Interregnum

by S. J. A. Turney

  Leaving the palace proper, he walked out into the Imperial gardens. His men patrolled the low wall at the edge in pairs and he strolled out among them, returning their salutes and he passed flowerbeds and the few large old trees that dotted the lawns. Reaching the wall, he stood on the gravel path, with his arms folded and his elbows leaning on the stonework, gazing out over the sea. Across the bay, with the constant white froth of waves breaking on the reefs, he could see Isera like an emerald set in a sapphire sea. How could he let so many people die for nothing, so that the island they had worked to turn into a home could be used by a new dynasty of Emperors responsible for their death?

  He straightened, a new sense of purpose flowing through his blood. He had to betray Velutio to save the man from himself, but then that was why his lordship placed such faith in him. He stared out across the water, trying to pick out the individual buildings there but with little success. There was nothing he could do about the four in the palace prison, but the islanders he could save.

  * * *

  Night flooded the corridors of the Imperial palace as the commander climbed the stairs. He’d passed no guards on his route. He knew the routine of his men well and which passages and rooms he could use to remain undetected. The small oil lamp in his hand illuminated just enough to see where he was going, but that was all. Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned and followed a long, dark corridor until he reached a small nondescript door on the left at the end. Reaching down to his belt he withdrew his set of master keys and unlocked the door after some struggling to find the appropriate key. Beyond, another stairway led up, but there was no portal at the end of this one. A cool night breeze washed his face as he began to climb.

  Moments later he was on the uppermost roof of the palace, forty feet above the highest patrolled walk. Carefully making his way to the low wall at the edge, he leaned over and recoiled at the precipitous drop to the gardens below. Heights had always sent a shiver up his spine and he was now at the very highest spot in the city.

  Reaching down to his belt again, he unhooked the lantern he’d brought and placed it on the wide surface of the wall. Carefully, he judged how far back the lantern would need to be to become invisible from the palace gardens below and, satisfied with his calculation, he lit the wick within. There was no way he could take ship for Isera without drawing far too much suspicion, so he must be subtle and find other ways. Well, playing the court games against so many good opponents in his time at Velutio, he’d become quite adept at subterfuge himself and, though he always hated having to be underhand at anything, there were times when it was required for the good of all concerned. He dredged his memory to recall the standard signalling codes and then flicked the shutter open and closed a number of times.

  A tense wait for five minutes and he repeated the gesture. Someone must be there.

  After almost an hour of signalling with no reply, he was tiring and wondering whether anyone bothered to use the lamps on the island since he’d discovered them when suddenly a flashing light on the island brought him to his senses once more. Cursing himself for his lack of alertness in realising too late to translate the message, he flicked the shutter again asking them to repeat.

  The signal came once more. He raised an eyebrow. ‘My prince?’ What prince? He clucked in irritation. Why did everything that involved these islanders create more and more mysteries?

  Working away madly at translating into the code, he sent ‘No. Commander Sabian. I don’t care who you are. Find Darius and bring him to the lamp.’

  He leaned back and exhaled deeply. This was it. He’d crossed the bridge and then burned it down.

  Chapter XVIII.

  Tythias slammed his fist on the table.

  “There must be something we can do?”

  The leader of the Pelasian spies in the city shook his head. “We have no access to the palace proper. We don’t know for sure where they’re being held, but it seems likely to be the Dalertine prison. If that’s the case there is absolutely no way out. We might be able to do something when they’re brought out for execution, but we don’t even know when that’ll be. It’s likely not to be publicised and it’ll probably be carried out in the palace grounds with no access to outsiders. I really don’t see what we can do. If we had more information from inside we might have other options.”

  Sathina’s voice was lost in the general tumult as the eleven men in the room erupted into argument once more. She sat and sighed. All the way from Danis the big sergeant, Athas, had told her the whole story and despite her grogginess from the after-effects of Mercurias’ medication, she’d absorbed every detail and her fear for the so important people at the centre of this was muted only by her sheer excitement at being involved in such earth-shaking events. They’d told her that they couldn’t let her go until the whole thing was over and for obvious reasons, but she’d been insistent on staying by then anyway. To be here with such great men working toward the future of the world she knew, or to be in a dirty tavern in Danis, serving drinks while even dirtier travellers tried to reach up her skirts? Ridiculous!

