The minister smiled. “It’s not the whole truth commander, but enough of it to get you off the hook. I doubt it will make any difference to Quintillian’s chances.”
Sabian stood for a long moment staring at the pair. Finally he nodded and, tucking the charts away beneath his cloak, strode back down the hill to where Velutio watched him impatiently.
“Nothing wrong I trust commander?” his lordship said coldly and sarcastically.
Sabian smiled. “No sir. Just conferring on a point of law with the minister. He does, after all, have a remarkable command of legal knowledge. It seems that I’m quite entitled with the amount of evidence and the number of witnesses I have to demand trial and punishment for the captain here.”
Again Crosus’ face went purple as he spluttered angrily. Velutio raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to ask me to put my personal guard on trial?”
Sabian grinned. “Actually no. I’m going to demand he face me in trial by combat. Then we’ll see how much he really matters.”
Velutio shook his head. “I’m still trying to decide whether it’s you who should be on trial here.”
Sabian nodded. “Then let it be that way round. My trial by combat. So long as I get to face this armoured monkey I’ll be happy.” He reached into his cloak and withdrew chart Darius had given him. “You might want to hold this though my lord. It’s quite important and I’d hate to see it get skewered.”
Again Velutio’s brow arched as he took the scroll. Unrolling it, Sabian was gratified to note genuine surprise on the face of his master.
“Where did you get these?” Velutio demanded.
The commander smiled. “I know you want me to be a despot, but I prefer to be fair. Being fair gets results too you know sir.” He flexed his fingers. “I don’t care whose trial it is my lord, but only one of us is leaving this place: him or me.”
Behind Velutio, Crosus nodded, his hand around the hilt of his sword.
The lord stopped for a moment and then finally, nodding, stepped aside. As Sabian and Crosus both drew their swords and swung them a couple of times, Cialo and Iasus gave orders and the four companies on the grass fanned out into a circle of shields around the two officers. Crosus, armoured in a shiny steel cuirass with leather strops protecting the thighs and upper arms, swung a long, straight sword in wide sweeps. Sabian in his very traditional cuirass, much like that of Crosus but less ornate, swung his slightly curved blade in figure eights.
The first lunge came from Crosus, disguised initially as another practice swing of the sword. As the blade came to the top of its arc, he took a massive step forward and brought the sword down in a one handed sweep toward Sabian’s head. The commander saw the lumbering move from the start and neatly sidestepped the heavy blade. As the point dug into the turf, Sabian trotted past his opponent, flicking out once with his blade and carving a line across the captain’s thigh. Pieces of four of the protective leather strops dropped to the ground and blood welled up beneath the breeches within. Crosus growled.
Sabian came to a halt directly behind his opponent but made no use of the obvious opening created as the captain wrenched his blade from the ground and tottered back to face him. He was determined to make this as slow and painful as possible for Crosus. He’d like the opportunity to make him bleed from every surface and maybe even die from that before he could deliver a killing blow. He also had to prove a point about superiority to Velutio. He smiled.
Crosus took a couple of slow steps toward him and swung the blade out to one side. Too slow and too obvious by far. By the time the sword came swinging back toward Sabian’s side, the commander dropped to the floor and came up from a roll behind the swinging edge, jabbing once with the point of his own sword and drawing more blood from the same thigh. He was rewarded with a grunt of pain from the burly captain. If this was all the man had, it’d be a short task. Crosus staggered with the weight of his swinging blade on his injured leg and had to allow a couple of steps back to regain his balance.
The captain righted himself and took up a defensive stance. He was learning from his mistakes. There would be no more stupid lunges. Sabian took a couple of steps forward, daring Crosus to strike again and the captain fell for it with no prior thought. He swung the sword, but in a much tighter, more controlled arc and Sabian raised his own blade, parrying with a flash and a scraping of steel on steel that set the watchers’ teeth on edge. With a quick recovery, he struck again and Sabian parried once more, knocking his opponent’s blade to one side. Again he flicked out quickly with his blade, drawing a red line across the captain’s extended forearm. Another grunt.
