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"And even so, what of that?" Goudeles said. The seal stamper sounded petulant;
he was used to the comforts of Videssos and did not relish sitting unprotected
in the rain and mud of the trackless steppe. He went on, "When weighed against
the mission with which we were entrusted, what is the fate of one barbarian
mercenary? Once our embassy is successfully completed which boon Phos
grant then, with the augmentation of manpower the addition of the Arshaum will
yield us, we may properly search for him. But until such augmentation should
come to pass, he remains a secondary consideration."
Gorgidas gasped, not wanting to believe his ears. "But he may be hurt,
dying he surely is hurt," the Greek said, touching the brown stains on the
cloth. "You would not leave him in the enemy's hands?"
If Goudeles was embarrassed, he did not show it. "I would not cast myself into
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them, either, and bring to nothing the purpose for which I was dispatched."
"The pen-pusher is right," Skylitzes said, looking as though the admission
left a bad taste in his mouth. "The Empire's safety overrides that of any one
man. Your countryman is a doughty fighter, but he is only one. We need
hundreds."
Neither of the Videssians knew Viridovix, save on the journey. Gorgidas turned
to Arigh, who had roistered with the Celt for two years. "He is your friend!"
Arigh tugged at his straggling chin whiskers, plainly uncomfortable with the
Greek's bald appeal. Personal ties counted for more with him than with the
imperials, but he was a khagan's son and understood reasons of state. "It
grieves me, but no. The farmer-folk speak true, I fear. I betray a trust now
whatever I do, but I act for my clan before I act for myself. V'ridrish is no
easy prey; he may yet win free."
"Curse you all!" Gorgidas said. "If you care nothing for what happens to your
comrade, stand aside for one who does. I'll ride after him myself."
"That is well said," Arigh said quietly. Several of the troopers echoed him.
Furious, Gorgidas ignored them all, sweeping possessions into his rucksack.
But Skylitzes came over to put a hand on the Greek's shoulder. Gorgidas cursed
again and tried to shake free, but the stocky Videssian officer was stronger
than he. "Let loose of me, you god-detested oaf! Why should you care if I seek
my friend? I cannot matter to you any more than he does."
"Think like a man, not an angry child," Skylitzes said softly. The rebuke was
calculated to touch the Greek, who prided himself on his rationality.
Skylitzes waved, an all-encompassing gesture that swept round the horizon. "Go
after Viridovix " Like Goudeles, he said the name carefully. " if you will,
but where will you go?"
"Why " the Greek began, and then stopped in confusion. He rubbed his bristly
chin; a beard, he was finding, could be a useful adjunct to thought. "Where do
your reports place Avshar?" he asked at last.
"North and west of where we are now, but that news is weeks old and worth
nothing now. You've seen how the plainsmen move, and no law makes the damned
wizard-prince stay with any one clan."
"Northwest is good enough."
"Is it? I've seen you, outlander; you lack the skill to follow a trail not
that the rain will leave you one." Skylitzes went on remorselessly, "And if
you do somehow catch up to your foes, what then? Are you warrior enough to
slay them all singlehanded? Are you warrior enough even to protect yourself if
a nomad chooses to make sport of you? Will that sword of yours help, should
you buckle it on instead of leaving it in your kit?"
Gorgidas started; sure enough, he had not thought of the gladius Gaius
Philippus had given him, and had left it tucked away with his scrolls of
parchment. For the first time in many years, he wished he were skilled with
weapons. It was humiliating that he could not stop some chance-met, unwashed,
illiterate barbarian who might enjoy killing him simply to watch him die.
He rummaged through his sack for the sword, but threw it angrily back in when
he found it. It could not cut Lankinos Skylitzes' logic. "West, then," he
said, hating the necessity that impelled his words. Ananke, he thought: life's
harshest master.
When Skylitzes offered a sympathetic handclasp, the Greek did not take his
hand. Instead he said, "Keep drilling me on my swordplay, will you?" The
officer nodded.
Gorgidas' thoughts were full of irony as he scrambled onto his horse. He had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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