A thin, reedy lord at the back stood sharply.
“Can anyone else smell smoke?”
Kiva grinned. “Yes, it’s nice and cosy in here and it’s about to get an awful lot hotter.”
“They’ve set fire to the building!” one of the lords cried, triggering pandemonium. Men ran to and fro. Tito, a small, wiry lord with a squint eye, ran to the window through which Irio had recently been looking.
“This is only lead-paned glass!” He picked up the chair the barrel-chested lord Irio had used and smashed it against the window. The glass shattered outwards in a glittering cloud, catching the very first rays of the sun and lead strips buckled and came away. The group of lords rushed towards him and his means of escape, but fell away again in a panic as an arrow flew with deadly accuracy through the window and took Tito in the eye, hurling him back away from the hole, still holding the fragmented remains of the chair. He skidded across the floor, dead before he came to rest against the small table, tipping the jug of wine and the bowl of fruit to the floor.
Kiva laughed. “I told you I had fifty men outside. You can be damn sure they’re not going to let you get away. Hell, they’ve got orders to let nothing escape, even me.”
“You!” a tall thin lord whose name escaped Kiva bellowed as he made a run at the general. Kiva lazily, almost as if in a daze, raised his hand and released another bolt. All those hours of tuition with Phythian’s men had been well worth it. Besides, these things were much easier to use than a bow. The bolt took the man in the solar plexus, shattering his breastbone and punching through into internal organs. He took advantage of the widespread confusion to reload the other bow and rest his hands on the chair arms.
“I can assure you that there really is no way out. Consider this penance for siding with a spineless and self-centred megalomaniac and not supporting the Emperor.”
The men in the room ran hither and thither in a panic, opening the other side doors of the room, only to find outer doors heavily locked and barred and any window they came to covered from outside by archers. Some tried to climb out to freedom, only to be struck by whistling shafts of ash before they’d even touched the earth outside. Others ran in a panic looking for other ways out, only to find that when they opened a door, the room behind was already an inferno. Battered by waves of heat and clouds of choking smoke, they ran in blind panic and not one of them paid any further attention to the sentinel by the main door with his two loaded weapons.
Kiva watched them run. In his mind he remembered a room of marble and gold. He remembered the golden-haired Quintus in his purple tunic smiling as he moved a white tower, knowing he’d beaten his favourite marshal. Quintus would laugh in that buoyant way of his and reach out to the wine jar, pouring another drink for both himself and his opponent and stop, mid-way as he realised his error. It was then that Kiva Caerdin, marshal of the northern armies and friend and confidant of the Emperor would trigger his unexpected move and seven of the Emperor’s remaining eight towers would vanish in one move.
“You’d be proud of me now, Quintus” he muttered to himself as the flames licked at the panes of glass and the lead of the room’s windows. “Twelve towers in one move. That’s more than I ever managed in our games.”
He smiled as he watched the room explode into a ball or yellow and orange flame, timbers finally giving way under the extreme heat and stressed glass shattering inwards in a million shards reflecting the inferno. He would burn soon enough, but that wouldn’t matter now. He reached up with a hand, ignoring the crossbow in it, and wiped at his chin. Dark blood flowed in rivers down it. The pale northerner smiled as his life and spirit flowed from him for the final time; from his mouth and from the wound in his side, where it spilled out into a dark stain on his grey tunic; a tunic of the Grey Company who were no more. Funny that; how now everything looked grey. Even the orange flames as they tore across the rug in the middle of the room. Somewhere there was a scream, but even that seemed grey and faded.
Kiva was dead long minutes before the fire reached his boots and breeches and ran up and across his body, wreathing him in a golden liquid fire.
And with him passed the last of the old world and the lords that had stood in the way of the new. The villa sighed and collapsed in on itself.
Chapter XXXVI
Velutio urged his horse forward, the colour rising in his face, and pushed Sabian out of the way, almost unhorsing him. “What is the meaning of this? We came to parlay with your general, not some underling or his puppet ‘ emperor ’.”
