Krispos the Emperor

'No,' Phostis said—quietly, so they would see he did not have to be gagged. Then he used a word most often perfunctory for an Avtokrator's son: 'Please.' It was not perfunctory now.

'I think I'd better,' Olyvria said after a brief pause. She must have swung round on the seat; her feet came down in the wagon close by Phostis' head. 'I'm sorry,' she told him as she slipped the gag over his mouth and tied it behind his neck, 'but we just can't trust you yet.'

Her fingers were smooth and warm and briskly capable; had she given him the chance, he would have bitten them to the bone. He didn't get the chance. He was already discovering she knew how to do much more than lie temptingly naked on a bed.

That discovery would have surprised his brothers even more than it did him. Evripos and Katakolon were convinced lying naked on a bed was all women were good for. Since he was less concerned about finding them there, he found it easier to envision them doing other things. But not even he had imagined finding one who made such an effective kidnapper.

Olyvria got back up beside Syagrios. She remarked, apparently to no one in particular, 'If he gets that one off, he'll regret it.'

'I'll make him regret it.' Syagrios sounded as if he looked forward to doing just that. Phostis, who had already started working on the new gag. decided not to go on. He chose to believe Olyvria had given him a hint.

The day was the longest, driest, hungriest, and generally most miserable he'd ever endured. After some endless while, he began to see real black rather than gray through the blindfold. The air grew cooler, almost chilly. Night, he thought. He wondered if Syagrios would drive straight on till dawn. If Syagrios did, Phostis wondered if he would still be alive by the time his eyes saw gray once more.

But not long after dark, Syagrios stopped. He picked Phostis up, leaned him against the side of the wagon, then descended, picked him up again, and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of chickpeas. Behind him, Olyvria got the horses moving at a slow walk.

From ahead came a metallic squawk of rusty hinges, then the scrape of something moving against resistance from dirt and gravel: a gate opening, Phostis thought 'Hurry up,' an unfamiliar male voice said.

'Here we go,' Syagrios answered. He picked up his pace. By their hoofbeats, so did the horses behind him. As soon as they stopped, the gate went scrape-squeak. Closing. Phostis thought. The slam of a bar falling into place confirmed that. 'Ah, good,' Syagrios said. 'Think we can untie him for now and take the rag off his eyes?'

'I don't see why not,' the other man said. 'If he gets away from this place, by the good god, he's earned it. And didn't I hear he's halfway set foot on the gleaming path himself?'

'Aye, I've heard that, too.' Syagrios laughed. 'Thing is, I didn't get to be as old as I am believing everything I hear.'

'Set him down so I can cut the ropes easier,' Olyvria said. Syagrios put Phostis onto the ground more carefully than if he'd been chickpeas, but not much. Somebody—presumably Olyvria—slit his bonds, then slid the blindfold from his face.

He blinked; his eyes filled with tears. After a day in enforced darkness, even torchlight seemed shockingly bright. When he tried to lever himself up, neither arms nor legs would obey him. He set his teeth against the pain of returning blood. Pins and needles was too mild a phrase for it; it felt more like nails and spikes. They got worse with every passing moment, until he wondered if the maltreated members would fall off.

'It will ease soon,' Olyvria assured him.

He wondered how she could know—had she ever been trussed up like a suckling pig on its way to market? But she was right. After a little while, he tried again to stand. This time he made it, though he swayed like a tree in a windstorm.

'He don't look too good,' said the fellow who went with this ... farmhouse, Phostis supposed it was, though the man, lean, pale, and furtive, looked more like a sneakthief than a farmer.

'He'll be hungry,' Syagrios said, 'and tired.' Syagrios seemed very much the stalwart bruiser Phostis had expected. He wasn't even of average height for a Videssian, but had shoulders as wide as any Haloga's and arms thick with corded muscle. At some time in the unknown past, his nose had intercepted a chair or other instrument of strong opinion.

A big gold hoop dangled piratically from his left ear. Phostis pointed at it. 'I thought folk who followed the gleaming path didn't wear ornaments like that.'

Syagrios' startled stare quickly slid into a scowl. 'None of your cursed business what I wear or don't—' he began, folding one big hand into a fist.

'Wait,' Olyvria said. 'This is something he needs to know.' She turned to Phostis. 'You're right and yet you're wrong. When we go among men not of our kind, sometimes lack of ostentation can betray us. We have the right to disguise our appearance, just as we may deny our creed to save ourselves.'

Phostis bit down hard on that one. A Videssian's faith was his proudest possession; many had been martyred for refusing to compromise the creed. Letting a man—or a woman— dissemble in time of danger went square against everything he'd ever been taught ... but also made good sense from a practical standpoint.

Slowly he said, 'My father will have a hard time sifting those who follow Thanasios' ways from the generality, then.' Krispos wouldn't have looked for that. Most heresies, believing themselves orthodox, trumpeted their tenets and made themselves easy targets. But suppressing the Thanasioi would be like striking smoke, which gave way before blows yet was not destroyed.

'That's right,' Olyvria said. 'We'll give the imperial army more trouble than it can handle. Before long, we'll give the whole Empire more trouble than it can handle.' Her eyes sparkled at the prospect.

Syagrios turned to the fellow who'd let them into the courtyard. 'Where's the food?' he boomed, slapping his bulging belly with the palm of one hand. No matter what Olyvria said, Phostis had trouble picturing him as an ascetic.

'I'll get it,' the skinny man said, and went into the house.

'Phostis needs it more than you,' Olyvria said to Syagrios.