Velutio urged his horse forward, the colour rising in his face, and pushed Sabian out of the way, almost unhorsing him. “What is the meaning of this? We came to parlay with your general, not some underling or his puppet ‘ emperor ’.”
Balo smiled, regarding the lord of Velutio coldly. “Caerdin is no longer the general of this army. He resigned his commission this morning as I myself was there to witness. He firmly believes there will be no need of a general today but that if there is, Tythias here is amply able and prepared for the role. I also am not a commissioned member of this army and am here only as a spokesman for Caerdin.”
Sabian nodded bleakly and pushed his way to the front once more, glaring at his lord. “Caerdin has gone to deal with those other lords in our army that he could rely on to think of themselves before they thought of you, Velutio. He’s had something going on for some time now obviously, possibly even for months. We’ve had deserters all the way around the coast and I thought it was because they believed in Darius or possibly felt oppressed by us, but perhaps it was Caerdin’s doing all along.”
Balo smiled. “In actual fact commander, we’ve had nothing to do with your desertions. Caerdin only intended to deal with certain individuals he felt he could trust to rely on greed overcoming their loyalty. Only a dozen lords or so have been dealt with, but that’ll cripple a large portion of your army. Your army’s deserting because they don’t believe in your cause. They don’t want this man to be their emperor, and I can see why, whereas Darius is a man of Imperial blood with a solid claim to the throne and the Gods are with him.”
Sabian nodded again, his fingers pressed against his temples. “He’s brought your army crashing down, my lord. He’s abducted a dozen of your commanders and their men won’t fight for you now. In fact, I doubt we’ll ever see those lords themselves again.” He pulled himself up straight. “If you insist on going ahead with this, you’re walking into disaster.”
He turned to Balo. “What terms do you offer?”
“No!” Velutio turned and pushed hard, hurling Sabian from his horse and glaring at Tythias. “There will be no terms. I still have the better army and without Caerdin, your own army is nothing but a collection of badly-trained rebels. There will be war here today and I will walk in your blood, all of you. Get back to your lines, ‘general’ Tythias and prepare your men. I will see you in the battle.” Sabian growled and began to rant at his lord, explaining the myriad reasons for withdrawing against a torrent of abuse.
Balo smiled at the argument and leaned close to Darius, motioning the young Emperor to raise his silver mask. As he did so, Balo whispered to him. “Now’s your time.”
“What?” replied Darius.
“Can’t you see? The enemy commanders are arguing. Many of their lords are missing. The Pelasians and the absent lords’ troops won’t be prepared to fight and the rest of the army’s dithering, unsure of what to do. You’ll never get another chance like it.”
“So what do I do? Caerdin never explained his plan.”
“He didn’t need to. He’s cleared the way for you. This army’s in tatters and if you’re strong and you take control, they’ll take the oath; maybe not all of them, but enough to shatter the rest of his army and make them yours. Kiva set everything up for this one moment, but you need to be strong!”
Darius blinked. Caerdin had done so much with only Balo and Cialo’s men? He realised that the world was holding its breath and he was being regarded by more than just the half-dozen men here. A quarter of a mile behind them, the ringing of swords being hammered against shield-edges continued, somewhat muted by the distance. A few hundred yards ahead, Velutio’s army stood in lines, some looking fierce, but many confused or worried, watching their commanders in heated debate. The young Emperor smiled. It could all end here and without a blow, but he had to be every bit the Emperor his men expected of him.
He sat as straight as he could in the saddle and faced the enemy lines.
“This is the Empire! The Empire has always been strong and unified until the lords carved it up. Now, there will be no more lords!” he bellowed at them. “One army, one Emperor and elected governors of the people. You no longer have to owe allegiance to the men you did yesterday! You are either slaves to your lords or free men of the Empire and if you are free, I expect the Oath of allegiance from you.”
A voice from somewhere in the line called out in a nervous voice “Who’ll pay us, though. What’ll we do? I’m a sergeant now but I can’t afford to be a free man!”
Darius smiled. Here all the lessons in political history and rhetoric Sarios had put him through on the island would be of prime use. It was no good being a great rhetorical speaker if you had nothing of substance to say. ‘Always have a point; always have an answer’ his rhetoric tutor had drummed into him. And from the histories: ‘always think of the future before you act for the day.’
