One of the princes swung at him with the ruined stump of a lance much like the one he'd thrown away. He took the blow in the side. «Aii!» he said. The finger-sized iron splints of his armor and the leather and padding beneath them kept him from having broken bones—at least, no fractured ribs stabbed at him like knives when he breathed—but he knew he'd have a great dark bruise when he took off his corselet after the fight was done.
He slashed at the Vaspurakaner backhanded. The fellow was wearing a chain mail veil like his own. That meant Abivard's sword didn't carve a slab off his face, but the blow surely broke his nose and probably his teeth, too. The Vaspurakaner screamed, clutched at his hurt, and reeled away before Abivard could finish him.
Locked in a hate-filled embrace, the two armies writhed together, neither able to force the other back or break through. Now the lightly-armed Makuraners whom the men of Vaspurakan had so abruptly shoved aside came into their own. From either wing those of them who had not fled plied the Vaspurakaners with arrows and rushed stragglers four and five against one. The Princes had no similar troops to drive them back.
A shout of «Hosios Avtokrator!» rose from the Makuraner left. That had to be Tzikas; none of the Makuraners cared a candied fig about Sharbaraz' puppet. But Tzikas, even without the prestige of Makuraner rank or clan, was able to lead by courage and force of personality. He slew a Vaspurakaner horseman, then swarmed in among the princes. Makuraners followed, wedging the breach in the line open wider. The men of Vaspurakan began falling back, which encouraged the Makuraners to press ahead even harder than they had before.In the space of what seemed only a few heartbeats, the fight went from battle to rout. Instead of pressing forward as doughtily as their opponents, the Vaspurakaners broke off and tried to flee. As often happens, that might have cost them more casualties than it saved. Abivard hacked down a couple of men from behind; how could you resist with your foes' back to you?
Some of the Vaspurakaners made for the castles in the valleys, which kept their gates open wide till the Makuraners got too close for comfort. Other princes rode up into the foothills that led to the ranges separating one valley from another. Some made stands up there, while others simply tried to hide from the victorious Makuraners.
Abivard was not interested in besieging the Vaspurakaner castles. He was not even interested in scouring the valley of Hanzith clean of foes. For years, for centuries, Vaspurakan had been full of men with no great love for Makuran. The King of Kings had derived great profit from it even so. Sharbaraz could derive great profit again—once his marzban was freed to control the countryside. Getting Mikhran out of the castle of Poskh came first
The valley of Poskh ran southwest from Hanzith. Abivard pushed his way through the pass a little before sunset. He saw the fortress, gray and massive in the distance, with the Vaspurakaners' lines around it. They hadn't sealed it off tightly from the outside world, but supply wagons would have had a rugged time getting into the place. «Tomorrow we attack,» Romezan said, sharpening the point of his lance on a whetstone. «The God grant I meet that churlish Vaspurakaner envoy. I shall have somewhat to say to him of manners.»
«I'm just glad we hurt the Vaspurakaners worse than they hurt us,» Abivard said. «It could have gone the other way about as easily—and even if we free Mikhran, will that do all we want?»
«How not?» Romezan said. «We'll get him out of the fortress, join forces with his men, thump the Vaspurakaners a few times, and remind them they'd better fear the God.» He slammed his thick chest with one fist; the sound was almost like stone on wood.
«They may fear the God, but are they going to worship him?» Abivard asked. «We ruled them for a long time without demanding that. Now that we have demanded it, can we make them obey?»
«Either they obey or they go into the Void, which would prove to 'em the truth of our religion if only they could come back whence none returneth.» Romezan was a typical man of the Seven Clans: he took his boyhood learning and beliefs as a given and expected everyone also to take them the same way. Within his limits he was solid.
«We should be trying to keep the princes quiet so we can fight Videssos, not antagonizing them, too,» Abivard said. «We should—» He shook his head. «What's the use? We have our orders, so we follow them.» He wasn't so different from Romezan, after all.
