Part Five: Change & 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.
And there he stood, the Emperor in waiting with his commanders. Kiva smiled once more at the sight as he walked around the table and took his place beside his new lord.
Without the prompting he’d needed from Kiva only a month before, Darius leaned forward and placed his hands firmly on the edge of the table as he addressed Tythias.
“What news, Prefect?”
The one armed, one eyed ex mercenary, though every bit the proper soldier, was in company with whom he was tremendously close and grinned widely at the Emperor to be.
“Kiva’s been teaching you to be far too formal, highness.”
Darius smiled. “Got to practice, Tythias. I keep forgetting when I’m outside. One of the weavers saw me beheading weeds with a stick yesterday and the general here grilled me for hours over it.”
Ignoring the scowl that crossed Caerdin’s face, Tythias leaned back against the wall.
“There’s good news and there’s bad news, gentlemen. On the good side, I found Filus and Sithis and their units. They were already heading back toward Velutio; apparently things are getting a little hairy out west. Alongside the other units we were looking for, we hooked up with a couple of the lords who still favour you, so there should be six or seven thousand men arriving in the next few days, and about three hundred of them are veteran units we know well. The rest are just guards and men at arms for the lords, but they’re at least partially trained, if not tested. Some of them are cavalry and we’ve got a couple of units of archers.” He sighed. “Other Lords we saw were non-committal though. They’re no great lovers of Velutio, but they’re not about to stand up against him while our army remains up here, hidden in the mountains. I think a show of arms down on the plains would bring a number of other lords flocking to the banner, but I can’t say I blame them for wanting to protect their land where they are now.”
Kiva nodded thoughtfully. “And the bad news?”
“The bad news,” Tythias replied, drawing a deep breath, “is that Velutio’s heard about you now. He knows Caerdin and the Wolves are supporting what he calls a ‘pretender-Emperor’ and he’s offering a rather large reward for news of the army’s location. A number of the lords that might have swung our way are remaining resolutely his. He’s threatening people you see?”
Kiva growled. “That man is nothing but bad news.”
“Worse than that to some” Tythias said sadly. “We’d been to see Lord Palio and he was busy marshalling his men to march to Hadrus when Velutio turned up on his doorstep. He crucified every fifth man and, when Palio wouldn’t give him our location, had him quartered and then burned in his own courtyard. We were there at the time. That Sabian may be Velutio’s but damn I wish he was working for us. We’d left them involved in a battle out to the west when we went to Palio, but still they almost beat us there. How he managed that I’ll never know.”
“Sabian crucified and burned people?” Darius’ voice quavered. “I can’t believe that.”
Tythias shook his head sadly. “He didn’t give the orders, but he didn’t walk away from it either. He’s Velutio’s chief officer and he’s deep in his job now. Just be grateful he’s out west and not over here.”
The table fell silent for a moment until Kiva cleared his throat. “Well, if we get seven thousand in a few days, we’ve got just less than two here already. We’ve got a small unit at Munda watching the place and every now and then a unit looking for us appears there. With those odd stragglers we should number around ten thousand in a few weeks when we’re ready to start moving. It’s not too bad, but it could be better. Velutio’s got twice that without calling up all his various allies, so I reckon he can count on outnumbering us around three to one at least. The only thing we’ve got going for us is the fact that all our people are fighting for a cause, while theirs are fighting because they have to. I need more information on the makeup of their forces and their plans before I can come up with any kind of coherent strategy.”
He leaned forward and focused on Tythias. “Are any of the allies coming to join us the sort we can send in amongst them to spy for us?”
Tythias shook his head. “We avoided anyone of dubious loyalty and all the various independents are waiting to see what happens. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait on Prince Ashar and his men for any more info. It’s a bit of a bastard. We’ve watched his army in several engagements, but we’ve always had to stay a bit out of the way. The moment we’re noticed, we’re screwed.”
