Meuric (22 page)

XXXI

Bradán stood on one side of the room his hand resting on the grip of his short sword. He watched closely how Rainier, War Band Commander of Rabi'a, folded his thick arms across his powerful chest. His mouth was contorted in both anger and resentment.

He wore a sleeveless soft leather jerkin, typical Kel'akh brown trousers and leather sandals. Though he bore no tribal tattoos, as was forbidden by Roz'eli law, he was no less a true Kel'akh warrior. Criss-crossed scars marked his forearms. A neatly trimmed beard that covered the lower part of his face failed to cover a few scars on his face that he had earned in battle. His greying hair hung loose though there were a few braids tied amidst it. At first Bradán wondered why the War Band Commander had not tied back his hair, but then he spotted it.

His left ear was missing, most likely as some form of punishment favoured by some Roz'eli commanders. It was then that Bradán spotted how the War Band Commander also held his head slightly to his left in an attempt to hide it. His blue-grey eyes blazed angrily.

He had yet to utter a word but Bradán did not need to look into his eyes to feel the fury that radiated off him like heat. Rainier glanced once at his Chieftain, Theirn, who silently stood next to him, almost pleading with him to do or say something. But of course he would not. They had no say in these matters. They were second-class citizens in their own country even if they were free men.

Sitting behind a large and sturdy oak table, a tree considered sacred in the Kel'akh lands, was the local Roz'eli Administrator Quirinus. Behind him stood Tacitus and the Centurion Urbanus whom he had first met outside Ah'mos. He wore the traditional toga of Roz'eli hierarchy that was supposed to represent his authority there. Beads of sweat had broken out along his forehead. He was young and thin, almost sickly looking, and possessed a premature receding hairline. His eyes were open wide in almost permanent terror.

Tacitus had told him that Quirinus was the son of a certain politician, whose name had escaped him almost as soon as the senator had mentioned it. The Druid Legion Captain simply did not care. He was finding that the more time he spent with the senator, on this particular mission, the more he wished to flee the scene.

Though obviously a powerful man himself, Theirn simply shook his head before lowering it in resignation. Rainier turned and, unafraid, glared malevolently at the three Roz'eli men before him. He dared not say anything though. Excusing the two Roz'eli soldiers standing outside the house, an attack on any Roz'eli nationals would surely spell the destruction of his village. The War Band Commander and Chieftain all but ignored Bradán.

“My Lords,” spoke Quirinus hesitantly. “This is not proper. You cannot simply interrogate the whole of Rabi'a. Where are your written orders?”

Tacitus produced a parchment and a small brooch. Bradán had seen it before. It was circular in shape, like a wreath, perhaps the size of a man's palm, and within it was a clenched fist with a crushed scroll bursting from either side. It symbolised that the holder was answerable only to the Emperor.

“There are no written orders for this,” hissed Tacitus. “But I am sure that none will be needed.”

Quirinus paled further still, which Bradán did not think was possible. “Of course not, my Lord,” he stammered. “Whatever I can do to help please do not hesitate to tell me.”

“Such a lickspittle,” sneered Urbanus.

In an instant Quirinus had reached for the dagger on the table, almost faster than Bradán had thought possible. Faster still though was Tacitus. Just as the Administrator had gripped the weapon, the senator set his hand on top of his arm. Much as Quirinus struggled under the grip of Tacitus he found his arm totally immobilised.

“Release me,” commanded the Administrator.

The senator smiled slyly with no hint of any effort that he was applying. “I am sure that Centurion Urbanus meant no harm by his bad choice of jest.” Without taking his hand away Tacitus turned to the soldier. “Apologise, soldier!”

Urbanus bowed stiffly. “I apologise, Administrator.”

Quirinus released the blade and in turn the senator relaxed his inhuman grip.

“I am sure that his fishmonger grandfather would be most disappointed in him,” murmured the Administrator. He smiled as he saw Urbanus's face redden. “It would seem I know more about you than you know about me.”

