Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4)

by S. J. A. Turney

  Kiva’s father, Darius, had been a great proponent of standing up for oneself. He had not become master of an empire, he used to say, by hiding behind people.

  ‘Show him in.’

  The guard threw him a look of utter disapproval, but bowed and backed away to the doors. There he held a brief discussion with his peers and finally four guardsmen escorted the courier into the hall, one at each side and two to the rear, each with spears out and levelled, such that the slightest unexpected move from the visitor would result in skewering.

  Kiva watched the dusty courier approach. The man was thin and drawn with a haunted look about his face. He had a pronounced limp on the left foot but held his head high. Kiva tried to recall what he knew of the Argaela Fort. It was on the great east road, still in the central provinces, but only just. It stood beside the Tyras River and watched over the crossing, which delineated between the central and eastern provinces. It had never had a strong garrison, since it was well within imperial territory and was only really occupied for policing and taxation duties. And now that the bulk of the army was concentrated in the south on the Pelasian border, there would be little more than a skeleton garrison there. The east? What might Quintillian have been doing in the east?

  The man stopped where the guards indicated, a good spear length from the emperor, and he bowed.

  ‘They say you have news of my brother,’ Kiva said quietly.

  The courier trembled for a moment. ‘I have a great deal of news, and most of it bad.’

  Kiva frowned at the tone in the man’s voice. The guards were staring with angry astonishment at a courier who might address the emperor so casually without even an honorific.

  Something was niggling at Kiva’s mind, nagging at the back of his scalp like a tic. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Have I changed that much?’ the courier asked, a sly smile suddenly splitting his dusty face.

  The emperor’s brow folded a little more, and then his eyes widened. ‘By all the gods, no!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  The guardsmen were staring at the emperor and the courier both, in confusion.

  Kiva spluttered out a disbelieving laugh and fell back into his chair, gesturing to the guard officer.

  ‘Do you not recognize the marshal? No, that’s unfair. Neither did I, and he’s my brother.’ The guard’s eyes widened too as he realized and stepped a pace back.

  ‘Quintillian! You have no idea how pleased I am to see you. People said you were dead, but I’ve never believed it. Where have you been?’

  ‘It is,’ sighed the marshal, ‘a very long story. But unfortunately I am the courier of bad tidings. You’ve a war on your hands, brother.’

  ‘I am well aware of that. Even now one of Ashar’s satraps has taken M’Dahz and threatens Calphoris.’

  Quintillian was shaking his head. ‘It’s worse than that. Whatever’s happened there, it’s just a diversion to split our forces. The horse clans of the east are coming, Kiva, in their tens of thousands. They’ve united under a lord who calls himself the Khan. Some kind of easterner from the Jade Emperor’s lands. And he has his sight set upon your empire.’

  Kiva exhaled heavily, shaking his head. ‘You’re certain of this?’

  ‘I escaped from their army. They’re coming. They’re disorganized and fractious, but what they lack in discipline they make up for in both numbers and in bloodlust. And the Khan claims to have agents in the empire already paving the way. They’re presumably responsible for your trouble with Pelasia. How are the forces disposed, Kiva? Where are the other marshals?’

  The emperor sagged. ‘So much has happened, Quint.’

  ‘Tell me quickly, Kiva.’

  ‘Partho and Sciras are dead. I haven’t had the chance to promote anyone to the role, as I needed either you or Titus to advise on who could do it.’

  Quintillian tapped his lip. ‘What of Titus, then? Where is he?’

  ‘Quint, Jala disappeared. We thought she’d gone back to Pelasia, but she was taken by some western imperial ship not far from Velutio. Titus is somewhere in the west, tracking her to bring her home. I’ve been alone, Quint.’

  Quintillian began to pace back and forth, and the guards backed away to give him space.

  ‘So where are the four armies now?’

