by Tony Roberts
“What are you saying, diplomat?” Lalaas looked up at last and stared him firmly in the eye.
“I’m saying, Hunter, that you as a lowborn should simply not show a liking for the princess in any manner whatsoever. Furthermore, you should reject any untoward feelings of a reciprocal manner you may get from her, do you understand?”
Lalaas considered his reply for a moment. “Do you believe I’m going to abduct her and run off with her to some out of the way hut on a mountainside and live happily ever after, raising a family?”
Theros’s lips tightened. “Don’t be flippant. You know your duty, stick to it. She’s a vulnerable young woman, completely at your mercy. Once she’s back in familiar surroundings you’ll be forgotten and can return to sniffing mud or whatever you did before the emperor hired you.”
“Yes, the emperor did hire me, and I vowed to bring her safely through to Mazag, which I will do. I’m also fully aware that the princess is destined to marry into her social circle and once this job is completed we can go our separate ways. So you can rest assured I shall not spoil her for whoever eventually marries Amne.”
“Princess Amne to you, Hunter.”
Lalaas smiled and picked up another branch and threw it onto the fire. “I wasn’t the one who abandoned her back in Bragal. Don’t think for one moment I’m going to forget that. When I return to the emperor, and that is who I work for ultimately, I’ll advise him on your treachery. I expect you’ll hang from the nearest tree. Should be a rewarding sight.”
Theros paled. “Now, we don’t want to be that hasty, do we?” he smiled, showing his teeth. “I’m sure we can come to some – arrangement. Just name your price for your silence.”
Lalaas stared up at Theros. “You know, I only promised the emperor I would deliver Amne safely to the Mazag, not anyone else. Your career isn’t worth a burnt log once I give him my version of what went on.”
Theros’s face pulled down into a mask of hatred. “And do you believe you’ll reach Kastania alive after I send my report back? My report stating how you removed her clothing and touched her naked body? It is you who will hang, you filthy desecrator.”
“Both of us know she would die unless I treated her so. Besides, you never saw me do that – so how did you know?”
“I saw you in that barn back in Bragal remove her clothing. I know a great deal more than you would expect.”
Lalaas snorted. “You’re full of droppings, Theros. Go spread your rubbish to someone else. I’m not interested.”
“Well you should be. Unless you agree to say nothing about my conduct, I’m going to tell the emperor and empress everything. You’ll swing from the executioner’s rope in Kastan city square.”
With that he stalked off, his back stiff with outrage, but inside he was in turmoil. Lalaas could indeed do a great deal of damage to his career – and to his health – should the fact he ran out on them back in Bragal ever become known. Theros was more determined than ever to make sure Lalaas didn’t return to Kastan.
The following morning they were up early. Amne appeared to have been the only one who had slept well. Theros’s eyes were red-rimmed and sore and his temper was short, while Lalaas said little. He’d been going over Theros’s words during the night and there was concern that he may be arrested for removing Amne’s clothing. It was something just not done. It all depended on what Amne would say. His life in fact depended on her defending him.
As they were packing up he heard noise from ahead, and he stood upright, his bow suddenly in his hand. There were many people coming their way, and by the sound of it all were armed and marching in a disciplined manner. An army? He ran down to the road and stared ahead. Coming down the road from the direction of Mazag was an army indeed, their green and orange coloured flags fluttering in the morning breeze. Spear points glinted in the sun and many of the soldiers were mounted.
He took one look at the symbol upon the flags and lowered his bow. “Mazag army,” he called up to the other two who had come to the edge of the camp. “It seems we’ve made it.”
Amne came running down and stood by Lalaas’ side, staring in wonder at the approaching army. Theros waited, his eyes narrowed. The leading members of the Mazag army came tramping past, heads turned in interest at the three figures standing by the roadside. The man with the sword and bow was clearly a warrior but one man on his own was not a danger. The woman next to him was much more interesting; even though streaked with dirt and wearing clothing faded and patched up, she was a beauty. The third man standing further back was of no importance – he was clearly a civilian peasant.
