by Tony Roberts
It passed fairly quickly, for the emperor was in a hurry and dismissed the waiters and dining room staff as soon as they had eaten their fill. The two young boys were taken to the imperial nursery for tuition or amusement, depending on whether it was Argan or Istan. The empress excused herself and made for the office suite within the palace, wishing to look at the accounts and stock. Frendicus had declared the accounts were ready for inspection. Astiras nodded gratefully at his wife, but she was much better with figures and numbers than he would ever be; he was a soldier first and foremost. That afternoon he was due to be crowned emperor at the High Temple, just across the square from the palace. He knew what he had to do there, having attended the last three coronations as a member of the nobility.
This morning, it was planning time. Amne stood up. “What about me, father?”
Astiras leaned on his elbows and looked at her closely. She was twenty, smooth skinned, had long fair hair, clear blue eyes, a delicate upturned nose, small mouth but with firm full lips and even white teeth. She was the sort of woman that either evoked jealousy or love. And sometimes, Astiras acknowledged, they went hand in hand. “As a member of the imperial family, you have stature. I have a mission for you, Amne, but I want you to attend the first imperial council I’m about to hold downstairs in the meeting chamber. You’re just to listen, but you will answer any questions that are put to you, if you wish to answer them. Alright?”
“Yes, father. What should I wear?”
“You and your clothes!” Astiras grunted. Teduskis had told him a much more in depth account of the Mercos incident that morning before breakfast. “Wear what you have. I’m going to have a tailor attend you this evening after the coronation. For the coronation you’ll wear that long white dress you got for your eighteenth birthday. It’s easily your best.”
“Oh, yes, father!” Amne smiled.
The meeting chamber was on the ground floor of the palace, a large square room with chairs and couches arranged around the edge which was higher than the central area. The central part of the room was sunken, reached by four steps that went all the way round the room. In the middle of the sunken area stood a square table and around this were arranged twelve leather chairs. On the table was etched a map, a map of what had once been the extent of the empire and the surrounding nations in the days when the map had been carved. The room had no windows, being in the centre of the huge palace, and placed all around the walls, were images of all the emperors of the past, painted beautifully by the artists of the various ages. Torches flickered from iron wall brackets, illuminating the chamber, and a particularly bright source of light moved imperceptibly above the table, a large iron chandelier adorned with over fifty candles. No wax dripped down onto the table, however, for each candle was seated in a wide cup. The entire thing was suspended from the ceiling by an enormous chain. The smell of the candles permeated the chamber, just like it did in the temples of the Empire.
Standing in the gloom of the outer reaches of the chamber were members of the palace guard, each holding the symbol of their unit, the volgar, a wicked looking multi-bladed weapon atop a pole the height of a man. It was ceremonial, yes, but it could also be used as a fearsome weapon. Many a cavalryman had been brought off his charger by the volgar. But these days the only unit who still used it were the palace guard, and they had not seen proper action for centuries. They had been relegated to ceremonial duties now, guarding the palace. However, the sight of an armoured man wielding the volgar had been enough to stop anyone from thinking of taking them on.
Mercos was there, his lips swollen and scabbed, and he was scowling, particularly at Teduskis who was standing next to the emperor. Princess Amne was seated on his other side, watching as the heavily built and warlike men filed in and were shown their seats by the major domo, Pepil.
“Friends, nobles,” Astiras began, standing with both fists planted on the table top, “welcome to the first Imperial Council of my reign. May there be many more,” he added, a smile catching his lips.
The men seated around the table grinned or chuckled. All had been supporters of Astiras and had gained much by his victory. So far all they had was prestige, but surely rewards would soon be forthcoming.
Astiras nodded to his daughter. “Most of you will already know my daughter, but for those who don’t, this is my only daughter and second child, Amne. She is here at my request, for she needs to know our strategy and what we plan for the empire. She will be undertaking a diplomatic mission shortly, and an overview of our situation would be to her advantage.” He smiled, looking down at her.
