Tythias slammed his fist on the table.
“There must be something we can do?”
The leader of the Pelasian spies in the city shook his head. “We have no access to the palace proper. We don’t know for sure where they’re being held, but it seems likely to be the Dalertine prison. If that’s the case there is absolutely no way out. We might be able to do something when they’re brought out for execution, but we don’t even know when that’ll be. It’s likely not to be publicised and it’ll probably be carried out in the palace grounds with no access to outsiders. I really don’t see what we can do. If we had more information from inside we might have other options.”
Sathina’s voice was lost in the general tumult as the eleven men in the room erupted into argument once more. She sat and sighed. All the way from Danis the big sergeant, Athas, had told her the whole story and despite her grogginess from the after-effects of Mercurias’ medication, she’d absorbed every detail and her fear for the so important people at the centre of this was muted only by her sheer excitement at being involved in such earth-shaking events. They’d told her that they couldn’t let her go until the whole thing was over and for obvious reasons, but she’d been insistent on staying by then anyway. To be here with such great men working toward the future of the world she knew, or to be in a dirty tavern in Danis, serving drinks while even dirtier travellers tried to reach up her skirts? Ridiculous!
She tried to be heard over the voices again, but these men were so loud, especially the two they’d met up with this morning, Brendan and Marco. Those two were determined to make themselves heard.
“We need ta get inside then! Gotta do somethin’”
Amid the fresh eruption of voices, Tythias stood and held his hands out. Taking a deep breath, he shouted “Shut up!”
The room fell silent instantly as everyone turned to look at the scarred captain. Sathina smiled as the man gestured to her. He and his associate Jorun had been the biggest surprise of the journey. For such hairy, dirty and scarred men, they’d looked after her during their whole journey and Tythias particularly had proved to be a surprisingly polite and educated man. In her presence anyway. She smiled and stood.
“It seems to me that the only way you gentlemen are ever going to do anything other than argue about what can’t be done is for me to go work at the palace. I can do any servant’s job they give me and I’ll be able to find out a lot more than you can by watching the place.”
Athas shook his head. “Too dangerous. If you got caught, Velutio wouldn’t be kind. And then you’d also put the rest of us in danger.”
Tythias nodded vigorously, but next to him Prince Ashar shook his finger, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“I’m not sure about that” the elegant easterner argued. “We’re in a dire position now. Quintillian could be executed at any time now and if we don’t have any more information, we’ll still be arguing when it happens. I think this young girl may be our only hope.”
Tythias and the others made disagreeing grumbling noises around the table, but in the end Athas sighed and leaned back. “He’s right. We need to know what’s going on and sure as hell none of us are going to get inside and look. If you’re willing to do it girl, we’d be grateful.”
Across from him Jorun nodded and made a questioning gesture at the prince.
Yes Jorun, I’ll help her as best I can.” He turned back to the rest of the crowd. “Shahar is my second here. I’ll take the young lady away and we’ll work on getting her safely into the palace. Shahar can help you make any other arrangements.”
One of the Pelasian spies, a man with a neat pointed beard, nodded. “We must to plan next stage anyway; what we do when we manage get them out of palace.”
As Ashar and Sathina made their way out of the room, Mercurias leaned forward. “Isera.” The rest turned to look at him. “It’s what Quintillian was saying before. The place they’re least likely to look for an escaped prisoner is in prison.”
Tythias nodded. “Makes sense to me. If they’ve got a small garrison on the island we can either avoid them or overwhelm them. Either way I like the idea.”
Mercurias nodded. “Ok Shahar. Until we can learn more from the young lady, we need to work something out about the island. What do you know about Isera at the moment?”
The Pelasian shook his head. “Very little. We resume communications there recently, but three nights I get one last cryptic message telling us communications being monitored and would have close down. I not know what do about it.”
Mercurias sighed. “So we’re back to waiting for more information then.”
Sergeant Iasus stomped down the steps to the Dalertine prison, his face contorted with disgust. Holding the oil lamp high, he approached the bars of the cell and saw the four inmates huddled on the wooden pallets.
“General Caerdin?”
Kiva stood slowly with some stiffness and made his way toward the bars.
“Sergeant?” he replied. “Is there a problem?”
The young martinet nodded. Placing the oil lamp on the shelf, he straightened. “Lord Velutio has made his decree I’m afraid.”
The other three now stirred in the rear of the cell. Kiva nodded solemnly.
