Interregnum (57 page)

Darius grunted. “Contrition or excuses, captain? If you’re willing to kill a young man of true Imperial blood, what makes you hesitate over me?”

Phythian stood straight and dropped his sword down to his side, point touching the floor. “I have been very wrong in some of my decisions and I freely admit that, but do not expect me to lay down my life easily just to appeal to your ego.”

“My ego?” Darius laughed. “You really don’t know me. This I do for the Wolves and for Quintillian, who was a brother to me. And for them,” he added, gesturing at the crowd. “My ego has no say in this. Truth be told I’ve never killed anyone that didn’t wish the same of me. Don’t judge me by Velutio’s standard.”

With a smile, Phythian made a quick step forward and thrust his sword out at Darius’ chest. It was a deliberately slow attack, designed to give the crowd something to watch. The young Emperor knocked it aside with practised ease.

“You expect me to lay down my cards and invite you into the fold because your conscience gnaws at you? You should have thought of that before you sacrificed people on the altar of Velutio’s arrogance.”

Phythian’s smile widened. “You really do believe in this, don’t you? You’re actually prepared to face the most powerful man in the world and try to take everything away from him. I expected to find a puppet in the hands of Caerdin. You surprise me.”

Darius’ face remained flat and expressionless. “This verbal duelling is all very well, but it’s not what they came to see. Problem is: now that we’ve started this, there’s no way either of us can let the other walk out of here. You know that, don’t you?”

Phythian’s reply was lost in the action as he made another lunge, this time for real. The blade came dangerously close to Darius’ neck, but he bent almost double, dipping out of the way of the blade and bringing his own sword up in a swing that Phythian barely blocked. The two stepped back once more, aware of the roar and murmur of the crowd.

“Truly,” the captain commented. “Shame, though. I think in retrospect I’d have liked to have fought with you. You remind me of Kiva in the old days.”

As Darius raised an eyebrow, Phythian flexed his muscles. “I suppose we’d best give the crowd what they want, then?”

The young Emperor nodded as Phythian transferred the sword back to his right hand and took a step to the side. The next attack, when it came, was swifter again than the last and from a very unexpected angle, the blade coming down from a height. Darius twisted once more and brought his own sword up to block it, dropping to one knee and rolling beneath as the blade swept down and across. Even as he came back up, he was moving, the sword flicking out behind him and almost catching the captain in the back as he turned.

Again and again they lunged, ducked and leapt, their swords glinting and flickering in the afternoon light, dancing their deadly waltz in the sand. The crowd around them caught their breath; groaned; cheered, and still the energetic frenzy went on.

And suddenly the crowd moaned in dismay. Phythian, coming out of a spin, had lunged forward unexpectedly, his blade piercing Darius’ thigh just above the knee and pushing through until it appeared, covered in life blood, from the back. The disbelief and anguish was palatable. Phythian was smiling, where he stood leaning over the crouched Emperor, his blade dripping onto the sand.

And then, grin still fixed to his face, he toppled gently backwards and, as he did, Darius’ sword slowly unsheathed itself from the captain’s torso, where it had driven in low in the stomach and penetrated inside vertically, almost to the neck. A wash of blood splashed out as the tip of the blade came free and Phythian, shuddering, fell to the sand.

Darius staggered sideways and slowly pulled the blade from his leg, gritting his teeth. He crouched over the shaking body.

“The Gods take you Captain Phythian” he intoned, but the captain gripped his arm.

“Help me up!”

A frown upon his brow, Darius staggered under the weight of the dying captain and slowly hauled him to his feet. As he came upright, a great gob of dark blood poured from the man’s mouth and he coughed to clear his throat of blood. He took a deep unsteady breath, the horrible noises from within suggesting that Darius’ blade had sheared one of his lungs, Phythian shouted out across the arena.

“Hail the Emperor!”

As the last syllable fell from his mouth along with deep red, he slumped against Darius’ shoulder and slid gently to the sand.

For a long time there was silence as the young man stood, putting the weight on his good leg and looking down at the body of the crossbow captain, a confusing mix of emotions running through him. He was vaguely aware of the roar from the crowd and noted without reaction that the commanders had hauled the gate aside and were running across the arena toward him. He looked up in confusion as he was hauled up by the shoulders and all but carried across the sand. Kiva fell in beside him.

“That was brave, selfless, impressive, and stupid. You did well, but don’t ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?”

Darius nodded vaguely, still dazed. He barely felt the pain in his leg, though he knew he would later when the adrenaline had faded. H left the arena in the arms of his friends as the crowd went wild with joy over the personal victory of their Emperor. Now all he had to do was give them a victory on the battlefield.

Athas shook his shoulder gently and he looked up in confusion to see Phythian’s men standing in two lines alongside the path, their arms locked in the traditional Imperial salute and their heads bowed respectfully.

All things considered, he might be getting the hang of this Emperor thing after all.

Chapter XXVI.
           

Victory was rarely a thing to be savoured in the immediate aftermath. Sabian glanced with some distaste at the sight of small parties of soldiers piling the bodies of Lord Pelian’s men in heaps, preparing for ‘disposal’. The survivors had been marched into one of the barrack buildings at the lord’s palace, locked in, and were under the guard of Sergeant Iasus’ and his men. Pelian and his commander and family, on the other hand, had been delivered to Lord Velutio after the battle and Sabian could see them all standing on the hill just ahead with a number of men from one of Sabian’s better units.

