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Sharbaraz gaped, then laughed himself, a high, shrill cackle that seemed made
up of concentrated essence of relief. "Asses, you say? By the God, they made
asses out of us."
"Let's make them pay for their presumption," Abivard exclaimed. "They're fresh
meat, after all, and we haven't seen much of that for a while. Hunting them
would be fitting punishment for frightening us out of our wits."
"So ordered!" Sharbaraz said. Archers pounded after the animals, which fled
across the scrubby ground. Watching the asses gallop away in terror made
Abivard wish all foes could be so easily overcome.
* * *
Abivard was never quite sure just when the army crossed into Videssian
territory, one stretch of arid landscape looked much like another. When the
soldiers came to a village, though, all possible doubt disappeared: along with
the scattered stone houses stood a larger building with a wooden spire topped
by a gilded dome a temple to Phos, the Videssian god of good.
The people had disappeared along with the doubt; dust trails in the distance
showed the direction in which they had fled. "Nice to know we still look like
a conquering army to someone," Abivard remarked.
Zal, who was riding close by, clicked his tongue between his teeth a couple of
times. "This from the trusting young lord who let the tax collector into his
stronghold without even checking how sharp his fangs were? Going off to war
has coarsened you, lad." He grinned to show he meant no harm by the words.
"You're probably right," Abivard answered. "Once you watch your hopes bounce
up and down a few times, you're not as sure things will all turn out for the
best as you used to be."
"Isn't that the truth?" Zal said. "It's too cursed bad, but it's so."
From then on, Sharbaraz ordered the scouts to carry shields of truce so the
Videssians would learn as quickly as might be that he had come as a
supplicant, not an invader. That forethought soon proved its worth. Early the
next morning, a scout came back not with the report of a herd of wild asses,
but with a Videssian officer in tow.
Like a lot of Sharbaraz's men, Abivard stared curiously at the first Videssian
he had ever seen. The fellow was mounted on a medium-good horse, with a
medium-good mailshirt worn above leather trousers. He had a bow ready to grab,
a quiver on his back, and a curved sword at his belt.
His helmet was halfway between the standard Makuraner cone pattern and a
smooth round dome. No veil or iron links descended from it, so Abivard got a
good look at his features. His skin was slightly paler than that of most
Makuraners, his nose on the thin side, and his face nearly triangular, sloping
down from a wide forehead to a chin of almost feminine delicacy. A fringe of
beard outlined that chin and his jaw.
"Do you speak my language?" Sharbaraz asked in Makuraner.
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"Aye, a bit," the Videssian answered. "Few on this frontier don't." He used
Makuraner well enough, though his accent sometimes made him hard to
understand. One of his eyebrows so thin and smoothly curved that Abivard
wondered if he plucked it into shape rose. "But I ought to be the one asking
the questions. For starters, who are you and what are you doing in my country
with an army tagging along?" His quick, scornful glance up and down the line
of riders said he saw better-looking armies every day of the week, and
sometimes twice a day. He added, "Which side of your civil war were you on?"
"I am Sharbaraz, rightful King of Kings of Makuran, and I was on my own side,"
Sharbaraz proclaimed. Abivard had the satisfaction of watching the Videssian's
mouth drop open like a toad's when it snapped at a fly. Sharbaraz went on, "I
have come to Videssos to seek the Avtokrator Likinios' aid in restoring me to
the throne that is properly mine. Surely he will understand the importance of
preserving unbroken the legitimate line of succession."
The Videssian stayed silent for most of a minute before he replied. Later,
when Abivard came to understand that Videssians rarely kept quiet for any
reason, he would have a deeper appreciation of the depth of shock that
conveyed. At last the fellow managed to put words together: "Uh, Lord
Sarbaraz "
As Sharbaraz had said, Videssians couldn't make the sh sound. But the
officer's accent was not what offended Abivard. "Say 'your Majesty,' as you
would for your own Emperor," he growled.
"Your Majesty," the Videssian said at once. "Your Majesty, I'm not the man to
treat with you; the lord with the great and good mind knows that's so." His
laugh came rueful. "I'm not the man to stop you, either. When the villagers
rode into Serrhes screaming that all the soldiers in the world were heading
that way, the epoptes the city governor, you'd say figured a pack of desert
bandits had got bold; he sent me out to deal with them. I have fifty men back
there, no more."
"Who will treat with me, then?" Sharbaraz asked. "Is this epoptes of yours a
man of sufficient rank to discuss matters of state?"
"No," the Videssian said, then added, "your Majesty. But I hear tell Likinios'
eldest son is traveling through the westlands, keeping things on an even keel
here while the Avtokrator, Phos bless him, campaigns against the heathens of
Kubrat. Hosios will be able to deal with you."
"Indeed." Sharbaraz regally inclined his head. "Will he come to the town of
Serrhes? If so, when?"
"Drop me in the ice if I know," the officer said, apparently an oath but not
one Abivard recognized. "If he wasn't planning to come there in his progress,
though, I expect he'll change his mind when old Kalamos sorry, your Majesty,
that's the city governor sends a letter off to wherever he is now, telling him
you've come into the Empire."
"I suspect you may be right," Sharbaraz said. He and the Videssian soldier
both laughed at the understatement.
* * *
Serrhes struck Abivard as being halfway between a stronghold town and a real
city. The whole perimeter was fortified, with a wall higher and thicker than
Vek Rud stronghold boasted. Inside, on the highest ground in the place, stood
a massive citadel where warriors could retreat in case the outer wall was
breached.
"Pretty strong fortress to stick out in the middle of nowhere," he remarked to
Sharbaraz.
The rightful King of Kings chuckled. "The only reason the Videssians would
site a fortress here is to protect their land from us." Abivard thought about
that, then nodded. Belonging to a people who could inspire such precautions
made him proud.
By the smooth way in which the epoptes took over the provisioning of
Sharbaraz's men, he might have had Makuraner armies dropping in for a visit
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every other month. Some of the grain came from the storerooms in the cellar of
the citadel; soon pack animals were fetching more from farther east. The
spring that made the town possible at all was barely adequate for the sudden
influx. Videssian guards made sure no one took more than his fair share. They
were stern but, Abivard had to admit, just.
Hosios arrived a bit more than two weeks after Sharbaraz's shrunken host came
to Serrhes. The epoptes, a plump little man, went about his town in a
transport of nervousness: if the protocol for the meeting between the
Avtokrator's eldest son and the claimant to the title of King of Kings of
Makuran broke down, the blame would all land on him, for both primary parties
to the meeting were of rank too exalted for any to stick to them. Had Abivard
been wearing Kalamos' boots, he would have been nervous, too.
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