by Tony Roberts
Sannia closed her eyes, her face flushing red. Oh, sweet Kastania! She could hardly restrain a shriek of joy. “Yes, yes, my lord, yes!”
Jorqel smiled, got to his feet, put his arms round her. Sannia pressed against him, looking up into his eyes. Now she could relax, and her body, still shaking, finally rebelled. Her legs went. But Jorqel had been expecting it. The shaking had warned him. “Oh!” Sannia exclaimed.
Jorqel’s arms supported her, and then he was kissing her. Sannia was in some kind of godly heaven. Her head span, she knew she was kissing him back but there was no sound, no vision. Everything was spinning gloriously. All that existed at that moment were his lips and arms. She could feel nothing else.
When he stopped, she was breathless. Her face was flushed, and it was as if she’d been sneakily quaffing her father’s wine again. “Oh, my lord,” she managed.
“Lady Sannia, perhaps you ought to try Jorqel?”
She nodded, smiling. “Jorqel,” she breathed.
“You able to stand, now? I was worried you might fall there.”
“So did I! My legs wouldn’t obey me!”
Jorqel held on to her, and Sannia didn’t want to break the embrace, even though her legs were once more part of her will. “I think we should wait a few moments until you’ve got your breath back before we go tell your mother and father.”
Sannia nodded. “So, Jorqel,” she smiled mischievously at uttering his name, “when will our day be? And where?”
“Ah, now that’s a very good question. Slenna is undergoing a huge rebuilding programme. It won’t be done until the summer, so I want to formally open the new castle and town expansion with the proper kind of celebration. A summer wedding at Slenna. How does that feel to you?”
“Not in Kastan City?” Sannia asked, surprised.
“Would you want to go all the way there? Slenna’s your provincial capital and only half a day’s journey; Kastan would take you ages! Think of the travel arrangements – it’d have to be by sea. I don’t know Kastan that well now. Slenna is my town and I run it my way. I tell them to jump and they ask me; ‘how high, my lord?’”
Sannia laughed, and Jorqel smiled, enjoying the vibrancy of his betrothed. He’d have one heck of a life with this woman, he could feel it. Sannia nodded. “Yes, Slenna is the place. Mid-summer’s day?”
“It shall be then, Sannia. So – are you ready to go face your parents and tell them the good news?”
“Oh yes – they’ll be overjoyed.”
Jorqel allowed Sannia to precede him into the passageway and the two guards escorted them to the day room. The two entered arm in arm, and Lady Nicate put her hands to her face and jumped in delight. “Oh! Sannia! Oh I’m so happy for you!” She embraced her daughter, and there were tears.
Lord Nicate smiled and bowed to Jorqel, and then shook his hand. “You’ve made my daughter very happy, my lord. Thank you.”
“No, Lord Nicate, thank you, for bringing up such a beautiful daughter. She will make me a very happy man, I’m absolutely sure of that.”
Lady Nicate released Sannia so her father could embrace the still crying woman, and Jorqel kissed Lady Nicate on the hand. “We’ve set the date for mid-summer’s day next year at Slenna. I’ll announce it as soon as I get back to the town. Plenty of work to do before then in getting the place ready.”
“Yes, I’ve been told you’ve ripped the place apart, my lord,” Lord Nicate said, handing Sannia back to Jorqel.
Jorqel looked at the red-faced woman who wiped her eyes, laughing and crying alternatively. “The boundary fence is up, and the plans for the new castle are completed. I’ve marked out the new streets and have sent out tenders for builders to submit plans for new housing along them, plus an artisan’s quarter. Slenna won’t be a backwards place if I’ve got anything to do with it.”
“With you as landlord?”
“Of course. I’m putting down all the effort and hard work now, so why not have the benefits? I won’t bleed my tenants dry, fear not. I’ll set a rent that is very affordable to the right sort of people. I don’t want to set them too cheap however. Don’t want the wrong sort of clientele there, you understand.”
Lord Nicate nodded. “Indeed lord. What of the poorer people, though? I understand the Koros champion those kind of people.”
