by Tony Roberts
One raised his axe and threw it at the approaching men but a shield came up and the weapon bounced off it and fell harmlessly into the snow. He uttered a vile invective and turned away. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered and began running. Suddenly the entire group scattered, throwing away their weapons and running as fast as they could. The spearmen roared in delight and broke ranks to pursue the fleeing villagers.
Astiras saw the rout beginning. “Teduskis, I want a prisoner, just one. Go get him!”
Teduskis grabbed his mount’s reins and slapped its rump. “Hah!” he snapped and set off through the snow towards one individual who was floundering up a slope, scattering snow in his panic to get away. Teduskis narrowly missed a spearman running after the peasant, then bore down on the man, his sword raised high. As he came alongside the man he slapped the blade down, catching the unfortunate on the skull with the flat of his blade, knocking the man to the ground. He slowed, stopped, and turned around. The peasant was lying stunned in the snow, moving feebly, the spearman approaching fast, his face red and his breath clouding the air ahead of him.
“Very good,” Teduskis acknowledged the spearman’s efforts. “Go take him to the emperor with my compliments.”
“Sire!” the spearman nodded, a serious-faced man of about thirty years. He didn’t look like a soldier, and was probably a former clerk or the like. The spearman grabbed the villager by the collar and hauled him up with difficulty, leaning on the spear. The villager stumbled around, shedding snow, and looked terrified. “C’mon, you,” the spearman prodded the man with his blade in the back, “get moving.”
Teduskis watched as the prisoner was pushed back towards the road, then, satisfied the Bragal villager wasn’t going to give trouble, walked his mount back to where the so-called ‘battle’ had occurred. The spearmen had been called back to clear up the mess and bodies were being thrown into the drifts on either side, and the burning branches and chopped up trees were being dragged aside gingerly, the spearmen using their spears or untouched lengths of wood to do so.
Astiras was talking to the prisoner from his saddle and it was clear he was giving him instructions. Ahead the road snaked through a few valleys, surrounded by hills, and vanished into the distance. On the other side of those hills was Zofela, their destination. Teduskis began barking out orders to the groups of men standing by the roadside doing nothing, and they stepped off the road and began searching through the undergrowth just in case anyone was hiding there. Teduskis tutted sadly; these raw recruits still had plenty to learn, judging by their lack of attention. In the past that had caused plenty of deaths, and there was no way they wanted a repeat of that.
Fortunately they now had the supreme authority with them, rather than being hundreds of leagues away and with no idea of the situation, difficulties and condition in Bragal. The last emperor had been advised by fools and people with hidden agendas, always working against the achievements of the army and often championing the heroic struggle the rebels were putting up to gain independence.
Now there was nobody to tell them to surrender their gains, bought at the cost of blood, nobody to accuse only them of atrocities and to ignore those committed by the other side. There was nobody shouting in the streets of Kastan, Niake and Turslenka that they had no right to be in Bragal. There was nobody claiming that the peace-loving Bragalese only wanted to be free so they could enjoy their lives without fear of oppression would be listened to or influence the feckless cowards in the palace.
Teduskis wished he could get hold of those who had worked so hard at undermining their efforts in the past. He’d have them all put to death. No doubt they were still around, hiding away, plotting some other underhand cowardly scheme to weaken imperial strength. Once this war was over, he hoped that there would be the time and resources set aside to hunting these traitors down.
He brought his steed up to the emperor and caught the end of his commands to the frightened prisoner. The man was given a letter from Astiras to the commander of Zofela to surrender the city to him and be spared, or to resist and suffer the consequences. Astiras also wanted the prisoner to tell the inhabitants of the city what he had witnessed for himself, so that they would know in no uncertain terms what awaited them if they were foolish enough to resist.
The war in Bragal would be decided at Zofela.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Twice Princess Amne nearly slipped into death, but Lalaas tended her closely and saw the danger signs, so that he was able to give her a potion of crushed leaves of the winter evergreen plant hoblis, infused with hot water made of melted snow. Lalaas knew the berries were poisonous but the leaves had a curing property, able to lower temperature in the body. Many ailing animals ate it in winter when they fell ill and it had saved many of them, and this had been noticed by shepherds and farmers in ages past so, the plant had become known to those who had field craft skills and practiced medicine.
Sadly the eastern kingdoms tended to destroy this knowledge as it went against their religious teachings; only the power of their priests, in the name of their god, could cure, and if the patient died then it was the will of their god that this would happen. Anyone who argued was declared a heretic and burned to death in a frenzy of religious fervour. It only led to ignorance which, Lalaas reasoned, was precisely what the eastern religion wished for. That way they could control their populations more easily.
Amne’s fever broke on the tenth day but she was terribly weak, and it took a further two sevendays to feed her up on the broth Lalaas made twice a day, and then she had to strengthen her muscles again to enable her to travel reasonably well. Lying ill for such a long time had a wasting effect on the muscles, and it took another two sevendays to build her up so that she could walk, run and ride with any degree of confidence.