If Gazrik was in the fight the next day, Abivard didn't know it. With his force attacking the Vaspurakaners who besieged the fortress of Poskh, with Mikhran and his fellow Makuraners sallying from the fortress to grind the princes between two stones, the battle was easier than the previous fighting had been. Had he commanded the Vaspurakaners, he would have withdrawn in the night rather than accept combat on such terms. Sometimes headlong courage was its own punishment.
By noon his soldiers were gathering in the mounts of unhorsed Vaspurakaners and plundering bodies of weapons and armor, rings and bracelets, and whatever else a man might think of some value. One soldier carefully removed the red-dyed plumes from a prince's helm and replaced the crest of his own headgear with them. Abivard had seen and heard and smelled the aftermath of battle too often for it to astonish or horrify him. It was what happened. He rode over the field till he found Mikhran marzban. He did not know the new Makuraner governor of Vaspurakan by sight, but like him, Mikhran had a standard-bearer nearby displaying the banner of their country.
«Well met, lord,» Mikhran said, realizing who he must be. The marzban was a few years younger than he, with a long, thin face made to hold worried wrinkles. That face had already acquired a good many and probably would gain more as the years went by. «Thank you for your aid; without it, I should have come to know the inside of that castle a great deal better than I wanted.»
«Happy to have helped,» Abivard answered. «I might have been doing other things with my force, I admit, but this was one that needed doing.»
Mikhran nodded vigorously. «Aye, lord, it was. And now that you have freed me from Poskh valley and Poskh fortress, our chances of regaining rule over all of Vaspurakan are—» Abivard waited for him to say something like assured or very good indeed. Instead, he went on, «—not much different from what they were while I was holed up in there.»
Abivard looked at him with sudden liking. «You are an honest man.»
«No more than I have to be,» the marzban answered with a wintry smile. «But whatever else I may be, I am not a blind man, and only a blind man could fail to see how the princes hate us for making them worship the God.»
«That is the stated will of Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his years be many and his realm increase,» Abivard said. «The King of Kings feels that as he is the sole ruler of Makuran and as this land has come under Makuraner sway, it should be brought into religious conformity with the rest of the realm: one realm, one faith, one loyalty.» He looked around at the scattered bodies and the spilled blood now turning black. «That one loyalty seems, um, a trifle hard to discover at the moment.»
Mikhran's mournful features, which had corrugated even further as Abivard set forth the reasoning of the King of Kings, eased a bit when he admitted that the reasoning might not be perfect. «The one loyalty the princes have is to their own version of Phos' faith. It got them to murder Vshnasp marzban for trying to change it» He paused meditatively. «I don't think, though, that was what made them cut off his privates and stuff them into his mouth before they flung his body out into the gutter.»
«They did that?» Abivard said. When Mikhran nodded, his gorge tried to rise. None of the marzban's dispatches had gone into detail about how Vshnasp had met his untimely demise. Picking his words with care, Abivard observed, «I've heard Vshnasp marzban was of… somewhat lustful temperament»
«He'd swive anything that moved,» Mikhran said, «and if it didn't move, he'd shake it. Our nobles would have served him the same way had he outraged their womenfolk as he did those of the nakharars here.»
«No doubt you're right Gazrik said as much,» Abivard answered, thinking what he'd do if anyone tried outraging
Roshnani. Of course, anyone who tried outraging Roshnani might end up dead at her hands; she was nobody to take lightly nor one who shrank from danger.
«I warned him.» Mikhran's words tolled like a sad bell. «He told me to go suck lemons; he'd go get something else sucked himself.» He started to say something more, then visibly held his tongue. He got that, all right, and just as he deserved, was what ran through Abivard's mind. No, Mikhran marzban couldn't say that no matter how loudly he thought it
Abivard sighed. «You proved yourself wiser than the man who was your master. So what do we do now? Must I spend the rest of this year going from valley to valley and thrashing the princes? I will if I must, I suppose, but it will lead to untold mischief in the Videssian westlands. I wish I knew what Maniakes was doing even now.»