  ‘About two thirds of the military are in the south, facing Ashar’s forces. We kept a few cohorts back here and on the northern and eastern borders, and much of the western army is still there and in the north, making sure the barbarians don’t take advantage. We need to pull the border guards back from the east, if what you say is true.’

  Quintillian shook his head. ‘They will already be gone. The Khan and his men are days behind me. A week at most. They will already be in imperial lands, and any men on the border are gone. There isn’t much time. You need to send word to the western army and to our barbarian allies in the north. Bring them here. And have the bulk of the army withdraw from Pelasian borders. Leave just enough cohorts to make the satraps think twice, and bring the rest home. We need them here, or the heart of the empire will fall even while we try and save the borders.’

  Kiva shook his head in despair. ‘There’s not time, Quint. It’ll take too long.’

  ‘We’ve no choice. We just have to hope we can pull enough men back to the central provinces to hold against the Khan and his men.’

  Kiva rose from his seat and stepped down the dais to the mosaicked floor, striding over to his brother. Ignoring the dust and muck, he threw his arms around Quintillian.

  ‘It is good to have you back. So good. Now tell me what happened to you!’

  ‘In good time,’ Quintillian sighed. ‘Have the couriers sent straightaway, and can you have someone rustle up some food and wine. I’ve eaten pretty badly for many weeks and I’ve not tasted wine since I left. I’ll go and bathe quickly, and find some clothes. Then I’ll fill you in on life out east, and you can catch me up on what’s been happening here.’

  Kiva smiled. Despite the fact that the empire was seemingly now facing two-fold danger, somehow it seemed easier with Quintillian returned.

  Chapter XXIV

  Of the Growing Threat

  Quintillian tapped his chin thoughtfully, took a sip of wine and leaned over the map once more, sweeping up a wooden horse with an XI marked on the top, shuffling it across the surface and dropping it next to four similar pieces, each bearing a numerical legend.

  ‘We can take the Fourth cavalry from Emona. They’re doing little more there than idling in the background as distant support to the Calphoris force. If Ashar’s forces crushed the army in the south and rolled across Calphoris, they’d be of little use then anyway. And being light auxiliary skirmish cavalry, they could be on the Tyras River and in the way of the Khan maybe two days after they receive the orders.’

  Kiva huffed as he peered at the force gathered on the map at the river that formed the border between the central and eastern provinces. ‘That’s not fast enough, Quint. The scouts say the clans passed through Lappa yesterday. They’ll be at the river before the Fourth could possibly reach them.’

  ‘But they could be held there long enough for the Fourth cavalry to reach them and add their weight to the defence. This is about slowing the enemy until we’re prepared, Kiva. Any unit we send to the Tyras are running to their deaths. We all know that, even the men doing the running. But it’s going to be days and days before we can gather enough men near Velutio to even think of facing the Khan. And don’t forget, the enemy are not moving with the pace of light horsemen. They’re moving at the speed of siege engines, which is little more than a crawl. They could be in Velutio in around a week if they really push it, but certainly no sooner than that. And every day we can stop them crossing the Tyras with their machines buys us more time to assemble a proper army.’

  Kiva sat back in his chair. He looked tired and drawn. ‘I still find it hard to believe that Ashar will really go to war with us.’

  ‘Don’t
underestimate the importance of Jala, brother.’

  ‘He must understand I’ve not done anything to her. We’ve known each other all our lives.’

  Quintillian sighed. ‘Ashar has the same problem as the Khan. His empire is built up of satrapies, each of which has its own lord. They pay obeisance to Ashar through tradition that he is descended from the line of the sun god and nothing more. Some of the satraps are militarily more powerful than the god-king himself. But the Parishid dynasty have always been masters of the game. They play each satrap off against the others and manoeuvre so that they maintain ultimate power. But no matter what Ashar thinks personally, the fact is that Jala was taken by an imperial warship and disappeared, and if he doesn’t challenge the empire over it, he will appear weak. Some of the satraps might start to think they could do a better job, and I don’t need to remind you how bad things could get if we had a non-Parishid on the throne of Pelasia?’

