S. Turney - Interregnum

Still grumbling, Kiva pulled out his flask and took a quick swig. The mead warmed and sweetened his palate while the sharper aftertaste went to work on his nerves. Within moments relief swept through his system, down through his throat and past his lungs, easing the slight sting from the dust, into his gut, where it settled and numbed. The nagging pain just below his bottom rib gradually faded as the soothing drug deadened the flesh.

As soon as they got to Serfium he would…

Something sharp jabbed him in the calf. With a start, he glanced down and saw the dart protruding from his leg.

“Shit!”

Behind him he heard thuds and clangs as other darts ricocheted or found their target.

“Cover!” he yelled to the column.

The Company sprang into life as each member looked around until they spotted somewhere they could dive to remove the missiles from their flesh and evade further attacks. Most of the group ran off the path to their left, into a pile of rocks and low gorse bushes. Kiva dived ahead and to his right, behind an old milestone, the inscription long-since covered with graffiti. Momentarily, he glanced back to see only Marco and Quintillian visible on the road, ducked behind the cart. Reaching to his calf, he dislodged the needle and flung it into the grass. Momentarily, his eyes burred. Shit. The damn needles were drugged. Best hope it wasn’t poison. He glanced around again and spotted Athas and Mercurias behind a large boulder and beneath a cypress tree. The large black Sergeant looked around hurriedly, saw something move on the other side of the road and called out in a booming voice.

“Melee!”

The Company began to come out of cover, running onto the track and heading in Kiva’s direction as the first two figures appeared. Julian, the youngest of the Company, though still in his thirties, and one of the quietest and least assuming, sprinted along the gravel toward his Captain, a short curved axe in his left hand and a long serrated dagger in his right. From seemingly nowhere a figure sprang, somersaulting in the air and landing mere inches behind the young man. Covered from head to foot in black cloth and armed only with two smaller knives, the figure immediately dropped to waist height as Julian spun around, his axe at chest height. The black figure made one small move with one of his knives and nicked a tendon in the back of Julian’s knee as the other knife struck his knuckles and the axe spun away into the undergrowth. Julian collapsed, his knee unable to bear his weight, and tumbled forwards. The man in black grasped his hair as he dropped, arresting his momentum, and brought the knife around as if to slit his throat.

Julian closed his eyes, fumbling with his long knife in an effort to change his grip in time as there was a thud and a wet tearing sound. The black-clad man toppled gently forwards over Julian, who looked up just in time to see Quintillian, haloed in a shower of blood, still running, bringing his new sword up for another strike. With a surprised smile, Julian blacked out.

Kiva was unaware of the lad’s activities as the moment Athas had shouted the call to arms, three more of the black figures had appeared from the brush like ghosts and launched themselves at the Captain. His vision was blurring uncomfortably and an unpleasant weight was beginning to settle on his limbs. Fighting like a demon he struggled, warding off the blows of knives and ducking as best he could, but despite his best efforts, he was already wounded in at least three places, particularly in his shoulder where he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his arm. Unless the others came to his aid, he wouldn’t last too long.

Further along the road, Marco caught up with Athas and Mercurias. The large Sergeant looked around again for Kiva, spotted Quintillian facing off against one of the black assassins, and started to run. At his shoulder as he ran, he heard Marco call out “he just went off his bloody rocker.”

Another assailant dropped from one of the rocks towards the three of them, and Mercurias thrust his blade into the air, catching the man in the side as he fell. The two of them rolled off into the grass as Athas and Marco caught up with Quintillian. The boy was already wounded, a fair gash running down his thigh. He was fighting with the ferocity of a wolverine, but his inexperience and lack of training would be his downfall the moment his rush faltered. Athas glanced ahead to see Brendan and Scauvus bearing down on the Captain. Quintillian was rushing into a group of five or six of them who were deep in a brawl with men of the Company. Behind him, the man he’d just gutted with his blade proved to be far from dead. Unbeknown to Quintillian, the man rolled onto his side, bringing the knife back and in a swing for the lad’s hamstring.

Athas leapt forward and stamped his heavy hobnailed boot onto the man’s arm, causing an audible snapping sound. The knife skittered away from the assassin’s hand, now useless. The big sergeant was just reaching down to finish the man when Marco he ran past.

“Leave him Athas” the other shouted. “We need a survivor.”

Athas looked up after his compatriot, already right behind Quintillian once more. With a sigh, he looked back down at the black-wrapped man and smiled.

“This is your lucky day” he said.

With a swat of his huge hand, he knocked the consciousness from the attacker and rose to his feet to join the others. Ahead, Quintillian launched himself at another man, literally flinging himself onto the man’s back. As the assassin broke off the combat he was already involved in, he raised his knife to his this new threat, trying to reach round behind him, but the boy was already there and had drawn his arm back and thrust, plunging the blade into the man’s back. The man arched his spine in pain, falling backwards like a sack of sand with the boy still on his shoulders. The two hit the ground, the lad pinned and struggling to retrieve his blade, the bulk of which was visible through the assassin’s chest. One of the other attackers dived for the boy’s face, his dagger gleaming in the sun.

“Oh no you don’t.” Marco swung his leg out and caught the diving assassin with a driving kick to the throat. The man collapsed over to one side and, as Marco helped heave the body off Quintillian, Athas arrived and delivered a hard punch to the man’s temple. Marco finished heaving the body away and looked up at Athas. The big Sergeant was grinning like an idiot. He shrugged and then remembered the boy. The two of them looked back down at the floor through the gathering cloud of dust, but the boy was already gone, hacking away at the next man, one of those who faced Kiva.

A noise cut through the din of battle; the sound of a horn echoing around the rocks. Athas and Marco turned in the direction of the sound and took a moment to spot the figure standing on the hill through the dust cloud. A shadowy figure, silhouetted against the late morning sun. As the two watched the figure made a slight bow and then performed a perfect Imperial military salute, before climbing onto the horse beside him. Athas turned back to the melee, only to discover that the attack had ended. None of the black-clad assailants were to be seen, even the wounded or dead. They’d all vanished in a few mere seconds. Athas rushed forward, Marco at his shoulder. Kiva was leaning against a milestone, his face exhausted and bloody, and Quintillian stood only a yard away, his sword and his teeth bared. Athas looked around. Mercurias was back along the track, dealing with Julian where he lay. Marco, Brendan and Scauvus stood nearby and Kiva and Quintillian faced each other, neither smiling. Of the other five there was no sign.

Marco stepped forward toward Quintillian, his hand held out in a conciliatory manner, but the boy ignored him, his attention riveted on the Captain. Kiva looked up at his opponent, his eyes still swimming, and challenged him.