Harry Turtledove - Krispos the Emperor

Syagrios and the skinny fellow both glared at her, but neither one of them carried the argument any further. Phostis was impressed. He wondered what power Olyvria had over her henchmen. Whatever it was, it worked. Maybe she carried an amulet ... or would a heretic's charm be efficacious? Then again, were the Thanasioi heretics or the most perfect of the orthodox?

Before Phostis could formulate an answer to either of those questions, the skinny man jerked a thumb in his direction and said, "What do we do with this one tonight?"

"Keep watch on him," Olyvria said. "Tomorrow we move on."

"I'm going to tie him up, too, just in case," the skinny fellow said. "If he gets loose, the imperial executioners have a lot of ways to keep you alive when you'd rather be dead."

"I don't think we need to do that," Olyvria said. This time, though, her tone was doubtful, and she looked to Syagrios for support. The short, muscular man shook his head; he sided with the thin fellow. Olyvria's mouth twisted, but she gave over arguing. With a shrug, she turned to Phostis and said, "I think you'd be safe unbound, but they don't trust you enough yet. Try not to hate us for it."

Phostis also shrugged. "I won't deny I've thought long and hard about becoming one of you Thanasioi, but I never thought I'd be ... recruited ... this way. If you expect me to be happy about it, I fear you're in for disappointment."

"You're honest, at any rate," Olyvria said.

Syagrios snorted. "He's but a babe, same as you, lass. He don't believe nothin' bad can happen to him, not in his guts, not in his balls. You're young, you say what you want and don't give a fart for what happens next on account of you think you're gonna live forever anyways."

That was the most words Phostis had heard from Syagrios at any one time. Try as he would, he couldn't keep his face straight. His laughter had a high, hysterical edge to it, but it was laughter.

"What's so funny?" Syagrios growled. "You laugh at me, you'll go to the ice. I've sent better and tougher men there than you, by the good god."

When Phostis tried to stop laughing, he found it wasn't easy. He had to take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out slowly before the fit would pass. At last, carefully, he said, "I will apologize, Syagrios. It's just that—that—I never expected you to talk like—like—my father." He held his breath again to stave off another wild attack of laughter.

"Huh." Syagrios' smile revealed several broken teeth and a couple of gaps. "Yeah, maybe that is funny. I guess if you've been around awhile, you start thinkin' one kind o' way."

Before Phostis could answer that or even think about it very much, the skinny man came up to him with a fresh length of rope. "Put your hands behind you," he said. "I won't tie 'em as tight as they was before. I—"

Phostis made his move. The romances he'd read insisted a man whose cause was just could overcome several villains. The writers of those romances had never run into the skinny fellow. Phostis' eyes must have given him away, for the thin man kicked him square in the crotch almost before he managed to raise an arm. He fell in a moaning heap and threw up most of the food he'd eaten. He knew he ought not to writhe and clutch at himself, but he could not help it. He'd never known such pain.

"You were right," Olyvria told the skinny man, her voice curiously neutral. "He needs to be tied tonight."

Skinny nodded. He waited for Phostis' thrashings to cease, then said, "Get up, you. Don't be stupid about it, either, or I'll give you another dose."

Swiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his homespun tunic, Phostis struggled to his feet. He had needed to get used to Digenis' addressing him as lad rather than young Majesty, now he hurt too much to bridle at being roughly called you. At the thin man's gesture, he put his hands behind his back and let himself be tied. Maybe the rope wasn't as tight as it had been before. It was none too loose, either.

His kidnappers brought out a blanket that smelled of horse and draped it over him once he'd lain down. The two men went inside the farmhouse, leaving Olyvria behind for the first watch. She had both a hunting bow and a knife that would have made a decent shortsword.

"You keep an eye on him," Syagrios called from the doorway. "If he tries to get loose, hurt him and holler for us. We can't let him get away."

"I know," Olyvria said. "He shan't."

By the way she handled the bow, Phostis could see she knew what to do with it. He had no doubt she'd shoot him to keep him from escaping. With the dull, sickening ache still in his stones, he wasn't going anywhere anyhow, not for a while. He said as much to Olyvria.

"You were stupid to try to break away there," she answered, again in that odd, dispassionate tone.

"So I found out." The inside of Phostis' mouth tasted like something that had just been scraped out of a sewer.

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

"I don't know. Because I thought I might succeed, I suppose." Phostis thought a little, then added, "Syagrios would probably say because I'm young and stupid." What he thought about both Syagrios and his opinions he would not repeat to a woman, not even one who'd shown him her nakedness, who'd drugged him and stolen him.

He could, at the moment, think of Olyvria's nakedness with absolute detachment. He knew he wasn't ruined for life, but he certainly was ruined for the evening. He wriggled around a little on the hard-packed ground, trying to find some position less uncomfortable than most of the others.

"I'm sorry," Olyvria said, as contritely as if they were friends. "Did you want to rest?"

"What I want to do and what I can do aren't the same," he answered.

"I'm afraid I can't help that," she said, sharply now. "If you'd not been so foolish, I might have managed something, but since you were—" She shook her head. "Syagrios and our other friend are right—we have to get you safe to Livanios. I know he'll be delighted to see you."

'To have me in his hands, you mean," Phostis retorted. "And what puts you so high in Livanios' council? How can you know what he will or won't be?"

"It's not hard," Olyvria answered. "He's my father."

Zaidas looked worn. He'd ridden hard to catch up with the army. Still in the saddle, he bowed his head to Krispos. "I regret, your Majesty, that I have had no success in locating your son by sorcerous means. I shall accept without complaint any penalty you see fit to exact for my failure."

"Very well, then," Krispos said. Zaidas stiffened, awaiting the Avtokrator's judgment. Krispos delivered it in his most imperial voice: "I order you henceforth to be forcibly prevented from mouthing such nonsense." He started talking normally again. "Don't you think I know you're doing everything you know how to do?"

"You're generous, your Majesty," the wizard said, not hiding his relief. He took the reins in his left hand for a moment so he could pound his right fist down onto his thigh. "You can't imagine how this eats at me. I'm used to success, by the lord with the great and good mind. Knowing a mage out there can thwart me makes me furious. I want to find out who he is and where he is so I can thrash him with my bare hands."

His obvious anger made Krispos smile. "A man who believes he can't be beaten is most often proved right." But his grin soon slipped. "Unless, of course, he's up against something rather more than a man. If you were wrong back in the city and we do, in fact, face Harvas—"

"That thought crossed my mind," Zaidas said. "Being beaten by one of that sort would surely salve my self-respect, for who among mortal men could stand alone against him? Before I rejoined you, I ran the same sorcerous tests I'd used at the Sorcerers' Collegium, and others besides. Whoever he may be, my foe is not Harvas."