Taking the advantage, the commander pushed forward with a swing over his shoulder. The captain parried clumsily, but turned the blade aside. Good. He’d not expected to connect, but to gauge the reactions of his opponent. What he didn’t expect was the blow that landed. Although the sword had gone wide, the captain had swung around with his fist and punched Sabian in the jaw. The commander staggered back across the grass, his face throbbing with the blow. Damn he should have been more careful. Shaking the daze from his head he righted himself, realising that Crosus had followed up on the blow and was bringing his sword around and up in an arc. Despite his wounded leg, the captain was still moving surprisingly steadily. Sabian leaned heavily to one side and the blade whistled through the air where his shoulder had been a moment before. He gritted his teeth. The captain was starting to get a grip now, so he’d have to either unbalance the man again or pick up the pace and actually finish it.
Crosus came back into a defensive stance again and grinned at him.
“Come on you cheap whore. Fight me like a man.”
Sabian shook his head. There was no way he was going to let this idiot goad him into doing something stupid. “Whatever you say ape man.”
With a smile, he flicked the sword out to the left and withdrew it in a blur, sweeping out to the right with it. He was rewarded as Crosus pulled back to parry a blow that never came, the sharp edge instead slicing deep into his other arm. There would be no more punches from that arm. Crosus shambled back into his stance once more, starting to look less balanced. The loss of blood was working on him; his leg and arm were both drenched in scarlet rivulets and pools on the grass told of how much strength he was losing.
Enough was enough. It was no real effort and there was no glory in this. Dragging it out no longer mattered; time for a coup de grace.
With deliberate slowness, he raised the sword for an overhead blow. The captain saw the blade rise and, turning slightly, brought his own up for an overhead parry. Just as the blade reached its apex, however, Sabian spun to face away from his opponent and changed his grip on the hilt. The surprised captain didn’t have time to bring his own sword back down before Sabian’s came thrusting out behind him, gripped in both hands, shearing up through Crosus’ leather strops and deep into his armpit. Sabian fell backwards with the blade and drove the length of steel deep into the man’s chest until the sword stopped, point lodged against the opposite shoulder blade. Crosus stopped, going momentarily rigid, the blade still held aloft in his hand and his life essence pumping wildly from his armpit. He stared at Sabian in surprise and died where he stood, still transfixed by the commander’s blade. As life fled the body and the muscles relaxed Sabian staggered under the weight, withdrawing his sword with some difficulty and allowing the corpse to crumple to the grass, blood pooling beneath it.
Heaving a deep breath, he straightened and turned to face his master. Velutio stood with his arms folded, his face expressionless. Digging his sword point first into the turf and leaving it swaying gently, Sabian walked slowly towards him.
“My Lord. I am innocent of any wrongdoings this heap of shit made you aware of. His own power games required that he make me look weak and take my position from under me. You may not be happy with what I’ve just done, but in the long run I’ve done you a favour.”
Velutio merely stood watching the commander intently, so Sabian cleared his
throat. “I also have some news about the youngster, Quintillian.”
The older man shook his head.
“I’m glad to hear that, but it’s irrelevant now. I already have leads on him. He’s travelling with a group of mercenaries of some reputation to the north. I have a number of my own mercenary units tracking them down so they won’t be at liberty for long.”
Sabian nodded, trying to keep his own thoughts at the back of his mind. Today wasn’t the day for brooding sentimentality. “So what happens now?”
Velutio turned and began to walk slowly up the path toward the shade of the Gorgon Gate where Darius and the minister stood. “Now I need you back in the city. There are no problems here and plenty of people on the trail of Quintillian. There’s been some speaking out against me in the city of Helus and rumours of a rebel army massing in the hills above the place. As a vassal state of mine any hint of an uprising is unacceptable, so I want you to take the army down there and put down any resistance you meet.” He stopped and faced the commander, who had been matching his pace. “Here’s your chance to show me what you really are worth commander.”