“The regional armies must be disbanded,” he announced, “but the Imperial army has already been recommissioned. They stand a quarter of a mile up the valley hoping they won’t have to fight their countrymen. A civil war does good to no one but the barbarians. You will be able to join the Imperial army for regular work and good pay or to retire in peace with a generous settlement to be agreed by your provincial governor. All you have to do is take the oath! Any man who declares himself for me now will be considered a loyal citizen of the Empire and a valued ally. Any man who stands against me stands against the Empire and will be deemed a traitor.”
Some time during this exchange, the enemy commanders had stopped arguing and were paying attention to the young Emperor. Sabian watched Darius high on his horse with something of mixed respect and pride. He turned and glared up at his lord. “It’s over, Velutio. Your men won’t fight for you anymore. I won’t fight for you anymore. There’s a new Emperor and it’s not you. See how your army begins to kneel to your enemy?”
Ignoring the pure malice of the old lord’s gaze, he strode round to where Darius sat on his horse. Turning to face his army, the commander removed his helmet and stood straight as a spear shaft.
“On your knees!” he bellowed with a force that made Darius start and look down at the man beside him. “On your knees for your Emperor!” Darius stared at Sabian, a flood of strangely conflicting emotions running through him.
The commander turned back to the young man and bowed his head. “I should have seen it months ago, highness; in fact I did in truth. Had I not been bound by oath, I should have come to you then.”
Turning once more to Velutio, he smiled. “I hereby resign my commission in the armies of Avitus, formerly lord of Velutio, and make my peace with my Emperor. Long may he reign.”
With a sad note in his voice, he looked back up at Darius and spoke again quietly. “Highness, I beg for nothing. I’ve led armies against you and committed treason to the throne. I submit myself for your sentencing, be it death or exile.”
“I also,” called Lord Dio, stepping out from the front lines of the army. “I wasn’t sure whether I would fight today or not. Sabian told me a lot about you, young Emperor, but I wasn’t sure how accurate he was. Seeing you now I think that, on reflection, he may have been spot on. I have been your enemy, but no more.” He plunged his sword point down into the turf and bowed his head to the young man.
Around them, men continued to sink to their knees in small groups, gradually building into a wave. Velutio was staring, wild-eyed, at the men around him. Everything in this last minute was falling apart. Here, where Caerdin had beaten him twenty years ago, the man had done it again without even being here, and this time without a blow being struck. Still, while his army was led by a collection of lords and had fallen apart without them, Darius’ army was reliant on their one symbol. He leaned in his saddle and called over to his flag bearers.
“Kill the boy!”
The small unit carried standards and flags, yet were curiously well armed and armoured for ceremonial soldiers. Clearly drawn from another unit, the tips of bows were visible beneath their cloaks and they had not kneeled to the young horseman. The flags and eagles they bore were hurled to the floor as they lifted short bows from under their crimson cloaks and drew arrows from hidden quivers.
Sabian ran back past his former lord to the unit and, with a great heave, pushed the first man in the line to the floor.
“Belay that order!” he bellowed, drawing his sword. “No one fires a shot or I gut them!”
Behind him, Velutio glared with hatred down at his commander and then back at the archers. “I am still your lord. You will kill that boy now!”
Sabian turned and, with his spare hand, grasped Velutio’s shin and pushed upwards, tipping the old lord gracelessly from his horse. He stared down at the old, grey-haired lord floundering around on the floor in a fury and growled.
“I have had enough of your bitter, petty, pointless commands. You’re not their lord any more. Look around you, Avitus ! Your army kneels to their new Emperor, ready to take the oath. No more lords, he said. You don’t exist any more. You’re not Lord Velutio; you’re not even Marshal Avitus. You’re just plain old Avitus, lord of nowhere and commander of no one, just like I’m plain old Sabianus, not a man of power or land. You deserve to be nothing now. I’ve known for a long time that you were treacherous and wicked, but you would bring assassins to a parlay under the guise of heralds ? If I were still their commander I’d have every man in that unit executed for dishonouring the standards. They threw your flags to the ground as though they were worth nothing and you don’t even care. You’ve less honour than a weasel.”
Velutio struggled to his feet, keenly aware of the fact that nine tenths of his army knelt to his enemy and the few who remained standing looked decidedly unsure. Sabian glared at them and flung his helmet at the archers standing among a pile of discarded flags and standards.
“Kneel you bastards! Kneel to your Emperor!”