“Not good news then” he noted.
“No.” The sergeant sighed. “His lordship has ordered that you be taken to the gardens in an hour’s time and that you’re all crucified. I’m personally not happy with this, but it’s my duty to follow the orders.”
Kiva nodded. “I’m surprised that Commander Sabian didn’t come down to give us the tidings personally.”
The sergeant’s face shifted but Kiva couldn’t identify the emotion.
“The commander refused to be involved and I can’t say I disagree with him. He’s left the city less than an hour ago and I’m not sure whether he’ll be back. This isn’t the way for a soldier to go… crucifixion’s for criminals.” Iasus took a deep breath. “You have an hour to make your peace with the Gods and then we have to carry out the sentence.”
After almost two weeks in the dark, damp hole even death lost its sting if it meant seeing the sky again. Kiva nodded. “That’s not necessary for me, but the others will need it. I’ll await your return though sergeant.”
Iasus nodded curtly and went to pick up the oil lamp. He paused for a moment without picking it up and then shook his head before walking off into the dark and toward the stairs.
Quintillian moved forward to join Kiva at the bars as the general mused to himself. “I wonder what Sabian’s up to. Can’t believe he’d quite his position over us, but would Velutio really just let him go for this? I think not.”
“That’s it then” Quintillian said, defeat in his voice. “We’re going to die in an hour.”
“I wish it were that good” replied the general. “It starts in an hour, but crucifixion takes days. You slowly succumb to hunger and thirst. Then there’s exhaustion, the ropes and the spikes in your limbs. Chances are they’ll beat us and cut us as well, but not too much. Velutio won’t want us to die too soon or too easily. In the end the birds will start to peck at us, but hopefully we’ll be dead by then.”
Kiva glanced up and saw the look on the boy’s face.
“I’m sorry Quintillian. I didn’t think. But it helps to be prepared for whatever they have in mind. Velutio doesn’t need to torture us now. He’s won. But he wants to torture us; he wants to take it all out on us, and he can’t afford to leave any of us alive.” He patted Quintillian on the shoulder. “Now go pray. I’ll stand watch here.” He grinned. “The Gods don’t listen to me anyway.”
It was less than an hour, in fact, when Iasus and a small party of men came down the stairs and brought the four prisoners from their dark pit. The morning sun was dazzling as they were taken out into the main courtyard for the first time in two weeks. Their hands were cuffed once more and none could shade their eyes from the glare, causing them to squint as they walked and to tread carefully until their sight adjusted.
The half dozen guards split up and walked to either side of their charges, with Iasus behind, solemn and stony faced. The small group marched through the archway and back into merciful shadow for a few moments before they burst out into the Imperial gardens, with the morning sun halfway up the eastern sky and glaring directly into their faces. The gardens were almost empty. No grand execution for these four; their deaths would remain as unknown as their lives and their ‘crimes’ to the world in general. There were perhaps a score of guards in the gardens on patrol and at stationary posts and a party of four men standing by the few individual trees on the central lawn. Kiva made a quick count. In actual fact, only twenty two guards, but what chance would they have even if they made it to the cliff? He nudged Julian, limping alongside him, and gestured across the gardens with his head.
“Think we’d ever make it?” he whispered.
Julian rumbled deep in his throat. “Might make it to the wall, but could we survive the drop?”
“Then we’ve no choice but to be crucified. Is that any better?”
As the two silently mulled over their chances, Julian was suddenly pushed aside as Alessus started to run. The guards by their sides took a strangely long moment to notice what was happening, and then with a yell started their own run. Kiva stuck out a foot and watched the first guard go tumbling over onto his face. Julian had apparently had much the same idea, slumping and knocking the next guard out of line. As the six guards called a warning to their fellows around the garden, they hauled their other three prisoners back and restrained them painfully. Julian cried “run man!” and Kiva and Quintillian tried to join in the encouraging shout before the arms locked round their throats, preventing them from speaking and almost from breathing. Alessus, never a great runner, but a fit and tactical military man with thirty years of combat experience, slowed as he reached a small knot of trees and gardens. Kiva saw him disappear behind a box hedge and there was no sign for a moment until four more guards reached the same spot and started searching the various hiding places. As they entered, Kiva saw Alessus break out of a hedge almost where he’d first entered, doubling back and making for the low border wall. With a skip and a vault, he disappeared over the edge.