Sabian nodded. “And the island sir?”
“I think,” replied the lord, “that you should leave three companies under one of your sergeants here as a permanent garrison. I don’t want anything like this happening again.”
Another nod. Cialo would relish the opportunity, he was sure. Equally, Iasus would like to get back to the city. The commander glanced up at the gatehouse and the two figures watching them intently as they approached. The island would be fine now, though he’d miss the opportunities to talk and spar with Darius. Still, who knew what the future held in these days.
Part Three: Heroes and Villains
Chapter XIII
Kiva leaned back against the farm gate and sighed. Bees buzzed around him, congregating among the multicoloured wild flowers by the roadside. The low hills above the coastal plain were one of Kiva’s favourite areas, though he rarely got a chance to spend time here. In fact one of the greatest battles of his career had been only a few miles from where he stood right now, around thirty years ago when the tribes of the Pula Mountains had finally managed to pull together under one leader and make a serious push into the Empire. It had been high summer then too, with bright golden sunshine pouring over the lush green hills and the sounds of bees and meadow fowl playing through the air. He scanned the horizon, a single piece of hay jutting from the corner of his mouth; he’d been around Marco far too long.
The rest of the unit sat on the grass verge opposite the stone farm building, sharing bread and flasks of who knew what while they rested their tired limbs and chattered away meaninglessly. Athas was the only alert one, keeping an eye on the road whence they’d come. Things had been quite comfortable on the journey toward the sea and no unpleasant surprises had caught them unawares in the last month of travelling. They’d had the best of the weather for the journey as in a couple of weeks the climate would become much more changeable and unpredictable as summer slid into autumn. Still, they’d be on the plains and in the towns long before then.
A voice caught his attention. Turning his head toward the path he saw Quintillian jogging toward him. It amazed him how adaptable the young man was. In just a month he’d become so entrenched in the life of the Grey Company that it was becoming difficult to remember what it was like before they’d found him. To look at him now one would hardly recognise the pasty, permanently unhappy youth that had crawled out of a thorn bush seeking aid and safety. A month of travelling in the summer sun had somewhat bleached his hair to a dark bronze and given his previously pale complexion a healthy glow. His muscles had bulked out considerably, largely due to the two hours of weapon practice a day the lad endured under whoever had time to tutor him. Indeed, the way he wore his swords; the hang of his armour; the comfortable pace when he ran all spoke of a man of arms. He’d become a soldier, there was no doubt about that.
“Captain…”
Kiva heaved himself from the wall.
“Septimus” he acknowledged Quintillian by the name the unit used on a daily basis. “Something amiss up front?”
Quintillian shook his head.
“Not amiss I think.” He smiled. “There are at least a dozen men about a mile away down the hill. Some of them are staying off the path in the bushes, and I think they’re waiting for us, but not in ambush.”
Kiva cocked an eyebrow. “And why’s that?” Obvious to him, but the lad needed testing every day in every way. The worrying thing was that he was progressing as a scout and a tactician faster that Kiva and the others could really teach him. He had a voracious appetite for learning.
Quintillian grinned. “A test, sir? Very well. Five of them are waiting on the path itself in the open. There’s so much cover in the area that they could easily have remained unseen to the last minute. Moreover, their horses are tethered in plain sight and without a guard, so they expect no trouble and aren’t preparing a quick escape route. I only counted two bows among them and they’re both on the road, not in good positions for picking travellers off. Shall I go on?”
Kiva laughed. He hadn’t laughed a lot in the last couple of decades, but for some reason Quintillian brought out something in him he hadn’t seen in a great length of time.
“Ok, I believe you. You know what you’re doing.”