Jorqel chuckled at the expression on the nobleman’s face. “Oh, do not fear, we’re not that revolutionary. We need the support of our fellow nobility. No, the poorer people will have the older parts of Slenna. I think that will form a kind of thieves’ quarter before long, but I care not; I’m not landlord of that area. There will be employment in Slenna for a long time. We’re ‘volunteering’ those out of work to help build the town as cheap labour. They’re getting free food and a daily coin for their trouble. Nobody is going to miss out.”
“And of those who are fit to work but refuse?”
“Nobody will be allowed to refuse,” Jorqel smiled grimly. “If they refuse, then it’s the workhouse for them at no pay, making leather implements for my soldiers. They get housed and fed, but that’s it. Their choice. I’ll have no unemployed vagrants on my streets.”
“Very laudable, my lord. Too many have been allowed to sink into hopelessness over the past few years.”
“Indeed.” Jorqel squeezed Sannia’s arm. “Now my darling betrothed has come out of shock, I think a toast to our future is in order.”
Sannia punched Jorqel lightly on the arm.
That evening Jorqel rode back into Slenna, tired but pleased. Gavan was there to meet him, a rather large cask of gurgling liquid within. “Sire, good news I hope?”
“Indeed, Gavan. The wedding to Lady Sannia Nicate is to be set for mid-summer’s day next year here. Get the rabble working on building that castle. I want it up and finished by the end of spring.”
Gavan let out a whoop of delight that could be heard all over Slenna. “Then, sire, before you start cracking the whip with brutal efficiency, you and I are going to celebrate the one true proper way by getting drowned in this cask of ale I’ve purchased here.”
Jorqel stood before his bodyguard, arms on his hips. “It would seem, Gavan, you have tested the quality of the ale fairly well already.”
“Who, me, sire?” Gavan was innocence incarnate, which didn’t convince Jorqel.
Jorqel pulled a face and grabbed the cask, pulling the stopper. He weighed the vessel. “Enough to drown a drink hardened priest, I’d say.” He upended the cask and poured a stream into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he swallowed. “Not bad. Who did you steal it from?”
“I bought it, sire, remember?”
“Oh yes, I do remember you saying. Now where are my quarters?” he said, pushing Gavan ahead of him. “I don’t want to be awakened before mid-day, you hear?” he shouted to his guards. “Shut that damned cockerel over the road up, too. If it opens its accursed beak and I’ve got a hangover, I’m going to come over and wring its thrice damned neck!”
The guards roared with laughter.
“Get the pot ready for cockerel stew!” Jorqel boomed and vanished into his temporary quarters, the town hall, accompanied by more laughter, and shouts of congratulations. The cheers went on and Jorqel appeared at his bedroom window, opening it. A gust of frigid air blasted into the room. “I’ll make this quick before I freeze,” he said. “I’m to marry Lady Sannia Nicate. Spread the word. Now let a man get drunk in peace!”
He slammed the window shut. “By the gods,” he said to Gavan, “it could freeze the balls off a mountain herd beast out there. We’re in for a cold night.”
“All the more reason to protect yourself against it, sire, with good quality ale.”
“Damn this piddling little room,” Jorqel said, tossing the cask to Gavan, “invite the off-duty guard in downstairs. Get a fire going downstairs. We’ll celebrate properly.”
Gavan clapped Jorqel on the shoulder and bounded off downstairs. Jorqel stretched his arms and eased the aches and pains of the journey. It had been some ti
me since he’d let his hair down, so to speak. Tonight was a good time to do that.
____
As night fell over the Nicate estate, Sannia retired to her room, accompanied by her handmaiden. It had been an emotionally draining day, but her wishes had come true. Both her parents had been utterly overjoyed at the news and Sannia wondered if her mother was even more excited than she was. The planning for the joyous day would take some time and doing, and her father would take care of much of it, but her mother would go into wedding frenzy the closer the day came, fussing over Sannia and worrying big time about every tiny detail; she was like that. In fact, if there was nothing to worry about, her mother would worry.