Tense seconds passed as Kiva, Quintillian and Julian craned forward for any sign of what had happened to their comrade. The guards were now converging on the spot he’d crossed the wall. From the shouts of consternation among them, Kiva could safely assume that Alessus had begun to climb the slow climb down the rock face. He smiled, but the smile slid from his face a moment later as another group of guards armed with short recurve bows appeared from a doorway at the other end of the gardens. Behind them Velutio himself appeared with a number of his personal guard. With shouts the lord directed them to the wall and, as the archers began to fire vertically down the cliff face, other guards began to collect stones near the path and to drop them over the edge. Kiva held his breath, shaking slightly.
And then there was a distant scream, becoming more and more distant by the second as Alessus, struck through with an arrow and battered by other missiles, came loose from the treacherous cliff and bounced down the jagged rocks far down to the sea and the reefs below. Kiva pictured for a moment the broken body splayed across the sharp watery rocks and had to shake his head to clear the vision. Hopefully the man had been dead before he was halfway down. He glanced round and Julian’s head was lowered.
Iasus merely said “stupid” and ushered them all forward again. The three of them and their six guards, now holding them tight, shuffled forward toward the trees in the centre. Kiva looked up and noted the four soldiers armed with tools and an ominous bag. The ropes to fasten wrists and ankles were already looped over branches and ready. Curiously there were only three trees set up. Either they were psychic or Velutio had other plans for one of them.
Once they reached the lawn and the guards brought them to a halt, Velutio and his personal guard were approaching across the grass from the direction of the perimeter wall. The old lord, unruffled and in civilian clothing, stopped several yards away from them and glared past Kiva at the sergeant behind.
“Can my entire army not keep four prisoners under control? Sabian’s been gone for less than two hours and already you’re falling to pieces!”
There was no answer from Iasus, so Kiva smiled and spoke. “So now you’ve driven Sabian away too.”
Velutio turned his glower to Kiva.
“Caerdin, you’d be wise to keep your over-sized mouth firmly shut. The commander is away on a temporary duty and will be returning within the week. I do hope the birds haven’t made you unrecognisable before he gets back.” He gestured to the sergeant and the guards pushed the three forward again toward the trees. As they stood with their wrists bound the sergeant walked across to them with a small knife and began cutting away the ties and stitching on their clothing. Tunics were cut away, as were breeches, leaving only their underwear. Then Kiva and Quintillian were unceremoniously dropped to the turf like sacks of flour, while two other guards held Julian up by the shoulders and dragged him to the first tree. Quintillian lowered his head, but the guard next to him pulled it back up by the hair.
“Watch” he ordered.
The young man stared ahead to where Julian was being propped against the tree. He saw the man’s hands being fed through the rope loops and heard the strange sawing noise as the ropes were hauled tight and Julian slammed back against the bark with a grunt. At that point Quintillian, aware that he couldn’t look away, defocused his eyes and tried to think of something different. He was still vaguely aware of what was going on in front of him, but his mind wandered as he thought of Athas and Mercurias, of Brendan and Marco, wondering where they all were right now; of Prince Ashar, who he knew had men in this city, and Tythias, away to the west preparing perhaps for a glorious campaign to bring the Empire back to rights that would never happen. Well, this was it. The next Empire would be Velutio’s and there was no way to stop it now.
His eyes refocused automatically as he was brought out of his daze by a cry of pain. Julian was now hanging from the ropes at his wrists, his shoulders separating painfully and his feet bound to the tree with another rope that ran around the trunk. The bark of the tree was stained red where the tough wood had flayed the young mercenary’s back as he was hauled up the bole. For good measure they were using nails and the first one had been driven through Julian’s left wrist. A spray of blood gushed out around the nail after the first heavy blow and splashed to the grass like a crimson fountain. Quintillian averted his eyes again, only to have the guard wrench his head back forward once more.
Velutio walked toward the gory scene, his boots making an obscene squelching noise as he walked into the red pool, and cuffed the soldier with the mallet around the back of the head very hard. The soldier staggered, taken unawares.
“You dolt!” shouted the lord. “Not through an artery! He’ll die in minutes like that.” He wrenched the hammer from the soldier’s hand and passed it to the man holding the bag of nails, who took it reluctantly.
Julian managed a weak grin at the lord of Velutio as the blood continued to pump from his wrist. The other soldier stepped to one side and lifted a second nail. Carefully probing the mercenary’s wrist for veins and arteries he placed the point and, slowly pulling back the hammer, drove the nail deep through the flesh and into the wood. A small puddle of blood welled up around the head of the spike and ran down the arm before the second blow knocked it flat against the skin.
