Interregnum (62 page)

The archer struggled to his feet, drawing a sword desperately. Brendan, his anger rising, reached out and grasped the archer’s sword hand, holding the blade away and squeezing the flesh until he heard several cracking sounds. The archer howled, unable to let go of the sword with his opponent’s fist closed painfully around his own. Brendan was aware of people shouting things but paid no attention. He smiled at the archer, whose face was twisted gruesomely and butted the man full in the face, accompanied once again by the cracking of bones. The archer fell back onto the steps, dangling from Brendan by one broken hand and the burly Wolf let go in disgust, the sword clattering away and falling to the paving stones below. The archer clutched his broken face with his good hand, sobbing. Brendan glanced around and saw the man’s bow. Reaching out for it, he unhooked the bowstring from first one end and then the other with an easy flex of his powerful muscles and leaned down over the wounded assassin. Winding each end of the bowstring around his hands, he looped the heavy duty catgut around the panicking man’s neck and pulled it tight. The archer’s good hand pulled away from the bloody, broken face and clawed at the tight cord around his neck. Athas’ voice sounded from a few feet behind Brendan. “Captain, let go of the cord. We need to know who he’s working for.”

Brendan growled. “He’s working for Velutio.”

Down in the courtyard Tythias, struggling with some difficulty due to his one arm, hauled himself off the Emperor and staggered back against the wall. Darius pulled himself up, his face full of concern, but the grizzled prefect grinned. “I have
got
to stop getting fucking wounded…” he realised who was standing before him and smiled weakly, “…highness.”

As Sathina rushed to help Tythias break the arrow shaft off, the scarred officer placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, lass. Didn’t mean to curse.”

Sathina laughed. “Good grief, Tythias. I didn’t fall for you ‘cause of your poetic tongue.”

Leaving the two to deal with Tythias’ wound, Darius spun round to take in the situation. His fear that the entire greeting in the courtyard may have been a deliberate ambush was put aside as he saw lord Silvas appear once more from the doorway, a look of concern on his face. To one side, on the wall stairs, he could see an interesting tableau: Brendan was kneeling over a man, presumably the attempted murderer, throttling him with some sort of cord. Athas was behind him speaking quietly. His head fuzzy, Darius looked back again at Silvas then at Brendan again.

Taking a deep breath, he called out “Captain, let some slack in that rope.”

Assuming, even hoping, that Brendan had both heard and obeyed, he turned to the master of the palace. “Lord Silvas? This is one of your men. It’s not for mine to punish him.”

Silvas nodded gravely. “Agreed, but he ceased to be one of my men the moment he shot at a guest in my house. Deal with him as you see fit.”

Darius turned back to his men and gave them an exaggerated nod. Athas growled and said under his breath “Brendan, question him.”

Brendan glared into the broken face of the archer.

“Talk to me. If’n you give me enough I’ll give yer a quick death.”

The man stared at Brendan in horror. Athas leaned down over his junior officer’s shoulder. “Tell us everything and he’ll give you the sword. Otherwise I’ll leave you to him and he might take days.”

The man coughed, blood flowing through his shattered teeth. “He’d have paid me well and the whole thing’d be over. I don’t want to die!”

Brendan looked up at Athas. “Velutio again, but only coz this little weasel’s a greedy little cowardly bastard.”

Athas nodded and, turning, walked down the stairs to join the Imperial party below. As he left, Brendan smiled at the archer in front of him.

“Damn, can’t reach me sword.” With a slight shrug, he slowly tightened the cord. The archer gasped, unable to speak and resumed his clawing at the garrotte, his broken hand flopping feebly around with the effort. “Ack, agh…”

“I know,” smiled Brendan. “I’m a bit of a liar, y’see?”

Oblivious to the final throws of the man on the walls, Darius, accompanied by his courtiers and the members of his now very alert and unhappy personal guard made their way through into the great hall on the heels of Lord Silvas himself.

The room continued the military theme of the palace itself. Big and impressive, the hall was of stone rather than marble or brick, with buttresses on the interior as well as the exterior on which oil lamps burned, augmenting the small amount of light the windows admitted. Flags in red and white and military regalia decorated the room and the flagstones had been laid cunningly to provide a map of the Silvas lands. This lord was proud of his heritage and Darius dredged his formidable knowledge of political history. He had vague recollections of the name. The family had been local governors for generations; a most unusual situation, since governorship was usually granted on a five-yearly basis by the Imperial court. One of the earlier Silvas members had presumably so impressed the Emperor of the time that the family had been granted the position in perpetuity; no small honour.

Silvas himself stood to one side of his huge chair behind a table at the far end of the room. Again, Darius was struck by how many nuances of Imperial etiquette he had picked up from his classes under Sarios and the other tutors without even realising it at the time. To have taken a seat would have been to deny the validity of Darius’ claim. The fact that the lord hadn’t knelt showed nothing. He’d as yet taken no oath, but neither did he dispute any claim. He was vaguely aware of Athas and a few others coming in behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at Tythias, standing stern and unmoving, despite the arrow jutting from his shoulder and Sathina behind him fussing and muttering.

“Prefect, have the men fall out to wherever they’re allocated. I don’t imagine we’re in any further danger.”

Tythias nodded and began issuing orders to the various lesser officers with them. One of Silvas’ servants showed the guard officers outside and to their lodgings, while a half dozen of them formed and remained with their Emperor. Darius paid no attention to the organisation going on, fixing his gaze on Silvas.

