Pyrrhos turned, taking in Krispos' fine robe, so different from the plain blue wool he wore. Scorn sparked in the abbot's eyes. Then he recognized Krispos. His face changed—a little. 'I have not seen you in some while,' he said. 'I gathered the loose life in the palaces was more to your liking than that which we live here.'
Krispos felt himself flush, the more so because what Pyrrhos said held much truth. He said, 'Holy sir, I need your aid,' and waited to see what the abbot would do. If Pyrrhos only wanted to rant at him, he would go find another priest, and quickly.
But the abbot checked himself. Krispos saw he had not forgotten that strange night when Krispos first came to the monastery of the holy Skirios. 'Phos bids us aid all men, that they may come to know the good,' Pyrrhos said slowly. 'Come to my study; tell me of your need.'
'Thank you, holy sir,' Krispos breathed. He followed the abbot through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the monastery. He'd walked this way once before, he realized, but he had been too bemused then to make special note of his surroundings.
The study he remembered. Like Pyrrhos, it was spare and hard and served its purpose without superfluity. The abbot waved Krispos to an unpadded stool, perched on another, and leaned forward like a bearded bird of prey. 'What is this aid you say you require? I would have thought you likelier to go to Gnatios these days, as he reckons most sins but a small matter.'
Pyrrhos was not a man to make things easy, Krispos thought. But when he answered, 'Gnatios would not help me, for the person from whom I need aid is the Sevastokrator Petronas.' He knew he'd captured the abbot's attention.
'How did you fall foul of Petronas?' Pyrrhos asked. 'Did you presume to suggest to the Emperor that his time might be better spent in attending to the duties of the state than in the wantonness and depravity in which, with his uncle's connivance, he currently wallows?'
'Something like that,' Krispos said; he had indeed tried to get Anthimos to do more toward running the Empire. 'And because of it, holy sir, the Sevastokrator, though now out of the city on campaign, seeks to slay me with sorcery. I've been told the prayers of a priest might help blunt the magic's power. Will you pray for my protection, holy sir?'
'By the good god, I will!' Pyrrhos sprang to his feet and caught Krispos by the arm. 'Come to the altar with me, Krispos, and offer up your prayers as well.'
The altar of the monastery temple was not of silver and gold and ivory and gems like the one in the High Temple. It was plain wood, as befitted the simplicity of monastic life. Pyrrhos and Krispos spat on the floor in front of it in ritual rejection of the dark god Skotos, Phos' eternal rival. Then they raised their hands to the heavens and spoke the creed together: 'We bless thee, Phos, Lord with the great and good mind, by thy grace our protector, watchful beforehand that the great test of life may be decided in our favor.'
Krispos prayed on in silence. Pyrrhos, more used to ordering his thoughts aloud, kept speaking after the creed was done: 'Phos, I beseech you to protect this upright young man from the evil that approaches him. May he walk safe and righteous through it, as he has walked safe through the iniquity of the palaces. I pray for him as I would pray for my own son.' His eyes met Krispos' for a moment. Yes, he remembered that first night Krispos had come to the monastery.
'Will your prayer save me, holy sir?' Krispos asked when the abbot lowered his arms.
'That is as Phos wills,' Pyrrhos answered, 'and depends on what your future is meant to be—also, I'll not deny, on the power of the sorcery sent against you. Though Phos will vanquish Skotos in the end, the dark god still ranges free in the world. I have prayed. Within me, I pray yet. May that suffice, that and whatever other wardings you have.'
Pyrrhos was narrow, but he was also straight: he would not promise what he could not deliver. At any other time, Krispos would have had only approbation for that. Now, he thought, a reassuring lie might have felt very good. He thanked the abbot, dropped a goldpiece into the monastery poorbox, and started back to the palaces.
He spent the rest of the day in annoyed suspense. If the wizard was going to strike, he wished the fellow would
As he was carrying dinner in for Anthimos and Dara that evening, he got his wish. And, as is often the way of such things, he regretted ever making it. He was just lowering a wide silver tray from his shoulder to the table at which the Emperor and
Empress sat when the strength suddenly flowed from his body like wine pouring from a jug. All at once, the tray seemed to weigh tons. Despite his desperate grip, it crashed to the floor. Anthimos and Dara both jumped; the Empress let out a squeak. 'That wasn't very good, Krispos,' Anthimos said, laying a finger by the side of his nose. 'Even if you think the meal is bad, you should give us the chance to fling it about.'
Krispos tried to answer, but only a croak came from his mouth; he was not strong enough to force his tongue to shape words. As Dara began to ask, 'Are you all right?' his legs gave out from under him and he slid bonelessly down into the messy ruins of the dinner he had brought.
By luck, he landed with his head to one side. That let him keep breathing. Had he fallen face down in spilled soup or gravy, he surely would have drowned, for he could not have shifted to clear the muck from his mouth and nose.
He heard Dara scream. He could not see her; his eyes pointed in the wrong direction and he could not move them. Each breath was a separate struggle for air. His heart stuttered, uncertain in his chest.
Anthimos stooped beside him and rolled him onto his back. Breathing grew a precious trifle easier. 'What's wrong, Krispos?' the Emperor demanded, staring down at him. Fetched by the racket of the dropped tray and by Dara's scream, servants rushed into the dining room. 'He's had some sort of fit, poor beggar,' Anthimos told them.
Barsymes said, 'Let's get him to his bed. Here, Tyrovitzes, help me move him out of this muck.' Grunting, the two eunuchs pulled Krispos away from the spilled food. Barsymes clicked tongue between teeth. 'On second thought, we'd better clean him up before we put him into bed. We'll just take him out to the hallway first.' As if he were a sack of lentils, they dragged him away from the table and out of the dining room.
'Put him down a moment,' Tyrovitzes said. Barsymes helped ease Krispos to the marble flooring. Tyrovitzes went back into the dining room. 'Your Majesties, I am sorry for the disturbance. Someone will be along directly, I assure you, to clean up what was unfortunately spilled and to serve you a fresh meal.'
