Interregnum (15 page)

“Darius” he reprimanded the boy. “Do you not know how to knock?”

The young man gasped.

“S… sir. I had to tell Sabian they were dead. He… he’s gone to the boat.”

Sarios moved his left hand and the scroll contracted into a coil, the still wet ink running and blurring. He took a deep breath.

“Then I hope you’ve been studying your drama, Darius” the old man said with deep feeling. “We’re going to need to play this very convincingly and if he’s sent for Velutio, we’ll have a most attentive audience.”

Chapter VIII.

Commander Sabian stood on the turf by the dock, watching as the ship bumped along the wood, sending spray into the air. Velutio stood in the prow with Crosus, the captain of his personal guard and a few of the guardsmen. Sabian ground his teeth; Crosus irritated him intensely. As head of the army, Sabian theoretically outranked the captain, but Crosus served directly under his Lordship and thus treated the commander as an equal and made every effort to undermine his authority with the troops. Velutio’s steely eyes alighted on Sabian, his severe iron grey hair remaining unruffled in the strong breeze and his helm held by his side. He rarely wore armour these days, except on ceremonial occasions, but when he did it was always very traditional and practical armour rather than the decorative rubbish that some of the lords preferred.

With a crunch, the ship came to rest and Sabian’s sergeants rushed to extend the boarding plank. He was relieved to note that the unit forming up on the deck was his own veteran unit and not one of Crosus’ guard. He’d sent specific instructions with his senior sergeants as to who to bring with them, but had half expected Crosus to have overridden the instruction. Fortunately, his Lordship had had enough trust in his most able commander to abide by his advice. The plank was extended and the colour party alighted on the dock. Velutio stepped forward to face Sabian, who noted that Crosus had placed his hand on the pommel of his sword and strode ahead to remain at his chief’s shoulders. Velutio’s voice when he addressed the officer was cold, hard and business-like.

“Sabian. Show me the graves.”

No preamble, but the commander was prepared for this.

“Yes sir” he replied, equally professionally. “Would you prefer to meet with Minister Sarios first? He’s awaiting you in the dining hall with his staff.”

Velutio shook his head, already stepping past the commander and starting up the gravel path so that Sabian was forced to step quickly and fall in beside his Lordship. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve not had time to run all the assessments I need to” he reported. “By the time we were ready last night, it was already getting dark. I’ve had the entire population of the island report to the dining hall for your inspection. I’ve run a head-count and only the three are missing.”

Velutio’s only response was a grunt. Crosus kept close, not more than four steps behind his lord, watching his opposite number with narrowed eyes. Sabian’s unit were assembling on the grass by the dock before they made their way to the palace. As the command party approached the great gate house, it struck Sabian as odd to see the place with no wandering life, everyone having been sent to the hall. He’d never seen the island empty before. It felt sad and hollow.

“I’ve visited the graves sir,” he continued, “but I’m still not sure why they’re so important. We’ve had deaths here plenty of times.” Sabian continued on a step automatically as Velutio came to a sudden halt and turned to Crosus.

“Go back to the commander’s unit” he ordered his captain. “Have them form in the Ibis Courtyard and keep them at attention.” He turned to Sabian and frowned as Crosus gave one last suspicious look at the commander while he descended the path toward the dock once more. Once the two were alone, Velutio fixed the commander with his resolute gaze. His voice was tight.

“Sabian, have you ever given any thought to who these people are?”

The commander shrugged. “I know who some are,” he replied, “but I’ve never made it my business to find out. A prisoner’s a prisoner sir and who they are makes no difference to how they’re treated.”

Velutio nodded and his posture relaxed a little.

“Commander,” he said patiently, “these are all political prisoners and are all of importance. Every man, woman or child on this island has a history in the machinery of the old Empire. They may be useful to me one day and that is why they are allowed virtual autonomy here and to get on with their lives as they wish so long as I always know where to find them and no one else can. Sarios may appear the most dangerous because of his past position and knowledge, but the two boys are far more important in the grand scheme of things.”

