The Dark Lord

'I was told,' he said, eyeing the mage suspiciously again, 'you could lead me to this thing, and swiftly too. You do not seem sure of yourself.'

Artabanus shrugged. 'I am honored by the king's confidence and I am learned in these matters... but what have you brought me? Little more than the shadow of a memory out of ancient times. Yet Egypt is filled with old mysteries and some still live today. There are books I can consult, and friendly priests upriver with whom we can speak.' The mage grinned. 'Rome is not loved here and we will be welcomed in some houses with wine and honey, where Rome receives only millet.'

'Very well,' Shahin said. 'We will leave as soon as you are ready.'

Artabanus smiled, spreading five Roman coins, all alike, on the tabletop. 'As I said, son of the house of Suren, I have little to do. We can leave today, if you like.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Palatine Hill

The Emperor pressed a short note into his tablet, reed stylus cutting into gray wax. His narrow face was smudged with exhaustion—dark circles under his eyes, a febrile quality to his skin. Anastasia thought he was falling ill. The others in the library were silent, waiting for him to finish. A muted scratching from the back of the room mixed with the tapping sound of fans rotating slowly overhead.

'How long until your flying machines are complete?' Galen put down the reed.

'Another four months.' Prince Maxian, equally worn, young face made old by sleeplessness, slouched in a heavy chair opposite his brother. The table between them was strewn with fine Chin porcelain, half-empty cups of wine, bits and pieces of glazed duck, bread rounds, scraps of cheese and half-eaten apples. 'But I have installed the fire heart in each steed. The foundry foremen in Florentia can complete the rest of the work without me—at least until my final invocations are required.'

'And then?' Galen's expression was pinched. Despite considerable discussion, he was uneasy with these new weapons his brother promised. Mechanical devices—toys, he thought—were Aurelian's passion. The big redheaded horse should be here keeping an eye on Maxian, not in Egypt facing down the Persians. He would love this project: all gears, metal, pneuma and spiritus. 'Each... steed... will need a thaumaturge to make it fly?'

'No.' The prince sighed, knuckling his eyebrows. 'That is what has taken so long. The fire-drake can accept the guidance of anyone—well, anyone the drake is directed to obey. These new ones will not be quite so fast, or so strong as the first one, but they will serve.'

'Why aren't they as fast?' Galen squinted. The corner of his left eye was twitching. The Duchess hid a wry expression of compassion. A headache was stealing up on her as well.

Maxian breathed out in a long, irritated hiss. 'Because, brother, when I built the first one, I was a student, following the direction of a master... and now, I can't remember everything old Abdmachus told me. At the time I was rushed... I wasn't paying close enough attention.' The prince bit angrily at his thumb. 'But they are far beyond anything Persia has... these young drakes cannot reach Albania in two days of flight, but they will be able to reach Egypt in four.'

'Can they fight? Are they worth two Legions of troops?' The Emperor stared at parchment sheets laid out on the table, obviously tabulating the ever-rising expense of Maxian's project. 'We could fit out a dozen heavy galleys for this cost.'

'A single fire-drake is worth a dozen galleys.' The prince tried to keep his voice level. 'A fire-drake can fly against the wind, over storms, even through hail! From such a height, a man can see hundreds of miles, spying the enemy at a great distance. A fire-drake can—'

'I've heard all of this before.' Galen glared at his brother. 'Very well, press ahead. You'll need more money, I suppose...' He pinched his nose, eyes squeezed shut. When they opened, everything was the same. The Emperor swallowed, tasting something bitter at the back of his throat. 'Duchess?'

Anastasia stirred, sitting up straight. She was tired too. 'We have done well with the telecast, my lord. The work is draining for the thaumaturges assisting us, but the results are spectacular.' She made a wry smile, clasping her hands. 'Though the visions do not always show us what we desire to see. Not all the time, at least. First—the comes Alexandros has advanced within sight of Constantinople—and it seems, if we count fire pits and tents aright, the armies of the Avar khagan have decamped. They are probably already back in Moesia by now.'