Bradán looked on at the scene with interest. He was forced to admit that he was now starting to like the Administrator of Nah'cho. How an empire continued to function and conquer with such in-fighting was beyond him. He understood though what was going on. Quirinus, like Tacitus, had an old Roz'eli name that belonged to one of the more elite families with generations of political backing. Urbanus, on the other hand, had a more modern name, indicating “new money”, which was disdained by the older Roz'eli families. Bradán looked again at Quirinus, this time with new eyes. No longer did he see a sickly looking man but the steel in the Administrator's grey eyes.

“Do not be fooled by the appearance of the man,” Tacitus had said to him earlier just before they entered the room. “Quirinus was an accomplished soldier with generations of the same in his lineage. Twice he won commendations from his commanders for bravery. More than that, his family are said to be one of the founders of Roz'eli. It is even said that no Emperor ever reaches the pinnacle of their power without the help of Quirinus's family.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room and the Kel'akh warrior moved away from the wall to stand next to an open window in a deliberate act to break the tension. Though the space inside the room was large, he found himself craving to be outside once again. A sudden and oppressive closeness threatened to take hold of him. He had had enough of Roz'eli design and objects and the people that sought to copy them.

Through the window he saw thirty-six mounted soldiers outside. All wore the deep brown tunic of Roz'eli cavalry underneath their dark grey armour. Each man held an upright lance in one hand and a buckler in his other. They carried the longer spatha sword, the pommel of which was only visible jutting out from their darkened capes. It was a more practical weapon when fighting on horseback and was heavier that a gladius. They stood complete in their silence and in their stillness, three rows deep and twelve across, with an almost ethereal quality about them. They were completely professional. To be unaccustomed to such a sight would put
the fear of the gods in your spine, decided Bradán. Cold eyes glared out from beneath helms that were rubbed until they shone. They stared at the villagers of the town as if they were some sort of Otherworld creatures.

Next to them stood Bradán's own men. There were fifteen of them now in three rows of five. The front left was the only one who wore a dark green tunic while the remainder bore olive green colours. Each man carried a spear and circular shield and bore a black cloak. He stared at them angrily. It was not his orders that placed them there. Something was happening that he was not privy to.

“I object to these proceedings and your orders, my Lord Senator,” aggrieved the War Band Commander, having finally found his voice.

Bradán turned at the sound of Rainier's deep voice. Pretty brave, thought Bradán, considering the class of soldiers waiting outside. The Men-of-the-Legion were not only known for their skill and courage but also for being viciously loyal to their commanders.

Something in Rainer caught Bradán's eye and he took a closer look at Rabi'a's War Band Commander. On his bicep, Bradán noticed a faded tattoo of an upright Kel'akh bow. Between the drawing of the bowstring and the stave was the single letter
f
. Beneath the bow, pointing in the same direction as the stave, was the image of a black gladius. Each tattoo showed which Roz'eli regiments Rainier had served in.

Not only was he at one time a Federate Mercenary and a Free Archer, but he had also belonged to the Roz'eli Elite Guard. Only through sheer bravery and a demonstration of great skill could he have joined that fighting force especially when not being a native of Roz'eli, although such a thing was not unheard of. As a member of the Elite Guard he would have been responsible for the safety of senators, foreign dignitaries and even relatives of the Emperor that were outside his immediate circle. Only the Personal Guard could protect the Roz'eli Emperor and members of his immediate family, for which only true-born people of Ee'en could possibly strive.

The fact that Rainier had served in all three units and had survived should have been enough to offer him some respect and to have proven how dangerous the Rabi'a man before them could possibly be.

As if knowing that he was being scrutinised he turned and faced Bradán. The Druid Captain held his gaze comfortably as the two warriors gauged each other, but not so much that it turned into a competition. Bradán
offered a slight, an almost imperceptible nod. Rainier marked the gesture and returned one of his own before regarding the Roz'eli men once again. Just as the Kel'akh warrior was about to turn away once again, something else caught his eye.

It was a tattoo on Theirn's bicep also, the bottom of which could only be seen from beneath his short-sleeved tunic. Only half seen, there was no denying the picture; an upright bow with an ‘
f
' in its centre. Bradán's battle senses began to take over.

