Destiny's shield

His tone hardened. 'I want to destroy that force. Hammer them into splinters.' He stood in his stirrups, scanning the area around them. 'We need a place to trap them.'

Kurush frowned. 'Anatha is only a few hours behind us. We could return and-'

Belisarius shook his head. 'Anatha's much too strong, with us there to aid in the defense. The Malwa will take one look and go elsewhere. Then we'll have to chase them, and fight a battle on ground of their choosing.'

A little smile came to Baresmanas' face. 'You want something feeble,' he announced. 'Some pathetic little fortification that looks like nothing much, but has places to conceal your troops.' The smile widened. 'Something like that wretched infantry camp you built at Mindouos.'

Belisarius' lips twisted. 'Yes, Baresmanas. That's exactly what I want.'

Comprehension came to Kurush. The young Persian nobleman's face grew pinched, for an instant. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

'You are a cold-blooded man, Belisarius!' he exclaimed. With a sad shake of his head:

'You'd never make a proper Aryan, I'm afraid. Rustam, dehgan of dehgans, would not approve.'

Belisarius shrugged. 'With all due respect to the legendary national hero of the Aryans, and the fearsome power of his bull-headed mace-Rustam died, in the end.'

'Trapped in a pit by his enemies, while hunting,' agreed Kurush cheerfully. 'Speaking of which-'

The sahrdaran looked to his uncle. 'Isn't there an imperial hunting park somewhere in this vicinity?'

Baresmanas pointed across the river, toward a large patch of greenery a few miles away.

'There,' he announced.

All the officers in the little group followed his pointing finger. At that moment, Agathius rode up, along with his chief tribune Cyril. Seconds later, the Illyrian commanders arrived also. The top leadership of the Allied army was now assembled. Quickly, the newcomers were informed of the situation and Belisarius' plan.

'We'll need to cross the Euphrates,' remarked Coutzes. 'Is there a ford nearby?'

'Has to be,' replied Maurice. 'The refugees are on that side of the river. Since the scouts talked to them, they must have found a way across.'

The chiliarch gestured toward the Arab cavalrymen, who had been waiting a short distance away. They trotted up to him and he began a quick consultation.

'It makes sense,' commented Kurush. 'Thilutha is on the left bank. At this time of year, the river can be forded any number of places. The Malwa have probably been crossing back and forth, ravaging both sides.'

Maurice returned.

'The fork's not far, according to the scouts.' He gauged the sun. 'We can have the whole army across the river by nightfall, if we press the matter.'

'Press it,' commanded the general.

Belisarius scanned his group of officers. The gaze was not cold, but it was stern. His eyes lingered for a moment on Agathius.

The commander of the garrison troops broke into a grin. 'Don't worry, general. My boys won't drag their feet. Not with the prospect of something besides another fucking day's march to look for-ward to.'

His eyes grew a bit unfocussed. 'Imperial hunting park,' he mused. 'Be a royal villa and everything there, I imagine.'

He took up his reins, shaking his head. 'Terri-ble, terrible,' he murmured, spurring his horse. 'Such damage the wondrous thing'll suffer, in a battle and all.'

After Agathius was gone, along with all the other subordinate officers except Maurice, Kurush gave Belisarius a cold stare.

'There is always a villa in an imperial hunting park,' he stated. 'Accoutered in a manner fit for the King of Kings. Filled with precious objects.'

The general returned the gaze unflinchingly. 'He's right, Kurush. I'm afraid the Emperor's possessions are going to take a terrible beating.'

'Especially with gunpowder weapons,' added Maurice. The Thracian chiliarch did not seem particularly distressed at the thought.

'I'm not concerned about the destruction caused by the enemy,' snapped the young Persian nobleman.

'Be silent, nephew!' commanded Baresmanas. The sahrdaran's tone was harsh, and his own icy gaze was directed entirely at Kurush.

'I know the Emperor much better than you,' he growled. 'I have known him since he was a child. Khusrau Anushirvan, he is called-Khusrau 'of the immortal soul.' It is the proper name for that man, believe me. No finer soul has sat the Aryan throne since Cyrus. Do you think such an emperor would begrudge a few tokens to the brave men who come to his aid, when his people are ravaged by demons?'

Kurush shrank back in his saddle. Then, sighing, he reined his horse around and trotted toward his troops. A moment later, Maurice left, heading toward his own soldiers.

Once they were alone, Baresmanas smiled rue-fully. 'Quite a few tokens, of course. And such tokens they are!'

Belisarius felt a sudden, deep friendship for the man beside him. And then, an instant later, was seized by a powerful impulse.

'You are quite right, you know.'

Baresmanas eyed him.

'About Khusrau, I mean. He will rule the Aryans for fifty years, and will be remembered for as long as Iran exists. 'Khusrau the Just,' they will call him, over the centuries.'

Baresmanas' face seemed to pale, a bit, under the desert-darkened complexion.

'I had heard-' he whispered. He took a breath, shakily. 'There are rumors that you can foretell the future, Belisarius. Is it true?'

Belisarius could sense Aide's agitation, swirling in his mind. He sent a quick thought toward the flashing facets.

No, Aide. There are times when secrecy defeats its purpose.

He returned the sahrdaran's piercing stare with his own steady gaze.

'No, Baresmanas. Not in the sense that you mean the term.'

The army was beginning to resume the march. Belisarius clucked his own horse into forward motion, as did Baresmanas.

The general leaned toward the sahrdaran. 'The future is not fixed, Baresmanas. This much I know. Though, it is true, I have received visions of the possible ways that future river might flow.'

He paused. Then said, 'We worship different gods, my friend. Or, perhaps, it is the same God seen in different ways. But neither of us believes that darkness rules.'

He gestured ahead, as if to indicate the still-unseen enemy.

'The Malwa are guided by a demon. That demon brought them the secret of gunpowder, and filled them with their foul ambition. Do you really think such a demon could come into the world-unanswered by divinity?'

Baresmanas thought upon his words, for a time, as they rode along. Then, he said softly, 'So. As always, God gives us the choice.'

Belisarius nodded. The sahrdaran's pallor faded. He smiled, then, rather slyly.

'Tell me one more thing, Belisarius. I will ask nothing else on this matter, I promise. Did a divine spirit guide you at Mindouos?'

The general shook his head. 'No. At least- No. I believe such a spirit kept me from harm in the battle. Personally, I mean. But the tactics were mine.'

The sahrdaran's sly smile broadened, became a cheerful grin. 'For some reason, that makes me feel better. Odd, really. You'd think it would be the opposite-that I would take comfort from knowing we were defeated by a superhuman force.'

Belisarius shook his head. 'I don't think it's strange at all, Baresmanas. There is-'

He fell silent. There was no way to explain, simply, the titanic struggle in the far distant future of which their own battles were a product. Belisarius himself understood that struggle only dimly, from glimpses. But-

'It is what we are fighting about, I think, in the end. Whether the course of human history is to be shaped by