Interregnum

by S. J. A. Turney

  “Your majesty… Silvas… he’s under attack.”

  Kiva reined gestured to one side and the scouts and command party both moved off the road onto the springy loam while the slow procession of military might plodded and trundled past. “Details, man!” demanded the general as soon as they were out of the way.

  “Dunno sir. It’s not Velutio’s army. There’s maybe three or four different uniforms down there. They’ve not got much in the way of cavalry, but there’s quite a lot of infantry. They’ve got tents set up half a mile away, but they’re swarming around his walls and there are a couple of siege towers and a battering ram floating around among them.”

  Tythias rumbled deep in his throat. “Can you identify any of them?”

  The scout shook his head. “No, sir, but they’re a mix of men wearing black, green and blue.”

  “That could be just about anyone” the one armed commander grumbled.

  One of the scouts saluted and spoke up. “Sir… one of the tents I saw had a flag. It was black with silver trim and had a rearing bull standing on a tower.”

  “Ah.” Kiva smiled. “Lord Tilis shows his colours now. I thought he’d stay damn close to Velutio. He doesn’t like to stick his neck out for anything. Velutio must have sent him in command of two other lords to make sure Silvas didn’t get to join us. Silly bastard. If he’d just asked instead, Silvas might’ve joined them willingly, but still; all the better for us.”

  The general wheeled his horse and looked up at Darius. “Your permission, highness?”

  Darius nodded and Kiva grinned, turning back to Tythias. “Get your cavalry marshalled and take them out to the east. I want you to cross the river over by the mill and get in position in the ditches there. If you do it right you can get behind their camp and a few hundred yards from the fight without them even knowing you’re there. I doubt they’re concerned about their rear lines; they’ll be concentrating on the job at hand. When you hear the trumpet signal to advance, take out their camp and form a cordon around them with your light cavalry. What you do with the heavy cavalry’s up to you.”

  Tythias nodded and, grinning, wheeled his own horse before charging off to find his cavalry captains. Kiva turned to face Brendan and Sithis. “We’ve not got time to bring the whole army into position. Get the two lead regiments and draw them up a few hundred yards away below the crest of the hill. When we move in, Sithis, you’ll take the first regiment down into the centre of the fight and aim for their command units. If you can get to them, take out their officers. If they offer surrender, take it. As much of this is public relations as it is war. You know what to do.”

  “Brendan, old friend,” he smiled. “You take the second regiment and make directly for the front entrance. I need you to take out that battering ram and form a perimeter outside the gate to hold the enemy away. If all goes well, once the units are all in the melee, you’ll be able to close up like a swinging door and push them back against Sithis’ regiment. Tythias’ cavalry will be there keeping them hemmed in for you and I suspect he’ll have battered their morale with a few cavalry charges by then.”

  “Athas,” he continued, turning to the large dark-skinned man. “You need to get all this lot halted and make sure they don’t move forward and get involved in the fight. If there’s any way you can get the bolt throwers out to the crest, do so and get Filus’ third regiment to give you cover. Can you do that?”

  Athas grunted. “It’ll be at least ten minutes before we can get the bolt throwers out to the front, even using all the manpower we have. They’re at the front of the siege column, but that’s behind eight regiments of footmen. Will ten minutes be enough?”

  “It’ll do,” the general replied. “To be honest I thought it’d take a lot longer than that. Tythias won’t be in position for at least five more minutes himself, so it should work out nicely. Once you’ve got them in position, pick your targets carefully.”

  Athas nodded as Brendan gave his commander a grin that Kiva recognised as a sort of hunger and nodded. “An’ what’ll you be at, sir?”

  Kiva smiled. “I will be taking young lord Pelian and his men, along with a select few units, to deal with those siege towers. Once they’re down and the battering ram’s out, Silvas is safe. The man’s stood up against our enemies for us and we can’t let him down now.”

  There were nods of agreement from around him and Kiva squared his shoulders before reaching down to draw his sword. Darius noted briefly the look of pain that passed across the general’s face as he bent to one side and feared for a fraction of a second that the man would fall from the horse. However, Caerdin recovered so fast no one else seemed to have noticed. “Let’s move!” the general cried, and the command party went about their business.