Balo smiled, regarding the lord of Velutio coldly. “Caerdin is no longer the general of this army. He resigned his commission this morning as I myself was there to witness. He firmly believes there will be no need of a general today but that if there is, Tythias here is amply able and prepared for the role. I also am not a commissioned member of this army and am here only as a spokesman for Caerdin.”
Sabian nodded bleakly and pushed his way to the front once more, glaring at his lord. “Caerdin has gone to deal with those other lords in our army that he could rely on to think of themselves before they thought of you, Velutio. He’s had something going on for some time now obviously, possibly even for months. We’ve had deserters all the way around the coast and I thought it was because they believed in Darius or possibly felt oppressed by us, but perhaps it was Caerdin’s doing all along.”
Balo smiled. “In actual fact commander, we’ve had nothing to do with your desertions. Caerdin only intended to deal with certain individuals he felt he could trust to rely on greed overcoming their loyalty. Only a dozen lords or so have been dealt with, but that’ll cripple a large portion of your army. Your army’s deserting because they don’t believe in your cause. They don’t want this man to be their emperor, and I can see why, whereas Darius is a man of Imperial blood with a solid claim to the throne and the Gods are with him.”
Sabian nodded again, his fingers pressed against his temples. “He’s brought your army crashing down, my lord. He’s abducted a dozen of your commanders and their men won’t fight for you now. In fact, I doubt we’ll ever see those lords themselves again.” He pulled himself up straight. “If you insist on going ahead with this, you’re walking into disaster.”
He turned to Balo. “What terms do you offer?”
“No!” Velutio turned and pushed hard, hurling Sabian from his horse and glaring at Tythias. “There will be no terms. I still have the better army and without Caerdin, your own army is nothing but a collection of badly-trained rebels. There will be war here today and I will walk in your blood, all of you. Get back to your lines, ‘general’ Tythias and prepare your men. I will see you in the battle.” Sabian growled and began to rant at his lord, explaining the myriad reasons for withdrawing against a torrent of abuse.
Balo smiled at the argument and leaned close to Darius, motioning the young Emperor to raise his silver mask. As he did so, Balo whispered to him. “Now’s your time.”
“What?” replied Darius.
“Can’t you see? The enemy commanders are arguing. Many of their lords are missing. The Pelasians and the absent lords’ troops won’t be prepared to fight and the rest of the army’s dithering, unsure of what to do. You’ll never get another chance like it.”
“So what do I do? Caerdin never explained his plan.”
“He didn’t need to. He’s cleared the way for you. This army’s in tatters and if you’re strong and you take control, they’ll take the oath; maybe not all of them, but enough to shatter the rest of his army and make them yours. Kiva set everything up for this one moment, but you need to be strong!”
Darius blinked. Caerdin had done so much with only Balo and Cialo’s men? He realised that the world was holding its breath and he was being regarded by more than just the half-dozen men here. A quarter of a mile behind them, the ringing of swords being hammered against shield-edges continued, somewhat muted by the distance. A few hundred yards ahead, Velutio’s army stood in lines, some looking fierce, but many
confused or worried, watching their commanders in heated debate. The young Emperor smiled. It could all end here and without a blow, but he had to be every bit the Emperor his men expected of him.
He sat as straight as he could in the saddle and faced the enemy lines.
“This is the Empire! The Empire has always been strong and unified until the lords carved it up. Now, there will be no more lords!” he bellowed at them. “One army, one Emperor and elected governors of the people. You no longer have to owe allegiance to the men you did yesterday! You are either slaves to your lords or free men of the Empire and if you are free, I expect the Oath of allegiance from you.”
A voice from somewhere in the line called out in a nervous voice “Who’ll pay us, though. What’ll we do? I’m a sergeant now but I can’t afford to be a free man!”
Darius smiled. Here all the lessons in political history and rhetoric Sarios had put him through on the island would be of prime use. It was no good being a great rhetorical speaker if you had nothing of substance to say. ‘Always have a point; always have an answer’ his rhetoric tutor had drummed into him. And from the histories: ‘always think of the future before you act for the day.’