Sabian was aware of the danger only at the last moment as Avitus fell on him, wielding a small knife that had hitherto been secreted in his belt. Before he could turn to face the old man, he felt the blade plunging down between his scarf and breastplate and deep, vertically into the point between his neck and shoulder. With a growl, he reached up and grasped Avitus’ left wrist where it held the knife, turning it until the knife slipped back out, sawing through muscle and bone as it exited; until he heard the bones in the old man’s wrist cracking and splintering.
He winced at the pain in his severed muscle and, clutching his neck, Sabian turned, his sword still in his damaged arm.
“You have to be the most bitter, twisted, vengeful, spiteful, evil, ungrateful old fuck I have ever met and you’ve just made your last mistake. You should have listened to me over the past months and taken my advice and maybe now you’d be looking at a governorship, but no… you always had to be right. All the people around you that actually cared about what they did left you long ago. Even sergeant Cialo went over to Caerdin and that should have been the greatest warning of all. He’s a man of honour and integrity as I’m sure your new Emperor is now aware. And yet out of some outdated, misguided sense of loyalty, I followed you. Right to the end I followed you. And now you stab me in the back?”
He growled as he lowered his arm and let the blood flow free from his wound, soaking his red scarf and running down the inside of his cuirass to pool on the skirt of his tunic. Glaring at Avitus, he changed his sword to his good arm. “I try to get you to make peace, but you sent assassins instead! I try to teach you the honourable ways of command but you use them to hide your treachery. I try to tell you it’s over, but you won’t have it! There’s nothing in you but malice and now you’ve turned on the one man who’s tried to protect you from yourself. No more!”
He stepped forward, forcing Avitus to step back. The old lord fought the pain in his broken wrist, but his face displayed only rage. Drawing his sword, Avitus steadied himself. “I may have lost my army, but I am Velutio. I always was and I will not submit to a boy who owes his training, his knowledge and his very life to me! I will not kneel! If you want me to, you’ll have to kill me and, old though I am, I can assure you I am every bit a match for you.”
He swung his sword at the commander in a wide arc and Sabian stepped easily out of the way. “I’m not going to toy with you, Avitus. This is not a duel; this is an execution.”
Avitus laughed mirthlessly as he steadied his sword and made another lunge. With barely a move out of place, Sabian stepped in towards him, knocked the sword out of the way and, bringing his knee up and his arm down simultaneously, broke the old man’s sword arm at the elbow.
“You…” Avitus gasped, his shattered wrist flopping uselessly by his side and now his splintered elbow matching it. He stood pathetically, watching his sword lying on the ground, hopelessly beyond his reach with his broken arms.
“You’re a match for no one these days, old man,” Sabian grunted. “Without a hidden knife or an archer at your shoulder you’re nothing. Caerdin has lived twenty years with a wound you probably gave him by accident, and yet even as a man over fifty years of age, the general is a match with a blade for any man on this field. You’ve just relied on your reputation and your money to cover your weaknesses as a man.”
Avitus growled, glaring with pure hatred.
Sighing, Sabian stepped forward and raised his sword, pulling it back over his shoulder. With a last sad look at his former lord, he swung, the blade sweeping through the air and barely slowing as it met the resistance of Avitus’ neck. The iron-grey head toppled and rolled across the grass, a short fountain of blood rising from the severed neck before the whole body collapsed gently forward, folding in on itself. Sabian stood silently for a long time, staring down at the body and then turned.
He looked up at Balo on his horse. “Caerdin met with the other lords before dawn and disposed of them I presume?”
The mercenary looked over his shoulder and the rest of those present followed his gaze to see a white villa on a spur of land overlooking the valley, flames roaring around it and thick roiling black smoke pouring up from the hillside.
“He thinks it’s redemption,” the scarred man said sadly. “He burned Quintus and thought the Gods cursed him for it, so he’s making amends by burning himself now and taking our opposition with him. Destroy and rebuild, see?”
Darius fumbled for the neck clasp on his helmet and let it fall away to the ground. “He’s dead?”
“Must be by now,” the mercenary replied. “Roof’s gone on that place. Nothing inside will have survived. In fact, I can see Cialo’s men coming down the hill now, so they must consider the job done.”
“The job ?” demanded Darius incredulously. “He didn’t have to…”
“But he did,” interrupted Balo, “can’t you see? That’s the only way he felt he could do it. It’s the only way he thought the Gods would let it happen. He was dying anyway; you’ve watched him. You know he didn’t have many days left in him, so he chose to end there and make sure he got the job done. This morning he was so bad he worried he’d even get as far as the villa.”
Ah thought occurred to Darius and he turned in his saddle. “Tythias?”