  As Darius watched the column fragment, he wondered where to place himself. He knew Caerdin would disapprove of his getting involved in the front lines of the battle, but he could hardly be seen to be standing idly by as his army fought. Gritting his teeth, he dismounted and walked over to Sithis, where the swordsman was giving orders to his regiment.

  “I’m going to be joining you, Sithis. I know you don’t approve, but I’m joining you anyway so don’t think of arguing.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, highness” the swordsman replied, beaming.

  Kiva watched with a frown as the Emperor dismounted and took a position alongside the first regiment with his sword drawn. Well, perhaps the lad was right. Watching their Emperor fighting alongside them in battle would do more for the army’s morale than an extra thousand men. Young Pelian rode alongside him, looking eager. The general worried about inexperienced people who eagerly anticipated blood and violence. They were usually either psychopaths or dreamy youths hopelessly lost in a romantic notion that would soon be ripped from them among steel and blood. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the young man. “Lord Pelian. Gather your men and have them assemble just below the ridge to the left of Sithis’ regiment.”

  Pelian nodded once and veered off to the side, bearing down on his own officers. Kiva turned the other way and headed for a small unit of men in full uniform walking out to the grass at one side. The crossbowmen, though they’d been combined at an operational level with Filus’ archers, were serving under no specific officer. In fact, Filus’ archers tended now to travel with them and their unit had a sort of autonomy that Athas disapproved of mightily. However, since Filus now commanded the third regiment, no commander had been assigned to the archers. This had been a mere oversight until Tythias’ skirmish in the rocks below Hadrus, and Filus had continued to command both groups but, since Tythias’ report of how well the crossbowmen had handled themselves, Kiva had taken more of an interest in them. Now he considered the archers an independent unit and allowed them their semi-autonomy in return for their ability to work and act as a perfectly-organised and balanced unit. Whatever that prat Phythian had done, he’d trained his men well and they seemed to have no crisis of conscience serving in the army of his executioner. Kiva called out and waved them over.

  “Get your entire unit up behind the crest of the hill alongside lord Pelian’s men. I’ll be up there taking command of the small group. Move out!”

  Bearing out his opinion of them, the crossbowmen and their archer comrades immediately fell out with no other order having to be issued and made their way to the target location. Kiva smiled. If only Phythian had thought further than his purse in the first place he could have been leading them now.

  He waited until the last unit was on the move and turned his mare to the front of the column. With a slap to her hide he cantered for a moment until he was ahead of the army and then slid gracefully from her back and tied her to a tree. As he wrapped the reins around a branch, he turned away from his men. No need for them to see the signs of exquisite pain that flitted across his face at the sudden jarring of organs. He grumbled and, looking around to see make sure he wasn’t being watched, lifted his tunic to examine his side. There was a tiny bulge in the skin as though
it were filling with liquid like a waterskin. Damn. It was too early yet. He must have a word with Favio after the fight. Mercurias was too motherly over his unit, but Favio might be persuaded to help rather than hinder. With another wince, he turned and drew his sword.

  Walking steadily out from the shade of the tree, he made his way directly toward the gathering troops at the crest. With a last mental calculation, he took his place in front of the two groups, alongside the young lord Pelian. Taking his flint and tinder from his belt pouch, he struck a fire among some moss and bracken on an old milestone. “Here’s what we’re going to do, people. You archers need to keep this fire fed. In a couple of minutes I want you to dip in your oil flasks and prepare to fire burning arrows into the siege towers. I want a concentrated barrage on the tower we can see from here. I want you to make sure the fucker’s burning properly before we move on to the next one. Once it’s truly on fire and they’re having to sort out the crew to put the fires out, we’ll move you onto the second tower. You’ll then be left with a small defence unit as the rest of us move in to make sure the first tower stays down.