Sannia smiled to herself as her handmaiden untied her hair and allowed it to tumble down her back loosely. Sannia shook her hair and picked up her brush. As she smoothed her hair she looked at herself critically in the silvered mirror. Her handmaiden made encouraging noises and voiced her delight at the news whilst preparing her night dress. Sannia thanked her and dismissed her for the night, so she sat alone for a while on her bed, then divested herself of her clothing and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror very closely.
Would Jorqel find her attractive? She was heavy-legged and had big hips. She wished they were narrower and her legs a bit smoother. Her hands ran over her skin. There were a couple of blemishes and she sighed regretfully. A silly childhood fall. As a future wife of the future emperor, she ought to be flawless. Yes, people had told her she was pretty, but they did that to every woman. Like every woman, Sannia examined herself with a very exacting eye. Was her nose too straight? Was it slightly off-centre? Were her eyes too small? She threw her brush down in dismay. She was sure Jorqel would find her ugly. He was so handsome, surely the most handsome man in the empire. It was right he was a prince. But her? A bit too plain to be empress. Empress! The title mocked her in her mind.
Now the euphoria of the announcement had subsided, doubts began to eat away at her. Was he the sort of man who demanded perfection? And what was perfection in his mind? Would he be disappointed in her once he saw her close-up and without her clothes on? Sannia looked down at herself and could only see ugliness. A wave of despair rose up and overwhelmed her and she burst into tears. She surely was not worthy of such a beautiful man.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The scene of devastation surrounding Zofela shocked Amne and Lalaas as they crested the last rise. Their Mazag escort paused, staring at the ruined countryside in amazement, then they began jabbering excitedly amongst themselves. Lalaas eased his buttocks and stared at the vista below. The road ran downhill until it reached the bottom of the hill, vanishing into the mud. The road simply did not exist beyond the bottom of the ridge. Zofela stood in the middle of the valley. Where once what had been a fertile run, nothing grew now. Everything had been replaced by a formless sea of mud.
Even the river was changed. Once it had snaked lazily through the valley but was now canalised and behind a bank of earth that had been thrown up between it and the town. Lalaas could see the old course, now a dried up gully full of mud and dead fish. Running round the edge of this sea of mud was a palisade punctuated by wooden guard towers, manned by soldiers watching Zofela carefully.
Zofela itself was dark. It was black. Black walls and black buildings, surrounded by black mud, and circling above it black carrion avians, feeding on the dead within. Even the clouds over the town were black. It was a shocking sight.
Amne put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, by the gods,” she breathed in stunned disbelief. “What a terrible sight, Lalaas!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lalaas said slowly. Their journey had been uneventful, and made in good time. Lalaas and Amne had kept up a very correct and formal attitude towards each other, and at night had put up their own tents. Amne had impressed the Mazag by her skills, and the respect they felt towards her had increased as the journey went on. They were even addressing her as ‘my lady’, something Mazag soldiers rarely did. They posed in front of her and performed outrageous acts of skill on equine back, and even Lalaas had to admit they were good. The Mazag soldiers were very well behaved and showed deference to Amne. Any woman who could put up her own tent, gut caught game, use a knife as well as she could, deserved some respect. She dressed in suitable clothes, rode well, laughed at their jokes, braved the cold outdoors and didn’t shy away from washing in front of the ogling men.
Lalaas had stood in between them with his arms folded and a stern expression, and the Mazag had groaned in good nature and gone about their duties. They were convinced Amne was a product of a Mazag bloodline. Lalaas knew better, of course, but kept up a feigned ignorance. They were, after all, people with simple beliefs and hopes. They were soldiers who followed orders, and were easily impressed. So Lalaas had challenged them to an archery competition. They had first done so on equine back, which the Mazag were expert at, and Lalaas had easily been defeated, but he had then challenged them to a competition on the ground, and had outshot them all with his Taboz bow. The Mazag had all crowded round wanting to loose an arrow with it, and Lalaas had consented. Such a gesture was regarded as an honourable thing and displayed trust, and the Mazag troops had returned the gesture with a gift of a Mazag bow, a smaller version of the Taboz bow and one to be used on equine back.
Lalaas had been suitably thankful and, thanks to Amne’s translation skills, managed to convey his gratitude to a pleased group of soldiers.
