S. Turney - Interregnum

Street after street slid by with a gradual increase in noise as they approached the centre until finally they neared what was undoubtedly their destination. They’d passed through the great markets and the lower forum, gradually climbing as they turned to head west. Then the triumphal arches began to appear as the cart and its escort rode beneath them, carved relics telling stories of campaigns long gone and celebrating Emperors than no one in these days would remember. This was the Imperial Way and, not far off at the top point of this mile long avenue of triumphs, stood the Palace of the Emperors on its rocky promontory overlooking the bay of Isera to the north and the ports to the south. Here the Emperors had ruled for three hundred years over the city of Velutio and the world beyond, long before the first villa had been built on Isera. Indeed in those days Isera was a watch tower and fortified island and nothing more, before one of the Emperors whose name escaped Kiva had decided he wanted a summer palace as a retreat from the city. The Emperors had begun to summer on the island while the rest of the government built their villas at Serfium.

And now the last arch rolled over the top of them and disappeared into the distance beyond their sight and the cart rumbled to a halt. He knew this place well enough. The sides of the wide avenue had closed in at the end and now became a three-sided courtyard with the fourth open to the Imperial Way. The walls of the palace, with their windows and battlements looked down from three sides into the cart where the four lay. Somewhere just ahead there was talking, but over the general din of a score of horsemen Kiva couldn’t make out any of the details until one of Phythian’s men unbolted the back board of the cart a minute later.

“Out!” he ordered curtly and stepped back. Lifting his head, Kiva could see four of them with crossbows aimed at the cart. Probably a little unnecessary considering where they were, but Phythian would be very careful right now since he hadn’t been paid yet.

Struggling, Kiva helped Quintillian to sit up while at the other side of the cart, Julian pulled himself up with the help of the side board and Alessus. The four shuffled with difficulty to the edge of the cart, grateful that at least their ankles were no longer chained while they’d been aboard. Kiva hauled himself off first, turning to give Quintillian a hand. Julian dropped to the stone flags, but his leg gave way instantly and he collapsed to the floor groaning. Alessus helped him to his feet with a struggle and the four stood, their hands tied behind their back. Blood still dripped from Kiva’s hands, though he continued to clutch at the coin until he turned and could deposit the item into his pocket. The man who’d ordered them to disembark gestured past the cart. “Time to go.”

As they limped and shuffled around the cart, they could see Phythian with his second in command beneath the huge ornate gate of the palace, with a dozen guards around in the red uniforms of Velutio. Other guards stood atop the battlements with javelins by their sides. Even in the current circumstances, Kiva was impressed to note how closely Velutio’s men emulated the old Imperial army. Their dress, kit and even stance spoke of the old ways, though they wore red instead of traditional green. This had to be the influence of their commander, for Kiva knew the lord of Velutio well enough to know how much he shunned the reminders of Imperial days.

As they reached the arch Phythian folded his arms and smiled. “This way. His lordship will be meeting us in the courtyard.”

Uncomfortably and painfully they plodded through the dark, covered gateway with Velutio’s guard ahead and Phythian’s archers behind, crossbows still trained on them. Kiva swallowed. This was the moment of truth. If Velutio was on true form, the four of them would probably be executed in the courtyard without any preamble and then anything Prince Ashar could do wouldn’t be enough. His only hope was to annoy his old adversary enough to make him keep the prisoners around long enough to suffer. The light dazzled them as they broke out from the gatehouse shadows and into the bright courtyard. This had changed beyond recognition. Gone were the statues and fountains, the flowerbeds and well tended walkways. In its place was a bare stone-flagged courtyard of immense size with two low stone buildings that had all the hallmarks of guard-posts. Around the beautifully decorated walls of the ancient palace now stood dummies for sword and javelin practice. In fact it reminded him greatly of the old Imperial training camp at Munda.

One thing that could not be mistaken though was the Lord of Velutio. He’d aged considerably since the last time they’d met, but then Kiva would be the first to admit that he’d seen better years himself. The lord’s hair may have greyed and his features wrinkled slightly, but there was no mistaking that cold, calculating face and the mind like a steel trap behind it. His attention was drawn to the small unit of no more than ten men standing behind the lord. Like the ones at the gate they carried themselves in the manner of old fashioned soldiers. A sergeant stood with the unit, young but very military in his appearance and deportment, vine staff jammed under his arm and a red crest on his helm to denote his rank. And in front of them at Velutio’s shoulder was a man that had to be this Sabianus. Wearing a very traditional general’s gear, with a burnished helm and breastplate, he stood straight and tall. Kiva’s heart fell as he realised this man was far too young to have been an officer in the old days. Probably no hope there then, though he obviously kept the old ways where it applied to his men. The commander was staring at him in a way that made Kiva curiously nervous. He shuffled his feet as he realised that blood from his hand was dripping onto his boot.

Velutio stepped forward and the commander followed him, staying at his shoulder.

“Kiva. You’ve looked better.”

The captain was interested to note that Sabianus glanced at the lord and then resumed his interrogative stare at him. How was Velutio going to play this?

“Avitus” he answered the Lord with a grin. “Nice city you’ve borrowed.”

Velutio’s temper seemed to have calmed over the years. Instead of the angry backlash he’d expected from such a comment, the lord smiled a humourless smile and turned his attention to Quintillian.

“You gave us quite the little run around, boy. I’ve spent rather a lot of money finding you.”

Quintillian cleared his throat and tried to stand straight, having previously been leaning against Kiva to support his weak leg. “You could have saved you money if you’d come looking yourself, Marshal. I’m sure we’d have given you a fitting reception.”

Velutio laughed and Kiva was most surprised to hear a note of real humour in there.

“By all the Gods, he even talks like you Caerdin! You do have a curious effect on people. Has he been adopted into your unit, whatever they call themselves these days? I note he’s wearing a soldier’s clothes now.”

Before Kiva could answer, the lad piped up “I’m a member of the Wolves now, yes.”

Kiva smiled. Quintillian, ever bright, seemed to have cottoned on to what he was doing and was taking turns in helping wind the lord up. Couldn’t afford to go too far though. There was something about the calm quiet way Velutio was taking the comments that unnerved him; reminded him of a volcano ready to erupt. He cleared his throat.

“So, Avitus, what are you planning for us then? A little jaunt round the bay? A social drink and a chat about old times?”

Velutio shook his head. “I haven’t quite decided yet. I’ll make sure you’re shown to the best of quarters while I decide though.” He turned to his senior officer. “Sabian? Take the four of them down to the Dalertine prison and have food delivered to them.” He stopped for a moment and peered at the four. “And if you can find a doctor, send him to look at them.”