Three days they’d been travelling in both light and dark to reach Velutio, with Phythian and his score of men on horseback and driving the wagon in the back of which the four of them lay bound tight. They’d tried to persuade the effeminate leader that their wounds were bad enough to demand they delay the journey until the healing process was underway, but Phythian would have none of it. He wasn’t going to risk holding Tregaron any longer than necessary, knowing that the man had friends in the most unexpected of places. In fact, as Alessus had done his best to keep their wounds under control, Phythian had not allowed any of his men to get closer than a dozen feet from the prisoners, including their unit’s medic. Alessus had complained bitterly at the lack of medical treatment and, while he was no doctor and knew only a little field medicine, even he could see that Julian’s leg was infected. Unless there was a very good surgeon waiting for them in Velutio, and that seemed extremely unlikely, the leg would have to come off. The young Julian was facing bravely up to the possibility though, even when fever came on him and the smell from the infection filled his nostrils. Kiva had said hardly a word since their journey had begun. He spent every day and night watching the countryside, half expecting to see the Lion Riders or some other friends come running from the undergrowth to rescue them. Indeed it was gratifying in a small way to see that Phythian kept just such a look out himself.
And now he saw the first hopeful sign as the heavy stone south gate of the city of Velutio passed over the four of them as they lay in the cart staring at the sky. Kiva caught his breath and nudged Quintillian as best he could. The boy turned his head to look at his captain and Kiva raised his head very slightly to gesture upwards. Following his direction, the young man looked up and took only a moment to register a figure in black standing on the battlements and leaning over to look down into the cart. Something flashed a couple of times; a falling coin, flipping over and over and catching the sun as it plummeted into the cart, falling onto the captain himself. Kiva looked down his chest and could see a Pelasian gold sindar lying on his front. He looked back up at the battlements, now disappearing into the distance as they travelled along the south road toward the centre of the city, but the figure in black had gone. With some difficulty he shuffled back and forth until the coin finally rolled off his chest and into his bound hands.
He gripped it tight and then winced. Typical bloody Pelasians. They’d sharpened one half of the coin as either a tool or a weapon. Still, he thought as the warm blood trickled around his hands and soaked the bonds, he could use both a tool and a weapon at this point in the game. He settled back into the cart’s bed. Whatever Prince Ashar had in mind, there was precious little the four of them could do about it right now. Due to the raised sides of the cart, he could see very little of the city as they travelled, though what he did see appeared not to have changed since the days he’d frequented the place. The looming walls of Basianus’ Great Baths rolled by on his right, along with their surrounding parkland and the aqueduct that supplied them. A short while later, he saw the tops of the triumphal columns of the Calumnite Dynasty and the Avenue of the Gods with its temples in myriad shapes and sizes. All landmarks he recognised and remembered well.
Street after street slid by with a gradual increase in noise as they approached the centre until finally they neared what was undoubtedly their destination. They’d passed through the great markets and the lower forum, gradually climbing as they turned to head west. Then the triumphal arches began to appear as the cart and its escort rode beneath them, carved relics telling stories of campaigns long gone and celebrating Emperors than no one in these days would remember. This was the Imperial Way and, not far off at the top point of this mile long avenue of triumphs, stood the Palace of the Emperors on its rocky promontory overlooking the bay of Isera to the north and the ports to the south. Here the Emperors had ruled for three hundred years over the city of Velutio and the world beyond, long before the first villa had been built on Isera. Indeed in those days Isera was a watch tower and fortified island and nothing more, before one of the Emperors whose name escaped Kiva had decided he wanted a summer palace as a retreat from the city. The Emperors had begun to summer on the island while the rest of the government built their villas at Serfium.
