Interregnum

“Murdering bastard!”

Another crash.

“Why can’t you just die?”

More blows.

Athas and Marco followed the two, the rest of the unit close behind, with the missing men gradually returning to the road. Athas was truly unsure as to what to do; the Captain was clearly weakening. Another downward smash of the sword caught Kiva, too weak now to lift his own in time. The blow smashed into Kiva’s body armour and knocked him backwards. The Captain struggled to pull himself to his feet as Quintillian stared at the sword in his hand and the rent in the banded plates of the Captain’s armour. Kiva pulled himself into an upright position and readied his two swords once more.

Quintillian stared at his sword for a moment longer and lunged forward again, his sword raised above his head.

“Fucking Murderer!” he screamed.

Athas was close now. Close enough to help if needed.

The lad swung the sword once more, but the blow was not aimed down at the Captain’s vitals, but wide. As the sword reached its apex, Quintillian released his grip and the blade whistled off into the grass. The momentum still carrying him, the lad hurtled forwards and down, crashing to his knees in the grass below the Captain. Mercurias, who had caught up with the group, made to approach the two, but Athas held out his powerful arm and stopped him, nodding toward the boy.

They could hear him now. Quintillian let flow the grief that had threatened to drive him mad over the last hours. His sobbing turned into a heart-rending wail as he grasped Kiva’s knees. The Captain dropped his swords to the grass and left them where they lay, stepping back with one foot so that he too could kneel. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Let it out, Quintillian” he said quietly and calmly. “Let it all out.”

The boy looked up, tears streaming down his face.

“Why?” he pleaded. “Why you?”

Kiva grasped the boy by both shoulders and hauled him up to face height.

“Because it had to be me” he replied. “You know that. The hardest thing I could ever have had to do, but who else could have done it? You know that. And for it I’ll spend the rest of my life cursed. You can’t kill a God without paying the price. I’ve been doing that for twenty years and I’ll do it to the day I die and probably beyond. I had to break the Empire to save its people.”

Kiva coddled the boy’s head and then pushed him upright with a great deal of effort, the drug was still working in him and he felt sluggish and weak.

“You’re a good man” Kiva said softly. “The blood of divine Emperors flows in you and, Gods willing, you’ll never succumb to the rot that afflicted your uncle. We’re clear, you and I, and I’ll make sure you’re safe but I’ll hear no more of your ideas about glorious futures. There’s no glory in my future, so I forbid you to talk to me about it. Beyond that, we’ll be ok.”

He looked up at Mercurias and nodded. The medic wandered over to the boy and put his hands on Quintillian’s shoulders as Kiva stood, slightly woozily. The captain smiled wearily at Marco, who wandered forward.

“Sir?” he responded.

“The boy’s got both guts and strength, but he lacks expertise” Kiva said. “Train him.”

Marco nodded and crouched down beside Quintillian and Mercurias.

Kiva wandered back across the grass to the milestone, where he sat, heavily. He glanced around for the others and spotted Athas and Bors, who were rummaging in the grass.

“Where are the rest?” he called.

Athas stood, cradling something in his large hand, his brow furrowed. He realised the Captain was speaking and raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm?”

“The others?” Kiva rolled his eyes. “Where are they?”

Athas sighed. “They’re all accounted for. Pirus has gone to look for Clovis. He never warned us and that bodes a bit. I hope he just got hit with darts and nothing worse. The other two never really got into the fight. Mercurias said they’d been hit heavily with the darts straight off and they’ll be out for a few hours. You will be soon too. You must have the constitution of an ox to take that and still fight.”

Kiva smiled and waved his flask at the Sergeant.

“Mare’s Mead has its benefits” he explained. “It’s a hell of a lot more powerful than this shit and I’ve been taking that for years.”

Athas had returned his attention to the object in his hand and merely nodded. Kiva sighed.

“Well before I finally pass out,” he said, “we’d best get the men out searching for those lunatics and their amazing vanishing corpses.”

Athas turned and tossed the thing he’d been holding to his Captain.

“They won’t find anything” the big man said.

Kiva looked down at the black dagger hilt in his hand, with the blade sheared off just below the guard. On the pommel, the embossed golden figure of a winged horse constituted the weapon’s only decoration. Kiva’s brows furrowed.

On a hill above the road, a tall figure, wrapped head to foot in black silks with a huge curved blade slung across his back, laughed lightly as he compacted his telescope and placed it in a large thigh pocket. He watched with keen eyes as the small figures moved around near the road and the big dark-skinned man was among them. He laughed again; a rich, velvety laugh, and scanned the valley until he saw the black-clad figures converging on their prearranged spot. With a last glance in the direction of the Wolves, he mounted his magnificent mare, saddle- less, with only a surcoat; black and decorated with a golden winged horse.

Part Two: Swords and Ploughshares

Chapter VII

The small vessel rocked and shook as it rode the troughs and crests of waves in the narrow channel that led to Isera. The island had been a place of fortification and safety long before the days of Imperial power due to the treacherous system of reefs and rocks that formed a horseshoe around it. The only safe route for a vessel was through a narrow channel that led from the main dock on the island to the Livia Port in the city of Velutio, once the Imperial capital. Even in that channel the journey was hazardous enough that only the most stout-hearted sailor would attempt the journey in anything but the calmest of seas. At the height of its power, the Empire’s engineers had created sea-walls that calmed this single passage with a complex system of rest stops and windbreaks. In those days the Emperor’s pleasure barge would ply the channel with no fear. The days of Imperial surety were long gone, as were the sea defences. Now only a madman would make the journey.

Or a man with a job to do. Commander Sabian stood at the prow of the boat, his crimson cloak speckled and bleached by the salt in the constant spray. His red military scarf was wound tightly beneath his helm’s neck guard and pulled up to his eyes, covering the majority of his face. His eyes stung and watered with the effort, but he couldn’t trust anyone else on the boat to keep an adequate watch. Despite his position as senior officer in the army of Velutio, he had travelled this evil heaving channel more often than any sailor in the port. Realistically, very few sailors who had made this trip would be able to speak of it. Secrets were important to Velutio, and those sailors who’d shown more than the slightest curiosity over the island’s contents had been blinded and had their tongue and