Amne smiled back, her face pale. To be sure, she was a little apprehensive at the responsibility her father was throwing at her, but she was damned if she would show that to these men.
“So,” Astiras sighed deeply, “to matters in hand. We had to act yesterday after I heard of the disgraceful betrayal to the army my late predecessor was about to enact. It was the final act of cowardice by a man unfit to be emperor, and it left us with no choice but to act there and then.” He looked up at Mercos, standing close to the door. “The Captain here allowed us access into the palace, agreeing it was time to get rid of him. It was a particularly brave act of loyalty to the empire, and I for one thank him.” He bowed once to Mercos who looked surprised. The rest of the assembly, except Amne, applauded him. Mercos even had the grace to look embarrassed and bowed, something only a few moments before he would never have thought he’d do.
Amne felt a kick on her leg and looked up at her father who glanced at her, his left eye widened a moment before returning to its normal size. Amne, not a stupid woman, hastily applauded too, although she felt anything but joy.
Astiras cleared his throat, immediately gaining everyone’s attention. “My predecessor was about to confirm the independence of Bragal, thus spitting on the graves of all the brave men who have already sold their lives to the empire in trying to keep that province ours.” Some of those present gasped in shock. Only a few had known of the intention, and Astiras, being Governor of Bragal, had been informed by a palace flunky by letter, realising that it was something akin to a dismissal from the post. Astiras had exploded in fury and had decided there and then to take power himself. All the emperors since the military disaster in the west ten years back had been useless, and he had decided he’d be better than any of them had ever been.
A quick bribe to Mercos; a forced entry into the inner chambers of the palace; the deaths of two utterly unimportant people who had made the mistake of trying to prevent Astiras from gaining entry into the inner chambers, and then he was there, facing the shaking emperor, his blade dripping with blood. Astiras recalled the conversation clearly.
“You would surrender Bragal to rebels? After all the efforts to keep Bragal within our grasp? Have you lost your mind?” Astiras had faced the emperor, breathing heavily, steeling himself to do the unthinkable: regicide. As a noble and a faithful servant to the imperial cause, it had been something drummed into him from an early age to loyally serve the emperor, whoever it may be.
“It has cost us too many lives, General Astiras,” the emperor had explained, his hands flapping in the air in some kind of conciliatory gesture. “The empire cannot afford the losses and to maintain our borders as they are now. We must withdraw.”
“With Lodria up in arms too? The army has to suppress the uprising there. Do you intend surrendering Lodria too? Then after that, what? You will be emperor of nothing!”
“There is nothing that can be done, Astiras. The army has limits.”
“I know the limits of the army. The civil wars have sapped its energy and manpower, but it’s still capable of keeping Bragal. We need Bragal. The loss of the manpower would cripple us! What of the lives lost in the fight there? Have you no sense of loyalty to them? They died for this empire, and you would betray them because you are a frightened, little man! There is a contract between the army and the emperor, don’t you know?”
“What contract is that, Astiras? I
do not know of any – contract!”
Astiras stepped closer, his face twisted with fury. “Not a literal one, but a moral one. Have you not the insight to realise this? The emperor commands the army, and the army follows his commands, but in turn they expect him to look after them, to make sure they can win wars they fight for him and the empire. But you, no, you don’t believe in that, do you? You send men to die in a province hundreds of leagues from their homes and loved ones. You have no intention of bringing them a victory. You break this contract without a moment’s thought. You cold-hearted monster, you don’t deserve to rule!”
“Astiras – wait…..”
But there was no further discussion. Astiras had screwed his courage and rage to a peak and thrust forward, his blade slicing deep into the emperor who had doubled up and had fallen sideways to the floor. He had stood over the corpse for a little while, not really seeing the dead man at his feet, but the corpses in the snows of Bragal, men who had answered the empire’s call to arms in a glorious war to keep the province theirs. Just as it seemed they had turned the corner, word had come that the old fool in the palace had lost his nerve. It wasn’t just the emperor’s idea; there had been others in the shadows, working against the empire or for their factions, once again putting their family or faction ahead of the good of the empire. They would have to be rooted out and destroyed too.
