Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “Oh, phoo-ey, Teduskis, you’re like an old nervous grandmother. I’m fine!” She carried on, calling out to the Mazag. “Boys, can I ride one of your beautiful equines?”

  “Princess!” the Mazag stood up, smiling. “Yes, yes! We would be honoured. This one?” one of the soldiers patted an equine standing next to him.

  “Perfect!” Amne smiled and vaulted up onto the beast’s back without pausing. Teduskis stopped, his jaw dropping. He watched, stunned, as Amne took the reins and waved to the cheering Mazag and galloped off, her blond locks flying behind her. She vaulted a fence and turned the beast tightly, galloping off along the other side of the wooden barrier.

  “Oh by the gods,” Teduskis gasped and ran hard for the long building. Astiras was not pleased when a breathless Teduskis burst into his quarters. He roared for his own equine to be harnessed up. Teduskis ran alongside him as they burst out into the daylight. “Sire, I think it would be pointless trying to catch her.”

  “What do you mean, Teduskis? Speak!”

  “She’s on a Mazag equine; lighter, faster, more agile. You’ll never catch her.”

  “She’s a beginner!”

  “Not from what I saw, sire. She got up onto the beast in one go, jumped that fence and galloped off with no trouble at all. I’d say she’s the equal of any of us here. Apart from the Mazag, of course.”

  “So I let her go wherever she pleases? She’s a woman and this is an army camp full of men who have been away from their women for over a year!”

  “Sire, who will touch her? Everyone knows who she is. I think she’ll be welcomed wherever she goes here. She’s a damned sight more comfortable around the soldiery than anyone I know. You didn’t see the way she addressed those Mazag over there. Nor the way they reacted to her. Sire, she’s at ease with people. She’s changed an awful lot.”

  “Don’t I know it, Teduskis? She’s defiant, wilful, stubborn, hot-headed.”

  Teduskis chuckled. “Sounds very much like someone else I know, sire.”

  The emperor glared at Teduskis, then sighed. “Oh damn it all. Yes, yes, just like me. Go on, say it, damn you.”

  The retainer grinned, staring into the distance. “I don’t need to, sire. She’s grown up. She’ll defy you if you restrict that free spirit.”

  “Damn that Lalaas; he’s responsible for this. I’ll post him to the most brain-boringly remote outpost of the empire.”

  “There isn’t one, sire. Everywhere’s up in arms. Got a report this morning there may be trouble at Turslenka.”

  “Oh, no,” Astiras groaned. “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “I’m having it verified. It’s not confirmed yet, but if it is true, it would seem Duras has managed to get support from locals around Turslenka and they’re going to try to take the city.”

  “The gods strike that demon down,” Astiras said with feeling. “We need Turslenka’s road open. How can I supply this army if its shut? Kalkos is closed, so we need the Turslenka road open.”

  “I’ll send a message to Thetos Olskan in Turslenka. If he’s able, he’ll sort them out.”

  “Let me see first how serious this threat is, then I’ll send a message. I want this new rebel group crushed.”

  “And your daughter, sire?”

  “When she returns send her to me immediately. Carry her if you need to. She needs her backside slapped.”

  Teduskis kept a straight face. He saluted and Astiras swung about and tramped off back into the building, grumbling. The retainer decided to do another sweep of the perimeter, so he got up on his equine and slowly made his rounds. The boundary around Zofela was leagues in length, but he would patrol only that part close to the camp. Groups of soldiers were posted at regular intervals, in huts built around the guard towers.

  At one of these he came across a large group of men gathered around a camp fire, keeping warm. He heard a female voice and dismounted, softly walking in between the huts. He tied his beast to a post and peered round the edge of the last building to see Amne holding centre stage with a group of imperial archers. She was showing them how to peel a few roots properly and washing them in a salty water solution. He leaned against the side of the hut and listened.

  “Food always tastes better with salt. If you prepare these roots first by washing them in this, you get a much better taste. Have any of you got some moklar roots?”

