Interregnum (50 page)

“Can you identify them? They’ve no flag” the young man muttered to his companions.

Kiva, next to him growled unpleasantly. “Oh, I can identify them alright. That’s Phythian and his archers.”

“Phythian?” the young man stepped back. “The man who gave you to Velutio?”

“The very bastard. Wonder what he’s doing here.” He gestured to one of the guards manning the huge bolt throwers. “Point that thing at the pompous ass down there and if he so much as blinks, let loose.”

The unit of crossbowmen, almost a score strong, reigned in their horses not far from the gate and their commander, his fetching grey silk clothing stained brown with the dust.

“General Caerdin!” he called from the path. “We need to talk.”

Kiva laughed derisively. “So talk! This gate’s not opening until I know why you’re here and make it fast. Convince me not to have you shot here and now.”

Phythian laughed mirthlessly and swung sideways in his saddle, crossing his legs. “I’ve run out of time for Velutio. He’s not a good employer and, to be honest, a little impatient and bloodthirsty even for me and my boys. Funny thing is: I’ve been hearing a lot of rumours recently that General Caerdin had resurfaced with a claimant to the throne. This I really had to see, since I’d last seen the good general being crucified and his claimant to the throne had gone the way of all flesh.”

Darius nudged Kiva and the general realised his growling had been growing rather loud. He glared down at Phythian as the man continued.

“You’re a very hard man to find, Caerdin. But I’d had my doubts about the Wolves that day in Serfium. I couldn’t see your old ally Tythias butchering your men, so I just asked around until I found the Lion Riders and then followed them. You see, I think I’d rather throw in my lot with you and whatever potential Emperor you’ve got than help Velutio get to a point where he’s the only employer there is. What d’you say?”

Kiva growled again in frustration and muttered among the others at the gate top “I don’t trust him or like him, but we could really do with some good trained crossbowmen. They’re few and far between.” He reached into a pocket and removed a small copper coin, tossing it into the air where it tinkled to the floor of the gatehouse. He looked down. “Heads,” he declared as he straightened and looked over to the soldier at the siege engine. “Kill him.”

Phythian slipped from the saddle smoothly and dropped behind the horse. “He’s a good horse. It’d be a shame to pierce him. Besides, Caerdin; I know you hate me, but I can be very useful to you. Can you afford to put the good of your new Emperor aside just for the pleasure of doing away with me?”

Kiva grunted and smacked his fist into his palm. “The bastard’s right. I can’t afford to turn them away.” He leaned over the parapet.

“You’d have to swear the old oath to the Emperor, the People and the Gods, and take another oath to me and mine as your commanders if I even consider this.”

Whatever Phythian said in reply was lost entirely as Kiva was hauled bodily around by his young Emperor. Darius, a hand on the general’s shoulder, shook him. An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “You can’t seriously be considering taking this fucking traitor in, general? I won’t have him in the army.”

Kiva stared back at him. “We can’t turn down good trained men. We’re not strong enough for that.”

“Then take his men if they’ll join,” Darius growled, “but not him!”

“What about him then? I’d like to put a four foot iron bolt through him, but that’s not going to inspire his men to join us. Velutio works on fear, not us. Our force grows and stays together because of loyalty.”

Darius nodded. “You’re right, but treachery needs to be dealt with too.” The young Emperor leaned over the parapet in his full paraphernalia and glared down at the assembled folk below. “Captain Phythian? You’re accused of treason, the unlawful confinement of innocent men and the murder of five of the Wolves, loyal servants of the Empire. I can either have you executed right now, or you can try and prove your innocence against your accuser?”

Kiva hauled the young Emperor back from the battlements. “Are you mad? He’s not the best swordsman I know, but he’s been fighting battles for twenty years or more. We can’t afford to lose you over a whim like this!”

Darius grinned. “I’m a good swordsman, general. Believe me when I say I can handle myself and it’ll do a lot for morale if I can pull this off.”

Kiva shook his head. “Don’t be fucking stupid. If you lose, the whole world loses!”

“Then I’d best not lose” the young man replied with a smile. “The challenge is given, so I can’t really back out now, can I?”

