Interregnum (78 page)

Caerdin nodded. “That’s only the start, Sabian.”

Reaching up, Balo unbuckled the face plate on Kiva’s helmet and let the silver mask fall to the grass. He squared his shoulders and smiled his half-frozen smile. “The world is an interesting place, commander Sabian, and always full of surprises.”

Lord Irio stamped impatiently round the floor of the villa’s main living room. A number of other lords sat around in the somewhat faded comfort and luxury of a country villa. A mosaic of the Imperial raven adorned the floor, while paintings of rural landscapes graced the walls. A bowl of fruit had been thoughtfully provided on the small circular table and a jug of excellent wine sat beside it. A warming log fire had clearly been set some hours earlier and regularly fed and cast an amber glow across the room. In all it was an outstanding comfort compared with the cold of the tents in Velutio’s camp. Irio seemed to be the only one bristling with impatience. He glanced out of the window, divided into small pains with lead and across the valley where the two armies faced each other in the deep porphyry and dusky blue of pre-dawn. The sun was almost up and if no one showed here in the next few minutes, he would have to get back to his men before the battle.

“Ah gentlemen.” Caerdin entered through the main door of the room that led to the entrance hall, kicking the door to the hallway closed once more with his heel. He was wearing travelling leathers and had a small hand-held crossbow in each hand, with another hanging from his belt and a small quiver of bolts on the other side. Despite the orange glow and the comfortable warmth in the room, Kiva’s face was pale and unearthly.

Irio turned from his pacing and strode purposefully toward Caerdin, who calmly raised the bow and shot the lord in the leg.

“I suggest you take a seat, Irio.”

The bulky lord with the thinning head of hair staggered back, clutching at the bolt protruding from his thigh and fell into the closest chair.

“Lying bastard!” the man cried. “Your Pelasian said we wouldn’t be harmed!”

“Ah, no.” Kiva settled gently into the seat by the door. “He said you would be unmolested and no soldiers would be waiting for you. I have no intention of molesting anyone unless you make a move on me, which I consider self defence and, as you can see, I wear no uniform today.”

He smiled broadly. “In fact, you’ll find that the fifty or so men I have outside are not soldiers either. All of them, drawn from Sabian’s army I might add, are in their own clothes and have been given their final service agreement. There are no soldiers here. Indeed I, myself, have left my letter of resignation in my tent for whomsoever finds it.”

Now another lord stood; Tito, Kiva seemed to remember.

“Explain yourself, Caerdin.”

“Gladly.” Kiva settled back into the chair, one crossbow on his knee and another hanging from his belt. He withdrew a number of small bolts from the quiver and placed them on his lap, reloading the third spent bow as he did.

“I used to play towers with Quintus. I expect you remember him. He was your Emperor a couple of decades ago.” He smiled benignly. “…and the only way to beat that genius of a man at the game was to set up a trap for half an hour and then bring down as many towers as you could in one fell swoop. Now think of today as a game and yourselves as the towers.”

In a rush, others stood and a cacophony of dispute rose in the room as some lords hurled abuse at Kiva, while others argued with each other about what they’d done. Kiva sat in the face of the blast and smiled. He waited until the last voice died away before he spoke.

“Without you, your soldiers will be unsure. They’re unlikely to blindly serve a man they don’t know except by reputation, like Sabian or Velutio, and I expect people they don’t know trying to push them into the front of a fight for a man they don’t serve will probably just make them all the more obstinate. Velutio will lose a third of his army before this even begins and my officers know exactly what to do to end this without a single drop of blood being drawn in the valley. Darius will be Emperor by sunset.” He shuffled in his seat. “But that, unfortunately, requires that you gentlemen be removed from the equation.”

“You want to keep us here until the battle’s over?” demanded Irio incredulously.

“Oh, no. I’m afraid you’ll all be dead by then.”

Irio laughed. “There are twelve of us and only one of you. Even with your crossbows, most of us could just walk out of here.”

Kiva smiled again, his pale, drawn smile. “I used to be rather bad with a missile weapon, you know, but I’ve had practice recently; lessons from an expert. The first three or four men who rush me are dead before they get here,” he said, pointing two bows at the gathering of lords. “You’ll find the place sealed tighter than Velutio’s arse anyway. All the windows are locked and the doors are barred. I’ve had Cialo and his men seal this place completely. We’re here until the end, people.”

Irio staggered toward him.

“You’re a bluffer, Caerdin. You can’t keep us away from the battle like this.”

“Oh, I can.” There was a twang and a crossbow bolt dug deep into Irio’s neck, amidst a spray of blood. The barrel-chested lord fell to the floor gurgling and writhing.

“Who’s next?” Kiva asked, dropping the spent bow and picking up the third in his offhand. “Anyone feeling brave? No good getting past me anyway. That door behind me’s well and truly sealed.”

A thin, reedy lord at the back stood sharply.

“Can anyone else smell smoke?”

Kiva grinned. “Yes, it’s nice and cosy in here and it’s about to get an awful lot hotter.”

“They’ve set fire to the building!” one of the lords cried, triggering pandemonium. Men ran to and fro. Tito, a small, wiry lord with a squint eye, ran to the window through which Irio had recently been looking.