And now the last arch rolled over the top of them and disappeared into the distance beyond their sight and the cart rumbled to a halt. He knew this place well enough. The sides of the wide avenue had closed in at the end and now became a three-sided courtyard with the fourth open to the Imperial Way. The walls of the palace, with their windows and battlements looked down from three sides into the cart where the four lay. Somewhere just ahead there was talking, but over the general din of a score of horsemen Kiva couldn’t make out any of the details until one of Phythian’s men unbolted the back board of the cart a minute later.
“Out!” he ordered curtly and stepped back. Lifting his head, Kiva could see four of them with crossbows aimed at the cart. Probably a little unnecessary considering where they were, but Phythian would be very careful right now since he hadn’t been paid yet.
Struggling, Kiva helped Quintillian to sit up while at the other side of the cart, Julian pulled himself up with the help of the side board and Alessus. The four shuffled with difficulty to the edge of the cart, grateful that at least their ankles were no longer chained while they’d been aboard. Kiva hauled himself off first, turning to give Quintillian a hand. Julian dropped to the stone flags, but his leg gave way instantly and he collapsed to the floor groaning. Alessus helped him to his feet with a struggle and the four stood, their hands tied behind their back. Blood still dripped from Kiva’s hands, though he continued to clutch at the coin until he turned and could deposit the item into his pocket. The man who’d ordered them to disembark gestured past the cart. “Time to go.”
As they limped and shuffled around the cart, they could see Phythian with his second in command beneath the huge ornate gate of the palace, with a dozen guards around in the red uniforms of Velutio. Other guards stood atop the battlements with javelins by their sides. Even in the current circumstances, Kiva was impressed to note how closely Velutio’s men emulated the old Imperial army. Their dress, kit and even stance spoke of the old ways, though they wore red instead of traditional green. This had to be the influence of their commander, for Kiva knew the lord of Velutio well enough to know how much he shunned the reminders of Imperial days.
As they reached the arch Phythian folded his arms and smiled. “This way. His lordship will be meeting us in the courtyard.”
Uncomfortably and painfully they plodded through the dark, covered gateway with Velutio’s guard ahead and Phythian’s archers behind, crossbows still trained on them. Kiva swallowed. This was the moment of truth. If Velutio was on true form, the four of them would probably be executed in the courtyard without any preamble and then anything Prince Ashar could do wouldn’t be enough. His only hope was to annoy his old adversary enough to make him keep the prisoners around long enough to suffer. The light dazzled them as they broke out from the gatehouse shadows and into the bright courtyard. This had changed beyond recognition. Gone were the statues and fountains, the flowerbeds and well tended walkways. In its place was a bare stone-flagged courtyard of immense size with two low stone buildings that had all the hallmarks of guard-posts. Around the beautifully decorated walls of the ancient palace now stood dummies for sword and javelin practice. In fact it reminded him greatly of the old Imperial training camp at Munda.
One thing that could not be mistaken though was the Lord of Velutio. He’d aged considerably since the last time they’d met, but then Kiva would be the first to admit that he’d seen better years himself. The lord’s hair may have greyed and his features wrinkled slightly, but there was no mistaking that cold, calculating face and the mind like a steel trap behind it. His attention was drawn to the small unit of no more than ten men standing behind the lord. Like the ones at the gate they carried themselves in the manner of old fashioned soldiers. A sergeant stood with the unit, young but very military in his appearance and deportment, vine staff jammed under his arm and a red crest on his helm to denote his rank. And in front of them at Velutio’s shoulder was a man that had to be this Sabianus. Wearing a very traditional general’s gear, with a burnished helm and breastplate, he stood straight and tall. Kiva’s heart fell as he realised this man was far too young to have been an officer in the old days. Probably no hope there then, though he obviously kept the old ways where it applied to his men. The commander was staring at him in a way that made Kiva curiously nervous. He shuffled his feet as he realised that blood from his hand was dripping onto his boot.
Velutio stepped forward and the commander followed him, staying at his shoulder.
“Kiva. You’ve looked better.”
The captain was interested to note that Sabianus glanced at the lord and then resumed his interrogative stare at him. How was Velutio going to play this?