Quintillian sheathed the knife he’d been carrying, a curious habit he seemed to have picked up from Mercurias, and his grin widened. “There’s one other give-away about them…”
Kiva raised his eyebrow again and the lad continued. “Two of the ones in the road are rather familiar. Big man with a shaven head and a heavy scarf round his neck and a smaller man sweating his life out under a bear skin cloak.”
The captain grinned. “So Tythias caught up with us after all. Still, it’s taken him a month. Wonder what he wants?”
Quintillian squared his shoulders and placed his hands on the weapon pommels at his hips. Shall I run out ahead? I wonder if he’ll recognise me.”
Kiva smiled. “I’ll get the rest of this lot and follow on. You take Athas down with you.” He turned in the direction of the bulky sergeant who remained transfixed on the path behind them and opened his mouth to call out but the sergeant pre-empted him without looking.
“I know… I heard. I’ve been traded to the boy.”
The big dark-skinned man turned and his white teeth shone in a warm smile. Again Kiva pondered. While his own relationship with Quintillian had improved and the two of them talked as though they were members of the same unit, there was always a strained undercurrent. He knew the boy wanted something more from him but the conversation had never arisen since that day in the temple ruins. As long as he and the lad travelled together, there would always be an element of discomfort that they would have to ignore.
The captain had always tended to spend the nights separate from his men. Not far away but separate nonetheless; he slept little and had a propensity to wander. Quintillian, on the other hand, seemed to have hooked up particularly with Athas, Marco, Brendan and Bors. The five of them were always together in the evening playing dice, telling stories or just talking. Kiva was fairly sure that the lad had been working his ideas of a return to glorious Imperialism on the company, since he was forbidden to speak of it to the captain. Still, that bunch were prone to romantic notions anyway so what difference would it make?
With a shrug, the captain watched the sergeant wandering off down the path with the young man by his side amid the flowers and bees and the gentle heat haze. It was hard to imagine two more physically different individuals. He cleared his throat. “Ok you lot” he shouted. “Pack up; time to move. There’s some old friends down the road waiting for us and I want to get to Carmana before dark.”
The company stood, stretching their legs and hoisting their armour and packs into position. As he turned back to the wall to collect his own swords, he caught Mercurias for a moment staring at him in an odd, curiously
knowing way and made a note to ask the medic about it later.
By the time the rest of them were on the move, Athas and the lad were already down in the dip with Tythias and his men. Kiva crested the hill with Thalo at his side and was intrigued to note that still not all the ‘Lion Riders’ were on the path and in the open. A number remained in the bushes and, despite Quintillian’s good eyes, he’d missed three more that remained on watch around a half mile out from the meeting. What the hell was Tythias being so careful about? Who’d he angered this time?”
As Kiva approached the group on the road, he motioned Thalo and Scauvus to either side and the two ran off toward the scouts away in the trees.
“Tythias,” he said as he came to a halt. “Nice to see you again. What’s all this in aid of?” He gestured around at the Lion Riders among the bushes.
The scarred mercenary reached out and clasped Kiva’s hand. Curiously his customary smile was absent. Kicking himself for his over confidence, Kiva’s smile faded too in anticipation of the worst.
The captain of the Lion Riders stood beside the big brute he remembered from the Inn at Acasio. The mute made a hollow whistling noise and nodded.
“Tregaron.” There was not a hint of the usual humour about Tythias’ greeting and Kiva’s hand found its way unconsciously to the hilt of his sword, where his fingers played on the pommel. Tythias folded his arms. “I could have saved myself a lot of work if I’d paid more attention to your young ‘Septimus’ back in Acasio. I’ve been looking all over for him for a couple of weeks now without really knowing who it was I was looking for.”
A quick glance to either side confirmed that the Grey Company were all ready for trouble, though no blade had actually been drawn yet. “Go on…” prompted Kiva.
“We’re here for him, I’m afraid. Velutio’s paying a thousand corona for the boy that travels with your company and he’s not particularly fussy over the state he’s returned in. In fact, I think he suggested a preference for dead.”
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