Interregnum

by S. J. A. Turney

  He waited until they were out of earshot and then grumbled. “They may look good, but they’re just greedy bastards who wouldn’t last five minutes in the field. Crosus didn’t pick proper fighting men for the guard, cos there’s no way they’d have played along with him. Give me ten of my men instead of fifty of them any day.”

  Sarios regarded him curiously. “I did mean to ask about the guard, commander. Why they’re here, I mean.”

  “Later” replied Sabian. “I’ve spoken at length about it to Darius, but I want to speak to everyone over dinner tonight. Everyone that you trust, that is. Cialo included.”

  The minister shrugged. “I can only assume that what you’re doing has our interests at heart commander. You’ve never been anything less than honourable in that respect. Why do you need to speak to me if it’s not about them?”

  Sabian glanced over his shoulder to see how far away the guard were, but they’d disappeared through the arch while the two of them were heading toward the doorway that would take them out away from the palaces and into the quieter areas. With another quick scan to make sure they were truly alone, Sabian cleared his throat.

  “I don’t want officially to know about him” he said out of the blue. “I don’t want to know why he’s here or what his plans are.”

  Sarios raised one eyebrow. There was no point in dissembling, but two could play the mystery game. “I’d be interested to find out how you knew?”

  Without taking his eyes off the bright doorway in front that would lead them outside, Sabian shrugged. “Where else would he go? And his rescuers too. They had to be here and frankly, I had a feeling Darius and I were not alone while we talked a few minutes ago in your study. All I can say is: get him off this island as soon as you can. If his presence is discovered and reported, it’ll mean the end of my career and the death of every soul on this island.”

  “You won’t take him then?” the minister probed. “I thought you might, good intentions notwithstanding.”

  Sabian shook his head. “He’s done nothing wrong so far. He’s not broken any law, not attacked anyone that I deal with. In fact, I can’t see why so much effort has been bent toward him so far. Velutio is frightened of him, though; what he represents and possibly for all his blustering of the man himself. I refused to kill him before now for merely being a reminder of a different time. That’s not his fault. In fact I rather like him, but I can’t help him. I’ll turn a blind eye tonight and I’ll be gone tomorrow, but if any one of these new guard find him and manage to tell anyone, it’ll all be over. So get him off the island.”

  Sarios narrowed his eyes. “You’re a strategist, Commander. Is it wise for you to do this? You can’t be sure that some day he won’t appear as your enemy, and you could avoid all that now.”

  Sabian laughed. “And you test me? See how far my sense of justice stretches? Well, I won’t execute an innocent man. If he means some time to meet me on a field of battle, then that I’ll do. I might even relish the opportunity to pit my skills against his. He is, after all, one of the great tactical minds of the last few centuries. No” he said finally, “I won’t betray him now, but his very presence puts us all in danger, so deal with it. Velutio will be the next Emperor and I can’t conceive of a way anyone can stop that. I realise that there was some notion of opposition with Quintillian out there, but that’s over and rightly so. It never stood a chance anyway and I’d hate to have had to kill the Wolves. If you’re all sensible, you’ll find somewhere safe and go there. Somewhere like the northern border where Caerdin came from or maybe across the sea in Pelasia. Anywhere that keeps you all well out of Velutio’s reach forever more. He’s going to be too busy dealing with his opposing lords in the next few months to deal with any of you, I’ll see to that.”

  Sarios smiled as they passed the old Imperial shines. “You’re a good man, Commander. Twenty years ago, you’d perhaps have been one of the four with Caerdin and your master. We will, of course, get away as soon as we can and he’ll go with us, but I cannot guarantee what the future holds. I am in charge solely of my own destiny.”

  Sabian laughed. “I think you do yourself an injustice there, minister. There is one other thing I need to discuss, however. We need to speak about Darius.”

  “We do?” The minister raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

  “He’s important. To you. To me. Most of all to my Lord.”

  Sarios stopped walking a moment and the commander turned to face him. “Velutio plans for Darius to follow him.”