“Avitus” he answered the Lord with a grin. “Nice city you’ve borrowed.”
Velutio’s temper seemed to have calmed over the years. Instead of the angry backlash he’d expected from such a comment, the lord smiled a humourless smile and turned his attention to Quintillian.
“You gave us quite the little run around, boy. I’ve spent rather a lot of money finding you.”
Quintillian cleared his throat and tried to stand straight, having previously been leaning against Kiva to support his weak leg. “You could have saved you money if you’d come looking yourself, Marshal. I’m sure we’d have given you a fitting reception.”
Velutio laughed and Kiva was most surprised to hear a note of real humour in there.
“By all the Gods, he even talks like you Caerdin! You do have a curious effect on people. Has he been adopted into your unit, whatever they call themselves these days? I note he’s wearing a soldier’s clothes now.”
Before Kiva could answer, the lad piped up “I’m a member of the Wolves now, yes.”
Kiva smiled. Quintillian, ever bright, seemed to have cottoned on to what he was doing and was taking turns in helping wind the lord up. Couldn’t afford to go too far though. There was something about the calm quiet way Velutio was taking the comments that unnerved him; reminded him of a volcano ready to erupt. He cleared his throat.
“So, Avitus, what are you planning for us then? A little jaunt round the bay? A social drink and a chat about old times?”
Velutio shook his head. “I haven’t quite decided yet. I’ll make sure you’re shown to the best of quarters while I decide though.” He turned to his senior officer. “Sabian? Take the four of them down to the Dalertine prison and have food delivered to them.” He stopped for a moment and peered at the four. “And if you can find a doctor, send him to look at them.”
Kiva’s brain ticked away as he filed everything he heard and saw. There may still be hope here. The way Velutio spoke to the commander told an intriguing tale. There was some suspicion or disagreement there, and the way ‘Sabian’ as he appeared to be called reacted to the comment made it clear that the discomfort was with both parties.
Sabian saluted and called over his shoulder “Iasus. Send your men out for food and drink for four hungry men and a doctor. Don’t worry about a guard. I’ll escort the general down to the Dalertine.” He glanced up at Kiva. “I’m assuming there’ll be no trouble, general?”
Again that grating edge. To call Kiva a general in front of Velutio was bordering on insult, but the lord brushed it off. Definitely a change there from the old days. Behind Kiva, Phythian coughed.
Velutio sighed. “Yes captain, I have your money. Go through into the gardens and I’ll be with you presently.”
As Phythian and his men walked off through the next arch and Sabian’s unit left the courtyard, Kiva glanced around. There were few guards here, but enough to stop anything foolish. Sabian wasn’t risking anything, just giving Kiva a certain deference and respect though whether for his benefit or to irritate Velutio escaped him.
The lord turned to Sabian and frowned. “All the respected and feared units we have out looking for these men and the people who take them are virtual unknowns. Perhaps they could be useful to the city on a more permanent basis?”
Sabian shook his head. “That captain’s a short step away from complete madness and I wouldn’t want him in my army. Better to use him a long way away from home I think.”
Velutio glared for a moment and then shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right.” He turned to Kiva. “I must ask where the rest of your unit is. There are four of you here and Phythian informs me that he has the bodies of five more, but that still leaves four, including that sergeant of yours.” He raised an eyebrow and leaned a little closer to Kiva. “You may as well tell me now. You know I’m not above having the boy tortured for the information and though I know you wouldn’t break, I’d be willing to wager he would.”
The captain glared at Velutio, meeting his gaze. “Tythias found us in the hills. He managed to jump us surprisingly well considering how well I know his tactics. We were forced to make a hasty escape. Athas and the others played rear-guard for us and were to meet us in Serfium, but they never turned up. I think you can assume that the treacherous one-eyed bastard will turn up before long wanting the payment for four of them.”