Sabian merely raised a questioning eyebrow in response and his Lordship continued.

“Quintillian? You must be able to make something of the name.”

The commander shrugged. “He’s named for Quintus the Golden sir. The son of some minor officials in the palace who died years ago, or so he told me once.”

Velutio shook his head and his voice lowered. “Quintillian was the son of a palace official, but there’s nothing minor about it. His father was Quintillus, master of the Horse and brother to the Emperor. It’s the same blood and that makes him the nephew of Quintus.” Velutio sighed. “Last survivor of the line.”

Sabian whistled through his teeth and rubbed his hair. “I’d always assumed some kind of distant connection sir, but I’ve never read anything about a survivor. They were supposed to have all died.”

Velutio rounded his shoulders as he went on. “The very existence of Quintillian has been a closely guarded secret since the day Caerdin burned the madman in his house. Quintillian was just a baby then and fortuitously came into my possession when his parents died.”

Sabian’s eyes narrowed. “What about Darius then, sir?” he added. “Is he a distant member of the line? Why’s he important?”

Velutio shook his head and gestured for the two of them to start walking once again.

“If anything, that boy’s probably more dangerous than Quintillian, but for entirely different reasons” he said darkly, and after a pregnant pause: “and as closely guarded a secret as his friend. I imagine that I and Minister Sarios are the only people who know his surname and I think that’s one secret I wish to keep commander.”

For a moment, Sabian’s step faltered again. A light dawned in his mind, but to speak of such a thing to Velutio could be to open a poisonous subject. Darius was perhaps twenty years old, very much the same as Quintillian. He was officially an orphan on the island and no one ever spoke his surname if they knew it. There were only two or three names in the Empire that were important enough to conceal, and only one of those had particular relevance to Velutio. Caerdin. Darius had to be the Caerdin child.

Sabian was thirty four years of age and had only been young when Quintus died, but he remembered the tales of Kiva Caerdin and knew all too well the story of that fateful battle that raged around the Caerdin estate at Serfium shortly after. They’d said that the Caerdin woman and child had died, but then who was it who’d walked away from that battle a victor but Velutio and the truth was his to keep. Of course Darius had to be Caerdin and that also explained a great deal about him. Time and time again Sabian had read the three campaign diaries Kiva had written and he knew a great military mind when he read one.

He glanced sidelong at his silent superior as they walked, his mind racing down unexpected channels. Caerdin had not been the only Imperial marshal; the commander was walking next to another this very minute and there was a history between these men. He wondered what it would have been like if Caerdin had been the one to come away from that fight. A man with intelligence and charisma like that? Hell, he’d have been Emperor by now if he’d lived.

Sabian returned his gaze to the path ahead and continued to mull things over silently as they walked through the courtyards and corridors to the orchards on the south of the island. He’d always considered Caerdin the most impressive of all the great generals of the Imperial past. The man had been a tactical genius and an impressive individual combatant by all accounts, eclipsing all his contemporaries; even Velutio. Sabian had modelled his battlefield strategies on Caerdin’s Northern Campaigns and with the benefit of hindsight, he could see how Darius came to be the clever and athletic swordsman he was. Dear Gods, if he’d known this island held such blood he might have spent more time here. Still, Darius should be no real threat to Velutio’s power even if he knew who he really was. Perhaps Sabian should try and persuade his Lordship to allow the boy a commission in his army.

The commander shook himself from private speculation as they entered the orchard. He cleared his throat and addressed Velutio, pointing between the trees. “The graveyard’s just beyond that row of cherry trees, sir” he said. “You can see the three freshly-dug graves from here. They’re the closest.”

Velutio nodded and, as they left the shelter of the branches and moved from a floor of twigs and fallen fruit onto neat turf, the lord of the most powerful city in the Empire stared down at three meagre wooden gravestones with a look of deep concentration. He came to a halt by the last of the three and folded his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He glanced over his shoulder toward the palace and then back at the commander. His voice took on an edge harder than before.