“The regional armies must be disbanded,” he announced, “but the Imperial army has already been recommissioned. They stand a quarter of a mile up the valley hoping they won’t have to fight their countrymen. A civil war does good to no one but the barbarians. You will be able to join the Imperial army for regular work and good pay or to retire in peace with a generous settlement to be agreed by your provincial governor. All you have to do is take the oath! Any man who declares himself for me now will be considered a loyal citizen of the Empire and a valued ally. Any man who stands against me stands against the Empire and will be deemed a traitor.”
Some time during this exchange, the enemy commanders had stopped arguing and were paying attention to the young Emperor. Sabian watched Darius high on his horse with something of mixed respect and pride. He turned and glared up at his lord. “It’s over, Velutio. Your men won’t fight for you anymore. I won’t fight for you anymore. There’s a new Emperor and it’s not you. See how your army begins to kneel to your enemy?”
Ignoring the pure malice of the old lord’s gaze, he strode round to where Darius sat on his horse. Turning to face his army, the commander removed his helmet and stood straight as a spear shaft.
“On your knees!” he bellowed with a force that made Darius start and look down at the man beside him. “On your knees for your Emperor!” Darius stared at Sabian, a flood of strangely conflicting emotions running through him.
The commander turned back to the young man and bowed his head. “I should have seen it months ago, highness; in fact I did in truth. Had I not been bound by oath, I should have come to you then.”
Turning once more to Velutio, he smiled. “I hereby resign my commission in the armies of Avitus, formerly lord of Velutio, and make my peace with my Emperor. Long may he reign.”
With a sad note in his voice, he looked back up at Darius and spoke again quietly. “Highness, I beg for nothing. I’ve led armies against you and committed treason to the throne. I submit myself for your sentencing, be it death or exile.”
“I also,” called Lord Dio, stepping out from the front lines of the army. “I wasn’t sure whether I would fight today or not. Sabian told me a lot about you, young Emperor, but I wasn’t sure how accurate he was. Seeing you now I think that, on reflection, he may have been spot on. I have been your enemy, but no more.” He plunged his sword point down into the turf and bowed his head to the young man.
Around them, men continued to sink to their knees in small groups, gradually building into a wave. Velutio was staring, wild-eyed, at the men around him. Everything in this last minute was falling apart. Here, where Caerdin had beaten him twenty years ago, the man had done it again without even being here, and this time without a blow being struck. Still, while his army was led by a collection of lords and had fallen apart without them, Darius’ army was reliant on their one symbol. He leaned in his saddle and called over to his flag bearers.
“Kill the boy!”
The small unit carried standards and flags, yet were curiously well armed and armoured for ceremonial soldiers. Clearly drawn from another unit, the tips of bows were visible beneath their cloaks and they had not kneeled to the young horseman. The flags and eagles they bore were hurled to the floor as they lifted short bows from under their crimson cloaks and drew arrows from hidden quivers.
Sabian ran back past his former lord to the unit and, with a great heave, pushed the first man in the line to the floor.
“Belay that order!” he bellowed, drawing his sword. “No one fires a shot or I gut them!”
Behind him, Velutio glared with hatred down at his commander and then back at the archers. “I am still your lord. You will kill that boy now!”
Sabian turned and, with his spare hand, grasped Velutio’s shin and pushed upwards, tipping the old lord gracelessly from his horse. He stared down at the old, grey-haired lord floundering around on the floor in a fury and growled.
“I have had enough of your bitter, petty, pointless commands. You’re not their lord any more. Look around you, Avitus ! Your army kneels to their new Emperor, ready to take the oath. No more lords, he said. You don’t exist any more. You’re not Lord Velutio; you’re not even Marshal Avitus. You’re just plain old Avitus, lord of nowhere and commander of no one, just like I’m plain old Sabianus, not a man of power or land. You deserve to be nothing now. I’ve known for a long time that you were treacherous and wicked, but you would bring assassins to a parlay under the guise of heralds ? If I were still their commander I’d have every man in that unit executed for dishonouring the standards. They threw your flags to the ground as though they were worth nothing and you don’t even care. You’ve less honour than a weasel.”