But the man wasn’t there. The one armed prefect was already half way across the battlefield, making for the burning building. Darius sighed and turned back to Sabian.
“There’s been enough killing in these past months. Let Avitus be the last. I’ve no wish to execute you, Sabian. You’re responsible for our freedom and without you, we’d never have been here to face Avitus. You saved the life of everyone on Isera several times over and you’ve never lifted a finger to harm me or any of mine. You’ve committed no treason.”
Sabian bowed his head gently and uncomfortably, a fresh stream of blood running from his neck.
“Highness, there’s something you should know; something you really need to know and I’m one of very few people left in the world that’s aware of this…”
Darius sat on his horse with one eyebrow raised, waiting with a curious air. Sabian cleared his throat and, when he spoke, there was a strangely emotional quiver in his voice.
“I came across several documents when I was on Isera; documents that had been secreted away and stored under lock and key. Sarios will be able to confirm this; I expect he has the scrolls with him now. They were genealogies; histories of the Imperial line and its offshoots. Sarios’ carefully constructed claim that you’re of the Imperial blood isn’t far from the truth. I expect he laughed about that as he passed out your supposed fictional claim. The blood of the line does run in you, though, Darius. Not directly, but it’s still there.”
Darius’ brows furrowed. “Go on…”
“Your mother was the lady Livilla Dolabella, a cousin of Quintus the Golden and a child of the house of Corus. That means that you truly are the claimant to the throne, by blood and right…” His voice trailed away and he stared at the ground.
“And?” urged Darius. “There’s more, yes?”
“And your father was not Fulvius. Your father was Caerdin. It’s been hidden from you both since you were a child.” He swallowed hard. He’d promised Sarios a long time ago on the island not to reveal the truth, and some of it should be forever buried, but at some level, Darius needed to know. “You were rescued from the Caerdin villa when it burned, but fell into the hands of Avitus. He had you imprisoned on Isera, knowing who you were, and never told anyone that you’d lived. Your birth name was Quintus, not Darius; Quintus Caerdin, named for the Emperor. The scroll I found must have been put together after your imprisonment, as it has your current name, not your birth name. I’d expect that it was Sarios himself who drew up the genealogies, or at least replaced your name on it so that some day someone would find out. Caerdin’s never even suspected anything. His wife and child died twenty some years ago when the villa burned. I only tell you this now because he’s gone and you should know.”
Darius stared at the commander for a long moment and then cleared his throat. “Commander Sabian? I hereby confer on you the rank of Marshal of the Western Provinces. As such, I want you to deal with this army; your army. Any lords still in command of their men are to be invited to the command tent on the other side of the field. There I and my counsellors will see them all individually and we can decide whether or not they deserve to be given public office. I have the suspicion that most of them will, as Caerdin…” he paused for a moment, his eyes glazing for a second before shaking his head and taking control again. “…as Caerdin seems to have dealt with the rest of them. I want the soldiers bringing to the middle of the field and there they can take their oath shortly. After that I’ll leave them with you to organise. You’ll want to promote some and discharge some no doubt.” He smiled a very strange smile.
“Unfortunately, right now, I have more urgent business.”
Sabian blinked. He was still standing slightly stunned by his sudden promotion as Balo winked at him and the two men turned and rode off back toward their lines. Prince Ashar rode up and slid from the back of his horse.
“You’re a very lucky man, aren’t you? Darius has always been rather fond of you, Sabian, and you have a good reputation, but was it really fair to tell him that now?”
“He had a right to know,” the commander replied, still watching the retreating riders. “What gets me though is how easily he took it.”
Ashar laughed. “He’s a Caerdin sure enough. I’d better get back to my men and tell them to stand down, and you’ve got enough to keep you occupied, Marshal of the western Provinces.” He laughed again and, wheeling his horse, rode back off toward the Imperial lines.
Sabian stood and watched him go for a moment before turning back with a curious smile to the lines of kneeling men. His grin widening, he tore his insignia from the sleeve of his tunic and dropped it to the floor.
“Alright! Form into units and prepare to move! If you don’t know the Imperial Oath, don’t worry. You can just repeat it after me. Anyone of noble rank here should come out front as the Emperor would like to see you personally. Now move!”
