by Tony Roberts
There was a day that seemed to represent the start of Spring. A day that was warmer than those that had come before, a day that saw the absence of wind, rain and the coldness that had gripped the lands of Kastania for so long. On this day the sun shone, the air was still and full of insects seeking flowers or even the exposed flesh of unwary victims, and of avians singing and seeking material for nests. It was a day to lift the spirit, and in many places people looked out with a smile, or with uplifted hearts.
In Niake, Evas Extonos stood at the window of his office looking out onto the town square. People were making their way to their place of work or to the market, or standing talking to one another. Demtro Kalfas was next to him, holding a cup of Klee, thoughtfully watching the scene below. What caught his attention in particular was a solitary two-wheeled wagon being pulled by a single small equine. The wagon was full of animal feed and it seemed that the produce was being taken out to some country destination, probably a farm, to provide food for the animals there. There were two people at the front of the wagon on the driving board, a male and a female.
As it passed along the street out of their sight, both men turned away and made their way to their respective chairs. As Demtro sat down, he remained looking thoughtful. “Well, all we can do now is wait.”
Evas nodded. “What if the plan doesn’t succeed?”
“Then Lombert Soul remains with the advantage. With the campaign season coming closer, I would say that he has the best chance of striking somewhere unexpectedly. He will have to make his move fairly soon, for the longer Prince Jorqel is allowed to rule Lodria, the stronger he becomes. The Duras and Lombert Soul know this, so they will have to act sooner rather than later. So if our plans don’t work out, they’ll be free to move whenever they wish without us knowing anything.”
“I sincerely trust that your planning has been good enough to escape the enemy’s notice. I fear for Clora should they be aware of your intentions.”
Demtro looked at the governor squarely. “I wouldn’t be putting Clora into unnecessary danger. Whatever hazards there are she is aware of and has been fully informed by me as to what to expect.”
Evas laced his fingers on top of the desk and looked uncomfortable. “But to put all our hopes in the hands of one young female is risky, Demtro.”
“What other option have you got? You came to me, remember. Whoever we use must be unknown and unexpected. Clora is perfect for the role. All I ask of you, Governor, is to make sure your men know what is expected of them. If anything goes wrong and it’s the fault of one of your clumsy minions I’ll see to it that not only is that man sent to somewhere dark and nasty, but you can go with him.”
Evas looked at Demtro for a long time. There was an uncomfortable silence. Demtro looked at Evas and then took a sip of his drink. Finally the governor cleared his throat. “I don’t think you need to threaten me, Merchant.”
“But I do, Governor. Be absolutely aware that we cannot afford slipshod workmanship. You’re a survivor, and I know you’re not completely enthusiastic with the Koros ruling Kastania, but as long as you do a decent job they’ll be happy to keep you in your post.”
“I’m a past colleague of the emperor, and we’ve served together, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure you pray to the gods every night for good health to the emperor and his family, but you mess this up you can begin preparing for a nice one-way trip to the mines of Turslenka. I’ll do my job, and Clora will do hers. Just make sure you do the same.”
Evas looked up from under his eyebrows. “You’re not a very pleasant man, Demtro.”
“No I’m not,” Demtro agreed, putting the empty cup onto the desk before him. “But my loyalties are unshakeable. That’s why I’m where I am today. If you wish to continue in your safe, comfortable post, then keep on my good side.” He stood up and straightened his jacket. “I’ll keep you informed should I hear anything but I doubt there’ll be anything for a little while. Let’s hope Lombert Soul doesn’t make a move any time soon.”
Demtro left, his mind full of worry. The scheme was risky, and he felt reluctant to put Clora in such a dangerous situation, but the need to know was greater than any concern for Clora’s safety. What he hadn’t told Evas of was the fact his older brother was going to be a second contact. Should anything go wrong with the secrecy of the mission, his brother was his backup. Best Evas and his people knew nothing of Zonis.