The lord nodded contentedly. “Very well. I must go and deal with payments due, but I’ll leave you in Sabian’s hands and rest assured I’ll be down to visit you as soon as my schedule permits.”
With one last long look and an unpleasant smile, Velutio turned and walked away through the arch and into the gardens. Sabian squared his shoulders.
“Very well general. I apologise for the nature of your quarters, but the orders aren’t mine to give.” He gestured off towards a doorway.
Kiva smiled. “I know the way.”
As they walked, Kiva looked around at the palace for the first time since Quintus the Golden had been resident. Remarkably little had changed about the majority of it, with the exception of the removal and destruction of all the Imperial iconography. He turned his head in interest as Sabian began to talk, but not to him.
“So Quintillian, I’m glad to see you’re not badly wounded, though you’d have been better having never left the island.”
Quintillian nodded. “The world’s a big place though Commander, and the island’s so small. I’d still be a boy if I’d stayed. Now I’m a soldier.”
“Indeed,” Sabian replied. “I’d never have imagined seeing you so weather-beaten and military.” He smiled though his face betrayed his unhappiness. “You’d give Darius a run for his money now. They’re all quite worried about you on the island and I very much suspect with good reason. You do realise that his Lordship’s unlikely to ship you back off to the island now?”
Quintillian nodded. “As I said though Commander, the world’s a big place and possibilities are endless.”
Kiva broke in. “I heard talk of you Sabian, while I was north of Serfium. It seems you’ve a fair reputation. I suspected you might have been an officer from the Imperial days. I’m obviously wrong, but your men do remind me a great deal of the old times.”
Sabian smiled. “I try to do things the right way. The Imperial army worked and, as they say, if it’s not broken, don’t try to fix it.” He sighed. “I always regretted the fall when I was a boy. I have the suspicion I was born half a century too late.”
Kiva returned the smile. “It’s hopeful though.”
“What?” the commander questioned.
“To hear people your age talking like that. There are few people who speak fondly of the old ways these days. In other circumstances, I have the feeling we’d have fought together quite well.” Kiva’s mind raced on. If there was any kind of division between Sabian and Velutio, he needed to apply a crowbar and push them further apart. Any ally was worthwhile at this point.
Sabian nodded as they opened a door and walked down a set of dank steps toward the cellars and the infamous Dalertine prison. “Perhaps. Times have changed though, general. I used to read your campaign diaries avidly. They’re the foundation of all my tactical knowledge, but these days I only have the chance to field an army against a disorganised and inferior Lord or perhaps against rebels and dissidents. Nothing like the old glorious campaigns. There’s no one left who could stand against my army and the little wars we do have are becoming less frequent. Soon there may even be peace.”
Quintillian looked up into Sabian’s face and interrupted. “How are the others?”
Sabian sighed. “Good for the most part. Darius is coming on well; if he were a free man I’d have commissioned him by now.” He smiled. “Though you’re getting that way too now. Minister Sarios was wounded when he refused to tell his Lordship where you’d gone, but he’s having treatment at the moment and Favio thinks he may keep his eye. Minister Turus is still alive and well as far as I’m aware, though I was tempted to put an end to him at one point. All in all, things go well. There’s a small garrison based there at the moment under my best sergeant, but they’re getting on quite well with the islanders. They’re helping to repair and rebuild.”
Kiva raised an eyebrow. “Velutio approves of your men fraternising with prisoners?”
Sabian shook his head and smiled. “I doubt it, but we’ve reached a certain understanding since I became sole commander in the city. He leaves military matters to me now and in return I try to stop him doing dangerous or stupid things.”
Kiva nodded. “I’d heard something about you and the captain of his guard coming to blows. I take it he’s buried deep now then?”
“The guard captain was a devious, conniving power-hungry megalomaniac. He wasn’t a good commander and he wasn’t a good man and he coveted my job. He tried to bring me down, but with the help of a few friends I managed to turn the tables on him. You are remarkably well informed for someone who’d been so far out of everything, General.”