Kiva nodded and turned to Darius. “I think we need to make a point. I need to be here to oversee things with Sarios and, to be honest, being in the saddle at the moment is incredibly uncomfortable to me. I think, though, that we need you and a colour party to go out and visit a few of these fence-sitters. Next time the Prefect rides out, you need to take Athas and Brendan and a hundred of the best men and go with them.”
Darius blinked and Tythias started making opposing motions with his hands, but Kiva leaned further forward and pointed. “You’re going to have to go out again. Have a day or two’s respite; in fact, wait until your recruits get here, but then you need to head out again. Just to the lowlands; to the lords nearby who could be swayed with the right moves. With the Emperor and an honour guard and captains of the Wolves with you, you might be able to almost double our force. I really can’t pass up that chance.”
He turned to Sathina. “I’m sorry, and I know you’ve been looking forward to seeing Tythias again, but this is too important and at least he’s not going to be heading into disputed areas this time.”
Sathina nodded placidly. ”General, I’m as much a part of this now as any of your men. I’d be stupid to let my personal feelings get in the way.”
The general and the innkeeper’s girl watched each other for the moment and then both nodded, but Tythias leaned across the table from his side, a wide grin splitting his face.
“I’ve a better idea. A military Emperor is what these people need, but what they want is pomp and grandeur. If Darius comes out with us, he needs to be an Emperor. He needs a retinue. Let Sarios and Sathina pick out a court to go with him. It’ll make the lords feel more important if an entire Imperial court visits and they can be part of it. Sathina can go with me.”
He turned his smile on the pretty girl. “That is, if you can cope with living in pampered luxury for a week or two…”
Kiva snorted. “Ok. I don’t disagree. Once you two have got your lovey reunion over, go and see Sarios and sort it out. You leave the day after the new recruits arrive.” He turned to Darius and grinned. “Sorry to lumber you with the lovebirds for a fortnight, but I daresay you can talk to Brendan and Athas and ignore these two.”
Darius returned the smile and straightened. “That everything then? I…”
His sentence remained unfinished, as a breathless and dusty figure arrived in the doorway and saluted unsteadily.
“Sir… Highness, there’s a small unit just coming up the hill t’ward the gate! No one we’re expecting, sir.”
Kiva slammed his fist on the table. “No-one knows where we are expect the people we’re expecting. Tythias, you must have been followed.”
Tythias bridled. “We were well clear of any of Velutio’s army or allies. If someone followed us they must have been near here anyway or very well hidden.”
The Emperor in waiting pushed past his general, grumbling. “If you two are just going to argue, I’ll go and see who it is.”
Darius strode out into the square, across the packed earth and stone, and up to the gate with his command group around him. The sentries on the gate had turned the massive bolt throwers down toward the path leading up the mountainside. The officers climbed the wooden stairs to the top and spread out along the battlements.
“Can you identify them? They’ve no flag” the young man muttered to his companions.
Kiva, next to him growled unpleasantly. “Oh, I can identify them alright. That’s Phythian and his archers.”
“Phythian?” the young man stepped back. “The man who gave you to Velutio?”
“The very bastard. Wonder what he’s doing here.” He gestured to one of the guards manning the huge bolt throwers. “Point that thing at the pompous ass down there and if he so much as blinks, let loose.”
The unit of crossbowmen, almost a score strong, reigned in their horses not far from the gate and their commander, his fetching grey silk clothing stained brown with the dust.
“General Caerdin!” he called from the path. “We need to talk.”
Kiva laughed derisively. “So talk! This gate’s not opening until I know why you’re here and make it fast. Convince me not to have you shot here and now.”
Phythian laughed mirthlessly and swung sideways in his saddle, crossing his legs. “I’ve run out of time for Velutio. He’s not a good employer and, to be honest, a little impatient and bloodthirsty even for me and my boys. Funny thing is: I’ve been hearing a lot of rumours recently that General Caerdin had resurfaced with a claimant to the throne. This I really had to see, since I’d last seen the good general being crucified and his claimant to the throne had gone the way of all flesh.”