Evas and Demtro were unaware that Lombert Soul had already made his first move. Far to the north the Nicate homestead stood, nestled in the green foothills of Lodria that led up to the plateau deeper inland towards Tybar territory. The farmhands were out tending the fields, preparing them for the sowing of crops that would come very shortly. The ravages of the winter were being checked over, with people examining the fences, walls and bridges on the estate.
Sannia and one of the family manservants were walking down the slope of one of the gentle vales a short distance from the house towards a brook where early spring flowers were poking their yellow heads up, gently waving in the light breeze. Their trumpet-shaped blooms were a particular delight to Sannia who loved to collect them and adorn the house with them; it made the place look that much brighter and jolly, so she maintained. It also was an opportunity to get out of the house at long last and enjoy some sun and fresh air.
The ground was still wet from the previous day’s downpour but they knew the route well, using animal tracks through the long grasses of the meadow. At the bottom of the slope was where the clumps of the trumpet flowers grew, their deep green stems and narrow leaves showing up against the lighter green of the grass.
Trees grew along the banks of the brook, many of them the drooping tree known as the Leaning Bough, named from its habit of its branches growing out and then down like a fountain. It was nearly always found close to water. Watching the two people approach were four men, waiting silently, crouching behind the trunks of the Leaning Boughs, their equines being held by one of their number. Two more were carrying nets, the last a club.
As Sannia reached the flowers, she exclaimed in delight that there were an abundance of them. The manservant hovered close by, keeping an eye on her, making sure no mishap came her way. He was carrying the bags into which Sannia would put the picked trumpets.
The four men slowly straightened. Their mission was clear and had been prepared very carefully. Gold had been provided by the Duras, loosening one tongue in the Nicate household. One of their staff preferred the lustre of riches to loyalty and had sold his honour, giving the Duras the information that Sannia always visited the trumpet flower meadow in spring. From there it was only a short distance to the main road and so the group had watched for a few days now, and at last had come their reward.
As Sannia bent down to pick the brightly coloured plants, the four men mounted up and came out from behind the trees in an arc, the two net carriers in the middle. The sound of equines splashing through the brook alerted Sannia and the manservant and they turned and looked in confusion. Suddenly it became clear that these were people with evil designs in their mind and Sannia dropped the trumpet flowers, crying out in dismay, and turned to run. She shouted to her servant to raise the alarm and the man set off up the slope as fast as he could, but the man in command, riding wide, wielded his club and chased down the man, striking him on the head, sending him crashing into the grass to lie still.
He wheeled to see Sannia desperately trying to avoid being caught but it was a vain hope. One net sailed through the air, landing full onto her head, entangling her completely and she fell with a shriek of horror.
The four riders surrounded her trembling figure, tangled up in the netting. The leader put away his club and signalled to the others to take care of her.
“What do you want with me?” she demanded as she was roughly pulled to her feet. “Unhand me, you rogues!”
The leader chuckled, showing black teeth and gaps. “No chance, my pretty. You’re too valuable to let go. Now be
have or we’ll be forced to be nasty to you.”
Sannia gasped in outrage as her hands were pulled behind her and tied, then a gag was put over her mouth and tied behind her head. She was lifted up and placed, not that gently, in front of the leader on his saddle. “Now shut up and sit still or you might fall and hurt yourself.”
As he walked his steed away, he passed the groaning figure of the manservant and pulled out a neatly tied scroll from his jacket. He tossed it carelessly onto the man’s back and then rode on, the three others following closely behind.
“Just a demand note,” the leader explained to Sannia, holding onto her with one hand while he guided his mount with the other. “Your fiancé will have to cancel the wedding.” And he laughed, echoed by the others as they galloped away off Nicate lands.
At the same time another wedding was foremost in the mind of Amne, that of her own. The time was getting closer and preparations were nearly done. Her step mother had spent much of the winter organising matters and the ceremony would be carried out in Kastan City’s Temple, and the reception ball afterwards would take place in the palace ballroom.
