Interregnum (51 page)

“Hail the Emperor!”

As the last syllable fell from his mouth along with deep red, he slumped against Darius’ shoulder and slid gently to the sand.

For a long time there was silence as the young man stood, putting the weight on his good leg and looking down at the body of the crossbow captain, a confusing mix of emotions running through him. He was vaguely aware of the roar from the crowd and noted without reaction that the commanders had hauled the gate aside and were running across the arena toward him. He looked up in confusion as he was hauled up by the shoulders and all but carried across the sand. Kiva fell in beside him.

“That was brave, selfless, impressive, and stupid. You did well, but don’t ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?”

Darius nodded vaguely, still dazed. He barely felt the pain in his leg, though he knew he would later when the adrenaline had faded. H left the arena in the arms of his friends as the crowd went wild with joy over the personal victory of their Emperor. Now all he had to do was give them a victory on the battlefield.

Athas shook his shoulder gently and he looked up in confusion to see Phythian’s men standing in two lines alongside the path, their arms locked in the traditional Imperial salute and their heads bowed respectfully.

All things considered, he might be getting the hang of this Emperor thing after all.

Chapter XXVI.

Victory was rarely a thing to be savoured in the immediate aftermath. Sabian glanced with some distaste at the sight of small parties of soldiers piling the bodies of Lord Pelian’s men in heaps, preparing for ‘disposal’. The survivors had been marched into one of the barrack buildings at the lord’s palace, locked in, and were under the guard of Sergeant Iasus’ and his men. Pelian and his commander and family, on the other hand, had been delivered to Lord Velutio after the battle and Sabian could see them all standing on the hill just ahead with a number of men from one of Sabian’s better units.

He took a deep breath and then clamped his mouth shut as he strode at speed past the rapidly charring remains of the enemy commander where what was left of him dangled from his chains. Even with his breath held, he couldn’t fully avoid the smell and fought the impulse to gag. Ahead, Velutio stood with Pelian and his wife and child just out of range of the foul smoke.

Grumbling unhappily under his breath, Sabian strode up to his lord, glancing at the prisoners. The boy and the woman had not been harmed yet, though Pelian himself had been roughly dealt with and showed signs of some serious beating. Behind them, ominously, two more sets of chains had been hammered into the palace wall, one at the same level as the commander’s and the other just over half that height. Velutio turned at the sound of the boots crunching on the gravel and smiled a mirthless smile.

“Commander. Report?”

“Somewhere in the region of eight hundred enemy dead, lord. They’re being prepared for disposal in burial pits, though again I would ask that we make time for proper burials.” As Velutio shook his head, Sabian went on. “Almost five hundred survived, though a lot of them are wounded. They’re all contained in the palace barracks, but their doctor died during the fighting, so the wounded are receiving no help.”

“Then they’ll die,” the lord said flatly. “I’m not sparing them our medics. We have wounded of our own. What’s our situation?”

Sabian shrugged. “We lost just under two hundred, with roughly another hundred badly wounded and a couple of hundred minor wounds that can still campaign. I’ve detailed a small medical support party to escort the badly wounded and the dead back to Velutio and commandeered the necessary horses and wagons from this estate.”

Velutio nodded gravely and turned back to his captives.

“You see Pelian? Your loyalty does you credit, but the time is long past for such heroics. Your army is gone, your wounded are receiving no attention, and your commander has been executed for non-compliance. Really, everything is lost for you now except your lovely wife and your son. You don’t want me to continue where we left off, surely?”

Pelian slumped. “I keep telling you, I don’t know where they are. I shouldn’t think anyone does. I never made a deal with them, I never pledged my allegiance to him, and I never planned to send him my army.”

Velutio sighed and hauled on the rope, pulling the other lord back up to his knees. “I’ve heard the same story from four other lords. You all claim to be fighting for your independence, and yet everywhere I go I see signs of treachery. My scouts saw Captain Tythias and his Lion Riders at your palace just over a week ago. Perhaps they dropped in for a cup of wine with you? To talk about old times?”