  There was a chorus of nods around the general and a couple of the crossbowmen bent to collect twigs and foliage to add to the small fire on the milestone. Kiva watched in trepidation for another minute or so until the entire group settled and units stopped manoeuvring on the road. He gave a wave to the small group of heralds at the front of the column. Seconds later a complex trumpet call blared out and the infantry units began to move over the hill. Around Kiva the archers, their missiles doused in oil, dipped the tip into the flame and watched the arrows and bolts leap to life, wreathed in fire and deadly. Stepping a couple of paces forward, they could see over the crest of the hill and spotted the siege tower jammed up against the powerful walls of Silvas’ fortress-like palace. Without waiting for the order, the unit released their bolts and arrows and the various missiles thudded into the siege tower with a crash, followed by a deafening roar as the flames immediately took the dry wood. The men inside filled every floor, with the top group fighting the defenders for a means of egress onto the wall. There was a shout of alarm and burning bodies fell from the upper levels.

  “Good! Now step around to the left until you can see the next siege tower, start another fire and do the same.” He looked down at the young man. “Lord Pelian: you have to protect these archers at all costs. If the second tower goes and the battering ram’s still moving, start them on that. Otherwise they can pick their targets.”

  The young lord gave a disappointed nod and gathered the twenty or so men that Kiva hadn’t waved aside to move along with the archers. Kiva started to jog across the brow of the hill. As the various swordsmen of Pelian’s unit fell in behind him, Balo jogged ahead with him.

  “Just like old times, eh general?”

  Kiva turned to look at his old comrade. “Yes and no.” He turned to look at the men as he ran. “Fight as much as you need to to get through them. Don’t stop to pose or play; just get through them and keep going for that siege tower. When we get there, we just need to make sure it’s out of commission. If you see anyone carrying a bucket of water, make sure he dies. If we all get in there, we need to tip the damn thing over somehow. It’s been guided into position with ropes and if they’re not burned away we should be able to use those to tip it.”

  A vague chorus of agreement went up behind him and he paid no further attention to the men with him as he and Balo led almost a hundred men down the hill and charged the rear lines of the attacking force.

  At first there was a silence; the silence born of the brain not being able to comprehend the tremendous noise assailing it. As Pelian’s men became accustomed to the din around them, sound crept back in, distant at first and then louder and closer until the crash of steel on steel and the screams of the wounded and dying became impossible to ignore. With a fury born of absolute pride and belief, Kiva’s unit fell on their enemy. Kiva was aware of men around him hacking, slashing and stabbing, trying to cleave a path through the lines. Their attack was served well by the fact that they hit the enemy from behind and lord Tilis’ army was ill-prepared to defend against attacks from that direction. Crushed as they were in their efforts to push forward against the walls of Silvas’ palace, the enemy were at a tremendous disadvantage, often failing to turn in time to block the blows crashing down on them. Kiva was familiar with the pure butchery that came with a surprise attack and his men cleaved limbs and severed heads and torsos as they moved like a harvest through the corn of the enemy ranks. Some of Pelian’s men who’d obviously not served long in the force and had received little training from Sithis had to pause to vomit copiously among spilled livers and intestines and hacked-off limbs. Kiva ignored them. Such men would become used to the horrors of battle or would soon desert. In that case, the army could well do without them.

  Kiva glanced over his shoulder as one of his men went down in a spray of blood, an unnoticed blow from one of the more astute and prepared defenders catching him in the neck. Kiva thrust out with his own blade and neatly skewered the offender, turning back just in time to duck a sweeping blow that threatened to remove his scalp and it was then he realised what a mistake he’d made getting personally involved in the fight. A sudden pain hit him so hard he doubled over further. Balo noticed the general bent double beside him and ignoring his own opponent, blocked the blow of the man attacking Kiva before delivering a second, sweeping blow that cut from shoulder to shoulder, carving a deep line across the man’s chest.

  Balo bellowed at the men. “Make for the tower and tip it!” before reaching out and gripping Kiva by the upper arm. The general straightened slowly, wiping his mouth, but not before Balo had noticed the smear of blood. The general had coughed up dark blood and was trying to hide it. “Kiva, you bloody fool!”

  Caerdin pushed his old ally away and wiped his mouth further, removing as much as he could of the blood, though more welled into his mouth. He stood as straight as he could and gripped Balo’s shoulder for support. “Lead them. You know how to do it and I don’t give a shit whether you think you’re right for it or not.”

