Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “Hah – she’d service an entire company by the time the honeymoon was over. She’s just like her late mother – can’t keep her legs together!”

  “And you, my friend? How many maidens have you deflowered?”

  “Ah, that I’m not saying. Want me to fall foul of their fathers?” Spetar winked, nudging Astiras. The emperor grinned. No wonder the Bragal had so many children.

  “Spetar, I have need of a company of your men or men from this district; they will be fighting the rebels, and fighting for me. You understand?”

  “Oh yes. Give them gold and they’ll be fanatical defenders for you – until the end of the winter anyway. Keep them in gold and you’ll have no better soldiers; they’ll fight to the death.”

  Astiras smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Get me a hundred and twenty men; that’s all I need.”

  “A hundred and twenty it shall be. They’ll each get three coins. I’ll keep the rest, of course.”

  “I didn’t think it would be any other way, you bandit. Just make sure my supply lines are kept open.”

  Spetar nodded, eyeing the gold again in wonder. Astiras felt satisfied. Spetar would make sure the road into Frasia was kept open and so his rear was secure. In addition he’d have more mercenaries fighting for him, men who knew the area and knew what they were fighting. Things had started off well.

  But in the morning Teduskis brought him some disturbing news. One of the spear militiamen had vanished, and a search revealed he had been seen with one of the villagers during the night. The villager had gone, too. Spetar said that the missing villager was likely to have taken gold and gone with the militiaman; to what purpose nobody knew, but it was a known fact the villager was a hunter and the militiaman had asked around beforehand for such a man. Astiras was troubled; it would seem the mysterious contracted killer had made his move and had decided to find Amne using a local guide. He hoped Lalaas was as good as he’d been told. But there was nothing he could do now. It was out of his hands.

  ____

  The first snows of winter had fallen, blanketing the ground and buildings, softening the hard lines. The sea was an iron grey and the wind whipped the waters into spume-topped chaos. Jorqel stood for a while, sucking in the chill air and exhaling great clouds of condensation. Winter was always the worst season; food was scarce and the men’s comfort at its lowest ebb. If desertions were to come then it would be now. The one thing in his favour was that there wasn’t much encouragement for anyone to desert; east was the sea and that was impassable; West the frozen mountains and, beyond that, Tybar. Nobody with any sense would go there. To the north were more of the plains of Lodria, and then the sea. Not much to run to there. That left the south and the route back to Bathenia. Jorqel had sentries posted there to make sure nobody slunk off, but with just a snow-covered frozen plain for miles before safety, it was unlikely anyone would leave.

  Gavan stamped his feet and flailed his arms. His nose was red. “Cold enough to freeze my balls off,” he commented. “Your majesty,” he added as an afterthought.

  Jorqel grinned. “That it is, Gavan. Keep the fires going. I don’t want the men complaining about the luxurious quarters we’ve provided them.”

  Gavan chuckled. “Wonder how things are inside Slenna? They’ve been a little quiet of late.”

  “Probably running out of arrows. They will have been advised not to waste any more, rather saving them for us when the time comes.”

  Gavan agreed. “No more messages from our mysterious friend within the walls then, sire?”

  Jorqel shook his head. In fact, things had been very quiet the past few sevendays. Even the insults shouted from the ramparts had died away. Now the only sight they had of the defenders were the sentries walking back and forth miserably, clouds of breath over their heads as they went. Smoke from the chimneys died away too, as burnable wood was exhausted. Unless they started using the walls or houses, then there must not be much left within Slenna. The people would be going cold.

  Jorqel took one last look at the frozen vista and grunted. “I’m back off inside; it’s too cold to be out here for long. Replace the sentries every half watch.”

