Interregnum (47 page)

“Athas, you big daft sod,” he laughed as his blood trickled down onto the big sergeant’s boot, “how’d you end up here?”

Athas grinned as he fought back with a renewed vigour. “You know the Wolves. Wherever there’s a fight, you’ll find us somewhere in the middle!”

The numbers in front were beginning to thin out, but beyond they could see another wave forming in the courtyard as more guardsmen who’d escaped the action gathered to put down the insurrection. Marco shouted a warning to Athas and leapt across to deal with a guardsman that appeared from a doorway in the gate but, as he swept his sword up, a lucky blow from one of the other guards caught him in the armpit as he moved, the blade sliding in deep. With a gasp Marco collapsed, dropping his sword. Brendan caught him as he fell and hurled him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Prince Ashar pushed away the man he was fighting and drove his blade into his chest as he glanced around him. “We’ve got to run Athas; get to the boats. We’re losing too many men here.”

Much as the burly sergeant hated to admit it, the cost in casualties was increasing as they fought. Already half a dozen Pelasians lay dead, Marco was either dead or unconscious, Tythias fighting with one arm and no sign of Jorun at all. Athas ducked back, sheathing his sword, and reached out for the huge beam that had once barred the ornamental gates. It was not one of the powerful oak beams that held the main gate house closed, but was sturdy enough even after years of neglect.

“Run!”

As the others leapt back, disengaging from the enemy and fled toward the shore, Athas swung the huge bar, slamming it into the guardsmen and knocking them back into a heap. Dropping the timber he ran, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the guard units that had now joined and were trying to get past the carnage at the gate.

Ahead, the others ran with Brendan at the rear, carrying the limp body of Marco. Tonight had already carried far too high a toll and it was far from over yet.

Chapter XXIV.

Sathina shimmied down the bole of the tree with the ease and balance of youth and dropped lightly to the floor next to Kiva.

“There’s a whole load of people coming, general. Some are nearly here, but there’s others up by the buildings and I think they’re being chased by the guards.”

Kiva grunted. “Ok. Come on.”

Without a word, the young lady collected her small hand crossbow and went to support the wounded general where he hobbled out of the clearing. She was impressed at the speed with which he seemed to be recovering from the most horrendous wounds. Indeed, he seemed to be groaning a lot less too. Though he was slow moving along the path out of the trees, he used only one stick, reaching out with the other arm to lean on branches as he moved. She followed him faithfully along the track and then down to a slight dip.

Here, though few knew it, was a timber cover hidden among the undergrowth that Sathina crouched above and hauled on. The wooden trap door creaked and groaned and fell back onto the turf and scrub with a crunch. Beneath, dank and slippery stone steps climbed down into the earth for around twenty feet where, by faint moonlight, a hidden jetty was visible, stocked with supplies. Three wooden boats bumped into each other repeatedly with the waves.

She looked back up at the general. “What now?”

Kiva peered across the dark landscape. There was the sound of distant fighting, and figures were moving through the trees. “Now you get down those steps and untie one of the boats. I’ll take that crossbow for a moment.”

Without question Sathina handed him the small, portable weapon and started down the steps, pausing before she disappeared.

“Can you see Tythias?”

Kiva raised an eyebrow as he turned to look down, cocking the weapon. “Not yet, but that’s guards screaming, not our men. He’ll be here soon enough.”

With a smile, the girl disappeared down the stairs just as the first group of islanders burst into the clearing through the sparse trees and undergrowth. A young man with a shock of unruly red hair came to a halt, motioning the others to stop as he saw the crossbow aimed toward them. As soon as Kiva was sure they were all islanders and he was in no danger, he lowered the bow and leaned heavily against a tree stump.

“General Caerdin,” the young man said breathlessly. “What’s next sir?”

Kiva pointed at the barely visible hole. “Get the people down there, load the boats and be ready to sail.”

As the young redhead made to move past him the general held out his hand. “Is there anyone here who feels confident in handling a sword?”

Among the crowd a few hands were raised, somewhat hesitantly.

“We could do with a little help keeping the guard entertained while the first boats get underway. Behind that bush,” he announced, gesturing, “is a small pile of weapons. Anyone who feels they can help, grab a sword and stand to. Any sailors or fishermen, head down there and get the boats primed.”

