'Come on then,' Krispos said. 'We've no time to lose.'
The Halogai guarding the doorway to the imperial residence chuckled when Krispos came out wearing his sword. 'You drink a little wine, you go into the city looking for somet'ing to fight, eh?' one of them said. 'You should have been born a northern man.'
Krispos chuckled, too, but his heart sank within him. As soon as he and Mavros were far enough away from the entrance for the guards not to hear, he said, 'We have gone looking for something to fight. How many Halogai will the Emperor have with him?'
The night was dark. He could not see Mavros' expression change, but he heard his breath catch. 'If it's more than one, we're in trouble. Armored, swinging those axes of theirs—'
'I know.' Krispos shook his head, but continued, 'I'm going on anyway. Maybe I can talk my way past 'em, however many there are. I'm his Majesty's vestiarios, after all. And if I can't, I'd sooner die fighting than whichever nasty way Anthimos has worked out for me. If you don't want to come along, the good god knows I can't blame you.'
'I am your brother,' Mavros said, stiffening with offended dignity.
Krispos clasped his shoulder. 'You are indeed.'
They hurried on, making and discarding plans. Before long, the gloomy grove of cypresses surrounding the Emperor's sanctum loomed before them. The path wound through it. The dark trees' spicy odor filled Krispos' nostrils.
As they were about to emerge from the cypresses, a red-orange flash of light, bright as lightning, burst from the windows and open doorways of the building ahead. Krispos staggered, sure his moment was here. His eyes, long used to blackness, filled with tears. How bitter, he thought, to have come just too late.
But nothing further happened, not right then. He heard Anthimos' voice begin a new chant. Whatever magic the Avtokrator was devising, he'd not yet finished it.
Beside Krispos, Mavros also rubbed his eyes. In that moment of fire, though, he'd seen something Krispos had missed. 'Only the one guard,' he murmured.
Squinting, wary against a new levinbolt, Krispos peered toward Anthimos' house of magics. Sure enough, lit by the glow of a couple of ordinary torches, a single Haloga stood in front of the door.
The northerner was rubbing at his eyes, too, but came to alertness when he heard footfalls on the path. 'Who calls?' he said, swinging up his axe.
'Hello, Geirrod.' Krispos did his best to sound casual in spite of the nervous sweat trickling down the small of his back. If Anthimos had told the guard why he was incanting here tonight ...
But he had not. Geirrod lowered his bright-bladed weapon. 'A good evening to you, Krispos, and to your friend.' Then the Haloga frowned and half raised the axe again. 'Why do you come here with brand belted to your body?' Even when he used Videssian, his speech carried the slow, strong rhythms of his cold and distant homeland.
'I've come to deliver a message to his Majesty,' Krispos answered. 'As for why I'm wearing my sword, well, only a fool goes out at night without one.' He unbuckled the belt and held it out to Geirrod. 'Here, keep it if you feel the need, and give it back when I come out.'
The big blond guard smiled. 'That is well done, friend Krispos. You know what duty means. I shall set your sword aside against your return.' As he turned to lean the blade against the wall, Mavros sprang forward, sheathed dagger reversed in his hand. The round lead pommel thudded against the side of Geirrod's head, just in front of his ear. The Haloga groaned and toppled, his mail shirt clinking musically as he fell.
Krispos' fingers dug into the side of Geirrod's thick neck. 'He has a pulse. Good,' he said, grabbing the sword belt and drawing his blade. If he survived the night, the Halogai would be
'Come on,' Mavros said. He snatched up the Haloga's axe. 'No, wait. Tie and gag him first,' Krispos said. Mavros dropped the axe, took off his scarf, and tore it in half. He quickly tied the guardsman's hands behind him, knotting the other piece of silk over his mouth and around his head. Krispos nodded. Together, he and Mavros stepped over Geirrod into the Avtokrator's sorcerous secretum.
The scuffle with the guard had been neither loud nor long. With luck, Anthimos would have been caught up in the intricacies of some elaborate spell and would never have noticed the small disturbance outside. With luck. As it was, he poked his head out into the hallway and called, 'What was that, Geirrod?' When he saw Krispos, his eyes widened and his lips skinned back from his teeth. 'You!'
'Aye, your Majesty,' Krispos said. 'Me.' He dashed toward the Emperor.
Fast as he was, he was not fast enough. Anthimos ducked back into his chamber and slammed the door. The bar crashed into place just as Krispos' shoulder smote the door. The bar was stout; he bounced away.
Laughing a wild, high-pitched laugh, Anthimos shouted, 'Don't you know it's rude to come to the feast before you're invited?' Then he began to chant again, a chant that, even through thick wood, raised prickles of dread along Krispos' arms.
He kicked the door, hard as he could. It held. Mavros shoved him aside. 'I have the tool for the job,' he said. Geirrod's axe bit into the timbers. Mavros struck again and again. As he hewed at the door, the Avtokrator chanted on in a mad race to see who would finish first—and live.
Mavros weakened the door enough so he and Krispos could kick it open. At the same instant, Anthimos cried out in triumph. As his foes burst in on him, he extended his hands toward them. Fire flowed from his fingertips.
Had Anthimos controlled a true thunderbolt, he would have incinerated Krispos and Mavros. But while his fire flowed, it did not dart. They scrambled backward out of the chamber before the flames reached them. The fire splashed against the far wall and dripped to the floor. The wall was stone. It did not catch, but Krispos gagged on acrid smoke.
'Not so eager to come in and play any more, my dears?' Anthimos said, laughing again. 'I'll come out and play with you, then.'