  The minister smiled knowingly. “I know. We’ve been training both he and Quintillian since they were babes, and we all knew what for. I won’t let Velutio take him though. He won’t be taught the ways of government by that man.”

  Sabian shook his head sadly. “I don’t think you have much choice. Darius is going to have to follow him. I personally think he’s is the only logical choice, but I’ll come and find him once everything’s safe and calmed down. If he comes with me then his future’s secure and I can probably persuade Velutio that the rest of you pose no threat.”

  He gestured down the slope and the two started walking again.

  “There is something I want to know though. Darius doesn’t know he’s Caerdin’s son and Caerdin thinks his wife and child died twenty years ago. Right now, given they’re both here, why haven’t you told them?”

  Sarios gave him an appraising glance. “I wasn’t aware that you yourself knew. The only people who did before you were myself and Velutio. I won’t ask how you found out, but I do suggest that you forget about it completely.”

  “Why?” Sabian was insistent.

  Sarios sighed. “Because it would cause them both a great deal of pain. Can we not leave it at that?”

  Sabian shook his head. “I don’t think so. Given that I’ve risked my neck now for both of them and I already know the what, you have to tell me the why.”

  Another sigh. Sarios dropped his eyes to the floor. “Have you not wondered why Darius didn’t die in the flames and how he came to be in Velutio’s hands?”

  Sabian nodded. “Of course I have. Nothing short of miraculous, I’d say.”

  “Nothing short of tragedy I rather think,” replied the minister. “He survived because he wasn’t in the villa that day; indeed he wasn’t in Serfium at all. Nor was his mother. The two bodies he found in the villa I fancy must have been two of the villa’s servants. No, it certainly wasn’t them. You see, I saw Livilla after the fire.”

  Sabian’s eyes widened gradually as he listened. “Then they were here?”

  “No.” The minister’s voice had fallen to a husky, sad whisper. “They were in Velutio; in a place that’s no longer there. Twenty years ago there was a palace on the headland opposite the Imperial one. The golden tower used for shipping warnings is the only part that still stands. That palace belonged to the Marshall of the Central Provinces, you see…”

  His voice tailed off into silence. The tale was clearly causing the minister pain to relate, but he needn’t say any more. Sabian’s jaw dropped as the connection fired.

  “She was with Velutio!”

  Sarios nodded sadly. “Avitus as he was known then. They had been lovers for some time. Not long enough for Darius to be his, mind, but some months. She’d been left on her own with a young babe, you see, while Caerdin charged around the world unwillingly committing atrocities for the Emperor. The more Quintus’ madness began to manifest, the colder and bleaker Caerdin became. She couldn’t cope with him the way he was and I didn’t like him much myself towards the end.” He sighed. “So I can understand why she did what she did, but I can’t forgive it.”

  “So what happened to Livilla?” Sabian enquired.

  “She put a knife through her own throat the day after Caerdin fought Avitus. She was buried on the island here, in an unmarked grave near to her family.”

  He turned to face Sabian. “You see now why this has to stay a secret. We’ve brought Darius up to think he was the son of a fairl
y well-to-do commander. Fulvius has no living relatives and Velutio commandeered the estate, so there’s no way to trace the truth. Unless one of us lets it slip. Bear in mind that the truth would not only destroy Caerdin, but may irreparably damage Darius. For both their sakes’ we have to keep the whole thing very secret.”

  Sabian whistled. “Hell yes. It answers quite a few questions, though. I couldn’t help but wonder why his lordship was so determined to destroy all of you and any trace of the Imperial blood, but still wanted to adopt Darius. He must have actually cared for her, you know? I’ve never seen Velutio care for anything. It’s logic, whether good or bad, that decides his path, not emotion or values. Gods, I’ve got to get Darius to him after it’s all over. The lad deserves to inherit it all.”

  The minister stopped as they reached the baths and raised his voice, pointing his finger at the commander. “Never! Caerdin and I may have had our disagreements, but he was a true servant of the Empire, loyal above all others, and it would be the worst dishonour I could do him to allow that to happen. If Darius ever inherits the throne, it will be in his own way and through his own merits. Not because of that adulterous coward.”