He hauled hard on the rope and Pelian gagged as the noose tightened around his neck. “Now, I will ask you one more time and if I don’t receive a satisfactory reply, I will have your son chained and burned. I don’t want to have to kill such a young child, but I will not be hindered by a small lord with a misplaced sense of duty. Where are Caerdin and his rebels?”

One of the three soldiers behind them hauled the boy to his feet.

Sabian growled again and stepped forward. “Lord Pelian… answer him for the Gods’ sake. Don’t let your son burn. Caerdin knows what he’s started. He’s not innocent, but your boy is. Be sensible.”

Pelian stared at his son and at his wife, tears in his eyes and sagged, deflating.

“Munda. We were meeting at Munda. I don’t know if that’s where he’s based, but that was the meeting place.”

Sabian nodded in relief as the smile crossed Velutio’s face. The steely-grey lord let go of the rope. “Munda… Makes sense. It’s unused these days and Caerdin probably has friends there. An army could certainly be marshalled and trained there.” He looked at the prisoners and drew a knife, reaching down toward the noose around Pelian’s neck. The captive lord leaned back to allow access to the rope and stared in shock as Velutio drew the blade hard across his neck just below the rope. He tried to speak, but there was just a whistling noise from his open neck and a bloody froth from both there and his mouth. His eyes still staring in amazement, he toppled to one side. Sabian shook his head; he’d known it was coming. Velutio was nothing if not predictable.

The old lord stood once more, ignoring the wailing of lady Pelian where she struggled to free herself from a soldier’s grip. Walking slowly over to the boy, Velutio took the rope from the guard and lifted it from the boys’ neck. Reaching behind, he cut the other cord binding the lad’s hands and all the while the boy stared at him. No tears; no quivering lip, just cold hatred. As the boy’s hands came free, Velutio stepped back.

“You’re now the lord Pelian. Your father once took an oath to me and he broke it. Remember that, as you’re bound by the same oath. You’re free to go about your business. As soon as we’re ready to move out, your troops will be left as they are and you can tend to your wounded as best you can and bury your dead honourably.”

He turned back to Sabian, paying no further attention to the glaring boy and the screaming woman. “Munda.”

The commander nodded and squared his shoulders. “I need to talk with you my lord; privately.”

Velutio nodded and the two stepped away, leaving the three soldiers with the distraught woman hugging the body of her husband. The young boy continued to stand, motionless, watching Velutio with visible loathing.

As they began to amble slowly down the hillside, Sabian cleared his throat. “I would like to think that I’ve only ever offered you good advice my lord.”

Velutio nodded. “On the whole I agree, Sabian. Maybe I should have followed some of your advice at times when I did not, but we’re in a position of power now, so I think everything may have worked out for the best.”

Sabian nodded uncertainly. “Perhaps. However, I have several things that I feel you need to hear and I would urge you to seriously consider them.”

“Go on.”

The commander clasped his hands behind his back as they walked, watching the soldiers gathering their wounded comrades into huddled groups while wagons were brought up. “Firstly, you can’t leave the boy alive now. Much as I hate it, you’ve killed his father and he’ll seek revenge now until he’s an old man. I saw his eyes. He’s not frightened, just angry.”

“You may be right. However, in addition to serving as a lesson to any who would break their oath, his continued existence speaks of my mercy and you’re always urging me to show that. We’ll leave it until this war is over and then see what we shall see; after all, he’s only a young boy. What else?”

Sabian nodded. He hadn’t expected the lord to follow his advice, but it was his duty to give it. “Secondly, this war is headed for a conclusion of epic proportions. Our campaign here has been surgical, dealing with insurrections and small independents. What’s coming, on the other hand, will be a bloodbath that will wreck the Empire. I know we’ll win; I have not a doubt about that, but we need to think about what happens afterwards. Our army will be decimated and there won’t be a lot of manpower to draw on to replace it. Many of the men on both sides are farmers and craftsmen when they’re not on campaign and our economy could be in trouble if so many are lost in one swoop. When you’re Emperor and our army is not yet recovered we’ll be easy pickings for the barbarian tribes; I can’t imagine they’ll stand by and let the Empire build back up to be the enemy it was decades ago. We will need stability, manpower and money in order to rebuild after all the damage of the last two decades. All in all, war will put you on the throne, but it may make keeping that throne untenable.”