One of the captains commanding the vanguard came over to them and stopped a few feet away, examining Lalaas and Amne. “What is your business here?” he barked.
Lalaas didn’t understand a word but Amne picked up most of what he said. “We is Kastanian,” she said haltingly. “We on way Branak. I am seeing Prince.”
The captain looked at Amne in surprise. Theros came up and switched to proper Mazag. “Diplomatic mission from Kastan to Branak. Treaty.”
“Is that so?” the captain said gruffly. He was a soldier and diplomatic issues were beneath him. This was something for his commander, General Polak. He passed the issue down the line and soon the general came riding up, resplendent in his shining armour. He had his visor up and his florid face peered out with interest at the three figures standing with a Mazag armed escort. Theros stepped forward and bowed low. “General, may I permit myself to introduce the Princess Amne Koros of Kastania?”
“Princess of Kastania?” Polak repeated, doubt filling his voice. He looked at Amne carefully, noting her filthy appearance and scruffy attire. He chuckled. “You joke with me?”
“Certainly not!” Theros was stiff outrage itself. “We are on our way to Branak to see Prince Lamak and to negotiate a treaty! We have ambassadorial documents.”
“Do you indeed?” Polak said. He smiled. He doubted these fools were genuine. “Please show me.”
Theros was escorted to the pack animals by a sergeant and three heavily armed men. While he was fetching the document from the box that had been stowed there in Frasia, Polak addressed Amne. “You are a princess?”
“Yes. Emperor Astiras’ daughter.”
“Emperor Astiras? You mean the general waging war in Bragal?”
“Emperor. For two years now.”
Polak grunted. “I heard something had changed in Kastan. And who is this?” he pointed at Lalaas.
“Guard. Lalaas. He not speak Mazag.”
“Hmm. He looks like a killer.”
Amne looked at Lalaas who returned her stare. He knew he was being discussed but not what was being said. The princess decided to change the subject. “What is army of Mazag doing here?”
Polak grinned. “Invasion. Valchia is Mazag now. Soon we will capture Bukrat and then it will be our third province.”
“Good!” Amne said. “End the slavery.”
“Slavery? Oh, yes. That.” Polak didn’t seem to care much for that aspect. He saw Theros returning with his escort, a rolled up document in his hand, sealed and tied with red ribbon. It did look official. He took it from a reluctant Theros and examined it after breaking the seal.
It was written in Kastanian and Mazag. It was sealed with the imperial mark. He grunted again. It looked authentic. He sighed. He looked at Amne once more, then bowed formally. “Ma’am. An honour meeting a member of the Kastanian royalty.”
Amne curtseyed and smiled. Polak had to admit she had a full set of teeth which marked her certainly as no peasant. “An honour meeting Mazag general,” she replied.
Polak removed his helmet and rubbed his chin. A quandary. What to do? Even though it was early morning he decided to pitch his tent there and call a halt to the army. After all, Valchia could hardly raise an army to face him. They were a sevenday or two from Bukrat and it would easily fall to his troops. One day entertaining his royal guest wouldn’t go astray, and he would send a swift messenger back to B
ranak.
He invited the three to be his guests for the rest of the day, and the princess would be permitted to have a separate tent and to freshen up. Amne accepted with a smile and was escorted by Lalaas to her tent which was swiftly put up, and her privacy ensured. Two Mazag soldiers were assigned along with Lalaas, pointing out that it was better to have three guards than one and since Lalaas didn’t speak Mazag it was better to have men who spoke the language of any curious soldier who came upon the tent so they could be told to go away in a language they understood.
Theros was shown to the general’s tent while Amne was getting herself familiarised with her temporary lodgings. “Diplomat,” Polak said, sitting on a collapsible stool, “please tell me of your journey here and how it is you come to be in this place.”
Amne, meanwhile, was gratefully changing into her better clothes. At last she could dispose of her travelling outfit which was not even fit for a peasant. Lalaas stood with his back to her, watching the tent entrance, but even so Amne was behind a cloth screen so he couldn’t see her anyway. “I’m so glad to get rid of these smelly things!” she exclaimed, throwing them over the screen. They landed at Lalaas’ feet.