There were two Free Archers in the one village? To have members of the Federate Mercenaries in a large town was one thing. After all most men would seek the excitement of battle some time in their lives or be enlisted for any Roz'eli military campaigns, but to have two Free Archers together even in a large village… Such a thing was quite uncommon. Bradán's mind began to work overtime. Just how many men in Rabi'a have been Federate Mercenaries? How many of the men and women have been Free Archers? He looked out of the window.

No longer was he watching the people of the town going about their business. Now he was waiting to see if a possible trap was about to be sprung. He was not too sure if it was his imagination but there seemed to be a lot of able-bodied men and women of fighting age lingering about. None of them were running to fat. He considered that even if no one else in Rabi'a had military service the War Band were sure to have been trained by two accomplished soldiers at the very least.

Behind him, Bradán could hear the senator say, “Not these people. Our orders come direct from the Emperor and are quite clear. The Jay'keb criminals must be apprehended at the earliest opportunity. Their intention is an uprising in that province to overthrow our rule there. We have already spoken to the town of Kay'den. Everyone in Rabi'a must be questioned immediately.” Tacitus slowly shook his head. He smiled amiably and spread out his hands as if offering his profound apologies. “A sad business to be sure but orders are orders.”

“I am curious, Senator,” said Rainier. “Are you working as the voice of the Emperor or are you acting as commander of the General Agents?” Bradán was stunned to find that someone from Nah'cho could know such a thing. If Tacitus was also surprised he hid it well. Rainier smiled. “That is correct. I do know you. We met
some years ago in Roz'eli. You introduced me to the Emperor himself just before I was recruited into the State Guards.”

“Ah yes,” smiled the senator, after thinking for a moment. “I recall you now. You had saved the Emperor's son. You were a Free Archer at the time. In return you were allowed your freedom and Roz'eli citizenship. I apologise for not remembering. All you barbarians look alike to me.” A lizard-like grin touched his lips. “The Emperor is in danger, Rainier. Do your duty, soldier, and protect him!” The War Band Commander stared at the senator, refusing to say anything. “Are there any more Free Archers here in Rabi'a?” Rainier shook his head this time, again saying nothing. Bradán knew that he did not trust the words that might have come out of his mouth if he had spoken. “A pity that there are none of that particular unit here. They at least do not question or disobey orders. Any order.”

Bradán looked at the Roz'eli men. Tacitus and Urbanus were now looking at Rainier with mild amusement and seemed to be totally at ease though their eyes spoke of violence. Quirinus sat behind the desk very unhappy with the proceedings.

The Administrator stood and asked, “And what of the Emperor's own law? I grew up believing Roz'eli laws and practices. Everyone is entitled to a defence! Even if these people are from Jay'keb, Roz'eli laws state that the accused home country must decide their fate.”

“We are talking about the execution of a child here,” put in Theirn, his voice strong. “Abram is only twelve years old or so I am told.” He rose as he spoke and Bradán could feel the tension in the room increasing.

Tacitus stepped in and leaned forward on the table until he was almost nose-to-nose with the Chieftain of Rabi'a. “This is no ordinary child,” he snapped. “He is a threat to both the Emperor and the Empire. Do not concern yourself, Theirn.” The senator drew in a deep breath that seemed to calm him down. He stood up straight. “We will deal with these traitors ourselves if you do not have the fortitude. Where are you holding them?”

Theirn stood up straight and puffed himself out. Rainier stepped closer to him. “They are not here,” he stated.

Tacitus smiled gleefully. “Really?” he asked before shouting, “Decurion Valens, come in please.” In strode a Roz'eli officer, similarly dressed to Urbanus. There were two gold circles over his heart marking his rank. “Where are they?”

Valens looked at Rainier and Theirn. “We have them in one of the upper rooms in the Travelers' Inn as you specified. There are guards at their door. There is only one entrance and a drop from the window is too high to attempt. But just to be sure we had two guards posted there also.”

Tacitus's smile was huge. “Very good, Decurion. Send three of your men to fetch them and line them up against the wall of the Travelers' Inn. Make sure that they understand that none of them may talk to the prisoners. Have the boy Abram stand in the centre.”