  Some of the men chuckled, but they found a couple. They were indeed big specimens. Amne handled the first with a smile. She knew what the men were thinking. She had a small knife, and she looked at the men first, then sliced the root in two. The soldiers groaned. Amne grinned, her tongue through her lips, and even Teduskis grinned to himself. He knew Astiras would have a raging fit if he’d seen that.

  He watched as she sliced up the moklar roots, then Amne asked for some meat. The soldiers provided chunks of wool beast meat. Amne got the men to chop the meat into smaller pieces and then the lot was thrown into the pot. Amne next pulled from a pocket a small plant and chopped it into small slivers on a wooden block one of the soldiers provided. “This is chun, a herb. Strong flavour,” she told them, dropping it into the bubbling pot. “Now let these ingredients bubble away for a half watch, then serve. You’ll love it.”

  As she stood up, the soldiers begged her to stay. She caught sight of Teduskis leaning against the hut and he waggled a finger at her. “Sorry, boys,” she said, smiling widely, “duty calls. Even a princess cannot do as she wishes most of the time. I have orders too, just like you. Enjoy!” She walked off to her equine, off to one side, and Teduskis saw the soldiers watch her like field-lupuses, transfixed by her swaying bottom, tightly encased in her riding trousers.

  “She’s trouble waiting to happen,” Teduskis muttered to himself. “Gods but she knows she’s got it. Astiras, old friend, get her out of here quick.” He led his equine back to a place beyond the small collection of huts and mounted up just as Amne arrived, easily controlling her snorting animal. “Ma’am,” he said neutrally.

  “Teduskis,” Amne said politely. “Have you been sent by my father to bring me back?”

  “No, ma’am, I was merely checking on the men and making sure the perimeter is being manned properly. I heard you talking so I thought I’d check on what was going on.”

  “Bragalese recipe, although strictly speaking you use canine meat, so I understand.”

  “Oh, yes, kutosh. Where did you learn to cook?”

  “On my journey, Teduskis. Are you disappointed in me?”

  Teduskis shook his head. “But please bear with me a moment while I speak candidly. I’ve known you for years, watched you grow up. The Amne I knew is no more; you’re a different Amne. I think you’re a worry to your father, and I don’t think you should fraternise with the soldiery. Too much familiarity could breed contempt, and we don’t need that. The imperial family should be respected, worshipped, almost. Seeing them up close as you’re doing isn’t good for the reputation of the Koros.”

  Amne smiled and shook her head. “What you mean, Teduskis, is that female members of the dynasty shouldn’t be seen out of the palace. Stuff and nonsense. The people need to see us; they need to know we’re just like them. We’re not gods. We must be seen to understand them and relate to them. Respect isn’t an automatic bestowal; it must be earned.”

  Teduskis grunted. “Be aware that some men cannot control their passions. A young and attractive woman like yourself on her own without an escort is vulnerable.”

  “Then provide me with a bodyguard, Teduskis.”

  “I shall.”

  “Lalaas.”

  “No.”

  Amne stopped and circled round Teduskis, saying nothing. The silence in which she did it unnerved the veteran warrior. She leaned forward, facing him. “I said Lalaas. I meant Lalaas. Now go get him, Teduskis. Or I’ll go find him myself and you’ll have to go tell my father why I’ve gone riding off into the wilds of Bragal.”

  “You’re asking a great deal of me, ma’a
m. I’m a general, not a manservant.”

  Amne said nothing more. She passed Teduskis and began trotting off back the way they had come. “Ma’am,” Teduskis turned round. Amne stopped. “Very well. I shall fetch Lalaas. But first I’ll ensure you’re back safely in your quarters.”

  Amne turned back, smiling. “Thank you, Teduskis.”

  Teduskis shook his head slowly. “Where did you learn to be so forceful?”

  “If you’d endured what I’ve had to these past few years, you’d end up fighting for yourself. I’ve seen a whole new world out here, and had my eyes opened to a lot of things that are deliberately kept from us in our palaces and rich houses.”

  Teduskis walked alongside Amne and asked her about one or two of the things she’d seen, and Amne told him of the slavery and the Bragalese attitude. By the time she’d finished they had reached the Mazag camp which was beginning to pack up. Amne returned the equine to its owner and thanked the soldier. She asked them if they were leaving.

