Thomas Harlan - The shadow of Ararat

"Khiron, what did you feel?"

The eyes of the homunculus opened and turned to the Prince swiveling like the turret of a siege engine. "Master, three men we saw, standing on the platform of the ziggurat, but others watched us in secret. Some were not men, though none were as I or as Gaius Julius is. Nor Lady Alais. I smelled fifteen or twenty in the buildings. They were afraid."

"Alais?" The Prince barely turned, keeping the old Roman in his sight.

The blond woman moved forward and curtseyed deeply, as was her wont. "My lord, all the town stank of abandonment. It is the residence only of dogs and crows. Only in the ziggurat are there living men. Too, my eyes saw vents high on the side of the pyramid, vents that billowed hot air. My thought leads me to suspect that the domain, the residences, of the magi are beneath the ziggurat."

Maxian turned to Abdmachus, who alone among them all was sweating heavily in the heat. "My friend?"

"Master," the little Persian choked, "it has been so long… I barely remember any details!"

Khiron moved at some unseen gesture from the Prince, swift as a snake, and his mottled hands were at the Persian's throat in an instant. Abdmachus gobbled in fear as the cold fingers tightened around his larynx. Maxian smiled pleasantly. Behind him Krista frowned slightly.

"Abdmachus, please, this is important to me. Khiron and Gaius Julius will help you remember. Alais, assist them. Make sure that we have as good a map as can be drawn."

The three escorted the little Persian, gently but inexorably, into the belly of the engine. Alais' white face appeared in the doorway for a moment as she swung the hatch closed. Maxian looked away and sighed. Krista remained in the shadow, her face a serene mask. He went to her and bowed slightly, drawing a small frown.

"My lady, would you care to join me on a short walk?" His phrasing was very formal.

She nodded and drew part of her scarf over her head. The sun was fierce.

– |The Prince led the way, up over the huge dune that rose above their little camp. On the other side, the slope fell steeply away and it was slow going to descend. Beyond it there was an area of rippled sand and-incongruous among the wasteland-a ruined circle of marble pillars, fluted, and crowned with acanthus capitals, rose from the sand. The Prince led Krista there and sat down on one of the fallen pillars. Krista remained standing, her hands demurely clasped in front of her, looking down upon him.

"Tonight," he began, "there can be a pair of horses here, with water and food and supplies. The riding horse will have a bag of Persian eagles on the saddle. Five or six hundred aureus worth, I guess. I borrowed an invocation from Abdmachus-the shoes of the horses will leave no trace in the sand. These are my gift for you, this and one other thing."

He reached into his robes and drew out a heavy roll of parchment, sealed with rich purple wax. He held it out to her, and after a moment Krista took it.

"You are a free woman now, free of any obligation to the Duchess. This is an Imperial writ with the stamp of the Emperor upon it expressing that in no uncertain terms."

"Why?" Krista's voice was even, though her mind was afire with concerns and questions.

Maxian smiled, a brief, wan expression that quickly fled his face.

"This business of the city of the magi," he said, "will be a cruel one. I see myself embarking on a path edged with darkness. The excision of this corruption… it will require blood to be spilled. I would not see you on that same path, regardless of how much I might desire you at my side. Go east, to Taporobane or Serica. Build a new life for yourself, free of the past, free of the curse, free of me."

"It is a kind gesture, Lord Prince."

"Then you will take it?"

"Perhaps," she said. "I would not care to give the white witch the satisfaction."

Maxian's eyebrow quirked up. "Jealous?"

"Competitive," she said with a slow smile. "I have seen enough to know that you may be right. My mistress' duty-my duty-is to sustain the Empire in the face of constant disaster. So I will stay."

Maxian stared at her for a long time, his face troubled. He wondered, briefly, if she knew of his excursions into the night in the company of the Walach woman. Finally he stood up and brushed the sand out of his kilt. "So… very well. Thank you."

She shook her head, saying: "Thank me when this is done, if you are still alive."

The Kerenos River, Albania

Surrounded by a thick wall of red-haired Varangians, their round shields turned outward, the three Emperors conferred. Beyond the stolid Germans and Scandians, tens of thousands of men were marching past, raising a choking cloud of clay dust from the dry road. Eastern and Western regiments jostled on the road, trying to keep their order of march open. Galen had dispensed with his servants, bidding them remain in the camp five miles behind them. Three of the Western Emperor's staff officers clustered at his back. The Khazar, Ziebil, as was his wont, was alone. Heraclius, half clad in his battle armor-a solid breastplate of welded iron with a pair of eagles emblazoned on the chest-had ten or twelve servants, officers, and dispatch riders crowded around.

"Augustus Galen, your Legions have the center."

Heraclius gestured toward the open fields to the south of where they stood. The Romans pouring past on the road were fanning out into the rocky flat by cohort and century.

Their standards jogged up and down as the bearers trotted across the field. Only one good road ran south from the camp across the river and into this dry upland. Ziebil's scouts had returned the previous night from their latest foray south of the river with news that the Persian army was, at last, in striking range. The Romans had broken camp well before dawn, the Khazars riding out in complete darkness to secure the road and the northern edge of the plain.

"Khan Ziebil, your horsemen are on the left, though keep a strong reserve behind the line of battle. The woods are thick there, and I fear the Persians may try to send men through the brush to attack the flank."

It was almost noon now, and the majority of the army was still backed up on the road, trying to reach the flats. Galen's Western legions had made the best time, forming up in the camp on schedule and marching out in orderly fashion. The Sixth Gemina had reached the field at sunrise and had deployed to screen the arrival of the following elements. Galen, pushing his horse and his guardsmen, had arrived soon after dawn to find the legionnaires loitering around under the trees. There had been no Persians in sight.

"Theodore." Heraclius turned to his brother, attired much like him, down to the red boots, in heavy armor and chain mail under the solid plate. "You and I will command the right, with the Eastern knights and the Anatolikon thematic troops as reserve. Once we have shaken the line out and there is proper spacing between the tagmata, we will attack. If the Persians are still in confusion, we will advance along the entire front and drive them back into the trees. If they have formed a good line, then the Khazars"-Heraclius nodded to Ziebil-"will feint on the left and then we shall attack on the right."

The Western Legions were on the field by ten o'clock. The archers and slingers Galen had sent forward to screen the assembling legions had reported back that an enormous Persian army had begun to spill out of the tree line on the southern edge of the fields. The Khazars began arriving in bands and companies, generally congregating to the left of the Roman positions, and the Eastern knights were still clogging the road from the camp. After receiving reports that estimated the size of the Persian army in excess of a hundred thousand men, Galen had ridden forward himself and stared in awe at the multitude of Persians on the southern side of the plain.