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Videssos.
Sarkis said, "I mean no offense, your Majesty, but even if all is as you say,
you have not been six years old for some time. How can you lead us to this
hidden pass now?"
Krispos looked to Trokoundos. "The good god willing, between them the talented
mages here should be able to pull the way from my mind. I traveled it, after
all."
"The memory is there," Trokoundos affirmed. "As for bringing it into the open
once more ... We can try, your Majesty. I would not presume to say more than
that."
"Then tomorrow you will try," Krispos said. "I'd say tonight, but I'm so tired
right now that I don't think I
have any mind left to look into." The officers chuckled, all but Sarkis, who
had ridden with Krispos.
Sarkis was too busy yawning.
Trokoundos ceremoniously handed Krispos a cup. "Drink this, if you please,
your Majesty."
Before he drank, Krispos held the cup under his nose. Beneath the sweet,
fruity odor of red wine, he caught others smells, more pungent and musty.
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"What's in it?" he asked, half curious, half suspicious.
"It's a decoction to help loosen your wits from the here-and-now," the mage
answered. "There are roasted henbane seeds in it, ground hemp leaves and
seeds, a distillate from the poppy, and several other things as well. You'll
likely feel rather drunk all through the day; past that, the brew is
harmless."
"Let's be about it." With an abrupt motion, Krispos knocked back the cup. His
lips twisted; it tasted nastier than it smelled.
Trokoundos eased him down into a folding chair. "Are you comfortable, your
Majesty?"
"Comfortable? Yes, I think so." Krispos listened to himself answer, as if from
far away. He felt his mind float, detach itself from his body. Despite what
Trokoundos had said, it was not like being drunk. It was not like anything he
had ever known. It was pleasant, though. He wondered vaguely if Anthimos had
ever
tried it. Probably. If anything yielded pleasure, Anthimos would have tried
it. Then Anthimos, too, slid away from Krispos' mind. He smiled, content to
float.
"Majesty? Hear me, your Majesty." Trokoundos' voice echoed and reechoed inside
Krispos' head. He found he could not ignore it, found he did not want to
ignore it. The mage went on, "Your Majesty, cast your mind back to journeying
through the passes between Videssos and Kubrat. I conjure you, remember,
remember, remember."
Obediently he did not seem to have much will of his own Krispos let his mind
spin back through time. All at once he gasped; his distant body stiffened and
began to sweat. Halogai chopped down his horsemen at the barricade. A
black-robed figure gestured, and boulders sprang from the hillsides to smash
his army. "Harvas!" he said harshly.
"Farther, reach farther," Trokoundos said. "Remember, remember, remember."
The lost battle of the summer before misted over and vanished from Krispos'
thoughts. He rolled back and back and back, one gray year after another
passing away. Then all at once he was in the pass again, the pass he had tried
and failed to force somehow he both knew and did not know that at the same
time. A short, plump man in the robes of a Videssian noble rode by. He looked
cocky and full of spit.
Krispos knew his name, and knew and did not know much more than that.
"Iakovitzes!" he exclaimed. He exclaimed again, wordlessly, for the voice that
came from his lips was not his own but a boy's high treble.
"How old are you?" Trokoundos demanded.
He thought about it. "Nine," the boy's voice answered for him.
"Farther, reach farther. Remember, remember, remember."
Again he whirled through time. Now he emerged from a forest track toward what
seemed at first only a spur of hillock in front of the mountains. But shouting
men on ponies urged him and his companions on with curses and threats. Beyond
that spur was a narrow opening. A man in a tunic of homespun wool steadied him
with a hand on his shoulder. He looked up in thanks. Amazement ran through
him he thought he was looking at himself. Then the amazement doubled.
"Father," he whispered in a child's voice, a younger child's voice now.
Trokoundos broke into his vision? "How old are you?"
"I think I'm six."
"Do you see before you the pass of which your adult self spoke? See it now
with adult eyes as well as those of a child. Mark well everything about it, so
that you may find it once more. Can you do this and remember afterward?"
"Yes," Krispos said. His voice was an odd blend of two, of boy's and man's,
both of them his own. He did not simply look at the opening to the pass
anymore, he studied it, considered the forest from which he'd emerged,
contemplated the streak of pinkish stone that ran through the spur, examined
the mountains and fixed their precise configuration in his mind. At last he
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said, "I will remember."
Trokoundos put another cup in his hand. "Drink this, then."
It was a hot, meaty broth, rich with the taste of fat. With every swallow,
Krispos felt his mind and body rejoin each other. But even when he was himself
again, he remembered everything about the pass and the feel of his father's
strong hand on his shoulder, guiding him along. "Thank you," he said to
Trokoundos. "You gave me a great gift. Not many men can say their father
touched them long years after he was dead."
Trokoundos bowed. "Your Majesty, I'm pleased to help in any way I can, even
that one which I did not expect."
"Any way you can," Krispos mused. He nodded, more than half to himself. "Ride
with me, then, Trokoundos. If need be, you can use your magic again to help me
find the pass. We'll need a sorcerer along anyhow, to keep Harvas from
noticing us as we slip around his flank. If he catches us in that narrow
place, we're done for."
"I will ride with you," Trokoundos said. "Let me go back to my tent now, to
gather the tools and supplies
I'll need." He bowed again and walked away, rubbing his chin as he thought
about just what he ought to take.
Krispos thought about that, too, but in terms of manpower rather than
sorcerous paraphernalia. Sarkis and his scouts, of course ... Krispos smiled.
No matter how sore Sarkis' backside was, he couldn't complain his Emperor had
ordered him to do anything Krispos wasn't also doing. But he'd need more than
scouts on this mission ...
The column rode south out of camp the next day before noon. The imperial
standard still fluttered over
Krispos' tent; imperial guards still tramped back and forth before it. But
some dozens of horsemen concealed blond hair beneath helms and surcoat hoods.
They stayed clustered around one man in nondescript gear who rode a
nondescript horse Progress was also still back at camp. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]