  She tried to be heard over the voices again, but these men were so loud, especially the two they’d met up with this morning, Brendan and Marco. Those two were determined to make themselves heard.

  “We need ta get inside then! Gotta do somethin’”

  Amid the fresh eruption of voices, Tythias stood and held his hands out. Taking a deep breath, he shouted “Shut up!”

  The room fell silent instantly as everyone turned to look at the scarred captain. Sathina smiled as the man gestured to her. He and his associate Jorun had been the biggest surprise of the journey. For such hairy, dirty and scarred men, they’d looked after her during their whole journey and Tythias particularly had proved to be a surprisingly polite and educated man. In her presence anyway. She smiled and stood.

  “It seems to me that the only way you gentlemen are ever going to do anything other than argue about what can’t be done is for me to go work at the palace. I can do any servant’s job they give me and I’ll be able to find out a lot more than you can by watching the place.”

  Athas shook his head. “Too dangerous. If you got caught, Velutio wouldn’t be kind. And then you’d also put the rest of us in danger.”

  Tythias nodded vigorously, but next to him Prince Ashar shook his finger, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “I’m not sure about that” the elegant easterner argued. “We’re in a dire position now. Quintillian could be executed at any time now and if we don’t have any more information, we’ll still be arguing when it happens. I think this young girl may be our only hope.”

  Tythias and the others made disagreeing grumbling noises around the table, but in the end Athas sighed and leaned back. “He’s right. We need to know what’s going on and sure as hell none of us are going to get inside and look. If you’re willing to do it girl, we’d be grateful.”

  Across from him Jorun nodded and made a questioning gesture at the prince.

  Yes Jorun, I’ll help her as best I can.” He turned back to the rest of the crowd. “Shahar is my second here. I’ll take the young lady away and we’ll work on getting her safely into the palace. Shahar can help you make any other arrangements.”

  One of the Pelasian spies, a man with a neat pointed beard, nodded. “We must to plan next stage anyway; what we do when we manage get them out of palace.”

  As Ashar and Sathina made their way out of the room, Mercurias leaned forward. “Isera.” The rest turned to look at him. “It’s what Quintillian was saying before. The place they’re least likely to look for an escaped prisoner is in prison.”

  Tythias nodded. “Makes sense to me. If they’ve got a small garrison on the island we can either avoid them or overwhelm them. Either way I like the idea.”

  Mercurias nodded. “Ok Shahar. Until we can learn more from the young lady, we need to work something out about the island. What do you know about Isera at the moment?”

  T
he Pelasian shook his head. “Very little. We resume communications there recently, but three nights I get one last cryptic message telling us communications being monitored and would have close down. I not know what do about it.”

  Mercurias sighed. “So we’re back to waiting for more information then.”

  * * *

  Sergeant Iasus stomped down the steps to the Dalertine prison, his face contorted with disgust. Holding the oil lamp high, he approached the bars of the cell and saw the four inmates huddled on the wooden pallets.

  “General Caerdin?”

  Kiva stood slowly with some stiffness and made his way toward the bars.

  “Sergeant?” he replied. “Is there a problem?”

  The young martinet nodded. Placing the oil lamp on the shelf, he straightened. “Lord Velutio has made his decree I’m afraid.”

  The other three now stirred in the rear of the cell. Kiva nodded solemnly.

  “Not good news then” he noted.

  “No.” The sergeant sighed. “His lordship has ordered that you be taken to the gardens in an hour’s time and that you’re all crucified. I’m personally not happy with this, but it’s my duty to follow the orders.”

  Kiva nodded. “I’m surprised that Commander Sabian didn’t come down to give us the tidings personally.”

