Interregnum (46 page)

Athas laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and he didn’t flinch.

“Listen to me, lad…” the dark-skinned giant whispered quietly. “You killed your first man tonight and that should take something out of you. You should feel something about it and it worries me that you don’t seem to care. Killing coldly is not healthy; look at Kiva. Do you really want to become like him?”

Darius turned to face the sergeant and Athas’ fears grew as he saw the look on the boy’s face. “This isn’t murder; it isn’t even killing. This is cleansing. Don’t worry about me Athas; I’m quite in control.”

Before the sergeant could reply, the lad had started moving lithely up the spiral staircase, curving round to the right as he climbed. Muttering unhappily under his breath, Athas followed close.

Darius slowed as they reach the upper levels. This staircase was a private one for the slaves and servants working in the kitchens below to deliver food directly to the Imperial apartments on the top floor and with any luck the guardsmen didn’t know about it. Athas remembered the couple of times he’d actually been admitted to the apartments in the old days. The door was disguised from the inside as part of the wall’s decoration. The Emperor Basianus had had the door hidden for aesthetic reasons, but that might work to their advantage now.

The staircase came out onto a narrow landing with shelves of stone built into the wall on either side, beneath which stood old bronze braziers. Here the stone shelves would be kept constantly warm and dishes could be left while the rest of the meal was brought up from below. Then, when the entire meal was ready and stored in the warming corridor, the servants could knock and approach the apartment with a full spread. Darius had stopped and was looking about himself vacantly.

“The wall ahead is a door,” whispered Athas. “One good push and it should pivot open if it’s still in good repair.”

Darius nodded and stepped up to the blank wall with the burly sergeant at his side. There were at least four voices within. Darius put his shoulder against the wall, but the sergeant’s hand came down heavily on his shoulder yet again in restraint.

“Shh. Listen.”

The voices were not clear, muffled as they were by such a thick and heavy door, but the guard sergeant was recognisable, and several other guards were present.

“…figures moving on the roofs and no answer to our signals from the Water Gate…”

Athas ground his teeth. “Someone’s fucked up. We’d best get back down to where we can help.”

Darius shook his head as he listened. There was the muted sound of heavy booted footsteps leaving the room. “They’ve all gone bar two. I’m not leaving yet.”

Athas made to pull Darius back by his shoulder, but the lad wrenched away from him and slammed his shoulder into the door. There was a creak and a groan from the aging construction. “Help me!” he demanded.

The big dark mercenary growled in frustration, but bent forward and added his shoulder’s weight to the lad’s. The door swung ponderously open, but the speed of their entry and the noise it caused had attracted far too much attention. The guard sergeant and his companion were already in the middle of the room and moving on the door with their weapons ready. The leader sneered at them. “So the boy brings me one of the missing islanders, eh? That’ll save time; I can punish you now and relax a little tomorrow.”

Darius shuffled out of the doorway and danced sideways to cut off the exit to the rest of the apartment as Athas walked slowly and purposefully out into the room and dropped his sword point first to the floor and leaned it against the wall next to the door. The big man growled gently as he examined the sergeant.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself that you all deserve a chance to surrender, but Darius was right. You are a shifty piece of shit. You have no idea what’s going on, but you assume that you’re in control of it. You’re not.”

The other guard made a lunge for Athas, his blade held out in a very artistic fashion, as though he were engaged in a sport or display. The big sergeant pivoted, kicking the man’s wrist hard and the blade skittered away across the floor. He smiled as he stepped in toward the man.

“I’m not an islander, you pointless ass.”

The guardsman put his fists up to ward off the blow of the big mercenary, but Athas knocked them aside and, reaching out to grasp the man’s head, wrenched it around with a crunch, so that the entire head was reversed and the suddenly sightless eyes stared out above the man’s spine. Ignoring the body as it fell to the floor next to him, the big man’s smile grew wider.

“So, would you like to surrender?”

The guard sergeant’s eyes widened as the big mercenary drew himself up before him and the young man with the hateful eyes stepped slowly but inexorably towards him from the other doorway.

