Fortune's stroke

Then, catching sight of the book resting on the table, he ambled over and examined the open page.

'Not a chance,' he pronounced. 'Maybe you, Irene, slim as you are. But me?' He pointed to the illustration. 'You think you could get a thick barbarian like me to-'

But Irene had reached him, by then, and he spoke no further words. Not for quite some time.

Irene liked surprises, but she got none that night. She had long known Kungas would be the best lover she ever had.

'By far,' she whispered, hours later. Her leg slid over him, treasuring the moisture.

'I told you we wouldn't need oils,' he whispered in reply.

They laughed, sharing that great joy also. But Irene, lifting her head and gazing down at Kungas, knew a greater one yet.

The mask was gone, without a trace. The open face that smiled up at her was simply that of a man in love. Her man.

Chapter 36

Charax

Autumn, 532 A.D.

'I don't understand what that monster is doing,' snarled Coutzes. He ducked below the broken wall as another volley of arrows came sailing from the Malwa troops dug into a shattered row of buildings across the street. The arrows clattered harmlessly into another room of what had once been an artisan's shop. A leather worker, judging by the few tools and scraps of raw material which were still lying about.

Belisarius, his back comfortably propped against the same wall, raised a questioning eyebrow.

Coutzes jabbed his finger at the wall, pointing to the unseen enemy beyond. 'What's the point of this, General? That thing is just throwing soldiers away. You watch. They'll fire one or two more volleys of arrows-none of which'll hit anything, except by blind luck-lob some grenades, and then charge across the street. We'll butcher 'em, they'll withdraw, and then they'll do it again. By the time we finally have to retreat to the next row, they'll be moving forward across hundreds of bodies as well as rubble.'

The Thracian officer rubbed his face, smearing sweat and grime. 'It's been like this for two weeks now. Our own casualties haven't really been that heavy. At this rate, it'll take them another month-at least! — to fight their way to the docks. And they'll have lost half their army-at least! — in the doing.'

The scowl was back in full force. 'I've heard of crude tactics, but this-?' For a moment, his youthful face was simply aggrieved. 'I thought that thing was supposed to be superintelligent.'

Belisarius smiled. The smile was crooked, but there was more of contempt in it than irony. 'Link is superintelligent, Coutzes. But intelligence is always guided by the soul. Which Link has, whether it realizes it or not. Or, at least, it is the faithful servant of the new gods, and their souls.'

Belisarius craned his head, staring up at the broken stones above him. 'Those-' He blew out a sharp breath, like a dry spit. 'Those divine pigs don't view people as human. Their soldiers are just tools. So many paving blocks on the road to human perfection. They look on a human life the same way you or I look on a blade. File the worn metal away, in order to get a sharp edge. And if the scrapings shriek with pain, who cares?'

Again, he blew out a breath; and, again, it was a spit. 'As for the tactics, they make perfect sense-if you look at it Link's way. The truth is, the Malwa have already lost this army, and Link knows it. The monster knows we must have already destroyed all the supplies in Charax-or have them ready for destruction, at least.'

'Which we have!' barked Coutzes.

Belisarius nodded. 'So why bother with clever tactics? And they can't use the Ye-tai they have left as spearhead troops. Not any longer. After the casualties they've taken, they need those Ye-tai to maintain control of the regulars. If those poor bastards hadn't already been so beaten down-' Belisarius shook his head. 'Most armies, by now, after what they've suffered, would have already mutinied.'

He rubbed his hand against the rough wall behind his back. The gesture was accompanied by another shake of the head, as if Belisarius was contemplating the absurdity of trying to wear down stone with flesh.

'The truth is, Coutzes,' he said softly, 'what you're seeing is kind of a compliment. If I were an egotistical man, I'd be preening like a rooster.'

Coutzes frowned. Belisarius' smile grew very crooked. 'The one thing Link is bound and determined to do-the one thing it wants to salvage out of this catastrophe-is to obliterate me. Me, and the whole damned army that's caused Malwa more grief than all their other opponents put together.'

Coutzes grinned from ear to ear. 'You really think we've become that much of a pain in the ass to it?'

Belisarius snorted. 'Pain in the ass? It'd be better to say-pain in the belly.' He gave the young officer squatting next to him a look which was both serious and solemn. 'Know this, Coutzes. Whether we survive or not, we have already gutted Malwa. Whatever happens, the invasion of Persia is over. Finished. Malwa can no longer even hope to launch another war of conquest. Not for years, at least. Link will try to salvage what it can of this army-which won't be much. But after the Nehar Malka, and Charax-'

He groped for an illustration. Aide provided it.

In not much more than a year, Belisarius, you have given the Malwa their own Stalingrad and Kursk. Link can only do, now, what Hitler did. Try to hold what it can, and retreat as little as possible. But it is the defender, from this day forward, not the aggressor.

Belisarius nodded. He did not attempt to provide his young subordinate with all the history which went behind Aide's statement, but he gave him the gist.

'Coutzes, there will be another great war against evil, in the future-or would have been, at least. Aide just reminded me of it.'

He had Coutzes' undivided attention, now. The young Thracian knew of Aide. He had seen him. But, like all of Belisarius' officers, he thought of the crystal being as simply the Talisman of God. A pronouncement from Aide, so far as Coutzes was concerned, was as close to divine infallibility as any man would ever encounter.

Belisarius smiled, seeing that look of awe.

What are you grinning about? demanded Aide. The facets flashed. For an instant, Belisarius had an image of a crystalline rooster, prancing about with unrestrained self-glory. I think 'divine infallibility' fits me to perfection. Why don't you understand that obvious truth?

Again, the facets flashed. Belisarius choked down a laugh. The crystalline rooster, for just a split second, had been staring at him with beady, accusing eyes. A barnyard fowl, demanding its just due. A combed and feathered deity, much aggrieved by agnostic insolence.

Belisarius waved his hand, as much to still Aide's humor as to illustrate his next words. 'There came a time in that war, Coutzes, when the armies of wickedness were broken. Broken, not destroyed. But from that time forward, they could only retreat. They could only hold what they had, in the hopes that someday, in the future, they might be able to start their war of conquest anew.'

Belisarius snarled, now. 'Those foul beasts-they were called Nazis-were never given that chance. Their enemies, after breaking them, pressed on to their destruction.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the inhuman monster lurking somewhere behind the wall. 'Link knows that history as well as I do. And the thing, whatever else, is bound and determined to see that neither I-nor any of the soldiers of this magnificent army-are alive to participate in any future wars. Or else, it knows full well-'

He rolled his eyes, following the thumb. His next words were whispered. A promise, hissed: 'I will be alive, monster. And I will give you Operation Bagration, and the destruction of Army Group Centre. And I will give you Sicily and D-Day, and the Falaise Pocket-except this time, beast, the pocket will be closed in time.'