with such military seriousness that Krispos came to attention and saluted. Then, laughing, he went off to spread out his blankets.

The next morning the troopers checked their swords' edges and made sure their arrows were straight and well fletched, as they did when they were certain they would be going into battle before long. They leaped onto their horses and stormed westward. Krispos knew the only thing that made veterans hurry toward a fight was confidence they would win.

All that kept his own confidence from soaring equally was Trokoundos' attitude. The mage kept looking back over his shoulder, as if he expected to see Harvas on the horse right behind him. "We are sought," he said over and over again, his voice haunted.

But despite his forebodings, neither Krispos nor any of the soldiers in the flying column had any sense that Harvas knew they were there. He'd posted no guards, not in land he thought his own. And there, ahead in the distance, lay the northern mouth of the pass through the mountains in which the wizard and his Halogai were about to be bottled.

"Unfurl our banner," Krispos said. The imperial standard, gold sunburst on blue, fluttered free at the head of the column.

But before the men could even begin to raise a cheer, Trokoundos went white as milk. "We are found," he whispered. His eyes were huge and frightened.

"Too late," Krispos said fiercely, trying to restore his spirit. "We have Harvas now, not the other way round." The words were hardly out of his mouth before a wall of blackness sprang up in front of the column. It stretched north and south, far as the eye could see. The troopers in the lead quickly reined in to keep from running into it headlong.

It did not dishearten Krispos. "There, you see?" he said to Trokoundos, "it's the same paltry trick he used to slow down the army south of the mountains. One touch from you then and the whole silly wall just disappeared. Does he think to fool us the same way twice?"

Trokoundos visibly revived. "Aye, you're right, your Majesty. He must indeed be panicked, to forget he already used this illusion against us. And a panicked sorcerer is a weakened sorcerer. Let me get rid of this phantasm, and then on to the attack."

The soldiers in earshot yelled and clapped. They swatted Trokoundos on the shoulder as his smooth-gaited gray approached the barrier with mincing steps. The mage dismounted a few feet away, walked straight up to it. He stretched out a hand, leaned forward, shouted, "Begone!"

Far, far off in the distance, Krispos thought he heard a woman's voice crying, "No! Wait!" He shook his head, annoyed at his ears' playing tricks on him. In any case, the cry came too late. Trokoundos' forefinger had met the wall of blackness.

As they had before, lightnings crackled round the mage. Men who had not been close by when he pierced the barrier south of the mountains cried out in alarm and dismay. Krispos sat smiling on his horse, waiting for the barrier to dissolve.

Trokoundos screamed, a raw, wordless sound of terror and agony. His spine spasmed and arched backward, as if it were a bow being bent. He screamed again, this time intelligibly. "Trap!" He flung his arms out wide. His back bent still farther, impossibly far. He cried out one last time, again without words.

His hands writhed. The motions reminded Krispos of sorcerous passes. If they were, they did no good. With a sound like that of a cracking knuckle but magnified a thousand times, Trokoundos' backbone broke. He fell to the ground, limp and dead.

The black wall—Harvas Black-Robe's black wall—remained.

Along with his soldiers, Krispos stared in consternation at Torkoundos' crumpled corpse. What would happen to him now, with his own chief wizard slain and Harvas all too aware of exactly where he was? You'll die in whatever dreadful way Harvas wants you to die was the first answer that sprang to mind. He cast about for a better one, but did not find any.

Shouts came from the right flank of the column. The Kubratoi who had briefly attached themselves to Krispos' force were galloping off as fast as their little ponies would take them. "Shall we pursue?" Sarkis asked.

"No, let them go," Krispos answered wearily. "You can't blame them for changing their minds about our chances, can you?"

"No, Majesty, not when I've just changed my own." Sarkis managed a grin, but not of the cheery sort—it looked more like the snarl of a hunting beast brought to bay. "What do we do now?"

To his relief, Krispos did not have to answer that at once. A trooper from the rearguard rode up, saluted, and said, "Your Majesty, there's a party of maybe fifteen or twenty horsemen coming up on us from behind."

"More Kubratoi?" Krispos asked. "They'll turn tail when they see the mess we're in." His eyes flicked to Trokoundos' body again. Soon, he knew, he would feel the loss of a friend as well as that of a mage. He had no time for that, not now, not yet.

The trooper said, "Your Majesty, they don't look like Kubratoi, or ride like 'em, either. They look like Videssians, is what they look like."

"Videssians?" Krispos' rather heavy eyebrows drew together over his nose. Had Mammianos sent men after him for some reason? If he had, would Harvas have spotted the party because it was not warded? And could the evil wizard have been led from that party to the flying column Krispos led? The chain of logic made all too much sense. Cold anger in his voice, Krispos went on, "Bring them here to me, this instant."

"Aye, your Majesty." The trooper wheeled his horse and set spurs to it. The animal squealed a loud protest but quickly went into a gallop. Clods of dirt flew up from its hooves as it bounded away.

Krispos fought down the urge to ride after the fellow, making himself wait. Before long the trooper returned with the band of which he'd spoken. By their horses, by their gear, they were Videssians, as he'd said. As they drew closer, Krispos' frown deepened. He recognized none of them that he could see, though some were hidden behind others. Surely Mammianos would have sent out someone he knew.

"Who are you people?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

The answer came from the back of the group. "Majesty, we are come to give you aid, as we may."

Krispos stared. So did every man who heard that light, clear voice or saw the beardless, sculptured profile beneath that conical cavalry helm. Tanilis might don chain mail, but no one anywhere would ever mistake her for a man.

With an effort, Krispos found his own voice. "My lady, the good god knows you're welcome and more than welcome. But how did you track us here? Trokoundos was sure he'd screened off the column from sorcerers' senses. Of course, Trokoundos proved not to know everything there was to know." His mouth twisted; he jerked his chin toward the mage's corpse.

Tanilis' eyes moved with his gesture. A slim finger sketched the sun-circle above her left breast. She said, "Honor to his skill, for had I depended on finding your soldiers, I should not have been aware of their true path till far too late. But I sought you with my magic, your Majesty; our old ties of friendship made that possible where the other would have failed."

"Aye, friendship," Krispos said slowly. Their ties had been more intimate than that, back a decade before when he'd wintered in Opsikion, helping Iakovitzes recover from a badly broken leg. He studied her. She was ten years older than he, or a bit more; her son Mavros had been only five years younger. Some of her years showed, but not many. Most of them had only added character to a beauty that had once been almost beyond needing it.

She sat her horse quietly, waiting under his scrutiny. She did not wait long; that had never been her way. "However skilled your mage was, in Harvas Black-Robe he found one stronger than himself. Do you think Harvas sits idly on the other side of that wall he made, that wall black as his robes, black as his heart?"