Interregnum by S. J. A. Turney

you never read your histories? I thought you prided yourself on your reading? Your family are prone to the most brutal insanity, Quintillian. Never read about the madness? The death and mayhem this dynasty caused? Your grandfather had to be put down by priests of his own cult so he could be buried and ascend to the Heavens. He tried to bite them as they held him down frothing at the mouth, while they cut his throat in the fountain of his own temple. But that wasn’t until after he’d had a thousand heads removed just for his amusement. Soldiers, senators, peasants, anybody. Hell, even one of the Marshals fell foul of Basianus the fair when the Emperor started to get paranoid thinking people were plotting against him. Problem is: by the time his madness was becoming obvious, they were! And your uncle? I couldn’t believe your uncle would succumb; I knew him so well. Yes, he was my best friend, and I tried to save him when the Senate condemned him for his insanity. I didn’t believe the rumours, but it was with my own ears that I heard him command me to crucify a city. A whole city, Quintillian. Men, women, children. Even the cats and dogs!”
    The boy realised that Kiva was shaking now, whether with anger or some other emotion, he couldn’t tell. The captain drew his sword and Quintillian’s eyes fixed in fear on the deadly point. Kiva gave the sword a couple of idle, angry slashes.
    “And do you know why?” he challenged. “Why they were all to die?”
    In a panic, Quintillian stuttered. “N.. no.”
    “Because they couldn’t afford to pay his new fucking taxes!” Kiva shouted.
    The captain thrust the sword, narrowly missing the lad’s shoulder and digging the point deep into bark before turning and speaking as he walked away.
    “ That’s the problem with Emperors” he said without looking back. “Power curses you, or drives you mad or something like that. Look around you. The other Lords are all going the same way. They all want to rule and look at what it does to them. Better we stay as we are: mercenaries, and wait for the day the Lords have all killed each other. Then we can have some peace.”
    Quintillian stood stock still, his eyes on the hilt of the sword by his side, still shuddering with the force with which it had struck the tree.
    “But you were his friend ” he cried. “You still helped him. You saved him.”
    Kiva stopped abruptly. He turned and walked very slowly back toward the boy. Once he reached him, he put his hand on the lad’s shoulder, almost comforting. To Quintillian’s astonishment, there really were tears in the captain’s eyes. Kiva pushed hard and, as the lad dropped to his backside on the grass, he drew the sword from the tree.
    “I was more than his friend, Quintillian. He was like my brother.”
    Sheathing his sword, he stood, looking down at the boy.
    “But it was me who locked him in his palace” he said, his voice cracking slightly with raw emotion. “ Me who dismissed his guard.” His voice sounded choked; clotted, his face bleak and more open than Quintillian had seen since they’d met. The captain cleared his throat.
    “ Me who set the fire and killed him.”
    Kiva turned his back on the boy, who had blanched and was gasping for breath. As the captain reached the edge of the hollow, he turned back one last time.
    “It had to be done Quintillian. For the good of the Empire.”
    And with that the captain vanished from sight over the lip of the hollow.
    The boy sat stunned in the grass, shaking uncontrollably until suddenly a large hand appeared beneath his chin, holding a Wolves flask that contained something that smelled revolting. Athas crouched next to him.
    “Drink lad” he said comfortingly. “You’ve never needed it more than now.”
    Quintillian took a grateful pull on the spirit and coughed repeatedly. His throat spasmed and he leaned to one side, towards the bushes and vomited until he was dry retching. The face of his uncle stared up at him from