Shadow of Ararat

Zoe ignored him and continued to stir the beans. When the army had halted an hour before sunset, she had told off Dwyrin and Eric to find some spot out of the way of the mass of the other regiments and pitch their tents. Then she had taken her bow and jogged off into the mountain canyons. The army was sprawled along a narrow tongue of rising land in a barren valley. In the next days they would cross the high pass and enter Persia. But now, above the last scraggly trees, they rested in a wasteland of huge boulders and cracked stone. Snow lay in the shadow of the larger stones and the mountain peaks that ringed the valley held eternal caps of ice.

Dwyrin and Eric had scavenged for heavy stones to hold down the ropes of the tent and had looked for a sheltered spot between two of the monoliths. The rest of the army, particularly the cohorts of the Western Emperor, had taken the flatter ground by the sides of the narrow track. The sun was setting as the legio

Shaking his head, Dwyrin had climbed among the boulders and slabs of stone until he found an alcove with fire markings on the southern wall. He, Eric, and Odenathus had dragged their gear from the wagons up there and set up camp. The looming rocks, brittle and worn by the caress of winter, made a fine windbreak. The army of the Eastern Emperor was still staggering into the valley and falling asleep wherever they found themselves.

“What do you think will happen when we come to battle?” Dwyrin said, after washing the grit of the bread from his mouth with a draft of sour wine. “It seems like we are two different armies, cast together by mischance.”

Zoe snorted, peering at the wild onions and dried apricots she had mixed in with the yellow beans. She looked up, catching his eye, her own reflecting the red gleam of the coals. “If you can learn to work with us in the hidden world, barbarian, then the two armies can fight as one.”

Eric choked with laughter and Odenathus leaned over to thump him hard on his back. Dwyrin made a face at him and passed the acetum over. The Northerner took two long swallows and breathed easier.

“Five-leader, I’m serious!” Dwyrin spread his hand in dismay. “You see how they march-a shambling disaster. Stopping and starting as they please, fouling the water of any river we cross, a mob of disorganized bands and personal retinues.”

“They do lack discipline,” Odenathus said from the other side of the fire. “But they are here, and they will fight. The Legions of the West are the core, though. If they stand firm, we will have victory.”

“Nicely quoted.” Zoe“ sniffed. ”I think these beans are done. Give me your bowls.“

A glass after dark, Zoe had appeared at the edge of their camp, a sour look on her face. The sky behind her was lit by the fitful glow of the encamped army. She still had her bow, but no game, only some gathered herbs and the onions. She had been pleased that Dwyrin had found kindling, for they had not had a chance to gather wood on the lower slopes. Her quiet word of thanks had lifted his spirits tremendously, though it was no stretch for him to ferret out the hidden stockpile left by whomever had been using the alcove as a camp. Any shepherd at home would have done the same.

The beans were sour and tough, but to Dwyrin they tasted divine after the long day of trudging up the steep road. Salt pork and mutton also paled after weeks on the march. He crushed an onion and felt its sting on his tongue. It felt good to be here, with his companions, around the fire under the dark sky with weary feet.

“The first battle will be the test,” Zoe said, cleaning out her bowl with a long finger. “If someone panics and runs, or we lose the barbarians to a stratagem, that will put paid to us. But if we can win one with this circus, we’ll be invincible.”

Eric rattled the pot, looking for more scraps. It was empty. He frowned and put it down. “What will we do? I mean-we’re the weakest five in the Ars Magica-will they have us do anything? I don’t want to hold horses again…“

“No,” Zoe said, “we’ll be in front. Colo

“Yes,” Zoe said, her full lips twisted into a grimace something like a smile. “We’re bait for the big fish. As a condolence, if they slam us down, the tribune promises to make them pay a heavy man-price for us.”

THE SKIES OVER SYRIA MAGNA

hahr-Baraz shouted aloud in joy, though his words were instantly torn away by shrieking wind. He strained against the heavy leather straps that bound him to the back of the byakhee, leaning forward into the wall of wind that howled around him. Ahead of him, also strapped into a web of leather and metal clasps, the Lord Dahak grimaced at the foolishness of men. The sorcerer leaned to the left and blue-black light flickered around his hands, driving the vast creature to wing over and sweep at tremendous speed across the face of the world. Baraz looked down as the creature tilted, its bifurcated wings a blur under the light of the moon. Vast expanses of empty desert rushed past below them, though he could see, to the north, a dim cluster of lights that must be the cities of men. The land far below was marked by long sinuous silver trails, like the backs of thousands of snakes. They passed over a wide expanse of mottled black hills, then a scattering of tiny lights. We land soon, echoed the bone-brittle voice of the sorcerer in his mind. The valley of the Orontes lies just ahead. Baraz peered forward, leaning close over the shoulders of the Lord Dahak. Suddenly they passed over a city-no more than a crowd of moth-lights under the moon and the glint of a lake lay off to the southwest. Baraz sca

“Lord Dahak, why are you unbelting yourself?” His voice was puzzled.