"What do you mean, lost?" Krispos' wits were not yet at full speed.
The cavalry commander spelled it out in terms he could not misunderstand: "That's how many slipped out of camp in the night, most likely to throw in with the Thanasioi. The number'll only grow, too, as all the officers finish morning roll for their companies." No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a soldier came up to say something to him. He nodded and sent the man away, then turned back to Kripos: "Sorry, your Majesty. Make that forty-one missing."
Krispos scowled. "If we have to use half the army to guard the other half, it'll be only days before we can't fight with any of it."
"Aye, that's so," Sarkis said. "And how will you be able to tell beforehand which half to use to do the guarding?"
"You have a delightful way of looking at things this morning, don't you, Sarkis?" Krispos peered up at the sky from under the broad brim of his hat. "You're as cheery as the weather."
"As may be. I thought you wanted the men around you to tell you what was so, not what sounded sweet. And I tell you this: if we don't find a good road forward today—well, maybe tomorrow, but today would be better—this campaign is as dead and stinking as last week's fish stew."
"I think you're right," Krispos said unhappily. "We've sent out the scouts; that's all we can do for now. But if they don't have any luck ..." He left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to give rise to any evil omen.
He sent out more scouting parties after breakfast. They splashed forth, vanishing into rain and swirling mist. Along with Krispos, the rest of the soldiers passed a miserable day, staying under canvas as much as they could, doing their best to keep weapons and armor greased against the ravages of rust, and themselves as warm and dry as they could—which is to say, not very warm and not very dry.
The first scouting parties returned to camp late in the afternoon. One look at their faces gave Krispos the bad news. The captains filled in unpleasant details: streams running high, ground getting boggier by the hour, and Thanasioi out in force at any possible crossing points. "If it could have been done, your Majesty, we'd have done it," one of the officers said. "Truth is, it can't be done, not here, not now."
Krispos grunted as if kicked in the belly. Agreeing with Sarkis that he wanted to hear from his subjects what was so was one thing. Listening to an unpalatable truth, one that flew in the face of all he wanted, was something else again. But he had not lasted two decades and more on the throne by substituting his desires for reality: another lesson learned from poor wild dead Anthimos.
"We can't go forward," he said, and the scout commanders chorused agreement. "The lord with the great and good mind knows we can't stay here." This time, if anything, the agreement was louder. Though the bitter words choked him, Krispos said what had to be said: "Then we've no choice but to go back to Videssos the city." The officers agreed once more. That did nothing to salve his feelings.
The Thanasioi tramping into the keep of Etchmiadzin did not look like an army returning in triumph. Phostis had watched—had taken part in—triumphal processions down Middle Street in Videssos the city, testimonials to the might of his father's soldiers and to the guile of his father's generals.
Looking down from his bare little cell in the citadel, he saw none of the gleam and sparkle, none of the arrogance, that had marked the processions with which he was familiar. The fighting men below looked dirty and draggled and tired unto death; several had bandages, clean or not so clean, on arms or legs or heads. And, in fact, they'd not won a battle. In the end, Krispos' army had forced them back from the position they tried to hold.
But even defeat hadn't mattered. Instead of pressing forward. the imperial force was on its way back to the capital.
Phostis was still trying to grasp what that meant. He and Krispos had clashed almost every time they spoke to each other. But Phostis, however much he fought with his father, however much he disagreed with much of what he thought his father stood for, could not ignore Krispos' long record of success. Somewhere down deep, he'd thought Krispos would deal with the Thanasioi as he had with so many other enemies. But no.
The door behind him swung open. He turned away from the window. Syagrios' grin, always unpleasant, seemed especially so now. "Come on down, you," the ruffian said. "Livanios wants a word with you, he does."
Phostis did not particularly want a word with the Thanasiot leader. But Syagrios hadn't offered him a choice. His watchdog stepped aside to let him go first, not out of deference but to keep Phostis from doing anything behind his back. Being thought dangerous felt good; Phostis would have been even happier had reality supported that thought.
The spiral stair had no banister to grab. If he tripped, he'd roll till he hit bottom. Syagrios, he was sure, would laugh the louder for every bone he broke. He planted his feet with special care, resolved to give Syagrios nothing with which to amuse himself.
As he did every time he came safe to the bottom of the stairs, he breathed a prayer of thanks to Phos. As he also did every time, he made certain no one but he knew it. Through the years, Krispos had gained some important successes simply by not letting on that anything was wrong. Even if the tactic was his father's, Phostis had seen that it worked.
Livanios was still out in the inner ward, haranguing his troops about the fine showing they'd made. Phostis could wait on his pleasure. Unused to waiting on anyone's pleasure save his own—and Krispos'—Phostis quietly steamed.
Then Olyvria came out of one of the side halls whose twists Phostis was still learning. She smiled and said to him, "You see, the good god himself has blessed the gleaming path with victory. Isn't it exciting? By being with us as we sweep away the old, you have the chance to fully become the man you were meant to be."
"I'm not the man I would have been, true," Photsis said, temporizing. Had he still been back with the army, half his heart, maybe more than half, would have swayed toward the Thanasioi. Now that he was among them, he was surprised to find so much of his heart leaning back the other way. He put it down to the way in which he'd come to Etchmiadzin.
"Now that our brave soldiers have returned, you'll be able to get out more and see the gleaming path as it truly is," Olyvria went on. If she'd noticed his lukewarm reply, she ignored it.
Syagrios, worse luck, seemed to notice everything. Grinning his snag-toothed grin, he put in, "You'll have a tougher time running off, too."
"The weather's not suited to running," Phostis answered as mildly as he could. "Anyhow, Olyvria is right: I do want to watch life along the gleaming path."
"She's right about more than that," Syagrios said. "Your cursed father can't hurt us the way he thought he could. Come spring, all these lands'll be flowing smooth as a river under Livanios, you bet they will."
A river that didn't flow smooth had won more for the Thanasioi than their soldiers' might, or so Phostis had heard. He kept that thought to himself, too.
Olyvria said, "It shouldn't be a matter of running in any case. We won't speak of that again, for we want you to remain and be contented among us."
"I'd also like to be contented among you," Phostis answered. "I hope it proves possible."
"Oh, so do I!" Olyvria's face glowed. For about the first time since she'd helped kidnap him, Phostis longingly remembered how she'd looked naked in the lamplight, in the secret chamber under Videssos the city. If he'd gone forward instead of back ...
Outside in the inner ward, Livanios finished his speech. The Thanasiot soldiers cheered. Syagrios set a strong hand on Phostis' arm. "Come on. Now he'll have time to deal with the likes of you."
Phostis wanted to jerk away, not just from the contempt in his keeper's voice but also from being handled as if he were only a slab of meat. Back at the palaces, anyone who touched him like that would be gone inside the hour, and with stripes on his back to reward his insolence. But Phostis wasn't back at the palaces; every day reminded him of that in a new way.