S. Turney - Interregnum

Kiva shrugged.

“Depends whether you’re picky” he replied. “Velutio’s hiring and he pays best of all. I know he hates me, but I’m not aware of anything he’s got against you.”

Tythias made a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand.

“I’m not entirely sure I want to be ‘enslaved’ to that man, but I suppose we could sign a short contract and then move on. Where are you headed next?”

Once more Kiva shrugged.

“Think we might go north and see how much the tribes are paying for training. We could do with a little time off and I’ve got a new recruit to train too.”

Kiva pointed at Quintillian and he and Tythias crossed the bar, drinks in hand, and approached the table where Mercurias and the boy were sitting in silence, cleaning the blood off the fine new blade with a bar cloth.

“You know Mercurias of course” Kiva smiled.

Tythias grinned and rolled his good eye.

“Dear Gods yes” he said as he leaned forward. “How are you, you miserable excuse for a human being?”

Mercurias returned the smile.

“Not too bad you smelly, hairy old goat!” the medic replied.

Tythias then turned to the table’s other occupant.

“And this is?”

Kiva gestured expansively at the lad.

“This is our newest recruit” he announced loudly enough for all around to hear. “Septimus. He’s a bit of a bookworm, but good with a bow.”

Tythias laughed.

“As if you’d know” he snorted. “You missed me last year at Parthis and I was standing perfectly still and not far away from you! What the hell are you doing here, lad? No offence of course.”

Quintillian forced a smile. If the captain were going to the extent of giving him a pseudonym, he’d have to come up with a half-decent story.

“My father wants me to learn how to protect our lands,” he lied, “rather than just reading about them. He’s signed me over to the captain for a year to train me. Paid him quite well I thought.”

“Ha!” Tythias laughed. “Should’ve come to a real unit instead of these jokers.”

Kiva smiled.

“He’s not particularly a natural,” he admitted blandly, “but we’ll make a mean-spirited killer of him yet. Why d’you think we leave him in the company of this miserable old bastard” he added, gesturing at the medic.

Mercurias reached up and tugged on Tythias’ sleeve. As the two of them entered into a deep conversation filled with insults, Quintillian took the chance to stand and move close enough to Kiva to be heard quietly.

“Captain,” he said in a low whisper. “I need to talk to you privately.”

Kiva shook his head and slugged down the rest of his mug of drink before leaning forward and returning the whisper.

“No time tonight. Not with Tythias’ lot here. We’ll have to grab your armour from the smith and head out early tomorrow as well. We’ve got to change our route now, cos Tythias’ll be heading that way and I don’t want him to get in the way. I was never all that happy about going through Velutio anyway. Too much trouble there. If you really need to talk, it’ll have to be when we’re away from here.”

Quintillian nodded and returned to his seat, deep in thought. How was the captain intending to get them onto the island without going through Velutio? Tomas was the only one who knew the way through the reefs and he was dead. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kiva stop on the way to the bar, wincing and leaning on a table with his mug in one hand. The captain looked around to make sure his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed and spotted only Quintillian watching. Straightening, he pulled out the flask of Mare’s mead and took a large pull on the thing before he reached the bar and bought another drink.

Something in Quintillian’s considerable memory clicked into place for just a moment and the lad made his excuses to Mercurias and Tythias, neither of whom were paying him any attention anyway, and approached the bar. The innkeeper, having just served Kiva his drink, wandered down the serving table and reached Quintillian.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a back room that I could use to read in?” the lad enquired. “A storeroom would be fine if there’s light.”

The barman looked him up and down.

“Septimus of the grey company, yes?” Without waiting for confirmation, the innkeeper pointed to a doorway. “You’ve all got accommodation upstairs. Any one of the first four rooms. Help yourself.”

Quintillian smiled gratefully and, turning, pounded up the stairs to the room. As he disappeared into the next floor, Mercurias cast a glance up the stairs after him and frowned. The first door opened into a comfortable room with three beds warmed by a brazier and lit by candles. The boy approached the small table near the window and gathered several candles together to light the table’s surface, upon which he laid Carso’s history. So Carso wrote crap did he?

Feverishly, Quintillian flicked through the book, looking for something. It had been a long time since he’d read some of these chapters, but if he could just find those few words, he was sure it was what he wanted to know. Forward and back he flicked, scanning the pages and the section headings until he finally lit on the correct chapter.

Here it was: “The Death of Wolves”. He only vaguely remembered it, but some of the events tied up too well for it to be falsehood. He pored over the first page, documenting the few actions the Wolves took an active part in after the death of his uncle. He continued over the other pages and then… There. The death of the Caerdin. Two of the Lords had been fighting over the lands near Serfium and the campaign had ended with the Lord of Velutio, chief claimant to the throne, ordering the destruction of lands and the burning of properties. Caerdin’s own villa had been put to the torch with his wife and family and all their servants trapped inside. Her name had been Livilla and she’d been related to the Imperial house. A beauty by all accounts and, in a revelation that threatened to make Quintillian laugh out loud, a distant relation of his. That would make Kiva a distant relation by marriage. He smiled for a moment and wondered how he might broach the subject with the captain. Probably best not to. He didn’t want to reveal too much and he was damn sure that neither did the captain. After all, that would be the most delicate of subjects: his wife and children.

Returning to the text, he flicked quickly through the next couple of pages which told of the revenge of Kiva Caerdin on the men who were responsible for his family’s death. Even in the graceful and objective tones of Carso, Quintillian saw horror and violence on a hitherto undreamed-of scale. Caerdin had not been kind. Not merciful. In fact, barely human in his quest for blood. There was a reference to a duel with the Lord of Velutio in which Caerdin was badly wounded. Would this be the same Lord Velutio now, or his son? Despite all his time on the island, Quintillian had never seen the man and knew precious little about him.

It was after this revenge was enacted that Caerdin disappeared from history. There was no mention of him or the Wolves from then on. Closing the book, Quintillian cradled his chin in his hands and stared out of the room’s window into the night sky behind the inn.

“I presume that’s why he doesn’t want us to go through Velutio then.”

A voice behind him spoke quietly.

“I told you not to take them as gospel.”

Quintillian turned to see the medic standing in the middle of the room. Dear Gods’ the man was quiet! The lad hadn’t heard him climb the stairs or open the door.

“What d’you mean?” he asked the medic.

“I told you it’s crap” the man replied. “Oh a lot of the facts are there, but not the meaning or the heart. It’s not enough just to know what happened without knowing why; causes and consequences.”