  Sabian stood for a moment in silence. The minister’s face had taken on a high colour as they’d talked and for the first time in all his visits throughout the years, Sabian’d heard the man shout. It seemed wrong. The minister was the calmest, most stoic and moderate man the commander had ever met. He stood for a moment breathing as the minister glared at him and then turned and walked into the bath house. There was too much to absorb; too much importance here to dismiss it immediately. He’d have to think on it later. Gods damn Isera. Every time he came to the island, life became just a little bit more complicated. With an uncomfortable sigh, he entered the baths.

  Brendan had never been the quietest or subtlest of the Wolves. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses and had never been the sort to scout, take point or be a runner. Front line in a fight was fine. And he’d much rather anyone else had been where he was at this time. Marco would have been able to do this so much easier, but there’d been no time to find him. He’d been at one of the ground floor rear windows of the palace when he’d seen the Captain that had arrived on the ship come out of the palace door and duck into the shadows. In a corner that was well hidden from the world in general, but clearly visible from that particular window, the captain had removed his helmet and cloak. He’d donned one of the long robes the elder scribes of the island wore before leaving the shadows again, looking to all intents and purposes like any other islander. With absolutely no time to think, Brendan had stepped out of the doorway and run as quietly as possible to the next tree. As quickly as he dared and not as quietly as he’d like, he moved from vantage point to vantage point, following the captain. Finally, as they’d rounded the ruined walls of the Golden House, he saw what the man was up to. The commander, Sabian, was walking and talking with minister Sarios. He’d no real love for Sabian. However much the others might laud him, to Brendan he was as yet an unknown quantity, still a servant of the enemy; but he did know Sarios for a good man and the two of them in private conversation would be nothing harmful to Darius or the Wolves. So by extension a man secretly following them had to be up to no good.

  He’d seen the two men disappear into the doorway of the extramural bath house just as the disguised captain reached the bole of a particularly large tree. He himself skidded to an all-too-noisy halt behind a low bush, watching the captain through the upper tendrils. A moment passed as the captain waited for his quarry to move deeper inside the edifice and then he moved very quietly, but surprisingly fast to the entrance of the baths, taking up a stance by the doorway and leaning close enough to the door to hear the echoed conversation within. The man slowly pushed back the hood from the cloak to facilitate his spying and all his attention was riveted to the bath house.

  Brendan smiled a smile of pure malice as he slowly moved to the huge tree the captain had last frequented, hoping his prey wouldn’t turn and notice the somewhat noisy pursuer. He paused at the huge trunk and pondered, suddenly well aware that he’d left both his sword and dagger back in his quarters. Hell, he’d only been out to answer a call of nature, otherwise he’d be safely hidden away and blissfully unaware of the events outside the walls. Grumbling quietly to himself about his lack of blades, he looked around desperately until his eyes lit on a large branch lying half buried beneath a wild, creeping bush. Crouching, he reached out and slowly teased the branch from beneath the fronds of the plant. Every time the bush shook or the branch caught on something, Brendan winced and snapped his head back to check on the captain, but each time the man was more intent on what was going on inside and his attention couldn’t be easily diverted.

  Finally the bulky mercenary had the branch, which seemed to have been stripped down of its twigs and leaves almost as though designed for the very purpose, and wielded it as a club. He hefted it and spun it a couple of times to test the reach and the weight before grinning. With one more look at the captain, he checked out the lie of the land between the two of them. There was precious little cover. That hadn’t bothered the captain as his prey had been inside the baths, but the man himself was in the open. There were a few low bushes in a line that would cover part of his approach if he was quiet enough, but he would have to run the last half in the wide open space. Well there was precious little he could do about it now. He’d sort of committed himself to a course of action when he’d first left the doorway in the palace and he couldn’t go back now.