  The sergeant’s face shifted but Kiva couldn’t identify the emotion.

  “The commander refused to be involved and I can’t say I disagree with him. He’s left the city less than an hour ago and I’m not sure whether he’ll be back. This isn’t the way for a soldier to go... crucifixion’s for criminals.” Iasus took a deep breath. “You have an hour to make your peace with the Gods and then we have to carry out the sentence.”

  After almost two weeks in the dark, damp hole even death lost its sting if it meant seeing the sky again. Kiva nodded. “That’s not necessary for me, but the others will need it. I’ll await your return though sergeant.”

  Iasus nodded curtly and went to pick up the oil lamp. He paused for a moment without picking it up and then shook his head before walking off into the dark and toward the stairs.

  Quintillian moved forward to join Kiva at the bars as the general mused to himself. “I wonder what Sabian’s up to. Can’t believe he’d quite his position over us, but would Velutio really just let him go for this? I think not.”

  “That’s it then” Quintillian said, defeat in his voice. “We’re going to die in an hour.”

  “I wish it were that good” replied the general. “It starts in an hour, but crucifixion takes days. You slowly succumb to hunger and thirst. Then there’s exhaustion, the ropes and the spikes in your limbs. Chances are they’ll beat us and cut us as well, but not too much. Velutio won’t want us to die too soon or too easily. In the end the birds will start to peck at us, but hopefully we’ll be dead by then.”

  Kiva glanced up and saw the look on the boy’s face.

  “I’m sorry Quintillian. I didn’t think. But it helps to be prepared for whatever they have in mind. Velutio doesn’t need to torture us now. He’s won. But he wants to torture us; he wants to take it all out on us, and he can’t afford to leave any of us alive.” He patted Quintillian on the shoulder. “Now go pray. I’ll stand watch here.” He grinned. “The Gods don’t listen to me anyway.”

  It was less than an hour, in fact, when Iasus and a small party of men came down the stairs and brought the four prisoners from their dark pit. The morning sun was dazzling as they were taken out into the main courtyard for the first time in two weeks. Their hands were cuffed once more and none could shade their eyes from the glare, causing them to squint as they walked and to tread carefully until their sight adjusted.

  The half dozen guards split up and walked to either side of their charges, with Iasus behind, solemn and stony faced. The small group marched through the archway and back into merciful shadow for a few moments before they burst out into the Imperial gardens, with the morning sun halfway up the eastern sky and glaring directly into their faces. The gardens were almost empty. No grand execution for these four; their deaths would remain as unknown as their lives and their ‘crimes’ to the world in general. There were perhaps a score of guards in the gardens on patrol and at stationary posts and a party of four men standing by the few individual trees on the central lawn. Kiva made a quick count. In actual fact, only twenty two guards, but what chance would they have even if they made it to the cliff? He nudged Julian, limping alongside him, and gestured across the gardens with his head.

  “Think we’d ever make it?” he whispered.

  Julian rumbled deep in his throat. “Might make it to the wall, but could we survive the drop?”

  “Then we’ve no choice but to be crucified. Is that any better?”

  As the two silently mulled over their chances, Julian was suddenly pushed aside as Alessus started to run. The guards by their sides took a strangely long moment to notice what was happening, and then with a yell started their own run. Kiva stuck out a foot and watched the first guard go tumbling over onto his face. Julian had apparently had much the same idea, slumping and knocking the next guard out of line. As the six guards called a warning to their fellows around the garden, they hauled their other three prisoners back and restrained them painfully. Julian cried “run man!” and Kiva and Quintillian tried to join in the encouraging shout before the arms locked round their throats, preventing them from speaking and almost from breathing. Alessus, never a great runner, but a fit and tactical military man with thirty years of combat experience, slowed as he reached a small knot of trees and gardens. Kiva saw him disappear behind a box hedge and there was no sign for a moment until four more guards reached the same spot and started searching the various hiding places. As they entered, Kiva saw Alessus break out of a hedge almost where he’d first entered, doubling back and making for the low border wall. With a skip and a vault, he disappeared over the edge.