The majority of the group stepped down into the passageway, as five men made for the armoury and prepared themselves. They stood firmly beside the general, the young man with red hair coughing nervously.

“How many boats are there down there? There are a lot of people, you know?”

Kiva nodded. “Three boats. Big ones though. These are old troop transports. They can take maybe twenty-five or even thirty each fully laden.”

“But there must be well over a hundred of us leaving. How are we going to get everyone out?”

“Actually, there’s one hundred and thirty two if we lost no-one tonight. These boats are just for the first group,” the general replied, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Then we’ve got to deal with the guard for good before we move to the second site.

An older man on the other side of the clearing frowned. “Even so, with only twenty-five people in those boats, they’ll ride very low in the water. We’ll catch on the reefs!”

With a grin, Kiva turned to face him. “Then we’re about to find out just how good a sailor we all are, aren’t we.”

They stood in silence for a moment and watched as the next group of figures closed in through the sparse trees. Sarios was out front, moving with a speed that truly belied his age. Somewhere not far behind came the ring of steel on steel and angry shouting that could only be Brendan and Athas. Kiva smiled.

“Get ready!”

The minister burst into the clearing.

“How many are here already?” he asked breathlessly.

Kiva shrugged and winced again. “Around sixty or seventy I’d say. Send any women and children down to join them.”

Sarios began directing islanders, some of whom entered the tunnel and some took up arms and came to join the defenders while the rest were sent into the undergrowth behind to wait until the area was clear and safe. The people were still moving, some stepping into the tunnel, as Brendan burst into the open, his sword covered in viscera and the still shape of Marco over his shoulder. He ran straight over to the nearest islanders and dropped Marco into their arms.

“E’s still breathing sir” he gabbled to the general, as he hefted his blade and stepped into line with the rag-tag unit of rebels and prisoners.

Kiva nodded and raised the bow as the battle crossed the thicket and entered the clearing. Athas was swinging his sword with tired arms, but a determined look on his face; next to him, Darius was bleeding from the forehead and paused regularly, his sword flailing defensively, to wipe the red veil from his eyes. Tythias, leaving a trail of blood from his severed arm, fought like a wildcat on the periphery, with Mercurias, Ashar and two other Pelasians, all of them together struggling to hold back the guards, who’d been whittled down to a ratio of perhaps two or three to one.

“At ‘em lads!” bellowed Kiva as he unleashed the first bolt from the small crossbow. Remarkably, perhaps, given his general lack or skill and current unsteadiness, the bolt dug into the shoulder of a guard. The man gasped in surprise but never managed to curse, as Ashar Parishid, exiled Prince of Pelasia, jammed a sword into his gut as he staggered.

Nervously, the armed islanders moved into the fight, coming around the sides to join Ashar and Tythias, where they fought to prevent the defenders being outflanked. Three were cut down as they joined the fight, and one of their assailants, grinning with glee at his victory was taken in the chest by Kiva’s next shot.

Reloading, the general watched as the odds continued to lower as his own men, the three surviving Wolves, and their allies did what they were best at. Watching, he fired one more shot, which narrowly missed its target, thrumming off into the darkness harmlessly, and dropped the weapon to his side.

“Stop!” he bellowed at the top of his voice.

The effect was strange and instant. The fight petered out with a last ringing blow and both groups, roughly evenly matched, stood tensely watching each other, their weapons raised. Kiva cleared his throat again.

“The fight’s over! More than a hundred of your men have fallen to around twenty of ours tonight. Do you really want to join them?”

Silence reigned as the guards eyed their enemy suspiciously, interspersed with sidelong glances to their own friends. Kiva frowned.

“There’s no reason to die now. You’ve fought as hard as you could and there’s no disrespect. But we are leaving now, whether you live to see it or not. If you drop your weapons, no harm will befall you at our hands, you have the word of an Imperial Marshal.”

Again the sidelong glances said more than a thousand words as the silence built to a deafening roar, broken finally by the dull thud of a sword hitting turf. As if they’d been waiting for a signal, the guardsmen threw down their weapons and there was no mistaking the look of relief that crossed most of the assembled faces. Kiva sighed gratefully.

