The marble columns wreathed in fire. The purple and gold drapes blazing and falling away into burning heaps on the floor. A chalice of wine on a small table by a couch, boiling in the intense heat. The panicked twittering of the ornamental birds in their golden cages as the room around them was consumed by the inferno. And in the centre of the room, standing in robes of white and purple, a man. He doesn’t look frightened, though the flames lick at his whole world and his face is already grimy with the smoke. What he looks is disappointed, his arm extended toward the sealed and barred door separating him from a future and a life. Extended toward the figure standing behind that door, turning the final key in the final lock.
Kiva woke, the grimy soot and dirt on his forehead running down and into his eyes with the sweat. Despite the sweat, he felt so cold and so agonisingly sad. Of all the thoughts jostling for a return to his mind after the horror of the nightmare, strangely, his first and most insistent thought was ‘did the birds die?’
He glanced around the room. The farm had been unoccupied for three or four days at most. When they’d made their way to the field to meet up with the rest Lord Bergama’s army, they’d found this building the night before the battle, already empty. There had still been half-eaten meals on the table and the fireplace had been warm. Yet another case of the constant feuding between Lords disrupting the lives of the ordinary folk. This family had probably heard tell of the armies descending upon their district and fled, hoping to return after the trouble and find their home intact. He clicked his tongue irritably. He was starting to think like Athas. Screw it. They made their way and he made his. Every man has a path and some are easier than others. He’d move on to the next contract; the next battle. Kicking out in irritation at a table leg, he scraped the chair back and stood. The night was old, with dawn not far off. They’d reached the house around an hour ago and set up shifts for watch. Kiva had immediately surrendered to exhaustion and would still be in the arms of dream had not the old problem driven him to wakefulness. It was no wonder really that his once proud blond hair was now almost entirely grey and that his face had taken on a dark-eyed, haggard look. Sleep was neither a friend nor a comfort to Kiva Tregaron.
He had been the only one in the kitchen, seated by the thick wall on a heavy bench padded with a blanket. He approached the door to the main living space and peered round into the darkness. The slumbering forms of the Grey Company filled the floor. Trying not to disturb their rest, he rounded the corner and climbed the creaking stairs to the upper floor. On one side of the upper room Scauvus sat on a stool, peering out of the upstairs window and watching for any stray scout that might stumble on their location. At the other side, Brendan and Marco sat on the balcony, keeping the rest of the valley under surveillance.
Touching his brow in recognition to Scauvus, Kiva made his way to the balcony.
“Morning. Any sign of Athas and Thalo yet?”
Brendan, a bulky man with a shaved head and greying whiskers nodded and pointed down into the grounds of the farmhouse.
“They got ‘ere about ‘alf an hour ago an’ collapsed into that ‘ay. If yer listen real ‘ard, yer can ‘ear Athas snorin’ from ‘ere.”
Kiva followed the soldier’s gesture and growled, leaning so heavily on the balcony rail that the wood creaked threateningly and a shower of dust drifted down into the yard.
“There’s a boy in white down there” he uttered through gritted teeth. “Did they bring him with them?”
Marco turned, a piece of straw jutting from the corner of his mouth. “Nah, he came in a few minutes later. They let him join ‘em though.”
“Idiots” Kiva snarled.
Ignoring the questioning look from the two on the balcony, he snatched a piece of broken wood from the edge of the rail and hurled it down into the hay. Despite his almost legendary lack of prowess with aimed weapons, he noted with satisfaction the thump of the wood hitting something hard and a groan. Athas sat up suddenly, his hand reaching for the sword slung over his back. He spun several times, eyeing every dark corner of the farmyard and then looked up. Kiva made an angry gesture, motioning him toward the house. As the heavy sergeant walked toward the door, the captain turned and padded back through the room and down the stairs. He reached the bottom as Athas entered and he gestured toward the kitchen. As soon as they were both in, he closed the door and jabbed a finger at Athas’ chest.
“I told you before,” he growled “we don’t need the kid.”
The sergeant looked around to make sure none of the other soldiers were listening in on their conversation and then grasped Kiva’s gesticulating finger and, jerking his hand aside, brought his angry face very close to that of his captain.