'Really?' Galen sat up straighter himself. 'How can you tell?'

Anastasia tried to maintain a neutral expression, but it was very difficult to keep a smirk from her lips. She inclined her head towards Gaius Julius, who was sitting quietly beside the prince, being unobtrusive. 'A famous Roman historian once described the encampment practices of the barbarians, finding them as unique to a people —between, say, the noble Carnutes and the savage Belgae—as costume or language. In my experience this holds true for the camps of the Romans—unmistakably orderly when viewed from above—the Persians and even the Avars. A Persian army is encamped within the ruins of Constantinople and Alexandros' without. There are no Avar camps—distinguished, I must say, by admirable efficiency and professionalism, as well as a peculiar ringed shape—within a hundred miles.'

The old Roman did not respond. He did not even blink at the gibe.

'And Egypt?' Galen leaned forward, his fingers toying with the reed stylus.

'Prince Aurelian's defenses are being tested,' Anastasia said, pursing her full lips. Today they were lightly brushed with a dark madder hue. The powders and paints around her eyes were very light, barely disguising puffy skin and incipient wrinkles. Indeed, her clothing was very restrained, even somber. Yet she had discarded the cloak of mourning and a subtle gleam of fine gold shone at her neck and adorned her hair. 'The Persians have advanced across the desert of Sinai with great speed. A fleet—actually, two fleets—accompany them. One flotilla of galleys stands offshore at a distance, watching for our own ships. A large number of barges or large rafts are drawn up on the beaches.'

'Supplies?' Gaius Julius spoke for the first time. 'Water?'

'Yes.' The Duchess nodded. 'Prince Aurelian built his line of defense to deny an attacker access to fresh water. The swamps, bogs and streams in front of his fortifications have been drained. Yet, the Persians foresaw this—they are shipping barrels of water down from Gazzah on their barges. They will be thirsty, but they will not perish.'

Galen nodded, smoothing his hair back. 'Unfortunately, they are professionals. Have you found the army that fought at Constantinople?'

'No.' Anastasia shrugged. 'The telecast can only see one thing at a time. The world is vast. Since we know it does not face Alexandros in Thrace, and cannot have fit on their fleet, I believe the 'missing' army is crossing Anatolia overland, heading back to Persia.' She looked at the Emperor, who seemed as displeased as ever. 'We think, from what we see, the army before Pelusium is mostly composed of the rebellious Greeks, their Arab allies and new contingents from the east. I think—and this is only a conjecture, my lord—the Persians have emptied their treasury, hiring large numbers of Turks, Sogdians and Indians to supplement their forces.'

'Have you informed Aurelian of this?' The reed tapped rapidly on the tabletop.

'We have,' Anastasia said, smiling at the absurdity of the situation, 'dispatched a courier from Ostia with all this news. With good winds, the ship will be in Pelusium port in three weeks, more likely four. What we see today, he will know in a month. Unless, of course, he learns at spearpoint...'

'Ahhh...' Galen snarled and the reed snapped in half in his fist. 'Don't we have any faster way to send him this news?' The Emperor glared at Maxian. 'Can a thaumaturge in Rome send a message to one in Pelusium, or Alexandria, today?'

'Yes...' Maxian smirked a little. 'A fire-drake could carry the message swiftly!' The prince ducked as another stylus flipped past his head. 'Peace, brother! Peace! I believe the Legion thaumaturges have a mechanism of their own, whereby two mages, each known to the other, with matching scrying bowls, can communicate.'

'Like the telecast pairs?' Galen raised an eyebrow. 'Could we make another telecast? Place one in Egypt with Aurelian? Speak with him as if he stood in this room?'

'That is impossible—' Anastasia began, teeth clenched.

'Wait,' Maxian said, raising a hand to interrupt her. A faint smile played upon his lips. Anastasia was suddenly sure the prince had been waiting for this turn in the conversation. 'There is something... Gaius, hand me