  He returned to the farmhouse and sat before the fire in the living room. The farmhouse had been roughly divided into two areas; the area used by the farmer and his family and that used by the Prince. Rarely did either side visit the other. Jorqel always had two guards with him and the door leading to the rear of the house was normally shut. Today the snow was being cleared by the farm hands, and the farmer stuck his head through the door and asked if the prince would like the snow cleared from the area outside his front door. He accepted and soon the sound of people shovelling snow could be heard.

  Jorqel sat at the table and went over the figures of supplies his army was consuming. Efsia was a useful port. All the supplies he needed were shipped to him from Kastan, and the paperwork also provided a sevenday update on how things were going. The supply route allowed him to write to the capital with updates, although how one wrote ‘no change’ in more than three different ways became quite challenging at times.

  Food was being consumed at a greater rate now the temperature had dropped to below freezing, and the farms couldn’t supply his men with the necessary food. So Jorqel requested food and equipment from Kastan, plus a bit more for the farmers and their families just to keep them sweet.

  It was incredible just how often belts snapped or straps broke or spear shafts splintered. The upkeep for the six hundred or so men was mind blowing at times. He studied the lists his captains had brought him the day before, made some more calculations, and jotted more figures down on the parchment.

  The door opened. Standing there was the milkmaid, rosy-cheeked, spade in hand. “Your majesty,” she said, stepping in, “I need to check the chimney in case snow has blocked it.”

  Jorqel frowned. The fire was blazing away quite merrily and no smoke blowing back into the room. “I don’t think there’s any need….”

  He didn’t get time to finish. The milkmaid flung the spade at the nearest guard and caught the unsuspecting man flush on the face, knocking him over. Even before he’d struck the ground she had pulled out of her tunic a wicked looking knife and was standing over the prince, a snarl of hatred on her face.

  Jorqel reacted fast. He flung the ink pot at her, splashing it across her face and eyes and she screamed, plunging down with what she hoped was a killer blow, but Jorqel was already flinging himself out of the chair and sliding across the hard stone floor, unfortunately hindering the attempts of the second guard to deal with the woman. The knife bit into the wooden tabletop, shaking it, and she tugged at it, one arm across her face, rubbing away the ink furiously.

  “Damn you!” she hissed as the second guard finally vaulted the wild-eyed prince and advanced on the milkmaid. She abandoned the stuck knife and plunged out of the house, pursued by the guard who was yelling the alarm at the top of his lungs. Jorqel got to his knees somewhat shakily, and checked his clothing. Nothing was amiss, so he got to his feet and went over to the groaning guard who had sat up and was clutching his face. “Here, let me help you up,” Jorqel offered gently, his voice low to conceal the shaking up he’d received.

  The guard gratefully accepted his help and was back on his feet by the time Gavan and three guards came clattering to the door and demanding to know if the prince was alright. Jorqel reassured them and passed the groggy guard to Gavan. The man had a huge red welt on his face and it was almost certainly going to be a multi-coloured bruise before long. Gavan came in and shut the door, his face grim. “What the heck happened, sire?”

  Jorqel waved at the knife, still embedded in the table. “The milkmaid. It seems the guild contracted a woman rather than a man. We were looking for the wrong type of person.”

  “I’ll question the farmer and the others; someone must know something about her.”

  “Do that. I’ll go out and show everyone I’m fine. Hopefully she’s been caught.”


  But she hadn’t. She’d escaped into the countryside, pursued by a group of men who gave up after running a few dozen lengths of a stadium. The snow got too deep and she was as strong as anything, outdistancing them. In the cold it was unlikely she’d survive, but Jorqel somehow believed she would.

  The men gathered round, anxious. News had spread that their leader had been attacked by a pack of murderers or even the garrison of Slenna had sent out a squad of hired killers to murder the prince. “Men of Kastania,” Jorqel announced, standing on a handy stone block, “as you can see I am unharmed. Our enemies sent one of their best agents to commit a deed foul of nature, yet they have failed, another indication that nothing can stop us. Be of good heart; if this is the best they can do, we have nothing to fear!” The men cheered, but Jorqel knew just how close it had been.

