Once, it would have been at the very limit of the Duke’s abilities to ride through the snow and watch the ground around him while holding a conversation in the immaterial and focusing his will in the aether but his powers were magnitudes greater, and he plunged into his palace.
It had grown dark and shadowy the last few months, as he used more and more of the drugs to keep the old man at bay. Now it was clean and clear. And on the marble plinth in the centre of a rotunda the size of Hagia Sophia’s in Liviapolis stood a statue of a woman – almost certainly Prudentia. She smiled.
Only a simualcrum, said Harmodius. But when I am gone, I thought you might miss having something there. I had time on my hands. But I had access to many of your memories, and I made her as life-like as I dared.
Gabriel looked at the sigils on the walls. I see more than five hundred potential workings, he said.
I arranged everything we know for you.
You terrify me, old man. Even now, I think I should drink the potion and shut you out.
Listen, boy. I have learned so much from living inside your head that I shouldn’t- Bah. Suffice it to say, I could have taken possession of your perception of the universe any time I wished. But why? I wouldn’t. I thought about it. But – I wouldn’t do it. There are things to which even I will not stoop.
You don’t want to become Thorn.
Not even Thorn wanted to become Thorn. That poor bastard is becoming nothing but a shell – a tool.
For whom?
There was another pause.
Call your halt, Harmodius said.
The Duke gathered all his force around him, and they packed the snow down with their horses’ hooves, and then gathered all the horses in a dense pack at the edge of spruce woods that blocked the wind. It was so cold that breath caught in men’s throats, and the coyotes gathered under the eaves of the ancient trees and howled. The horses shifted restlessly.
‘Let’s keep moving,’ Count Zac said. ‘It is too cold to rest.’
‘Wait,’ the Duke said.
The temperature rose in little jumps.
The air became warm enough to breathe comfortably, and then soldiers were pulling off their mittens and pulling feed bags over the horses’ heads.
I didn’t even know I could use the working this way, the Duke admitted.
Harmodius laughed. So you believe me? he asked.
The Duke bowed in the clean magnificence of his private rotunda. Not completely, Harmodius. But enough to enjoy this moment and accept your teaching with some humility. I want to cast it again.
Again?
For the coyotes.
What a strange man you are.
He put them to sleep, lest they run. Then he raised the temperature around them too.
I feel a certain kinship with them, the Duke said.
In the morning, the Duke’s raiding party arrived at the edge of the Meander to find the remnants of a camp – felled trees, an abattis of beach and spruce, a palisaded citadel. There was a stone bridge abutment a third of the way across the Meander, and enough remnants of a collapsed ice bridge to suggest the means of crossing.
The Duke rubbed his two days’ growth of beard. He glanced at Zac and shrugged. ‘Mag built them a bridge. I can feel it. She froze the river and the whole army crossed.’
‘We’re out of food,’ Zac said.
The Duke nodded. ‘Best catch them today, then,’ he said, and waved his sword hand.
The Meander froze, the ripples of his power moving at the speed of a swimming otter, the ice visible against the black of the water.
‘Let’s move,’ the Duke shouted, and spurred his black charger down the bank.
Sixty men; one hundred and twenty-five horses. They crossed in minutes, and the Duke released his working.
‘You are one scary fuck,’ Count Zac said. He grinned. ‘I’m glad you are on our side.’
The Duke looked pale. ‘I’m not feeling very scary right now, Zac. Let’s go.’
They caught the army at sunset, when they were already too cold, when men who’d hoarded a little dry sausage could have sold it for its weight in gold. The horses needed water, and two had already fallen and been left for the coyotes and the wolves – now they had the coyotes’ larger cousins following them on the road.
But the army was encamped in an ancient legionary fort, four good earthen walls that the army had dug free of snow in the last hour, and there were tents lit orange by chimneys of stacked turf hacked from the ground with axes. An old fort like this one often had big piles of loose stone ready to be laid up into shelters or hearths.
The hillsides rang with the sound of axes as half the army gathered wood.
The Duke dismounted in the central parade and was embraced by Bad Tom.
It took less than a minute for him to understand the situation.
He winked at Random across the huge fire that lit the command area. He felt better immediately, for no other reason than that he was surrounded by friends. He found time with Harmodius very wearing.
Because the old magister scared him. He could have me any time.
I wouldn’t even know.
But surrounded by friends and warmth it didn’t seem so bad. He reviewed Tom’s decisions and found them good.
‘If we push through, we can be at Osawa tomorrow by sunset,’ Random said.
The Duke looked around. ‘Well then – let’s get what sleep we can.’
‘Did you get a fight?’ Tom asked. Heads turned – men looked at their Captain, or their Megas Ducas.
Father Arnaud frowned.
‘Not really,’ the Duke said.
Count Zac laughed. ‘He rode off alone, right in among them, and challenged Demetrius to single combat. Oh, you should have seen him!’
Bad Tom glared at his Captain. ‘But you didn’t get to fight?’
Ser Michael laughed. ‘Didn’t he? He unhorsed Demetrius’s uncle and took him prisoner in front of Demetrius’s whole army!’
Bad Tom grinned. ‘You’re a loon. But you steal all the good fights, and that’s not the place for a chieftain.’
The Duke shrugged. ‘Tom, I wanted to take a highly ranked prisoner. That’s all.’
Count Zac laughed aloud. ‘Bullshit, Cap-tan! You want a fight – you ride out and fight!’
Tom crossed his arms. ‘The Galles will gi’ us a fight, anyhap.’
The Duke raised a hand. ‘Not if I can help it. I plan to leave them a golden bridge to their boats.’
‘What?’ Tom roared.
‘Is good taktika,’ Zac said.
Tom’s face twisted up in frustration. ‘He’s taking all the fun out of war,’ he complained.
The Duke nodded. ‘In the lists I’m happy to oblige another gentleman. But this is war. And while the Galles may want a fight, we want them to go home so we can save our furs for the Emperor.’
Ser Giorgios scratched at his beard. They were all dirty – no one changed clothes in that cold. ‘I mean no insult,’ he said. ‘But men say that mercenaries avoid combat.’
The Duke shrugged. ‘Sauce – can we have a little demonstration for these Morean gentry?’
She smiled. ‘Anything. What do you want?’
The Duke drew his sword, and Sauce drew hers.
‘You watching, Giorgios?’ He lifted his sharp blade in a gliding thrust, two-handed, and Sauce’s blade moved to slap the Duke’s blade aside – but he slipped under her parry and the point of his sword just touched her chest. ‘Did my blade avoid her blade?’ he asked.