Amne was glad the time was close, for the constant calls for her to be measured for the dress, the never ending rehearing of the ceremony itself, the repetitive insistence that she learn the words by heart and the minutiae needed to be checked, approved and authorised by her and her step mother was becoming tiresome.
Also she was nervous and getting more so by the day. She didn’t feel any love for her husband to be, and part of her resented having to marry someone she felt nothing for, but she also knew that it was the only thing she could do. At least she had got a concession from her father and that was the one thing that cheered her up.
She was also relieved Argan looked like he would be fit to attend the wedding. For some time it had looked touch and go. The poor boy had been badly hurt from his fall, a broken leg, concussion and possible other injuries that threatened the life of her half-brother. Happily he had recovered well and was hopping about the day rooms, using his two crutches and showing everyone the leg that was still heavily bound and splinted. The imperial surgeon had insisted Argan did not do anything strenuous until he had been declared fit, and that would not be for a little while yet.
Amne had been present in Argan’s sick room when Isbel had informed her son that Kerrin was to be dismissed from the palace along with his father for the boy’s part in the accident. Amne smiled to herself as she made her way to the room where Argan was studying in memory of the confrontation, and confrontation it had been.
“Mother!” the young prince had gasped, shocked, “Kerrin did not push me off that ladder! It broke...”
“I am well aware of what happened, Argan,” Isbel had interrupted, sat on the end of his bed. “But he was responsible for you being up there in the first place and I will not tolerate you being put in any unnecessary danger. He will be dismissed and that is the end of it.”
“No, mother,” Argan had stared at her, white-faced, eyes dull with pain. “It was my fault we were up there. I led him up and led him down. If you are to blame Kerrin, that is wrong!”
“Don’t you ‘no mother’ me, young Argan Koros,” Isbel had said sternly. “I am your mother and you will not argue with me. In any case, I have made my mind up.”
“It isn’t fair!” Argan had wailed. “Why are you so horrible? You always tell me to be fair and sensible, but you’re so unfair yourself!”
Isbel had stood up, furious. Amne, who had been standing by the door, had smirked at Isbel’s discomfort. Vosgaris, who had been seated close to Argan’s bed, had made little sign he was enjoying what was going on. “Prince Argan, you must learn to obey my decisions. How will you ever learn to rule if you cannot follow commands yourself?”
“I would obey you, mother, if your decisions were fair, but they are not!” Argan had shouted. “I will not let you send Kerrin away. He’s my friend. He followed me up the ladder, and I led him down, which was why it broke when I went down. If Kerrin had been first he would have fallen, not me!”
Isbel had clenched her fists and had then whirled round as she’d caught the sound of Amne chuckling. “And what is so funny, Amne?”
Amne had theatrically put her hand to her mouth, stopped laughing, and instead had walked across the room, swaying her hips in the exaggerated manner she had adopted of late, and had leaned over Argan. She had kissed him on the forehead. “I’m proud of you, Argan,” she had said, much to the outrage of Isbel. “You’re going to be a fine prince, standing up for right in the face of injustice. I applaud you.”
Isbel had sucked in her breath in incandescent rage. “So that’s it, is it? You’re conspiring to undermine my authority? Where is that going to get you, Amne?”
Amne had stood up straight, and had looked Isbel squarely in the face. “When you can see that you’re being utterly cruel to both Argan here and Kerrin, then perhaps you’ll regain our respect. It was an accident. Boys will be boys, mother, and Argan had a bad fall. He didn’t die, and he’ll put it down to experience. But please do not deny him the one friend he does have here.”
Isbel had stood closer to Amne. “Get out, Amne, and go attend your wedding plans. I have to say something to my son in private and it is not for your ears, or yours, either, Captain. Out.”
Vosgaris had shaken himself and had stood up, apparently off-balance, but he had sneakily held out his hand and grasped Argan’s shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement. