It was Athas who picked up the conversation now. “Did you ever play ‘towers’ when you stayed in the capital? It’s a very good strategy game that the captain and I used to play regularly. The objective is to destroy enough of the opposition’s towers that the remaining ones are too far apart to support each other. I was never all that good, though the captain was better… but Quintus was the best player I ever saw.”
The prince narrowed his eyes. “I believe I see where you are going with this, but do go on.”
Athas smiled. “He’s the only player I ever saw completely demolish the opposition. He left not a tower standing. The game was nice and evenly balanced one minute and then he pulled a trick I’d never even thought of and in only three moves I had no pieces left. It was unbelievable.”
Ashar nodded. “But this is no game and we have no Quintus. We have Quintillian and the towers are real and filled with armies and hungry lords. A nice story, but how does it apply?”
Athas coughed. “I’m not actually sure yet. The captain and I have discussed the future a few times though and it always comes back to the game. All the towers have to go at once, as we only have a couple of pieces ourselves.” He glanced across at Kiva. “There’s only one man here with the kind of tactical genius that Quintus had, so we’ll have to wait until the captain here has a flash of inspiration.”
The prince nodded. “It’s up to you then Caerdin. If you have plans for the boy, I will not interfere. Perhaps we will work together when the time comes? I will wait upon your magnificent brain and when you think the time is right and your plans become clear, call my name. I will never be very far away.” He smiled at the boy. “And we’ll drink to the health of your future ruler and my future ally.”
Raising his glass the prince stood, saluted Quintillian, and drained the amber liquid. Dropping the glass back to the table, he reached into his surcoat and spun around. A chisel-tipped throwing knife whistled through the air with an accuracy that surprised even Kiva and entered the innkeeper’s throat just below the chin. Turning back to the table, the prince refilled his glass and smiled. “I told him price would not be a problem” he joked as behind him the innkeeper slithered down the wall leaving a trail of red.
Quintillian blinked. “Why him?”
Kiva patted him on the shoulder again. “If his highness hadn’t have done it, I would have. Within a day Velutio would know you’ve been here and the barman would be able to retire a wealthy man.”
The prince laughed loudly. “Unless you’ve undergone some miraculous training in the last two decades, you’d not even have hit the wall, let alone the barkeep!” Taking a sip of his drink and replacing the glass, he wandered over to the bar to retrieve his knife. Returning and wiping the blood on a bar cloth before sheathing the blade, Ashar raised an eyebrow and regarded Kiva as he sat. “What are you planning to do then until your miracle comes to pass? Remain on the move? In hiding?”
This was of course a question Kiva was ill-prepared to answer, having only the loosest idea himself. He watched the prince suspiciously. Still, the Pelasian would know what he was doing as he did it if not before and had as much at stake here as anyone. Sometimes the least trustworthy of people became the ones you had to rely on.
“We head for Serfium. I’ve friends there from the old days who’ll keep us out of the way of Velutio’s hunters. Quintillian wants to return to Isera though I’m loathe to walk into the bastard’s hands like that.”
Ashar nodded. “Foolish indeed. Perhaps some of my information will be useful to you, at least in preventing such insanity.”
Kiva pricked up an ear. “You know about what’s going on in the capital then? Anything you can tell us might help. I’m stuck at an impasse at the moment.”
The prince laughed loud. “When was I ever in the dark about current events, Caerdin?” The smile faded and with another sip of wine he placed his hands on the table. “Very well. Velutio is well aware of how the three fugitives escaped Isera. He now has a chart showing the old Imperial escape route as his commander spent a week on the island with everyone there. I believe some harm came to the minister, though no report yet has suggested that he has passed away, so I presume he still runs the island. There was some altercation between the commander of Velutio’s army and the captain of his personal guard and I believe a man called Sabianus is commanding both units. Other than that events on Isera are a bit of a mystery. It was hard enough gathering intelligence on the island before Velutio’s troops landed there and my source on the island stopped signalling once Sabianus landed. All the information I have now has been gleaned from sources in the city.”
