‘Theomachy is no longer my burden.’
‘That cannot be so.’
‘… hear about the insurrection, or take my leave!’
‘… His name is unpronounceable, and that of his empire, but I think we all
shall learn it so well we will mumble it in our sleep …’
‘I don’t sleep. It is a matter of the right field officers, and men young
enough not to have fought upcountry the last time.’
‘I am meeting some Sacred Band members here, my old team. Can you provision
us?’
‘Here? Well enough to get to thecapital and do it better. Let me be the first
to …’
Kadakithis, forgotten, cleared his throat.
Both men stared at the prince severely, as if a child had interrupted adults.
Tempus bowed low in his saddle, arm out-swept. The rider in reds with the
burnished cuirass tucked his helmet under his arm and approached the chariot,
handing the second horse’s tether to Tempus as he passed by.
‘Abarsis, presently of Ranke,’ said the dark, cultured voice of the armoured
man, whose hair swung black and glossy on a young bull’s neck. His line was old,
one of court graces and bas-relief faces and upswept, regal eyes that were
disconcertingly wise and as grey-blue as the huge horse Tempus held with some
difficulty. Ignoring the squeals of just-met stallions, the man continued: ‘Lord
Prince, may all be well with you, with your endeavours and your holdings,
eternally. I bear reaffirmation of our bond to you.’ He held out a purse, fat
with coin.
Tempus winced, imperceptibly, and took wraps of the grey horse’s tether, drawing
its head close with great care, until he could bring his fist down hard between