The Halogai waited with Krispos. When they crossed, they would hang onto the tails of the last cavalry company's horses; the Eriza might well have swept away a man who tried that ford afoot. They found the fall rains funny. "In our country, Majesty, rain is for the end of spring and for summer," Vagn said. The rest of the northerners around Krispos chorused agreement.
"No wonder so many of you come south," he said.
"Aye, that's the way of it, Majesty," Vagn said. "To a Haloga, even the weather in Kubrat would seem good."
Having spent several years in Kubrat, Krispos found that prospect appalling. It gave him a measure of how harsh life in Halogaland had to be—and a new worry. He asked, "With Harvas Black-Robe and his mercenaries holding Kubrat, does that mean more Halogai might come south to settle there?"
"It could, Majesty," Vagn said after a thoughtful pause. "That would bear hard on Videssos, were it so."
"Yes," was all Krispos answered. He already knew he could not rely on all his Videssian soldiers against Petronas. When he took the field against Harvas, would he be able to trust his own Haloga guards?
One thing at a time, he told himself. After he dealt with Petronas, almost all the rank-and-file troopers in Videssian service would rally to him, especially if he campaigned against a foreign foe.
"Your Majesty?" someone called. "Your Majesty?"
"Here," Krispos answered. The Halogai who had been about to cross the Eriza turned back and formed up around him, weapons ready. That unthinking protective move told him more plainly than any oaths that these were loyal troops.
The man who asked for Krispos proved to be an imperial courier who sat soaked and bedraggled atop a blowing horse. "I have a dispatch from the Sevastos Mavros, your Majesty," he said, holding out a tube of waxed and oiled leather. "If you like, I can give you the news it bears. I must tell you, it is not good."
"Let me hear it, and I will judge," Krispos said, wondering how bad it would be. It was bad enough, he saw, to make the courier nervous. "Speak! By the good god, I know you only bring news; you don't cause it."
"Thank you, your Majesty." Even in the rain, the courier licked his lips before he went on. And when he did, the word he gave was worse than any Krispos had imagined. "Majesty, Harvas and his raiders have sacked the town of Develtos."
III
Krispos noticed he was grinding his teeth. He made himself stop. All the same, he felt pulled apart. How was he supposed to deal with Petronas if Harvas Black-Robe invaded the Empire? And how could he deal with Harvas if Petronas clung to his revolt?
"Majesty?" the courier said when he was some time silent. "What is your will, Majesty?"
A good question, Krispos thought. He laughed harshly. "My will is that Harvas go to Skotos' ice, and Petronas with him. Neither of them seems as interested in my will as you do, though, worse luck for me."
Taking the liberty the courier dared not, Sarkis asked, "What will you do, Majesty?"
Krispos pondered that while the rain muttered down all around. Not the least part of his pondering was Sarkis himself. If he left the regimental commander here by the Eriza alone, would he stay loyal or desert to Petronas? If he did go over, all the westlands save perhaps the suburbs across from Videssos the city would be lost. But if Krispos gave his attention solely to overthrowing Petronas, how much of the Empire would Harvas ravage while he was doing it?
He realized that was but a different phrasing for the unpalatable questions he'd asked himself before. As if he had no doubt Sarkis would remain true—as if the notion that Sarkis could do otherwise had never crossed his mind—he said, "I'll go back to the city. I can best deal with Harvas from there. Now that we've pushed over the Eriza, I want you to go after Petronas with everything you have. If you can seize him this winter, few rewards would be big enough."
The regimental commander's eyes were dark and fathomless as twin pools reflecting the midnight sky. Nevertheless, Krispos thought he saw a faint light in them, as if a star were shining on those midnight pools. Saluting, Sarkis said, "You may rely on me, your Majesty."
"I do," Krispos said simply. He wished he did not have to. He hoped Sarkis did not know that, but suspected—half feared— the Vaspurakaner soldier was clever enough to grasp it.
Thvari said, "My men will escort you back to the city, Majesty."
"A squad will do," Krispos said. "I want the rest of you to stay with Sarkis and help him run Petronas to earth."
But Thvari shook his head. "We are your guardsmen, Majesty. We took oath by our gods to ward your body. Ward it we shall; our duty is to you, not to Videssos."
"The eunuchs in the palace think they have the right to tell the Avtokrator what to do," Krispos said, his voice somewhere between amusement and chagrin. "Do you claim it, too, Thvari?"
The Haloga captain folded his arms across his broad chest. "In this, Majesty, aye. Think you—you travel a land in revolt. A squad, even a troop, is not enough to assure your safety."
Krispos saw Thvari would not yield. "As you wish," he said, reflecting that the longer he held the throne, the less absolute his power looked.
As it happened, he and the Halogai met not a single foeman on their long, muddy slog back to Videssos the city. They did see one fellow, though, who plainly took them for enemies: a monk going west on muleback, the hood of his blue robe drawn up over his shaven pate to protect him from the rain. He kicked his mount into a stiff-legged trot and rode far around the oncoming soldiers before he dared return to the highway.
The Halogai snickered at the monk's fear. With delicate irony, Krispos asked, "Bold captain Thvari, do you think a squad of your heroes would have been enough to save me from that desperado?"
Thvari refused to be baited. "By the look of him, Majesty, belike he would have set on a mere squad." Krispos had to laugh. The northerner went on more seriously. "Besides, who's to say that if you had only the squad, you mightn't have come across a whole horde of Petronas' rogues? The gods delight in sending woe to folk who scant their safety. No man outwits his fate, but it may entrap him before his time."
"I know why that monk turned aside from us," Krispos said: "for fear of having to argue theology with you."
"Few Halogai turn to Phos, but not for the priests' lack of trying," Thvari said. "Your god suits you of the Empire, and our gods suit us." Krispos remained convinced the northerners' gods were false, but could not deny the quality of the men who followed them.
He and his guards reached the suburbs across from the imperial city two days later. The courier had preceded them; boats were waiting to take them over the Cattle-Crossing. The short trip left Krispos green-faced and gulping, for the northerly winds that brought the fall rains had also turned the strait choppy. He sketched the sun-circle over his heart when he was back on dry land. Through the thick, gray rain clouds, though, Phos' sun could not be seen.
Long faces greeted him when he entered the imperial residence. "Cheer up," he said. "The world hasn't ended." He tapped the message tube the courier had brought him. "I know losing Develtos is a hard blow, but I think I have a way around it, or at least a way to keep Harvas quiet until I've settled Petronas."
"Very good, your Majesty. I am pleased to hear it." But Barsymes did not seem pleased, nor did his features lighten. Well, Krispos told himself, that's just his way—he never looks happy. Then the vestiarios said, "Majesty, I fear the evil news does not stop at Develtos."