Kiva smiled. “I like to keep abreast of things.”
They reached the lower floor and walked between the cellar doorways until they reached the prison, known in the days when Basianus had been incarcerated here by his own priests as ‘the pit’. A bare room carved from the rock with no windows and no decoration. Two flat wooden pallets lay on the floor to serve as beds and a bundle of straw in the corner for warmth. No toilet and no front wall, just bars an inch thick and three inches apart that would require a team of horses to bend. A soldier sat on a stool at the opposite wall and came to his feet at attention as they entered before leaping forward to open the prison door.
Sabian sighed. “First time this has been used since I’ve been in command. Hopefully the last time too.” Reaching to his belt, he withdrew a dagger and, leaning forward, cut the bonds on their wrists one by one. Ushering the four into the cell, the soldier closed the grill door and turned the keys in the two heavy locks before coming back to attention.
“I can leave a guard here if you wish” the commander said “though it’s quite unnecessary from our point of view. Just in case you need anything?”
Kiva shook his head. “I think we’d value the privacy if it’s in your power to grant that.”
Sabian nodded and gestured up the stairs. The guard marched off.
“Sergeant Iasus will be down here shortly with food and drink and a doctor. I will stop by once in a while.”
And with that the commander saluted them and then stalked off toward the stairs.
“A good man, commander Sabian” noted Quintillian.
“Yes,” Kiva replied. “I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. At least bad men can be bought or bargained. Good men have the tendency to be incorruptible and to carry out their orders regardless.”
He shuffled over to one of the pallets and sank onto it, opening and closing his hand. The blood was beginning to clot now. With a frown, he withdrew the coin from his pocket; around an inch across with one edge sharpened to razor point, the coin displayed the flying horse of Pelasia on one side and an image of the eastern Moon Goddess on the other. His frown deepened as he rubbed his finger across the coin, smearing the blood. Standing once more, he moved over to the bars of the cell and smiled ironically.
“What is it?” Alessus asked as he lowered Julian to the pallet and then sank to the floor himself.
“A pointless note from a friend.” He smiled again. “Ashar’s man dropped it to me from the city gate. There are marks on it, but they’re in the linear script of Pelasia and I haven’t the faintest idea what they mean.”
Quintillian limped across the room and grasped the coin from the captain’s hand.
“Careful, it’s sharp.”
Quintillian brushed the concern aside. “I studied several languages on Isera. This is fairly simple, much like the languages the eastern provinces used to speak before they were brought into the Empire.” He grinned. “It’s amazing how much text you can fit into such a small space with this kind of language.”
Kiva tutted. “All very fascinating. What does it say?”
Quintillian turned the coin in the extremely low light.
“Four assassins. Twenty five archers. No chance. Wait for better timing.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the captain. “So they’ve waited until we’re in a cell. Very helpful.”
He slammed his fist on the cell’s bars in annoyance, but he knew the words were right. Ashar probably didn’t even know they’d been captured yet. These would just be four Pelasians he’d sent to the city to gather information, and they stood precious little chance against Phythian or the army of Velutio. It would be down to him after all.
Quintillian handed the coin back to him. “What do you think’s going to happen, sir?”
Kiva shrugged. “Death” he said with a cold certainty. “I’m surprised we made it past the courtyard to be honest; it’s most unlike him. Perhaps he’s having trouble deciding how gruesome to make it?”
The lad shuddered. “Then it’s time we start making some plans. Shame Darius isn’t here. All the best plans we ever put into action were made by the two of us together.”
Kiva yawned. “There really isn’t anything to plan. There’s no way to get out of here. Nobody’s coming to the rescue, and any time we actually get to leave the cell, we’ll be in the middle of a palace guarded by an army in a hostile city.”
“So there’s no hope at all?” Quintillian asked, his voice incredulous. ”That’s not you. You always find a way round things. You’re a survivor, captain.”