«Part of the problem solved itself when Vshnasp's genitals ceased to trouble the wives and daughters of the Vaspurakaner nobles,» Mikhran said. «The nakharars would willingly return to obedience, save that…»
Save that we have to obey Sharbaraz King of Kings. Again Abivard supplied a sentence Mikhran marzban didn't care to speak aloud. Disobeying the King of Kings was not something to be contemplated casually by any of his servants. In spite of the God's conveyance of preternatural wisdom to the King of Kings, Sharbaraz wasn't always right But he always thought he was.
Mikhran opened a saddlebag, reached in, and pulled out a skin of wine. He undid the strip of rawhide holding it closed, then poured a tiny libation for each of the Prophets Four down onto the ground that had already drunk so much blood. After that he took a long swig for himself and passed the skin to Abivard.
The wine went down Abivard's throat smooth as silk, sweet as one of Roshnani's kisses. He sighed with pleasure. «They know their grapes here, no doubt about that,» he said. On the hillsides in the distance were vineyards, the dark green of the grapevines' leaves unmistakable.
«That they do.» Mikhran hesitated. Abivard gave him back the wineskin. He swigged again, but that wasn't what he'd wanted. He asked, «What will the King of Kings expect from us now?»
«He will expect us to restore Vaspurakan to obedience, nothing less,» Abivard answered. The golden wine mounted swiftly to his head, not least because he was so worn from the morning's fighting. He went on. «He will also expect us to have it done by yesterday, or perhaps the day before.»
Mikhran marzban's slightly pop-eyed expression said he hadn't just stepped over an invisible line, he'd leapt far beyond it. He wished he'd held his tongue, a useless wish if ever there was one. But perhaps his frankness or foolishness or whatever one wanted to call it had finally won the marzban's trust. Mikhran said, «Lord, while we are putting down this rebellion in Vaspurakan, what will the Videssians be doing?»
«I was wondering the same thing myself. Their worst, unless I'm badly mistaken,» Abivard said. He listened to himself in astonishment, as if he were someone else. If his tongue and wits were running a race, his tongue had taken a good-sized lead.
But Mikhran marzban nodded. «Which would Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his days be long and his realm increase, sooner have: war here and Videssos forgotten or peace here and Videssos conquered?»
«Both,» Abivard replied without hesitation. But in spite of his tongue's running free as an unbroken colt, he knew what Mikhran was driving at. The marzban didn't want to be the one to have to say it, for which Abivard could hardly blame him: Mikhran was not Sharbaraz' brother-in-law and enjoyed no familial immunity to the displeasure of the King of Kings. How much did Abivard enjoy? He suspected he'd find out «If we give up trying to compel the princes to follow the God, they'll be mild enough to let me get back to fighting the Videssians.»
When Mikhran had said the same thing earlier, he had spoken of it as an obvious impossibility. Abivard's tone was altogether different. Now Mikhran said, «Lord, do you think we can do such a thing and keep our heads on our shoulders once the King of Kings learns of it?»
«That's a good question,» Abivard observed. «That's a very good question.» It was the question, and both men knew it. Since Abivard didn't know what the answer was, he went on: «The other question, the one that goes with it, is, What is the cost of not doing it? You summed that up well, I think: we will have warfare here, and we will lose the gains we made in Videssos.»
«You are right, lord; I'm certain of it,» Mikhran said, adding, «You will have to draft with great care the letter wherein you inform the King of Kings of the course you have chosen.» After a moment, lest that seem too craven, he added, «Of course I shall also append my signature and seal to the document once you have prepared it»
«I was certain you would,» Abivard lied. And yet it made sense that he should be the one to write to Sharbaraz. For better or worse—for better and worse—he was brother-in-law to the King of Kings; his sister Denak would help ease any outburst of wrath from Sharbaraz when he learned that for once not all his wishes would be gratified. But surely Sharbaraz would see that the change of course would only do Makuran good.
Surely he would see that. Abivard thought of the latest letter he'd gotten from the King of Kings, back in Across. Sharbaraz had not seen wisdom then. But the red-lion banner had never before flown above Across. Makuran had struggled for centuries to dominate Vaspurakan. Persecutions of the locals had always failed. Surely Sharbaraz would remember that. Wouldn't he?
