Darius’ frown deepened. “I have no claim.”
“Claims can be manufactured; just watch how fast Sarios finds a link.”
“Yes, I’d bet he can at that.”
The two stood for quite some time, staring out at the waves with the smell of frying fish drifting along the beach. Kiva studied the young man for a while and finally squared his shoulders.
“I’ll leave you alone to think.”
Darius shook his head. “Wait. Don’t take this as a yes, but would you like to tell me what you have in mind?”
The most momentous occasions are often heralded by peace and quiet. The waves crashed on the rocks and seagulls crowded over the breakfast site as two men stood alone on the rocks and decided the fate of the world.
Part Five: Change and Rebirth
Chapter XXV
Kiva Caerdin, General of the rebel army, strode purposefully across the square. The changes the sojourn at Hadrus had wrung in him were extensive and those who remembered the sullen, old Kiva of the Grey Company marvelled anew every time they saw him. In the two and half months since their boats had landed on the coast south of Velutio, he’d recovered from his wounds at astonishing speed. Though still far from his old form, he was moving well and even found at sword practice at least once a day. Mercurias had washed his hands of the general’s state of health, declaring him a lost cause and putting his speedy recovery purely down to an increased and dangerous addiction to the mare’s mead that had been part of his life for decades. Whatever the cause, the effect was impressive.
Moreover, gone were the whiskers and the long hair, replaced with a short and severe cut of iron grey hair after the old style. Though he still wore his comfortable and familiar armour, it was now worn over a green tunic and breeches that matched those worn by every other figure in Hadrus that bore arms. He wore the traditional ribbon of service, knotted around his ribs, denoting his rank and status and the grey cloak had gone, replaced by a wolf-pelt shoulder cloak. The banners that fluttered above his headquarters, once the chief warden’s quarters, bore the Imperial raven and crown, supported by a wolf and a lion.
And the lions, or Lion Riders, were now as much a part of the army as the Wolves, even outnumbering them considerably. Kiva smiled as he strode past hastily erected workshops where smiths and armourers hammered and rang, pumped bellows and dropped hot steel into buckets of water. Beyond them, an old building of unknown origin had been converted into more workshops for the weavers who worked like devils to churn out green uniforms, cloaks, flags and horse blankets. The whole place was alive with industry and activity and, while Kiva was the driving force now behind it all, much of the credit had to go to Minister Sarios, whose considerable skills in administration and organisation had turned a stream of refugees into a fully working town.
Reaching the other side of the square, just inside the heavily protected and defended gatehouse, he grinned as he reached out and clasped arms with the commander of the Lion Riders. Their captain now went by his old title of Prefect and held the position of Kiva’s second in command. Due to the disparity in strength between the two units that had become the backbone of the rebel army, Tythias had suggested months ago that his best men be taken into the sadly depleted Wolves, but Kiva had refused blindly. The Lion Riders, he’d said, were as important as the Wolves and had an equal stake in what they’d planned, hence the flag denoting both units supporting the raven.
Tythias returned the grin as he looked his general up and down appraisingly.
“Kiva? You look ten years younger! I’ve only been gone a month.”
The general shook his head. “A month and a half, Tythias. It was time to start thinking like a soldier again and, I’m afraid, you really ought to go see the barber yourself while you’re back. No use wearing the Imperial green if we still look like vagrants, eh?”
Tythias made a grumbling noise deep in his throat, but his smile stayed firmly riveted on his face. “I suppose you’re right. Sathina keeps making veiled threats anyway.”
With a laugh, the general caught his second in command by the shoulder and, turning, walked with him toward the headquarters building. Behind them, the party of twenty Lion Riders slipped gratefully from their saddles and went about the business of stabling their horses. Kiva stretched as he walked. “Darius is looking forward to seeing you again, on a purely personal level of course, but like the rest of us, he’s anxious for news too.”
“I’ve plenty of that, but I must find Sathina first and bring her with me.”
Kiva smiled. “She’s in there already. Our scouts saw you a couple of hours ago down in the valley, so she’s had plenty of time to get ready.”
A moment later they were across the open space and entering the heavy stone building adorned with flags. Two men wearing chain mail over green tunics snapped to attention on either side of the door, their spears bearing the raven flag. Caerdin gave them a nod as the two entered.
Inside would’ve seemed chaos to anyone else, but this was a chaos that had been organised by Sarios and every person moving in the building had a purpose and a destination. No goods, personnel or space was wasted in Hadrus. The crowd of clerks moved around like a human sea, parting respectfully as they reached the General and the Prefect. A looming figure appeared from the flow and slapped his hands heavily down on Tythias’ shoulders.
“Tythias, you old goat. You made it then?”
The bulky figure of Athas presented a cataract around which the stream of life flowed. Tythias grinned at him. “A few minor scrapes… nothing else.”
Kiva ushered them both through a door on the left and into a large room with a huge wooden table in the centre, upon which were spread maps, diagrams, lists and books. The mercenaries who’d escaped from Isera with the prisoners had since become the command party of the army at Hadrus and Mercurias and Brendan stood in their full paraphernalia with wolf-pelt cloaks and bearing the insignia of captains. Waiting for the new arrival alongside them was Sathina in a new, stunning blue dress and behind her stood Marco, still pale and thin, but alive and smiling. And of course Darius. If the change in Kiva had been gradual during the time they’d been in Hadrus, the change in the young prisoner from Isera had been almost instant. Even en route, before they’d reached their haven, Athas had been at work with the island’s blacksmiths every time the column had stopped for the night. The result had been armour of the old Imperial style, with a decorative breastplate etched with images of heroic deeds and mythical figures, greaves and vambraces of embossed bronze and protective edged leather straps on the shoulders and thighs. He looked every inch the living embodiment of the ancient glorious statues of victorious Emperors and, despite his new status, he wore the pelt shoulder cloak of the Wolves to honour those men who’d given their lives for his. There had been no physical change in the young man. He’d not changed his hair or shaved off his beard and yet, despite this he seemed every inch the Emperor to the men at Hadrus. He had only to walk out into the square and people would fall to their knees — a trait, as Darius had confided in the general, that was beginning to annoy him. Strangely there had been no need for ceremony; Kiva had discussed it with Sarios and on the second morning of the journey they had gathered everyone together and announced their intention to defy Velutio and put a new Emperor on the throne. Darius had stepped forward with them, dressed in his old hunting leathers and the islanders and mercenaries had uniformly bowed without comment. Perhaps Sarios had primed them, but more likely their faith and trust in their leaders left them in no doubt that this was the right course. There would certainly be no love lost for Velutio. Every man present had either fought him or been imprisoned by him.