  Kiva shook his head. Some of the satraps were violently anti-imperial, an enmity that remained from centuries of warfare between the two nations. He eyed the rather sparse wooden figures scattered around the southern end of the map. They were considerably fewer than the Pelasian models.

  ‘But do you really believe the troops we’ve left in the south will be able to hold Ashar?’

  ‘It’s a matter of playing for time in every respect, Kiva. Pelasia threatens the south, but as yet things are still simmering. The Khan threatens Velutio itself. He is coming here for this city and your throne, brother, and there is no question about those hostilities. We have to do what we can to build the army here. The men we send to the river we’re sacrificing to slow the clans. And we just have to pray to the maiden of luck that things continue to simmer in the south and that the meagre forces we have there can hold the stalemate until we’ve dealt with the Khan.’ He sighed again and threw a lopsided grin at his brother. ‘One disaster at a time, Kiva.’

  ‘If only the Gota would answer the call,’ the emperor muttered unhappily. The great northeastern barbarian tribe would have added precious numbers to the imperial forces, but the riders sent to the Gota had not returned yet, and they were not truly expected to. The Gota king might have deigned to join them at the celebration earlier in the year, but that was still an early, tentative meeting of age-old enemies. Even telling them that the empire sought their aid was a gamble. They may well see an opportunity instead to take advantage of the empire’s temporary weakness.

  ‘No use counting eggs not yet laid. We just have to hope and pray that we’ll have enough men, and enough time to gather them. I’m counting on the fact that they have the siege engines, but precious little experience in siege warfare. They’re horsemen – skirmishers. If an imperial force were coming, they’d be able to crush us pretty quickly, but for all the Khan’s abilities and swiftness of thought, even he cannot change a people’s nature overnight. The clans will be slow and disorganized and that is where we gain the advantage. Our men are prepared for sieges and we know what to do. There’s enough food stored in Velutio to feed the populace for half a decade, and these walls have never been breached.’

  Kiva smiled nervously. His brother sounded so confident, and certainly his words made sense. And yet Kiva had caught Quintillian’s expression when he thought no one was looking, and the prince was worried – that much was clear.

  At the very least, it was good to have a tactician back in the capital. The absence of all the marshals had been a blow, but within a day of Quintillian’s return couriers had been racing from Velutio to every corner of the world with orders and missions – summonses to war, transport and travel orders, new dispositions, even auxiliary levies. Enough money to buy a small kingdom had left the city in chests to facilitate the emergency raising and equipping of new auxiliary units. They’d be untrained – little more than peasants in smocks with spears and shields – but every body might make the difference in the coming conflict.

  It was possible. Kiva could see that. Even though the numbers were against them, as long as the Pelasians didn’t yet open hostilities in the south, they might just be able to pull together enough men to beat back the Khan. It was possible.

  There was a knock at the door and the brothers looked up from the map. From the corner of the room, a servant appeared with a bucket of charcoal, which he carefully shovelled into the brazier that was beginning to fade.

  ‘Come.’

  Two of the imperial guard opened the door and admitted another of their number, who was clad in uniform but had left his weapon outside as per custom. The man crossed the room, his heavy soldier’s boots clumping across the marble, and came to a halt in front of the two men, bowing.

  ‘Majesty, lookouts have sighted a ship approaching the city bearing the ensign of the Marshal Titus Tythianus.’

  Kiva’s eyes shot from the messenger to his brother, who met his gaze.

  ‘Titus!’

  ‘By the gods, that’s timing I can approve of,’ Quintillian laughed, but Kiva’s face was less certain.

  ‘That depends on whether he’s alone.’

  The prince’s face slid into pensive concern again as he nodded. ‘Where is he making for?’ he asked the soldier.

  ‘The military harbour, sir. The ship will dock very soon.’

