Darius squinted into the shadows as the party of Imperial courtiers passed out of the bright sunlight and beneath the arch of the massive gatehouse into the palace of Lord Silvas. The palace was a massive and impressive structure, designed a hundred years ago as a strategically placed fortress rather than a grand residence. Silvas would be the third lord they’d visited in five days and Darius, though knowing the stakes he kept the facade up, was getting rather bored of the whole affair. Plus, of course, the rich food and wine the lords plied him with were causing upsets with his system. Guards in red and white stood around the battlements and towers of the encircling wall watching the party with a mix of suspicion and interest. Behind him rattled the small carriage that had been sent to carry the Emperor and his close companions, Needless to say, Darius had steadfastly refused to sit in the carriage, preferring to ride a horse. Sathina leaned forward from the end of the wooden bench and spoke quietly, continuing the conversation they’d been having for more than an hour.
“So why does he need a military commander; I mean, if Avitus was one of the most important generals there was.”
Darius nodded. “Don’t forget though that to go into high politics in the empire, a man needed a military career, unless he was specially favoured by the Emperor. Velutio was no great general, but he needed to achieve a few victories as a Marshal before he could go for high office. The other three marshals at the time were all career military men, so his appointment didn’t really endanger anyone. But he’s not got a good record as a commander of men. The only truly successful campaign he led was after the fall of Quintus and the only reason that was successful was because he had one of the other Marshals with him, Caerdin was out of the picture and their enemy was outnumbered two to one.”
“So he was never a good general?”
Darius laughed out loud. “Ask Caerdin some time. He’ll rant for an hour if you let him. No, Velutio wouldn’t be in the position he’s in if he didn’t have Sabian. The commander’s a good man and a clever one. Sarios thinks he’s probably even Caerdin’s equal, which is a little worrying.” He glanced back around himself. “We’ll have to continue this later.”
Tythias and his men had reined in their horses ahead where the courtyard was filled with officials and guards. Silvas stood stern and straight. He was an exceptionally tall man, thin as a rail, but with a certain power about him. His blond hair was short and severe and he was clean-shaven, dressed immaculately and wearing a coronet in the fashion of eastern Princes. By comparison, Tythias had steadfastly refused to cut his hair, despite the protests of Sathina and Caerdin, but had compromised by braiding it to keep it out of the way. Scarred and one-armed, the captain would present a frightening sight to those who didn’t know him. With unexpected grace, the officer slid from his horse and approached the lord.
“Lord Silvas? I am Tythias, commander of the Lion Riders and Prefect in the Imperial army. I have the honour to present to you his Imperial Majesty, Darius the first, first citizen of the Empire, high priest…”
“And so on…” interrupted Silvas, gazing thoughtfully toward Darius. “You can dispense with the excess pomp and grandeur, Prefect. It doesn’t impress me and I’ll make up my own mind. Dismount and follow me into the great hall. We’ll all have a welcome drink and then my major domo will show you to your accommodation for the night.”
Without waiting for an answer, Silvas turned on his heel and strode back through the heavy wooden doors into the hall. Tythias turned and raised an eyebrow to Darius, who nodded. The entire party began to dismount, conversing as they gathered their personal belongings before handing reins to the stable lads in the courtyard.
Darius watched the two soldiers guarding the door through which his lordship had entered. They looked well trained and disciplined. Their uniforms were neat and clean and the weapons they wore were certainly not just for show. Factor in the severe style of this fortress and the curt attitude of the lord himself and Darius couldn’t shake the feeling that they needed this man. He seemed to be a lord after the old fashion, disciplined and independent. Unfortunately, though he’d as yet remained free of Velutio’s control, he’d also declined the invitation to join them at Munda. Darius hoped that was due to the need to protect his land rather than a lack of support for their cause on his part, but that hope was starting to waver after the lord’s greeting. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode forward to Tythias, who was scanning the walls. With a weary smile, Darius squared his shoulders. “So, prefect, what d’you…”
He got no further as a look of horror crossed Tythias’ face and he dived, knocking the wind from the young Emperor and crushing him to the ground. Darius looked up in amazement as the prefect fell heavily on top of him, an arrow protruding from his shoulder.