But Lalaas now looked down on the scene of destruction and his heart sank. It sank not only for the wrecked countryside, but in the knowledge that the small cluster of buildings off to the left – the north – contained the people who would determine his future, and maybe even his life. He didn’t really want to continue down to the Kastanian army headquarters, but he knew he must. Amne tore her eyes away from the blackness of Zofela and stared at the imperial flag fluttering in the icy breeze. A shout had gone up and now figures could be seen moving about. There was a dusting of snow but not much had fallen as yet. Now riders could be seen mounting up and preparing to come to them.
“Let us go,” Amne said heavily. She was in a way impatient to see her father and reach friendly lands, but reluctant in another because it would formally end her time with Lalaas. Even though they had maintained a formal attitude between themselves on the ride, they had exchanged secret looks that said a lot. Now even that would have to stop.
The Mazag let out a whoop and galloped down, breaking out into a wide circle, riding fast yet managing to maintain themselves in the saddle. Amne and Lalaas rode sedately together downhill and exchanged a last few words. “Show-offs,” Lalaas grinned.
“They’re excited,” Amne said, a smile playing across her lips. “Ah, Lalaas, this is where we have to finish our journey together. I’ll miss you.”
“And I you, Amne. But I won’t forget it.”
Amne nodded. “Remember, I shall find a way of keeping in contact with you.”
“Be careful. Smiles conceal daggers at Court,” Lalaas warned her.
Amne nodded, then drew in a deep breath and pulled herself upright, changing from her more familiar relaxed casual position she’s learned during her long journey. The riders from the camp were coming close and Amne recognised Teduskis leading a group of ten Kastanian riders. They stopped as the Mazag broke the circle and came to a halt, twenty-five on either side. They had hardly broken their stride before halting.
Teduskis came alongside, glancing at the Mazag warily. He bowed low in the saddle. “Lady Amne, such a pleasure to see you again after such a long time. I trust you are well?”
“Hello, Teduskis, it’s lovely to see you. Yes, I’m well thank you. Is my father here?”
“He is indeed. He arrived yesterday hotfoot from Kastan City. He can’t wait to see you.” He turned his attention to Lalaas. “And, Lalaas, he would also like to see you, too. But for different reasons.”
“I understand,” Lalaas said, saluting his superior officer. “Am I under arrest?”
> “I’m afraid so,” Teduskis said, motioning to his men. Four rode up alongside, two on each side, and one took Lalaas’ reins. Another fished out a rope to tie Lalaas’ hands.
Amne went to protest, but Lalaas shook his head. The Mazag edged in closer, concern on their faces. Teduskis gripped his sword hilt. “Call them off, my lady.”
Amne shouted to the Mazag that all was well, and it was only a small problem. They would be fed and housed when they got to the camp. The Mazag muttered but backed off. Teduskis relaxed. “You speak Mazag well, my lady. You’ve changed.”
“For the better, Teduskis?”
“I can’t comment; your father no doubt will. What do we do with these Mazag?”
“House them, feed them, give them gifts. Then they can return home.”
Teduskis waved and the group made their way down to the army camp, a stark, functional and completely unattractive place. Teduskis barked orders and the Mazag were shown a stables to tend their equines. Lalaas was led away to a large building while Amne was escorted formally by Teduskis to the biggest building, a long wooden hall. It was divided into a myriad of rooms and insulated by straw packed in between two wooden walls and a double roof.
She was shown to a room she was to have to herself and two guards put on duty outside. Her belongings were brought in and Amne could finally relax, lying down on her straw bed. There was even a rug on the floor, and a wash basin and jug on a table.
The door burst open and her father was framed there. “Amne!” he yelled and swept her up into his arms, hugging her close.
Amne laughed and held her father tightly.
Astiras slowly let her down and looked at her. “Amne, Amne, Amne,” he shook his head slowly and kissed her on her forehead. “I’ve worried and worried about you endlessly. Let me have a look at you.”
He held her at arms’ length and studied the girl. Suntanned, a fuller figure than he recalled, wilder, more confident. She had changed indeed.
“Well, father?”
“You look stunning, my girl. Now, tell me, what’s all this nonsense about Lalaas and Theros?”