Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  Kiros had chuckled briefly before settling down in the guest chair, opposite Jorqel. “Then I would not test your security, which, if I may be so bold, is at its usual appalling slackness. One of these days the one who gets into your quarters will not be one who wishes to work for you, but against you, and then you may never become emperor.”

  Jorqel had frowned, tapping the desk top with his quill. “I’ll have a word with Gavan about that. But now you’re here, down to business.”

  “At least you get to the point quickly. That’s admirable.”

  “The sooner you leave the better. It’s not good for my reputation to be seen in the company of a spy.” Jorqel had rummaged about his desk and come up with a rolled-up parchment. He had passed it to Kiros. “Your new task.”

  Kiros had unrolled it, looked at it, then had turned it the other way up. It was of an island, roughly rectangular in size, with mountains denoted to the east, a port on the northern side and a large town on the southern shore. To the south of the island the shoreline of a bigger tract of land could be seen. “Romos,” Kiros had said.

  “Indeed. Now as you probably are aware, Romos passed from imperial control only a few years ago. Until then it was a vital link in seaborne trade between Zipria and the heart of Kastania, and also the island of Cratia to the east. But, with the general chaos of the civil wars spreading everywhere, Romos was taken by pirates and has been their base ever since.”

  “Pirates who were formerly imperial sailors, disaffected by the mess made of things by the ruling houses in recent times.”

  Jorqel had nodded. “I’m keen to restore Romos to Kastanian rule but I first need to know how strong the pirates are, how many of them there are, whether the populace would support us or them and what their defences are.”

  Kiros had nodded in understanding. “I’ll need a few days to gather equipment for such a task, and gold to cover my expenses and fee. I’ll also need transport. Don’t expect me to swim or row all the way there myself!”

  Jorqel had grunted. “Already arranged. A fishing vessel awaits you in Efsia. It sails in five days’ time. It’s supposed to be there for repairs but it won’t be able to stay there too long before people get suspicious and I don’t want anyone getting ideas about checking it over. The fewer people who know about this job the better. I’ve no idea whether the pirates have agents in Efsia or not.”

  “And what about getting you this information? Do you have someone passing by conveniently?”

  Jorqel had shaken his head. “You are to remain undercover on Romos for the rest of the winter and the spring. Sometime in the summer a fire will burn on the Lodrian shore. Three nights after that a ship will sail close to the southern shore east of the town, close to the mountains. It will send a small boat out should it see a small signal beacon. You will light that beacon and pass the courier the information.”

  “And what password will there be?”

  “Nicate,” Jorqel had said.

  “Ah, the lady love soon to be your wife. Very apt.”

  “You have sufficient?” Jorqel had snapped, piqued at the mocking tone in Kiros’ voice.

  “All but my fee and expenses. In advance.”

  Jorqel had gruffly picked up a small leather bag and tossed it to the spy who had caught it deftly and weighed it. “Seems the right amount. My thanks, sire,” the spy said mockingly, then had got to his feet, bowed ironically and once again had slipped out towards the window.

  Kiros Louk’s mind returned to the present and the examination of his equipment. An oilskin pack made from aquatic mammal skin in which was a change of clothing, a rope, a tinderbox and fire lighting sundries, a short sword, food, a waterskin, and a band made from animal skin to wear under his clothing against his waist, containing pouches for papers, maps, coinage and a myriad of other essential and secret items necessary to his survival and profession.

  He glanced up at the rock face above him and pursed his lips. He could only go up. Fitting his backpack securely, he looked over the rock wall and saw many fissures and ledges. It wouldn’t be difficult to go up but the wind and rain made conditions dangerous. It may be easier to come down, and not voluntarily!

  Shrugging, he began paying out the end of the rope that had a padded hook on it and began to swing it, each swing bigger than the one before, until it was whirling about his head. He gave it one huge swing and released it, sending it arcing up at the rock face. It struck, but bounced off and came plunging back down, narrowly missing him. Undeterred, he repeated the action and this time the hook snared on a ledge and he pulled it tight, wedging it securely. That done, he began climbing, grunting with effort, and made good speed. All he had to do was to walk up the rock wall, using the projections and edges as grip for his iron shod boots.

  Getting to the ledge the hook was embedded in was the most hazardous bit, but he used his feet as purchase and flopped onto the wet ledge, sweating despite the cold and rain. He had to stand as there wasn’t enough space to sit, and repeated the rope action. This time it sailed over the top of the cliff and caught fast.

  A few moments later he was on top of the cliff, lying gratefully on the grass and vowing never to go on another such mission. The full beauty of the scene of the sea below him was lost to his eyes. He was more interested in finding shelter. Now he was on the island he needed to dry off. The mountains rose all around him and the space he was in was some sort of valley hemmed in on three sides and open only to the sea.

  The wind was chill and his clothes were wet. He needed to dry off and sleep. He trudged up the slope through the damp grass, noting it was short and therefore cropped, probably by wild wool beasts, or maybe even domesticated ones. Perhaps there were herders’ shelters in the vicinity. He looked carefully around at the top of the slope. Ahead rose a sheer wall of rock, climbing dizzily up to some high crag lost in the low clouds.

