The Kushan smiled seraphically. In the flickering torchlight, he looked like a leering gargoyle. "This is mountain country, much like my own homeland. No room here for any leisurely Roman slopes." He pointed with his torch. "That way. The steep slope makes it easy to see the direction of the mountains. But we've a long way to go."

He set off, pacing along the ledge on the right. Cheerfully, over his back: "Long way. Tiring. Especially for Romans, accustomed to philosopher slopes and poet-type gradients." He barked a laugh. "One in three hundred!" Another laugh. "Ha!"

* * *

An hour later, Valentinian began complaining.

"There would have been room for the horses," he whined. "Plenty of room."

"How would you have lowered them down?" demanded Anastasius. "And what good would it have done, anyway?"

The giant glanced up at the stone ceiling. Unlike his companions, Anastasius had chosen to walk on the gravel in the central trough of the qanat. On the ledges, he would have had to stoop.

"Eight feet, at the most," he pronounced. "You couldn't possibly ride a horse down here. You'd still be walking, and have to lead the surly brutes by the reins."

Mutter, mutter, mutter.

"So stop whining, Valentinian. There's worse things in life than a long, uphill hike."

"Like what?" snarled Valentinian.

"Like being dead," came the serene reply.

* * *

They passed a multitude of vertical shafts along the way, identical to the one down which they had lowered themselves. But Belisarius ignored them. He wanted to make sure they had reached the mountains before emerging.

Three hours after beginning their trek, they reached the first of the sloping entryways which provided easier access to the qanat. Belisarius fought off the temptation. He wanted to be well into the mountains before they emerged, away from any possible discovery or pursuit.