Darius nudged Kiva and the general realised his growling had been growing rather loud. He glared down at Phythian as the man continued.
“You’re a very hard man to find, Caerdin. But I’d had my doubts about the Wolves that day in Serfium. I couldn’t see your old ally Tythias butchering your men, so I just asked around until I found the Lion Riders and then followed them. You see, I think I’d rather throw in my lot with you and whatever potential Emperor you’ve got than help Velutio get to a point where he’s the only employer there is. What d’you say?”
Kiva growled again in frustration and muttered among the others at the gate top “I don’t trust him or like him, but we could really do with some good trained crossbowmen. They’re few and far between.” He reached into a pocket and removed a small copper coin, tossing it into the air where it tinkled to the floor of the gatehouse. He looked down. “Heads,” he declared as he straightened and looked over to the soldier at the siege engine. “Kill him.”
Phythian slipped from the saddle smoothly and dropped behind the horse. “He’s a good horse. It’d be a shame to pierce him. Besides, Caerdin; I know you hate me, but I can be very useful to you. Can you afford to put the good of your new Emperor aside just for the pleasure of doing away with me?”
Kiva grunted and smacked his fist into his palm. “The bastard’s right. I can’t afford to turn them away.” He leaned over the parapet.
“You’d have to swear the old oath to the Emperor, the People and the Gods, and take another oath to me and mine as your commanders if I even consider this.”
Whatever Phythian said in reply was lost entirely as Kiva was hauled bodily around by his young Emperor. Darius, a hand on the general’s shoulder, shook him. An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “You can’t seriously be considering taking this fucking traitor in, general? I won’t have him in the army.”
Kiva stared back at him. “We can’t turn down good trained men. We’re not strong enough for that.”
“Then take his men if they’ll join,” Darius growled, “but not him!”
“What about him then? I’d like to put a four foot iron bolt through him, but that’s not going to inspire his men to join us. Velutio works on fear, not us. Our force grows and stays together because of loyalty.”
Darius nodded. “You’re right, but treachery needs to be dealt with too.” The young Emperor leaned over the parapet in his full paraphernalia and glared down at the assembled folk below. “Captain Phythian? You’re accused of treason, the unlawful confinement of innocent men and the murder of five of the Wolves, loyal servants of the Empire. I can either have you executed right now, or you can try and prove your innocence against your accuser?”
Kiva hauled the young Emperor back from the battlements. “Are you mad? He’s not the best swordsman I know, but he’s been fighting battles for twenty years or more. We can’t afford to lose you over a whim like this!”
Darius grinned. “I’m a good swordsman, general. Believe me when I say I can handle myself and it’ll do a lot for morale if I can pull this off.”
Kiva shook his head. “Don’t be fucking stupid. If you lose, the whole world loses!”
“Then I’d best not lose” the young man replied with a smile. “The challenge is given, so I can’t really back out now, can I?”
Without waiting for Kiva’s reply, he pulled away from him and leaned over the battlements once more. “Your answer?”
Phythian grinned. “I don’t quite see it the same as you, your highness.” He leaned back in the saddle. “And I’m not really sure that killing an Emperor is a good thing, but I suppose it did Caerdin no harm. I accept your challenge.”
On the battlements, Kiva punched the stone wall so hard he drew blood from every knuckle. He growled and grumbled under his breath.
Darius stood straight once more and called out in a clear voice “open the gate and make the arena ready!”