  He was more interested in what lay left. In that direction the town of Romos that gave its name to the island stood. There was a narrow defile in between two jagged pillars of rock and he made his way through it, finding the path uneven but useable. It probably was an animal track. He saw droppings and was pleased for it meant the possibility of catching fresh food. The defile opened out to a hillside and the land fell away to a wide valley that vanished into the distance. At the bottom he could dimly see a watercourse, riddled with rocks and stones. To the left of where he stood there were fissures and holes in the mountainside and he made his way over to them, checking a few but they were too small. Eventually he found one he could slide into and get out of the rain, and he opened his pack and laid out a blanket.

  The opening, for it wasn’t really big enough to call it a cave, had little in the way of detritus to make a fire, and as it was too wet outside, he contented himself with changing his clothes and lying under the blanket and using his body heat to dry his wet clothes, putting them around his body.

  He lay awake for a while, listening to the wind and rain, and occasionally shaking with the cold, and thought on his mission with a detached, professional mind. He didn’t think on the past, for to him it was gone and of no importance. He had no home, no family, and no ties to any place. For him, there was only the present and the immediate future, in the form of his current job. His mind was totally devoted to what he was doing, and he only lived for the mission he was being paid for. The money he got from his assignments he spent except for a small amount that he set aside for emergencies.

  The next morning he trudged down the hill towards the watercourse to replenish his drinking supply. Once he’d done that and had a quick meal, he climbed the other side, having used some of the rocks as stepping stones to get over the stream, and reached the top of the ridge. The rain had stopped but the sky was dull and clouds raced across it.

  There, ahead in the distance, he could see the town of Romos, the ancient capital of the island, once home to a mighty race of giants, so the legends went. The giants had died out centuries before men had come to Romos, but app
arently those who first built what would become the town did so on the ruins of some fantastical long-dead civilisation. No trace remained of what may have been there originally, and Kiros had no faith in such stories anyway.

  Shrugging his pack higher, he began the journey down the long slope towards the town. Before him the land dipped and rose gently, and there were plenty of copses and small woods to conceal him from prying eyes. He would have to enter the pirate-held town at night when conditions favoured him better. He had little doubt anyone trying to enter Romos from the countryside would be detained by the authorities and undoubtedly put to death if there were any suspicions as to their identity.

  As evening approached he reached the last rise before Romos and lay below the crest, looking over the top at the wooden walled town. Sentries patrolled the ramparts and there was a castle within the walls. Off to the left, on the shore, ships with their high masts could be seen tied to the jetties of the harbourside, and the roofs of the houses peeked up just above the top of the ramparts. Romos was not a particularly large town, but it was the largest settlement on the island.

  From where he lay he could detect the occasional whiff of fish, and the smell of ordure and rotting garbage that had been dumped outside the walls. Most settlements had a waste disposal ditch somewhere close to the perimeter, and it was almost certainly on this side facing him. Kiros would have to tread carefully. He had no wish to wade into a stinking, festering moat. It probably had dead canines and felines mixed in amongst it, and rodents probably feasted to their bellies’ content at night there. He pulled a face.

  Newcomers into Romos would be viewed suspiciously. Should a ship sail into the harbour then he may be able to sneak in; the ship’s crew might see him as a dock worker helping offload their cargo, while the dock workers might think he was one of the crew. Against that was the fact these were pirates and likely to know everyone in their organisation. There were probably about ten ships all told. It wasn’t exactly like a kingdom or anything like that – it was a loose collection of outlaws and those who had turned their backs on outside rule to go their own way. Romos, being on a small island that was hard to self-sustain, needed to trade. Who would trade with pirates? Nobody, so they took to raiding shipping and the nearby coastlines of Lodria and Izaras. He doubted they attacked Venn-held Cratia since Venn had a decent fleet and that may bring a full-scale invasion down on their heads.

  He studied the land he would have to cross before he got to the town, and as darkness fell he got up, wet and cold, and trudged down into the valley ahead of him. At the bottom was a dry stream bed with stones and he almost fell crossing it. It was now fully dark and he took his time climbing the other side, concerned that he may end up with a broken ankle.

  Night avians called out as they hunted, catching either rodents or insects, and he once heard the eerie howl of a wild kroll somewhere out in the hills. He made faster time after he got to the top, being guided by the distant lights of Romos and the fact he was now walking along definite paths, made by the townsfolk for the cultivation of the fields and orchards. He was skirting an orchard and its low stone wall, and it helped him follow a path away from the cess pit that lay between the fields and the town.

  He got to a place just outside the range of the torches on the ramparts, and knelt behind a creeper-infested wooden split plank fence on the edge of a field that probably was used for herd beasts, if the smell of faeces was anything to go by. There was a rude looking wooden water trough a little distance off, and the ground was very churned up around it.

  The wooden walls were patrolled by bored looking sentries, and Kiros made a mental note of how frequently one passed by. It appeared that the same man had the same stretch of wall to guard, walking back and forth, keeping the next man in sight doing the same job on his piece of the walkway.