Velutio struggled to his feet, keenly aware of the fact that nine tenths of his army knelt to his enemy and the few who remained standing looked decidedly unsure. Sabian glared at them and flung his helmet at the archers standing among a pile of discarded flags and standards.
“Kneel you bastards! Kneel to your Emperor!”
Sabian was aware of the danger only at the last moment as Avitus fell on him, wielding a small knife that had hitherto been secreted in his belt. Before he could turn to face the old man, he felt the blade plunging down between his scarf and breastplate and deep, vertically into the point between his neck and shoulder. With a growl, he reached up and grasped Avitus’ left wrist where it held the knife, turning it until the knife slipped back out, sawing through muscle and bone as it exited; until he heard the bones in the old man’s wrist cracking and splintering.
He winced at the pain in his severed muscle and, clutching his neck, Sabian turned, his sword still in his damaged arm.
“You have to be the most bitter, twisted, vengeful, spiteful, evil, ungrateful old fuck I have ever met and you’ve just made your last mistake. You should have listened to me over the past months and taken my advice and maybe now you’d be looking at a governorship, but no… you always had to be right. All the people around you that actually cared about what they did left you long ago. Even sergeant Cialo went over to Caerdin and that should have been the greatest warning of all. He’s a man of honour and integrity as I’m sure your new Emperor is now aware. And yet out of some outdated, misguided sense of loyalty, I followed you. Right to the end I followed you. And now you stab me in the back?”
He growled as he lowered his arm and let the blood flow free from his wound, soaking his red scarf and running down the inside of his cuirass to pool on the skirt of his tunic. Glaring at Avitus, he changed his sword to his good arm. “I try to get you to make peace, but you sent assassins instead! I try to teach you the honourable ways of command but you use them to hide your treachery. I try to tell you it’s over, but you won’t have it! There’s nothing in you but malice and now you’ve turned on the one man who’s tried to
protect you from yourself. No more!”
He stepped forward, forcing Avitus to step back. The old lord fought the pain in his broken wrist, but his face displayed only rage. Drawing his sword, Avitus steadied himself. “I may have lost my army, but I am Velutio. I always was and I will not submit to a boy who owes his training, his knowledge and his very life to me! I will not kneel! If you want me to, you’ll have to kill me and, old though I am, I can assure you I am every bit a match for you.”
He swung his sword at the commander in a wide arc and Sabian stepped easily out of the way. “I’m not going to toy with you, Avitus. This is not a duel; this is an execution.”
Avitus laughed mirthlessly as he steadied his sword and made another lunge. With barely a move out of place, Sabian stepped in towards him, knocked the sword out of the way and, bringing his knee up and his arm down simultaneously, broke the old man’s sword arm at the elbow.
“You…” Avitus gasped, his shattered wrist flopping uselessly by his side and now his splintered elbow matching it. He stood pathetically, watching his sword lying on the ground, hopelessly beyond his reach with his broken arms.
“You’re a match for no one these days, old man,” Sabian grunted. “Without a hidden knife or an archer at your shoulder you’re nothing. Caerdin has lived twenty years with a wound you probably gave him by accident, and yet even as a man over fifty years of age, the general is a match with a blade for any man on this field. You’ve just relied on your reputation and your money to cover your weaknesses as a man.”
Avitus growled, glaring with pure hatred.
Sighing, Sabian stepped forward and raised his sword, pulling it back over his shoulder. With a last sad look at his former lord, he swung, the blade sweeping through the air and barely slowing as it met the resistance of Avitus’ neck. The iron-grey head toppled and rolled across the grass, a short fountain of blood rising from the severed neck before the whole body collapsed gently forward, folding in on itself. Sabian stood silently for a long time, staring down at the body and then turned.
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