The young mercenary seemed short of breath, but his grin deepened as he looked down at the soldier with the hammer, who was staring at his own hands in a sort of horror.
“Don’t forget the feet. Don’t want me running away.”
The soldier looked across at Velutio, a question in his eyes, and the lord nodded. With a sigh, the soldier stepped forward and pulled the man’s feet together, placing the third nail over the middle of both feet. The first blow knocked the nail in deep and broke most of the bones in both feet; the second drove it home. The smile gradually slipped from Julian’s face. His flesh had become deathly pale as more and more of his life’s blood rushed out onto the turf. He raised his head with some difficulty and focused as best he could on Kiva.
“Looks like I got it easy; no birds for me.” His last words came out a low croak, fading into a sigh as the light went out in his eyes and the seventh Wolf passed from the world.
Quintillian risked moving his head now the spectacle was over for the time being, and glanced at Kiva. He expected the general to be shaking, furious, angry. Instead, all he could see was sadness and the sheer power of the expression in the old general’s eyes melted into Quintillian’s heart and brought out in him an overwhelming feeling of loss. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, two more soldiers hauled Kiva to his feet. The general didn’t even resist. Quintillian wondered at what point the man had given up hope. Looking up as the general was turned away, he searched the man’s eyes for a sign of anything other than resignation, and that was when he saw it. There was a sparkle. Just a slight sparkle and then… a wink. The general’s eyes looked down and Quintillian’s gaze followed them to his hands, where something gold flashed in the sun. The Pelasian coin. There was some kind of plan brewing, but what use would it be now?
He watched as the two men hauled Kiva to the next tree and pushed him back against it. Again the ropes were looped over his hands and he was hauled upwards to the branches, scraping the flesh from his back and causing rivulets of blood to run down the bole of the tree. Quintillian stared as the second rope was hauled tight, the feet being placed atop each other. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He’d never really expected to rule anyone; never wanted power as such, he just wanted the Empire back together and in the hands of the people who knew what to do with it; people like Sarios. And now, because of what he’d done, he’d killed himself and the Wolves. He just couldn’t believe there was no way out and that providence wouldn’t save them somehow. The general had a sharpened coin, but what possible use could that be now?
Kiva glared at Velutio as the tip of the first nail was placed on his wrist and Quintillian watched him grit his teeth and wince as the nail was slammed through and into the wood. Not even a whimper. Would he be as brave when it came to his turn? The nail was knocked home and the second put in place. Again, the teeth were jammed together as the nail was hammered home, blood welling up and dripping down the arms. A third nail was produced and hammered home in the feet with the sounds of breaking bone.
That’s it then, thought Quintillian. The Wolves are no more. Oh four of them still existed somewhere, he hoped, but the unit was destroyed and their commander crucified. How long now before people like Tythias and his men became unnecessary and Velutio did the same to them, and then those on the island. A tear came to his eye unbidden as he watched the general settled gently against the wood, the muscles in his shoulders tearing as he sank down slightly. He thought of Darius and the elders, the people on the island. He should never have left and then none of this would have happened. His attention was caught by the general’s voice as he addressed Velutio.
“I know you’ve wanted to do this for a very long time, but it makes no difference in the end, Avitus. The boy’ll be rescued yet, even if I die, and someone’ll set him back on his path. And even if he dies, there’ll always be someone to challenge your rule.”
“Oh?” Velutio looked sceptical. “And who would be able to stand against us?”
Kiva snarled. “Who could have stood against Quintus ? But it happened. The world is an ever-changing place Avitus, and you’d do well not to get too bogged down in where you are now. Quintillian taught me that.”
“Did he?” sneered Velutio. “Well we’d best make sure he’s not used against me again, hadn’t we?”
Two more guards finally hauled Quintillian to his feet and pushed him toward the third tree. Kiva watched the young man in consternation as the lad stared at the tree. And that was why he didn’t see it coming. The first he knew; the first he realised something had happened, was as the tip of Velutio’s sword emerged from Quintillian’s chest. The boy’s eyes went wide and he coughed, dark blood welling in his mouth and running from the corner down his chin. Kiva stared.
Velutio twisted his wrist and the blade made a ninety degree turn deep in Quintillian’s chest, accompanied by surprised gurgles from the last scion of the Imperial family, who looked down in fascination at the foot of cold steel protruding from his sternum. Gingerly, he touched the blade. He looked up at Kiva, his eyes full of confusion.
