Interregnum (16 page)

Darius’ face darkened.

“All I’ll ever manage though is to end up like one of the elders here, running the island for the younger generation.” He held up a dismissive hand. “Don’t try and sweeten it all for me commander, I know what I am; what we all are. We’re prisoners and with no hope of release. I’m not aware of why most of us are here. Some of us were even born here.”

Sabian sighed. This was never a duty he’d have chosen; he was a soldier, not a jailor, and the lad was absolutely right and knew it.

“Darius,” he began, “I know it’s not a perfect world, but it’s no better out there…”

He gestured at the door. Darius’ eyes followed the motion and then returned to the floor. “I’m not a child, commander. I know a pointless platitude when I hear one, but bear this in mind: empires and princedoms come and go all the time. Nothing lasts forever; not even Velutio. One day your precious master’s little empire will fall like all the others before him and we’ll find our way off the island. I might not live to see it, but it’ll happen.”

Sabian stood, placing the book back on the desk, and made for the door.

“Very well, Darius” the commander said coldly. “I think perhaps we should end this discussion for the moment and I think I’ll turn down that wine after all.”

Darius looked up at him. “It might make you uncomfortable, but you know it’s true. Velutio’s by far the strongest of the Lords, but that just makes him a juicier target for the rest of them. Not listening to me talk about it won’t make it go away.”

Sabian’s brows creased into a frown.

“Darius, we’ll talk about this again, but when I’ve done the job I came to do. Maybe tomorrow. For now I’d best go and meet with the elders. Where’s young Quintillian by the way? You two are usually together.”

Darius’ face darkened and he lowered his eyes.

“Quint’s gone, commander” he said bleakly.

“Gone?” Sabian straightened, his hand falling automatically to the pommel of his sword. He’d no real idea who many of these people were himself, but his Lordship had always impressed on his jailor the importance of these boys. Darius had been so matter-of-fact. “Gone how? When? … Where?”

The young man looked up and Sabian noted the tear crawling down his cheek.

“Dead, commander” he replied sharply. “Dead along with two of the better teachers. They were doing some restoration work when the Fortune Fountain collapsed on them. They’re all buried in the cemetery by the orchard, ok? Now I think I’ve said all I really want to about that. I think you’d best go.”

Sabian realised that he’d back-stepped slightly again and was now in the corridor. While he was trying to formulate a reply, Darius shut the door in his face. He stepped back again and sank down onto the chest beneath the large window. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see across the well tended lawn and to the orchard and the cemetery beyond. This changed things. He’d have liked to have got the tasks done first, but now he’d best get a message to Velutio. His Lordship would want to know about this immediately. Standing once again, he jogged down the corridor and descended the stairs. If he got to the dock fast, the ship might have time to get back to the city before it got too dark and dangerous. His sergeant’d have to deliver the message while he stayed here.

Formulating his plans he picked up speed, gathering surprised looks as he ran, gleaming and clanking through the corridors and courtyards of the palace and down to the dock.

Darius’ chest heaved from the effort of running as he pushed open the door of Sarios’ chamber, gasping for breath. The old man sat with a scroll of parchment and a quill and looked up in surprise at the unexpected interruption.

“Darius” he reprimanded the boy. “Do you not know how to knock?”

The young man gasped.

“S… sir. I had to tell Sabian they were dead. He… he’s gone to the boat.”

Sarios moved his left hand and the scroll contracted into a coil, the still wet ink running and blurring. He took a deep breath.

“Then I hope you’ve been studying your drama, Darius” the old man said with deep feeling. “We’re going to need to play this very convincingly and if he’s sent for Velutio, we’ll have a most attentive audience.”

Chapter VIII.

Commander Sabian stood on the turf by the dock, watching as the ship bumped along the wood, sending spray into the air. Velutio stood in the prow with Crosus, the captain of his personal guard and a few of the guardsmen. Sabian ground his teeth; Crosus irritated him intensely. As head of the army, Sabian theoretically outranked the captain, but Crosus served directly under his Lordship and thus treated the commander as an equal and made every effort to undermine his authority with the troops. Velutio’s steely eyes alighted on Sabian, his severe iron grey hair remaining unruffled in the strong breeze and his helm held by his side. He rarely wore armour these days, except on ceremonial occasions, but when he did it was always very traditional and practical armour rather than the decorative rubbish that some of the lords preferred.

With a crunch, the ship came to rest and Sabian’s sergeants rushed to extend the boarding plank. He was relieved to note that the unit forming up on the deck was his own veteran unit and not one of Crosus’ guard. He’d sent specific instructions with his senior sergeants as to who to bring with them, but had half expected Crosus to have overridden the instruction. Fortunately, his Lordship had had enough trust in his most able commander to abide by his advice. The plank was extended and the colour party alighted on the dock. Velutio stepped forward to face Sabian, who noted that Crosus had placed his hand on the pommel of his sword and strode ahead to remain at his chief’s shoulders. Velutio’s voice when he addressed the officer was cold, hard and business-like.

“Sabian. Show me the graves.”

No preamble, but the commander was prepared for this.

“Yes sir” he replied, equally professionally. “Would you prefer to meet with Minister Sarios first? He’s awaiting you in the dining hall with his staff.”

