by Tony Roberts
“At least we cannot get lost,” Lalaas commented, his voice muffled through the cloth over his face. The wind was cutting here.
“When can we stop?” Amne asked through her face cloth. Only her blue eyes showed, contrasting against the red of her muffle.
“There,” Lalaas pointed to a particularly large group of deadwood on the beach. It was fairly high above the shoreline and likely to be dryer than those closer to the waves. “I ought to be able to make a fire.”
Just back from the shore the grass grew in huge tussocks and the ground rose and fell. It provided some shelter and the beasts were tethered in a group and they began happily to chew on the thick stemmed undergrowth. It was succulent if lacking somewhat in nutrition.
Lalaas hauled a shattered stump of a tree up to the camp site and brought some broken branches and twigs to start the fire. Amne watched fascinated as the soldier pulled out a leather bag from his pack and brought forth a wooden block, a straight piece of wood and some twine. The princess looked on as Lalaas looped the twine around the straight piece of wood, then pulled out yet another, one that was bowed. He fixed the twine to either end of this, then placed some soft down he had in his pocket onto the wooden block, placing the point of the straight piece of wood on top of this.
He then began to pull back and forth, sending the straight piece whirling furiously, and very soon at its point the down began to smoulder. Lalaas blew softly and repeated the whirling action, and then the down burst into flames and he swiftly added a couple of small twigs to it which caught alight. Putting these onto the pile of twigs on the ground, he soon had a fire going and added larger pieces of wood to it.
“That’s clever,” Amne commented, feeling the benefit of the fire almost immediately.
“Basic outdoor survival, ma’am,” Lalaas said. “Someone like me would have to know this in my job.”
“And what is your job, sir?” Theros asked, equally impressed with the fire craft.
“Hunter. Grew up learning the craft from my uncle.”
“Indeed? Your talents will be much to our benefit in that case,” Theros stated.
“But father said you were a guard, Lalaas,” Amne pointed out.
The hunter nodded, staring at the fire. It wasn’t quite yet ready to leave to its own devices. “I was enrolled into the army on your father’s last campaign two years ago, and I helped scout the land for him. I detected many an ambush before they were sprung, and many a meal I caught for him.”
“But you left the army, sir?” Theros guessed.
“Yes, the slaughter turned my stomach. I wanted no part of it.”
Amne said nothing. Her father had said little of the war in Bragal, and she was more than a little afraid to find out. All she had heard was that it had been brutal, pitiless and savage. Even nice people like Teduskis had been changed by it; or at least, a man she had thought of as nice. Maybe Teduskis had always been hard and callous to those he saw as his enemies, and in her youth she hadn’t been aware of that.
“Could you advise us of our planned route? After all, we are all in the same predicament and will share the same hardships.” Theros sat down awkwardly on a dried out piece of wood. He didn’t want sand getting on his clothing.
“We keep to the shore until we get close to the border, then we strike inland and head for the Ister crossing north of Bukrat. From there we ought to be safe and it should be an easy route to the mountains and Branak.”
“Where is Bukrat?” Amne asked. “I’ve never heard of that place.”
“A town to the south of here, on the other side of Bragal. It lies in a land called Valchia, and it’s coveted by Mazag. I’d advise against going into the town – they are not friendly towards strangers.”
Amne shivered and shuffled closer to the fire which was now blazing merrily away. Lalaas threw a couple of lumps of wood onto it and stood back, satisfied. He went to the pack animals and rummaged around until he found a large iron pot, and a bag of meat. He also slid out from under a selection of pots a wooden board and returned to the fire. The four others watched mutely as the hunter went about slicing up the meat and throwing it into the pot. “Could one of you fetch a skin of water from the animals?”
Theros jabbed a finger at the larger of the two assistants and the young man moved uncertainly over to the beasts and returned with a long, dangling skin that was full of water. Lalaas poured some of the contents into the pot then passed the skin back. “Tie the neck back up.” When the clerk hesitated, Lalaas sighed and showed him how to. The clerk nodded self-consciously. Lalaas impressed upon him to make sure everything was sealed or tied properly or else they would risk losing it.