“My men will escort you to the kitchens where you will be temporarily imprisoned. I have no doubt that your master will be back to collect you soon enough, and you may even manage to break out of the place before dawn, but not before we are long gone. There’s plenty of space and seating and a lot of food, so you won’t starve.”

He made a gesture to Athas, who prodded one of the guards gently with the tip of his sword. “Come on boys.”

Kiva cleared his throat again as the unarmed men were herded back toward the palace by the unit. “I’d avoid the shrimp broth, though!”

Someone behind him laughed.

The moon had already been high in its arc when Athas and the rest had rejoined Kiva and the islanders and they’d all made their way to the second hidden jetty. It had taken only a few moments for them to locate the disguised doorway and to make their way down to the dock. Two more boats of almost equal size to the first wave had awaited them and Kiva had heaved a great sigh of relief as the last islander climbed aboard and they set sail.

The sea was fairly gentle despite the reefs lurking below the surface all around and Kiva sat at the prow of one of the two boats, keeping a careful eye on the swirling waters and the occasional eddies of foam that betrayed the more prominent dangers. Before the boats were more than a hundred yards from the entrance to the dock, travelling around the shore, the other three vessels carrying the rest of the islanders came splashing gently along in the pale moonlight to meet up with them. Kiva leaned forward further forward, peering into the moon-dappled darkness.

“Minister?”

Sarios returned the call from the lead boat of the other flotilla. “Caerdin. What now?”

Kiva frowned. “You or I to lead the boats? I can’t imagine anyone else knows the routes like we do.”

The minister laughed lightly. “After twenty years of having your head battered with swords I think I’d rather trust my own memory, general. I’ll take the lead.”

With a nod, Kiva sat back heavily against the boat’s side and looked around him as the five-boat flotilla manoeuvred into a tight group at the minister’s instruction. Brendan sat at the other end of the boat, his features twisted with a look of concern and the still form of Marco propped against him. Mercurias and the Pelasian medic together were prodding at his side with worried glances. Kiva tried to see more of what they were doing above the gathered heads of the refugees and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“How is he?”

Mercurias snorted. “Well, he’s not good. If we get him somewhere stable and quiet soon, he’ll probably make it, but I’m not convinced he’ll ever be a soldier again. He’s lost a lung at least and he’ll probably wheeze and slow down for the rest of his life.”

The Pelasian medic nodded his agreement as he peeled more clothing aside from the wound. Kiva sighed and sack back once more. Another casualty to add to the long list. For two decades the Wolves had taken only minor losses but in the last few weeks they’d come down from twelve to five and one of those would never fight again. Some days the future looked hopeless. Strange really how he used to be comfortable with bleakness and gloom; had lived with it for so long, but in these last months thanks to Quintillian and the islanders, he’d begun to care again. Shame really. When you had no hope, there was nothing to lose, but now the loss of even a civilian prisoner was weighing heavily on his mind. He looked up to see Mercurias watching him.

“You’re moving well,” the medic said accusingly. “You should be in a lot of pain at the moment. Who’s given you mare’s mead now?”

Kiva shook his head. “Forget about it. Maybe I’m just a quick healer.”

“Pah!” Mercurias turned back to Marco’s side.

Kiva turned to look at the next boat, bobbing along behind and slightly to one side. Tythias sat aboard gazing at a different boat, smiling, as doctor Favio tended to his severed arm with as much patience as an army medic. A smile crept across the general’s face once more; the Lion Riders had a good captain in Tythias. The man had suffered some impressive wounding on the island, matching anything he’d had in the past, losing an arm and yet he’d never looked happier that he did right now, covered in scars and still dripping blood. Kiva didn’t need to turn around to see what it was the one-eyed captain was smiling at; or rather, whom. All in all, though tonight had seen its share of loss, given the odds and the conditions they’d been more successful then they had any right to be, and Kiva had no real complaints. He did wish they’d been able to take the bodies of Jorun, felled by a guardsman’s javelin, and the dozen Pelasians and islanders that had never made it to the shore, but the boats were loaded down enough as it is.