Interregnum (52 page)

“So, would you like to surrender?”

The guard sergeant’s eyes widened as the big mercenary drew himself up before him and the young man with the hateful eyes stepped slowly but inexorably towards him from the other doorway.

“I submit to your charge,” the man said, reversing his sword and pointing the hilt to Athas. The big man grinned.

“Ah well, you see I accept your surrender, but I don’t think Darius does, so I can’t really help you. If I were you I’d turn that blade around, cos I don’t think he much cares whether you’re armed or not.”

As Athas leaned back and folded his arms, the sergeant hurriedly flipped his sword over and gripped the hilt tight, just as Darius was on him. From the start, Athas had been aware that the lad had a good physique and handled his blade like a professional, but had been sceptical about his actual swordsmanship. After all, how good could someone be with only ministers and farmers to train him? Athas’ own sword was in reach and in a fraction of a second he could grip it, lift it and land a blow on the guard officer, but as he watched Darius come in for the first strike, he relaxed and settled back against the wall.

The young man stepped in and swung his own blade wide. The blow was slow; ponderous, and the sergeant easily raised his own sword to block it, smiling. However, Darius was lithe and prepared and the manoeuvre had been designed to elicit that very reaction. As the sergeant’s blade struck his own, Darius was already spinning back on his heel in the opposite direction. The connection of the two blades had knocked his back and he allowed his arms to join the momentum and carry it back the other way, picking up speed as he pivoted. To his credit, the sergeant saw it coming and managed to struggle his sword back in the way of the unexpected attack, but the effect this time was much different. The blow slammed his own blade into his side flat-first and jolted his arm badly, so that he shook and his arm hung limply for a moment, forcing him to maintain his grip with difficulty. Darius stepped back.

“You’re not leaving this room.”

With another step, the young man dipped to the left and brought the sword up in a jab. The sergeant struggled with his shaken and bruised arm and, gripping the hilt in both hands, desperately tried to turn the attack aside again. This time he prevented the more crippling blow but was too slow to stop it connecting altogether. The point of Darius’s sword ripped up through the sergeant’s side just below his ribs and the man grunted in pain. Once more the young man stepped back.

“Come on. You’re supposed to be a soldier and an officer. Make me work a bit!”

He stood for a moment watching the anger building in the sergeant’s eyes. With a smile, he stepped forward a little. “Would you like me to make it easier for you?”

The sergeant’s blow came suddenly. So suddenly in fact that Athas couldn’t believe the boy was prepared and, sure enough the blow did take Darius a little by surprise. The straight Imperial blade snapped out to one side and although the young man’s curved sword dropped to meet it, the sharp edge bounced along his blade to the hilt and scraped across his knuckles as he turned.

Once more Athas reached out to where his sword stood propped against the wall, but again he stayed his hand. Though the blow had caught and blood flowed across the lad’s hand, he maintained a tight grip on his sword and once more used the momentum caused by the sergeant’s swing to pivot on his heel and, dropping almost to a crouch, he swung the blade three hundred and sixty degrees and felt the edge bite beep into flesh. In fact the sergeant, sure of victory in that moment, had pulled his sword back for a second blow just as Darius’ blade smashed into his leg just above the kneecap, shattering the femur and almost completely severing the leg.

The sergeant collapsed with a cry, his sword dropping from useless fingers.

“This is for Sandro,” Darius growled, “the poor bastard you had almost kicked to death in the courtyard.”

He stepped across the widening pool of blood and kicked the sergeant’s sword away from him before turning back to the thrashing figure. With a vicious grin he put all of his might into a hefty kick delivered to the man’s wounded leg. The sergeant screamed as the leg flopped around, threatening once more to detach. Urged on by the scream, Darius delivered another kick, this time to the face, shutting him up amid the sounds of breaking teeth.

He drew his leg back for another kick but was thwarted as Athas knocked him roughly aside and brought his own large blade down heavily, severing the sergeant’s head and shattering the marble tile beneath. Darius turned on him, sword down by his side, but his face contorted with anger. Few men around had the height to meet Athas eye to eye, but the young man was one such. The big mercenary merely glared back at him.