Astiras nodded to himself, bringing himself back to the present. “Yes, Bragal was about to be given away.”
“What of the army there, your majesty?” one of the seated men asked.
“Withdrawn to the Frasian border and dismissed! Not only did the fool pull them back, but in a cost-saving exercise he disbanded their companies! I was too late in intercepting that message from the palace, but I’m damned if I’m going to allow Bragal to break away. I’m going to train up an army here and personally lead it to Zofela, the Bragal capital. I’ll string up all those rebellious bastards from the fortress walls and impose martial law on them until they see the benefits of imperial rule again!”
The men thumped the table in agreement. Amne was shocked at her father’s vehemence. “But what of the people of Bragal?”
“They have long been in the empire; there’s no reason for them to go alone. In any event, on their southern border is Mazag, and the moment Bragal declares independence, they become ripe for the picking. The only reason Mazag has not invaded Bragal up to now is because we still lay claim to it. The moment we give it up, Bragal will be invaded by Mazag and they won’t play as nicely as we have these past five years. Well, I’m not going to play nicely. You, Amne, do have a task connected to this. I want you to go to their fortress at Branak in the mountains, and negotiate an alliance with us. Use your charm, Amne. You’ve been educated in court etiquette, so you will know how to conduct yourself. Their governor is their Prince Lamak. He has the full authority of the Mazag King. Can you please do this for me? You’ll accompany me as far as the Bragal border, then you will go your own way with your ambassadorial party. Ambassadors are respected everywhere, unless they’re with an army.”
“Yes, father.” Inside she was feeling sick. What an insane mission! Travelling through Bragal, a lawless region, full of bandits and murderers! Was her father mad?
“Good girl, Amne. My thanks. Now, to the rest of the empire.” He swept his hand to the west. There, the land was shown to rise into mountains on the far side. But closer to the eastern edge there was a coastal plain by a sea that stood almost in the centre of the map. It was around this sea that the empire was built. Astiras pointed to a city not far from the capital. “Niake, just about our only possession left in the west. Under the governorship of Evas Extonos, a man who cares little for who sits on the throne; he follows the empire loyally. So whatever I command, he’ll follow dutifully. He can be relied on to be a steady man, and by the gods we need men like that now! Thankfully we have no immediate worries for Niake.”
“What of the Tybar tribes? I doubt it’ll be long before they’re once again pushing east into our lands.” The speaker was a man in long white clothes tucked in at the waist and wearing calf length leather boots. He looked like, and in fact was, a warrior.
“You’re right, Pandris. It’s thanks to the Tybar we find ourselves in the precarious position we are in today. Ever since they beat us in that terrible battle ten years ago they’ve been gobbling up our former territory there piece by piece. We retreat no longer, but we need to be able to fight them with a chance of winning. So far we’ve lost because we’ve refused to change the way we fight. We must change now!”
Teduskis stepped forward. “If I may, your majesty?”
“Of course, Teduskis. Please speak.”
“Thank you.” The retainer pointed at the terrain to the west. Mountains, passes, valleys and winding rivers. “Ambush country. Our forces stick rigidly to the foot soldier. Non-mounted, slow, and an easy target. We must find another way of fighting them.”
Voices vented their disapproval. Astiras slammed a fist into the tabletop. “Enough! I have decided it. We will train our garrisons – all of them – in different ways of fighting. I want you to return to your units, and plan for new ways of fighting. I want your suggestions sent here within twenty days. Yes, yes, I know, it’s hard to come up with new ways of fighting when we have a tradition of using foot infantry, but against the Tybar it has been proved useless. I want units to shoot arrows, be able to withdraw, reform, return, adapt. How, we have yet to work out, but we must do it. Got it?”
