Interregnum (34 page)

The priest nodded. “Well you’d better come in the back and divest yourselves of your packs.”

Quintillian stepped up onto the platform, but the captain just watched the priest turn and walk across the room. “Pelian…” Kiva said, “what’s up?”

The priest stopped and turned. “Nothing Kiva. Why?”

The captain’s hand went now to his sword hilt. Quintillian opened his mouth, but got barely a syllable out before Kiva interrupted him. ”Shh!”

The priest smiled. “Come on, we have much to talk about.” This time, Quintillian picked up on the look in the old man’s eyes and realised that he hadn’t actually agreed to the captain’s request for sanctuary, more side-stepped it. The young man’s hand now also went to his sword pommel. Something was very wrong here and he had the feeling the priest was doing his best to warn them. The old man turned again for the rear door and it was at that moment that an arrow whistled out of the air above and struck the priest through the chest. Quintillian drew his sword, as did Kiva ahead of him and the other three behind. A figure appeared on the balustraded gallery that ran around the circumference of the dome, with a crossbow in hand. Quintillian’s sharp mind told him there were more than one, as his bow was loaded and he’d not had time to reload. Before he could think what to do, the captain had wrenched his throwing knives off the thongs round his neck and hurled them up into the open canopy. More by luck than by judgement, one of them grazed the bowman on the shoulder, the other fell considerably short and clattered to the marble floor, skittering across to the wall. Behind them the huge bronze doors clanged shut with a sound that reverberated around the central room. Simultaneously, ahead of them the door to the priests’ chambers slammed.

Behind him Quintillian heard the stretch of a bow string and the creak of the wood. An arrow whistled past his head as Thalo, probably the fastest and most accurate archer Quintillian had ever heard of, released. The arrow took the man Kiva had grazed directly in the forehead, slamming through the bone and knocking him backwards and out of sight on the balcony. Quintillian’s smile crashed from his face as the whistle and thud of the arrow was answered by the snapping sound of four or five crossbows releasing. Turning in horror, he saw Thalo jerking this way and that as the bolts plunged into his torso and head, his arms and legs flailing and spasming as though he danced.

He heard himself shout something as he ran towards the company’s archer, but had no idea what it was. Panic and grief hit him in waves and that horror amplified yet again as he saw Bors running for the stairs to the side that led up and onto the balcony. It was such a wide open space he’d never have stood a chance. Another two crossbows released, hitting the big gentle man at the same time, both in the back, and hurling him across the room, where he landed at the foot of the steps and lay there jerking rhythmically. Quintillian knew enough to know that the man was already dead but that his nerves wouldn’t let him rest yet.

Kiva was already moving, though Quintillian was riveted to the spot. His life had turned upside down in a matter of seconds. He’d lost two of the group who mattered to him more than anyone, and he was in danger of losing the other two. He saw Alessus and Kiva making for the rear door.

“No!” he screamed. For just a moment, Kiva stopped running. Perhaps he thought the lad had been hurt but he stopped and, a moment later, so did Alessus. A shudder of relief ran through Quintillian as he saw a dozen crossbowmen leaning over the balustrade. There was precious little hope the two would have even reached the door, let along force it open before they were both exterminated as the other two had been.

Again, he found his head turning. The body of Bors lay still, the jerking having finished, his head and one arm on the stairs. The way he had rolled as he fell, the two bolts had been driven deep into his beck and then sheared off at the entry point. His long sword, the largest single handed sword Quintillian had ever seen, lay some six feet away where it had slid as he hit the floor. A pool of dark blood was slowly spreading across the white marble at the foot of the stairs. Too dark. One of the bolts had gone through his liver. Taking in the horrifying scene, his head still turned until he found Thalo, lying with an arm and a leg folded beneath him, the way he had fallen. His bow lay close by and his eyes stared at the centre of the dome, unable to close. His mind flickered through scenes from the last two months: Thalo nodding seriously at him as their arrows came down from the farmhouse wall and took down an enemy soldier before the archer raced away to beat Marco to the loot; Bors, only two nights ago, grinning and handing him a canteen he thought was water only to find it was filled with fiery, thick liquor. Other scenes of their travels, both happy and sad, but all of comrades; comrades now gone. Quintillian was angry.

“Captain” he called out. “They want me; you’re incidental. Don’t give them a reason to kill you.”

A voice from high above echoed his sentiments. “The boy’s right. I don’t really care whether we take you in living or dead. In fact dead would be easier, but I think his lordship would prefer you alive.”

Kiva stepped back. Unable to see over the balustrade from his position near the rear door, he walked backwards toward Quintillian, with Alessus close by. Not far from the centre of the circle he stopped and looked up at the figure on the balustrade: a thin and perhaps even slightly effeminate man. “Phythian?” he called. “That you?”

“Of course it’s me Tregaron. How many other people make such a use of crossbows in this number? I told you a year ago in Burdium that you’d not stand a chance if we’d been on different sides.”

The captain snarled. “Why kill Thalo and Bors. You know them for fuck’s sake!”

The man he’d called Phythian smiled a dead smile. “You’ve got too much of a reputation these days Tregaron. We’re all well aware of how dangerous the Grey Company are, so we all shoot first and then decide what we should have done.”

The captain growled. “So what now?”

Phythian shrugged. “We wait for the other four and then take you all to Velutio and see how much the lord will give us if we don’t have the full set. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us where your sergeant and the other three are, would you?”

Kiva snarled again. “Tythias got them back in the hills” he lied. “They won’t be giving him any trouble. The murdering bastard had them knifed in their sleep.”

Phythian nodded. “Very well. The Lion Riders will have to claim the rest. Still, we’ll be sitting pretty just from what we have. I think by now you’ve traditionally dropped your weapons when you know you’re surrounded and there’s no hope.”

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
care
is what you need to ask.”

“You might” replied Kiva “
if
you knew.”

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.”