Phostis hold her against him that she could not have doubted what he wanted to do with her. He heard her laugh softly, back in her throat.
After a while, he opened his eyes. He'd kissed Olyvria a lot lately, and while he thoroughly enjoyed it, he'd never been part of a major conjuration before. He wanted to see what Zaidas was up to. The first thing he saw was that Olyvria's eyes were already open. That made him laugh.
Zaidas was holding the piece of striped fabric above the flame of the blue candle. He intoned, 'As they celebrate life under their cloth, so may that overturn the Makuraner mage who would strengthen himself through death. Let his sorcery be consumed as Videssos' light consumes the cloth of his country.' He thrust the fabric into the fire.
Phostis always regretted the silk cloth that hazed his vision; it made him doubt his own eyes. The striped square of fabric flared up brightly the moment the candle flame touched it. For that instant, it burned as if it had been soaked in oil; Phostis wondered if Zaidas could drop it fast enough to save his fingers.
But then the burning cloth flickered and almost went out. Not only that, the part that had been consumed seemed restored, so that the cloth looked bigger than it had when it burned brightest. Zaidas stumbled and almost took it out of the candle flame.
He stood steady, though, and repeated the incantation he'd used when he first put the cloth in the flame. To it he added other muttered charms that Phostis heard only indistinctly. The striped cloth began to burn again, hesitantly at first but then with greater vigor. 'You have it, sorcerous sir!' Krispos breathed.
Though he spoke softly, he must have distracted Zaidas, for the flame on the cloth shrank and the cloth itself seemed to expand once more. But Zaidas rallied again. More and more of the cloth burned away. Finally, with a puff of smoke like the one from the expiring Thanasiot candle, it was gone. Zaidas stuck the thumb and forefinger of his right hand into his mouth. They shouldn't have been scorched, though—they should have been burned to the bone.
When he took the fingers out, the wizard said in a worn voice, 'What magic can do, magic has done. The good god willing, I have struck Artapan a heavy blow this day.'
'How shall you know whether the good god was willing?' Krispos asked.
Instead of answering directly, Zaidas swept the filmy silk cloth away from Phostis and Olyvria and said, 'You two can detach yourselves from each other now.'
They shook their heads at the same time and both started to laugh. That was what made them break apart. Phostis said, 'We liked what we were doing.'
'I noticed that, yes,' Zaidas said, so dryly it might have been Krispos talking.
Krispos repeated, 'How will you know whether you smote Artapan?'
'Your Majesty, I am about to find that out, for which purpose I require your eldest son once more.'
'Me?' Phostis said. 'What do I need to do now?'
'What I tell you.' Before explaining what that was, the mage turned to Olyvria and bowed. 'My lady, I am grateful for your services against the Makuraner. Your presence is not required for this next conjuration.' He made it sound as if her presence was not desired. Though that miffed Phostis, Olyvria nodded and swept down the little hillock. A couple of Halogai trailed after her; the northerners seemed to have accepted her as part of the imperial family.
'Why don't you want her to watch what we're doing?' Phostis asked Zaidas.
'Because I am going to use you to help locate her father Livanios,' Zaidas answered. 'You were in contact with him; by the law of contagion, you remain in contact. So, for that matter, does she, but no matter how she loves you, I would not use her as the instrument of her father's betrayal.'
'A nicety of sentiment the Thanasioi wouldn't give back to us,' Krispos said. 'But you're right to use it. Carry on, sorcerous sir.'
'I shall, never fear,' Zaidas answered. 'I was just about to explain that Artapan's magic has up to this point shielded the Thanasioi from such direct sorcerous scrutiny. If, however, we have weakened him with the conjuration just completed, this next spell should also succeed.'
'Very neat,' Krispos said approvingly. 'You use the same magic to learn whether the previous one worked and where the heresiarch's main force is. That's economical enough to have sprung from the brain of a treasury logothete.'
'I shall construe that as a compliment, and hope it was
meant so,' Zaidas said, which squeezed a chuckle out of Krispos.
The conjuration the sorcerer had in mind seemed simple in the extreme. He took some loose, crumbly dirt from the top of the hillock and put it in a large, low bowl. Then he called Phostis over and had him press his hand down onto the dirt. As soon as Phostis drew back a pace, Zaidas began to chant. His left hand moved in quick passes over the bowl.
A few seconds later, hair prickled up on the back of Phostis' neck. The dirt was stirring, shifting, humping itself up into a ridge—no, not a ridge, an arrow, for one end showed an unmistakable point.
'East and a little south,' Zaidas said.
'Very, very good,' Krispos breathed; as usual, he was quietest when he felt most triumphant. 'The mask is down, then—we can see the moves Livanios makes. Have you any idea how far away his force lies?'
'Not precisely, no,' the mage answered. 'By the speed with which the arrow formed, I should say he is not close. It gives but a rough measure, though.'
'A rough measure is all we need for now. You and Phostis will work this magic every morning from now on, to give us the foe's bearing and your rough measure of how far away he is. Will Artapan know his magic has failed him?'
'I'm afraid so, your Majesty,' Zaidas said. 'Did you see how the cloth representing Makuran tried a couple of times to reconstitute itself? That was my opponent, attempting to resist and undo my spell. But he failed as I thought he would, for the power of life is stronger than that of death.'
