by Tony Roberts
The only good piece of news was that the garrison were releasing a company of imperial archers to accompany them to Bragal. At the present time, Teduskis just couldn’t see that these men were capable of winning a fight against a determined enemy. There would have to be many more sessions of training before they reached any sort of standard.
One of the problems was that many of the recruits were unsuitable for the regular army. They were either too old, too young, too unfit, too unhealthy or too crazy. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel with this lot, and everyone knew it. Oddly, even though the town militia turned their noses up at these men and made it clear they thought they were hopeless, the recruits had developed a sense of unity, as though they were taking on the whole world. Nobody thought they were worth a bent pin and so they were going to show everyone they were wrong.
That didn’t make them any better, Teduskis mused, but it made them train harder. The two companies had developed a healthy rivalry, each determined to outdo the other. So far, the only thing they were outdoing each other in was the frequency of messing up. “For Kastan’s sake!” Teduskis exploded as yet another man fell flat on his face, his spear clattering to the ground, narrowly missing a colleague in front. The watching second company jeered raucously. “Have you got the wrong size footwear on, lad?”
Lad, Teduskis snorted to himself as he went across to help the man up. He probably is as old as I am! The grey-haired man, a former scribe in the palace, was suitably red-faced and ashamed. “Sorry, sir, too busy concentrating on keeping in step. Fell over my spear butt.”
Teduskis pulled the man up. He felt sorry for the sweating man. Ten days ago he had been lifting a quill writing ledgers in the palace; now here he was training to be sent south to an inhospitable place with inhospitable people wanting to perform inhospitable acts on him. In winter. “Never mind, lad, keep the spear off the ground. Get back to your place and we’ll try again.”
Teduskis returned to his spot and was joined by his subordinate, a solemn-looking unshaven man called Sepan. Sepan was one of the few who had seen action before and therefore had been made company captain. “The Bragal will eat this lot for breakfast,” Teduskis commented gloomily.
“Maybe they’ll laugh so much at the sight of them they’ll be unable to lift a finger in anger, sir.” Sepan rarely cracked a smile but he had a fatalistic sense of humour, something he’d developed in his previous time as a soldier.
“I just hope the emperor knows what he’s doing,” Teduskis breathed heavily, watching the tramping soldiers reach the end of the ground, turn, and yet again collide. “Fezas, don’t you know your left from right yet? Turn right, your spear side, you wooden-head! When you turn, present your shield side to the front so you’re protected!” He muttered darkly to himself; they wouldn’t last one battle at this rate. He eyed the laughing soldiers watching the chaos. “You lot won’t be laughing in a few moments – it’ll be your turn to show how hopeless you are at this drill!” The sweating soldiers on the parade ground grinned underneath their helmets. They were certainly going to pay back the insults they’d received that morning.
“Thought any more about naming the two companies, sir?” Sepan asked. It was a tradition to name the companies of any force.
“No, to be honest, Sepan, I’ve been too busy trying to get them to stand straight and hold their spears the right way up to worry about that sort of thing.”
“The men have been talking in the barracks, sir. Company One like Dirt Eaters.”
“Dirt Eaters?” Teduskis asked, baffled.
“They’ve eaten enough falling on their faces over the past few sevendays, sir.”
“Ah, I see. Well, if that’s what they want to be called, I’ve no objections. What about Company Two? Don’t tell me, Filthy Beggars?”
Sepan snorted. “No sir, but not a bad guess. Stone Trampers. They’ve done little but walk up and down the parade ground and feel the nickname is well earned.”
“Agreed,” Teduskis nodded. “Get them to officially adopt the nicknames then. I’ll get banners made up with those words within the crests.”
“That’ll please the men, sir.”
“It’ll help bind them together. Nothing helps more in a battle than to rally to the flag. We leave the end of the next sevenday. I want them practicing taking a charge squad by squad, in ranks four deep. You know the drill.”
Sepan nodded. “They’ll be glad of the break from this drill, sir.”
“Yes, but now it gets dangerous; expect a few injuries from now on. By the gods, we need a support unit of surgeons and nurses for this lot before long!”
Sepan grunted. “Or a supply of digging tools for the graves.”
“Don’t tempt fate, Sepan. Right, I’ve seen enough today. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how wonderfully they are performing at handling a charge. I wonder how big the casualty list will be?” He clapped Sepan on the shoulder and left. He didn’t travel far. The main street of Kastan was wide and cobbled and ran west to east, passing through the large open square in the centre where the markets were held as well as the official parades. The shabby city hall stood on one side and the temple the other, both showing signs they needed repair. He turned off the street before it reached the square and wandered down a smaller street until he came to a doorway, no different to the others in that well frequented place. People passed by in both directions, and Teduskis had to wait until a knot of chatting people passed before he could push through and enter the relative quiet of the passageway beyond.
There were a number of doors in the walls to either side and Teduskis waited by the first one on the right, whistling a particular tune. After a moment it opened a crack and a face peered out. “Quick – inside,” the woman whispered.