“I’ve had enough of this” the big sergeant rumbled in his deep voice. “The kid needs help and he’s got money. We’ve no contract and we need the money.” He waved aside Kiva’s protests and continued. “I agreed never to gainsay you in front of the rest, but I’ve known you far too long to tiptoe around something like this. I know you think I’m a soft touch, but the fact is that I still care about things. You may be bitter and burning with resentment at everything fate’s thrown at you, but you can’t take that out on the innocent. You think you’re cursed, so you make your own misery.” He gestures with his hand open-palmed at the captain, but anger jammed up the words in his throat. With a sigh, he waved the arm dismissively. “Ah, fuck it.”
Athas turned away angrily and raised his arms in irritation, seething silently for a long moment before spinning back round and jabbing his finger at the captain.
“All right, if there’s no soul left there to appeal to, at least wake up and smell the money. If you don’t help that lad, you’re turning down easy cash for the sake of helping yet another petty claimant to the throne and I know you don’t give a fig about them .”
Kiva knocked the sergeant’s hand aside and leaned forward, his face almost touching Athas’ and his voice croaky. “Don’t underestimate the shit I go through each and every waking day and the crap I live with in between. You of all people know why I am what I am. We don’t do bodyguard. We never have. It’s not the way we work. First over the wall and last off the field, remember? We always take it to them !”
Athas reached out gingerly and placed his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to make it difficult, but you know that we’re starting to get a reputation. A lot of the Lords won’t touch us anymore and after tonight, we’re unlikely to be heroes. We’re a unit and you know that not one of us would contemplate leaving; we’ve been together since before the collapse, so you know that. But your whole attitude to battle frankly scares our employers. You’re a risk. We could do with some steady work to help us with funds and maybe even boost our reputation.”
Kiva sighed. “Look, I know we run a lot of risks, but you tend to do that when you fight a war. I won’t do anything the easy way if it means…”
“I know that” Athas interrupted. “Gods, of all people, I know that. All I’m saying is you need to give the boy a break and you need to think of the men. They’ve fought five campaigns this last three months. They need a rest, but we keep getting stitched up over pay, so we can’t afford one and here’s your golden opportunity to do what’s right on both sides. Speak to the boy.”
Kiva sucked air through his teeth, turning over the idea in his mind. “Athas…”
“Speak to him” the big man interjected again.
Athas and Kiva stood little more than a foot apart, a determined look on the sergeant’s face. The captain sighed. In the face of the sergeant’s logic, he was running out of excuses. He folded his arms and exhaled.
“I don’t like it,” he muttered, “but you may be right. Ok, bring him in and I’ll see what he’s got to say.”
Athas nodded and wandered out through the door. Kiva watched through the window as the big man went to the pile of hay and gently shook the other two awake. He spoke for a moment and as Thalo made his way into the main room to sleep among the rest of the company, Athas and the boy made their way into the kitchen. Now that he felt calmer, Kiva noticed as the two entered the large cut down Athas’ arm and the wounds on the boy’s shoulder and leg. He looked up at Athas and gestured to the bench upon which he’d slept. While the two made their way across the kitchen, Kiva leaned through into the main room and looked around. Spotting the company medic next to the cold, burned-out fire, he threw one of the worthless tin coins he seemed to be permanently saddled with across the room and bounced it off the man’s head. The medic sat up, startled, and looked around the room.
“Mercurias, bring your bag into the kitchen.”
The medic followed the sound of the whisper and spotted Kiva standing in the doorway. Muttering miserably, he returned Kiva’s gesture and stood, stretching. The captain made his way back into the kitchen and took a seat on the rickety wooden chair opposite the other two on the bench. Moments later Mercurias entered, his usual sour, miserable look compounded by lack of sleep and a rude awakening.
“What the fuck d’you do that for?”
Kiva pointed at the other two and growled at the medic. “Enough lip. Take the sergeant upstairs and see to that arm. And when you’ve finished, come down and have a look at this lad.”