  ‘Come on,’ the prince said, launching himself from his seat and almost upsetting the carefully positioned wooden markers on the map. Kiva rose in response and gestured to the guardsman. ‘Lead on, man. To the harbour.’

  Leaving the room, the two men hurried out into the corridor. Two more guardsmen joined them there as an escort and, at the exit to the suite of imperial apartments where they collected their cloaks, another two men added their presence. Ever since the attempt on Titus’s life those weeks ago, Kiva had barely had privacy even in the latrines, with guardsmen ever in close proximity. Out of the building they hurried, shouting for horses. By the time they had reached the palace’s main gate, their steeds had been brought for them, and they had accrued another eight guardsmen, each of whom mounted alongside their masters in the late morning sun.

  The gate rattled open and the two men rode out into the city, anticipation and nervousness vying for control of their expressions. The open courtyard outside the gate led to the Imperial Way that led off down the slope into the heart of Velutio, columns and triumphal arches lining it proudly. And if one moved along the centre of the street, one could just see, through a succession of astonishingly lofty arches, across the forum and the lower reaches of the city, the great walls of Velutio and the greenery and shanty towns outside.

  From here the city wall looked a frail and easily overcome obstacle. It was barely even visible. But like Quintillian, Kiva knew better. He had walked those walls plenty of times in his life, around their complete circuit, even. From the palace down the slope above the water to the private palace harbour, then back up and across the Hill of Croton, marching along the coast above the rocks that made the sea here so treacherous, then down to the Forest Gate, around the land walls to the Hill of Tellus in the south, then back around the commercial harbour and the military harbour and above the rocks once more to the palace. A grand circuit of 14 miles. And while the sea walls were granted the added defence of cliffs and rocks and the tough naval approach, the land walls were more defensive still. The main walls were 40 feet high, punctuated by heavy projecting towers, each of which bore artillery. A walkway separated these impressive fortifications from a lower outer wall, around 25 feet high, with its own towers, the entire circuit peppered with arrow loops. Then there was the moat, which had been cut down through bedrock so that the sea flooded it from both sides, effectively turning Velutio into an island. In places the moated ditch was only 8 feet deep, but in others it was up to more than 20, though any depth, when combined with bedrock, made mining the walls more or less an impossibility.

  Velutio was well protected. A century ago, during the reign of one of their most powerful kings, the Gota had crossed the border in response to some perc
eived imperial sleight and had come against Velutio in force. At the time, due to the dispersed disposition of the armies, there had been little force to oppose the invaders, and they had reached Velutio with little trouble. What the masters of the empire had learned to their chagrin was that the old original walls of the city had been less than useless, buried as they were among the streets of the ever-expanding city. Velutio had burned and the population had been almost halved before the armies reached the capital and expelled the enemy once more.

  But Velutio had learned the danger of overconfidence. The city was given a permanent limit and that boundary was fortified with the most powerful defences in the world. Never again would the empire’s capital fall to the barbarian.

  At least that was the theory, Kiva thought, swallowing noisily as he rode alongside his brother. They passed from the wide, impressive Imperial Way through the forum and down onto the Street of Iron Horses, making for the military harbour. The forum fell into surprised silence as they passed. It was a rare enough event for the emperor to appear in the city without formal warning that many people even forgot to bow until he was past, not that Kiva really cared for such formal ancient custom. He would rather people got on with their lives and kept the city working than they all stopped what they were doing to pay him respect.

  But as figures appeared from doorways and faces at windows as they passed, Kiva could not help but become aware of an air of nervous tension all about him. He had been so wrapped up in the problems of governance and his own family that he’d not given much thought as to what the coming conflict meant for the ordinary folk. Silently, internally, he chided himself for such an oversight and sat straighter in his saddle, affecting an air of noble confidence, with even a half smile in there. His gaze caught the pensive, dangerous look on Quintillian’s face and he cleared his throat and addressed all those accompanying him quietly enough to not reach most of the public.