During that time the winter faded and spring began to make itself known. The snows retreated and the temperature climbed. The equines were allowed out to graze and the owner of the barn began to visit to see when the visitors would be going. They had outstayed their welcome and only the continued dribble of coins had stayed their eviction. But now Lalaas was at the end of his money and tomorrow they would have to leave.
Amne sat holding a hot cup of broth, looking at Lalaas thoughtfully. The hunter went about making a replacement strap for a saddle that had frayed, deliberately ignoring her look. Finally, not being able to stand the silence any longer, Amne spoke. “Lalaas, you saved my life.”
The hunter looked up, shrugged, grinned briefly and returned to his leather working. “I could do nothing else, ma’am. To be honest it was an easier task after the others deserted us. I could concentrate on you rather than worry what the others were up to.”
“And I shall decide what to do about Theros and the others when this is finished. But to the matter of you tending me. You have seen me more than any other apart from my mother. I would be grateful if you didn’t speak of this to anyone, ever.”
“I shall never speak of it, ma’am, to anyone. It is something private between the two of us. You are still a princess and I am a mere hunter, and when this journey is completed then we will go our separate ways and you will have your future in the palace and I shall return to living off the land.”
Amne put her mug down on a handy bale of hay. “That is so, but for the duration of this journey I think it best if we become good companions. I owe you my life and that is something that I can’t repay – at least while I am here in Bragal. But possibly in the future I might be able to show you my gratitude in some manner befitting someone of my position. Would you be happy living off the land like this for the rest of your life, or would you be happier with a more comfortable job?”
Lalaas put down the leather and knife he was holding. “Ma’am, I’m a simple hunter; this is what I do. I do hope in the future I marry and have children, but to be in an imperial office or court is not for me.”
Amne smiled. “I, too, will marry one day. In my case it will be a convenient marriage; I sha
ll be expected to produce sons and daughters to continue the Koros dynasty, and shall be attached to whatever and where ever my husband’s court will be. But I might be able to grant you land for your family or a house or so on. Don’t say anything now; I’m not promising anything as the future is uncertain, but I do intend to return the enormous favour you’ve done for me.”
Lalaas said nothing, but nodded slightly. Perhaps something could be done, but he hadn’t saved Amne’s life so that she could return a favour to him. Instead he changed the subject. “What of Theros? He was to guide you in the diplomacy once we got to Branak.”
“Him!” Amne snorted. “Feckless man. He shall be punished for his desertion – if he survives.”
“Do you know he took all the diplomatic papers with him?”
Amne shook her head, outraged. “Then I’m to conduct the negotiations without any help at all! You say his tracks led south?”
“I did; it appears he was trying to get to Mazag rather than return to Kastania.”
Amne thought for a while. “It would seem he is intending to carry out his own diplomatic mission. What chance does he have of getting there?”
“Not much,” Lalaas shrugged, picking up the leather and his knife again. “The winter was bad; he had no survival abilities little knowledge and no idea of the route to take, except that if he carries on travelling south he’ll eventually reach the Ister River.”
“And if he crosses it?”
“He’ll not be in Mazag and could easily miss the route to take. He could end up – if he survives by some freak of chance – in the wilds of Litania or even Risania.”
“Two lands foreign and hostile; not even you would fancy your chances there, Lalaas.”
Lalaas smiled faintly. “I may survive; Theros would not. In any event, the path to take is south-east, not south. The crossing near Bukrat is the one we need to take; further west are swamps and marshlands and if Theros headed directly south he’d end up there. That is a wilderness with no inhabitation save for the wild beasts. Of course, he might have happened across a Bragal village before then.”
“And if he did?”
Lalaas mimicked drawing his knife across his throat. That effectively stopped the conversation.
____
The next morning they took their leave of the barn that had become their home for so long. The animal smell had become very strong and Amne for one was glad to be in the saddle in the open air. Her clothes had been washed and dried and she felt clean. Lalaas would have done that while she was ill, and she wondered once again at just how much of her body he saw and touched. It put the slap he’d given her into its place, and the least she could do was to forgive and forget all about that, and indeed had told him so. Lalaas had thanked her and gone about his tasks as if it were nothing. Amne had been puzzled by that; she had expected something more, but the longer she was with this man the more she had come to realise there was little that got him animated. He was a dour but dependable man, which probably was why her father has assigned him to guarding her.
They set off, each trailing a pack animal. Even though Theros had taken some of the pack animals, he’d not taken them all. Their supplies were low but Lalaas assured her that there would be plenty of food to find now the snows had gone from the low lands and valleys. The hills and mountains still had their shroud of white, and the air was chill, particularly in the mornings, but the sun shone stronger and warmer, and the weather was improving all the time.
Lalaas told her there would be rains, some quite heavy, but this was a blessing as in the summer things could get quite dry and hot. He would take a route that avoided any village and got them to the Ister the safest possible way. It might not be the most direct route, but now there were only two of them they had to be even more careful.
