by Tony Roberts
Empire of Avarice
Copyright © 2013 Tony Roberts
ISBN 978-1-62620-701-1
http://tonyrobertsauthor.com/
To Pete Ravenscroft, without whose help and dedicated hard work this would not have been possible, to his wife Lisa, who has come up with a wonderful piece of cover artwork, to proofreaders Hugh Balchin and Hazel Skelcher to whom I apologise for hours of eyestrain, and last but not least to my partner Jane who has had to endure the birth of Kastania for well over a year, proof read and create some beautiful watercolours for my website.
Table of Contents
MAP
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER-FIFTY FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Character List
Prince of Wrath
MAP
KASTANIAN EMPIRE AT ACCESSION OF ASTIRAS KOROS
CHAPTER ONE
Argan woke with a start. He could hear voices and it frightened him. Then he recognised his mother’s and it soothed him a little. Lights were flickering in the room and his mother was suddenly by his bedside, smiling down at him. “Ah, you’re awake,” she said softly. “Good. We need to get dressed and go somewhere now. Can you get up?”
Argan sat up obediently. He rubbed his eyes. “Why, mother? It’s still dark!” he said, noting the curtains were still drawn over the single window of his bedroom.
“I know, darling, but it’s really important,” she said. “Your little brother is up already and dressed. We’re going soon. Get your clothes on.”
Argan slipped out of bed. “What clothes should I wear? Is someone important visiting us? Where are we going? Is something wrong?”
His mother laughed at his rapid questions. He was such an inquisitive boy, but very well behaved. Certainly an asset to any family, and in these times of uncertainty and political unrest, the future needed to be in safe hands. Argan would be one for the future – if there was to be a future. She frowned for a moment, then smoothed her face once more. Tonight was not the time for doubt, just courage. “Wear your clothes you had on today, they’re not that dirty. There’s no one visiting us, or anyone else we are visiting; we are moving home. We’re moving to somewhere bigger.”
Argan hesitated in shrugging his little red coloured jacket over his head. He didn’t usually bother with unbuttoning his jacket when he took it off, something his mother and his nurse often chided him about, but he stubbornly refused to change. “Moving home? At night? Where to?”
“You’ll see,” his mother said, a look on her face that Argan hadn’t seen before nor could understand. He was too young still to understand many things, but he learned fast. He could hear his little brother, Istan, crying out in the corridor, something he often did, and it only added to his uncertainty. Something was definitely going on that nobody was talking about, and it was very important. Or so he thought. Maybe he was guessing.
“Where’s father?” He hadn’t heard his father’s deep voice shouting orders through the house as he usually did. He’d been away many times in the past but had returned from the latest war recently, excited and full of hope. Again, nobody had told Argan why, but nurse had said to wait and all would be revealed very soon. That was one of her favourite sayings.
“Your father is already at our new home, making sure everything’s fine. We must be quick though, so that everything’s ready and in place by morning. Come on, slow cart!” she said in good humour.
“I’m ready!” Argan protested, slipping on his felt leggings and soft leather shoes. “I’m hungry,” he added, looking up at his mother in hope.
His mother laughed again, taking him by the hand and leading him out of his room. “Plenty of time for that where we’re going, Argan. Just you see. Now, you must be a good boy, and say nothing. There are lots of things going on and there’ll be lots of people, and I would think many of them will be cheering and shouting and things. You promise me to be good?”
“Yes, mother,” Argan nodded dutifully. He didn’t like the sound of what she had just said, but he would do as she asked. “I don’t think Istan will be quiet, though.”
Both looked along the corridor to where nurse, an elderly woman by the name of Rousa, was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to quell the small child’s tears. Argan could hear other people moving downstairs, talking and moving things. “Why are all these people here, mother?”
“They are moving our things, dear. Come, let’s go outside and get a ride to our new home!”
It was hard not to get excited, seeing that his mother was clearly so. Why this would be, Argan didn’t know, but it wasn’t something bad or she would have shown it. Outside the night was dark and clouds blocked the stars and moons, and people were holding blazing torches to light the way. Some of the people who lived in the same district were standing watching them, all being kept back by soldiers with spears and big shields, and again Argan wondered why that was so. Then he saw a familiar face, that of Teduskis, a man who spoke often of war and soldiers and all the exciting things women frowned about. And he did a very strange thing when he got close to them. He bowed very seriously indeed.
Teduskis was old, so it seemed to Argan, although when he had said so in the past, he’d been corrected and told that Teduskis was not old. But he looked it. This night he was dressed in his armour and looked very smart indeed. Teduskis was in the army and was a commander or general or something, Argan remembered. He often spoke about fighting with Argan’s father but now it seemed they were both here in the city. Had the war ended?