Kiva rounded on the boy angrily. “If you think I’m that clever, why are we here? Do you think I can conjure an escape tunnel out of my pocket?”
He turned away. “Ahhh shit. We’ll be lucky to see another dawn. I hope Athas and the others have been sensible enough to lose themselves somewhere. Our only faint glimmer of hope now is that we can drive a wedge between this Sabian and his Lord. It looks suspiciously like they’re already on the way.”
Alessus stood and walked over to join them. “Are there any escape routes from the palace? Plenty of Emperors have been paranoid.”
Kiva shook his head. “I’ve heard rumours, but you can guarantee that Velutio’s had every inch of this place checked and sealed. I wouldn’t hold much hope out for that.”
“What about the gardens? They’re out in the open.”
Kiva shook his head. “Almost one hundred and fifty feet of sheer rock face with jagged rocks and reefs at the bottom. Then there’s his guards patrolling the edge and his men in boats patrolling the bay. And that’s only if we could get out into the gardens. I think that’s reaching. If we find ourselves out in the open at any point it’s going to be a matter of taking any opportunity we see, rather than planning in advance.”
Alessus opened his mouth to speak again, but Kiva cut him off. “Not worth asking. I’ve been through everything I can think of, but there’s no way out without outside help. We’ll have to bide our time and try and work on people we come in contact with.”
His head jerked up.
“Now’s not the time anyway. Someone’s coming.”
The three standing men retreated to the rear of the cell and took their seats on the wooden pallets as hob-nailed footsteps echoed down the stairs and along the corridor. After a few moments, the sergeant they’d seen in the courtyard appeared with a guard, two of the palace servants and a man in a white tunic with a leather case.
At a gesture from the sergeant, the guard unfastened the door and stepped back. The two servants entered the cell nervously, each with a covered tray and a jug. They placed them on the floor by the bars and then left in a hurry. The sergeant laughed at them as they ran up the stairs.
“Idiots” he sneered. “Did they really think you would attack them here?”
Kiva smiled at the sergeant with no real humour. “It’s not all that farfetched.”
The doctor entered and made his way into the dark. “This is totally unacceptable” he declared.” I need light.”
Without waiting, the sergeant picked up one of the oil burners from a shelf near the guard’s chair and gave it to the soldier with the keys. “Light it and give them it.”
The soldier did as he was bade and the flickering light was carried into the cell, though it did precious little to push back the oppressive darkness of this place. As the doctor began to examine Quintillian’s leg by the guttering light, the sergeant straightened. “I’ll leave you with him.” As he spoke the soldier locked the door and stepped back to the seat. “When you’ve finished, doctor, tell him and he’ll bring you back out.”
The doctor nodded, unable to speak as he had some miscellaneous implement held between his teeth while he prodded at the flesh round the bolt with both hands. Kiva stood. “Thank you sergeant.”
With a nod, Iasus left and climbed the stairs back to the surface world.
The doctor was mumbling and grumbling to himself as Kiva sat down among the others once more.
“What’s wrong?” the captain asked.
The doctor took the tool from between his teeth and pointed at the bolt with it. “It’s done considerable damage to the muscle, but it’s also chipped the bone as the head went through. I’m going to have to break off the flights and draw the bolt through by the head and it’s going to be extremely painful.” He produced a strip of leather. “Bite on this young man.”
As Quintillian bit down, the doctor snapped the flight end off next to the skin. For the first time in days blood welled up thick around the wood. Accompanied by muffled howls the man gripped the head of the bolt and in one slow, agonising move pulled the shaft through, accompanied by a gush of blood.
“There’s some infection here too. It may heal or it may not. If not, it’ll become a very painful problem. In the meantime, I’ll stitch the wound up.”
As the doctor worked, Quintillian looked up at the captain, a frightened look. Kiva smiled back as comfortingly as he could. “Of all our worries right now, I’d not panic over-much about infections.”