The men of Darius’ personal guard leapt into action, drawing their weapons and some running to protect their master, others taking up positions to defend against Silvas’ guards. Across the courtyard, Brendan and Athas were already running. The archer who’d released the arrow had realised instantly that he’d failed and, dropping the bow, climbed the stairs on which he’d stood, reaching the wall walk and looking about himself urgently. Athas and Brendan glanced at each other and nodded, the large, dark sergeant running for the gatehouse to seal off the man’s exit while Brendan made for the stairs as fast as he could. The bald Wolf’s immediate fears that there may be some larger conspiracy at work were allayed quickly as he saw the archer run along the wall and try to get past one of his fellow guards. The other man stood firm and gave the archer a hefty push, knocking him from the walk and back onto the stairs ahead of Brendan.
The archer struggled to his feet, drawing a sword desperately. Brendan, his anger rising, reached out and grasped the archer’s sword hand, holding the blade away and squeezing the flesh until he heard several cracking sounds. The archer howled, unable to let go of the sword with his opponent’s fist closed painfully around his own. Brendan was aware of people shouting things but paid no attention. He smiled at the archer, whose face was twisted gruesomely and butted the man full in the face, accompanied once again by the cracking of bones. The archer fell back onto the steps, dangling from Brendan by one broken hand and the burly Wolf let go in disgust, the sword clattering away and falling to the paving stones below. The archer clutched his broken face with his good hand, sobbing. Brendan glanced around and saw the man’s bow. Reaching out for it, he unhooked the bowstring from first one end and then the other with an easy flex of his powerful muscles and leaned down over the wounded assassin. Winding each end of the bowstring around his hands, he looped the heavy duty catgut around the panicking man’s neck and pulled it tight. The archer’s good hand pulled away from the bloody, broken face and clawed at the tight cord around his neck. Athas’ voice sounded from a few feet behind Brendan. “Captain, let go of the cord. We need to know who he’s working for.”
Brendan growled. “He’s working for Velutio.”
Down in the courtyard Tythias, struggling with some difficulty due to his one arm, hauled himself off the Emperor and staggered back against the wall. Darius pulled himself up, his face full of concern, but the grizzled prefect grinned. “I have got to stop getting fucking wounded…” he realised who was standing before him and smiled weakly, “…highness.”
As Sathina rushed to help Tythias break the arrow shaft off, the scarred officer placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, lass. Didn’t mean to curse.”
Sathina laughed. “Good grief, Tythias. I didn’t fall for you ‘cause of your poetic tongue.”
Leaving the two to deal with Tythias’ wound, Darius spun round to take in the situation. His fear that the entire greeting in the courtyard may have been a deliberate ambush was put aside as he saw lord Silvas appear once more from the doorway, a look of concern on his face. To one side, on the wall stairs, he could see an interesting tableau: Brendan was kneeling over a man, presumably the attempted murderer, throttling him with some sort of cord. Athas was behind him speaking quietly. His head fuzzy, Darius looked back again at Silvas then at Brendan again.
Taking a deep breath, he called out “Captain, let some slack in that rope.”
Assuming, even hoping, that Brendan had both heard and obeyed, he turned to the master of the palace. “Lord Silvas? This is one of your men. It’s not for mine to punish him.”
Silvas nodded gravely. “Agreed, but he ceased to be one of my men the moment he shot at a guest in my house. Deal with him as you see fit.”
Darius turned back to his men and gave them an exaggerated nod. Athas growled and said under his breath “Brendan, question him.”
Brendan glared into the broken face of the archer.
“Talk to me. If’n you give me enough I’ll give yer a quick death.”
The man stared at Brendan in horror. Athas leaned down over his junior officer’s shoulder. “Tell us everything and he’ll give you the sword. Otherwise I’ll leave you to him and he might take days.”
The man coughed, blood flowing through his shattered teeth. “He’d have paid me well and the whole thing’d be over. I don’t want to die!”
Brendan looked up at Athas. “Velutio again, but only coz this little weasel’s a greedy little cowardly bastard.”
Athas nodded and, turning, walked down the stairs to join the Imperial party below. As he left, Brendan smiled at the archer in front of him.