“Fancy that” he exclaimed as the pupils of his eyes rolled up into his head and he slid forward off the blade to collapse in a heap on the grass.
Kiva growled and tried to move. As he pulled on his arms, he felt a shoulder dislocate and the blood welled fresh at his wrist. He glared at Velutio. At last the anger was there, but too late. He growled.
“I will get out of this Avitus, and when I do there is nowhere in the world I won’t find you. I’ll strip the flesh from your cold bones with my teeth, do you hear me?”
Velutio merely smiled and wiped the bloody sword on the piles of clothing left on the grass. “They’re not divine, Caerdin; they never were. You’re not cursed and he wasn’t a God, don’t you see? An Emperor is made, not born and I shall be the next one. At least I won’t carry the taint of madness like they did. The line’s finally dead and nothing can stand in the way of a new Emperor. You’re a relic, Caerdin; a fossil and your time’s up.”
With a last look, he turned away from the trees and began to stride across the grass toward the palace, leaving crimson footprints on the flagstones he crossed. The sergeant ordered the men to depart and to take the boy’s body with them. As the garden gradually emptied of guards, leaving only the standard patrols, Iasus stood alone with Kiva and the hanging body of Julian.
“I am truly sorry it came to this general and I wish the circumstances had been different, but I must do my duty; I’m sure you can see that.”
Perhaps Kiva could, and perhaps not, but grief and rage vied for control of his mind and forgiveness was not in him today.
“He’ll die!” the general declared. “He’ll die hard, and when he does, anyone with him will go too.”
Iasus looked up, his hard face looking odd as it registered sympathy. He noted a tear in the general’s eye and stood straight, saluting.
“I know you won’t appreciate it right now, Caerdin, but I will make sure that Quintillian is taken to the island and buried properly and with honour.”
And with a last look at probably the greatest general in the Empire’s history hanging like a common criminal on a tree, he turned and marched away to see to the burial of the last Emperor.
It had been three days since Sathina had first entered the palace. Despite the words of wisdom and the various pointers she’d received from Prince Ashar, she’d not been able to find out anything about the four captives. None of the guards spoke about the prisoners and she’d not heard a single thing even in overheard mutterings. To be honest with herself, she was starting to wonder what she was doing here and whether these prisoners really existed. She’d asked about the Dalertine prison only once, of another servant, and he’d told her to shut up and not ask dangerous questions.
And so she’d gone about the mind-numbingly dull tasks of a serving girl, dealing mostly with the laundry, but with a constant edge of panic, knowing what was at stake if she let on anything about herself. Ashar had given her a good story and it seemed to have passed the test numerous times, a story of a dancer and musician come to the city to get rich, but only getting poorer and having to seek a servant’s wage. All very plausible and not a huge leap from the truth of it.
And that was when she’d finally found out. With a basket of laundry in both arms, piled so high she couldn’t see where she was going, she’d wandered out into the sun, missing the door she needed in the gateway. Dropping the basket to rub her sore hands and get her bearings, she’d found herself staring directly at a grisly sight: two bodies hanging on trees in the middle of a lawn, crucified. Though she had only the vaguest description of the prisoners, there could have been no doubt that these were they and, making a pretence of rubbing her hands and crouching by the basket, she’d tried to take in every detail of the scene to pass along to the prince. It was then she’d started as one of them had moved. Only very slightly, and just enough to move his head out of the direct sunlight and into the shade of a branch.
A guard had approached her and demanded she move along to wherever she should be. She’d made a girlish light-headed apology and heaved the basket back into the archway, delivering it to the first dark empty room she could find and then making her way to the main courtyard. After three days she knew the routine well. In a little less than an hour the servants would be allowed out of the gates to visit family or to shop at lunch. She’d stepped in through a door and found a small closet to hide in until she heard the bell ring in the tower and servants appeared from doorways around the courtyard and rushed for the gate, making the most of their meagre half hour of freedom. That was when she’d left and made it out into the street, walking fast until she reached a corner just within sight of the gate where she turned and ran as fast as her legs would carry her until she reached the nondescript building that the prince called their ‘safe house’.
