Kiva dropped his sword. Quintillian blinked. He hadn’t for a moment considered that there really wasn’t a way out; the captain always had something up his sleeve. As Alessus also dropped his blade with a low growl though, he realised that he would die if he didn’t join them. Swallowing back the misery he let his fine blade, the one that had once belonged to Jorun of the Lion riders, fall to the marble with a clatter. Two of the men from the balcony trotted down the stairs and edged round the three of them without getting too close, collecting up their weapons. The captain growled at them and then looked up at his captor.
“Do you have any idea who this boy is that you’ve laid your hands on?”
Phythian laughed. “Wrong question Tregaron. Do I
“You might” replied Kiva “
Phythian trotted lightly down the stairs to where the three of them stood. The other soldiers had collected all the weapons now and were busy dragging the bodies behind the stair case. He smiled that snake-eyed dead smile again as he walked round the three in a slow circle. He stopped in front of the boy. “Let me guess. He’s someone important enough that you think it’ll change my mind.” He stared deep into Quintillian’s eyes. “Ah yes. He has to be one of the Imperial line. Curious, since I thought they’d all died. Nice try Tregaron, but you see if he were a God, as they say the Emperors were, then this wouldn’t happen, would it?”
He raised his hand and one of the archers above let loose a bolt that plunged deep into Quintillian’s thigh, ripping through the muscle until it protruded from the flesh at the rear.
“Presumably Gods aren’t indestructible then.” Phythian gave a laugh that was as dead as his smile and cradles his hands.
“Get in the back chambers” he told the three.
Kiva and Alessus reached out to help Quintillian walk. He had gone pale with shock and, though the wound was far from mortal, a surprising amount of blood trailed along the floor as they half-supported, half-dragged the young man across the floor toward the rear exit. The captain stopped as they reached the door and it opened of its own accord. Beyond another six men stood in the priests’ robing chamber, crossbows already levelled at them. Kiva’s hope for an escape from the rear chambers faded instantly. The bodies of half a dozen priests lay strewn around the floor of their own chambers. Phythian was unlikely to be turned around with any kind of appeal to reason or honour if such sacrilege was not beneath him. He turned to look at the cold, mad man that had brought them to this and spat on the floor.
“When I’m back on top there won’t be a fucking hole in the world deep enough for you to hide from me, Phythian.”
The man just laughed again. “We shall see. I can’t see you bouncing back quickly from this. Anyway, your friends are coming; I can hear them. Let’s hope they don’t do anything stupid, eh?” He motioned with his finger and unseen hands slammed the rear door shut. The heavy door cut off all noise from within the dome and Kiva growled again, furious with his impotent position.
He stopped in silence and could hear his heart beating. Where was his plan now? Where were the allies he needed? He glanced around at the six men training their weapons on them. Perhaps he and Alessus could take three each. The lad would be no use now with a leg than wouldn’t support his weight. But then they had no weapons and would each take two or three bolts before they reached the archers. No, it was no use. There was no way they could get out of this for now. He frowned at the six guards. “We’re going over to the corner. We need to get the boy comfortable. Ok? We’re not escaping, so don’t shoot.”
There was no acknowledgment from the six, so he turned to look at the boy. Quintillian was now out cold. Perhaps the pain; perhaps the loss of blood. He and Alessus lifted the boy by the shoulders, eliciting a lifeless groan, and dragged him over to two benches at the room’s corner, where they lay him gently on one.
Alessus made a harrumphing noise as he undid the scarf from his neck and tied it around the boy’s leg just above the wooden shaft. “Wish bloody Mercurias were here.”
Kiva shook his head. “No you don’t, and neither do I. Just staunch it as best you can. There’s no hope of us getting out of here now, but it’s quite a long road to Velutio, and anything can happen between here and the city. Perhaps Phythian might have a little accident.”
Alessus nodded. “Wonder what the hell’s happening out there?”
As if in answer, the doors were suddenly thrown open and the young Julian limped into the room, two bolts through his shin and one in his shoulder. Alessus looked up in concern and Kiva raised an eyebrow. “The others?”
Julian shook his head sadly and walked across to the other three in silence, lowering himself painfully to the bench and sitting as comfortably as he could.
Kiva rumbled deep in his throat. He was so angry now he could almost feel his heart boiling in his mouth. “Bors and Thalo, Pirus, Scauvus and Clovis. Five good men.” They’d served in more battles together than he could count in the last twenty years and with rarely more than minor wounds. Only one fatality some ten years ago, after which they’d taken on Julian to make up the unit’s numbers. And now five down in five minutes. Almost half the company, and things didn’t look over hopeful for the rest either. That was what happened when you dealt with politics and blood feuds; battles he could cope with. He hoped to hell that Athas and the others would find out about this before they walked innocently back into Serfium.
Phythian and his archers marched into the room.
“Tie them” he ordered two of his men. “Securely.”
As the two men came into the corner of the room with heavy cord and began to lash them around the wrists with their arms behind their backs, Phythian took a seat on a table and crossed his legs, kicking the air idly. “I often wondered how you got this awesome reputation, Tregaron, and now that I’ve actually fought you, I’m still wondering.”
Kiva snarled. “You haven’t fought me yet, Phythian. This was just using poor innocent priests to trap us, but don’t worry; I’ll let you fight me soon.”
Their captor laughed again and then turned to someone without a bow, possibly his second in command. “Get them roped together and shackle each of their left legs onto a chain. I don’t want any chance of these four going anywhere.”
Kiva looked round at Julian, Alessus, and finally at the unconscious Quintillian. His mind raced as he tried to fathom a way out of this mess, but there seemed to be precious little chance of any escape. Perhaps Athas and the others would find them on the way to Velutio. Perhaps Tythias would head south. Perhaps even, and this seemed the least far-fetched of the three, prince Ashar would learn of their peril and do something about it. The only other hope would be to find a friend in the city, though it had been a very long time since Kiva had had a friend there. Perhaps this Sabianus would prove to be someone he could deal with. There were many possibilities, but all of them either relied on someone coming to their aid, or slim chances he would have in the city itself, providing Velutio didn’t have them all executed the moment they arrived.
With a sigh, he wondered how such a promising week had produced such a bad day.
Chapter XVI
Three days they’d been travelling in both light and dark to reach Velutio, with Phythian and his score of men on horseback and driving the wagon in the back of which the four of them lay bound tight. They’d tried to persuade the effeminate leader that their wounds were bad enough to demand they delay the journey until the healing process was underway, but Phythian would have none of it. He wasn’t going to risk holding Tregaron any longer than necessary, knowing that the man had friends in the most unexpected of places. In fact, as Alessus had done his best to keep their wounds under control, Phythian had not allowed any of his men to get closer than a dozen feet from the prisoners, including their unit’s medic. Alessus had complained bitterly at the lack of medical treatment and, while he was no doctor and knew only a little field medicine, even he could see that Julian’s leg was infected. Unless there was a very good surgeon waiting for them in Velutio, and that seemed extremely unlikely, the leg would have to come off. The young Julian was facing bravely up to the possibility though, even when fever came on him and the smell from the infection filled his nostrils. Kiva had said hardly a word since their journey had begun.