As Ashar took a breath before continuing, Kiva held up his hand. “What kind of man is this Sabianus? Do you know anything about him?”
The prince shrugged. “Only a little. He has a good reputation as a commander and very highly paid. He’s been sent to deal with insurrections by some petty lord to the south at the moment. Velutio’s left a small garrison on the island and it really would be ridiculous to go there. Now that he knows about the escape route, you can be sure there’s no secret way in any more.”
Kiva smiled. “There’s always a card up my sleeve, highness. There’s more than one secret passage through the reefs. Just have to know them, that’s all. Still, I agree.” He turned to Quintillian. “Going back to the island is nothing short of surrender and probable suicide. We have to find another way forward, and I think I’m getting an idea.”
The prince raised a questioning eyebrow. “Your mind works fast general.”
“Sometimes.” He drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Though this relies on stirring up a lot of trouble. Can you find out about this commander Sabianus for me? If he’s a good commander, he might be someone from the old days. There were an awful lot of lesser officers I didn’t know, but if he commanded in the Imperial army, you can be sure that I’ll know someone who knew him. On the whole Imperial officers would tend to be more sympathetic, but I don’t want to push anything until I know more.”
There was a scraping noise as Athas pulled his chair across to their table. “Do I take it we’re getting ready to act, captain?”
Kiva grinned. “Anything that stops you and Mercurias nagging me night and day has to be worth a leaping into the mouth of hell with a very long rope.” He turned back to the prince. “Ok. If you’re really in this the whole way, we might as well make some plans, but if we are going to actually commit to something I have to have absolute control. You have to submit to my command, alright? I want the old oath from you and from all your men.”
The prince frowned. “I will not take your soldier’s oath Caerdin. I will not be bound to you for the rest of my life, but I will remind you that I am still bound by an oath to the boy’s uncle. We have an accord between our nations that supersedes anything you may ask for, and that oath stands for my men also, as it does to any Pelasian.”
The captain nodded. “I’ll accept that, though I want your men back here and I want to hear you all reaffirm that oath to Quintillian.”
“Very well, general. I will submit to your command. What would you have us do?”
Kiva smiled and rummaged in his pack, producing a stylus and a wax writing pad. Scraping off the existing text, he started to scribble furiously. “This is a list of the few Lords I can think of who might consider joining us. They’re all currently free men, but all live in the shadow of Velutio. You’ll need to use my name and that of Quintillian to convince them.” He slid the tablet across to the prince, who picked it up and rand down the list of names.
Another rummage in his pack and the captain withdrew three items. Two flasks emblazoned with the insignia of the Wolves appeared on the table, next to a ring with a seal. He passed one of the flasks to Ashar. “This should be proof enough you’ve spoken to me.” Pushing the ring across, he stared meaningfully at the prince. “This is the only one of its kind left, so be very careful with it. The Imperial seal. They were all destroyed, but as a m
ember of the family I have one as a keepsake. Do not lose it.”
He turned to Quintillian whose face was aglow with wonder. The boy spoke in a low croak. “You still have a seal?”
“Yes.” Holding out the second flask, the captain continued. “This is for you. You’re not an Emperor yet, but you are one of the Wolves now.”
He turned back to the prince. “Between your status, my name and the Imperial seal, you should be able to convince any lord that still has a yearning for order and peace. I do warn you, though” he added, “that if any of them will not give you their oath, they must be dispatched for the good of the cause. I know that won’t be a problem for you.”
Ashar nodded. “You gather an army. What am I to tell them?”
“Tell them to wait for the Winter Feast. We need a lot of time to pull everything together. Tell them to marshal their armies at Munda on the day of the Winter Feast. By then we should be able to act.”
The prince frowned. “I can see how building a rebel army in secret is of use, but this is not the toppling of all the towers of which your sergeant spoke. How do you intend to even the odds? Even with this list of petty lords and your old allies from the army you’ll still be outnumbered at least ten to one if not more. What else do you have planned?”
