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want to be noticed?” the boy replied. “You’re just mercenaries. You’ve not done anything wrong. Have you? Or have I?”
    This was going to be hard work. Truths Kiva didn’t really like to divulge were going to have to be shared. Damn Athas. Why couldn’t they just have left the boy and found another Lord in need of troops? He sighed and looked the lad in the eyes.
    “Quintillian,” he sighed, “why do you think there are so many mercenary units or private armies? There were over two hundred thousand men in the Imperial army before the civil war. Most of us over the age of thirty-five have served with the military before the collapse. My entire unit here were all soldiers then. The Grey Company weren’t always grey. They wore military green once. And a number of us met the Emperor on occasions. It’s a very complicated political landscape right now and there are some things that are best left in the past. Deal with it.”
    He sighed again as the boy’s innocent face contorted with the effort of coming to terms with lies and half-truths. Just like Quintus in the early days; before the rot set in.
    “It’s not much of a problem here in the Provinces,” the captain explained, “but when we get near Velutio, things will be a whole lot different. The world’s a different place there. You have to be very careful what you say. The Lord of Velutio and I are ‘acquainted’ and we don’t see particularly eye to eye. He won’t take very well to someone with your name, either.”
    Kiva reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silver flask. The container had a wolf’s head engraved on it, and an inscription, but Quintillian barely saw it as the captain moved his hand to grip around the decoration. Lifting the flask to his lips, he took several deep pulls on it before lowering it once more and replacing the lid. He leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Quintillian watched him as did Mercurias, the first to speak.
“Don’t you think you’re hitting that a little hard?” the medic queried.
Kiva flicked one eye open.
“I’m not your worry. Keep your mind on your patient. I’m going down to see Athas and the rest.”
    He stood, swaying slightly as his knee almost gave way and then, righting himself with the support of the chair, squared his shoulders and started down the stairs. Once he was safely out of sight and with the rest of the men below, Quintillian turned to face the medic, his voice full of uncertainty.
    “Should he be drinking strong liquor when we’re all still in danger?” he asked.
    Mercurias turned the lad back round and continued work on the shoulder, his hands remarkably light and gentle, considering his general disposition.
“It’s not liquor” the medic replied. “It’s Mare’s Mead.”
Quintillian’s brow creased as he sought out memories.
“I’ve heard of that” he said brightly. “One of the priests at home kept it for something.”
Mercurias raised his brows in surprise.
    “It’s quite rare and not very well known” he said quietly. “Your priest must be well versed in the medicinal arts. Mare’s Mead is an extremely powerful pain suppressant. It’s very acrid and bitter in its normal pollen form, which is why people mix it with mead to take, hence the name. Problem is, it also has a number of side-effects that vary from person to person. Kiva takes it for a pain in the side, legacy of a wound he took a long, long time ago. I dread to think what it’s doing to him, ‘cos he’ll never let me examine him. I do know he averages about three hours a night sleep in a good week and he’s a very troubled man, but then he’s always been like that, ever since the days of the collapse.”
    “I don’t think he likes me very much” the boy added.
    “He doesn’t like anyone very much. Just don’t antagonise him.”
    “Done.” With a short, sharp tug, Mercurias tied off the thread and then cut the spare away. “Try not to wave your arms around over your