  Keeping as low as he dared without overbalancing, he ducked from the tree to the first of the small bushes. For a moment he considered halting and moving slowly to the next one, but his momentum was too good. Before he’d decided what he actually wanted to do about it, he’d run the length of the row of bushes and burst out into the open. Still the captain hadn’t turned. As he ran, Brendan raised the branch to shoulder height, gripping the narrowest end as tightly as he could. At the last moment the captain turned, perhaps out of some sixth sense or perhaps Brendan was making more noise than he thought. In any case, there was nothing else for it now. As he covered the last six yards he let out a roar of anger and defiance and, pulling the branch back behind him, swung it with all his might.

  It is often in anticipation that the veteran shows his skill over a green recruit. The captain was of rank and considered himself a good officer. He’d been involved in a few small engagements; enough to have achieved the level he had, but had fought as an officer, not on the front line of a unit. He smiled as he turned, watching the large, shaven-headed man closing on him, branch raised and coming for a swing at head height. In response and perfectly timed, the captain dropped to one knee, reaching into his tunic to withdraw his dagger. At the last moment however, the angle of Brendan’s branch changed and the heavy chunk of wood came forward and down at forty five degrees. The captain wasn’t even paying attention, struggling with his knife as he was, when the branch connected with the top of his skull. There was an unpleasant cracking sound and a spray of blood across the grass.

  To the captain’s credit, despite the obvious agony and confusion he was suffering, he staggered back upright, his head rolling and a short blade clutched shakily in his hand. Brendan exhaled gently. The man was slowly shaking his head, coming out of the daze. The bulky mercenary pulled back his club once more and took another swing. This time he didn’t attempt to adjust the swing and just let it go at head height, allowing the widest arc he could. The end of the branch slammed into the captain’s temple and the crunch this time sounded distinctly final. The captain’s eyes rolled up into their sockets and the dagger fell from the suddenly loose fingers. Perhaps in confusion and pain, or perhaps already dead, the captain staggered and twisted twice before collapsing like an old, crumbling column. Brendan watched the legs kick once and then leaned down and pressed his fingers against the man’s neck. Nothing.

  With a sigh, he stood again and wondered what to do, but never got
the chance to decide as Minister Sarios and Commander Sabian both appeared in the doorway of the baths. The commander had his sword out in a threatening manner. He stared at Brendan and then at the body on the floor.

  “What in the name of seven hells is going on here?”

  Brendan coughed nervously. “I’m Borus the fisherman…” he began a little uncertainly.

  “Absolute shit” replied the commander, sheathing his sword. “You’re one of the Wolves. I don’t know which one, but you’re one of them. What are you doing smashing the brains out of my second in command?”

  There was a thoughtful look on Sarios’ face as Brendan looked helplessly between the two. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

  “Sabian” he addressed the commander. “You don’t seem right bothered? Why’s that, eh?” Since the commander made no reply, the mercenary grinned. “Think I jus’ saved y’a job, eh? Yer do know ‘e was spyin’ on yer, dontcha?”

  Sabian sighed and turned to face away. For a moment Brendan considered taking his branch to the back of the commander’s head, but decided against it. Sabian stood for a moment and then turned back with another, deeper sigh.

  “All Cialo’s hard work.” He crouched and picked up one of the captain’s arms. Dragging the body toward the baths he shook his head. “What a waste” he added as he removed the islander’s robe from the body and sheathed the captain’s knife once more.

  Brendan watched, bemused, as the commander dropped the body of his captain into the passageway just inside the door and then re-emerged, rubbing his hands in distaste. He walked towards Brendan and held out his hand expectantly. The mercenary just stared blankly at him.

  “The club?” suggested Sabian.

  Still steeped in confusion, Brendan passed the branch over to the commander, not entirely sure why he was trusting this man. Sabian nodded slightly and then turned and walked over toward the bath house. Raising the branch to shoulder height and drawing it back in a wide arc, he swung it with great force, emitting a grunt of effort. The branch connected with several newly placed replacement blocks just below the keystone. The mortar here was new and solid, but that binding the surrounding stones was old and crumbled and the arch emitted a warning groan. Brendan grinned as he realised what the commander was doing.