S. Turney: Interregnum

“I don’t think that’s who you or your men are, Captain Tregaron” Quintillian replied. “ If that’s who you really are.”

Kiva growled.

“Knock that off” he spat. “I don’t want any more of your fantastic theories as to my origin. I do know the area round Velutio very well and you’re right. You’d never get back on your own. The Lord of Velutio’s probably the most powerful claimant in the Empire. And he’s not a very nice human being. Less pleasant than me and a lot less forgiving. Ok. You’ve got a deal. We stay here until Celio’s men have cleared the area and stopped patrolling for survivors. Then we’ll go get your money and take you to Velutio.”

The boy nodded at the captain.

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have to kit you out in some better gear though” Kiva said thoughtfully, tapping his finger on his chin. “Dressed like that you tend to stand out a bit. I’ll ask Athas to sort you some kit; I think we’ve got a few spare tunics here and there. You’d best head upstairs and see Mercurias before you bleed out completely. Get him to send Athas back down here. Oh, and that’s another thing before you go: as long as you travel with us, you’re part of the company. You follow any orders you’re given, whether they’re from me, Athas or any of the others.”

The lad, standing to leave, opened his mouth to object, but Kiva held his hand up.

“That’s the rule” he said with an air of finality. “Think of it as for your own good. If we give you orders it’s because we all rely on those orders for our survival. Also, it’s because you’re going to be one of the company as far as any outsider knows. If you don’t like the rules, feel free to piss off and find another unit.”

Quintillian stopped and then smiled as he turned back and made his way to the stairs.

“Aye, captain” he said with a grin.

Kiva sat in the dark and silent room, grumbling to himself. It was more money than the Grey Company had made the entire last year, and it’d only take a month at most to get him to Velutio. It was good business sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the lad was going to be trouble and he was starting to get very edgy and fidgety. The first ray of sunlight appeared at the window, with a shaft of light that fell across the ceiling by the window. Kiva rose and paced back and forth for a moment.

He stopped and idly examined a large kitchen knife on one of the cupboards for a moment, before growling and storming across to the door. He was about to call upstairs for Athas, when he saw the bulky southerner turn the corner at the top on his way down. He was holding his arm gingerly and, as he reached the bottom and was more clearly visible in the pool of light from the kitchen’s lamp, Kiva could see the fresh stitch marks on his arm. They were not very neat. Mercurias really was in a bad mood. He gestured impatiently toward the kitchen and followed Athas inside and to the seats by the table.

“I’m very uncomfortable with this” he reiterated. “I’ve agreed to take the job on but I’m very uncomfortable, and not for the reasons you think. D’you notice anything familiar about the lad?”

Athas shook his head, blankly. “Nothing particular. Why?”

Kiva leaned heavily across the table and grasped Athas’ shoulders, pulling him close. The sergeant winced as the stitches pulled. Kiva ignored the look and gritted his teeth.

“I noticed it almost immediately” he whispered. “He looks so like his uncle it’s untrue.”

“His uncle? Who do…”

Athas tailed off and slapped the side of his head in irritation.

“It’s true. He even talks like the Emperor.”

Kiva motioned for quiet with his hands.

“Don’t use that word” he replied. “It’s dangerous around the wrong ears. Anyway, I don’t think he knows anything about his uncle. He’s got to have been a newborn when Quintus died. He looks like him; he sounds like him; he’s a scholar from Velutio. Hell, he said it was an offshore community, so I’ll bet they’re even on the Imperial Island. And he called me Caerdin, so he knows his history.”

Athas frowned.

“Not too well, though” he said. “He’d never have trusted someone he thought was Caerdin if he knew what the General actually did.”

“True. Still, I’m not sure there’s much hope of us covering him by using a different name. He’s a bit naive and he’ll make mistakes. We’ll just have to hope no one else makes the connection. There aren’t many people who met Quintus in those last few years, so they won’t click the same way we did. He’ll be safer when he’s dressed like one of us. Can you see to that? Maybe a short sword or something too?”

Athas nodded. “No problem, captain. The only problem I foresee is the men. A lot of the Grey Company will remember the Em… Quintus from the old days. They’re not daft and I’ll guarantee you some of them’ll have worked it out very quickly.”

“We’ll have to act fast” Kiva replied. “Get the lads together and explain things to them. Explain most of all that forgetting the name Quintus and any past affiliations is going to be worth eight corona each. That should shut ‘em up.”

As Athas nodded, stood and made his way back into the main room, Kiva wandered up the stairs to find Quintillian sitting on a stool and being treated by the ever-surly Mercurias. The burly and thick-set Bors stood by the fireplace watching the medic at work. Kiva glanced around and gestured at Bors and the lookouts by the window and on the balcony.

“Get downstairs and see Athas.”

The three made for the stairs, leaving Kiva, Mercurias and the boy together. He watched as Mercurias cleaned out the shoulder wound. The young man had delicate, pale skin and dark, curly hair, cropped short. His eyes were a light blue, probably piercing when seen in a better light. Strikingly familiar. Kiva cleared his throat.

“Quintillian…” he began.

He noted the pause in Mercurias’ work and the sharp glance the medic gave him. He shook his head barely perceptibly and returned his attention to the boy. Athas had been right. Most of the company would make the connection with the name pretty fast.

“Lad,” he began again, “I need to know a few things before we go any further. Are your family still in this community, what’s the name of the place, what’s the aim of the community and who’s in charge? ”

The boy’s eyes narrowed.

“I can’t see why any of that matters, but I was orphaned. Brought up by the community on the island. I don’t know much about my parents, except that they died during the civil war. They must have been supporters of the Emperor; they did name me for him.”

Somewhere inside, Kiva heaved a sigh of relief, though he didn’t show it externally. It would have been nice to doubt the validity of the boy’s heritage, but he’d known the Emperor Quintus far too well for that. The boy could have been a model for Quintus’ earlier statues.

Quintillian continued “the island’s called Isera. We’re a community of scholars and holy men. The leader’s a man named Sarios. A very intelligent and kind man who used to be a priest and scholar in the days of the Empire.”

Kiva reached out and grasped the boy’s arm.

“It’s not a good idea to go round shouting out words like Emperor or names like yours. There are far too many bloodthirsty Lords out there, claimants to the throne, and talking too much would just get us noticed. Isera’s probably not a name to use either…”

Again, that intuitive narrowing of the eyes. Quintus used to do that too.

“Why do you not want to be noticed?” the boy replied. “You’re just mercenaries. You’ve not done anything wrong. Have you? Or have I?”