But then the burning cloth flickered and almost went out. Not only that, the part that had been consumed seemed restored, so that the cloth looked bigger than it had when it burned brightest. Zaidas stumbled and almost took it out of the candle flame.
He stood steady, though, and repeated the incantation he'd used when he first put the cloth in the flame. To it he added other muttered charms that Phostis heard only indistinctly. The striped cloth began to burn again, hesitantly at first but then with greater vigor. "You have it, sorcerous sir!" Krispos breathed.
Though he spoke softly, he must have distracted Zaidas, for the flame on the cloth shrank and the cloth itself seemed to expand once more. But Zaidas rallied again. More and more of the cloth burned away. Finally, with a puff of smoke like the one from the expiring Thanasiot candle, it was gone. Zaidas stuck the thumb and forefinger of his right hand into his mouth. They shouldn't have been scorched, though—they should have been burned to the bone.
When he took the fingers out, the wizard said in a worn voice, "What magic can do, magic has done. The good god willing, I have struck Artapan a heavy blow this day."
"How shall you know whether the good god was willing?" Krispos asked.
Instead of answering directly, Zaidas swept the filmy silk cloth away from Phostis and Olyvria and said, "You two can detach yourselves from each other now."
They shook their heads at the same time and both started to laugh. That was what made them break apart. Phostis said, "We liked what we were doing."
"I noticed that, yes," Zaidas said, so dryly it might have been Krispos talking.
Krispos repeated, "How will you know whether you smote Artapan?"
"Your Majesty, I am about to find that out, for which purpose I require your eldest son once more."
"Me?" Phostis said. "What do I need to do now?"
"What I tell you." Before explaining what that was, the mage turned to Olyvria and bowed. "My lady, I am grateful for your services against the Makuraner. Your presence is not required for this next conjuration." He made it sound as if her presence was not desired. Though that miffed Phostis, Olyvria nodded and swept down the little hillock. A couple of Halogai trailed after her; the northerners seemed to have accepted her as part of the imperial family.
"Why don't you want her to watch what we're doing?" Phostis asked Zaidas.
"Because I am going to use you to help locate her father Livanios," Zaidas answered. "You were in contact with him; by the law of contagion, you remain in contact. So, for that matter, does she, but no matter how she loves you, I would not use her as the instrument of her father's betrayal."
"A nicety of sentiment the Thanasioi wouldn't give back to us," Krispos said. "But you're right to use it. Carry on, sorcerous sir."
"I shall, never fear," Zaidas answered. "I was just about to explain that Artapan's magic has up to this point shielded the Thanasioi from such direct sorcerous scrutiny. If, however, we have weakened him with the conjuration just completed, this next spell should also succeed."
"Very neat," Krispos said approvingly. "You use the same magic to learn whether the previous one worked and where the heresiarch's main force is. That's economical enough to have sprung from the brain of a treasury logothete."
"I shall construe that as a compliment, and hope it was
meant so," Zaidas said, which squeezed a chuckle out of Krispos.
The conjuration the sorcerer had in mind seemed simple in the extreme. He took some loose, crumbly dirt from the top of the hillock and put it in a large, low bowl. Then he called Phostis over and had him press his hand down onto the dirt. As soon as Phostis drew back a pace, Zaidas began to chant. His left hand moved in quick passes over the bowl.
A few seconds later, hair prickled up on the back of Phostis' neck. The dirt was stirring, shifting, humping itself up into a ridge—no, not a ridge, an arrow, for one end showed an unmistakable point.
"East and a little south," Zaidas said.
"Very, very good," Krispos breathed; as usual, he was quietest when he felt most triumphant. "The mask is down, then—we can see the moves Livanios makes. Have you any idea how far away his force lies?"
"Not precisely, no," the mage answered. "By the speed with which the arrow formed, I should say he is not close. It gives but a rough measure, though."
"A rough measure is all we need for now. You and Phostis will work this magic every morning from now on, to give us the foe's bearing and your rough measure of how far away he is. Will Artapan know his magic has failed him?"
"I'm afraid so, your Majesty," Zaidas said. "Did you see how the cloth representing Makuran tried a couple of times to reconstitute itself? That was my opponent, attempting to resist and undo my spell. But he failed as I thought he would, for the power of life is stronger than that of death."
Krispos walked over to Phostis and clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "And all of it thanks to you, son. I owe you a great deal; you've done me as much good by returning and aiding me as I feared you'd do me harm had you stayed with the Thanasioi. And besides that, I'm glad you're back."
"I'm glad I'm back, too, Father," Phostis said. If Krispos claimed the relationship despite his doubts, Phostis would not quarrel with it. He went on, "And what's this I hear about your missing me so much that you decided to sire a bastard"—He carefully did not say another bastard—"to take my place?" The year before, he couldn't have bantered so with Krispos.
The Avtokrator looked startled, then laughed. "Which of your brothers told you that?"
"Evripos, back at Videssos the city."
"Aye, it's true. I hope he also said I didn't intend to let it compromise the rights you three enjoy, even if it is a son."
"He did," Phostis said, nodding. "But really, Father, at your age—"
"That's all of you who've said that now," Krispos broke in. "To the ice with your teasing. As you'll find out, gray in your beard doesn't stop you from being a man. It may slow you down, but it doesn't stop you." He looked defiant, as if waiting for Phostis to find that funny.
But Phostis didn't feel like provoking him any further. Having just found his way onto good terms with Krispos, he wouldn't risk throwing that away for the sake of a few minutes' amusement. He probably wouldn't have made such a calculation the year before; two or three years earlier, he was sure he wouldn't have.
What does that signify? he wondered. Is it what they mean by growing up? But he already was grown up. He had been for years—hadn't he? Scratching his head, he walked back to the tent he shared with Olyvria.
"Due east now, your Majesty," Zaidas reported. "They're getting close, too; the arrow formed almost as soon as Phostis took his hand from the ensorceled soil."
"All right, sorcerous sir, and thank you," Krispos answered. For the last week he'd been maneuvering to place the imperial army square in the path of the withdrawing Thanasioi. "If the lord with the great and good mind is kind to us, we'll swoop down on them before they even know we're in the neighborhood."
"May it be so," Zaidas said.
"Due east, you say?" Krispos went on musingly. "They'd be somewhere not far from, hmm, Aptos, I'd say. Is that about right?"
"Given where we are now—" The mage frowned in concentration, then nodded. "Somewhere not far from there, yes."
"Uh, Father... ?" Phostis began in a tentative voice.
He hadn't sounded tentative since he'd escaped from the
Thanasioi. Krispos gave him a curious look, wondering why he did now. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Uh," Phostis said again. By the hangdog look on his face, he regretted having spoke up. He needed a very visible rally before he continued. "When I had to go out on that Thanasiot raiding party, Father—remember? I told you of that."