“Very soon you’ll be able to bathe, ma’am. And you’ll be able to wash that dirt off your face and hands.”
“Ugh! You’re so right, Lalaas. I can look more like my old self.” She came out from the screen and stood before Lalaas, smiling. Her hair was still unkempt, but the dress she was now in was a deep red coloured one, with buttons down the breast and a belt of the same colour tucking the fabric in at the waist. It then fell in rich folds to her ankles. The sleeves went to her wrists and on her feet were soft felt shoes. She twirled before him. “What do you think?”
“Suits you ma’am; but you’re particularly beautiful so most clothes would look good on you.”
Amne laughed, throwing her head back. She could relax now that the awful journey was nearly done. “You’re such a flatterer, Lalaas. But thank you anyway.” She came up to him, her head at his lower jaw level. She looked up at him. “Lalaas. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“My pleasure, Amne,” he whispered her name.
The princess beamed. “Don’t you ever go calling me by my first name in public or we’ll both be in trouble.”
“Of course.” He bowed mock seriously. She poked her tongue out at him. “So now we go to Branak, ma’am,” he said, escorting her to the tent flap and holding it open for her. “I doubt we’ll get through the pass before the snows come so we’ll have to camp this side of the mountains.”
“Oh,” she frowned. “You mean another winter out in the cold?”
“I would guess the Mazag have some sort of place for travellers to spend the winter.”
“I suppose you’re right. I would also be an opportunity for me to learn their language properly. Let’s go see what Theros and that general are talking about.”
Escorted by the two Mazag soldiers, they walked the short distance to the general’s tent and were allowed in by more guards. Standing before the general, Amne was closely studied by Polak.
“Truly a princess,” he commented. Then he looked at Lalaas. “I have been informed by Counsel Theros here of this man’s misconduct during your travels, your majesty. I shall have him clapped in irons and sent to our deepest prison in Branak until we get word from your father as to what to do with him.”
Amne opened her mouth to protest but Theros cut in. “He’s guilty of so many offenses I doubt his body will finish in one piece!”
Lalaas realised something was amiss but he was seized by two Mazag guards and held fast. “What is going on?” he demanded.
“Take him away,” Polak waved a lazy hand. Lalaas was dragged off despite Amne’s protests. She caught a last glimpse of his face and their eyes met at he was pulled out of the tent, then he was gone.
She whirled on Theros, her face a mask of fury. “You scheming underhand animal!” she hissed.
“And you, ma’am, must conduct yourself with dignity!” Theros snapped. “Forget him: he’s destined for a hanging once the emperor gets his hands on him! My report will be sent by Mazag courier to him at Zofela tomorrow. Your father will wish to see a letter from you, too, ma’am, just to assure him you’ll be safe.”
“Oh, Theros, I’ll write to him, certainly! I’ll inform him as to who really is due for a hanging!”
“Please,” Polak said, waving his hands, “can we please conduct this conversation in Mazag? I have no Kastanian. We shall dine here this evening and tomorrow I’ll arrange for an escort to take you to the mountains with your belongings. You will winter at our camp at the foot of the pass, for by the time you get there it’ll be blocked.”
Amne only understood half of what had been said. She stood there, her fists balled in anger. Theros smiled and bowed to the general. “The princess is tired and overwrought after such a taxing journey; she is not used to such hardships and we must make allowances for her behaviour. Clearly she thinks she is indebted to the rogue Lalaas, but time will show her that she has been mistaken.”
Amne looked at Theros’s smug, smiling face, and realised that any letter she would write would be examined and corrected before it was sent. She – and Lalaas – were helpless.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
For Isbel, the waiting for a reply from the Tybar was interminable; she busied herself with a couple of major projects, the first of which was to begin the training of the mounted archers both her husband and Jorqel had recommended. The stables in the palace grounds were picked since no mounted units were currently housed there; Astiras’ bodyguard had gone to Bragal. Volunteers were asked for and over three hundred young, brash men had put their names forward. Any experimental unit was bound to attract interest, and gossip abounded as to why this step was being taken.