Still grumbling, the medic turned abruptly and walked out. Athas shrugged at his captain and then followed. A moment later, Kiva was alone with the young man. He looked the lad up and down for a long moment. The stranger made him feel uncomfortable, and he’d felt uncomfortable with no one but himself for so long that the feeling was unpleasant and unwelcome. He cleared his throat.
“Alright, lad” he began. “I’m Kiva Tregaron and these are the Grey Company. Athas and Thalo you’ve met, and the man who’ll be looking at your wounds in a minute is Mercurias. Now you know us, but I don’t know you. If you want any help I want to know who you are, what you’re doing in the middle of a battlefield, who was with you when they all got killed, where you’re going and how much gold you have and are willing to spare. And why you would suggest anything as dumb as you did when we met on the hill.” The captain sat in silence for a moment, and realised the boy was waiting for more. “Go on” he prompted.
The young man slouched slightly.
“Ok, my name’s Quintillian. I’m a scholar from a small off-shore community. I was sent with two colleagues to find an art dealer in Calvion. They knew where we were going and we had with us a cart containing some very rare and beautiful works. We need the money to help support the community. With the constant warring, things have become very expensive, and we don’t deal with the mainland very often. Our elders arrange delivery of what goods we can afford on a twice-yearly basis. We were on our way back to the island when we accidentally stumbled into those men in green. They killed Tomas and Enarion before we could even speak. They put me in a cage because I had gold and I suppose they figured there must be more somewhere. Fortunately the knots on the ropes that held the cage shut were childish and facile. I got them open as soon as it got dark and made my way away from their camp. Good thing, too; I believe they were planning to torture me to find out where I got the money. They took most of what I had on me and you saw what they didn’t take, but most of the gold is hidden in a bush somewhere on the other side of that battlefield. I need to get back to the coast near the city of Velutio and take a boat from there to the colony, and I need someone who can escort myself and the money to there. Before the battle, we had three hundred corona. I suppose I needn’t tell you what that’s worth to us?”
The boy looked up again at Kiva, but the Captain had a far-away look about him, as though he was paying only the slightest of attention. In fact, the boy thought he looked slightly sad; haunted even. He tapped a gold coin on the desk and the Captain focused his attention once more on the conversation.
“Three hundred corona?” he mused. “That’s a lot of money for a scholarly community. How much were you thinking of sparing?”
“A third of it?” the boy suggested with a shrug.
Kiva had been rocking his chair slightly on its rear legs as he listened. Suddenly the chair came down to the floor with a thud.
“A hundred corona?” the captain barked. “That’s crazy. You’d hire an army for that?”
Quintillian smiled.
“I don’t need an army, captain. I just need a little help to get home. A hundred corona is a lot of money, but if I take two hundred back to the island, it’ll have been worth it. Without your help none of that money will get back. Do we have a bargain?”
Kiva smiled an unpleasantly predatory smile that the boy thought didn’t suit him.
“What makes you think we won’t just get you a few miles out into the wilderness and gut you for the whole lot?” Kiva asked.
A laugh. Quiet, but with true feeling.
“I don’t think that’s who you or your men are, Captain Tregaron” Quintillian replied. “ If that’s who you really are.”
Kiva growled.
“Knock that off” he spat. “I don’t want any more of your fantastic theories as to my origin. I do know the area round Velutio very well and you’re right. You’d never get back on your own. The Lord of Velutio’s probably the most powerful claimant in the Empire. And he’s not a very nice human being. Less pleasant than me and a lot less forgiving. Ok. You’ve got a deal. We stay here until Celio’s men have cleared the area and stopped patrolling for survivors. Then we’ll go get your money and take you to Velutio.”
The boy nodded at the captain.
“Agreed.”
“We’ll have to kit you out in some better gear though” Kiva said thoughtfully, tapping his finger on his chin. “Dressed like that you tend to stand out a bit. I’ll ask Athas to sort you some kit; I think we’ve got a few spare tunics here and there. You’d best head upstairs and see Mercurias before you bleed out completely. Get him to send Athas back down here. Oh, and that’s another thing before you go: as long as you travel with us, you’re part of the company. You follow any orders you’re given, whether they’re from me, Athas or any of the others.”