He took a deep breath and then clamped his mouth shut as he strode at speed past the rapidly charring remains of the enemy commander where what was left of him dangled from his chains. Even with his breath held, he couldn’t fully avoid the smell and fought the impulse to gag. Ahead, Velutio stood with Pelian and his wife and child just out of range of the foul smoke.

Grumbling unhappily under his breath, Sabian strode up to his lord, glancing at the prisoners. The boy and the woman had not been harmed yet, though Pelian himself had been roughly dealt with and showed signs of some serious beating. Behind them, ominously, two more sets of chains had been hammered into the palace wall, one at the same level as the commander’s and the other just over half that height. Velutio turned at the sound of the boots crunching on the gravel and smiled a mirthless smile.

“Commander. Report?”

“Somewhere in the region of eight hundred enemy dead, lord. They’re being prepared for disposal in burial pits, though again I would ask that we make time for proper burials.” As Velutio shook his head, Sabian went on. “Almost five hundred survived, though a lot of them are wounded. They’re all contained in the palace barracks, but their doctor died during the fighting, so the wounded are receiving no help.”

“Then they’ll die,” the lord said flatly. “I’m not sparing them our medics. We have wounded of our own. What’s our situation?”

Sabian shrugged. “We lost just under two hundred, with roughly another hundred badly wounded and a couple of hundred minor wounds that can still campaign. I’ve detailed a small medical support party to escort the badly wounded and the dead back to Velutio and commandeered the necessary horses and wagons from this estate.”

Velutio nodded gravely and turned back to his captives.

“You see Pelian? Your loyalty does you credit, but the time is long past for such heroics. Your army is gone, your wounded are receiving no attention, and your commander has been executed for non-compliance. Really, everything is lost for you now except your lovely wife and your son. You don’t want me to continue where we left off, surely?”

Pelian slumped. “I keep telling you, I don’t
know
where they are. I shouldn’t think anyone does. I never made a deal with them, I never pledged my allegiance to him, and I never planned to send him my army.”

Velutio sighed and hauled on the rope, pulling the other lord back up to his knees. “I’ve heard the same story from four other lords. You all claim to be fighting for your independence, and yet everywhere I go I see signs of treachery. My scouts saw Captain Tythias and his Lion Riders at your palace just over a week ago. Perhaps they dropped in for a cup of wine with you? To talk about old times?”

He hauled hard on the rope and Pelian gagged as the noose tightened around his neck. “Now, I will ask you one more time and if I don’t receive a satisfactory reply, I will have your son chained and burned. I don’t want to have to kill such a young child, but I
will not
be hindered by a small lord with a misplaced sense of duty.
Where
are Caerdin and his rebels?”

One of the three soldiers behind them hauled the boy to his feet.

Sabian growled again and stepped forward. “Lord Pelian… answer him for the Gods’ sake. Don’t let your son burn. Caerdin knows what he’s started. He’s not innocent, but your boy is. Be sensible.”

Pelian stared at his son and at his wife, tears in his eyes and sagged, deflating.

“Munda. We were meeting at Munda. I don’t know if that’s where he’s based, but that was the meeting place.”

Sabian nodded in relief as the smile crossed Velutio’s face. The steely-grey lord let go of the rope. “Munda… Makes sense. It’s unused these days and Caerdin probably has friends there. An army could certainly be marshalled and trained there.” He looked at the prisoners and drew a knife, reaching down toward the noose around Pelian’s neck. The captive lord leaned back to allow access to the rope and stared in shock as Velutio drew the blade hard across his neck just below the rope. He tried to speak, but there was just a whistling noise from his open neck and a bloody froth from both there and his mouth. His eyes still staring in amazement, he toppled to one side. Sabian shook his head; he’d known it was coming. Velutio was nothing if not predictable.

The old lord stood once more, ignoring the wailing of lady Pelian where she struggled to free herself from a soldier’s grip. Walking slowly over to the boy, Velutio took the rope from the guard and lifted it from the boys’ neck. Reaching behind, he cut the other cord binding the lad’s hands and all the while the boy stared at him. No tears; no quivering lip, just cold hatred. As the boy’s hands came free, Velutio stepped back.

“You’re now the lord Pelian. Your father once took an oath to me and he broke it. Remember that, as you’re bound by the same oath. You’re free to go about your business. As soon as we’re ready to move out, your troops will be left as they are and you can tend to your wounded as best you can and bury your dead honourably.”

He turned back to Sabian, paying no further attention to the glaring boy and the screaming woman. “Munda.”

The commander nodded and squared his shoulders. “I need to talk with you my lord; privately.”

Velutio nodded and the two stepped away, leaving the three soldiers with the distraught woman hugging the body of her husband. The young boy continued to stand, motionless, watching Velutio with visible loathing.

As they began to amble slowly down the hillside, Sabian cleared his throat. “I would like to think that I’ve only ever offered you good advice my lord.”

Velutio nodded. “On the whole I agree, Sabian. Maybe I should have followed some of your advice at times when I did not, but we’re in a position of power now, so I think everything may have worked out for the best.”

Sabian nodded uncertainly. “Perhaps. However, I have several things that I feel you need to hear and I would urge you to seriously consider them.”