Videssos Cycle, Volume 2 Read Online Free PDF

Khamorth could not count past their fingers and toes. But then, Gorgidas was seeing Khamorth aplenty himself.
    “Skotos take the rude barbarian,” the tribune heard one Videssian officer whisper to another. “Does he doubt the princess’ words?”
    But Alypia told Sarbaraz, “I did not mean to mock you,” as courteously as if apologizing to a great noble. She was without the hot Gavras temper that plagued Thorisin and had sometimes flared in her father Mavrikios as well. Nor were her features as sharply sculptured as those of the male Gavrai, though she shared their rather narrow oval face.
    Marcus wondered what her mother had looked like; Mavrikios’ wife had died years before he became Avtokrator. Very few Videssians had green eyes, which must have come from that side of the family.
    “When do you plan to start the season’s fighting?” someone asked Thorisin.
    “Weeks ago,” the Emperor snapped. “May Onomagoulos rot in Skotos’ hell for robbing me of them—aye, and of all the good men his rebellion killed. Civil war costs a country twice, for winners and losers both are its own.”
    “Too true,” Gaius Philippus muttered, remembering his own young manhood and the fight between Sulla and the backers of Marius—to say nothing of the Social War that had matched Rome against its Italian allies. He raised his voice to speak to Gavras. “We can’t get ready for weeks ago, you know.”
    “Not even you Romans?” the Emperor said with a smile. There was honest respect in his voice; the legionaries had taught Videssos morethan it ever knew of instant readiness. Thorisin rubbed his chin as he considered. “Eight days’ time,” he said at last.
    Groans came from several officers; one of the Namdaleni, Clozart Leatherbreeches, growled, “Ask for the moon while you’re about it!” But Utprand silenced him with a glare. When the Emperor looked a question at the dour mercenary chief, he got a nod back. He returned it, satisfied; Utprand’s word on such things was good.
    Gavras did not bother checking with the Romans. Scaurus and Gaius Philippus exchanged smug grins. They could have been ready in half Thorisin’s eight days and knew it. It was gratifying to see the Emperor did, too.
    As the meeting broke up, Marcus hoped for a few words with Alypia Gavra; in ceremony-ridden Videssos such chances came too seldom. But Mertikes Zigabenos buttonholed him as they walked out through the brightly polished bronze doors of the Hall of the Nineteen Couches. The Videssian officer said, “I hope you’re pleased with the healer-priest I got for you.”
    Under most circumstances Scaurus would have passed it off with a polite compliment. After all, Zigabenos had been trying to do him and his men a favor. The sight of Alypia heading off with her uncle toward the imperial family’s private chambers, though, left him irritated enough for candor. “Couldn’t you have found one who doesn’t drink so much?” he asked.
    Zigabenos’ handsome face froze. “Your pardon, I am sure,” he said. “Now if you will excuse me—” With a bow calculated to the fraction of an inch, he stalked off.
    Gaius Philippus came up. “How did you step on
his
corns?” he asked, watching the stiff-backed departure. “Don’t tell me you gave him a straight answer?”
    “I’m afraid so,” the tribune admitted. There were times, he thought, when you could make no worse mistake with the Videssians.
    The bustle of preparing to move out did not keep the legionaries from their mornings at the practice field. As they were returning one day, Marcus found the barracks halls a good deal grimier and more untidythan even moving’s dislocation could have let him put up with. Annoyed, he went looking for Pullo and Vorenus. It was not like them to let down on any job, even one as menial as a housekeeping detail.
    He found them standing side by side in the sun behind one of the bachelor halls. They came out of their rather stiff stance as soon as he