“Damn, can’t reach me sword.” With a slight shrug, he slowly tightened the cord. The archer gasped, unable to speak and resumed his clawing at the garrotte, his broken hand flopping feebly around with the effort. “Ack, agh…”
“I know,” smiled Brendan. “I’m a bit of a liar, y’see?”
Oblivious to the final throws of the man on the walls, Darius, accompanied by his courtiers and the members of his now very alert and unhappy personal guard made their way through into the great hall on the heels of Lord Silvas himself.
The room continued the military theme of the palace itself. Big and impressive, the hall was of stone rather than marble or brick, with buttresses on the interior as well as the exterior on which oil lamps burned, augmenting the small amount of light the windows admitted. Flags in red and white and military regalia decorated the room and the flagstones had been laid cunningly to provide a map of the Silvas lands. This lord was proud of his heritage and Darius dredged his formidable knowledge of political history. He had vague recollections of the name. The family had been local governors for generations; a most unusual situation, since governorship was usually granted on a five-yearly basis by the Imperial court. One of the earlier Silvas members had presumably so impressed the Emperor of the time that the family had been granted the position in perpetuity; no small honour.
Silvas himself stood to one side of his huge chair behind a table at the far end of the room. Again, Darius was struck by how many nuances of Imperial etiquette he had picked up from his classes under Sarios and the other tutors without even realising it at the time. To have taken a seat would have been to deny the validity of Darius’ claim. The fact that the lord hadn’t knelt showed nothing. He’d as yet taken no oath, but neither did he dispute any claim. He was vaguely aware of Athas and a few others coming in behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at Tythias, standing stern and unmoving, despite the arrow jutting from his shoulder and Sathina behind him fussing and muttering.
“Prefect, have the men fall out to wherever they’re allocated. I don’t imagine we’re in any further danger.”
Tythias nodded and began issuing orders to the various lesser officers with them. One of Silvas’ servants showed the guard officers outside and to their lodgings, while a half dozen of them formed and remained with their Emperor. Darius paid no attention to the organisation going on, fixing his gaze on Silvas.
“Your lordship, before we begin anything, do you have a doctor that could look at my prefect’s wound? I regret we have no medic in our party.”
Silvas nodded. “I’ve already sent for him. Please; there are plenty of seats and tables. Everyone should make themselves comfortable and you and your closest should join me here.”
Darius made a few small motions and walked steadily across the hall to the table where a half dozen seats had been arranged. Alongside him, Athas, Tythias and Sathina strode ahead.
“You’ve met the army’s executive officer, Prefect Tythias. May I also introduce Athas, a captain and a member of the Wolves and Sathina, lady of the Imperial court and one of my advisors.”
Silvas blinked. “You have a woman as an advisor? A bit of a frivolity, no?”
Sathina bridled and Tythias clamped his hand on her shoulder. Darius smiled. “This is no ordinary woman, Silvas. She’s infiltrated a court and saved the life of General Caerdin. I value her highly as do my senior commanders.”
Silvas smiled, unsure of whether to laugh or not. As the last of a series of emotions passed across his face, he turned to her and bowed. “Then I’m pleased to know you, Lady Sathina. Such beauty and reckless bravery rarely fit together.” He gestured to the seats at the table and, with a nod, Darius took the central one opposite the lord. As the others seated themselves, Silvas being the last, Brendan arrived in the doorway, exchanged very quick words with one of Darius’ guard and then strode up to the table.
“Ah, captain, take a seat”, the Emperor said.
Brendan smiled as he sat at one side, his forehead smeared in blood. “Sorry I’m late, highness. Bit of a barny m’afraid.”
Darius nodded. “Yes, I noticed. I hope it’s dealt with.” He turned his attention to lord Silvas, who was still watching his guests with a curious and appraising smile. “Where do we begin then? You’re an anomaly, Silvas… one of very few powerful lords who’ve remained independent.”