Without waiting for Kiva’s reply, he pulled away from him and leaned over the battlements once more. “Your answer?”

Phythian grinned. “I don’t quite see it the same as you, your highness.” He leaned back in the saddle. “And I’m not really sure that killing an Emperor is a good thing, but I suppose it did Caerdin no harm. I accept your challenge.”

On the battlements, Kiva punched the stone wall so hard he drew blood from every knuckle. He growled and grumbled under his breath.

Darius stood straight once more and called out in a clear voice “open the gate and make the arena ready!”

Darius was aware, as the officers left the wall and the gates were swung open, of a malicious silence from the commander of his forces. Glancing sidelong at Kiva, he realised that the general was glaring at him. A month ago he would have made no decisions, particularly as important as this one, but it was the general’s fault when all was said and done. Caerdin had been teaching and grooming him to take the position he was now in; they all had really, so they could hardly complain when he acted like the man he was expected to be. He knew that there were risks. He’d never fought to the death on his own; never fought a live target except during the escape from Isera, but this was something that, while it had risk, could also boost the morale of every man in Hadrus and, if the word got out, would put him that little higher on the Imperial pedestal. Darius was well aware that he was not born to the position, and had never aspired to it, but he’d read the histories; he knew the great Emperors. In earlier, more settled times, the Emperors Titus and Sarinus had both led their armies from the front; had both fought duels and made a name for themselves as personal combatants, and that was one thing that had made them great and popular. Velutio was too powerful to take on by sheer strength of arms; Darius would have to have the people behind him to make it through this. Another glance at the general as they strode across the square spoke volumes. The way Kiva watched him suggested the ageing general was sharing much the same thoughts.

The arena, though makeshift, was a fairly solid affair. The warden of the Imperial prison here had had it constructed for rebellious prisoners to fight each other. This was an Imperial prison, so they would never fight to the death, as the Emperors would occasionally have a change of heart and pardon someone, but there would be blood. Today, in the earth and timber arena, there would be blood again. Hopefully not Imperial blood.

Phythian’s men were escorted, not quite as prisoners, to the edge of the arena, where they stood and watched their captain stride through the entrance. He’d left his crossbow and cloak outside and drew a long, narrow blade, flexing it and giving it a few practice swings. Behind him the huge timber gate was slid shut.

The other end of the arena remained open for long minutes as crowds of the men of Hadrus drifted in to the surrounding area, taking their place on the slope and vying for the best view of the sandy ground. Within minutes the expectant hum grew to become deafening as the command unit pushed their way to the front. Athas literally pushed men aside to make room for the general and his companions. Kiva stood watching the arena, his brows knitted together in unhappy concentration. Darius, the showman he was becoming, was waiting for the prime moment to enter.

And that moment came. The hum had died away, leaving a low susurration that permeated the air around the killing ground. Into the almost silence strode Darius, in his full armour with the shoulder pelt hanging from his sword arm side. His bronze breastplate shone in the early autumn sunlight as he stepped quietly to the mark that had been drawn in the sand. Removing his sword from its sheath, he swung the curved, northern blade a few times, stretching his arm muscles as the wooden gate was slid shut behind him.

The whispering died away into silence and Kiva watched intently, his knuckles white and his fingernails biting into the wooden perimeter. Next to him, Athas patted him on the shoulder.

“He’s good. He really is.”

“I bloody hope so,” the general muttered, as the two men in the sandy oval started to walk slowly toward one another.

“He is, and he’s got something to prove too. Better he does it here in these conditions than on a battlefield against a dozen.”

Kiva grunted, his eyes fixed on the action before him, and shook his head as Darius picked up speed, making a run against his opponent. “Too soon.”

The general looked away momentarily as Phythian danced lightly aside. Darius hadn’t even swung his blade. Pirouetting gracefully, Darius came to a halt several feet from his opponent. Phythian smiled and flexed his sword once more. He spoke in lowered tones that would not be heard by the watching crowd. “I know you don’t think much of me, young Emperor, but remember that it’s a hard world out there and you do what you have to do to keep yourself and your unit afloat. It will give me absolutely no pleasure to draw your blood, let along kill you.”

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.