That done, he cut the other pastry in half. Those halves he set on the table, close by the two bowls. He tapped the rim of one bowl and said, «You will see a reaction here, most eminent sir, if the King of Kings is likely to favor the arrangement you have made.»
«And I'll see one in the other bowl if he opposes?» Abivard asked.
Panteles nodded. Abivard found another question: «What sort of reaction?»
«Without actually employing the cantrip, most eminent sir, I cannot say, for that will vary depending on a number of factors: the strength of the subject's feelings, the precise nature of the question, and so on.»
«That makes sense, I suppose,» Abivard said. «Let's see what happens.»
With another nod Panteles began to chant in a language that after a moment Abivard recognized as Videssian, but of so archaic a mode that he could understand no more than every other word. The wizard made swift passes with his right hand, first over the bowl where Sharbaraz' approval would be indicated. Nothing happened there. Abivard sighed. He hadn't really expected the King of Kings to be happy about his plan. But how unhappy would Sharbaraz be?
Panteles shifted his attention to the princes' ball soaking in the other bowl. Almost at once the white wine turned the color of blood. The wizard's eyebrows—so carefully arched, Abivard wondered if he plucked them—flew upward, but he continued his incantation. The suddenly red wine began to bubble and steam. Smoke started rising from the Vaspurakaner pastry in the bowl with it.
And then, for good measure, the other half of that princes' ball, the one not soaked in wine, burst into flame there on the table. With a startled oath Panteles snatched up the jar of Vaspurakaner wine and poured what was left in it over the pastry. For a moment Abivard wondered if the princes' ball would keep burning anyhow, as the fire some Videssian dromons threw would continue to burn even when floating on the sea. To his relief, the flaming confection suffered itself to be extinguished.
«I believe,» Panteles said with the ostentatious calm that masks a spirit shaken to the core, «I believe, as I say, Sharbaraz has heard ideas he's liked better.»
«Really?» Abivard deliberately made his eyes go big and round. «I never would have guessed.»
The messenger shook his head. «No, lord,» he repeated. «So far as I know, the Videssians have not gone over the strait to Across.»
Abivard kicked at the dirt in front of his wagon. He wanted Maniakes to do nice, simple, obvious things. If the Avtokrator of the Videssians had moved to reoccupy the suburb just on the far side of the Cattle Crossing, Abivard would have had no trouble figuring out what he was up to or why. As things were– «Well, what have the Videssians done?»
«Next to nothing, lord,» the messenger answered. «I have seen as much—or, rather, as little—with my own eyes. Their warships remain ever on patrol. We have had reports they are fighting the barbarians to the north again, but we do not know that for a fact. They seem to be gathering ships at the capital, but it's getting late in the year for them to set out on a full-scale campaign.»
«That's so,» Abivard agreed. Before too long, storms would make the seas deadly dangerous and the fall rains would turn the roads into muck through which one couldn't move swiftly and sometimes couldn't move at all. Nobody in his right mind, or even out of it, wanted to get stuck in that kind of mess. And after the fall rains came snow and then another round of rain… He thought for a while. «Do you suppose Maniakes aims to wait till the rains start and then take back Across, knowing we'll have trouble moving against him?»
«Begging your pardon, lord, but I couldn't even begin to guess,» the messenger said.
«You're right, of course,» Abivard said. The messenger was a young man who knew what his commander had told him and what he'd seen with his own eyes. Expecting him to have any great insights into upcoming Videssian strategy was asking too much.
More dust flew up as Abivard kicked again. If he pulled out of Vaspurakan now, the settlement he'd almost cobbled together here would fall apart. It was liable to fall apart anyhow; the Vaspurakaners, while convinced of his good faith, still didn't trust Mikhran, who had served under the hated Vshnasp and who formally remained their governor. Abivard could make them believe he'd go against Sharbaraz' will; Mikhran couldn't.
«Is there anything else, lord?» the messenger asked.