“Your lordship, before we begin anything, do you have a doctor that could look at my prefect’s wound? I regret we have no medic in our party.”

Silvas nodded. “I’ve already sent for him. Please; there are plenty of seats and tables. Everyone should make themselves comfortable and you and your closest should join me here.”

Darius made a few small motions and walked steadily across the hall to the table where a half dozen seats had been arranged. Alongside him, Athas, Tythias and Sathina strode ahead.

“You’ve met the army’s executive officer, Prefect Tythias. May I also introduce Athas, a captain and a member of the Wolves and Sathina, lady of the Imperial court and one of my advisors.”

Silvas blinked. “You have a woman as an advisor? A bit of a frivolity, no?”

Sathina bridled and Tythias clamped his hand on her shoulder. Darius smiled. “This is no ordinary woman, Silvas. She’s infiltrated a court and saved the life of General Caerdin. I value her highly as do my senior commanders.”

Silvas smiled, unsure of whether to laugh or not. As the last of a series of emotions passed across his face, he turned to her and bowed. “Then I’m pleased to know you, Lady Sathina. Such beauty and reckless bravery rarely fit together.” He gestured to the seats at the table and, with a nod, Darius took the central one opposite the lord. As the others seated themselves, Silvas being the last, Brendan arrived in the doorway, exchanged very quick words with one of Darius’ guard and then strode up to the table.

“Ah, captain, take a seat”, the Emperor said.

Brendan smiled as he sat at one side, his forehead smeared in blood. “Sorry I’m late, highness. Bit of a barny m’afraid.”

Darius nodded. “Yes, I noticed. I hope it’s dealt with.” He turned his attention to lord Silvas, who was still watching his guests with a curious and appraising smile. “Where do we begin then? You’re an anomaly, Silvas… one of very few powerful lords who’ve remained independent.”

Silvas leaned forward, his elbows on the table and cradling his hands. “I’m well aware that a time is coming when I must put aside my independence and choose a side. I’m not very happy about it, but I’m also aware enough to realise I have no other choice. Lord Velutio has been consolidating a claim to the throne for at least a decade. He may not be of Imperial blood but he knows how to control and he’s been very much unstoppable. He ripped the independence out of most of my neighbours either by fear or be the sword and I’m not sure whether it’s because of my strength, my reputation or merely inconvenience that he’s left me alone thus far. And he’ll come for me very soon. He’s finished dealing with the western lords, according to my last report and is already on the move back to the city. Once he reaches the central provinces I shall be high on his list and my time will be up. I have absolutely no intention of taking my army to Munda to join with you and leaving my lands to be ravaged by brigands and then by Velutio, but also if the lord should arrive here with his army, rest assured I will take my oath to him there and then to save the lives of my soldiers and prevent the destruction of my territory. I find it very hard to believe that you could persuade me otherwise, I’m afraid.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Though you’re welcome to try.”

Darius cleared his throat. “I came here, Silvas, to appeal to your sense of duty and tradition. I may have been mistaken in that. From everything I’ve seen so far, you are in no need of any more sense of duty or tradition than you already have. Your army is loyal and strong and you have the support of your men. You seem to be basing your decisions on the good of your men and your lands, which is as noble a thing as I could ask.”

He stood and stepped away from his chair.

“When was this flagstone floor put in, could I ask?”

Silvas shrugged. “Almost a hundred years ago. Why?”

“This floor shows your domain as it is today. That means that at least four generations of your family have controlled these lands. Unusual, I’d say. What did your ancestor do to receive that kind of honour from the Emperor?”

Another shrug. “Marcus Pilatus Silvas was a Marshal of the army and a close friend of the Emperor. He saved the Emperor’s life during a riot at the games in Velutio. These are our lands in perpetuity by Imperial decree and we look after them.”

“Can you imagine Velutio giving out such an honour?”

Silvas shuffled in his seat. “This rhetoric’s tiring. No; to answer your question, I can’t see Velutio doing such a thing. And before you say it, I’ve also given thought to the likelihood that he would not allow hereditary titles. All I can do is try to convince him to leave me my lands and if he will not, at least I will have saved them from destruction at his hands.”

Darius nodded. “Frankly, lord Silvas, I think you give more credit to Velutio than he deserves. I don’t know how much dealing you’ve had with him in the past, but I would assume not much by the fact that you remain independent. Velutio is cruel and vindictive and not trustworthy. I have personally seen him crucify and beat men to death for doing nothing other than protecting their family. He has burned entire estates and trampled lands merely to remove an inconvenience. You claim to have thought in advance about these things, but I think you are, in fact, being short-sighted. You have no conception of what you are letting yourself in for if you accept Velutio as the power of the land. I don’t think I’m here to convince you to join us. I think you should convince us to
let
you come to Munda.”

Silvas blinked. His voice was low and angry. “No one has spoken to me like that in my entire life. I ought to have you flogged for it. I do not have to answer to someone with a spurious claim to the throne with the backing of an army led by a regicide. Careful of the ground on which you walk, young man.”

Darius nodded. “Small threats should be beneath you, lord Silvas. You are not the man I expected.” He glanced across at Tythias. “Gather the men. We’re leaving Silvas to his fate.”

Turning on his heel, he strode toward his honour guard by the doorway. For a long moment, Athas and Silvas glared at each other across the table and then the rest of the Imperial entourage stood and made their way across the hall.