“What will you do now, Darius? Fight me?”

Darius backed away and reached down to wipe his sword on the sergeant’s tunic.

“He deserved so much more than that.”

Athas nodded. “Perhaps, but if you give him that, you make yourself what he was. A soldier does not torture. Only a murderer does that.”

Wiping his own blade and watching the cavalcade of emotions parading across the young man’s face, he turned towards the window. With a couple of steps he sheathed his sword and looked out and down from the apartment.

“Sabian told us there were a hundred and fifty men. We’ve probably taken out twenty or so around the perimeter. If Mercurias and the other doctors are on form we should have taken out about sixty or seventy in the dining hall. Problem is: we don’t know how many more there are and, depending on how well the Pelasians have done in the buildings, there could be anything up to sixty out there that we’ve missed and one of the guards is out there trying to form them up into some sort of defence. We have to make sure everyone’s out of here and moving towards the shore.”

Darius continued to glare at the big man for some time and then finally gave a nod of agreement. “The minister will already have everyone out of the main palace. The Great Courtyard’s the meeting place for anyone who hasn’t got out yet and he’ll be waiting for us escort them once the palace is clear.”

Athas nodded as he started to move toward the main stairwell. “Problem is: we haven’t cleared it. Come on…”

Athas and Darius, swords gleaming in the moonlight, burst out of the Hall of the Swans and into the Great Courtyard. There were a group of around twenty islanders standing in the middle and Brendan and Tythias, both with their swords held in a defensive position, circled them protectively. It took only moments for Athas to notice the danger. There were half a dozen guardsmen blocking the gateway that led toward the shore and a considerable force coming through the arch from the Ibis courtyard. Brendan turned as he heard them running from the doorway.

“’bout time sarge. Got ourselves some serious shit ‘ere!”

Athas nodded. The group of guards from the gateway to the Ibis Courtyard had increased in numbers and were moving slowly and cautiously forward. The ones between them and the shore were still only half a dozen but could hold the gate well. Trying to get the civilians through there with only four swordsmen while they had two dozen chasing them down from behind could be a slaughter. Athas considered for a moment herding everyone back into the Hall of the Swans but there just wasn’t time.

“Brendan and Tythias, get out front and take that gate. Darius and I’ll hold the rest off at the back!” As the two mercenaries made their way to the front of the crowd and the entire group started moving, there was a cry and the guards from the Ibis Courtyard started to run.

“Get them out!” yelled Athas, pushing Darius away and stepping out alone to face the oncoming force. Turning his attention to the rush of men, he failed to notice that Darius had not moved and that others were joining him. Ashar and half a dozen Pelasians fell in beside the sergeant and the young islander, protecting the retreating civilians and bracing themselves against the attack that hit moments later with a sound of crashing metal that rang across the courtyard. Athas smiled at his companions and turned all his attention to the fight, sure of the Pelasians’ skill and unaware that Darius remained close by, fighting like a lion.

Blow upon blow rained down on both sides, and Athas twice felt steel bite into his arms, though never deep enough to stop him. Beside him a black-clad Pelasian collapsed under a hail of blows. The guards were not particularly good warriors but odds of at least three or four to one were still favouring them. Suddenly, Athas noticed they had reached the arch and were being slowly pushed into a defensive semicircle. Desperation gripped him as the other Pelasian to his left disappeared underfoot and he found himself fighting three men and protecting the flank of the retreating civilians.

Another blow landed on his hip, mostly turned away by the armour, but jarring him badly and leaving a hefty bruise… and then suddenly they were through. The islanders were running for the shore and Tythias and Brendan rejoined the rearguard. Marco and Mercurias had appeared from somewhere to help and all four were covered with blood. Brendan displayed signs of several blows that had connected, including a new vivid cut on his chin but it was Tythias, his eyes gleaming and swinging his sword like a man possessed, that Athas saw first. His left arm had gone just below the elbow and though the stump dripped gobs of blood as he moved, his other arm swung his frightening blade as though he were practicing against a wooden stake.

“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.