«No, not unless you—» Abivard stopped. «I take that back. How was your journey across the westlands? Did you have any trouble with Videssians trying to make sure you never got here?»
«No, lord, nothing of the sort,» the messenger answered. «I had a harder time prying remounts out of some of our stables than I did with any of the Videssians. In fact, there was this one girl—» He hesitated. «But you don't want to hear about that.»
«Oh, I might, over a mug of wine in a tavern,» Abivard said. «This isn't the time or the place for such stories, though; you're right about that. Speaking of wine, have yourself a mug or two, then go tell the cook to feed you till you can't eat any more.»
He stared thoughtfully at the messenger's back as the youngster headed off to refresh himself. If the Videssians weren't doing more to harass lone Makuraners traveling through their territory, they didn't think Maniakes had any plans for this year. Maybe that was a good sign.
Rain pattered down on the cloth roof of the wagon. Abivard reminded himself to tell his children not to poke a forefinger up there against the fabric so that water would go through and run down it. He reminded them of that at the start of every rainy season and generally had to punctuate the reminders with swats on the backside till they got the message.
The rain wasn't hard yet, as it would be soon. So far it was just laying the dust, not turning everything into a quagmire. Probably it would ease up by noon, and they might have a couple of days of sun afterward, perhaps even a couple of days of summerlike heat.
From outside the wagon, Pashang the driver called out to Abivard: «Lord, here comes a Vaspurakaner; looks like he's looking for you.» After a moment he added, «I wouldn't want him looking for me.»
No one had ever accused Pashang of being a hero. All the same, Abivard belted on his sword before peering out. As raindrops splashed his face, he wished the pilos he was wearing had a brim.
He quickly discovered that donning the sword had been a useless gesture. The Vaspurakaner was mounted on an armored horse and wore full armor. He'd greased it with tallow; water beaded on his helmet and corselet but did not reach the iron.
«I greet you, Gazrik son of Bardzrabol,» Abivard said mildly. «Do you come in search of me armed head to foot?»
«Not in search of you, brother-in-law to the King of Kings.» Gazrik shook his head. Water sprayed out of his beard. «You treated me with honor, there when I bade you turn aside from Vaspurakan. You did not heed me, but you did not scorn me, either. One of your marshals, though, called me dog. I hoped to find him on the field when our force fought yours, but Phos did not grant me that favor. And so I have come now to seek him out»
«We were enemies then,» Abivard reminded him. «Now there is truce between Makuran and Vaspurakan. I want that truce to grow stronger and deeper, not to see it broken.»
Gazrik raised a thick, bushy eyebrow. «You misunderstand me, Abivard son of Godarz. This is not a matter of Vaspurakan and Makuran; this is a matter of man and man. Did a nakharar show me like insult, I would seek him out as well. Is it not the same among you? Or does a noble of Makuran suffer his neighbor to make his name into a thing of reproach?»
Abivard sighed. Gazrik was making matters as difficult as he could, no doubt on purpose. The Vaspurakaner knew whereof he spoke, too. Makuraner nobles were a proud and touchy lot, and the men of one domain often fought those of the next on account of some slight, real or imagined.
«Give me the name of the lout who styled me insolent dog,» Gazrik said.
«Romezan son of Bizhan is a noble of the Seven Clans of Makuran,» Abivard answered, as if to a backward child. By blood, Romezan was more noble than Abivard, who was but of the dihqan class, the minor nobility… but who was Sharbaraz' brother-in-law and marshal.
In any case, the distinction was lost on Gazrik, who judged by different standards. «No man not a prince of Vaspurakan can truly be reckoned of noble blood,» he declared; like Abivard, he was explaining something so obvious to him, it hardly needed explanation. He went on, «Regardless, I care nothing for what blood he bears, for I purpose spilling it. Where in this camp of yours can I find him?»
«You are alone here,» Abivard reminded him.
Gazrik's eyebrows twitched again. «And so? Would you keep a hound from the track? Would you keep a