And now she rushed up the two flights of stairs and hammered on the door three times; twice; three times. The door opened and Jorun grinned at her, making a scratchy noise in his throat. She smiled. The huge barbarian mercenary had taken her under his wing in recent days, looking after her more even than Tythias did. They were certainly an interesting bunch she’d fallen in with. Still, there were more pressing matters. Athas and Tythias sat at a table in one corner of the room playing some kind of board game involving two dice and a selection of pieces that resembled towers and belfries. The rest of the men were absent.
“I’ve seen them!” she exclaimed.
The board was knocked to one side, pieces falling as it moved. Tythias and Athas were on their feet now.
“Where? What’s happening?” The two rushed towards her.
She settled to get her breath. “It’s not good. I only saw two and I think one of them was dead.”
Tythias and Athas jostled to get in front of her. The one-eyed mercenary won the fight and grasped her shoulders. “Who?”
“I’m not sure. The youngish one with fairly long blond hair’s Julian, yes?”
Athas nodded, his heart in his throat. The young mercenary had been the last addition to the unit before Quintillian and had proved to be the perfect Wolf.
“He’s dead I think” she said in a low voice. “Crucified on a tree in the palace gardens.
“And?” Tythias probed.
“The other one must be Caerdin. He’s alive, but I’m not sure for how much longer. He doesn’t look good. They crucified him too. He’s been roped and nailed.”
Athas shook her. “What about the others?”
“I don’t know, but I think perhaps someone died the other day. I thought nothing of it at the time, but some of the guards took a huge wooden crate out of the palace on a cart.”
Athas snarled. “Shit! Either Alessus or Quintillian dead, Julian dead and Kiva on the edge.” He turned to Jorun. “Go upstairs and get Ashar and the others!”
Sathina shuddered. This was far more important and emotional than she’d ever expected. It had been exciting and intriguing, but she’d never thought to see them hanging on a tree, bleeding the last of their life out. Shaking, she pulled away from Tythias and sank, weeping, to the bench. The scarred mercenary captain sat next to her and took her in his arms.
“There was nothing you could do, and you may have saved the general’s life.”
As she poured out her anguish, the ageing captain held her close and absorbed her grief while the prince and the others came down and started making feverish plans. Tythias was a soldier and a commander and a good one at that. Upon a time he’d commanded a thousand men in the field, but these others were subtle and knew this business better. He half listened to the plans and arguments going on around him as he held the young girl close until her grief subsided and she sank into a fitful sleep, slouched on the bench in his arms.
* * *
Kiva had lost track of time. There had been four sunsets he remembered, but he suspected more. His stomach had stopped growling days ago and begun to waste, eating his own fat to survive a little longer. The pain in his limbs had numbed within the first day and he was hoping for the lord of the underworld to claim him soon, for his shoulders were torn, perhaps beyond repair. He’d taken the coin to cut through the ropes in the hope of rescuing both himself and the boy, but without Quintillian what was the point? All dreams of rebuilding the Empire of Quintus had died with Velutio’s blade and he hoped not to live to see the Empire under the command of the scourge of his existence. Perhaps he was dying now? He certainly seemed to be hallucinating, for the tree was moving.
He glanced down. The trees of the gardens and the lawn beneath were so far down now he couldn’t understand how he’d changed position without his arms tearing away. The stars instead of being above him were in front as he watched. He smiled weakly. There was the constellation of his birth: the swordsman. What a surprise. This must be it. He’d known his mind was going a day or two ago, and he knew that Velutio had been several times to gloat over him. That sergeant, whatever his name was had been back too. He’d eased things a little he thought. Perhaps the sergeant was a friend, but no. He didn’t have friends now.
He smiled as he saw what his hallucinations were bringing him in his last few hours. Perhaps wishful thinking imposing itself on reality. One of Velutio’s guards appeared to be standing by a tree but a closer look showed him impaled with a long black arrow driven into the wood, his throat opened and blood gushing down his front, mixing with the red dye of his tunic.
He smiled and passed out.
And here he was again. His hallucinations were getting better all the time. The stars were still there, but in different positions and he had strange floating feeling. In fact, the sound of waves imposed themselves over the eerie silence.
Oh yes. Better and better, for here was a maiden of the Gods leaning over him and mopping his brow. Young and voluptuous and full of beautiful life, waiting to take him home. Perhaps she would seat him in the hall of the Gods for his place at the feast.
Someone’s voice from beyond the periphery of his sight asked “how is he?”
“Not good” the divine maiden replied.
With a smile of sheer content, Kiva surrendered himself to this maiden of death and drifted off once more.