The lad, standing to leave, opened his mouth to object, but Kiva held his hand up.
“That’s the rule” he said with an air of finality. “Think of it as for your own good. If we give you orders it’s because we all rely on those orders for our survival. Also, it’s because you’re going to be one of the company as far as any outsider knows. If you don’t like the rules, feel free to piss off and find another unit.”
Quintillian stopped and then smiled as he turned back and made his way to the stairs.
“Aye, captain” he said with a grin.
Kiva sat in the dark and silent room, grumbling to himself. It was more money than the Grey Company had made the entire last year, and it’d only take a month at most to get him to Velutio. It was good business sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the lad was going to be trouble and he was starting to get very edgy and fidgety. The first ray of sunlight appeared at the window, with a shaft of light that fell across the ceiling by the window. Kiva rose and paced back and forth for a moment.
He stopped and idly examined a large kitchen knife on one of the cupboards for a moment, before growling and storming across to the door. He was about to call upstairs for Athas, when he saw the bulky southerner turn the corner at the top on his way down. He was holding his arm gingerly and, as he reached the bottom and was more clearly visible in the pool of light from the kitchen’s lamp, Kiva could see the fresh stitch marks on his arm. They were not very neat. Mercurias really was in a bad mood. He gestured impatiently toward the kitchen and followed Athas inside and to the seats by the table.
“I’m very uncomfortable with this” he reiterated. “I’ve agreed to take the job on but I’m very uncomfortable, and not for the reasons you think. D’you notice anything familiar about the lad?”
Athas shook his head, blankly. “Nothing particular. Why?”
Kiva leaned heavily across the table and grasped Athas’ shoulders, pulling him close. The sergeant winced as the stitches pulled. Kiva ignored the look and gritted his teeth.
“I noticed it almost immediately” he whispered. “He looks so like his uncle it’s untrue.”
“His uncle? Who do…”
Athas tailed off and slapped the side of his head in irritation.
“It’s true. He even talks like the Emperor.”
Kiva motioned for quiet with his hands.
“Don’t use that word” he replied. “It’s dangerous around the wrong ears. Anyway, I don’t think he knows anything about his uncle. He’s got to have been a newborn when Quintus died. He looks like him; he sounds like him; he’s a scholar from Velutio. Hell, he said it was an offshore community, so I’ll bet they’re even on the Imperial Island. And he called me Caerdin, so he knows his history.”
Athas frowned.
“Not too well, though” he said. “He’d never have trusted someone he thought was Caerdin if he knew what the General actually did.”
“True. Still, I’m not sure there’s much hope of us covering him by using a different name. He’s a bit naive and he’ll make mistakes. We’ll just have to hope no one else makes the connection. There aren’t many people who met Quintus in those last few years, so they won’t click the same way we did. He’ll be safer when he’s dressed like one of us. Can you see to that? Maybe a short sword or something too?”
Athas nodded. “No problem, captain. The only problem I foresee is the men. A lot of the Grey Company will remember the Em… Quintus from the old days. They’re not daft and I’ll guarantee you some of them’ll have worked it out very quickly.”
“We’ll have to act fast” Kiva replied. “Get the lads together and explain things to them. Explain most of all that forgetting the name Quintus and any past affiliations is going to be worth eight corona each. That should shut ‘em up.”
As Athas nodded, stood and made his way back into the main room, Kiva wandered up the stairs to find Quintillian sitting on a stool and being treated by the ever-surly Mercurias. The burly and thick-set Bors stood by the fireplace watching the medic at work. Kiva glanced around and gestured at Bors and the lookouts by the window and on the balcony.
“Get downstairs and see Athas.”
The three made for the stairs, leaving Kiva, Mercurias and the boy together. He watched as Mercurias cleaned out the shoulder wound. The young man had delicate, pale skin and dark, curly hair, cropped short. His eyes were a light blue, probably piercing when seen in a better light. Strikingly familiar. Kiva cleared his throat.
“Quintillian…” he began.
