Interregnum

wheeze.

“What I really want to know is about the Captain and the unit. You were all there, weren’t you; not just the medics. You were all in the capital at the end; when it happened.”

The medic narrowed his eyes.

“What the hell makes you think we were there?” he said defensively. “There were a lot of units spread across the central Empire then. I think the Captain and most of the lads were out to the west.”

Quintillian smiled.

“Do you have a canteen?” he asked.

The medic nodded and, slowly withdrawing the object from his pack, placed it on the table between them. The lad smiled knowingly and turned the flask over to reveal the engraved wolf’s head on the other side. He pointed at the decoration.

“You all have them” he pointed out. “The Captain’s very intelligent I know, but he’s not doing a very good job of hiding who he is. Or the rest of you for that matter.”

Mercurias leaned across the table, his face inches from the boy’s. His voice issued in a threatening whisper.

“If you really did know what you were talking about, you wouldn’t be doing it so loud.”

Quintillian’s voice dropped to the same level.

“Kiva Tregaron, Captain of the Grey Company” he said. “Kiva Caerdin, General of the Empire and Commander of the Wolves. It’s not a great leap to work it out. It may be all nice and good and sentimental for you all to carry your old regimental flasks, but it really is a gaping hole in any kind of cover you’re all trying to achieve.”

Mercurias frowned and slugged down a little of the spirit before he spoke.

“Ok. You’re bright. I knew that. Question is: how bright are you? Time for you to tell me what you know about us .”

“Not all that much” Quintillian shrugged. “I know that he is the General. No one could make that mistake given the evidence. You’re all so tight-lipped about it, I can only assume that what constitutes the grey company are, in fact, the members of the Wolves from before the fall, you included, yes?”

“Not all of us,” the medic conceded, “but most, yes.”

Quintillian nodded.

“The rest of what I have is questions.”

The medic frowned.

“Alright” he said, taking a deep breath. “I have just one question for you and I want you to answer it truthfully. There are dozens of ways to tell if a man’s lying and I know a lot of them.”

He glared at Quintillian until the boy nodded, hovering between nervousness and excitement. At the nod, Mercurias leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

“Why us? Were you actually looking for us?”

The boy shook his head.

“I know it seems odd,” he said, “but I assure you it’s entirely coincidental. I’m just grateful to get the chance to travel with heroes; legends even. That’s worth a hundred corona alone. I’ve read about the Wolves since I was first able to pick up a book.”

Mercurias narrowed his eyes and his voice dropped even lower, barely audible among the sounds of the bar.

“One more thing then” he murmured. “You do know about your family, don’t you? You’re too clever not to have made the connection, even if no one’s ever told you. Your books would tell you. And the Captain tells me that your head-man on the island’s a priest called Sarios. I’m assuming that’s Minister Sarios. In the old days, he controlled all varieties of medical practice in the Empire. Hell, I took my oath in front of the man!”

Quintillian smiled.

“Yes” he replied, “but as the ‘captain’ keeps telling me, such connections are things best kept secret. Until I know more about him, he need not know more about me. I think that’s fair.”

Mercurias opened his mouth to rebuke the lad, but whatever he said went unheard as a loud voice from the other side of the bar cut through the general hubbub.

“I don’t like darkies!”

The medic’s head whipped round and he half rose from his seat. Quintillian craned his neck to see past the older man. A large brute with a shaved scalp and dark leather armour all but eclipsed the door to the street. He looked angry. Craning the other way, the lad could see Athas standing by the bar close to Kiva. He didn’t even glance elsewhere to find the ‘darkie’. It occurred to Quintillian that black-skinned warriors weren’t all that common these days and were still considered ‘exotic’ and yet he’d barely registered the colour of the sergeant’s skin. Perhaps his standing as a sergeant of the Wolves had overshadowed his mere physical presence. Athas stood away from the bar. In the fluid motion of a natural tide, the occupants of the main room drifted to the periphery, leaving a clear passage between the sergeant and the new arrival.

Athas folded his arms and glared at the man in the doorway.

“I don’t like mindless assholes,” he replied evenly, “but I notice they let them in here.”

The medic sat back down and turned, fleetingly, to look at the lad.

“This should be good.”

Kiva hadn’t moved from the bar; merely took a calm drink and smiled a frightening smile.

The bulky visitor stepped inside the bar, away from the door lintel and unhooked a heavy mace from one side of his waist and a long-bladed sword from the other. Behind him several other men entered, but stood by the doorway. Quintillian tapped the medic on the shoulder.

“If there’s going to be trouble, shouldn’t we be ready?” he asked.

Mercurias shrugged.

“Trouble?”

The second man to enter was a great deal smaller than the first. He wore armour very similar to the Kiva’s and a bear skin over his shoulders. One of his eyes was permanently closed by the scar of an old blade wound. The man grinned and Quintillian shivered at the sight. ‘Bear skin’ stepped forward a pace and spoke to his bulky friend loud enough to be heard across the bar.

“Jorun, I don’t think you want to mess with this ‘darkie’!”

His words went unheeded as the large man continued forward, his two weapons ready and swinging as he moved. Athas stood still, arms remaining folded. Quintillian tugged on the medic’s arm.

“This isn’t good” he said urgently. “Why isn’t the captain helping?”

Mercurias grinned back at him.

“He doesn’t need any help. Can’t you see that?”

The large man finally broke his slow advance and ran at Athas, the mace high and ready to drop and the sword jutting forwards at chest height. Athas continued to stand until the last moment, when he shifted his weight slightly to the left, stepped forward inside the reach of the blade and, unfolding his arms, jammed the fork he’d been holding into the man’s throat. The momentum carried the two forward a couple more paces, the fork tearing skin as the movement jarred them both. As they stopped, the big man stared down in shock and the weapons toppled from his hands. He reached both arms toward Athas, who merely waggled the fork, still buried in the man’s neck. His other finger waved in front of the enemy as though scolding a naughty child.

“Ah Ah. Play nice” he said sweetly.

The big man’s hands dropped slowly to his sides. Athas smiled at him.

“I’m now going to remove the fork” he said slowly and clearly. “You’re going to have to reach up very quickly and grasp your throat to prevent too much blood loss. After that you’re going to leave. We have a medic in the corner, but I doubt he’ll feel inclined to help you.”

Mercurias laughed as Athas continued. “I noticed an apothecary on the way into town. If you can get there without too much blood loss, you’ll be alright, but it’ll cost you a packet and you may never speak again, coz I think I touched your voice box. Be happy. I could have stuck your windpipe. Ready?”

The big man, a stunned and stupefied look on his face, nodded, causing him to wince as a fresh gout of blood pumped out around the fork.