“You know why I take it and you know I was injured a little recently, so I’ve justifiably upped my intake a little.”
Sithis shook his head. “You’ve upped your intake dangerously. I’ve been watching you this morning while you were wandering round keeping an eye on things. Four times in two hours you’ve hit that and you’re not even sipping it; you’re swigging it. I know damn well that Mercurias isn’t giving you it and that doctor from the island seems to be far too above board for that. I’d be interested to know where you’re getting it all.”
“Never you mind. And don’t even think of telling anyone about this. Without doing this I’d still be hobbling around on sticks and I’d be no use to man nor beast. At least for the next month or so I’m going to have to be fully active and on top of things. Maybe then I can lay off and back down a little.”
Sithis shut his eyes and lowered his head. “You keep going like this for a month more and the only thing you’re going to be on top of is a pyre!”
Kiva growled. “It has to be done. I can’t stop now. Darius needs to be the Emperor in front of every man, woman and child in Hadrus and I need to be every inch the general. Appearances are half the battle here. And I’ve still too much of a part to play yet to dodder around on sticks.”
Sithis stood and wandered over to where the general sat. Reaching down, he prodded Kiva gently in the side. The general grunted and winced.
“Thought so,” grumbled the swordsman. “Don’t know what’s doing you more harm: that shard in your side or the medication you take. I used to have to punch you there for it to hurt like that. I hardly touched you this time. You’ve got some of the world’s best medics here in Hadrus. Let them have a look at you and maybe try and remove it.”
Kiva shook his head. “That’d kill me for sure and even if, by some miracle, I lived through the operation, I’d be completely out of commission throughout this whole thing.”
He sat up and glared into Sithis’ face.
“Promise me now you’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone else in the camp. I think we’ve got the slimmest chance of coming out of this on top anyway, but if word gets out that I’m dancing around the edge of a grave and trying not to fall in, we’ll really be in the shit. As I said, appearances are half the game.”
Sithis nodded. “Fair enough, but make sure Tythias and Athas know about it. If you get too bad you’re going to have to take a back seat and let your second in command do more of the work.”
He stood and flexed his muscles. “I’m here as an officer and a trainer. I don’t make decisions above unit level and I sure as hell don’t have the brain for strategy. I don’t know whether we can win or not, but if there was ever a man who could come up with a way to do it, that’s you. That’s why I’m captain Sithis and you’re general Caerdin. Use that brain of yours and find a way to turn it round. That’s what you’re known for.”
Kiva’s face remained largely blank and expressionless as Sithis stood and walked over to the table. He looked down a grabbed the first book he saw.
“See this?” the captain said, some strain showing in his voice. “Rastus’ battles book? I read this a few years back and half the battles in it are yours. The Emperor’s reading about your victories, Kiva. The book’s open at the Mivor plains debacle. Less than two hundred men against over a thousand? Ridiculous! But what happened? Well, it’s a bit embellished here, but I remember that battle. Athas came back from Mivor and got drunk for three days and all he could talk about was your solution. What was it you did again, Kiva?”
“I just repositioned some of my men. Any commander could have done it.”
Sithis grinned. “No commander would have though. They wouldn’t have thought of it. You ‘repositioned’ enough men between their two lines and caused enough panic and havoc that the enemy started shooting each other. Athas reckoned he and the others got out of the middle as it all really started and they lost just four men. Four! That barbarian psychopath you were up against lost three hundred before they even realised they were killing each other and not you. It’s clever little ideas like that make the history books.”
Kiva nodded. “I suppose so, but I’m older and slower and a lot more tired these days. Still, something’ll turn up I expect. And whatever happens I damn well have to try.”
Sithis grinned. “You realise, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you without being surrounded by your adoring public since I arrived. I’ve been here four days and not a single minute of social time. And I haven’t seen you in, what? Six years I’d reckon. Since that ‘incident’ at Rilva.”
“Incident!” Kiva laughed loud. “That’s a mild term. I’ve not been able to work on the south coast since, and I’ll bet you haven’t either!”
