Interregnum tote-1

by S. J. A. Turney

  He took a deep breath. Quintillian realised how much speaking of this was hurting the captain and held up his hand. “I’m sorry captain. I shouldn’t…” Kiva waved him aside.

  “You should know” he replied, “and I’ve not told the story in two decades. They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved, yes?”

  When the lad nodded, Kiva took up the story once more.

  “I left the island, probably by the very same route you did, and went back to Serfium. I was quite distraught as you can imagine, and went to spend time with Livilla and the boy. Unfortunately Avitus had been vindicated by what I did and he came back to power very quickly, getting one of the other Marshals on his side. He started killing people off in the city; anyone who opposed him in any way met the sword. I was a recluse while all this was happening but the last Marshal, Covis, took up his troops and went to stop Avitus. They ended up fighting just north of the city around Serfium. I was out at the time…”

  Kiva swallowed and Quintillian looked up at him in concern. He was about to ask the captain to stop once more when the story tumbled out again.

  “I went for a ride in the hills to think. I only realised something was wrong when I saw all the smoke, so I turned and charged back to the town, but I was too late. Covis’ army were annihilated around the town and the damage was immense. I’m probably selfish to think of it in the terms I do, cos a lot of villas were torched and many of the people in the town itself were killed out of hand, but it was my villa that I couldn’t take my eyes off. It was an inferno when I arrived and Avitus’ troops were marching away. It was nearly four hours before the house was safe enough to get into. They were all there. All of them. The servants, the animals and in one of the dining rooms Livilla and the boy.” Again the captain stopped, his voice having deteriorated to a croak.

  Quintillian, his face deadly serious, grasped Kiva’s arm. “I read about the rest, you don’t need to tell me.”

  Kiva smiled weakly. “I’ll not go into detail. You know how I fight, so you can picture the scene. I went back to the city. He was still calling himself Avitus then; didn’t change to Velutio until he dismissed the senate a few months later and took control of the city. He’d had most of the people of any power killed, including your mother and, as far as we all knew, you. To be honest, until you mentioned him I’d presumed Sarios to be among the victims. I wonder how many others are still alive on your island that were supposedly killed in the city. Anyway, I sought out Avitus and we fought for quite a time. I was always better than him, but I wasn’t in my right mind at the time and not as capable as I should have been. I let him get the better of me and he stuck me in the gut with a knife. I fell off the wall we were fighting on and somehow managed to land in a midden, so I didn’t hurt myself further. By the time Velutio got down there to finish me off, I’d gone. I made my way back to Serfium and to the temple there. I don’t know how long I spent there, but it was probably a month. The knife came out easily enough, but he’d chipped a shard of bone off my rib and it’d worked its way in to rest on my liver. Never been right since, but I’m still alive.”

  He turned and looked down into the boy’s eyes.

  “I think that’s pretty much it. You know more now than most people, as much as the rest of the company. Athas found me in the temple, you see. The Wolves had come looking for me after they heard about the fire. After that we left the lowlands and disappeared from the world of Velutio.” He smiled and added “until now.”

  Quintillian nodded. “Velutio should pay for everything he’s done. And one day I’ll make sure he does.”

  Kiva smiled at him and looked up and around at the outskirts of the village. “Right now let’s get into the inn and have some food. And maybe a drink. I once introduced your uncle to a drink my people make in the mountains. It used to be hard to get, but it’s a lot more common now, so we might get a shot or two.”

  Quintillian grinned as they headed for the inn door. “If it’s the stuff that Athas drinks, I’ve tried it. It tastes like it’s already been drunk once.”

  As Kiva laughed and opened the inn door a voice from within called “General Caerdin. I thought you must have got lost.”

  Chapter XIV

  Kiva’s hand went straight to his sword hilt, as did Quintillian’s by his side. The interior of the inn was dark despite the sun still being high, and in the shadows to the side of the door a single figure sat behind a heavy oak table, cradling a glass between his hands. He appeared to be the sole occupant apart from the innkeeper who remained behind the bar, nervously polishing drinking vessels. Kiva allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust and could hear the rest of the Grey Company approaching the door outside. He squinted into the low light and his eyebrow rose in surprise.

  The figure at the table was tall and thin, turning the glass back and forth between long elegant fingers. Dressed in a knee-length surcoat and robe of black silk, with a winged horse picked out in gold, he was an imposing sight. His face was swarthy and clean shaven with dark, piercing eyes that peered out beneath straight, perfect brows and Quintillian found it extremely hard to place his age. The stranger’s hair was long, dark and straight, held back from his eyes with a thin, plain coronet of gold. He smiled in a predatory fashion.

  Kiva frowned, his hand not leaving the pommel of his sword.

  “I thought it might be you when you launched that attack on us back near Acasio. Athas found one of your men’s weapons. You’re as subtle as ever, my Prince.”

  The swarthy man nodded slightly.