Velutio shook his head, already stepping past the commander and starting up the gravel path so that Sabian was forced to step quickly and fall in beside his Lordship. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve not had time to run all the assessments I need to” he reported. “By the time we were ready last night, it was already getting dark. I’ve had the entire population of the island report to the dining hall for your inspection. I’ve run a head-count and only the three are missing.”

Velutio’s only response was a grunt. Crosus kept close, not more than four steps behind his lord, watching his opposite number with narrowed eyes. Sabian’s unit were assembling on the grass by the dock before they made their way to the palace. As the command party approached the great gate house, it struck Sabian as odd to see the place with no wandering life, everyone having been sent to the hall. He’d never seen the island empty before. It felt sad and hollow.

“I’ve visited the graves sir,” he continued, “but I’m still not sure why they’re so important. We’ve had deaths here plenty of times.” Sabian continued on a step automatically as Velutio came to a sudden halt and turned to Crosus.

“Go back to the commander’s unit” he ordered his captain. “Have them form in the Ibis Courtyard and keep them at attention.” He turned to Sabian and frowned as Crosus gave one last suspicious look at the commander while he descended the path toward the dock once more. Once the two were alone, Velutio fixed the commander with his resolute gaze. His voice was tight.

“Sabian, have you ever given any thought to who these people are?”

The commander shrugged. “I know who some are,” he replied, “but I’ve never made it my business to find out. A prisoner’s a prisoner sir and who they are makes no difference to how they’re treated.”

Velutio nodded and his posture relaxed a little.

“Commander,” he said patiently, “these are all political prisoners and are all of importance. Every man, woman or child on this island has a history in the machinery of the old Empire. They may be useful to me one day and that is why they are allowed virtual autonomy here and to get on with their lives as they wish so long as I always know where to find them and no one else can. Sarios may appear the most dangerous because of his past position and knowledge, but the two boys are far more important in the grand scheme of things.”

Sabian merely raised a questioning eyebrow in response and his Lordship continued.

“Quintillian? You must be able to make something of the name.”

The commander shrugged. “He’s named for Quintus the Golden sir. The son of some minor officials in the palace who died years ago, or so he told me once.”

Velutio shook his head and his voice lowered. “Quintillian
was
the son of a palace official, but there’s nothing minor about it. His father was Quintillus, master of the Horse and brother to the Emperor. It’s the same blood and that makes him the nephew of Quintus.” Velutio sighed. “Last survivor of the line.”

Sabian whistled through his teeth and rubbed his hair. “I’d always assumed some kind of distant connection sir, but I’ve never read anything about a survivor. They were supposed to have all died.”

Velutio rounded his shoulders as he went on. “The very existence of Quintillian has been a closely guarded secret since the day Caerdin burned the madman in his house. Quintillian was just a baby then and fortuitously came into my possession when his parents died.”

Sabian’s eyes narrowed. “What about Darius then, sir?” he added. “Is he a distant member of the line? Why’s he important?”

Velutio shook his head and gestured for the two of them to start walking once again.

“If anything, that boy’s probably more dangerous than Quintillian, but for entirely different reasons” he said darkly, and after a pregnant pause: “and as closely guarded a secret as his friend. I imagine that I and Minister Sarios are the only people who know his surname and I think that’s one secret I wish to keep commander.”

For a moment, Sabian’s step faltered again. A light dawned in his mind, but to speak of such a thing to Velutio could be to open a poisonous subject. Darius was perhaps twenty years old, very much the same as Quintillian. He was officially an orphan on the island and no one ever spoke his surname if they knew it. There were only two or three names in the Empire that were important enough to conceal, and only one of those had particular relevance to Velutio. Caerdin. Darius had to be the Caerdin child.

Sabian was thirty four years of age and had only been young when Quintus died, but he remembered the tales of Kiva Caerdin and knew all too well the story of that fateful battle that raged around the Caerdin estate at Serfium shortly after. They’d said that the Caerdin woman and child had died, but then who was it who’d walked away from that battle a victor but Velutio and the truth was his to keep. Of course Darius had to be Caerdin and that also explained a great deal about him. Time and time again Sabian had read the three campaign diaries Kiva had written and he knew a great military mind when he read one.

He glanced sidelong at his silent superior as they walked, his mind racing down unexpected channels. Caerdin had not been the only Imperial marshal; the commander was walking next to another this very minute and there was a history between these men. He wondered what it would have been like if Caerdin had been the one to come away from that fight. A man with intelligence and charisma like that? Hell, he’d have been Emperor by now if he’d lived.

Sabian returned his gaze to the path ahead and continued to mull things over silently as they walked through the courtyards and corridors to the orchards on the south of the island. He’d always considered Caerdin the most impressive of all the great generals of the Imperial past. The man had been a tactical genius and an impressive individual combatant by all accounts, eclipsing all his contemporaries; even Velutio. Sabian had modelled his battlefield strategies on Caerdin’s Northern Campaigns and with the benefit of hindsight, he could see how Darius came to be the clever and athletic swordsman he was. Dear Gods, if he’d known this island held such blood he might have spent more time here. Still, Darius should be no real threat to Velutio’s power even if he knew who he really was. Perhaps Sabian should try and persuade his Lordship to allow the boy a commission in his army.