Sithis howled with laughter and sat back in the Emperor’s chair at the table. “That pompous, camp little dick thought he’d hired the greatest unit in the northern hemisphere. I got best part of a year’s wages for one week with him, and you matched the amount with his lover, didn’t you?”
Kiva wiped a tear of laughter away from his cheek. “Oh hell, yes. Lover, enemy, opponent, ‘special friend’… call him what you will. A little lover’s tiff and it cost them more than most wars I’ve been in. And your face when you saw us coming up the hill against his tower; it was a picture. What did you actually say to him when you saw us? I never did find out.”
Sithis grinned. “Held the bag of money out and told him to shove it where his ‘lover’ put things. He told me I’d been hired and I’d taken the money so I’d damn well defend his tower. He was getting awfully red.”
“And?” Kiva prompted.
“And I hit him in the face with the bag of coins before we left.”
Kiva collapsed in hysterics again. “His ‘special friend’ wasn’t too happy when we walked away either. Athas saw you coming out of the postern gate and we just turned and left.”
“You didn’t even give him the money back?”
“No,” replied Kiva with a grin. “We’d walked a long way to get to that tower. I don’t know where you disappeared to so fast, but we watched that daft little pretty-boy jumping up and down by the tower’s door and ranting at his boyfriend. It was really quite funny. I wouldn’t have laughed quite so much but for the fact that Brendan went up to him and gave him a corona for his troubles!”
Sithis collapsed in laughter once more. “I don’t know how we missed each other in Rilva that night. We must have been in every bar getting drunk and laughing about those idiots and if you kept the money, you must have done much the same.”
Kiva grinned. “We just settled in a bar down near the dock and stayed there until we couldn’t walk.”
Sithis grinned. “I didn’t know whether you’d left or not until almost a week later. We were waiting for a ship to Velutio when the two pretty boys rolled in to the bar arm in arm, all made up and happy as anything. They never even noticed us, which is probably a good thing, but they kept going on to the innkeeper about the two captains that had seen through their argument and helped them save their relationship. We had to leave. I didn’t know whether to laugh or just throw up.”
The swordsman looked around the room. “You don’t suppose the Emperor’s got any special Imperial drink around here? You’ve nothing serious on or you wouldn’t be wandering around watching people train, and I’ve done a full morning of instruction and handed them over to one of mine for the afternoon. I think it’s crucial to the future well-being of the Empire that we get roaring drunk and talk about old times.”
Kiva opened his mouth, presumably to object, since he was waving a warning finger, but Sithis laughed. “Oh, no. You don’t get to make all the decisions, just the big important ones. And when we’re both ready to crawl back home in a stupor, I’ll find myself a nice warm, comforting companion for the night and I’ll do my level best to see you get one too. If there’s anything you need, Kiva, it’s that!”
Kiva’s face twisted as a number of emotions crossed it at the
captain’s insolent comments. Thoughts fleetingly passed him of Livilla and his son, of the few women he’d had any time for over the past two decades, of Sathina and her obsession with Tythias, and finally of the two camp lovers they’d left arguing through the walls of a tower in Rilva. He looked up into the grinning face of Sithis and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright you idiot. You’re a dangerous man, Sithis of the Swords. You find the drink; I’ll get the glasses.”
Chapter XXVIII
Darius squinted into the shadows as the party of Imperial courtiers passed out of the bright sunlight and beneath the arch of the massive gatehouse into the palace of Lord Silvas. The palace was a massive and impressive structure, designed a hundred years ago as a strategically placed fortress rather than a grand residence. Silvas would be the third lord they’d visited in five days and Darius, though knowing the stakes he kept the façade up, was getting rather bored of the whole affair. Plus, of course, the rich food and wine the lords plied him with were causing upsets with his system. Guards in red and white stood around the battlements and towers of the encircling wall watching the party with a mix of suspicion and interest. Behind him rattled the small carriage that had been sent to carry the Emperor and his close companions, Needless to say, Darius had steadfastly refused to sit in the carriage, preferring to ride a horse. Sathina leaned forward from the end of the wooden bench and spoke quietly, continuing the conversation they’d been having for more than an hour.