Mikhran said, «If the God be kind, we will be so well advanced on our new course, and will have gained such benefits from it by the time Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his years be many and his realm increase, receives your missive that he will be delighted to accept what we have done.»
«If the God be kind.» Abivard's left hand twisted in the gesture that invoked the Prophets Four. «But your point is well taken. Let us talk with their chief priests here; let us see what sort of arrangements we can work out to put the uprising behind us. Then, when we have at least the beginnings of good news to report, will be time enough to write.»
«If we have even the beginnings of good news to report,» Mikhran said, suddenly gloomy. «If not, we only bring more trouble down on our heads.»
At first Abivard had a hard time imagining more trouble than Vaspurakan aflame with revolt and the Videssian westlands unguarded by his mobile force because of that revolt. But then he realized that those were troubles pertaining to Makuran as a whole. If Sharbaraz grew angry at how affairs in Vaspurakan were being handled contrary to his will, he would be angry not at Makuran in general but at Abivard in particular.
Nevertheless– «Are we agreed on our course?» he asked.
Mikhran marzban looked around the battlefield before answering. Most of the Makuraner dead had been taken away, but some still sprawled in death alongside the Vaspurakaners whose defeat they would not celebrate. He asked a question in his turn: «Can we afford more of this?»
«We cannot,» Abivard answered, his purpose finning. «We'll treat with the princes, then, and see what comes of that» He sighed. «And then we'll tell Sharbaraz King of Kings of what we've done and see what comes of that.»
III
The fortified town of Shahapivan lay in a valley south of Poskh. Abivard approached it by himself, holding before him a white-painted shield of truce. «What do you want, herald?» a Vaspurakaner called from the walls. «Why should we talk to any Makuraner after what you have done to our people and to our worship of the lord with the great and good mind who made us before all other men?»
«I am not a herald. I am Abivard son of Godarz, brother-in-law to Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his days be long and his realm increase. Is that reason enough to talk with me?»
He had the satisfaction of watching the jaw of the fellow who'd spoken to him drop. All the princes close enough to hear stared down at him. They argued in their own language. He'd learned a few Vaspurakaner curses but nothing more. Even if he did not speak the tongue, though, he easily figured out what was going on: some of the warriors believed him, while others thought he was a liar who deserved to have his
presumption punished.
Presently a man with a gilded helmet and a great mane of a beard spilling down over his chest leaned out and said in fluent Makuraner, «I am Tatul, nakharar of Shahapivan valley. If you truly care to do the land of the princes a service, man of Makuran, take up your soldiers and go home with them.»
«I do not wish to speak with you, Tatul nakharar» Abivard answered. Several of the Vaspurakaners up on the wall growled like wolves at that. The growls spread as they translated for their comrades who knew only their own tongue. Abivard went on, «Is not the chief priest of Shahapivan also chief priest of all those who worship Phos by your rite?»
«It is so.» Pride rang in Tatul's voice. «So you would have speech with the marvelously holy Hmayeak, would you?'
«I would,» Abivard answered. «Let him come to my camp, where I will treat him with every honor and try to compose the differences between us.»
«No,» the nakharar said flatly. «This past spring Vshnasp, who has now gone to the eternal ice, sought to foully murder the marvelously holy Hmayeak, upon whom Phos' light shines with great strength. If you would be illuminated by the good god's light reflected from his shining soul, enter into Shahapivan alone and entirely by yourself. Give yourself over into our hands and perhaps we shall find you worth hearing.»
Tatul's smile was broad and unpleasant Some of the Vaspurakaners on the wall laughed. «I am not Vshnasp,» Abivard said. «I agree.»
«You—agree?» Tatul said as if he'd forgotten what the Makuraner word meant. The princes on the wall of Shahapivan gaped. After a moment Tatul added, «Just like that?»
«I'm sorry,» Abivard said politely. «Must I fill out a form?» When she found out he was going into Shahapivan alone, Roshnani would roast him over a slow fire. She, however, was back at the baggage train, while he was up here in front of the city gate. He dug the knife in a little deeper. «Or are you afraid I'll take Shahapivan all by myself?»
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