“I submit to your charge,” the man said, reversing his sword and pointing the hilt to Athas. The big man grinned.

“Ah well, you see I accept your surrender, but I don’t think Darius does, so I can’t really help you. If I were you I’d turn that blade around, cos I don’t think he much cares whether you’re armed or not.”

As Athas leaned back and folded his arms, the sergeant hurriedly flipped his sword over and gripped the hilt tight, just as Darius was on him. From the start, Athas had been aware that the lad had a good physique and handled his blade like a professional, but had been sceptical about his actual swordsmanship. After all, how good could someone be with only ministers and farmers to train him? Athas’ own sword was in reach and in a fraction of a second he could grip it, lift it and land a blow on the guard officer, but as he watched Darius come in for the first strike, he relaxed and settled back against the wall.

The young man stepped in and swung his own blade wide. The blow was slow; ponderous, and the sergeant easily raised his own sword to block it, smiling. However, Darius was lithe and prepared and the manoeuvre had been designed to elicit that very reaction. As the sergeant’s blade struck his own, Darius was already spinning back on his heel in the opposite direction. The connection of the two blades had knocked his back and he allowed his arms to join the momentum and carry it back the other way, picking up speed as he pivoted. To his credit, the sergeant saw it coming and managed to struggle his sword back in the way of the unexpected attack, but the effect this time was much different. The blow slammed his own blade into his side flat-first and jolted his arm badly, so that he shook and his arm hung limply for a moment, forcing him to maintain his grip with difficulty. Darius stepped back.

“You’re not leaving this room.”

With another step, the young man dipped to the left and brought the sword up in a jab. The sergeant struggled with his shaken and bruised arm and, gripping the hilt in both hands, desperately tried to turn the attack aside again. This time he prevented the more crippling blow but was too slow to stop it connecting altogether. The point of Darius’s sword ripped up through the sergeant’s side just below his ribs and the man grunted in pain. Once more the young man stepped back.

“Come on. You’re supposed to be a soldier and an officer. Make me work a bit!”

He stood for a moment watching the anger building in the sergeant’s eyes. With a smile, he stepped forward a little. “Would you like me to make it easier for you?”

The sergeant’s blow came suddenly. So suddenly in fact that Athas couldn’t believe the boy was prepared and, sure enough the blow did take Darius a little by surprise. The straight Imperial blade snapped out to one side and although the young man’s curved sword dropped to meet it, the sharp edge bounced along his blade to the hilt and scraped across his knuckles as he turned.

Once more Athas reached out to where his sword stood propped against the wall, but again he stayed his hand. Though the blow had caught and blood flowed across the lad’s hand, he maintained a tight grip on his sword and once more used the momentum caused by the sergeant’s swing to pivot on his heel and, dropping almost to a crouch, he swung the blade three hundred and sixty degrees and felt the edge bite beep into flesh. In fact the sergeant, sure of victory in that moment, had pulled his sword back for a second blow just as Darius’ blade smashed into his leg just above the kneecap, shattering the femur and almost completely severing the leg.

The sergeant collapsed with a cry, his sword dropping from useless fingers.

“This is for Sandro,” Darius growled, “the poor bastard you had almost kicked to death in the courtyard.”

He stepped across the widening pool of blood and kicked the sergeant’s sword away from him before turning back to the thrashing figure. With a vicious grin he put all of his might into a hefty kick delivered to the man’s wounded leg. The sergeant screamed as the leg flopped around, threatening once more to detach. Urged on by the scream, Darius delivered another kick, this time to the face, shutting him up amid the sounds of breaking teeth.

He drew his leg back for another kick but was thwarted as Athas knocked him roughly aside and brought his own large blade down heavily, severing the sergeant’s head and shattering the marble tile beneath. Darius turned on him, sword down by his side, but his face contorted with anger. Few men around had the height to meet Athas eye to eye, but the young man was one such. The big mercenary merely glared back at him.

