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as a reminder to himself of what he owed.
Goudeles sneezed. The sound reminded Gorgidas that the blizzard had not gone
away simply because he had found Viridovix. The Gaul could freeze all over
again and so could the rest of them. The physician ran back to his horse,
pulled a blanket from his saddlebag, and wrapped
Viridovix in it.
The Celt accepted it absently; being alive, being warm enough to feel the snow
stinging his cheeks, was enough to savor. He hardly heard Gorgidas when the
Greek asked him if he could ride, but the physician's impatient growl got
through. "I can that," he said, and managed the ghost of a chuckle.
"Dinna fash yourself."
He mounted behind Gorgidas, Batbaian back of Skylitzes. The physician's pony
snorted resentfully at having to carry two; Gorgidas got it moving with the
rest regardless. "Your riding's better than it was," Viridovix said.
"Yes, I know. I have many useless talents these days," the Greek said, tapping
the gladius that swung at his left hip. He paused, and added wonderingly, "And
a real one, it seems."
The ride west to the Arshaum army was short; the nomads had been pushing
forward at their own steady pace while Gorgidas labored over the Gaul.
Outriders yelled challenges. The scout leader answered with loud praise for
Gorgidas' healing talents. The physician's mouth quirked in a wry smile. Now
that he had done something worth talking about, the picket was glad enough to
claim a share of it.
Viridovix did not know the Arshaum language, beyond a few obscenities Arigh
had taught him. But his eyes grew wide as he took in the size of the
approaching force. "The lot of you've not been wasting your time, have you
now?" he said to Gorgidas. The Greek tossed his head.
Then there was a shout: "V'rid'rish!" Arigh rode up at a near-gallop, clumps
of snow flying under his horse's hooves. His grin as white as the landscape
around them, he pounded the Gaul's back. "I
wanted to kill someone when I found the scouts who came across you were gone
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again before I
knew about it."
"Blame me for that," Gorgidas said. Like Arigh, he spoke Videssian so
Viridovix could understand.
"Blame, is it?" the Celt snorted. "Pay him no mind, Arigh darling. A little
later and there'd only be the frozen corp of me here, the which'd be no good
for saying hello."
"You're without a horse, I see," Arigh said the nomads' first priority. "Take
a couple from my
string."
"Obliged," Viridovix said. "Might you also be having one for Batbaian my
friend?"
Arigh's grin disappeared as his glance slid to the Khamorth. His lip curled;
for the first time, he reminded Gorgidas of Dizabul. "Your taste in friends
has gone down," he said.
"Has it now?" Viridovix said. "Well, belike you have the right of it; I keep
picking khagans' sons."
He locked eyes with the Arshaum prince.
With his swarthy skin and the thick layer of grease on his face, it was
impossible to see whether
Arigh flushed, but after a few moments he walked his horse over to Batbaian.
He had learned a little of the Khamorth speech traveling across Pardraya to
Prista and the Empire; now he used it to ask, "A horse you need?"
Batbaian had stiffened as the Arshaum came up to him; he jerked in surprise to
hear his own language. Then he nodded with a dignity beyond his years. "I
thank you," he said. He fumbled at his belt, undid the dagger there fine
metalwork, with a leaping stag in high relief on the bronze sheath and offered
it to Arigh. "A gift for a gift."
The smile returned to Arigh's face; he accepted the knife, clapped Batbaian on
the shoulder. The watching Arshaum murmured in approval. Few of them,
probably, had understood Arigh when he made his gift to Batbaian, but his
return gesture needed no words. "The Hairy acts as a man should,"
Gorgidas heard one nomad say, and his companion's reply: "Why not? He's seen a
fight or two, looks like that scar's not pretty."
Arigh said, "Skylitzes, Gorgidas, bring 'em along to my father. We can all
hear what they have to say then." He rode off toward the gray horsetail
standard.
Viridovix bowed to Arghun as best he could riding double. The khagan was
frailer than he had expected and sat his horse with difficulty; the Gaul
wondered if he had been ill. He was soft-
spoken, without the blustery temper Targitaus had used to browbeat his
clansmen, but the Arshaum hurried to obey when he said something. Now he
studied Batbaian cautiously, Viridovix with lively curiosity. He said
something in the sibilant Arshaum tongue.
"He didn't believe Arigh when he told him of your looks,' Gorgidas translated,
"but he sees he was telling the truth after all."
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