S. Turney - Interregnum

“Where the hell have you been?” he’d demanded. “You can’t just go wandering off whenever you want, you know?”

Athas had taken in the wide-eyed expression of the lad and the way he clutched the book tightly to his chest and had sighed.

“The armourer’s going to take the rest of the day to put your stuff together, so we’re heading for the tavern. Now.” With those few words, the burly sergeant had hustled Quintillian across the street and into The Rapture.

Since then he’d had a reasonably good and filling meal and two glasses of beer. The Company had refused to order him the watered wine he wanted, just spirits or beer. He sighed again as his eyes strayed from the plate of chicken bones to the book lying open before him. He like Carso’s writing. The style was fluid without being over-elegant; factual yet readable. He smiled as he turned the page. It was strange to think that he’d read so much history in his young life and now here he was, among the men who’d actually made that history. The Grey Company had been there when the Empire had crumbled; had seen it fall, even been involved in it. His eyes flicked around the room taking in his companions and finally lit on Mercurias, heading for his table and carrying a small tray.

“T’aint no good sitting drinking on your own” he grinned, his teeth flashing surprisingly white in the lamplight. “Solitude drives a man mad.”

Quintillian returned the smile.

“I find solitude gives me time to read and think. I’m used to it.”

The medic sat heavily in the chair opposite the lad. He unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table, a brooding unlabelled bottle of some unknown spirit and two small slightly chipped glasses, and then reached out to the book. The boy drew in a sharp breath involuntarily and the medic stayed his fingers as he touched the cover.

“You value this too much” Mercurias sniffed. “Books are for entertainment. Food and drink and company are worth a great deal more. You’ll learn that in time.”

Quintillian frowned.

“The written word” he said haughtily, “is far more important than the mere vulgarities of physical existence. We’ll be long dead when this text is still illuminating and educating generations of scholars.”

Mercurias smiled sarcastically and patted the book once before turning it to see the spine. His smile broadened as he read the title.

“Carso: Empire in Ashes” he chuckled. “Utter crap!”

Quintillian bridled and snatched the book from under the medic’s hand, cradling it in front of him. His voice had risen in pitch when he addressed the medic.

“This is a work of genius” he argued. “Well written and accurate, from a man who was well placed in the Imperial bureaucracy at the time of the fall. I’ll bet you haven’t even read it!”

Mercurias smiled.

“Don’t take offence lad; none’s intended.” He sighed. “Probably is well written, but it is also crap. You’ve got to stop taking things at face value. True, I haven’t read it, but I’ll guarantee you its inaccurate. Carso was no better placed to document the collapse than your average provincial farmer. He may have been in the bureaucracy, but that means nothing. The man was harbourmaster at Rilva, way over in the east. I shouldn’t think he set foot within a thousand miles of the capital during the entire time. Carso’ll have done what most historians do and pieced together bits from other people’s writing; people who really were there.”

The lad continued to hold the book defensively.

“But it’s corroborated so well by everything else I read.”

“’Course it is” the medic continued. “All these writers use each other for information. They’re bound to all be the same. Don’t take ‘em as gospel. Personal experience is the only thing worth paying real attention to.”

Quintillian narrowed his eyes.

“So you mean that you could tell me the truth?”

The medic shrugged and poured a slightly cloudy pungent spirit from the black bottle into the two glasses.

“I was there, it’s true” he said softly. “The wars were all close to home by then and there was more need for doctors in the homeland than on the frontiers. Most of the medical corps was based in the capital at the time, in fact. I can tell you some things. Others are best left buried. What in particular do you want to know?”

The boy leaned forward, considering whether to drink the spirit. He clicked his tongue a few times and then picked up the drink and sipped it. The face he pulled made Mercurias laugh loudly.

“Slam it down,” he grinned, “For heavens’ sake don’t sip it. It’s not wine.”

Quintillian wiped his eyes and rubbed his burning lower lip. His voice came out little more than a wheeze.

“What I really want to know is about the Captain and the unit. You were all there, weren’t you; not just the medics. You were all in the capital at the end; when it happened.”

The medic narrowed his eyes.

“What the hell makes you think we were there?” he said defensively. “There were a lot of units spread across the central Empire then. I think the Captain and most of the lads were out to the west.”

Quintillian smiled.

“Do you have a canteen?” he asked.

The medic nodded and, slowly withdrawing the object from his pack, placed it on the table between them. The lad smiled knowingly and turned the flask over to reveal the engraved wolf’s head on the other side. He pointed at the decoration.

“You all have them” he pointed out. “The Captain’s very intelligent I know, but he’s not doing a very good job of hiding who he is. Or the rest of you for that matter.”

Mercurias leaned across the table, his face inches from the boy’s. His voice issued in a threatening whisper.

“If you really did know what you were talking about, you wouldn’t be doing it so loud.”

Quintillian’s voice dropped to the same level.

“Kiva Tregaron, Captain of the Grey Company” he said. “Kiva Caerdin, General of the Empire and Commander of the Wolves. It’s not a great leap to work it out. It may be all nice and good and sentimental for you all to carry your old regimental flasks, but it really is a gaping hole in any kind of cover you’re all trying to achieve.”

Mercurias frowned and slugged down a little of the spirit before he spoke.

“Ok. You’re bright. I knew that. Question is: how bright are you? Time for you to tell me what you know about us .”

“Not all that much” Quintillian shrugged. “I know that he is the General. No one could make that mistake given the evidence. You’re all so tight-lipped about it, I can only assume that what constitutes the grey company are, in fact, the members of the Wolves from before the fall, you included, yes?”

“Not all of us,” the medic conceded, “but most, yes.”

Quintillian nodded.

“The rest of what I have is questions.”

The medic frowned.

“Alright” he said, taking a deep breath. “I have just one question for you and I want you to answer it truthfully. There are dozens of ways to tell if a man’s lying and I know a lot of them.”

He glared at Quintillian until the boy nodded, hovering between nervousness and excitement. At the nod, Mercurias leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

“Why us? Were you actually looking for us?”

The boy shook his head.

“I know it seems odd,” he said, “but I assure you it’s entirely coincidental. I’m just grateful to get the chance to travel with heroes; legends even. That’s worth a hundred corona alone. I’ve read about the Wolves since I was first able to pick up a book.”