Darius was aware, as the officers left the wall and the gates were swung open, of a malicious silence from the commander of his forces. Glancing sidelong at Kiva, he realised that the general was glaring at him. A month ago he would have made no decisions, particularly as important as this one, but it was the general’s fault when all was said and done. Caerdin had been teaching and grooming him to take the position he was now in; they all had really, so they could hardly complain when he acted like the man he was expected to be. He knew that there were risks. He’d never fought to the death on his own; never fought a live target except during the escape from Isera, but this was something that, while it had risk, could also boost the morale of every man in Hadrus and, if the word got out, would put him that little higher on the Imperial pedestal. Darius was well aware that he was not born to the position, and had never aspired to it, but he’d read the histories; he knew the great Emperors. In earlier, more settled times, the Emperors Titus and Sarinus had both led their armies from the front; had both fought duels and made a name for themselves as personal combatants, and that was one thing that had made them great and popular. Velutio was too powerful to take on by sheer strength of arms; Darius would have to have the people behind him to make it through this. Another glance at the general as they strode across the square spoke volumes. The way Kiva watched him suggested the ageing general was sharing much the same thoughts.
The arena, though makeshift, was a fairly solid affair. The warden of the Imperial prison here had had it constructed for rebellious prisoners to fight each other. This was an Imperial prison, so they would never fight to the death, as the Emperors would occasionally have a change of heart and pardon someone, but there would be blood. Today, in the earth and timber arena, there would be blood again. Hopefully not Imperial blood.
Phythian’s men were escorted, not quite as prisoners, to the edge of the arena, where they stood and watched their captain stride through the entrance. He’d left his crossbow and cloak outside and drew a long, narrow blade, flexing it and giving it a few practice swings. Behind him the huge timber gate was slid shut.
The other end of the arena remained open for long minutes as crowds of the men of Hadrus drifted in to the surrounding area, taking their place on the slope and vying for the best view of the sandy ground. Within minutes the expectant hum grew to become deafening as the command unit pushed their way to the front. Athas literally pushed men aside to make room for the general and his companions. Kiva stood watching the arena, his brows knitted together in unhappy concentration. Darius, the showman he was becoming, was waiting for the prime moment to enter.
And that moment came. The hum had died away, leaving a low susurration that permeated the air around the killing ground. Into the almost silence strode Darius, in his full armour with the shoulder pelt hanging from his sword arm side. His bronze breastplate shone in the early autumn sunlight as he stepped quietly to the mark that had been drawn in the sand. Removing his sword from its sheath, he swung the curved, northern blade a few times, stretching his arm muscles as the wooden gate was slid shut behind him.
The whispering died away into silence and Kiva watched intently, his knuckles white and his fingernails biting into the wooden perimeter. Next to him, Athas patted him on the shoulder.
“He’s good. He really is.”
“I bloody hope so,” the general muttered, as the two men in the sandy oval started to walk slowly toward one another.
“He is, and he’s got something to prove too. Better he does it here in these conditions than on a battlefield against a dozen.”
Kiva grunted, his eyes fixed on the action before him, and shook his head as Darius picked up speed, making a run against his opponent. “Too soon.”
The general looked away momentarily as Phythian danced lightly aside. Darius hadn’t even swung his blade. Pirouetting gracefully, Darius came to a halt several feet from his opponent. Phythian smiled and flexed his sword once more. He spoke in lowered tones that would not be heard by the watching crowd. “I know you don’t think much of me, young Emperor, but remember that it’s a hard world out there and you do what you have to do to keep yourself and your unit afloat. It will give me absolutely no pleasure to draw your blood, let along kill you.”
Darius grunted. “Contrition or excuses, captain? If you’re willing to kill a young man of true Imperial blood, what makes you hesitate over me?”
Phythian stood straight and dropped his sword down to his side, point touching the floor. “I have been very wrong in some of my decisions and I freely admit that, but do not expect me to lay down my life easily just to appeal to your ego.”
“My ego?” Darius laughed. “You really don’t know me. This I do for the Wolves and for Quintillian, who was a brother to me. And for them,” he added, gesturing at the crowd. “My ego has no say in this. Truth be told I’ve never killed anyone that didn’t wish the same of me. Don’t judge me by Velutio’s standard.”
With a smile, Phythian made a quick step forward and thrust his sword out at Darius’ chest. It was a deliberately slow attack, designed to give the crowd something to watch. The young Emperor knocked it aside with practised ease.