  “Yes, Princess. We must return to General Polak. We have eaten, rested and been given gifts. Emperor Astiras is a great and generous warrior. We thank him!”

  The Mazag mounted up, cheered Amne who laughed in delight, and they waved and were suddenly gone, galloping off into the late afternoon. Teduskis blew out his cheeks in relief. “Glad they’re gone. Security risk. A pain I could do without.”

  “They were quite sweet, Teduskis. Don’t be too hard on them.”

  “Pah! One day we’ll go to war with those ‘sweet’ men. You’ll see what they’re really like then.”

  Amne scowled. “Show me to my room, please.”

  Later Amne was called to her father’s room. Standing there were Teduskis and Lalaas. Amne smiled at Lalaas who bowed formally. Her father didn’t look too pleased. “I hear, Amne, that you’ve been visiting the soldiers unescorted. Well, that’s unacceptable. If you must go around the camp, then you will be in the company of a bodyguard. General Teduskis here says you would like Lalaas as your escort. And since you’ve also set conditions on our other conversation, it seems I have little choice but to agree them. Very well, your two conditions are agreed.”

  Amne clapped her hands together in delight. Her future was looking much brighter.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Thetos Olskan scratched his chin with his hook. Losing most of one’s lower arm could have been the end of a career, but the burly Olskan had taken it as a challenge, had an artificial extension fixed to his stump and ended it in an interchangeable steel hook. He could still wield a sword, but riding into battle was a problem, until he’d had a high saddle made and adapted stirrups. The hook could hold onto the reins in battle but he now steered his equine with his knees, similar to the style the Tybar and Mazag used.

  He was thick-set, had bushy eyebrows, a jutting chin, a piercing look and dark hair. He’d been in the Bragal war until being wounded, and had been rewarded with a post to take up the vacant position of governor of Makenia, mainly because it had been Olskan who had killed the incumbent on the night of Astiras’ coup. Astiras, Olskan’s old sword-mate, had planned the entire thing. Olskan had infiltrated Turslenka and killed the pro-Duras faction governor and taken power. Now, three years on, he had things more or less sorted.

  Except for this uprising, that is.

  It was a vexing thing. There had been no warning. One day everything had been going smoothly, excepting of course the insurrection around Kalkos close to the border with Frasia, and then the next the banner of rebellion had been raised in the countryside next to Turslenka and a demand for the surrender of Turslenka to the Duras. It had been signed by an Anfos Duras. He had no knowledge of any Anfos Duras, but he supposed those scum bred like rodents.

  Thetos Olskan knew he would have to sort this out. A letter had also arrived from the emperor in Bragal, ordering him to destroy the rebels. His intelligence was that the rebels had around 240 men or so, made up of relatively untrained archers and militiamen. It looked like the classic rent-a-mob gathering, with one loud-mouthed leader and a bunch of disaffected people flocking to his banner, wanting to change their lives for the better.

  Thetos snorted in disgust. Why didn’t these idiots realise that the only person who stood to gain from such an action was the leader? He wanted power and would use the lives of the gullible to attain that, no matter how many died in the attempt. Should the rebellion succeed then all those who fought for him wanting a change for the better would be abandoned and left to rot.

  He had two companies of imperial spearmen to call upon. While not a huge force, they were certainly much better trained and equipped than the rabble that, even now, was gathering outside the walls of Turslenka. Thetos also had his heavy cavalry bodyguard, and that should be enough. Even so, he’d sent a scout out into the countryside to find Nikos Duras and his army. Hopefully it would still be at Kalkos and not marching eastwards. If that were the case, Thetos would not be able to leave Turslenka undefended, for should he do so and defeat Anfos Duras, then Nikos Duras would take Turslenka behind him. Astiras would not be amused.

  The snows had come and were blanketing the fields beyond the city walls. Thetos looked out over the city and the hills in the distance. The cutting off of the roads into the city now would be catastrophic. There wasn’t much food in reserve. He hadn’t planned to stockpile any because there had been no warning, and supplies came regularly from the villages and neighbouring farmlands. True, the traffic from Frasia had been disrupted, but not stopped. The fool Duras thought, by taking Kalkos, they would strangle trade between Frasia and Turslenka, but, all that had achieved was to triple the distance it took by re-routing through northern Bragal. It put prices up but they could withstand that.