Teduskis slipped in and waited as the door was closed behind him. The space he was in was semi-lit by a small window to the far side but much of the room was in darkness. “Have you got it?” the woman asked breathlessly, allowing the shawl she wore to slip away from her face and neck. She may once have been beautiful, but nobody would know for certain, for her features were now wasted and ravaged, and her skin wrinkled and withered. She was more bone than anything, and her hair hung in wispy clumps, clotted with grease and dirt. Her teeth were rotting and sores pitted her arms and legs.
Teduskis felt a wave of revulsion, then fished inside his pouch and looked at the soft small bag he pulled forth. “Here,” he tossed her the bag.
The woman eagerly tore it open and her eyes stared hungrily at the leaves that sprang forth. She quickly put them on a small table and took from her dresser a small bowl and a pestle of wood. She began to grind the leaves up.
“Well?” Teduskis asked impatiently.
“The targets are the prince and princess. People are already in place in Slenna and the army here in Kastan to kill both. The prince is to be murdered at any time, while the princess will be killed on the road some time before the army arrives in Bragal.” She pulled a thin pipe of clay from her clothing and began to fill the bowl with some of the crushed leaves, cramming them in.
With the candle illuminating the table she lit the leaves and they began to burn. The woman put the stem of the pipe to her mouth and inhaled deeply. The smoke went deep into her lungs and she sighed in relief. “Ohhhh, this is good stuff,” she gasped. “Celian?”
“Yes,” Teduskis said, watching as she slumped into her chair.
“The best,” she groaned, then her eyes went vacant and her head fell to one side and she began dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. Teduskis pulled a face and opened the door. Already the sickly sweet smell of the Celian Leaf was filling the small room. She would be out of it for hours, then she’d do it all over again until the leaf was gone, then she’d climb the walls for another supply and do anything for it. She’d even inform on him if anyone asked her to do so. Using addicts of the Leaf was a risky business but Teduskis had no choice; she knew things he needed to know. Getting the Leaf had been expensive, but
access to the palace had meant the suppliers had been known and a little threat here and there had eased things somewhat.
Covering his face with a piece of cloth, he moved round behind the woman. Regretting his action, he slid his knife from his belt and slid it slowly into her neck and up into her brain, killing her instantly. She would have known nothing about it and felt nothing, which he used to ease his feeling of disgust. Besides, he reasoned, she would be dead in a few sevendays; addicts this far gone never lasted long.
Leaving behind the woman he closed the door behind him and pulled the cloth away from his face. The outside air smelt good, even though it was tinged with refuse and rotting food. What people saw in the Leaf he didn’t know. It stank and cost a fortune, and killed.
He waited no longer. He had to report fast to the palace; both Jorqel and Amne were in deadly danger.
Amne sighed and gazed out of the window. Her forehead hurt. Poring over treaties of the past was so boring, but Theros insisted she learn them to understand what had gone on before and what to aspire to. Of course, nobody would allow the empire to be granted such again, given the weak state of the empire and the expectation of its neighbours to take what remained of the rotting carcass. In particular she had to study the past treaties of the empire with Mazag. It was fortunate that Mazag had only been around for a century and a half, and that there had been only five treaties in total.
The last had been thirty years ago when the empire had still been perceived as strong. It had lapsed five years ago and had never been renewed, mainly due to the Bragal rebellion. Much of the treaty concerned the passage of goods and people between the two, mainly over the River Ister which formed much of the border. This river ran for thousands of leagues from the estuary where the waters flowed into the Sea of Balq, eastwards along the old imperial-Mazag border until it turned south, deep into the Mazag heartlands. There were other clauses concerning shipping down the Sea of Balq and import-export tariffs that Amne found terribly boring.
Of interest however was the part that stated no military presence was permitted by either party on the other’s soil. If what she had heard was right, then Mazag troops were often present in southern Bragal which was still claimed by the empire. Because the treaty had lapsed, Mazag forces could cross the river without worry; all they had to contend with were Bragal rebels.
Theros had made a list of possible conditions to be presented by her once the negotiations began, but they would have to be ratified by the emperor. He had the final say. One thing she did notice however, and that was Theros showed more spark and interest now there was an emperor willing to stand up to the foreign powers. It was, he said, like the old days. The trouble was however, the empire no longer had the forces to back up any threats.
“What would happen if we were invaded now?” Amne asked Theros.
“I expect we would be defeated,” the diplomat replied bluntly. “Mazag won’t invade yet as Bragal is in such a chaotic mess. Anyone wanting to possess Bragal would have to suppress the rebellion, sort out the damage to the towns and countryside, pacify the people and organise the infrastructure there. Only then would Mazag – or Venn – think it safe to invade and pass through the countryside.”
“What about Venn or the Tybar?”
“Venn is the more likely adversary,” Theros nodded. “It has no vulnerable border and they are consolidating their hold on Kral, their recent conquest. Once that is secure, I have little doubt they will turn their attention to us. As for the Tybar, the one thing that may be in our favour is that they may be the classic case of a barbarian tribe conquering huge amounts of territory and suddenly having to administer it. Holding onto and building something is always harder than conquering it. The Tybar may not be in a position to advance any further for quite some time.”