“What will you do now, Darius? Fight me?”

Darius backed away and reached down to wipe his sword on the sergeant’s tunic.

“He deserved so much more than that.”

Athas nodded. “Perhaps, but if you give him that, you make yourself what he was. A soldier does not torture. Only a murderer does that.”

Wiping his own blade and watching the cavalcade of emotions parading across the young man’s face, he turned towards the window. With a couple of steps he sheathed his sword and looked out and down from the apartment.

“Sabian told us there were a hundred and fifty men. We’ve probably taken out twenty or so around the perimeter. If Mercurias and the other doctors are on form we should have taken out about sixty or seventy in the dining hall. Problem is: we don’t know how many more there are and, depending on how well the Pelasians have done in the buildings, there could be anything up to sixty out there that we’ve missed and one of the guards is out there trying to form them up into some sort of defence. We have to make sure everyone’s out of here and moving towards the shore.”

Darius continued to glare at the big man for some time and then finally gave a nod of agreement. “The minister will already have everyone out of the main palace. The Great Courtyard’s the meeting place for anyone who hasn’t got out yet and he’ll be waiting for us escort them once the palace is clear.”

Athas nodded as he started to move toward the main stairwell. “Problem is: we haven’t cleared it. Come on…”

Athas and Darius, swords gleaming in the moonlight, burst out of the Hall of the Swans and into the Great Courtyard. There were a group of around twenty islanders standing in the middle and Brendan and Tythias, both with their swords held in a defensive position, circled them protectively. It took only moments for Athas to notice the danger. There were half a dozen guardsmen blocking the gateway that led toward the shore and a considerable force coming through the arch from the Ibis courtyard. Brendan turned as he heard them running from the doorway.

“’bout time sarge. Got ourselves some serious shit ‘ere!”

Athas nodded. The group of guards from the gateway to the Ibis Courtyard had increased in numbers and were moving slowly and cautiously forward. The ones between them and the shore were still only half a dozen but could hold the gate well. Trying to get the civilians through there with only four swordsmen while they had two dozen chasing them down from behind could be a slaughter. Athas considered for a moment herding everyone back into the Hall of the Swans but there just wasn’t time.

“Brendan and Tythias, get out front and take that gate. Darius and I’ll hold the rest off at the back!” As the two mercenaries made their way to the front of the crowd and the entire group started moving, there was a cry and the guards from the Ibis Courtyard started to run.

“Get them out!” yelled Athas, pushing Darius away and stepping out alone to face the oncoming force. Turning his attention to the rush of men, he failed to notice that Darius had not moved and that others were joining him. Ashar and half a dozen Pelasians fell in beside the sergeant and the young islander, protecting the retreating civilians and bracing themselves against the attack that hit moments later with a sound of crashing metal that rang across the courtyard. Athas smiled at his companions and turned all his attention to the fight, sure of the Pelasians’ skill and unaware that Darius remained close by, fighting like a lion.

Blow upon blow rained down on both sides, and Athas twice felt steel bite into his arms, though never deep enough to stop him. Beside him a black-clad Pelasian collapsed under a hail of blows. The guards were not particularly good warriors but odds of at least three or four to one were still favouring them. Suddenly, Athas noticed they had reached the arch and were being slowly pushed into a defensive semicircle. Desperation gripped him as the other Pelasian to his left disappeared underfoot and he found himself fighting three men and protecting the flank of the retreating civilians.

Another blow landed on his hip, mostly turned away by the armour, but jarring him badly and leaving a hefty bruise… and then suddenly they were through. The islanders were running for the shore and Tythias and Brendan rejoined the rearguard. Marco and Mercurias had appeared from somewhere to help and all four were covered with blood. Brendan displayed signs of several blows that had connected, including a new vivid cut on his chin but it was Tythias, his eyes gleaming and swinging his sword like a man possessed, that Athas saw first. His left arm had gone just below the elbow and though the stump dripped gobs of blood as he moved, his other arm swung his frightening blade as though he were practicing against a wooden stake.