The wounded sergeant grinned painfully, his eyes showing a deep sadness. “How can I pass up an offer like that?”
The two men limped and stumbled their way across the bodies and limbs, slipping in puddles of blood and viscera, slowly making their way back toward the column of the rebel army. A deafening twang and a rumbling and whistling noise announced the arrival of Athas’ war machines into the fray. Their stumbling continued and then suddenly there were arms around them, helping them up the hill. The concerned face of Athas appeared and said something that Kiva entirely missed.
“Athas!” he demanded breathlessly. “Shut up and stop fussing. Have us taken to Favio and don’t let word of this reach Mercurias or I’ll nail your testicles to that machine.”
Athas frowned at his commander and then nodded at the men supporting them.
Kiva must have blacked out somewhere along the column, for he stopped hurting for a while.
The marble columns wreathed in fire. The purple and gold drapes blazing and falling away into burning heaps on the floor. A chalice of wine on a small table by a couch, boiling in the intense heat. The panicked twittering of the ornamental birds in their golden cages as the room around them was consumed by the inferno. And in the centre of the room, standing in robes of white and purple, a man. He doesn’t look frightened, though the flames lick at his whole world and his face is already grimy with the smoke. What he looks is desperate, his arm extended toward the sealed and barred door separating him from a future and a life. Dark pools of blood surround the man and he takes a step toward the door, slipping and slithering in the blood until he collapses on the floor and is brought face to face with the knife that’s been drive hilt-deep into his side.
Kiva woke with a small cry and looked around him in panic. He was in his command tent and there were braziers flickering within and by the entrance. It was night and he was alone. They must have won the fight for the men had taken the time to erect the command tent before laying him carefully inside. Ideas had hammered at his consciousness as he awoke. Something to do with the old dream. That one thing; the one plan that so tantalisingly hung an inch away from his reach was there. Given a minute he might remember it. He focused slowly on the world around him and finally saw the items on the table next to his shoulder. There was a loaf of bread and some butter, some fruit and a bottle with a scruffily-written label on. He picked up the bottle, wincing at the pain and squinted at it. In Favio’s writing it said “drink this — at this point it can’t hurt.” Suspiciously, he pulled the stopper and sniffed. Mare’s mead and very strongly mixed by the smell. He smiled a weak smile and took a deep swig just as the curtains at the entrance were pushed aside and Tythias strode in.
“Thought I heard you shout.”
Kiva nodded slowly. “I take it everything went well?”
“Pretty good. Very few losses considering. I see despite his protests, Balo ended up leading your unit. What happened to you then? Favio wouldn’t tell us.”
The doctor, arriving at that moment behind him, aimed a meaningful look at Kiva as he replied: “he took a glancing blow to the ribs that might have done him some serious damage. He’s lucky to be here.”
Tythias glanced over his shoulder suspiciously at the doctor and then shrugged. “Fair enough. I take my own fair share of stupid wounds. Well now you’re awake I’d better report. Lord Tilis was taken prisoner, lord Geraldus was found about an hour ago impaled on a cavalry spear and there’s no sign of lord Herro. We presume he’s long gone with his bodyguard. The siege engines were all taken out and we’ve a total of around five hundred prisoners. Don’t know what you want to do with them, but Brendan’s convinced we can’t spare the manpower to guard them if we take them with us.”
Kiva nodded. “He’s absolutely right. Tell him to have their weapons and armour taken away from them and then let them go. They’re only farmers and servants pressed into service for their lords.”
Tythias pulled up a seat and collapsed next to the bed as Favio bustled around, holding Kiva’s wrist and counting under his breath.
“Silvas is a happy man” the one armed Prefect continued. “He’s done nothing but sing your praises and Darius’ since he joined us. His men are quartered with everyone else now, but he’s retaining control of them. I’ve assigned them the title ‘Ninth Regiment’ and left him in control. Seemed the best way to deal with it. They’re pretty well trained and organised anyway.”
Another nod from Kiva who, though listening, was watching Favio’s ministrations suspiciously. “And?”
“And everyone wants to come in and see you, but the first in line is sergeant Cialo who arrived in camp about an hour or two ago. I think you can safely say he’s not going back. He spat on his Velutio uniform and then burned it, along with the rest of his unit’s. Oh, and he’s brought a few more this time. There were twenty three of them when they turned up tonight.”
A smile suddenly flashed across Kiva’s lips. That was it. The missing piece. He pulled himself a little further upright in the bed and his eyes rolled as the pain lanced through his middle. Favio grumbled. “What’s the fucking use in me mending you if you go and do it all again. Lie still.”
Kiva looked urgently across at Tythias. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to speak to Favio for a minute and then I need to see a couple of people. Send Cialo in five minutes, then Balo in ten and tell the most senior crossbowman to find me first thing in the morning. After I’ve seen the other two, I’ll put in a general appearance.”
Tythias nodded unhappily and stood, stretching. “Ok. I’ll see you in a while, you mad old bastard.”
As the second in command left, Kiva reached up and gripped Favio’s wrist. “You told them I’d been knifed?”
“Seemed the best way,” the doctor agreed. “Believable and realistic. I assumed you didn’t want anyone knowing the truth or you’d have gone to see Mercurias.”
“And what is the truth?” the general pushed.
“You’ll be dead next time you do anything like that. You may even die tonight anyway. I think it’s settled in place again, but now you’ve got some actual liver damage. Any serious exercise and you’ll be bringing up blood again. If it’s serious enough, you might open it up properly and then you’ll just bleed to death where you stand. You’re looking quite pale right now and I don’t know if you could stand another session of what happened today.”
“So,” Kiva pressed further, “how long can you keep me going? I reckon I need a week or two.”
Favio shook his head. “You’re a strong man, general, but even you can’t make it that long. If you lie very still you might make it past a month, but if you walk and ride you’ll be dead in days I reckon. It’ll only take the one wrong move that jars that little shard on your liver and you’ll be gone in minutes. What happened today was just a scratch. Put a hole in your liver and this’ll seem like a little headache.”
Kiva growled. “I need at least a week.”
Favio nodded. “Well you’d best start praying then.”
Without looking any longer at the general, Favio turned and strode from the tent. Kiva growled gently. He’d survived a duel to the death, twenty years of war and a crucifixion. He damn well wasn’t going to lie down and accept this when there was still something to be done. And as for prayers…”
He ignored the sharp pains and pulled himself upright in bed, checking to make sure he didn’t leak once he’d done so.
He sat for a few minutes mulling things over. The plan was finally falling together and there were just a few things left to work out, but he had to make it until the armies met or it was all for nothing. He continued to turn aspects of it over in his mind until sergeant Cialo, now wearing the uniform of a rebel captain, strode in and saluted.
“General Caerdin.”
“Cialo,” the general smiled. “Sit down man. I need to discuss a couple of things.”