The next task was to find the right number of breeder equines, but thankfully the royal stables had a few and gifts were forthcoming from landowners keen to ingratiate themselves with the new dynasty, and particularly when they were offered tax concessions for each equine supplied. Once the right amount were supplied and the unsuitable ones rejected, and returned whence they came, the bows were then selected.
One of the refugees who had come east was in fact a rogue Tybar soldier. He’d shaved off his facial hair and wore Kastanian clothes, but his slight frame and thin features plus his darker skin set him out clearly as a foreigner. He’d adopted a Kastanian name, too, so as to conceal his racial origin, knowing he could be lynched if his neighbours were aware of his true identity. He’d come east after a blood feud and falling out with his officers, and he feared for his life. In Kastan at least he could go to ground and be hidden.
Now he saw an opportunity to get back at the people who had killed his family and had driven him out of his tribe. He felt no allegiance to his people anymore. He had presented himself to Vosgaris one morning, bowing low. “Esteemed sir, may I volunteer to be the trainer of your new experimental archers? I am well versed in the art of such warfare.”
“And you are?” Vosgaris had said.
“I now call myself Deran Loshar, although my original name is much longer and harder to pronounce.”
Vosgaris had narrowed his eyes. “You are a Tybar?”
Deran had bowed again. “A refugee from my tribe’s hunters. If I show my head to them it shall be removed from my shoulders.” He had shrugged. “I put myself in your hands. I believe I have value and I desire to gain revenge for the slaughter of my family at their hands. To train your mounted archers to fight the way of the Tybar, would give you a huge advantage.”
Vosgaris had decided to take the refugee Tybar on as the second in command of the new unit; the captain would be a Kastanian, naturally, but he was not going to turn down such an opportunity. It was too good to miss. Vosgaris had spoken to Isbel about it, and after an initial reluctance, she had accepted his reasoning.
Isbel had been against any Tybar involvement at first because of the trauma
Argan had received in coming face to face with Kijimur in Mr Sen’s study room. It had been a shock to the young boy and at such an age it had frightened him. Kijimur had been apologetic but had wisely withdrawn and taken the Kastanian offer of a treaty back to his own lands shortly afterwards. Nobody wanted the Tybar diplomat on the loose any more than was necessary, so he was escorted by Kastanian cavalry.
Argan hadn’t wanted to go to the classroom any more but finally was persuaded when everyone assured him the Tybar had gone. Mr Sen had been taken to task by Isbel about the entire affair and promised never again to invite a foreign diplomat into his room without prior permission. His own intellectual curiosity had got the better of him.
The other project she was involved with was to ensure an empire-wide series of staging posts were set up along the roads. This was to facilitate a speedy relay of messages from one end of the empire to the other. In the past news had taken a long time to get around and she was eager to ensure this put in place before the year was out.
Now she was chairing yet another committee meeting. This one was to approve the coming half year’s building programme. Zipria was close to completing a temple and had audaciously requested funding to turn their town’s walls into stone. They had plenty of raw materials to hand but not the labour unless some funding was found. Evas Extonos had asked for the port of Aconia just down the road from Niake to be enlarged so it could take larger ships, both merchant and military, while Pelponia was going to undertake a region-wide land clearance programme, if the money could be found, in order to make the province more arable.
Thetos Olskan had submitted a request for a grain exchange to be built in Turslenka which would hugely improve trade there, while in Kastan there were plans to build a market, again to boost trade. There was very little being spent on military facilities. This was causing some friction amongst the more hawkish members of the council who wished to see better accommodation and armouries built.
Isbel was being backed by Pepil and Frendicus while Panat Branas and Alvan Ecvar were in favour of more army facilities. Valson Kelriun the diplomat, Vosgaris and Cleric Waylar were in neither camp while Elethro Ziban was positively drooling over the proposed market and grain exchange.