“Yes, your majesty,” they answered, some not liking it one bit, he could see.
“Good. Now, to the north of Niake, there is Lodria, up in arms in rebellion. They back one of the traitorous Fokis family that held the throne a few years ago. They’ll be the first to be forced back under our rule. My son, Jorqel is on the border here,” he jabbed a stubby finger down on a spot close to a river that marked the border between the provinces of Lodria and Bathenia, the province Niake was in. “He has the imperial army with him and as we speak a message is on the way to him, telling him not only is he now heir to the throne, but he’s to march his army to the fortress of Slenna and take it, even if it takes a few years. Starve them out.”
The Council members nodded. It made sense. One of them waved a hand at the area not too far from where he was seated, to the other side of the sea. “And here in the east? How are things in Pelponia and Makenia? Last I heard they were still loyal.”
“They still are,” Astiras nodded. “The new governor of Makenia, Thetos, by now will have taken control of Turslenka there,” he pointed to the capital of the province of Makenia, “and he happens to be a former army friend of mine, until he got wounded in Bragal and was retired from active duty. Now he runs Makenia, and will follow my command. Then to the north, up in Pelponia, we have the fortress of Kornith. An important place, it has control of the seas to the north and beyond that to the east. The former governor there met with an unfortunate end a few sevandays back.” He turned to Teduskis. “Who’s running the fortress now?”
“Captain Anthes. He’s a good man. He’ll do what you command, sire.”
“Good. Well, apart from far-off Zipria, that island province far to the west, that’s what we have. We’re surrounded by enemies either past or present – and maybe future. They’ll all be impatient in dismembering what’s left of our empire, but I’m damned if their avarice is going to destroy us. Maybe one day we’ll be strong enough again to stand eye to eye with them and tell them to run back to their kennels.”
The men nodded; it was good to have an emperor at last who talked tough. The previous few had talked a lot before gaining the throne but once there had clung to power for power’s sake and neglected what lay outside the palace. There was much more to being an emperor than just being an emperor.
“What about the rebellion on Romos?” another asked, pointing at a small diamond shaped island off the coast of Lodria. “My family has estates there and the governor has declared for himself a
nd set up an independent government. He refuses to deal with Kastania anymore.”
Astiras nodded. “When the time comes, Romos will be brought back into imperial rule. No disrespect intended but Romos is a small province; I wish to settle the bigger ones first before having the luxury of sorting the rebellion out on Romos.” He looked over the map. To the east stood the kingdoms of Venn, Mazag and Zilcia, three kingdoms who had all profited from the decade of strife within Kastania’s borders. Province after province had been gobbled up by the three, but only when it had become clear the empire hadn’t the ability to hold onto them. Their once mighty army had withered away in the face of foreign aggression and petty civil war. So now they could only field a few hundred men whereas in the past thousands had flocked under one banner.
“We must be wary of our three neighbours. The princess here is going to seek an alliance with Mazag, the least aggressive of the three. I worry though about Venn. They have gained the most and are the most warlike of them all. Their recent gains at our expense will no doubt encourage them to further acts of conquest. Our eastern borders must be protected. Send messages to Kornith and Turslenka to keep patrols up along the Pindar Mountains there,” he waved at a range of mountains that now formed the frontier between imperial territory and those of Venn. Only a few years before the mountains had been deep within the empire. “If Venn invades, it will be through there.”
His eye moved to the west. The west. It was always the west trouble came from. So it had been throughout the empire’s thousand year history. “In time, we will move against the tribes of Tybar and retake that which is rightfully ours. The lost provinces there do not belong to those barbaric murderers. The Tybar will not move yet; they are busy extending their hold on those provinces they have recently conquered from us. And like all barbarians, it’s far easier to be on the move and strike where and when you will, but it’s something entirely different when you have towns and cities to defend and a static line to hold. Perhaps we will now have the advantage.”