Argan’s mother smiled gratefully at the soldier. “It’s good to see you, Teduskis. Is everything ready ahead?”
“It is, your majesty,” Teduskis bowed again, his face serious. But his eyes were alight with excitement, and, if Argan was older, perhaps he would have recognised pride and satisfaction there too.
“Thank you, Teduskis. With you in command of the escort, I’m sure nothing will happen on the way.”
“If anyone tries,” Teduskis touched his sword hilt and pulled a grim fa
ce.
“He said ‘your majesty’ to you, mother,” Argan said as he was pulled gently by her to the waiting carriage that had halted by their house.
“Yes, he did,” his mother smiled.
“But you’re not the empress!”
“I am now, Argan, and you are a prince. Your father is emperor, as of this evening.”
Argan allowed himself to be seated inside the covered carriage. He could smell the two equines waiting patiently in front, ready to pull them on their way. Two richly decorated guards stood by the carriage with the drover, waiting for the command to set off. “But what happened to the old emperor and the empress?”
His mother put her finger to her lips. “No more of this, Argan. Things have changed, and now your father must lead our people. It will be hard, and you must be a dutiful son and prince. You understand?”
“No, mother, but I’ll try. Where are Amne and Jorqel? Aren’t they a princess and a prince too?”
This mother nodded, peering out of the carriage window. The people were clapping politely but there was no enthusiastic cheering. They looked stunned, as well they might. Only the previous afternoon they were being ruled by the now deposed emperor, a man they thought was to rule them for many years, and now they’d been informed it was no longer so. A new emperor was on the throne of Kastania, and nobody was talking about what had happened to the old one. Yet another emperor, the fifth since the terrible days of the military disaster ten years ago that had brought so much evil to Kastania. Perhaps now things could change. They had to, or else, very soon, there probably would be no more empire. “Jorqel is away with the army to the west. He is awaiting father’s instructions, but he sends his love,” his mother looked at Argan and smiled. “Amne is already at the palace."
“The palace!” Argan sucked in his breath. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Oh yes; that’s going to be our new home.”
“The palace! Oh mother! This is going to be wonderful!”
His mother laughed, and then stopped as Rousa struggled into the carriage with a squalling Istan. The nurse sat down heavily and let out a long suffering breath. “I’ll be glad of help in the palace!” she said with feeling.
“You will have help; we all will,” the new empress said, and looked out once more as deep voices barked orders and the carriage jerked forwards into motion and the smartly dressed palace guard, led by Teduskis, marched alongside, their armour clanging and clinking, their long spears reflecting the torchlight of the populace who silently watched as they made their way down the street to the road that led to the palace. Their supporters would be there, and they would be more vociferous in their feelings, that was for sure. Nobody knew what each inhabitant of the capital city, Kastan, thought, or indeed who they supported, but even though all rivals had now been taken care of, factionalism still existed like an evil cloak resting on the empire, and it would be hard to shake it off. All it needed was one careless moment and a supporter of the now vanquished rival factions could undo all these hard years of work and effort, and it would have been all for nothing.
CHAPTER TWO
Avarice. Avarice. All is avarice, thought Astiras Koros, the new emperor. He leaned thoughtfully on the balcony of the palace, taking the applause, cheering and the almost hysterical yells from those gathered on the public plaza in front of the imposing façade of the palace. He waved at intervals and smiled, although he didn’t feel much like smiling. Beneath him, standing by the ten foot high wall topped with spiked rails to keep the public out, the guards stood smartly to attention. They were good humoured, and many were smiling, as well they might. They had been his personal retinue during the recent civil wars, and now they had attained that for which they had been fighting. The past few years had been tough, but now it all had seemed worthwhile.
Astiras straightened and waved again. Behind him, the open balcony doors led to a sumptuous chamber where four men were standing, talking quietly in a small circle. The new emperor half turned his head and grimaced as he caught sight of them. People he needed but ones he didn’t want to need. Avarice. Now the really difficult work would begin. How to undo ten years of incompetence, jealousy, murder and self-inflicted damage? How to reverse the decades before that of undermining the Empire’s strength and standing amongst the other nations? Other nations that previously had looked up to Kastania and feared it, yes. Now they looked down on it with contempt and plotted amongst themselves as to which bits they would gobble up and take for themselves.
“Care to include me in your conversation, gentlemen?” Astiras said loudly, looking over his shoulder. “Or am I not important enough?”
“Forgive me, your highness,” a tall, thin man with dark hair bowed. “We were merely discussing the finer points of your coronation on the morrow.”
