people who knew what to do with it; people like Sarios. And now, because of what he’d done, he’d killed himself and the Wolves. He just couldn’t believe there was no way out and that providence wouldn’t save them somehow. The general had a sharpened coin, but what possible use could that be now?
Kiva glared at Velutio as the tip of the first nail was placed on his wrist and Quintillian watched him grit his teeth and wince as the nail was slammed through and into the wood. Not even a whimper. Would he be as brave when it came to his turn? The nail was knocked home and the second put in place. Again, the teeth were jammed together as the nail was hammered home, blood welling up and dripping down the arms. A third nail was produced and hammered home in the feet with the sounds of breaking bone.
That’s it then, thought Quintillian. The Wolves are no more. Oh four of them still existed somewhere, he hoped, but the unit was destroyed and their commander crucified. How long now before people like Tythias and his men became unnecessary and Velutio did the same to them, and then those on the island. A tear came to his eye unbidden as he watched the general settled gently against the wood, the muscles in his shoulders tearing as he sank down slightly. He thought of Darius and the elders, the people on the island. He should never have left and then none of this would have happened. His attention was caught by the general’s voice as he addressed Velutio.
“I know you’ve wanted to do this for a very long time, but it makes no difference in the end, Avitus. The boy’ll be rescued yet, even if I die, and someone’ll set him back on his path. And even if he dies, there’ll always be someone to challenge your rule.”
“Oh?” Velutio looked sceptical. “And who would be able to stand against us?”
Kiva snarled. “Who could have stood against
“Did he?” sneered Velutio. “Well we’d best make sure he’s not used against me again, hadn’t we?”
Two more guards finally hauled Quintillian to his feet and pushed him toward the third tree. Kiva watched the young man in consternation as the lad stared at the tree. And that was why he didn’t see it coming. The first he knew; the first he realised something had happened, was as the tip of Velutio’s sword emerged from Quintillian’s chest. The boy’s eyes went wide and he coughed, dark blood welling in his mouth and running from the corner down his chin. Kiva stared.
Velutio twisted his wrist and the blade made a ninety degree turn deep in Quintillian’s chest, accompanied by surprised gurgles from the last scion of the Imperial family, who looked down in fascination at the foot of cold steel protruding from his sternum. Gingerly, he touched the blade. He looked up at Kiva, his eyes full of confusion.
“Fancy that” he exclaimed as the pupils of his eyes rolled up into his head and he slid forward off the blade to collapse in a heap on the grass.
Kiva growled and tried to move. As he pulled on his arms, he felt a shoulder dislocate and the blood welled fresh at his wrist. He glared at Velutio. At last the anger was there, but too late. He growled.
“I
Velutio merely smiled and wiped the bloody sword on the piles of clothing left on the grass. “They’re not divine, Caerdin; they never were. You’re not cursed and he wasn’t a God, don’t you see? An Emperor is made, not born and I shall be the next one. At least I won’t carry the taint of madness like they did. The line’s finally dead and nothing can stand in the way of a new Emperor. You’re a relic, Caerdin; a fossil and your time’s up.”
With a last look, he turned away from the trees and began to stride across the grass toward the palace, leaving crimson footprints on the flagstones he crossed. The sergeant ordered the men to depart and to take the boy’s body with them. As the garden gradually emptied of guards, leaving only the standard patrols, Iasus stood alone with Kiva and the hanging body of Julian.
“I am truly sorry it came to this general and I wish the circumstances had been different, but I must do my duty; I’m sure you can see that.”
Perhaps Kiva could, and perhaps not, but grief and rage vied for control of his mind and forgiveness was not in him today.
“He’ll die!” the general declared. “He’ll die hard, and when he does, anyone with him will go too.”
Iasus looked up, his hard face looking odd as it registered sympathy. He noted a tear in the general’s eye and stood straight, saluting.
“I know you won’t appreciate it right now, Caerdin, but I will make sure that Quintillian is taken to the island and buried properly and with honour.”
And with a last look at probably the greatest general in the Empire’s history hanging like a common criminal on a tree, he turned and marched away to see to the burial of the last Emperor.
It had been three days since Sathina had first entered the palace. Despite the words of wisdom and the various pointers she’d received from Prince Ashar, she’d not been able to find out anything about the four captives. None of the guards spoke about the prisoners and she’d not heard a single thing even in overheard mutterings. To be honest with herself, she was starting to wonder what she was doing here and whether these prisoners really existed. She’d asked about the Dalertine prison only once, of another servant, and he’d told her to shut up and not ask dangerous questions.
And so she’d gone about the mind-numbingly dull tasks of a serving girl, dealing mostly with the laundry, but with a constant edge of panic, knowing what was at stake if she let on anything about herself. Ashar had given her a good story and it seemed to have passed the test numerous times, a story of a dancer and musician come to the city to get rich, but only getting poorer and having to seek a servant’s wage. All very plausible and not a huge leap from the truth of it.
And that was when she’d finally found out. With a basket of laundry in both arms, piled so high she couldn’t see where she was going, she’d wandered out into the sun, missing the door she needed in the gateway. Dropping the basket to rub her sore hands and get her bearings, she’d found herself staring directly at a grisly sight: two bodies hanging on trees in the middle of a lawn, crucified. Though she had only the vaguest description of the prisoners, there could have been no doubt that these were they and, making a pretence of rubbing her hands and crouching by the basket, she’d tried to take in every detail of the scene to pass along to the prince. It was then she’d started as one of them had moved. Only very slightly, and just enough to move his head out of the direct sunlight and into the shade of a branch.
A guard had approached her and demanded she move along to wherever she should be. She’d made a girlish light-headed apology and heaved the basket back into the archway, delivering it to the first dark empty room she could find and then making her way to the main courtyard. After three days she knew the routine well. In a little less than an hour the servants would be allowed out of the gates to visit family or to shop at lunch. She’d stepped in through a door and found a small closet to hide in until she heard the bell ring in the tower and servants appeared from doorways around the courtyard and rushed for the gate, making the most of their meagre half hour of freedom. That was when she’d left and made it out into the street, walking fast until she reached a corner just within sight of the gate where she turned and ran as fast as her legs would carry her until she reached the nondescript building that the prince called their ‘safe house’.
And now she rushed up the two flights of stairs and hammered on the door three times; twice; three times. The door opened and Jorun grinned at her, making a scratchy noise in his throat. She smiled. The huge barbarian mercenary had taken her under his wing in recent days, looking after her more even than Tythias did. They were certainly an interesting bunch she’d fallen in with. Still, there were more pressing matters. Athas and Tythias sat at a table in one corner of the room playing some kind of board game involving two dice and a selection of pieces that resembled towers and belfries. The rest of the men were absent.
“I’ve seen them!” she exclaimed.
The board was knocked to one side, pieces falling as it moved. Tythias and Athas were on their feet now.
“Where? What’s happening?” The two rushed towards her.
She settled to get her breath. “It’s not good. I only saw two and I think one of them was dead.”
Tythias and Athas jostled to get in front of her. The one-eyed mercenary won the fight and grasped her shoulders. “Who?”
“I’m not sure. The youngish one with fairly long blond hair’s Julian, yes?”