Silvas leaned forward, his elbows on the table and cradling his hands. “I’m well aware that a time is coming when I must put aside my independence and choose a side. I’m not very happy about it, but I’m also aware enough to realise I have no other choice. Lord Velutio has been consolidating a claim to the throne for at least a decade. He may not be of Imperial blood but he knows how to control and he’s been very much unstoppable. He ripped the independence out of most of my neighbours either by fear or be the sword and I’m not sure whether it’s because of my strength, my reputation or merely inconvenience that he’s left me alone thus far. And he’ll come for me very soon. He’s finished dealing with the western lords, according to my last report and is already on the move back to the city. Once he reaches the central provinces I shall be high on his list and my time will be up. I have absolutely no intention of taking my army to Munda to join with you and leaving my lands to be ravaged by brigands and then by Velutio, but also if the lord should arrive here with his army, rest assured I will take my oath to him there and then to save the lives of my soldiers and prevent the destruction of my territory. I find it very hard to believe that you could persuade me otherwise, I’m afraid.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Though you’re welcome to try.”
Darius cleared his throat. “I came here, Silvas, to appeal to your sense of duty and tradition. I may have been mistaken in that. From everything I’ve seen so far, you are in no need of any more sense of duty or tradition than you already have. Your army is loyal and strong and you have the support of your men. You seem to be basing your decisions on the good of your men and your lands, which is as noble a thing as I could ask.”
He stood and stepped away from his chair.
“When was this flagstone floor put in, could I ask?”
Silvas shrugged. “Almost a hundred years ago. Why?”
“This floor shows your domain as it is today. That means that at least four generations of your family have controlled these lands. Unusual, I’d say. What did your ancestor do to receive that kind of honour from the Emperor?”
Another shrug. “Marcus Pilatus Silvas was a Marshal of the army and a close friend of the Emperor. He saved the Emperor’s life during a riot at the games in Velutio. These are our lands in perpetuity by Imperial decree and we look after them.”
“Can you imagine Velutio giving out such an honour?”
Silvas shuffled in his seat. “This rhetoric’s tiring. No; to answer your question, I can’t see Velutio doing such a thing. And before you say it, I’ve also given thought to the likelihood that he would not allow hereditary titles. All I can do is try to convince him to leave me my lands and if he will not, at least I will have saved them from destruction at his hands.”
Darius nodded. “Frankly, lord Silvas, I think you give more credit to Velutio than he deserves. I don’t know how much dealing you’ve had with him in the past, but I would assume not much by the fact that you remain independent. Velutio is cruel and vindictive and not trustworthy. I have personally seen him crucify and beat men to death for doing nothing other than protecting their family. He has burned entire estates and trampled lands merely to remove an inconvenience. You claim to have thought in advance about these things, but I think you are, in fact, being short-sighted. You have no conception of what you are letting yourself in for if you accept Velutio as the power of the land. I don’t think I’m here to convince you to join us. I think you should convince us to let you come to Munda.”
Silvas blinked. His voice was low and angry. “No one has spoken to me like that in my entire life. I ought to have you flogged for it. I do not have to answer to someone with a spurious claim to the throne with the backing of an army led by a regicide. Careful of the ground on which you walk, young man.”
Darius nodded. “Small threats should be beneath you, lord Silvas. You are not the man I expected.” He glanced across at Tythias. “Gather the men. We’re leaving Silvas to his fate.”
Turning on his heel, he strode toward his honour guard by the doorway. For a long moment, Athas and Silvas glared at each other across the table and then the rest of the Imperial entourage stood and made their way across the hall.
Silvas clenched and unclenched his fists rhythmically, his teeth grinding until he stood sharply. “Stay your ground young Emperor. I offered you my hospitality and I still do.”
Darius stopped at the door and turned. “You have something further to say, lord Silvas?”
Silvas growled as he strode across the hall toward them. “You’re a strong willed young man and quite brave; very brave in fact. You may be a good choice for the throne and you’d certainly be a better choice than Velutio, even though I can’t conceive of any way in which you can win this. The fact remains that I still haven’t made my decision and that despite your apparent unconcern, I know that you need us as much as we may need you. I still will not march my men to Munda and leave my lands unprotected and I also that you are equally unwilling to bring your army here. And so we’re at something of an impasse. However, I respect that you truly believe that you are doing the right thing by me and I have the serious nagging feeling that you may be right. We cannot compromise, but I will give you my word on this: If Velutio arrives at my door demanding fealty, I will give it and will not renege. I believe that an oath should not be broken. However, if your army marches and arrives in my lands before Velutio sets his sights on me, I will willingly take your oath and my men will fight for you. More than that I cannot say. Do not think me short-sighted or a coward. I must look after my people and if you aim to be Emperor, you must understand that.”