“You’re suggesting I step down?” asked Velutio with some surprise.

“No, Lord. Not that. But there are other ways than direct conflict on such a scale. We know where the enemy are, but not their composition. They could even have a force approaching the size of ours now. Why cause that bloodbath if it could be avoided?”

“Go on” said Velutio, one eyebrow raised.

Sabian took a deep breath. “Peace. Publicly declare your intention to adopt Darius and offer him co-rulership. After all, that was your intention in the first place, before Caerdin pitted him against you. Offer amnesty for their army and its leaders. You could bring this whole thing down to a political hand-shake without a single drop of blood.”

Velutio laughed. “For a man of war, you seem to do everything you can to avoid it, Sabian.”

The commander shrugged. “A real soldier will always avoid the battle if there is another way round. Only psychopaths seek battle for battle’s sake, lord.”

Velutio shook his head. “I might be willing to adopt Darius now and even pardon the various lords that have fallen in with them, but there is no way this side of the river of Death that I’ll let the Wolves, the Lion Riders or any of the Islanders live after this. They’ve pitted themselves against me, not I against them, and now I’ll see it through to the bitter end.”

Velutio looked sidelong at his commander, who seemed to be fighting his irritation. “I agree in principle with what you say. I’ll have my scribes draft a letter offering Darius exactly what he wants and amnesty to the other lords on the condition that Caerdin, Tythias, Sarios and their supporters give themselves up to me. That is as far as I will compromise.”

Sabian nodded. It was a small gesture that would likely fail, but it was better than he’d expected. Velutio was not known for his leniency. “Very well,” the commander sighed. “I’ll have a small party put together to deliver your terms, lord.”

“Sabian,” the old lord laughed, “you really try to be the voice of reason in an unreasonable world. Your principles are always of the highest quality and you are a great believer in ethics, itself an unusual characteristic in a military commander, but the Empire is a corrupt and debased place these days, and there’s precious little room for idealism. Still,” he smiled, “it’s refreshing to see at times.”

Sabian bowed slightly and saluted before he turned and walked away down the hill toward where sergeant Cialo was issuing instructions to groups of soldiers. As he walked he mulled over choices he’d make for better or for worse. Perhaps he had been unwise to allow the islanders to leave Isera, and particularly to let Caerdin free to wage his own war but when it all came down to it the Empire, once it was back on its feet, would need men like Caerdin and Sarios. Velutio was blinded enough by ancient vendettas that he couldn’t see the value of men like that, but Sabian could look past the foundation of a new dynasty to where men of vision and intelligence would be needed. Still, Velutio had pushed hard for the last half year and had dealt with whatever appeared before him with the surety of a man possessed. Sabian had played his part as best he could not to be just a general for his army, but to be advisor, counsellor and conscience. It would be satisfying to think even in a small way how much innocent blood had been spared by his interjection but, since there were limits to his influence and his lordship would not follow his counsel along certain paths, he may well be the cause of the greatest war to shake the Empire in over two centuries. That was a disturbing thought and one that came back to him at night when the shadows lengthened. He’d done everything he could to avoid innocent victims but, in doing so, he’d pitted two great armies against each other. In a way, he’d created the rebel force.

Grumbling, he tossed around the decisions he’d made and opportunities he’d missed as he walked, staring at the ground, and almost knocked over a man carrying a wounded soldier.

“Watch where you’re going!” A little unjust and harsh, but the way his mood was taking him… He stopped and stared at the man with the wounded soldier.

“Wait…” the sentence went unfinished as Sabian looked down. Though the man was a ragged conscript soldier in the clothes of a peasant spearman, the body he was supporting was clearly a dead man up this close and, as his eyes strayed downwards, the knife the man had pressed against Sabian’s liver, just under the edge of his armour, was a well-honed and beautiful blade.

“You have my attention” he said, satisfied that if the wielder had wanted to kill him, he could have done it by now.