Thomas Harlan - The shadow of Ararat

"Persia!" he shouted, raising his sword to catch the sun. "And victory!"

The Outskirts of Kahak, Northern Persia

Nikos stood in shadow, his broad face dimly lit by the bonfires and torches in the street below. The shutters were thrown wide, but the room itself was dark. The Illyrian was just inside the window and standing to one side, leaning against the poorly plastered mud-brick wall. A racket of horses neighing and men shouting rose from the street. Thyatis sat, cross-legged, on a thin cotton pallet against the far wall of the room. Her sword, gleaming with oil, lay across her knees. There was a sliding scrape as she honed the blade with a whetstone.

"What do you see?" she said, not looking up. Her voice was quiet.

"I see," he answered, "more than a hundred men ahorse. Their mounts are burdened by half-armor of leather with broad rings of iron stitched to it. The men are bearded and fierce, with long lances and curved swords. Their helmet plumes are of many colors, and the banner they follow is the head of a tiger on a field of yellow."

"That is the crest of the King of Luristan, Kurush of the House of Axane." One of the Armenian boys had spoken, his voice soft in the darkness. "Those are dihqans, knights in your parlance, from the far South. They have traveled many leagues to reach this place."

Thyatis nodded. Her thumb ran along the spine at the core of the length of Indian steel. It was a good sword; it had been a gift of the Duchess after her first successful mission. Holding the scabbard with her right hand, she tipped the blade in with the left and then ran it home among the silk lining. "It seems odd that such a pimple as this place should be so popular this late in the year."

Jusuf, also sitting against the wall with the Armenians, nodded. "The King of Kings knows that the snow will be late," he said.

Thyatis considered this, then spoke. "Will the snow truly be late? The air is chill already."

Jusuf shook his head, his eyes upon her, hard over the barrier of his folded arms. "It is growing cold, but there has been no rain. It is a dry year. Snow may not close the passes to Albania and the north for another month or more."

"Then," she replied, "there is time enough for the King of Kings to gather an army and send it north against the Emperors and their army."

"True," Nikos said, gliding from the window and squatting next to her. "This is the third company of dihqan that has passed while I've watched today. By the conversation of the innkeeper and the merchants at the midday meal, there is a great road junction to the north."

"Yes," the other Armenian boy added, looking to his brother for support, "a great highway runs from the south to the shores of the Mare Caspium and the Persian city of Dastevan. They built it in the time of our grandfathers, when they were fighting the barbarians on the steppes north of the Araxes."

Jusuf coughed and glared at both boys. They blanched, suddenly reminded of where he came from.

"Then we should leave this place soon, tonight, before someone thinks to mention a party of foreigners from the north to one of these nobles." Thyatis looked at the two Armenian boys. "One of you, and… say, Menahem, will ride north to carry word of this to the Imperial army. The rest of us will continue south."

The Bulgar, Menahem, looked up at the mention of his name. He was a short fellow, blessed with a very thick, bushy beard and curly brown hair. He rarely spoke, though he was not as reticent as Sahul. He slid a long knife with a toothed edge out of his belt.

"I have to nursemaid some milk-sucking boy back to the Araxes? What if he soils himself, do I clean him up?" He grinned evilly at the Armenian, who half stood, his young face pale in anger.

"Save it," Thyatis snapped, her face serious. "The boy knows the trails between here and there; you can scare off anyone that you meet. Just make sure that the word gets to Augustus Galen as soon as possible. Go, get ready."

After the two men had left, Thyatis motioned for Jusuf and Nikos to come sit by her. When they had, she spoke softly: "We leave right away, and we don't continue southeast. If there is a Persian army in the field, we want to avoid stumbling on it. We're going to cut back to the west and make for the land between the Two Rivers."

Nikos made to protest, but Thyatis raised a finger, stopping him. "The Emperors expected to spend the spring wrecking these highland villages and the farmlands to the east, with the help of our eyes and ears. I wonder if they will grow bold after they face this army. We are going to Ctesiphon as quick as we can. There is something in the air. Chrosoes is taking a risk to try to smash our army so late in the year. He is weak."

Nikos shrugged. Thyatis' feelings and hunches were her own and had rarely turned wrong. He slapped Jusuf on the shoulder and went to roust the others. The Bulgar remained squatting by the Roman woman, his expression pensive.

"What is it?" Thyatis said, her voice low and soft. "Are you thinking of Sahul?"

An odd, guilty look flitted over Jusuf's fine-boned face. He shook his head. "No… I was thinking of Dahvos and his command. There will be a great battle and he will be in the thick of it without me to stand by him. I fear for him."

"Do you regret coming south with us?"

Jusuf looked at Thyatis, his face a rigid mask. "With you? No, I never regret that. How could I do anything else?"

He stood up, angry with himself, and left the room quickly. Thyatis considered his words and then stood herself, scratching the tip of her nose in thought. Men!

The Roman Camp, Albania, The Mare Caspium Shore

A thin wash of clouds covered the face of the moon. They were rushing to the west, trailing long gowns of white and gray. A shepherd sat on a high mountainside, his back to the comforting bulk of a slab of granite bigger than the Temple of Zeus in his village. Two black and white dogs slept at his feet, their dreams filled with running prey.

One of the dogs twitched in its sleep and growled. The man looked out, over the sleeping sheep, and saw nothing. He listened, stilling himself. He heard it then, a high thin scream, like a baby roasting on a spit over a hot fire. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of something, huge and winged like a titanic bat, rushing through the higher air, obscuring the face of the moon.

Then a shriek of sound came from above, piercing down from the heavens, and the man, who had leapt to his feet in alarm, cowered on the ground in fear. A long wail echoed off of the rocks, and there was a booming sound that reverberated through the air, passing away into the east. The dogs whimpered at his feet and the man stared, seeing demons in the dark. The sheep turned their faces to him, frozen with dread, their eyes reflecting the pale light of the fire.

– |It is strange, thought Maxian, to hear the rough dialect of my city under these foreign stars.

He stood in the shadow of a copse of trees, looking down a grassy slope toward the fires of a great camp. He could hear laughter and singing. There was a familiar tang in the air; the wind out of the east was bringing the smell of a salt sea. The night air was cool but not chilly, and he had thrown back the heavy cowl of the cloak he wore. Firelight gleamed on his cheekbones and in his eyes. Four legionnaires passed by, coming within feet of him, on patrol. The Prince smiled in the darkness, feeling his strength subtly filling the air and ground around him. No one could see him if he did not wish to be seen.

He walked down the hill, smelling the thick aroma of flowers and fresh grass. Winter threatened in the mountains, but here, on the flat plains by the shallow sea, summer lingered. The night was heavy with the smell of orange blossoms and jasmine. Even the stars seemed kind, twinkling down with a cheerful fire. He came to the ditch around the camp and stopped. Brush had been cleared hastily away from the verge, and sharp stakes, carried by the legionnaires for such a purpose, were driven into the soft earth at the bottom of the trench. Beyond it, a palisade of logs had been raised.