  “And you, Caerdin, are not as subtle as you once were.” The man’s eyes drifted to Quintillian and the smile widened showing perfect white teeth with curiously prominent canines. “And this is the boy. First time I’ve seen him up close.” His accent was noticeably eastern, but with perfect tone. Quintillian spoke to Kiva without tearing his eyes away from the stranger.

  “Captain, who is this man?”

  Kiva’s gaze also remained on the black figure as he replied, still not smiling.

  “This is Prince Ashar Parishid, nephew of the King of Pelasia.”

  Quintillian nodded. “I’ve read a lot about Pelasia; used to be one of the Empire’s staunchest allies, yes? I’ve also read a lot of unflattering material.”

  Ashar smiled still. “All of it untrue I’m sure.”

  Athas’ voice joined them from the doorway. “Untrue my Prince? That your people spied for the Emperor? Carried out clandestine assassinations? There’s a reason for the old saying ‘the only Pelasian you can trust is a dead one.’”

  Ashar’s smile faltered for only a moment. “Say what you like Athas, but we only ever served the boy’s uncle. It was his own people who betrayed him.” His gaze moved back to Kiva. “Enough of this bantering. We haven’t spoken in over twenty years and the only thing we can do is insult each other? Ridiculous. Come. Sit.”

  The prince turned and waved to the barman. “Bring me whatever it is you keep in reserve under the counter. Price will not be a problem.”

  The rest of the company were now drifting in through the door. Quintillian glanced at Kiva for direction and the captain nodded. He and the boy took a seat opposite the prince. Athas pulled up a chair at the next table and the rest of the men scattered themselves around the bar at tables close by. Brendan stood by a window and turned to Kiva.

  “Want me to set watch, captain?”

  Kiva shook his head. “Hardly worth it. There’ll be two dozen assassins out there in the shadows. If his highness wanted us dead, they’d have jumped us on the way in.”

  The prince laughed. “How little you think of me. Perhaps I trust you implicitly and my men are carousing and taking advantage of local hospitality.”

  Kiva smiled now, but with little humour. “And perhaps the winged horse on your cloak will take flight and drag you across the rooftops my Prince. How did you know we’d be here? Even we didn’t know we were making for the village until an hour ago.”

  Ashar placed the glass on the t
able as the innkeeper brought over a tray of varied bottles, some of surprisingly high quality wine. “You are about as difficult to follow as a camel train of bells and gongs. You move slowly and noisily. We’ve been tracking you since your battle at Bergama’s lands and I must say that if even your friend Tythias can find you with his one eye, then be sure we will always know where you are.”

  Kiva nodded. “You’re absolutely right. Enough bantering. What do you want and why did you attack us outside Acasio?”

  “Straight to the point as always” the prince smiled, pouring himself a glass of wine and motioning for everyone to help theirselves. “Refreshing after dealing with my countrymen for so long. I yearn for those days I spent in Velutio with you and the boy’s uncle.”

  Quintillian stopped in the middle of pouring a glass and interrupted. “You keep referring to my uncle. How do you know who I am?”

  Kiva answered before the prince could speak. “The prince here knows everything that goes on everywhere. Hell, I’d bet he knew you were leaving Isera before you did.”

  Ashar nodded. “It was his escape that brought me back, it’s true. But it is good to see old friends also. Very well.” He drew a deep breath. “We had to have a little go at you on the road; I was intrigued. I haven’t seen you all in twenty years. To be honest, we weren’t sure it was even you until I spotted Athas; you’ve changed rather a lot, you see. I wondered whether age had slowed your wits and your blade. I was pleasantly surprised to find that you’re as good now as you were back then.”

  Kiva nodded seriously. “And you haven’t changed at all. Shit, you even look younger than you did then. Why were you tracking us then? Tell me you don’t want to claim the boy for Velutio. I can’t imagine you working for him.”

  A laugh, rich and deep. “No. No I can’t see myself allied with that man either. He’s less trustworthy than any of ours. No.” The smile dropped from his face. “I do want the boy, though.”

  Quintillian stopped, a glass of rich wine almost at his lips. Thalo and Marco rose and moved to the door and other window without the need for orders. Indeed, the whole company moved up to the alert, Mercurias playing with his knife on the table top and Bors with his longsword in his hands, point down on the floor. Kiva shook his head. “The boy’s not going anywhere and you’ll have to kill all of us before you can harm him.”

  Trying not to betray his surprise at himself, Kiva wondered when that had happened. When had Quintillian become such a focus of concern that he would consider placing the Wolves in jeopardy to save him? Curious the effect the boy had on people without them even noticing, but then his uncle had been much the same.

  Ashar smiled again. “You misunderstand me, Caerdin. I don’t want to harm the boy. In fact, quite the opposite. I want him to assume the title that is his birthright.”

  Kiva blinked. “What?”

  The prince looked around the inn at the readiness of the company and shook his head sadly. “It’s such a shame that the years have turned you over-cautious, Kiva. You don’t trust me anymore. I tell you your men can stand down. My soldiers and not within a mile of us at the moment.”