He noted the pause in Mercurias’ work and the sharp glance the medic gave him. He shook his head barely perceptibly and returned his attention to the boy. Athas had been right. Most of the company would make the connection with the name pretty fast.
“Lad,” he began again, “I need to know a few things before we go any further. Are your family still in this community, what’s the name of the place, what’s the aim of the community and who’s in charge? ”
The boy’s eyes narrowed.
“I can’t see why any of that matters, but I was orphaned. Brought up by the community on the island. I don’t know much about my parents, except that they died during the civil war. They must have been supporters of the Emperor; they did name me for him.”
Somewhere inside, Kiva heaved a sigh of relief, though he didn’t show it externally. It would have been nice to doubt the validity of the boy’s heritage, but he’d known the Emperor Quintus far too well for that. The boy could have been a model for Quintus’ earlier statues.
Quintillian continued “the island’s called Isera. We’re a community of scholars and holy men. The leader’s a man named Sarios. A very intelligent and kind man who used to be a priest and scholar in the days of the Empire.”
Kiva reached out and grasped the boy’s arm.
“It’s not a good idea to go round shouting out words like Emperor or names like yours. There are far too many bloodthirsty Lords out there, claimants to the throne, and talking too much would just get us noticed. Isera’s probably not a name to use either…”
Again, that intuitive narrowing of the eyes. Quintus used to do that too.
“Why do you not want to be noticed?” the boy replied. “You’re just mercenaries. You’ve not done anything wrong. Have you? Or have I?”
This was going to be hard work. Truths Kiva didn’t really like to divulge were going to have to be shared. Damn Athas. Why couldn’t they just have left the boy and found another Lord in need of troops? He sighed and looked the lad in the eyes.
“Quintillian,” he sighed, “why do you think there are so many mercenary units or private armies? There were over two hundred thousand men in the Imperial army before the civil war. Most of us over the age of thirty-five have served with the military before the collapse. My entire unit here were all soldiers then. The Grey Company weren’t always grey. They wore military green once. And a number of us met the Emperor on occasions. It’s a very complicated political landscape right now and there are some things that are best left in the past. Deal with it.”
He sighed again as the boy’s innocent face contorted with the effort of coming to terms with lies and half-truths. Just like Quintus in the early days; before the rot set in.
“It’s not much of a problem here in the Provinces,” the captain explained, “but when we get near Velutio, things will be a whole lot different. The world’s a different place there. You have to be very careful what you say. The Lord of Velutio and I are ‘acquainted’ and we don’t see particularly eye to eye. He won’t take very well to someone with your name, either.”
Kiva reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silver flask. The container had a wolf’s head engraved on it, and an inscription, but Quintillian barely saw it as the captain moved his hand to grip around the decoration. Lifting the flask to his lips, he took several deep pulls on it before lowering it once more and replacing the lid. He leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Quintillian watched him as did Mercurias, the first to speak.
“Don’t you think you’re hitting that a little hard?” the medic queried.
Kiva flicked one eye open.
“I’m not your worry. Keep your mind on your patient. I’m going down to see Athas and the rest.”
He stood, swaying slightly as his knee almost gave way and then, righting himself with the support of the chair, squared his shoulders and started down the stairs. Once he was safely out of sight and with the rest of the men below, Quintillian turned to face the medic, his voice full of uncertainty.
“Should he be drinking strong liquor when we’re all still in danger?” he asked.
Mercurias turned the lad back round and continued work on the shoulder, his hands remarkably light and gentle, considering his general disposition.
“It’s not liquor” the medic replied. “It’s Mare’s Mead.”
Quintillian’s brow creased as he sought out memories.
“I’ve heard of that” he said brightly. “One of the priests at home kept it for something.”
Mercurias raised his brows in surprise.
“It’s quite rare and not very well known” he said quietly. “Your priest must be well versed in the medicinal arts. Mare’s Mead is an extremely powerful pain suppressant. It’s very acrid and bitter in its normal pollen form, which is why people mix it with mead to take, hence the name. Problem is, it also has a number of side-effects that vary from person to person. Kiva takes it for a pain in the side, legacy of a wound he took a long, long time ago. I dread to think what it’s doing to him, ‘cos he’ll never let me examine him. I do know he averages about three hours a night sleep in a good week and he’s a very troubled man, but then he’s always been like that, ever since the days of the collapse.”