  Tense seconds passed as Kiva, Quintillian and Julian craned forward for any sign of what had happened to their comrade. The guards were now converging on the spot he’d crossed the wall. From the shouts of consternation among them, Kiva could safely assume that Alessus had begun to climb the slow climb down the rock face. He smiled, but the smile slid from his face a moment later as another group of guards armed with short recurve bows appeared from a doorway at the other end of the gardens. Behind them Velutio himself appeared with a number of his personal guard. With shouts the lord directed them to the wall and, as the archers began to fire vertically down the cliff face, other guards began to collect stones near the path and to drop them over the edge. Kiva held his breath, shaking slightly.

  And then there was a distant scream, becoming more and more distant by the second as Alessus, struck through with an arrow and battered by other missiles, came loose from the treacherous cliff and bounced down the jagged rocks far down to the sea and the reefs below. Kiva pictured for a moment the broken body splayed across the sharp watery rocks and had to shake his head to clear the vision. Hopefully the man had been dead before he was halfway down. He glanced round and Julian’s head was lowered.

  Iasus merely said “stupid” and ushered them all forward again. The three of them and their six guards, now holding them tight, shuffled forward toward the trees in the centre. Kiva looked up and noted the four soldiers armed with tools and an ominous bag. The ropes to fasten wrists and ankles were already looped over branches and ready. Curiously there were only three trees set up. Either they were psychic or Velutio had other plans for one of them.

  Once they reached the lawn and the guards brought them to a halt, Velutio and his personal guard were approaching across the grass from the direction of the perimeter wall. The old lord, unruffled and in civilian clothing, stopped several yards away from them and glared past Kiva at the sergeant behind.

  “Can my entire army not keep four prisoners under control? Sabian’s been gone for less than two hours and already you’re falling to pieces!”

  Ther
e was no answer from Iasus, so Kiva smiled and spoke. “So now you’ve driven Sabian away too.”

  Velutio turned his glower to Kiva.

  “Caerdin, you’d be wise to keep your over-sized mouth firmly shut. The commander is away on a temporary duty and will be returning within the week. I do hope the birds haven’t made you unrecognisable before he gets back.” He gestured to the sergeant and the guards pushed the three forward again toward the trees. As they stood with their wrists bound the sergeant walked across to them with a small knife and began cutting away the ties and stitching on their clothing. Tunics were cut away, as were breeches, leaving only their underwear. Then Kiva and Quintillian were unceremoniously dropped to the turf like sacks of flour, while two other guards held Julian up by the shoulders and dragged him to the first tree. Quintillian lowered his head, but the guard next to him pulled it back up by the hair.

  “Watch” he ordered.

  The young man stared ahead to where Julian was being propped against the tree. He saw the man’s hands being fed through the rope loops and heard the strange sawing noise as the ropes were hauled tight and Julian slammed back against the bark with a grunt. At that point Quintillian, aware that he couldn’t look away, defocused his eyes and tried to think of something different. He was still vaguely aware of what was going on in front of him, but his mind wandered as he thought of Athas and Mercurias, of Brendan and Marco, wondering where they all were right now; of Prince Ashar, who he knew had men in this city, and Tythias, away to the west preparing perhaps for a glorious campaign to bring the Empire back to rights that would never happen. Well, this was it. The next Empire would be Velutio’s and there was no way to stop it now.

  His eyes refocused automatically as he was brought out of his daze by a cry of pain. Julian was now hanging from the ropes at his wrists, his shoulders separating painfully and his feet bound to the tree with another rope that ran around the trunk. The bark of the tree was stained red where the tough wood had flayed the young mercenary’s back as he was hauled up the bole. For good measure they were using nails and the first one had been driven through Julian’s left wrist. A spray of blood gushed out around the nail after the first heavy blow and splashed to the grass like a crimson fountain. Quintillian averted his eyes again, only to have the guard wrench his head back forward once more.