By Harry Turtledove
Rhavas was once a very good, holy, and pious guy - and the cousin of the Avtokrator. He may most likely became ecumenical patriarch of the Empire within the capital, Videssos the city...if his global had no longer without warning and tragically fallen aside while the Empire of Videssos erupted into civil warfare and the Khamonh barbarians swarmed over the borders. because the domestic he enjoyed used to be brutally sacked, Rhavas needed to flee for his existence, then make his manner via lands swarming with fierce nomads and with squaddies unswerving either to his cousin and to the insurgent. He may well by no means see Videssos town back, not to mention preside in its excessive Temple. He has constantly Phos, the god of sunshine and goodness, Videssos' god, and despised evil rival Skotos. those that fall off the Bridge of the Separator in the course of judgment within the afterlife tumble right down to Skotos' ice forevermore. but if evil turns out to have swallowed the complete international, what's a cleric who reverences good judgment in addition to goodness sup- posed to think? it is a more durable query than Rhavas needs it have been.
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Extra resources for Bridge of the Separator
The men from the frontier posts," Rhavas said. Now he was the one to look as if he smelled something nasty. "It's possible that Stylianos has already summoned them. Many of them will have served under him and will be well-disposed toward him. " Rhavas' face didn't lose that expression. " He'd thought about it for Maleinos. He hadn't liked it, but he'd thought about it. Why was he surprised Stylianos might have thought about it, too, and might have done something about it? Because Maleinos is the Avtokrator, and is blood of my blood.
Backing away wasn't usually in his nature. Slowly, he shook his head. It wasn't that she was a woman. He'd got into disputations with women who fancied themselves theologians both back in Videssos the city and here in Skopentzana. He'd sent more than a few of them off in tears, too; when he did argue, he pulled no punches. What, then? Before he could find anything that might be an answer, Ingegerd dipped her head to him and swept out of the temple. A man who smelled of onions came up and bent his ear about something or other.
He clapped and cheered when the mimes sashayed out of the square. If he was clapping and cheering because they were leaving . . well, that was his business. No one else would know. No one else could prove it, anyhow, which was what really mattered. Sure enough, anyone and everyone was fair game on Midwinter's Day. The next group of mimes that came out was enormous. It included not one but two men wearing imperial regalia. Each marched at the head of an army of men in armor: some ancient and rusty, the rest made from cheap sheet tin for the occasion.
Bridge of the Separator by Harry Turtledove