  Two men came around the corner dragging the protesting farmer. Gavan stepped across his path. “What do you know of this?” he demanded, taking the unfortunate man by the chin and pulling his head up to face him.

  “Please, good sir, I know nothing!”

  “Liar,” Gavan snarled. “You hired her, you must know something about her. Where did you hire her, when did you hire her, on what terms did you hire her?”

  “Please good sir, all I know is she volunteered to come with us from Slenna when we were allowed back home! I hadn’t seen her before, but she knew all about bovines and answered all the questions I put to her at the time! We were in a rush to get back to our homes, so I didn’t ask too many questions as to where she came from!”

  Gavan looked at Jorqel. The prince pulled a wry face. The story seemed plausible. “If you are found to be lying, farmer, then I shall burn this miserable place to the ground; do you understand me?”

  The farmer nodded vehemently. Jorqel continued. “Furthermore, farmer, remember that I shall be your governor once Slenna falls, and everything you do will be determined by me. I can ruin you as surely as reward you. So think long and hard on your future. If you have been found to be lying, you may as well cut your own throat.”

  “Your majesty, I absolutely swear by all the gods that I knew nothing of her; perhaps one of the three farm hands may – they spent a fair amount of time with her.”

  “Then we will question those men. Very well, you may return to your house.” Jorqel signalled to the guards to release him. “Go question the farm hands, Gavan; take as long as you like. Use the barns to interrogate them.”

  “Sire,” Gavan smiled and waved a squad of men to follow him.

  Jorqel breathed in deeply, then slapped his gauntlets against his thigh. At least his report to Kastan for this sevenday wouldn’t read ‘no change’.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The land rose close to the border with Bragal and was covered in deep snow. They had left the forests and woodlands of Frasia behind them, and now climbed awkwardly up the rock strewn slopes that led to the pass Lalaas had said was ahead of them. The beasts plodded on stoically, enduring the blasts of icy wind that came at them from the east and chilled the five travellers to the bone.

  Theros called for a halt. He was exhausted and badly needed a comfort break. They had been on charger-back for most of the day as Lalaas had wanted them over the pass before dark. There was little precious shelter on this side, he had told them, but on the other side there were caves they could shelter in. When they had passed through the woodlands further north they had chopped and collected plenty of wood, so there was not a problem with any supply for fires.

  “We go on for another league, then we’re at the top,” Lalaas shouted above the noise of the wind. It was bitterly cold and being funnelled down the pass which faced south east. The only blessing they had was that as they were below the lip of the pass they weren’t getting the brunt of it. That would come once they reached the top. But Lalaas knew that the pass twisted south and the wind would then whistle over their heads, and apart from the occasional eddy and swirl, it wouldn’t bother them as much.

  The last few sevendays had been relatively comfortable, despite the slow daily drop in temperature. They had passed through forests where shelter was plentiful and game abundant, and had eaten well. Lalaas had smoked and dried plenty of meat and it was now stored on one of the pack beasts.

  Then they had entered a more barren region and the climb had begun. Now they were in amongst the mountains and feeling very exposed. Amne had wondered why there were no villages, and Lalaas had explained that the route he’d chosen was taking them away from any settlements as he didn’t want anyone to see them, or ask awkward questions. The other three had sunk into a world of misery and said little, even when they stopped. They had been used to a life of comfort, sitting in offices, and this was a world so far removed from what they were used to that they found it hard to cope. Amne was determined not to do the same; she was a princess and better than these clerks, and she would show it. So even though she was frozen to the core and as uncomfortable as any of them, she didn’t voice her discomfort.

  Lalaas was impressed with the girl; he’d always assumed the nobility to be luxury loving creatures who disdained the rough life, leaving it to the peasantry to endure. But here was a woman barely out of her adolescence taking everything the rough ride could throw at them.

