where these troops are going to land?'
'Naah, we don't.' No doubt about it: Syagrios was indignant about that. He continued, 'But we think—and it's only a think, worse luck—like I say, we think he's gonna try and send 'em in at Pityos. It's what Livanios would do if he wore the red boots. He likes to strike for the heart, Livanios does.'
Phostis nodded; the ruffian's reasoning made sense to him. too. He said, 'So you'll send me to Pityos, then? Will I go alone?'
Syagrios and Olyvria both laughed at that. She said, 'No, Phostis. While we're sure enough you follow the gleaming path to send you out, we're not sure enough to send you alone.
We have to be sure you will say what you're supposed to. So I shall accompany you to Pityos ... and so will Syagrios.'
'All right,' he answered mildly. He had no idea how things would go once he got to Pityos; he wasn't even sure whether Olyvria was on his side or her father's. He'd find out in due course, he supposed. Either way, he intended to try to escape. Etchmiadzin was in the heart of Thanasiot country—even if he got out of town, he'd be hunted down before he could go far.
But Pityos, now, Pityos lay by the sea. He was no great sailor, but he could manage a small boat. The good god willing, he wouldn't have to. If imperial soldiers were heading into the port, all he'd have to do was go over to them rather than persuade them to come over to the gleaming path. It seemed too easy to be true.
'When will we leave?' he asked, careful now to sound casual. 'I'll need a little while to think about what I'm going to say. I don't suppose I'll be talking much to the officers?'
'Not bloody likely,' Syagrios agreed, rumbling laughter. 'You're after the odds and sods, the poor buggers who make a living—and a bad one—from soldiering. With any luck, they'll rise up and slaughter the proud bastards who give 'em orders. Most of those midwife's mistakes have it coming, anyways.' While he might not have been a proper Thanasiot as far as theology went, Syagrios had unbounded contempt for anyone in authority.
Olyvria actually answered Phostis' question: 'We want to leave tomorrow. It's several days' ride down to the coast; you can work on what you'll say as we go.'
'However you like.' Phostis laughed. 'The lord with the great and good mind knows I haven't much to pack.'
'Nor should you, if you follow the gleaming path,' Olyvria said.
Phostis had to work hard not to stare at her. Now she sounded the way she had when she'd first fetched him to Etchmiadzin. What had become of the passion she'd shown? Was she dissembling now because Syagrios sat next to her? Or had she seduced Phostis to win him to the gleaming path when more honest methods failed?
He simply could not tell. In a certain sense, it didn't matter. When he got to Pityos, he was going to try to escape, no matter what. If she stood in his way then, he'd do it alone. But he knew some trust would go out of him forever if the girl he loved turned out only to have been using him for her own purposes.
He hoped she'd sneak up to his cubicle that night, both because he wanted her and so he could ask her the questions he couldn't speak with Syagrios listening. But she kept to herself. When morning came, Phostis packed a spare tunic he'd come by, belted on the sword he'd left in the little room ever since he came back from the raid on Aptos, and went downstairs.
Syagrios was already down in the kitchens eating. He flipped Phostis a wide-brimmed hat of woven straw like the one that sat at a jaunty angle on his own head. When Olyvria came down, she was wearing one like it, too, and mannish tunic and trousers suitable for riding.
'Good,' Syagrios said, nodding approval when he saw her. 'We'll take enough food here to keep us going till we get to Pityos, then stuff it into our saddlebags and be on our way. The bread'll go stale, but who cares?'
Phostis took several loaves, some cheese, some onions, and a length of hard, dry pork sausage flavored with fennel. He paused before some round pastries dusted with powdered sugar. 'What's in these?' he asked.
'Take a few; they're good,' Olyvria said. 'They're made from chopped dates and nuts and honey. We must have a new cook out of Vaspurakan, because that's where they come from.'
'True enough,' Syagrios agreed. 'You ever hear a Videssian who wants them, he'll call 'em 'princes' balls.' ' He guffawed. Phostis smiled. Olyvria did her best to pretend she hadn't heard.
Phostis fed his foul-tempered horse one of the pastries in the hope of sweetening its disposition. The beast tried to bite his hand. He jerked it back just in time. Syagrios laughed again. Had Phostis been in any other company, he would have named his horse for the ruffian.
The ride into Pityos was a pleasant five days. The upland plateaus still wore their bright green coat of spring grass and shrubs; another month or two would go by before the vicious summer sun began baking everything brown. Fritillaries and hairstreaks flitted from one clump of red or yellow restharrow to another, and then on to white-flowered fenugreek. Swallows and skylarks swooped after the insects.
About halfway through the first day's ride, Syagrios dismounted to go off behind a bush some little distance from the road. Without turning her head toward Phostis. Olyvria said quietly, 'It will be all right.'
'Will it?' he answered. He wanted to believe her, but he'd grown chary of trusting anyone. If she meant what she'd said, she'd have the chance to prove it.
Before she could reply, back came Syagrios, buttoning the top button of his fly, rebuckling his belt, and whistling a marching song with more foul verses than clean ones. He grunted as he swung himself up into the saddle. 'Off we go again,' he declared.
The last day and a half of the journey were through the coastal lowlands. Peasants labored in the fields, plowing, planting, and pruning grape vines. Summer felt near in the lowlands, for the weather there was already hot and sticky. Phostis' shoulder twinged more than it had in the drier climate of the plateau.
As soon as Pityos came into view, the travelers all squinted and shaded their eyes to peer ahead. Phostis wondered how he'd feel to see a forest of masts in the harbor. But unless his eyes were tricking him. though the town seemed to boast fishing boats aplenty, none of them were the big imperial merchantmen that hauled troops and horses.
Syagrios grunted suspiciously. 'Your old man is up to something sneaky,' he told Phostis, as if it were the latter's fault. 'Maybe the ships are lying out to sea so they can come in at nightfall and take folk by surprise, or