The grin on his face widened. “Oh, and somebody get me a medic…”
On the hill, Darius reined in with Balo close behind to find not only Tythias but all of the Wolves and several other commanders of the army watching the white walls collapse into rubble. There was a groan from the stressed beams as another section of wall gave way and fell inwards. Through the flames and smoke. Darius could just see a figure, torched and unidentifiable leaning out through one of the open windows, the charred shaft of an arrow protruding from the burned face. The lords had not met their end stoically apparently and Cialo’s men had been forced to contain them. For some reason the young Emperor was assailed by images of the ruined Golden House back on Isera that swam in and out of focus. The charred octagonal room where he used to go for sword practice. More than two decades ago Caerdin had sealed the doors, possibly of that very room and watched as his best friend burned inside. And here another villa on its way to becoming a ruin and he’d done the same again, only this time he’d locked the door from the inside
Mercurias wordlessly uncorked a wolf-embossed flask and took a swig of the neat spirit inside, before flinging the entire thing through a broken window and into the building. There was a brief flare as the liquor burned. “Rest well, you old bastard,” the medic sighed.
Next to him, Brendan uncorked his flask and did the same, followed by Athas and Marco. Balo slipped from his horse, unstoppered his own wolf flask and took a swig, handing the flask up to Darius. The young man, suddenly acutely aware of the long-term camaraderie of the men around him and the link he himself had to them, took a swig of something that tasted foul and then slung the flask into the dying fire.
“Goodbye father.”
The rest of them turned to face Darius. Only Mercurias betrayed no surprise, with merely a knowing smile. Brendan, his eyes wide with astonishment, strode over to the young Emperor. “Whaddya say?”
Mercurias grinned. “Don’t you mean ‘whaddya say, your majesty’ ?” he laughed.
“When did you find out?” the grizzled medic asked, turning to his Emperor.
“Sabian told me just now, down on the field. And you?”
Mercurias gave a sad smile. “I’ve known for a while. Pretty much since I met you, I’d say. I’m somewhat surprised no one else ever made the connection. You don’t quite look like him, but it’s mostly cos of the hair colour and that comes directly from your mother. She was raven black. If anyone looked at you and tried to combine what they saw in Kiva and Livilla, it’d have been pretty obvious.”
He laughed. “I’m a doctor. We notice these things.”
Brendan whistled through his teeth. “’E’s right though. Y’can see it clear as day if’n y’know what yer lookin’ fer.”
Darius nodded. “I know much the general meant to you all. I’m only really starting to come to terms with what it meant for me and I think I’ll have to sort that out later. It may seem a little unfeeling, but I don’t have time to deal with all this right now and I don’t have time for you to either. I need you back down in the valley. There’s a whole army to administer the oath to and deal with down there. Then there are a lot of lords to meet. The lords are going to be abolished entirely, though the deserving should get estates and public offices. I’m going to need so much help with this, I can’t even picture how enormous the task is. I’ve appointed Sabian as one of the new marshals. I want Athas and Tythias to join him if you’re amenable, and Sithis when I see him?”
Athas looked across at his young master and smiled in a sad way. “I’d be honoured, though I’m not sure how I’ll ever live up to the reputation of the old marshals. No one’ll ever match him. You know that? For all his faults, he may have been the best man I’ve ever known.”
Tythias laughed, again with an edge of tragedy to his voice. “Don’t be daft, Athas. Kiva was the best of the marshals, but don’t forget Avitus was his peer and look at him . I think you’re exactly what Darius needs in a marshal. Kiva may have been a leader to the Wolves, but you’ve always been their father. I’d be proud to serve you, highness. Your father was a great man.”
Marco looked across at them. A tear had run down his cheek and left a glittering trail in the grime caused by the smoke. “What of everyone else, Darius?”
The Emperor smiled. “In the old days, a man with your record and the wound you took in service to the Empire would be pensioned out and when everything settles down, I intend to revive most of the old traditions. A villa somewhere, or an inn or something, Marco. Time to calm down now there’s going to be peace. And you, Brendan, Balo, and all the others down there like Filus and Crucio. The army’s going to need Prefects and senior officers. We’ll need you all…”
Brendan smiled unhappily. “Don’t think my heart’s in it anymore, Darius. With no Kiva, I don’t really want to be a soldier. Hell, I’d have finished years ago if it weren’t for him.”
“There’s decades ahead of us to sort everything out, Brendan. We’re going to have peace, finally. We need to organise things in the valley and then the world will be what we make it. Time to mourn the dead when we’re at rest ourselves. For now…”
He turned his steed and looked down the hill and into the valley, where the two armies had met in the middle of the field with no blades and no blood and the world was being made whole again.
“For now? Let’s go and build an Empire.”