Slowly, Darius nodded. “I apologise for any perceived slight on your honour, lord Silvas. I never intended to imply cowardice. Very well, our army will move out soon and I very much believe you will see us march before Velutio.”
Ushering them back toward the seats, Silvas smiled weakly. “I hope so, young Emperor. I very much hope so.”
“Do you think he’ll really join us?” Darius asked, tipping more rich red wine from the jug into his goblet. “I felt he would have liked to have pledged to us today had we been ready to march.”
Athas nodded. “He meant what he said. Silvas is very old-fashioned and believes in the sanctity of the Imperial oath. He’ll join us if we can give him a show of strength before Velutio threatens his lands.”
Tythias nodded, tearing off a piece of lamb and waving it to emphasise his words. “That’s what I’ve been coming across for months: people who want change and are hopeful that we’ll succeed, but unwilling to commit at the time. They won’t leave their lands. If we’d rallied our army down here on the plains, we’d have seen a lot more lords join us.”
He chewed on the fresh lamb as Brendan leaned forward, slamming his empty mug back to the table. “Problem is, if we’d gathered here, Velutio’d ‘ave been on us in a week. We’ve only stayed safe coz ‘e didn’t know where we was.”
Tythias winced as he turned to reach for his mug. The bandages across his shoulder showed only a small trace of blood, despite the obvious discomfort he felt. Silvas’ doctor had been thorough and efficient.
“Nevertheless,” the scarred prefect added. “We need these people. Lord Cirpi was nice and easy to convince and I’d say he’ll be as loyal as the day is long, but he’s got less than four hundred men and they’re not even particularly good soldiers. I can’t see them making that much difference. Lord Sala said he’d take the oath but that he’ll only march his men with ours when we pass his lands. Now he’s got over a thousand good men, but I’m not entirely convinced he’ll do what he says.”
Darius reached out, waving his finger at Tythias, but before he could say anything there was a knock at the door of the suite that had been set aside for Darius.
“Come in” the young Emperor called out.
The heavy wooden door swung open and one of Silvas’ guards stepped in, sweating and out of breath. “Sorry to interrupt your lordships, but some men have turned up asking for a sergeant Athas and my lord told me to find you.”
The group looked around at each other in surprise. “Must be from Caerdin,” grunted Tythias. “No-one else knows we’re here.”
Gathering their cloaks and weapons, Darius, Tythias, Brendan, Athas and Sathina made for the door. “Take us to this man.”
The guard led them through the corridors and stairwells of the palace and finally down to the great hall, into which they stepped through a side door. Silvas sat in his chair behind the table looking tired. He nodded at them as they entered and gestured to a small group of dusty and travel-worn men that stood in the centre of the room. As the Imperial party approached, Darius started to make out more details in the low light of the sparse oil lamps in the hall. There were five of them. They were all dressed in heavy and stained travelling leathers with weapons slung at their sides, but one was little more than a boy, perhaps nine years old and the man beside him was old and quite tall, favouring one leg, presumably due to some ancient would. His hair covered only half his head, hanging long and grey down his back, while the other half was a network of scars that ran down his face and around his ear, disappearing at the neck into his tunic. A fearful sight, the wounds made the man appear to wear a sardonic grin even when he frowned, as he did now.
Athas stepped out in front.
“Someone asked for me? I’d be intrigued to know how you knew of me.”
The old man looked down at the young boy, who nodded.
“We were passing through the village here on the way to Munda,” he said, “when I heard tell of a big black man wearing a Wolf pelt that’d come through this afternoon. That’s not a common sight and it had to be worth the detour to make sure.”
Athas frowned as he stepped closer. “You were on your way to Munda? Just the five of you?”
The boy stepped forward toward Athas. “There are five hundred and twenty seven of us in total, though the rest of my men stayed in the village. We seek general Caerdin and the new Emperor.”
Darius now brushed past Athas and looked down at the boy, only ten years or so his junior. “I am the Emperor you seek, but who are you?”