“I need to collect some herbs and vegetables,” he said. “While I’m gone someone go fetch some sea water in a pot and bring it here. I won’t be too long.”
The meat and water was put over the fire on a small portable spit that came from another of the packs, and Amne was asked to make sure it was stirred every so often, and was passed a long-handled ladle. She looked at Lalaas in surprise. “Ma’am, it is but a small task and it will ensure you’re next to the fire.”
Amne agreed with his way of thinking and began slowly stirring the meat. While she did that Lalaas departed and Theros sent the thinner of the two clerks down to the sea shore to gather water. Lalaas was gone a short while and by the time he’d returned the water in the pot was beginning to bubble. They were surprised to see the hunter carrying an armful of root vegetables, still covered in mud and earth, and some greenery that had been cut.
“Haspis,” Lalaas said, throwing some cream coloured roots onto the ground. “Very tasty.”
“We won’t eat them like that, surely!” Amne commented.
“Of course not, ma’am. You,” he pointed at Theros, “clean them in the sea water, then chop them into small pieces the same size as the meat lumps in there.”
Theros opened his mouth to protest but Lalaas beat him to it. “You’ve been quick to have these two guys do your bidding, now you do something to earn your meal. The princess here is doing her bit. Why do you think you’re an exception? If you don’t help, you don’t eat.”
Theros shut his mouth, went red, and then grabbed the haspis and dunked them in the water. While he bent to his task, borrowing a knife Lalaas gave him, the herbs were ripped into smaller pieces and the leaves pulled off. “This is chun, a strong tasting plant to use with meaty dishes, especially a broth like this,” he said, offering a leaf portion to Amne. “Go on, your majesty, have a try. It’s quite tasty.” He popped a bit into his mouth and chewed, allowing the flavour to fill his mouth, seeping over his tongue and gums.
Amne did the same and her eyes went wide in surprise, then delight. Lalaas smiled, and offered the others a piece as well. “Best not to have too much without meat, as it’s a strong taste and can deaden the taste buds.” He dropped the rest of the leaves into the bubbling pot. Then he swept up the chunks of haspis and threw them in too. “Washing them in sea water makes them taste better.”
“Why is that?” Amne asked, curious.
“I don’t know, ma’am. It’s just a widely known fact – and it does, believe me.”
After a while as they sat round the fire watching the broth boil, Lalaas tested the brew. After the fourth occasion he declared it was ready and five plates were produced. Amne was delighted to see one of her plates from the palace was amongst them. Mother must have made sure it was taken on the journey. They each had a wide spoon and ate the broth which tasted wonderful. Whether it was the outside air, the sea’s proximity, Lalaas’ expertise or some combination, nobody could tell. But all the broth was eaten.
Furtive noises sounded in the undergrowth and, alarmed, the four others asked Lalaas what it was. The hunter grinned. “Probably wild animals coming to investigate the smell.”
“Are they dangerous?” Amne asked, worried.
“I doubt it, ma’am. Probably hungry and curious, that’s all. If they were a danger the chargers there
would be restless and fractious. See, they’re calm.”
With the cooking utensils washed in sea water and put away, and the fire stacked with more wood, they all sat around with full and warm bellies. The night was coming and Lalaas decided they would spend it there. Ground sheets were laid out and tents erected. This time Lalaas went through the process with them all slowly. As the night began to fall on them, Amne sat next to the hunter, her legs tucked up under her chin. She’d not spent a night under the stars for a long, long time, and it reminded her of a time long back in her childhood.
“Where are you from, Lalaas?”
Lalaas got comfortable before replying. “Turslenka, or in the area around it, at least. My family were herdsmen, migrating from Makania in the summer to Pelponia in the winter, driving wool beasts to market for meat, wool or breeding stock.” Wool beasts were the size of large canines, prized for their wool and meat. They were flock animals and not particularly bright; it took a degree of skill to herd them.
