S. Turney - Interregnum

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.

The commander shook himself from private speculation as they entered the orchard. He cleared his throat and addressed Velutio, pointing between the trees. “The graveyard’s just beyond that row of cherry trees, sir” he said. “You can see the three freshly-dug graves from here. They’re the closest.”

Velutio nodded and, as they left the shelter of the branches and moved from a floor of twigs and fallen fruit onto neat turf, the lord of the most powerful city in the Empire stared down at three meagre wooden gravestones with a look of deep concentration. He came to a halt by the last of the three and folded his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He glanced over his shoulder toward the palace and then back at the commander. His voice took on an edge harder than before.

“Detail a company of your men to exhume these graves.”

Sabian blinked.

“Exhume sir?” he asked in surprise.

Velutio rounded on the commander, beginning to look a little angry.

“Yes, exhume,” he repeated himself, impatience making his voice deep and sinister. “I want all three bodies on display and my personal physician brought from the ship to examine them. I don’t like this one bit.”

Without needing the command repeated again, Sabian saluted and jogged off back to the Ibis Courtyard. As he passed through the gate toward the palace proper, Crosus appeared in the archway and stopped, folding his arms. His lip curled into a sneer.

“Bit of a mess you’ve made of this one, Sabian.”

The commander bridled. “I’m no jailor” he replied, “but I’m a soldier and a good officer and anytime you feel the need to put that to the test, duelling’s still legal. I’ve always thought your throat would look better with three feet of steel jutting out of it.” Without waiting for another pointless comment, he pushed past the guard captain and as he entered the marble enclosure his sergeants came to attention, though Sabian waved aside the discipline with a half-hearted salute.

“Sergeant,” he said, his face devoid of expression, “detail ten men for duty exhuming graves and have them get to the graveyard as fast as they can.” He continued as the sergeant nodded. “Have a runner sent down to the ship for his Lordship’s physician and have him sent to the same place. Then fall the rest out and relax for a while. I have the feeling it’ll be some time before you’ll get to relax again.”

The sergeant saluted and turned to the unit, bellowing orders. Leaving the logistics in the hands of his officers, Sabian jogged back through the archway and off to the graveyard. He had a horrible sinking feeling. He’d automatically trusted these people and assumed that everything was as it seemed. If Velutio doubted it, though…

A few minutes later, he slowed to a walk and came to stand beside his liege. Velutio was staring off into the distance across the sea while Crosus stood on his other side, glaring at Sabian. Velutio cleared his throat and addressed Sabian without a glance.

“The graves are likely empty commander,” he said with cold conviction. “If there is anyone in there, my physician will check them and I’m absolutely certain you will find that they are not who they are supposed to be.”

Sabian frowned.

“How can you be so sure sir?” he asked.

Velutio folded his arms and nodded toward the graves.

“You don’t know the histories of these people, commander” the older man said in a matter-of-fact manner,” but I know every single one. Apart from Quintillian, these three were Tomas Castus and Enarion Stavo. Castus was harbourmaster for the imperial island and Stavo was Quintus’ personal courier. I don’t know how they managed to find a way to get off this island without using the channel to Velutio. It’s theoretically impossible, but if anyone could do it, it would be those two.”

Sabian frowned and scanned the walls with frustration. At most places on the island the turf met the water and the walls were far enough down to afford a good view of the sea from the palaces, but here were cliffs and the walls were too high to see the water beyond.

“Sir,” he began, “I’ve spoken to people who used to sail the passage in the days when the Imperial engineers kept it safe; I’ve spoken to architects who’ve done studies of the palaces; I’ve read a number of books on the place since I took on this jailor’s job, and never anywhere have I found a sign that there is any other navigable route to Isera than through the narrow.”

Velutio turned once more towards the commander. He looked a little tired now.

“Sabian,” he sighed, “just because no one has ever documented a thing doesn’t mean it’s not there. Someone knows a way through the reefs; a safe channel. Never assume you know everything. If I’d thought for a minute that this island was completely secure, would I ever have assigned you to keep an eye on the place?”