For a moment a dark look crossed the captain’s face. “That is something I’m not ready to speak of yet. I have an idea that should help us seriously even the odds but a lot of this plan relies on reputation and appearance. We must be seen to be in the right, restoring something broken and longed for.”
He drummed his fingers on the table once more. “Next, you need to send some of your men out and about. I want every scrap of information they can gather on Velutio, his commander, the situation among the lords of the central Provinces, potential rebellions and coups, troop movements, barbarian threats on the borders and anything else they find out, no matter how trivial it seems. Any information can be passed to the priests of the temple at Serfium. Be sure it’ll reach me from there. Equally, if you need to contact me, talk to them. If I need to get a message to you, I’ll leave word there. Understood?”
Ashar nodded. “Understood general. Your mind is as sharp as it ever was. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Kiva grinned as he noted the optimistic buzz among the Grey Company in the room. He turned to the others, rummaging in his kit for some of the coin that Quintillian had given him.
“Athas and Mercurias. Buy horses” he commanded. “Get after Tythias as fast as you can. Try to catch him before he gets all the way to Vengen. Tell him the same thing: Munda at the Feast. Tell him to get in touch with any of the other units from the old days that he knows and trusts. After you’ve spoken to him, head round the coast to the west. The last I heard, both Filus’ and Sithis’ units were employed round there. Find them, pass the word on and then get a ship back across the sea to Serfium and join us.”
Athas grinned as he took the coin and turned to Mercurias. The grizzled medic smiled one of his rare smiles and accepted some of the coin, motioning again with his hand. With a sigh, Athas produced his flask of spirit and handed it over.
Kiva drew a deep breath. Brendan and Marco? Head to Munda and check out the lie of the land there. I don’t think it’s been occupied since the Fall, but I’d rather not have any nasty surprises. Anything that needs dealing with, we’ll do it well in advance of the Feast. While you’re there, find the old meeting place and get all our old kit out of storage. Make sure it’s clean and polished. Half of this will be about appearance. Seeing the Wolves in full kit riding at the front of the army should be enough to boost the morale of our allies and frighten the hell out of a few of our enemies.”
He stretched his arms. “The rest of us will head to Serfium with Quintillian and keep our heads down very low. Without myself or the boy, you shouldn’t run into any serious danger. None of Velutio’s men are looking for odd pairs of mercenaries on the move.”
With a deep sigh, he reached out and took a deep pull of his drink, turning once more to the prince with a sudden thought. “I take it your men are actually around outside and you’re just obfuscating out of habit?”
Ashar smiled. “Would I disappoint you?”
Kiva shook his head. “Do I take it they’ll have dealt with anyone who could have heard or seen us?” The Pelasian nodded a reply.
“Very well, get your men back here so they can reaffirm their oath.” As the prince nodded and stood, straightening his surcoat, Kiva turned back to the rest of the room’s occupants and cleared his throat. “Same goes for all of us. We took an oath to a man who’s been gone more than two decades and an Empire that went with him. Now we need to take that oath again.” He paused as he turned to the boy. “This time to Quintillian.”
As the Pelasian prince leaned through a window and imitated a strange eastern bird call, Athas and the others shifted the tables and chairs out of the way to the edge of the room. At one barked order from the large dark-skinned sergeant, the unit fell in as three rows, dropping to one knee. Kiva gestured at Quintillian. “You can’t just sit there. This is important. In all your reading and studying, did you ever learn about the oath?”
With a grin, the lad stood and faced Kiva. “I know what’s to be done, captain.” He stepped into the centre of the room, squaring his shoulders and drawing his sword, which he held vertical next to his head, his other arm across his chest with a clenched fist in the old fashioned salute.
As the Pelasian soldiers returned to the inn, clad in black and moving lightly, they stopped in the doorway to watch an Imperial Marshal leading one of the most famous units in history in the traditional soldier’s oath of allegiance. Somehow Quintillian looked larger and more imposing now than the boy they’d seen fighting among them a month ago in the hills. They watched silently as the Wolves repeated each line after their captain, and as the last line of the oath faded away, Quintillian held out his arm with the sword above their heads in the traditional Imperial benediction as he accepted their allegiance.