The boy straightened as best he could. His voice was filled with pride and something else that Darius recognised: loss and hatred. “I am Lord Julius Pelianus. My friends call me Julian and I’m hoping that you’re my friends.”
Darius laughed. “I think you could say that. Welcome, Lord Pelianus. How come such a young Lord is marching his men to Munda?”
Julian glowered. “There would have been almost three times as many of us, but Velutio has just been through my lands like a plague of locusts, culling anything that moved and breathed. He cut my father’s throat for daring to speak out in favour of you. I have brought his men; my men, to serve you as he would have wished.” He fell to one knee before Darius. “I give you my oath, my Emperor, that we are yours. Let me help you gut that murdering bastard.”
Darius smiled sadly and placed his hand on the boy’s head. “I accept your oath, Julian. Be welcome to our army and our court.” He glanced over toward Silvas, who was frowning, deep in thought. To say anything to him now would be to press the obvious.
Athas was still staring at the old man with the scarred head who grinned, though perhaps involuntarily, back at him.
“Do I know you?” the burly dark man queried.
“You damn well should,” the man replied, stepping forward. “We got matching tattoos once at Germalla. Kiva didn’t stop shouting at us for a week.” Now the grin was definitely genuine.
Darius looked across at Athas, his brows knitted. “You know this man?”
A broad grin had spread across Athas’ face and he took another hesitant step forward. “Balo?”
The man edged forward again and held out a hand in greeting. His arm was as scarred as his face. “I know I’ve changed a little, but surely not that much.”
Athas knocked the hand aside and stepped close, enclosing the man in a great bear hug. It was only once he’d moved out of the way that Darius saw the look of amazement on Brendan’s face also. The shaven-headed captain stood stunned as the big dark-skinned man all but crushed the new arrival. When Athas stepped back and released Balo, the old man was struggling for breath. “Hell, Athas, you’ve got stronger !”
Now Brendan pushed past Athas and gripped the man by the upper arms, staring at him. “But you’re dead, Balo! Dead a decade ago. How the hell?”
“Ahem. A reunion?”
They all turned to look at Darius, who was watching them with one raised eyebrow and his arms folded. It was at this point that Balo frowned. He walked toward Darius and reached out. The young Emperor flinched for a moment, but the scarred man just reached up to touch the wolf-pelt hanging at his shoulder. “Your majesty wears the emblem of the Wolves. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or offended.”
Brendan laughed. “Impressed, Balo. If yer’d seen ‘im fight, yer’d think e’d been one of us fer decades. Come on, though… What ‘appened to you?”
“That’s a story for another time, when we meet up with the rest of them. Right now, Lord Pelian and the rest of us have been riding like lunatics for a week to get to you. We need to get our men up to Munda and you need to come back too. Straight away.”
“Why?” Darius stared at him.
“Because Velutio’s commander has sent a letter of terms to you, which is only a day or so behind us being carried by a Pelasian escorted by a few of Velutio’s men, but he’s also turned the army and is marching it towards Munda. Time’s running out, Emperor. You know his terms will be unacceptable and so does he, so he’s manoeuvring his army already. Whatever you were planning to do with your forces, you need to get it ready to march straight away if you want to keep any initiative. A battle’s coming and it’s coming fast.”
Darius looked across at Tythias, who nodded, a sour look crossing his face.
“Very well,” the young Emperor growled. “If war’s on its way, let’s get ready to meet it head on. Prefect… have the men fall out in the courtyard. We ride for the camp tonight.”
Tythias nodded and made for the door, leaving the others alone. Darius left the Wolves and Sathina with their reunion and strode across to Silvas, who sat drumming his fingers on the table. The lord looked less than happy.
“I presume I’ve no need to hammer home anything the young lord said just now?”
Silvas shook his head sadly. “I remember Gaius Pelianus. He was one of the old school. If you’re marshalling your army to march now, bring them past here. Velutio must be nearly two weeks away if he’s moving an army the size of his from Pelian’s estate. Bring your army to my lands and I’ll bend my knee before you, young Emperor.”
Brendan was still staring at Balo and Athas smiled sadly. “Before we reach the camp, there’s something you need to know about the rest of them, Balo.”