“You expect me to lay down my cards and invite you into the fold because your conscience gnaws at you? You should have thought of that before you sacrificed people on the altar of Velutio’s arrogance.”
Phythian’s smile widened. “You really do believe in this, don’t you? You’re actually prepared to face the most powerful man in the world and try to take everything away from him. I expected to find a puppet in the hands of Caerdin. You surprise me.”
Darius’ face remained flat and expressionless. “This verbal duelling is all very well, but it’s not what they came to see. Problem is: now that we’ve started this, there’s no way either of us can let the other walk out of here. You know that, don’t you?”
Phythian’s reply was lost in the action as he made another lunge, this time for real. The blade came dangerously close to Darius’ neck, but he bent almost double, dipping out of the way of the blade and bringing his own sword up in a swing that Phythian barely blocked. The two stepped back once more, aware of the roar and murmur of the crowd.
“Truly,” the captain commented. “Shame, though. I think in retrospect I’d have liked to have fought with you. You remind me of Kiva in the old days.”
As Darius raised an eyebrow, Phythian flexed his muscles. “I suppose we’d best give the crowd what they want, then?”
The young Emperor nodded as Phythian transferred the sword back to his right hand and took a step to the side. The next attack, when it came, was swifter again than the last and from a very unexpected angle, the blade coming down from a height. Darius twisted once more and brought his own sword up to block it, dropping to one knee and rolling beneath as the blade swept down and across. Even as he came back up, he was moving, the sword flicking out behind him and almost catching the captain in the back as he turned.
Again and again they lunged, ducked and leapt, their swords glinting and flickering in the afternoon light, dancing their deadly waltz in the sand. The crowd around them caught their breath; groaned; cheered, and still the energetic frenzy went on.
And suddenly the crowd moaned in dismay. Phythian, coming out of a spin, had lunged forward unexpectedly, his blade piercing Darius’ thigh just above the knee and pushing through until it appeared, covered in life blood, from the back. The disbelief and anguish was palatable. Phythian was smiling, where he stood leaning over the crouched Emperor, his blade dripping onto the sand.
And then, grin still fixed to his face, he toppled gently backwards and, as he did, Darius’ sword slowly unsheathed itself from the captain’s torso, where it had driven in low in the stomach and penetrated inside vertically, almost to the neck. A wash of blood splashed out as the tip of the blade came free and Phythian, shuddering, fell to the sand.
Darius staggered sideways and slowly pulled the blade from his leg, gritting his teeth. He crouched over the shaking body.
“The Gods take you Captain Phythian” he intoned, but the captain gripped his arm.
“Help me up!”
A frown upon his brow, Darius staggered under the weight of the dying captain and slowly hauled him to his feet. As he came upright, a great gob of dark blood poured from the man’s mouth and he coughed to clear his throat of blood. He took a deep unsteady breath, the horrible noises from within suggesting that Darius’ blade had sheared one of his lungs, Phythian shouted out across the arena.
“Hail the Emperor!”
As the last syllable fell from his mouth along with deep red, he slumped against Darius’ shoulder and slid gently to the sand.
For a long time there was silence as the young man stood, putting the weight on his good leg and looking down at the body of the crossbow captain, a confusing mix of emotions running through him. He was vaguely aware of the roar from the crowd and noted without reaction that the commanders had hauled the gate aside and were running across the arena toward him. He looked up in confusion as he was hauled up by the shoulders and all but carried across the sand. Kiva fell in beside him.
“That was brave, selfless, impressive, and stupid. You did well, but don’t ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?”
Darius nodded vaguely, still dazed. He barely felt the pain in his leg, though he knew he would later when the adrenaline had faded. H left the arena in the arms of his friends as the crowd went wild with joy over the personal victory of their Emperor. Now all he had to do was give them a victory on the battlefield.
Athas shook his shoulder gently and he looked up in confusion to see Phythian’s men standing in two lines alongside the path, their arms locked in the traditional Imperial salute and their heads bowed respectfully.
All things considered, he might be getting the hang of this Emperor thing after all.