“Was it a happy upbringing for you?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so. But when I grew into adolescence I wanted something more. I didn’t see myself driving wool beasts for the rest of my life, so I learned to be a hunter from my uncle. Father wasn’t happy but as I had two brothers who wanted to follow him into the business, he was resigned to letting me do what I wanted. Then father died and my brothers took over the business and they resented my – freedom, if that’s the right word – and decided they didn’t want anything more to do with me. We had a big falling out and the end result was I never returned to Turslenka and have been making a living in the countryside in southern Frasia ever since.”
Amne looked at him with sympathy but didn’t really know what to say, or rather what was appropriate given her social position and his. As a princess and a noble she ought to stay above the lives of the people like him but here, as one of them, she felt included, and it was an odd feeling. Should she return the honour and tell him of her early life? Would he want to hear about it? Compared to his upbringing hers had been safe and cosseted – and boring in comparison. She didn’t think it a boring life, but now out here in the open under the stars, it felt free of the stuffy palace life and the home life of the nobility she’d always known.
Theros and the two clerks were preparing for sleep and Amne decided that was the best course of action. Her tent was set in the middle of a half circle, with the fire was the focal point. Lalaas said he’d make sure the fire was stocked up to last the night and he would make sure they had hot water for the morning. Amne was pleased; she needed a wash and the thought of using cold water didn’t appeal to her. She missed the ministrations of her handmaiden, but she’d been told this wasn’t possible for her to come along as they had to be as small a party as possible to sneak through unnoticed through Bragal. What she would look – and smell like – once they got to Mazag was anyone’s guess.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Isbel was determined not to neglect her two sons, even though she was now the de facto ruler of Kastania in her husband’s absence. She’d set up an advisory council to meet with her on a daily basis each morning, to discuss the day’s schedule, or to combat any problem that had arisen. She then instructed Pepil to allow her the middle part of the morning free so that she could spend a little time with Argan and Istan.
Istan was growing up fast. Rousa was glad he’d stopped his almost continual crying and was now content to run around the nursery, colliding infrequently with the furnishings, but he soon picked himself up and was happily charging round after a little pat and a cuddle. His energy was now redirected from his lungs to his legs, and Rousa was eternally grateful.
Argan was more inquisitive. His tutoring was going well and Mr Sen congratulated the empress on how intellige
nt and quick minded he was. Isbel smiled with pride at her son. Argan was now learning other things than how to play with toy soldiers. Mathematics and the Kastanian alphabet had been introduced to him, and he often went to bed early because he was so tired.
“Mother, will you go away like father and Amne, and Jorqel?” he asked one day.
“Oh no, dear, I’m staying here. Amne will return after she’s been to Mazag.”
“But father? Mr Sen says he might be a long time! Will I ever see him again? Or Jorqel?”
Isbel smiled and tousled Argan’s head. “Of course. Father has a very important job to do in Bragal, and Jorqel is very busy in Bathenia.”
“Are they fighting battles?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Jorqel sent a letter to us the other day and he’s not fighting. He’s living in a farmhouse.”
“Why? Is he a farmer now?”
Isbel laughed. “Oh no, Argan. He’s there because the people of Slenna won’t let him into the town, so he’s staying outside until they do.”
“Oh. Can we go and see him at the farm?”
“Well, it is a long way away and it’s a dangerous place at the moment. I’ll see if we can get Jorqel to visit us once he’s been allowed inside Slenna.”
“I’d like to play with a farm,” Argan announced. Mr Sen in the background chuckled and nodded towards the empress.
Isbel managed to talk to Sen when Argan busied himself with his soldiers. “Tell me, why aren’t you a soldier?”
“Oh, your majesty, I was never healthy enough to be one. I had a childhood disease which weakened by legs and I’m not able to walk great distances. So I contented myself with learning, and became a scholar. I liked battles and warfare still, so I contented myself with learning about wars and the history of warfare.”