“I don’t think he likes me very much” the boy added.
“He doesn’t like anyone very much. Just don’t antagonise him.”
“Done.” With a short, sharp tug, Mercurias tied off the thread and then cut the spare away. “Try not to wave your arms around over your head for a few days, or I’ll just let you bleed next time. If you’re getting kit from Athas, can you give me your tunic afterwards? It’s quite good quality material and I could turn it into good bandages with some washing.”
Quintillian nodded, wincing as the activity tensed muscles in his neck that pulled gently on the stitches. He craned his neck in an attempt to examine his own shoulder, but couldn’t see far enough round and the movement hurt. Instead, he examined the smaller wound on his leg.
“Your stitching’s very precise” he complemented the medic. “Did you ever practice in one of the major hospitals or temples?”
Mercurias shook his head.
“I’ve always been in the army” he replied. “Thirty some years I’ve been with these men. I’ve treated everything from splinters to deep slashes to gangrene to trench foot. When I joined I knew nothing, just apprenticed myself to one of the combat medics. In the old days there was a lot of activity on the northern borders. Particularly with Kiva’s unit. I was well and truly dropped into the shit at the deep end.”
He frowned.
“You have a habit of asking earnest, simple questions and getting more truth out of people than they should be willing to give. I don’t think you’re half as naive as you act, Quintillian. I think you play people to find out as much as you can.”
The lad raised his hands in defence, but the medic continued. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think you’re sly or devious or manipulative in any bad way. It’s just how you deal with people, isn’t it. People find themselves telling you things that they perhaps shouldn’t. I know that I told you things I wouldn’t, and I think the Captain did too. That’s a useful talent to have, but it could get you into a lot of trouble. Be careful. I’ve known people just as incisive who’ve fallen a long way because of their wit.”
Quintillian smiled benignly.
“My tutor always told me to find out everything you can about a subject before you pass any kind of judgement on it.”
“Wise words,” the medic replied, “but bear what I said in mind. Now stay here while I go and get a tunic from Athas for you.”
Mercurias reached the top step and turned to look at the young man, standing at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. This boy was really something; much like his uncle used to be. Maybe that’s why Kiva’d agreed to take him on. Sighing with the weight of the world, he turned back and descended the stairs.
Quintillian stood at the window and gazed out into the dawn light. The farmyard was in shadow on this side, the sun still barely rising above the horizon. Perhaps two miles away, over the crest of the hill would be a bag of coins hidden beneath a thorny bush. Many miles beyond that was the city of Velutio, and beyond that: the sea. If he tried hard, he thought he could almost smell the brine and hear the gulls. Below, whatever meeting the company had had must have broken up. Two of the men he didn’t know left the house, moving out toward the hill. For a moment, he pondered the possibility that the captain had sent them after the gold but, even if they’d had the faintest idea where to find it, these men were not the sort to do that. The two men would be scouts, out to see whether the enemy army had left and the coast was clear.
These men, for all their brash roughness and mercenary cause, were men of honour. He’d played a dangerous game earlier with the captain to test that, impugning the man’s honour. Most of those who’d served under the Emperors were dutiful and honourable and, despite the changes the world had undergone around them, many of them would not have changed in their hearts. The army had had a code. Oh, Quintillian hadn’t been born during those glory days, but he read so much. Voracious, his tutor had called him, and he read far too much to wander this world innocently. Darius would be so jealous when he returned to the island with all these stories of adventure.
Stories of the Grey Company and their leader, Kiva Tregaron.
Quintillian chuckled and whispered quietly to himself.
“Tregaron indeed.” Caerdin had had a reputation to be sure, but he’d been the stalwart of all the military in the days of his uncle and while grey hair and a lack of insignia might fool some of the power-hungry Lords of the realm it had not deceived Quintillian, nephew of Quintus the Golden, Emperor, genius, and God.