  However the Duras must have finally realised that and now raised another rebellion around Turslenka, slamming the door shut on Astiras’ army in Bragal. In winter, too. Thetos had to admit their timing was perfect.

  Still, they only had militiamen to deal with. It shouldn’t be a problem. Thetos was wearing his armour, something he hadn’t done for three years, and he found he’d put on a bit of weight since becoming governor. Too many rich meals and not enough exercise. He grunted and sucked in his stomach. Where once he’d been lean and fit, he now had a paunch.

  His hook was tested and was firm. Not a good thing for it to drop off in battle. He called for his manservant to bring his sword, an adapted weapon with a bigger counterweight in the pommel. Thetos was a strong man, and could wield a four-foot blade as easily as normal men could a two-handed sword. The weapon was strapped to his left hip, and a mace fitted to a strap set in his saddle. Sometimes it was helpful to bash the brains out of someone who came at him from the other side in battle.

  He strode out into the lightly falling snow. His guard was lined up in the city square, watched by a number of citizens. They were hoping the garrison would be successful; they had enjoyed three years of growing prosperity and peace, and didn’t want a return to the bad old days before Thetos had taken control. He was a severe man, but fair. Not one given to flowery speeches, he just got on with it.

  The two companies of spearmen marched past, scattering the snow and tramping it into ice on the paved roads, and made for the South Gate. Thetos mounted up by using a wooden step put by his equine by his manservant, and he led his guard in the wake of the spearmen. There were no noble speeches, no fanfares. Typical Thetos, he just mounted up and rode off to do a job.

  The landscape was softened by the snow, and the biting cold ate into hands and fingers, into toes, noses and cheeks. Men and equines blew out clouds of condensation as they walked, and scouts rode back and forth, bringing Thetos news of where the rebel force was waiting. They were not far away, standing atop a cliff that ran to the south of the main road that ran westwards towards Kalkos. It was as he thought; one group of archers and one group of militia. Thetos felt angry. All this effort and inconvenience just to smash a piddling stupid half-trained bunch of half-wits. If it were trained warri
ors, then the fight would be worth it. But not these dung-eaters.

  Still, they could starve both Turslenka and Astiras out if they remained at large. The cliff was already in sight, being only a couple of leagues from the city walls. The two spear companies marched off the road and lined up facing the cliff. The pennants of the rebels could clearly be seen up on the hill above it. Thetos sucked in a deep breath and surveyed the terrain. Off to the east the cliff fell and a route up and behind the sheer rock face could be made, but it wouldn’t be fun in the face of arrow shots. But there was no other way.

  “Captains, prepare your men to climb that slope over there,” he commanded, pointing. “I shall ride wide of your flank and chase those swine-stickers away, but for Kastan’s sake block that militia from my equines.”

  The two captains saluted, and got their men to commence the climb, ploughing through the ankle-deep snow to the bottom of the slope. Then came his cavalry in their wake, cutting across their tracks to form up on their flank. Above them the archers had advanced and now could be seen fitting arrows to their bows. The imperial troops came on gamely, breath sawing in and out of their lungs, pushing on hard to close the gap as soon as possible. Even as Thetos watched, wide on the flank, he saw the dark shafts of the archers arc up into the sky, specks against the whiteness, and plunge down amongst his troops.

  He grew even angrier as he saw figures tumble and fall, to lie there in the wake of the still moving troops. To have decent soldiers die at the hands of this scum made his blood boil. Well, there would be the pits of damnation to pay once he got going this day. “Ready?” he asked, checking his forty riders. His claw now had his reins wrapped around it and he drew his huge chunk of steel forth. “Let’s go a-hunting. No prisoners!” he snapped. Why should they feed and house this scum? They would be put to death, as all traitors should. The Duras would learn to their cost that to oppose the rulers of Kastania carried a severe penalty.