“This is only lead-paned glass!” He picked up the chair the barrel-chested lord Irio had used and smashed it against the window. The glass shattered outwards in a glittering cloud, catching the very first rays of the sun and lead strips buckled and came away. The group of lords rushed towards him and his means of escape, but fell away again in a panic as an arrow flew with deadly accuracy through the window and took Tito in the eye, hurling him back away from the hole, still holding the fragmented remains of the chair. He skidded across the floor, dead before he came to rest against the small table, tipping the jug of wine and the bowl of fruit to the floor.

Kiva laughed. “I told you I had fifty men outside. You can be damn sure they’re not going to let you get away. Hell, they’ve got orders to let nothing escape, even me.”

“You!” a tall thin lord whose name escaped Kiva bellowed as he made a run at the general. Kiva lazily, almost as if in a daze, raised his hand and released another bolt. All those hours of tuition with Phythian’s men had been well worth it. Besides, these things were much easier to use than a bow. The bolt took the man in the solar plexus, shattering his breastbone and punching through into internal organs. He took advantage of the widespread confusion to reload the other bow and rest his hands on the chair arms.

“I can assure you that there really is no way out. Consider this penance for siding with a spineless and self-centred megalomaniac and not supporting the Emperor.”

The men in the room ran hither and thither in a panic, opening the other side doors of the room, only to find outer doors heavily locked and barred and any window they came to covered from outside by archers. Some tried to climb out to freedom, only to be struck by whistling shafts of ash before they’d even touched the earth outside. Others ran in a panic looking for other ways out, only to find that when they opened a door, the room behind was already an inferno. Battered by waves of heat and clouds of choking smoke, they ran in blind panic and not one of them paid any further attention to the sentinel by the main door with his two loaded weapons.

Kiva watched them run. In his mind he remembered a room of marble and gold. He remembered the golden-haired Quintus in his purple tunic smiling as he moved a white tower, knowing he’d beaten his favourite marshal. Quintus would laugh in that buoyant way of his and reach out to the wine jar, pouring another drink for both himself and his opponent and stop, mid-way as he realised his error. It was then that Kiva Caerdin, marshal of the northern armies and friend and confidant of the Emperor would trigger his unexpected move and seven of the Emperor’s remaining eight towers would vanish in one move.

“You’d be proud of me now, Quintus” he muttered to himself as the flames licked at the panes of glass and the lead of the room’s windows. “Twelve towers in one move. That’s more than I ever managed in our games.”

He smiled as he watched the room explode into a ball or yellow and orange flame, timbers finally giving way under the extreme heat and stressed glass shattering inwards in a million shards reflecting the inferno. He would burn soon enough, but that wouldn’t matter now. He reached up with a hand, ignoring the crossbow in it, and wiped at his chin. Dark blood flowed in rivers down it. The pale northerner smiled as his life and spirit flowed from him for the final time; from his mouth and from the wound in his side, where it spilled out into a dark stain on his grey tunic; a tunic of the Grey Company who were no more. Funny that; how now everything looked grey. Even the orange flames as they tore across the rug in the middle of the room. Somewhere there was a scream, but even that seemed grey and faded.

Kiva was dead long minutes before the fire reached his boots and breeches and ran up and across his body, wreathing him in a golden liquid fire.

And with him passed the last of the old world and the lords that had stood in the way of the new. The villa sighed and collapsed in on itself.

Chapter XXXVI.
         

Velutio urged his horse forward, the colour rising in his face, and pushed Sabian out of the way, almost unhorsing him. “What is the meaning of this? We came to parlay with your general, not some underling or his puppet ‘
emperor
’.”

Balo smiled, regarding the lord of Velutio coldly. “Caerdin is no longer the general of this army. He resigned his commission this morning as I myself was there to witness. He firmly believes there will be no need of a general today but that if there is, Tythias here is amply able and prepared for the role. I also am not a commissioned member of this army and am here only as a spokesman for Caerdin.”

Sabian nodded bleakly and pushed his way to the front once more, glaring at his lord. “Caerdin has gone to deal with those other lords in our army that he could rely on to think of themselves before they thought of you, Velutio. He’s had something going on for some time now obviously, possibly even for months. We’ve had deserters all the way around the coast and I thought it was because they believed in Darius or possibly felt oppressed by us, but perhaps it was Caerdin’s doing all along.”

Balo smiled. “In actual fact commander, we’ve had nothing to do with your desertions. Caerdin only intended to deal with certain individuals he felt he could trust to rely on greed overcoming their loyalty. Only a dozen lords or so have been dealt with, but that’ll cripple a large portion of your army. Your army’s
deserting
because they don’t believe in your cause. They don’t want this man to be their emperor, and I can see why, whereas Darius is a man of Imperial blood with a solid claim to the throne and the Gods are with him.”

Sabian nodded again, his fingers pressed against his temples. “He’s brought your army crashing down, my lord. He’s abducted a dozen of your commanders and their men won’t fight for you now. In fact, I doubt we’ll ever see those lords themselves again.” He pulled himself up straight. “If you insist on going ahead with this, you’re walking into disaster.”

He turned to Balo. “What terms do you offer?”

“No!” Velutio turned and pushed hard, hurling Sabian from his horse and glaring at Tythias. “There will be
no
terms. I still have the better army and without Caerdin, your own army is nothing but a collection of badly-trained rebels. There will be war here today and I will walk in your blood, all of you. Get back to your lines, ‘general’ Tythias and prepare your men. I will see you in the battle.” Sabian growled and began to rant at his lord, explaining the myriad reasons for withdrawing against a torrent of abuse.