“So wouldn’t it be safer to make an alliance with Venn?” Amne asked.
“I think I understand your father’s thinking, ma’am. Mazag is the weaker of the two and there is a border of unrest between us; it may be more in their interest to sign a treaty than Venn. Then maybe if we have a treaty with Mazag, Venn may be influenced to follow suit; they would not wish to fight both us and Mazag at the same time.”
It was all very complicated. Amne was advised not to worry about Venn or any of the other eastern kingdoms, just to concentrate on Mazag. Their history was interesting. Of their origins nobody knew much, and nobody who did know was saying, least of all the Mazag themselves. One day they came from the west – as most barbaric tribes did – in huge numbers. Some said they were fleeing some terrible enemy, others that they were seeking lands plentiful with food for they had none whence they came. Whatever the reason they crossed the mountains and descended into the plains of what was now called Mazag, named after these people.
They mixed with the native population and ventured outwards, raiding all their neighbours with impunity. The empire held them off, partly due to keeping the mighty Ister between them and partly because of the effectiveness of their armies at that time. The kingdoms of the east suffered for generations until finally a great emperor arose to unite the small princedoms and named themselves the Almanian Empire, and they defeated the Mazag and chased them back to the plains where they were forcibly converted to the religion of the Almanian Empire and became a kingdom in the style of other eastern kingdoms.
Even though they had been defeated, their martial appetite remained and recently they had been expanding again. It wouldn’t be long before there was no further land to take other than at the expense of an existing kingdom or empire. As it was generally forbidden for one of the eastern kingdoms to take territory at the expense of another, without due cause, no-one was in any doubt where Mazag would look next.
The door opened and a messenger appeared, bowing low to Amne. “A message from the emperor, your majesty,” he whispered, as if afraid that a loud voice would cause the ceiling to fall. He presented a small silver platter upon which rested a folded and sealed piece of paper. Amne took it and broke the seal. She quickly read it and gasped. Colour stained her cheeks and she clutched her breast in shock.
“Bad news, your majesty?” Theros asked solicitously, his face furrowed in concern.
“Perhaps,” she replied, staring at the message. “I must go to my father. You should come too, Theros. It affects you too.”
The messenger bowed and left, his task done. Theros, now apprehensive, followed Amne out of the room and up to the imperial quarters. They passed motionless guards and strode quickly to the doorway that led into the day room, the very same room that Astiras had taken the acclaim from the people of Kastan those sevendays ago. Now the balcony doors were closed and Astiras sat behind a polished table flanked by Teduskis, looking grave, and the empress Isbel, her face white and strained. Amne was not reassured by their expressions.
“Ah, Amne, and Theros,” the emperor waved at them. “Be seated. Dire news indeed, brought to us by Teduskis. Your life is at risk, my dear. We have definite proof a contract is out on both you and your older brother.”
Theros sat down slowly, stunned. Amne was clearly shaken and was trembling.
“What proof is this, your majesty?” Theros asked.
The emperor waved at Teduskis. “A contact of his, lately connected to the thieves’ guild, confirmed the existence of two contracts.”
“Who bought the contracts?”
“Sadly, the contact was not able to find that out.” Astrias looked up at Teduskis. “Perhaps you ought to tell all of us the whole story.”
Teduskis cleared his throat. “My work has been to find out whether there was a plot against the imperial family or not. The former palace guard captain Mercos gave me information that there was, but we had no proof. Mercos did point me in the direction of a former courtesan who was used by the guild leader and certain other members of the guild, plus some of the more important clients the guild took orders from.” He paused, but carried on after Astiras nodded to him.
“This woman was tracke
d down but in the course of her career had become addicted to the Leaf. She was now little more than a walking corpse and I was fortunate to get to her before her mind was totally ruined. She gave me the information I needed which was that there was indeed a plot and against whom. Prince Jorqel and the Princess here. The exact time and place to strike against the Princess was to be during her journey to Bragal.”
“By the gods!” Theros exclaimed, “can you find out who it is?”
“Not much of a chance I’m afraid,” Teduskis spread both hands apologetically. “The killer is within the ranks of the two new militia companies being trained up here in Kastan at the moment. There are two hundred and fifty men and finding out which one it is will be almost impossible, especially as we’re due to leave in ten days. We had to recruit anyone who showed any interest because of the urgent need to raise a new army, and it would have been easy for whoever the thieves’ guild member is to sneak in and join up.”
“So what do you plan to do?” Isbel asked. “You can’t expect Amne to put herself in danger!”
“The mission to Mazag is critical,” Astiras said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Theros, how many people are you proposing to take in your group?”
“Three, your majesty. Myself and two clerks.”
“Hmmm,” Astiras stood up abruptly and wandered over to the window and looked out, down onto the plaza in front of the palace.
“I hope you’re not thinking of sending her anyway, Astiras,” Isbel said.