Read Online Misplaced Legion (Videssos Cycle) by Harry Turtledove - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Harry Turtledove
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After decades of warfare, devastation, and murder, two fairly stable Khamorth states, Khatrish and Thatagush, had emerged from the chaos, while to their north the Kingdom of Agder was still ruled by a house of Videssian stock.
The shock of the invasions, though, had caused all these lands to slip into what Videssos called heresy. Their theologians, remembering the long night of destruction their lands had undergone, no longer saw Phos’ victory as inevitable, but concluded that the struggle between good and evil was in perfect balance. “They claim this doctrine gives more scope to the freedom of the will.” Apsimar sniffed. “In reality, it but makes Skotos as acceptable a lord as Phos. Is this a worthwhile goal?”
He gave Marcus no chance to reply, going on to describe the more subtle religious aberration which had arisen on the island Duchy of Namdalen in the past couple of centuries. Namdalen had escaped domination by the Khamorth, but fell instead, much later, to pirates from the Haloga country, who envied and aped the Videssian style of life even as they wrested away Videssian land.
“The fools were seeking a compromise between our views and the noxious notions which prevail in the east. They refuse to accept Phos’ triumph as a certainty, yet maintain all men should act as if they felt it assured. This, a theology? Call it, rather, hypocrisy in religious garb!”
It followed with a certain grim logic that, as any error in belief gave strength to Skotos, those who deviated from the true faith—whatever that happened to be in any given area—could and should be brought into line, by force if necessary. Accustomed to the general tolerance and indeed disregard for various creeds he had known in Rome, Marcus found the notion of a militant religion disturbing.
Having covered the main variants of his own faith, Apsimar spoke briefly and slightingly of others the Videssians knew. Of the beliefs of the Khamorth nomads still on the plains of Pardraya, the less said the better—they followed shamans and were little more than demon-worshipers. And their cousins who lived in Yezd were worse yet; Skotos was reverenced openly there, with horrid rites.
All in all, the Halogai were probably the best of the heathen.Even if incorrect, their beliefs inclined them to the side of Phos by fostering courage and justice. “Those they have in abundance,” Apsimar allowed, “but at the cost of the light of the spirit, which comes only to those who follow Phos.”
The barrage of strange names, places, and ideas left Marcus’ head spinning. To get time to regain his balance, he asked Apsimar, “Do you have a map, so I may see where all these people you mention live?”
“Of course,” the priest said. As with his theological discussion, he gave Scaurus more than the tribune had bargained for. Apsimar gestured toward one of the crowded bookshelves. Like a called puppy, a volume wriggled out from between its neighbors and floated through the air until it landed gently on his desk. He bent over it to find the page he wanted.
The tribune needed those few seconds to try to pull his face straight. Never in Mediolanum, never in Rome, never in Gaul, he knew, would he have seen anything to match that casual flick of the hand and what came after it. Its very effortlessness impressed him in a way even the healing magic had not.
To Apsimar it was nothing. He turned the book toward Marcus. “We are here,” he said, pointing. Putting his face close to the map, the tribune made out the word “Imbros” beside a dot.
“My apologies,” Apsimar said courteously. “Reading by candlelight can be difficult.” He murmured a prayer, held his left hand over the map, and pearly light sprang from it, illuminating the parchment as well as a cloudy day.
This time, Scaurus had all he could do not to flee. No wonder, his mind gibbered, eyestrain did not trouble Apsimar. The priest was his own reading lamp.
As the first shock of amazement and
The shock of the invasions, though, had caused all these lands to slip into what Videssos called heresy. Their theologians, remembering the long night of destruction their lands had undergone, no longer saw Phos’ victory as inevitable, but concluded that the struggle between good and evil was in perfect balance. “They claim this doctrine gives more scope to the freedom of the will.” Apsimar sniffed. “In reality, it but makes Skotos as acceptable a lord as Phos. Is this a worthwhile goal?”
He gave Marcus no chance to reply, going on to describe the more subtle religious aberration which had arisen on the island Duchy of Namdalen in the past couple of centuries. Namdalen had escaped domination by the Khamorth, but fell instead, much later, to pirates from the Haloga country, who envied and aped the Videssian style of life even as they wrested away Videssian land.
“The fools were seeking a compromise between our views and the noxious notions which prevail in the east. They refuse to accept Phos’ triumph as a certainty, yet maintain all men should act as if they felt it assured. This, a theology? Call it, rather, hypocrisy in religious garb!”
It followed with a certain grim logic that, as any error in belief gave strength to Skotos, those who deviated from the true faith—whatever that happened to be in any given area—could and should be brought into line, by force if necessary. Accustomed to the general tolerance and indeed disregard for various creeds he had known in Rome, Marcus found the notion of a militant religion disturbing.
Having covered the main variants of his own faith, Apsimar spoke briefly and slightingly of others the Videssians knew. Of the beliefs of the Khamorth nomads still on the plains of Pardraya, the less said the better—they followed shamans and were little more than demon-worshipers. And their cousins who lived in Yezd were worse yet; Skotos was reverenced openly there, with horrid rites.
All in all, the Halogai were probably the best of the heathen.Even if incorrect, their beliefs inclined them to the side of Phos by fostering courage and justice. “Those they have in abundance,” Apsimar allowed, “but at the cost of the light of the spirit, which comes only to those who follow Phos.”
The barrage of strange names, places, and ideas left Marcus’ head spinning. To get time to regain his balance, he asked Apsimar, “Do you have a map, so I may see where all these people you mention live?”
“Of course,” the priest said. As with his theological discussion, he gave Scaurus more than the tribune had bargained for. Apsimar gestured toward one of the crowded bookshelves. Like a called puppy, a volume wriggled out from between its neighbors and floated through the air until it landed gently on his desk. He bent over it to find the page he wanted.
The tribune needed those few seconds to try to pull his face straight. Never in Mediolanum, never in Rome, never in Gaul, he knew, would he have seen anything to match that casual flick of the hand and what came after it. Its very effortlessness impressed him in a way even the healing magic had not.
To Apsimar it was nothing. He turned the book toward Marcus. “We are here,” he said, pointing. Putting his face close to the map, the tribune made out the word “Imbros” beside a dot.
“My apologies,” Apsimar said courteously. “Reading by candlelight can be difficult.” He murmured a prayer, held his left hand over the map, and pearly light sprang from it, illuminating the parchment as well as a cloudy day.
This time, Scaurus had all he could do not to flee. No wonder, his mind gibbered, eyestrain did not trouble Apsimar. The priest was his own reading lamp.
As the first shock of amazement and
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