“The priest here shoves the crown on my head and speaks about religious matters,” Astiras said. “What details do you need to expand on there?”
“Please, your highness,” a bearded, long robed figure stepped forward, a black tall hat atop his head, “you must not speak so lightly of religious matters, particularly now you are our nation’s leader.”
“High Cleric Burnas, I do not trivialise religion. I respect it and your position as head of the Temple, but I am more concerned at present with secular matters and in particular the safety of my family!”
“Of course, your highness,” Burnas bowed but looked warily at the new emperor. He had browbeaten the previous occupant of the palace, a man who had been fearful of divine retribution, but this man, Astiras, was made of sterner stuff. He would have to step carefully over the next few days until he worked out this man’s weaknesses, then he could exploit them and put him in his place.
Astiras grunted, then turned and milked some more applause. Then he turned again. “And you, Frendicus, I want a full and precise report on the imperial finances by the time I’m up and having breakfast tomorrow. No whining about time and lack of resources. You work for me now, not that lame excuse of a predecessor of mine!”
Frendicus bowed and nodded, wondering how he would manage to get staff out of bed at this time to do the necessary figures.
Astiras remained staring at the bald headed, thick-jowled man. “Well, why are you standing there like an ass? Get going! The damned books aren’t going to write themselves, are they?”
“B-but your majesty,” Frendicus protested, “the staff are asleep in their homes….”
“You are here, aren’t you?” Astiras pointed a calloused finger at him. Calloused through wielding a sword all these years. “Then damned well get to it yourself, unless you’re not capable, in which case I’ll personally kick you out of the palace and get a replacement.”
As Frendicus departed hurriedly, he stole a look at the other three, but they looked back impassively lest their expressions be seen by the new emperor. The last member of the group, a broad man with greying hair, snapped to attention noisily. “And what are your orders for the palace guard, your highness?”
“Just keep my family and person safe when here, Captain Mercos.” Astiras ran a hand through his thinning hair and held Mercos’ look for a moment, then smiled thinly and turned back to the crowd, waving in response to their pleas once more. Yes, Mercos, better than you did my predecessor. If I could bribe you to look the other way, then surely others could do so, too. Your time is coming to an end here, my corrupt friend.
High Cleric Burnas shuffled his feet awkwardly. He knew what had occurred the previous day, how Astiras and a few hand-picked men had greased the correct palms so that eyes had been turned the other way, and that the now ‘deposed’ emperor had been alone when Astiras had confronted him, sword in hand, and spoken of the long list of excesses and failures the emperor had been responsible for. Astiras, the only surviving rival to the emperor, had simply struck first before the emperor had been able to find him and strike of his own accord.
And so now Astiras was emperor. Already the former emperor’s body was dispos
ed of and nobody knew where it was, nor would they dare ask.
Then the door opened and in came Astiras’ wife and two youngest children and their nurse. Astiras beamed and threw open his arms and swept her up. Laughing, the two embraced, much to the surprise of the onlookers and to the two children.
Argan then looked at the three men standing slightly away from his father. The man in the long black robes with the beard attracted his attention the most. He looked – funny. But also someone who you had to be wary of. The man with the shiny armour had eyes that never kept still. Argan didn’t trust him one bit. The tall thin man with dark hair had bowed, like the others had when he and his mother had entered the room, but the way he looked at him made him frightened. He clung to his mother’s dress.
“And my boys!” Astiras exclaimed, sweeping both boys up into his arms and laughing. Argan gripped his father, smiling. This was something he enjoyed, even though he rarely saw his father. “Come, see the lovely lights outside!” he said, walking out holding his two sons. Argan gaped at the sight of a thousand pin pricks of flickering lights below in the plaza, more than the height of three tall men beneath them. It was mesmerising. Even Istan shut up and stared, his fist in his mouth.
“My sons! Princes of the Empire!” Astiras boomed, holding the two boys up for the populace to see. A wall of sound rose up, cheering and shouting, and Argan was a little afraid, but his mother was suddenly there, alongside him, reassuringly.
“Where’s Amne?” his mother asked Astiras.
“In the palace somewhere, finding her new wardrobe, I should think,” he said, disapprovingly.
“I’ll get someone to bring her here. This is where she should be, not indulging herself!” The empress strode into the room, casting her eye on the three men standing there before her. From the looks on their faces none of them were thrilled to be there. “Who knows this palace best? My daughter should be here and I want her brought to this room at once.”
“I know where she is, your majesty,” the palace guard commander Mercos smiled thinly. “I shall fetch her at once.” He bowed and backed away, closing the door behind him.