They had been gone two days when they encountered people. Four figures were butchering a carcass close to the roadside as they crested a rise, and they were seen immediately. Lalaas looked at Amne quickly. “Your highness, what I may say in the next few moments may offend you deeply, but please go along with what I’m about to say, as our lives may well rest on deceiving these Bragalese peasants. Look downcast and say nothing unless you’re directly addressed. Please.”
Amne looked a little scared, but nodded all the same. Bragalese! If they knew who she was both their lives would be worth nothing. Fortunately her riding clothes were rough and weather-worn, and no longer looked clean and neat as they had when they had left Kastan. A few washes had also left their mark.
The Bragalese peasants had stopped cutting up the bovine beast and two had crossed the road so that Lalaas and Amne would have to ride in between them if they wished to pass, and if they turned about that would send a clear signal to them that they should not be there. Two were armed with rough bows, and that was probably how they’d dispatched the beast. The other two had knives and spears.
Lalaas halted a few paces from the first of the Bragal peasants. “Hail and well met,” he said cheerfully. “A fine kill, good sir?”
“Ours, not yours,” the nearest peasant growled, his face hostile. “You are not of this area.”
“No. We travel to Valchia, hoping to avoid the war. Not a place to travel through.”
The peasant grunted. He looked at Amne with interest. “Yours?”
“Of course,” Lalaas answered. “For sale in Bukrat. Keeps my bed warm at night. By the time she is up for sale in Bukrat she’ll be used to pleasuring a man the correct way.”
“A slaver,” the peasant said with respect. “How much?”
Lalaas chuckled. “For this one? Far more than you or your friends would ever be able to afford. But I can fetch you a bed warmer from Bukrat if you so wish on my return journey.”
He felt Amne’s outrage emanating through the air and hoped she’d keep her mouth shut. He didn’t look at her – he didn’t dare – for she was supposed to be chattel, and therefore not worth a look. The peasant clucked his tongue. “I would have to come with you to choose. I do not intend travelling that far. But if you come this way again bring a few slaves for us to use and you will be paid well.”
“Fifteen for a bed warmer, twenty if she’s pretty. A hundred if she’s a virgin.”
“A hundred!” the peasant gasped. “That is theft!”
“Wouldn’t you like to deflower a young, pretty, unsoiled virgin?” Lalaas leered at him. “One who does not know a man? Think on it, a young, firm delicious virgin all for yourself, just a hundred.”
The other peasants were making encouraging noises to him, all jostling his arm and making obscene noises. “Yes! And when he’s finished with her we can all take our turn!”
“Shut up!” the lead peasant snapped. “I’m getting worked up just thinking about it. Very well, a virgin. But these beasts will have to pay me for their turn at her! Come this way next spring and a hundred will be yours. Just ask for Lampter at the village of Hekstat; it’s just over the hills there.”
“Very well,” Lalaas nodded. “A virgin it shall be; but if you’re not here I’ll take her onto Kastan and sell her to some frustrated balding pot-bellied middle-aged noble for two hundred and he’ll bite my hand off!”
Lampter roared in outrage. “No Kastanian swine will have what is my due! Be here in the spring before the equinox!”
Lalaas tugged on Amne’s bridle. “I shall. Come, wench. Or you’ll receive another beating.”
Amne lowered her head, as much to hide her reddening cheeks and blazing eyes than anything else, but she dutifully followed. Behind her the peasants roared in mirth, then called out for him to ride well and give the girl a regular beating.
They rode in silence for a few moments, then when they had gone round a bend in the road, hidden by a slight rise, and followed the course of a small stream, they halted. Lalaas turned to the still furious Amne. “Thank you, ma’am. It must have been difficult not to say anything.”
“Difficult?” Amne spat. “Such outrageous talk! Those peasants deserved
a good hiding!”
Lalaas shrugged. “It’s a way of life here, ma’am.”
“Way of life? No wonder father is determined to defeat them! Barbarians! What do you know of this – slavery?”
Lalaas led the animals to the stream to allow them to drink. The water was flowing fairly rapidly with melt water, and would probably be extremely cold, but the beasts were thirsty for all four began to drink happily, snorting every few moments. “It goes on – men, woman and children are taken prisoner in the occasional village raid in Bragal and sold in the slave market of Bukrat. Bukrat is the only place in this region that still carries out the practice, but it’s widespread in Risania and the western lands.”
“I thought it banned! Kastania stopped it centuries ago, surely?”
“Kastania stopped it officially,” Lalaas said cynically, “but it goes on regardless. Slavers make huge profits.”
“I shall speak to my father about this,” Amne resolved heatedly. “The way I was spoken about – it was degrading! Why, they believed I was nothing more than an object!”
“Women are frequently treated that way in Bragal,” Lalaas observed. “Just hope that we’re not captured here. I’ll probably die but you may well end up a play thing of some Bragalese.”
“I’d rather die!” Amne stated.
“You would be more fortunate if you did,” Lalaas said. “But if they had tried anything they would have regretted it,” the hunter tapped his sword hanging from a saddle scabbard.