  He nodded towards the top of the pass, now visible. There were two large boulders that had fallen off a rock face above and this marked the top of the pass. “There,” he yelled to make himself heard, “once past those it’s downhill. Watch the wind, it’ll catch you! Wait in the lee of those boulders.”

  He let Amne pass and watched as the squirming Theros followed, then the pack animals and the two clerks, hunched into mounds of misery. Lalaas looked down the long slope to the plains below and took in the whiteness of the snow against the stark black of the rocks. Such a contrast to the greenery of the forests down there in the summer. Now they were bare and leafless. He frowned. He imagined he caught sight of movement down there, far away, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, snow was looking to fall again and maybe it was that. Or a beast looking for food.

  There again it might not.

  Thoughtfully he turned his mount and trotted uphill to overtake the line of beasts ahead of him. Amne had obediently halted behind one of the huge boulders and waited for him. Lalaas reined in and faced the four. “Alright, Theros, make it quick. Night is coming and I don’t want to be up here when it falls. Down the other side are caves, a little way down. Now be prepared – once we go round this boulder the wind will strike us full in the face. It will be hard and strong. Lean into it. We will have to dismount and lead the animals on foot as they may shy and try to bolt.”

  Theros was gone a short while and returned from behind a group of smaller rocks looking very relieved. Lalaas nodded and led his beast and two pack animals on ahead. The wind moaned as it whipped through the gap and suddenly Lalaas was battling it full on. Bending double he staggered on, cursing the force of it. Behind him Amne was knocked backwards and fell, shrieking in horror. Theros, behind her, helped her up and together the two staggered into the full force of the gale, gritting their teeth.

  Behind them the two clerks slowly made their way, one holding three sets of reins, the other two. The animals shied at the wind but the clerks stubbornly refused to let go, and tugged hard. Reluctantly the animals followed, and suddenly the wind left them as they turned to the right and followed the pass downhill. Lalaas puffed out his cheeks and turned to see the others all emerge from the gloom, all shaken but still there.

  “Good,” he said, mostly to himself. He waved them down for another few moments until a yawning cave came into view. He led his three chargers into the mouth and released them, busying himself with taking their packs off. The animals would remain in the cave, especially as he began throwing some of the cut grasses and feed he’d stored in a pack for them. By the end of the next day they’d be out of the pass and down into a valley where there was food.

  One after the other the four other members of his gr
oup entered the cave and collapsed gratefully, drawing in deep breaths and panting hard. “Oh my,” Amne said between breaths, “that was terrible!”

  “That’s the worst of the journey, ma’am,” Lalaas reassured her. He looked at the three men. “Get the packs off and let the beasts feed. Then we can start a really big fire. We’ll use all the firewood we have. I want this cave to be as warm as a summer’s evening on the Aester shore.”

  The others smiled wanly, then with groans and mutters, set to the task with frozen fingers. Amne saw to her equine, reasoning that she ought to do her bit. She had no intention of being thought of as a useless burden. If her family were to remain on the throne of Kastania, then they would have to earn respect, and this would surely be one way of doing that.

  Lalaas soon had the fire blazing away and the others sorted out the blankets. The water pots were brought out. “I’ll collect some snow to melt,” Lalaas said. “I’ll be gone a little while.” He left, vanishing into the gloom and clouds of snow being blown about.

  “How are you bearing up, ma’am?” Theros asked solicitously.

  “I’m alright, thank you,” Amne replied, warming her hands against the crackling fire. She picked up a small log and tossed it onto the blaze. Over the past few sevendays she’d got good at judging when the fire had to be stoked up. Lalaas had more or less designated her to look after the fires while the three men took care of food storing and animal husbandry. They may not be outdoor types, but they would know a damned sight more about the practicalities of living in the open by the time they completed their journey. “How are you coping?”

  “I’ll survive, ma’am,” Theros smiled faintly. “I’m slimmer and fitter already, and look ten years younger than I did when we set out. Maybe I’ll find a wife?”