  Kiva snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself highness. I never trusted you, even in the Palace when Quintus ruled. I liked you, but that’s a whole different matter; I never trusted you. And I still don’t. Why is the boy any of your concern? What’s in it for you?”

  Ashar shrugged. “The Empire was ever a good neighbour to Pelasia. Our trade has declined; we have to suffer the stings and bites of small raiding parties from your petty lords on the border that would never have happened under Imperial rule. And of course, there’s family. Don’t forget that my grandmother was of the boy’s house.”

  “Sentimental crap” announced Kiva, taking a slug of something expensive and refilling the vessel.

  “Alright” answered the prince with a curious smile. “You tell me why I want him.”

  A voice from the other side of the room interrupted. “You’ve lost your position, haven’t you, highness?” They turned to Mercurias who’d put down the knife and was peering at the Pelasian. Ashar grinned.

  “Your doctor was ever the most perceptive of the Wolves, Caerdin.”

  Kiva raised an eyebrow at the medic and Mercurias shrugged. “His uncle’s been usurped. Why else would he be interested in the power struggles of the Empire? Why else would he leave his lands and come this far on a fool’s errand like this?”

  Ashar nodded. “He’s quite right. Very bright for a man who shuns the learning of our own doctors. You know we’re centuries ahead of you in medicine, Mercurias.” He turned his attention back to Kiva and Quintillian. “Yes, my uncle is no more. His head now graces the tip of a lance over the Moon Gate at Akkad and the twins are buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the desert. I am the last of the Parishid dynasty. Pelasia is slipping away into chaos in much the same way the Empire has.”

  Athas shrugged. “That means nothing; you have no small power yourself. You should be able to take the throne back without too much effort.”

  Kiva turned and wagged his finger at the sergeant. “Not that simple though,” he turned back the prince, “is it? You could take it back, but you couldn’t hold it. Not now that the Satraps have seen how possible it is to remove a King. It’s not easy to kill a divine power, believe me, but once you do everyone gets ideas.”

  The captain patted Quintillian on the shoulder. “That’s why he needs you. Got to put the Empire back together so that he can have Imperial support when he retakes the throne. No Satrap would stand against him then. Otherwise he’ll stay on the run out here.”

  Quintillian frowned. “I still don’t understand. Velutio’s close to becoming an Emperor himself now and I’m the perfect bargaining chip, yes? From the prince’s point of view, giving me to Velutio would get him the support he needs anyway.”

  Ashar grinned. “Don’t believe for a minute that I didn’t consider it either.”

  Kiva shook his head. “Velutio would never ally with a Parishid ruler. They were close to the Imperial family; they even share the blood. No; Velutio wouldn’t stand for Parishid interference.”

  Mercurias piped up once more. “This is getting us nowhere. The fact remains that he wants Quintillian and he can’t have him…” he turned and gazed questioningly at Kiva “can he?”

  The captain sighed. “I’m afraid not, your highness. I appreciate the fact that you’re the first person we’ve come across that wants to support him and not to kill him, but I’m not actually ready to let go of him just yet. We might be able to come to some arrangement though, if you tell me your plans for him.”

  Ashar frowned. “I’m not in the habit of revealing my strategies before they’re carried out, Kiva. You know that, for you were ever the same.”

  The captain smiled back at his opposite number. “Just for once, it sounds like we’re working to the same end. Let’s not spoil it.”

  “Very well” the prince replied. “For all your harsh assessment of my people, you are correct that we have the finest assassins in the world, and I intend to use them against your old nemesis. Velutio has the most powerful army in your empire, but that won’t help him if his head wakes one morning next to his body.”

  Kiva shook his head. “That’s bad planning, Ashar, and you know it. You’re more desperate than you let on, otherwise you’d have thought this through further.”

  “Explain.” A simple demand from the Pelasian.

  “If you kill Velutio,” sighed Kiva, “all you do is take away the incentive for the lesser lords to behave themselves. If Velutio dies, the chaos will increase, not decrease.”

  The prince nodded. “I realise that that is a possibility, but it would be easier to put down the smaller lords than the master himself. Besides, what other choice is there?”

  It was Athas who picked up the conversation now. “Did you ever play ‘towers’ when you stayed in the capital? It’s a very good strategy game that the captain and I used to play regularly. The
objective is to destroy enough of the opposition’s towers that the remaining ones are too far apart to support each other. I was never all that good, though the captain was better… but Quintus was the best player I ever saw.”

  The prince narrowed his eyes. “I believe I see where you are going with this, but do go on.”

  Athas smiled. “He’s the only player I ever saw completely demolish the opposition. He left not a tower standing. The game was nice and evenly balanced one minute and then he pulled a trick I’d never even thought of and in only three moves I had no pieces left. It was unbelievable.”

  Ashar nodded. “But this is no game and we have no Quintus. We have Quintillian and the towers are real and filled with armies and hungry lords. A nice story, but how does it apply?”