“Still a boy at heart then?” Isbel smiled mischievously.
“It’s a boy thing, war, ma’am,” Sen shrugged, smiling back at her. “I’m no great general; I’m certainly not a strategist. My forte is at tactical level, hence the figures. I can usually work out in theory how to win a battle, but how a war is actually fought and all the strategic applications in the field are beyond me.”
“So why exactly did we lose that battle with the Tybar all those years ago?”
Sen folded his hands onto his lap. “Ah. Treachery, mostly.”
“Really? I thought we were outfought.”
“That’s the excuse, ma’am. If I may speak the truth?”
“Of course; I’d rather hear it than some deception designed to hide an uncomfortable truth, even if it isn’t to my liking.”
Sen bowed. “It is refreshing to hear that, ma’am. As I said, treachery. The emperor led a huge army westwards to combat the invading Tybar, far to the west where the imperial border lay. But the emperor made a big mistake in trusting the various parts of the army to members of rival families. The Fokis, the Palanges, the Kanzet. All had ambitions to the throne, and all had members of those families commanding portions of the army. So when the emperor gave the order to attack, he was betrayed and left to fight on his own, and so died.”
“The Fokis?”
“Amongst others. Half the army did nothing that day while the others fought and died bravely. Then those parts that had done nothing turned about and marched away, leaving their comrades to die or become slaves.”
Isbel was aghast. “But why has this not been said?”
Sen shrugged. “Shortly afterwards a member of the Palanges family took over as emperor, as you may well know, and the news of the defeat was altered, blaming the dead emperor on poor generalship. Certainly he made tactical errors. From what I know of the battle he neglected to scout the area properly first, but the Tybar way of fighting made that difficult. But to the new emperor; if it was known he’d come to power through betrayal, then he and his family would have been lynched. So they blamed those who were blameless while the guilty took power and profited.”
“But they didn’t last long. I remember the counter coup.”
“Indeed. Thieves have no honour and the Fokis and Kanset families felt they hadn’t been properly rewarded for their part in bringing the Palanges to power, so they fell
to fighting amongst themselves, dragging the empire down with it in civil war and their selfish lust for power.”
Isbel sat still, amazed at what she’d just been told. “This must be made public.”
“What proof do you have, ma’am?” Sen spread his hands wide. “All evidence has been destroyed, and there are no reports surviving; the people who fought that battle are either dead, in hiding or too afraid to say anything – or members of those groups who betrayed the empire. Nobody will say anything and it cannot be proved. Besides, you’d start riots between supporters of your family and those of the Fokis, Kanzet and Palanges. It may even start a new civil war.”
Isbel’s cheeks stained red. “But this cannot go unpunished! It may be ten years but those who were responsible are still mostly alive, surely.”
“No, ma’am. All three generals who betrayed the empire are dead, but their co-conspirators are doubtless alive. But who can you accuse? Their families are no doubt complicit, but proving it will be impossible.”
There was a silence, broken only by Argan’s noisy cries of one of his figures dying. Isbel stirred. “You also mentioned the Tybar way of fighting. What is that?”
“Ah, now that I can tell you. They use mounted archers. Something the empire was not designed to cope with. We use infantry supported by cavalry; the Tybar use cavalry supported by infantry. All their troops learn to use the bow and to face a Tybar army needs courage – and good armour! They are mobile, quick and use ambush as a way of waging war. Our foot soldiers couldn’t cope, and were cut down in swathes. Once an opponent is reduced enough, then the Tybar close in and finish them off.”
“Mr Sen. Teach my son how to combat these tactics. I can see he’s going to be a warrior, and my husband wishes it. Teach him, please. I want him to be able to fight those tribesmen and to win.”
“It shall be done, but he will need the tools to carry out his orders.”
“Tools, Mr Sen?”
“Mounted archers. The empire needs them, and it takes many years to learn how to ride and loose an arrow at the same time.”