“So why does he need a military commander; I mean, if Avitus was one of the most important generals there was.”
Darius nodded. “Don’t forget though that to go into high politics in the empire, a man needed a military career, unless he was specially favoured by the Emperor. Velutio was no great general, but he needed to achieve a few victories as a Marshal before he could go for high office. The other three marshals at the time were all career military men, so his appointment didn’t really endanger anyone. But he’s not got a good record as a commander of men. The only truly successful campaign he led was after the fall of Quintus and the only reason that was successful was because he had one of the other Marshals with him, Caerdin was out of the picture and their enemy was outnumbered two to one.”
“So he was never a good general?”
Darius laughed out loud. “Ask Caerdin some time. He’ll rant for an hour if you let him. No, Velutio wouldn’t be in the position he’s in if he didn’t have Sabian. The commander’s a good man and a clever one. Sarios thinks he’s probably even Caerdin’s equal, which is a little worrying.” He glanced back around himself. “We’ll have to continue this later.”
Tythias and his men had reined in their horses ahead where the courtyard was filled with officials and guards. Silvas stood stern and straight. He was an exceptionally tall man, thin as a rail, but with a certain power about him. His blond hair was short and severe and he was clean-shaven, dressed immaculately and wearing a coronet in the fashion of eastern Princes. By comparison, Tythias had steadfastly refused to cut his hair, despite the protests of Sathina and Caerdin, but had compromised by braiding it to keep it out of the way. Scarred and one-armed, the captain would present a frightening sight to those who didn’t know him. With unexpected grace, the officer slid from his horse and approached the lord.
“Lord Silvas? I am Tythias, commander of the Lion Riders and Prefect in the Imperial army. I have the honour to present to you his Imperial Majesty, Darius the first, first citizen of the Empire, high priest…”
“And so on…” interrupted Silvas, gazing thoughtfully toward Darius. “You can dispense with the excess pomp and grandeur, Prefect. It doesn’t impress me and I’ll make up my own mind. Dismount and follow me into the great hall. We’ll all have a welcome drink and then my major domo will show you to your accommodation for the night.”
Without waiting for an answer, Silvas turned on his heel and strode back through the heavy wooden doors into the hall. Tythias turned and raised an eyebrow to Darius, who nodded. The entire party began to dismount, conversing as they gathered their personal belongings before handing reins to the stable lads in the courtyard.
Darius watched the two soldiers guarding the door through which his lordship had entered. They looked well trained and disciplined. Their uniforms were neat and clean and the weapons they wore were certainly not just for show. Factor in the severe style of this fortress and the curt attitude of the lord himself and Darius couldn’t shake the feeling that they needed this man. He seemed to be a lord after the old fashion, disciplined and independent. Unfortunately, though he’d as yet remained free of Velutio’s control, he’d also declined the invitation to join them at Munda. Darius hoped that was due to the need to protect his land rather than a lack of support for their cause on his part, but that hope was starting to waver after the lord’s greeting. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode forward to Tythias, who was scanning the walls. With a weary smile, Darius squared his shoulders. “So, prefect, what d’you…”
He got no further as a look of horror crossed Tythias’ face and he dived, knocking the wind from the young Emperor and crushing him to the ground. Darius looked up in amazement as the prefect fell heavily on top of him, an arrow protruding from his shoulder.
The men of Darius’ personal guard leapt into action, drawing their weapons and some running to protect their master, others taking up positions to defend against Silvas’ guards. Across the courtyard, Brendan and Athas were already running. The archer who’d released the arrow had realised instantly that he’d failed and, dropping the bow, climbed the stairs on which he’d stood, reaching the wall walk and looking about himself urgently. Athas and Brendan glanced at each other and nodded, the large, dark sergeant running for the gatehouse to seal off the man’s exit while Brendan made for the stairs as fast as he could. The bald Wolf’s immediate fears that there may be some larger conspiracy at work were allayed quickly as he saw the archer run along the wall and try to get past one of his fellow guards. The other man stood firm and gave the archer a hefty push, knocking him from the walk and back onto the stairs ahead of Brendan.