“Detail a company of your men to exhume these graves.”

Sabian blinked.

“Exhume sir?” he asked in surprise.

Velutio rounded on the commander, beginning to look a little angry.

“Yes, exhume,” he repeated himself, impatience making his voice deep and sinister. “I want all three bodies on display and my personal physician brought from the ship to examine them. I don’t like this one bit.”

Without needing the command repeated again, Sabian saluted and jogged off back to the Ibis Courtyard. As he passed through the gate toward the palace proper, Crosus appeared in the archway and stopped, folding his arms. His lip curled into a sneer.

“Bit of a mess you’ve made of this one, Sabian.”

The commander bridled. “I’m no jailor” he replied, “but I’m a soldier and a good officer and anytime you feel the need to put that to the test, duelling’s still legal. I’ve always thought your throat would look better with three feet of steel jutting out of it.” Without waiting for another pointless comment, he pushed past the guard captain and as he entered the marble enclosure his sergeants came to attention, though Sabian waved aside the discipline with a half-hearted salute.

“Sergeant,” he said, his face devoid of expression, “detail ten men for duty exhuming graves and have them get to the graveyard as fast as they can.” He continued as the sergeant nodded. “Have a runner sent down to the ship for his Lordship’s physician and have him sent to the same place. Then fall the rest out and relax for a while. I have the feeling it’ll be some time before you’ll get to relax again.”

The sergeant saluted and turned to the unit, bellowing orders. Leaving the logistics in the hands of his officers, Sabian jogged back through the archway and off to the graveyard. He had a horrible sinking feeling. He’d automatically trusted these people and assumed that everything was as it seemed. If Velutio doubted it, though…

A few minutes later, he slowed to a walk and came to stand beside his liege. Velutio was staring off into the distance across the sea while Crosus stood on his other side, glaring at Sabian. Velutio cleared his throat and addressed Sabian without a glance.

“The graves are likely empty commander,” he said with cold conviction. “If there is anyone in there, my physician will check them and I’m absolutely certain you will find that they are not who they are supposed to be.”

Sabian frowned.

“How can you be so sure sir?” he asked.

Velutio folded his arms and nodded toward the graves.

“You don’t know the histories of these people, commander” the older man said in a matter-of-fact manner,” but I know every single one. Apart from Quintillian, these three were Tomas Castus and Enarion Stavo. Castus was harbourmaster for the imperial island and Stavo was Quintus’ personal courier. I don’t know how they managed to find a way to get off this island without using the channel to Velutio. It’s theoretically impossible, but if anyone could do it, it would be those two.”

Sabian frowned and scanned the walls with frustration. At most places on the island the turf met the water and the walls were far enough down to afford a good view of the sea from the palaces, but here were cliffs and the walls were too high to see the water beyond.

“Sir,” he began, “I’ve spoken to people who used to sail the passage in the days when the Imperial engineers kept it safe; I’ve spoken to architects who’ve done studies of the palaces; I’ve read a number of books on the place since I took on this jailor’s job, and never anywhere have I found a sign that there is any other navigable route to Isera than through the narrow.”

Velutio turned once more towards the commander. He looked a little tired now.

“Sabian,” he sighed, “just because no one has ever documented a thing doesn’t mean it’s not there. Someone knows a way through the reefs; a safe channel. Never assume you know everything. If I’d thought for a minute that this island was completely secure, would I ever have assigned you to keep an eye on the place?”

He provided his own answer before Sabian could speak.

“No, commander. Though I don’t want you to think that I hold you in any way responsible for any of this. It had to happen eventually.”

Sabian blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that blame might land with him anyway. He was guiltless. Gritting his teeth at the unpleasant smile Crosus was giving him from behind Velutio, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw the exhumation party and the doctor making their way to the graves.