Minutes later the second oath was taken, and Kiva nodded in satisfaction as the Prince led his own men in their speech. As Quintillian’s second benediction echoed, Ashar turned to the captain. “And so begins a new history, eh Caerdin?”
Kiva nodded quietly. He fervently hoped so.
Chapter XV.
Nine weary men trudged along the road on the outskirts of Serfium. Quintillian had found that his voice became quite choked that night in the village when he had to part from Athas and Mercurias, heading north on horseback as fast as they could go, and Brendan and Marco, heading south at equal pace. The captain had spent some of the nights’ travel walking with him, but more on his own as his mind churned with ideas and plans for the near future. Instead, the big but ever quiet Bors had spent most of the time as Quintillian’s closest companion. He’d become quite good friends with the gentle giant over the last few weeks, surprised as he was by how calm and intelligent the man was, despite his initial appearance.
Kiva walked with his head down, a wax tablet and stylus in hand, periodically scribbling notes in the dim pre-dawn light as something leapt to mind and occasionally tutting in frustration and scribbling them out again. Clovis and Scauvus spent most of the time as they travelled ahead and out of sight, scouting the wilderness for any sight of Velutio’s mercenary groups, but had found nothing but occasional signs of units having passed. Now that they’d reached the built up area, the two of them had pulled back in and walked only a few yards ahead of the rest of the column. It would be at least another hour until sunrise and the streets were empty and silent. Kiva put away his writing materials as they passed the first building, far out.
Quintillian watched the captain looking this way and that as they walked in the eerie half-light. They passed a few recently constructed buildings on the very edge and then came to a long open stretch of road. Quintillian wondered for a moment why these houses had been built so far out with a long stretch of countryside between them and the main
mass of the town, but then he spotted the shapes looming out of the dark; shells of collapsed buildings standing like land-locked shipwrecks, jutting wall fragments reaching toward the canopy of the night. Young trees grew within the ruins and many were covered with ivy. With a nervous swallow the lad realised why the captain had been so quiet recently and why his head turned constantly as they moved. He found himself wondering which one of the sad ruins had held Livilla and the boy named for his uncle while the flames had charred their bones. A shudder ran down his spine. Fire. It always came back to fire where the captain was concerned. Perhaps his family’s death was the Gods inflicting their punishment on Caerdin for harming one of their own. He shook his head, angry with himself. He was of the Imperial line too and he was damn sure he was no God, so Quintus the Golden had been naught but a man, which meant that none of this was the working of fate or Gods, and there could be no curse on the captain. In actual fact the man, and probably his uncle and Velutio for that matter, were only doing what they each believed in their own way to be right. A serious of unfortunate and sad accidents and necessities.
He almost walked into the back of the captain as he was deep in thought and hadn’t noticed the man stop in his tracks. This must be the one then. About a hundred yards from the road a crumbled wall rose up out of a dip. Fragments of a roof were visible in the corner, where some kind of creeper had grown and held the fractured masonry and tile together. He swallowed again, worried that he might shed a tear if he pondered too much on the sight before him. Yet, unbidden the visions came: pictures flashing in his mind of screaming women and children, unable to escape the inferno as the soldiers surrounding the villa threw more and more lit torches in. A haystack flaming next to the wall perhaps. The roof collapsing when a fireball exploded into the sky as the flames found the fuel for the under floor heating. Quintillian cursed his imagination. He could see it clearly. Perhaps that was for the best though, since there were no tears in the eyes of Kiva Caerdin as he looked on his old home. His eyes were grown hard and a sense of furious purpose shone in his face. Quintillian understood. The urge to shed a tear was gone in him now, replaced by a cold anger. He would exact revenge on Velutio for everything the man had done in his life.
Interregnum Page 22
