Four—false—Prophets. And then—on toward Mashiz!'
Krispos remembered what Iakovitzes had said about the centuries of inconclusive warfare between Videssos and Makuran. Petronas' planned trip to Mashiz would be quick and easy if his foes cooperated. If not, it was liable to take longer than the Sevastokrator expected. 'May you triumph,' he said again.
'What a smooth liar you've turned into, when you'd sooner see me ravens' meat. That's not likely, though, I'm afraid. No indeed. And in any event, as I told you before, your punishment awaits you. I don't think it will wait long enough for you to see me at all any more, let alone in my victorious return. A very good afternoon to you, esteemed and eminent sir.' Petronas swaggered away.
Krispos stared at his retreating back. He sounded very sure of himself. What was he going to do, hire a band of bravoes to storm the imperial residence? Bravoes who tangled with the Emperor's Halogai would end up catmeat. And whatever Krispos ate, Anthimos ate, too. Unless Petronas wanted to be rid of his nephew along with Krispos, poison was unlikely, and he showed no sign of wanting to be rid of his nephew, not so long as he got his way.
What did that leave? Not much, Krispos thought, if I lay low until Petronas heads west. The Sevastokrator could hire assassins from afar, but Krispos did not greatly fear a lone assassin; he was a good enough man of his hands to hope to survive such an attack. Maybe Petronas was only trying to make him afraid and subservient once more—or maybe his anger would cool, away in the westlands. No, Krispos feared that was wishful thinking. Petronas was not the sort to forget an affront.
A few days later, troops under the Sevastokrator's command marched and rode down to the docks. Anthimos came to the docks, too, and made a fiercely martial speech. The soldiers cheered. Gnatios the patriarch prayed for the army's success. The soldiers cheered again. Then they lined up to be loaded onto ferries for the short journey over the Cattle-Crossing, the narrow strait that separated Videssos the city from the Empire's western provinces.
Krispos watched the tubby ferryboats waddle across the water to the westlands; watched them go aground; watched as, tiny in the distance, the warriors began to clamber down onto the beaches across from the city; saw the bright spring sunlight sparkling off someone's armor. That would be a general, he thought, maybe even Petronas himself. No matter how the Sevastokrator threatened, he was far less frightening on the other side of the Cattle-Crossing.
Anthimos must have been thinking the same thing. 'Well,' he said, turning at last to go back to the palaces, 'the city is mine for a while, by Phos, with no one to tell me what I must or must not do.'
'There's still me, your Majesty,' Krispos said. 'Ah, but you do it in a pleasant tone of voice, and so I can ignore you if I care to,' the Emperor said. 'My uncle, now, I never could ignore, no matter how hard I tried.' Krispos nodded, but wondered if Petronas would agree—the Sevastokrator seemed convinced his nephew ignored him all the time. But having the wolf away from his door prompted Krispos to carouse with the best of them at the revel Anthimos put on that night 'to celebrate the army's victory in advance,' as the Avtokrator said. He was drinking wine from a large golden fruit bowl decorated with erotic reliefs when a Haloga guardsman came in and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Somebody out there wants to see you,' the northerner said.
Krispos stared at him. 'Somebody out where?' he asked owlishly.
The Haloga stared back. 'Out there,' he said after a long pause. Krispos realized the guardsman was even drunker than he was.
'I'll come,' Krispos said. He had almost got to the door when his sodden brain realized he was in no condition to fight off a toddler, let alone an assassin. He was about to turn around when the Haloga grabbed him by the arm and propelled him down the stairs—not, apparently, with malicious intent, but because the northerner needed help standing up himself.
'Krispos!' someone called from the darkness.
'Mavros!' He got free of the Haloga and stumbled toward his foster brother. 'What are you doing here? I thought you were on the other side of the Cattle-Crossing with Petronas and the ret of his restinue—rest of his retinue,' he corrected himself carefully.
'I was, and I will be again soon—I can't afford to be missed. I've got a little rowboat tied up at a quay not far from here. I had to come back across to warn you: Petronas has hired a mage. I came into his tent to ask him which horse he'd want tomorrow, and he and the wizard were talking about quietly getting rid of someone. They named no names while I was there, but I think it's you!'
XI
Certainty washed through Krispos like the tide. 'You're right. You have to be.' Even drunk—perhaps more clearly because he was drunk—he could see that this was just how Petronas would deal with someone who had become inconvenient to him. It was neat and clean, with the Sevastokrator far away from any embarrassing questions, assuming they were ever asked. 'What are you going to do?' Mavros said.
The question snapped Krispos out of his rapt admiration for Petronas' cleverness. He tried to flog his slow wits forward. 'Find a wizard of my own, I suppose,' he said at last.
'That sounds well enough,' Mavros agreed. 'Whatever you do, do it quickly—I don't think Petronas will wait long, and the mage he was talking with seemed a proper ready-for-aught. Now I have to get back before I'm missed. The Lord with the great and good mind be with you.' He stepped up, embraced Krispos, then hurried away.
Krispos watched him disappear into darkness and listened to his footfalls fade till they were gone. He thought how fortunate he was to have such a reliable friend in the Sevastokrator's household. Then he remembered what he had to do. 'Wizard,' he said aloud, as if to remind himself. Staggering slightly, he started out of the palace quarter.
He was almost to the plaza of Palamas before he consciously wondered where he was going. He only knew one sorcerer at all well though. He was glad he hadn't been the one who'd antagonized Trokoundos. Otherwise, he thought, Anthimos' former tutor in magecraft would have been more likely to join Petronas' wizard than to help fend him off.
Trokoundos lived on a fashionable street not far from the palace quarter. Krispos pounded on his door, not caring that it was well past midnight. He kept pounding until Trokoundos opened it a crack. The mage held a lamp in one hand and a most unmystical short sword in the other. He lowered it when he recognized Krispos. 'By Phos, esteemed and eminent sir, have you gone mad?'
'No,' Krispos said. Trokoundos drew back from the wine fumes he exuded. He went on, 'I'm in peril of my life.