  Kiros pulled out the rope with the hook. It was wrapped with cloth so wouldn’t make a noise, and tensed, watching the guard walk past the spot closest to where he was hiding, then as the man passed along the walkway, got to his feet and scampered, bent low, towards the foot of the wall. He pressed up against it and waited there, breathing shallowly so as not to make any noise or emit any tell-tale clouds of condensation.

  Overhead the guard came treading past, his pacing clearly that of someone bored beyond words. Probably one of the press-ganged townsfolk or one of the lowest ranked pirate crewmen, Kiros mused. Either way he wasn’t going to take him out unless it was necessary; killing a guard was not the most sensible thing to do, not if he wanted to sneak in undetected. As the guard passed, Kiros stepped back from the wall, whirled the rope and hook a couple of times, then released it upwards. The top of the wall was no more than two men’s height and the hook caught. Kiros tugged hard and then climbed up swiftly, adept at such exercises. It took him a mere dozen heartbeats and he was over onto the ramparts, quickly checking left and right.

  The guard was nearly at the end of his section so Kiros grabbed the rope, stepped to the edge of the walkway and peered down. As expected the drop was half the height on the inside, and he easily made the jump, bending his knees and rolling to a ball against the inside of the wall. He waited until the guard had passed by above him once more before getting up and making his way down the earthen embankment to the level of the town proper.

  Now he was in and all that remained was for him to find a place to stay in and get a ‘job’. That way he would be in the perfect place to spy on the pirates and their activities. He hoped Prince Jorqel appreciated his efforts.

  ____

  Jorqel was at that moment studying the half-built lines of Slenna’s new wall. It went well beyond the limit of the old wall which had been torn up and, in most places, re-used. But because the wall was bigger, much more had to be erected and that required wood. Timber was expensive given the shortage caused by the war in Bragal, so most of what they imported came from Makenia, but now this too had dried up because of the blockaded port of Kalkos. Things were getting difficult indeed. How was he to host a wedding if his town was still unfinished?

  He walked with two guards slowly along the streets of Slenna. The lighting provided by oil lamps suspended from poles along each street helped brighten up the place, and it had been his idea to do this. The oil was costly, but he subsidised it partly through the new citizen tax, a head tax levied on all townsfolk. There had been grumblings and mutterings about this but the amount was small and everyone had to pay it, including those at the top, Jorqel included. He made a show of contributing his furim at the town hall, a shabby, peeling building that really needed knocking down and replacing, but funds were not yet there to do this. He had then watched as the other leading members of Slennan society paid their dues.

  The example having been set, the townsfolk had then little option but to follow. Those who found it hard to raise the money could, on signing a document, pay a quarter per season. Not a big amount and it helped fund some of the town repairs and upkeep, including a six-man militia employed to keep the streets safe. Two were on duty at any one time and two more could be called out if needs dictated. If any more were required, Jorqel reasoned then that it would need him and his bodyguard. But dealing with the occasional drunk or domestic argument or neighbour dispute was down to the new militia and he really couldn’t be bothered to deal with such trivial matters.

  The new street pattern was laid out and the foundations of the new quarter already there to see. The building of the new houses would come with the better weather and, hopefully, more timber. He also thought about the requests for military intervention in Bathenia against this Lombert Soul, and perhaps he would have to march down there and take care of the matter, much as though it galled him to do so. His attitude was that Bathenia’s governor ought to deal with it and not him, but perhaps a show of strength from the Koros might be the right thing to do.

  The new mounted archer stable block was still outside the line of the new walls but not too far, and the beaten earth track from the stables to the new ga
teway, which was completed and standing proudly on its own because the wall there was not built, had been completed. The farms that he and his men had been using during the siege were now right up against the new town limits, and some of their fields had vanished inside the new Slenna. Jorqel had cleverly designated them as garden allotments, to grow vegetables inside the town, so that the townsfolk could grow their own produce and be more self-sufficient. It also made some of the food supply for the town safe from any possible banditry and other predatory action. The farmers had been told to plough new land and were given it free by Jorqel in compensation for the loss of the land to the town. All in all he thought he’d been reasonable in his decision making. Of course there had been complaints but you never did anything without someone somewhere moaning.

  He stood by the open gateway, looking out at the frosty countryside. It seemed peaceful, but that was all an illusion. The Tybar still had to be tackled, even though a treaty existed for the moment. Then there were the problems in Bathenia, and even on Romos with its pirates. Then what of Venn? It dominated the seas to the north, centred on their possession of former imperial Cratia, and how long would it be before they looked with hungry eyes at Lodria and the Aester Sea?

  Plenty to do before anyone could feel satisfied with the way things had gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Spring finally dragged its cautious head into the lands of Kastania, almost reluctant to chase the cold hand of winter away. The snows retreated, the winds became gentler, and the plants and trees began to stir into life.

  With the coming of Spring, hopes rose around Kastania for a finish to the seemingly unending conflict in Bragal. The feeling that the siege was coming to an end had permeated through to every town and city. There was an underlying feeling in the hearts and minds of most of the people that perhaps this year there would be something to look forward to, rather than what had been endured over the past decade or more of despair, retreat and loss.