The archer struggled to his feet, drawing a sword desperately. Brendan, his anger rising, reached out and grasped the archer’s sword hand, holding the blade away and squeezing the flesh until he heard several cracking sounds. The archer howled, unable to let go of the sword with his opponent’s fist closed painfully around his own. Brendan was aware of people shouting things but paid no attention. He smiled at the archer, whose face was twisted gruesomely and butted the man full in the face, accompanied once again by the cracking of bones. The archer fell back onto the steps, dangling from Brendan by one broken hand and the burly Wolf let go in disgust, the sword clattering away and falling to the paving stones below. The archer clutched his broken face with his good hand, sobbing. Brendan glanced around and saw the man’s bow. Reaching out for it, he unhooked the bowstring from first one end and then the other with an easy flex of his powerful muscles and leaned down over the wounded assassin. Winding each end of the bowstring around his hands, he looped the heavy duty catgut around the panicking man’s neck and pulled it tight. The archer’s good hand pulled away from the bloody, broken face and clawed at the tight cord around his neck. Athas’ voice sounded from a few feet behind Brendan. “Captain, let go of the cord. We need to know who he’s working for.”
Brendan growled. “He’s working for Velutio.”
Down in the courtyard Tythias, struggling with some difficulty due to his one arm, hauled himself off the Emperor and staggered back against the wall. Darius pulled himself up, his face full of concern, but the grizzled prefect grinned. “I have got to stop getting fucking wounded…” he realised who was standing before him and smiled weakly, “…highness.”
As Sathina rushed to help Tythias break the arrow shaft off, the scarred officer placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, lass. Didn’t mean to curse.”
Sathina laughed. “Good grief, Tythias. I didn’
t fall for you ‘cause of your poetic tongue.”
Leaving the two to deal with Tythias’ wound, Darius spun round to take in the situation. His fear that the entire greeting in the courtyard may have been a deliberate ambush was put aside as he saw lord Silvas appear once more from the doorway, a look of concern on his face. To one side, on the wall stairs, he could see an interesting tableau: Brendan was kneeling over a man, presumably the attempted murderer, throttling him with some sort of cord. Athas was behind him speaking quietly. His head fuzzy, Darius looked back again at Silvas then at Brendan again.
Taking a deep breath, he called out “Captain, let some slack in that rope.”
Assuming, even hoping, that Brendan had both heard and obeyed, he turned to the master of the palace. “Lord Silvas? This is one of your men. It’s not for mine to punish him.”
Silvas nodded gravely. “Agreed, but he ceased to be one of my men the moment he shot at a guest in my house. Deal with him as you see fit.”
Darius turned back to his men and gave them an exaggerated nod. Athas growled and said under his breath “Brendan, question him.”
Brendan glared into the broken face of the archer.
“Talk to me. If’n you give me enough I’ll give yer a quick death.”
The man stared at Brendan in horror. Athas leaned down over his junior officer’s shoulder. “Tell us everything and he’ll give you the sword. Otherwise I’ll leave you to him and he might take days.”
The man coughed, blood flowing through his shattered teeth. “He’d have paid me well and the whole thing’d be over. I don’t want to die!”
Brendan looked up at Athas. “Velutio again, but only coz this little weasel’s a greedy little cowardly bastard.”
Athas nodded and, turning, walked down the stairs to join the Imperial party below. As he left, Brendan smiled at the archer in front of him.
“Damn, can’t reach me sword.” With a slight shrug, he slowly tightened the cord. The archer gasped, unable to speak and resumed his clawing at the garrotte, his broken hand flopping feebly around with the effort. “Ack, agh…”
Interregnum Page 42
