Interregnum

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 And yet out of some outdated, misguided sense of loyalty, I followed you.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.

He looked up at Balo on his horse. “Caerdin met with the other lords before dawn and disposed of them I presume?”

The mercenary looked over his shoulder and the rest of those present followed his gaze to see a white villa on a spur of land overlooking the valley, flames roaring around it and thick roiling black smoke pouring up from the hillside.

“He thinks it’s redemption,” the scarred man said sadly. “He burned Quintus and thought the Gods cursed him for it, so he’s making amends by burning himself now and taking our opposition with him. Destroy and rebuild, see?”

Darius fumbled for the neck clasp on his helmet and let it fall away to the ground. “He’s dead?”

“Must be by now,” the mercenary replied. “Roof’s gone on that place. Nothing inside will have survived. In fact, I can see Cialo’s men coming down the hill now, so they must consider the job done.”

“The job ?” demanded Darius incredulously. “He didn’t have to…”

“But he did,” interrupted Balo, “can’t you see? That’s the only way he felt he could do it. It’s the only way he thought the Gods would let it happen. He was dying anyway; you’ve watched him. You know he didn’t have many days left in him, so he chose to end there and make sure he got the job done. This morning he was so bad he worried he’d even get as far as the villa.”

Ah thought occurred to Darius and he turned in his saddle. “Tythias?”

But the man wasn’t there. The one armed prefect was already half way across the battlefield, making for the burning building. Darius sighed and turned back to Sabian.

“There’s been enough killing in these past months. Let Avitus be the last. I’ve no wish to execute you, Sabian. You’re responsible for our freedom and without you, we’d never have been here to face Avitus. You saved the life of everyone on Isera several times over and you’ve never lifted a finger to harm me or any of mine. You’ve committed no treason.”

Sabian bowed his head gently and uncomfortably, a fresh stream of blood running from his neck.

“Highness, there’s something you should know; something you really need to know and I’m one of very few people left in the world that’s aware of this…”

Darius sat on his horse with one eyebrow raised, waiting with a curious air. Sabian cleared his throat and, when he spoke, there was a strangely emotional quiver in his voice.

“I came across several documents when I was on Isera; documents that had been secreted away and stored under lock and key. Sarios will be able to confirm this; I expect he has the scrolls with him now. They were genealogies; histories of the Imperial line and its offshoots. Sarios’ carefully constructed claim that you’re of the Imperial blood isn’t far from the truth. I expect he laughed about that as he passed out your supposed fictional claim. The blood of the line does run in you, though, Darius. Not directly, but it’s still there.”

Darius’ brows furrowed. “Go on…”

“Your mother was the lady Livilla Dolabella, a cousin of Quintus the Golden and a child of the house of Corus. That means that you truly are the claimant to the throne, by blood and right…” His voice trailed away and he stared at the ground.

“And?” urged Darius. “There’s more, yes?”

“And your father was not Fulvius. Your father was Caerdin. It’s been hidden from you both since you were a child.” He swallowed hard. He’d promised Sarios a long time ago on the island not to reveal the truth, and some of it should be forever buried, but at some level, Darius needed to know. “You were rescued from the Caerdin villa when it burned, but fell into the hands of Avitus. He had you imprisoned on Isera, knowing who you were, and never told anyone that you’d lived. Your birth name was Quintus, not Darius; Quintus Caerdin, named for the Emperor. The scroll I found must have been put together after your imprisonment, as it has your current name, not your birth name. I’d expect that it was Sarios himself who drew up the genealogies, or at least replaced your name on it so that some day someone would find out. Caerdin’s never even suspected anything. His wife and child died twenty some years ago when the villa burned. I only tell you this now because he’s gone and you should know.”

Darius stared at the commander for a long moment and then cleared his throat. “Commander Sabian? I hereby confer on you the rank of Marshal of the Western Provinces. As such, I want you to deal with this army; your army. Any lords still in command of their men are to be invited to the command tent on the other side of the field. There I and my counsellors will see them all individually and we can decide whether or not they deserve to be given public office. I have the suspicion that most of them will, as Caerdin…” he paused for a moment, his eyes glazing for a second before shaking his head and taking control again. “…as Caerdin seems to have dealt with the rest of them. I want the soldiers bringing to the middle of the field and there they can take their oath shortly. After that I’ll leave them with you to organise. You’ll want to promote some and discharge some no doubt.” He smiled a very strange smile.

“Unfortunately, right now, I have more urgent business.”

Sabian blinked. He was still standing slightly stunned by his sudden promotion as Balo winked at him and the two men turned and rode off back toward their lines. Prince Ashar rode up and slid from the back of his horse.

“You’re a very lucky man, aren’t you? Darius has always been rather fond of you, Sabian, and you have a good reputation, but was it really fair to tell him that now?”