Pandareus coughed into his hand and added, "Uktena appears to be the Westerners' name for Typhon."
Corylus sighed. Taking longer to think wouldn't give him a better result. There were no good results.
"Come, Master," he said, offering Pandareus a hand more to get him moving than because he needed help getting up. "We'd best get aboard the ship."
The Watch and Marines were advancing at a deliberate pace, but they would arrive soon even if they didn't decide to make a final rush. Corylus had a frontier soldier's contempt for the Watch-and even more for the Marines, who filled their ranks with freed slaves. Even so there were forty of them, and some of the Marines were carrying long pikes.
Pandareus moved with commendable speed, hesitating only when he reached the edge of the quay. Before Corylus could speak, the Ancient took the teacher in his long arms and hopped with him across the three feet of open water to the ship's deck before setting him down.
Pandareus remained tense for an instant, then broke into a broad smile. "Publius Corylus," he said. "You have in one fashion and another added more to my education than I can possibly have done to yours. Where are we going now?"
"To Carce," Corylus said, tossing the anchor aboard and trotting to the stern to loose the hawser there. "A moment ago I wondered what people would say if we flew over the city, but it sounds as though there'll be a good deal more to worry about than our presence."
The oncoming troops raised a shout, but it didn't look like any of them wanted to double-time into the kind of trouble which had brought them out in such numbers. They would be here in a moment regardless.
Corylus tossed the hawser aboard and leaped to the deck himself. He could have cut the rope easily, but he didn't want to give the Watch a chance to gloat.
The ship wobbled, then started to rise without Corylus needing to give an order. Well, it would have been a request. The Ancient was at his post in the stern, laughing in his fashion.
Corylus saluted him, then strode to the bow where the sprite waited. The sails beat strongly above them. The company on the quay had scattered, all but three Marines who butted their pikes on the stone and tried to follow the rising ship with the points of their weapons.
"Cousin," Corylus said, patting the tangle of dull black tubes which must be the flame-spitting weapon which he had seen in visions. "Can you teach me how to use this? Because if you can't, I'm going to have to fight shiploads of Atlanteans with just a sword."
He patted the hilt and grinned. "And I don't fancy my chances," he said.
Varus stood in the back garden of his father's house. He was alone.
A few days ago he had believed that none of the servants would have been willing to join him here even if he ordered them to do so under threat of torture. Today, Lenatus and three of the just-freed slaves in the new squad of servants had offered to stay with him. Lenatus said that the whole squad would attend if Lord Varus ordered them to.
Varus had found his voice growing thick as he assured the men that it would be better for him to be alone. He knew they were all afraid of magic, and he was sure that they had a good idea of how dangerous this was going to be… though probably not a real understanding of the ways it was going to be dangerous. It didn't make any sense that they should volunteer.
Nobody had ordered Gaius Varus to take on this duty either, but he was a philosopher: he knew that the flesh was of no importance. He didn't imagine that the squad of bruisers was nearly so blase about questions of being and non-being… but they were willing to stand with him
Varus swallowed. He was beginning to understand what it meant to be a man. And perhaps that was because he was becoming a man himself.
He took a deep breath. He didn't have a weapon, just a splinter of bone. He had his mind and the knowledge in it. Those, not steel points or edges that would be more danger to him than to an enemy, were the tools with which he would fight Procron.
Varus wore a toga and leather-soled walking shoes. Remembering the terrain in which Procron's fortress stood, he had been tempted to get a pair of cleated army sandals. He wouldn't find them comfortable, though. He instead put on a pair of the shoes he would wear if he were going out on the streets of Carce.
"May the doors of heaven…," Varus said, reading aloud from the book which unrolled in his mind. "Be opened to me!"
It was the same phrase he had used to escape when Procron attempted to hold him. He was coming to realize that the words he used were not important. Hundreds or even thousands of Egyptians must have read the same phrase in past years. The words had power when he read them, because he read them with a particular intent.
The garden darkened. Varus stepped forward into a dark valley. The Sibyl waited for him at the base of a track up the hillside..
"Greetings, Lord Varus," she said. Crinkling her face still further in a smile, she added, "Intent is important, of course; but it would mean nothing if you were not a wizard."
She's replying to what I thought.
"Why would I not know what goes on in your mind, Varus?" she said. "Since I am a part of your mind."
Varus nodded politely. "Good morning, Sibyl," he said, ignoring her question. "I am glad you have joined me. I've come here again, because if I'm to stop Procron, I know of no better way to do it than by facing him."
Pandareus would appreciate the delicacy of his phrasing. Varus didn't believe that facing the Atlantean would enable him to defeat him-but he knew of no better way. Sitting in the library and pondering endlessly would lead nowhere. Choosing to face his enemy at least meant that Varus would by dying avoid having to watch the results of his failure.
"Come then," the Sibyl said. She started up the track, as she had done before.
She said, "Procron loosed Typhon on Atlantis in revenge for his exile, but he opened all paths when he did so. Typhon has chosen to attack Procon's enclave on this aged world, putting Procron on his mettle to prevent the monster from entering."
She cackled with amusement. "It is a struggle like no other in the history of the Earth," she said. "But there is no one to watch it except you and me, Lord Varus; and I do not exist outside your mind."
They reached the top of the low ridge. The sky was black with clouds congealing from the thin air. Procron's keep rose from the chill moorland in the near distance. The air was clear directly above the tower's peak, but a writhing mass of flesh tried to force entry against a net of violet lightning.
There was a continual thunderous hiss; the plain shuddered. Typhon's heads and limbs lashed at the lightning. They blackened, vanished, and were replaced as quickly by others swelling from the gross body.
"What-" Varus said. He stopped, smiled grimly, and began hiking toward the beleaguered fortress.
I already know what to do: enter Procron's fortress and stop him. Or die.
"Sibyl?" he said. "How long will this-" he waved. "-last if we don't take a hand?"
"For eternity, Lord Wizard," said the old woman, walking at his side. The air grew warmer as they approached the center of the struggle. The hoarfrost had melted, and the low vegetation was wilting. "Procron has pulled this world out of time, save for the one portal which his mind holds open to gain vengeance on the world that expelled him. Not even Typhon has the power to force that gate. Typhon will never cease trying, but-"
She shrugged.
"-if Typhon is blocked for very long here, it will enter Carce through another portal."
"But I will be able to leave?" Varus said. He licked his lips. "As I did before when Procron tried to hold us?"