  Balo fought a cascade of conflicting emotions and tried to hold Kiva steady. “You need looking after, general!”

  “Fuck that!!” Kiva waved his sword loosely and weakly toward the tower. “The men need you. I’ll see you afterwards.”

  Balo took a long, steady glance at his commander and then nodded curtly, if unhappily. Letting go carefully, he watched in grim silence as Kiva once more doubled over and a fresh gobbet of black blood fell from his mouth. Tearing himself away, he turned to the fray and cried “make for the ropes!”

  Kiva continued to stand as he was for a while, clutching at the hilt of his sword with white knuckles as the pain roared and seared its way through his abdomen. He coughed once more and a further stream of dark blood poured forth.

  “I can’t die here,” a voice muttered nearby.

  “What?” Kiva barked, glancing up as best he could. A man stood in front of him with a vicious gash from his right shoulder down to his hip, his right arm flapping helplessly around. Kiva squinted through the pain. The man wore a green uniform.

  “Who’s your lord?”

  The man staggered slightly and his blood ran down to mingle with Kiva’s growing pool on the floor. “I’m Geraldus’ man. A sergeant.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “And I think I know who you are.”

  Kiva sighed. “Then you’ve got to kill me where we are.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, general. I’ve no sword and I can’t lift my arm or turn my head. I’m done here.” He sighed deeply and winced. “Possibly done for altogether.”

  Kiva nodded. “I can’t be. Too much more to do.”

  He coughed once more and was surprised and disheartened at the quantity of life’s blood that ran from his mouth. “Help me get back to our line and you’ll be treated.”

  The wounded sergeant grinned painfully, his eyes
showing a deep sadness. “How can I pass up an offer like that?”

  The two men limped and stumbled their way across the bodies and limbs, slipping in puddles of blood and viscera, slowly making their way back toward the column of the rebel army. A deafening twang and a rumbling and whistling noise announced the arrival of Athas’ war machines into the fray. Their stumbling continued and then suddenly there were arms around them, helping them up the hill. The concerned face of Athas appeared and said something that Kiva entirely missed.

  “Athas!” he demanded breathlessly. “Shut up and stop fussing. Have us taken to Favio and don’t let word of this reach Mercurias or I’ll nail your testicles to that machine.”

  Athas frowned at his commander and then nodded at the men supporting them.

  Kiva must have blacked out somewhere along the column, for he stopped hurting for a while.

  The marble columns wreathed in fire. The purple and gold drapes blazing and falling away into burning heaps on the floor. A chalice of wine on a small table by a couch, boiling in the intense heat. The panicked twittering of the ornamental birds in their golden cages as the room around them was consumed by the inferno. And in the centre of the room, standing in robes of white and purple, a man. He doesn’t look frightened, though the flames lick at his whole world and his face is already grimy with the smoke. What he looks is desperate, his arm extended toward the sealed and barred door separating him from a future and a life. Dark pools of blood surround the man and he takes a step toward the door, slipping and slithering in the blood until he collapses on the floor and is brought face to face with the knife that’s been drive hilt-deep into his side.

  Kiva woke with a small cry and looked around him in panic. He was in his command tent and there were braziers flickering within and by the entrance. It was night and he was alone. They must have won the fight for the men had taken the time to erect the command tent before laying him carefully inside. Ideas had hammered at his consciousness as he awoke. Something to do with the old dream. That one thing; the one plan that so tantalisingly hung an inch away from his reach was there. Given a minute he might remember it. He focused slowly on the world around him and finally saw the items on the table next to his shoulder. There was a loaf of bread and some butter, some fruit and a bottle with a scruffily-written label on. He picked up the bottle, wincing at the pain and squinted at it. In Favio’s writing it said “drink this – at this point it can’t hurt.” Suspiciously, he pulled the stopper and sniffed. Mare’s mead and very strongly mixed by the smell. He smiled a weak smile and took a deep swig just as the curtains at the entrance were pushed aside and Tythias strode in.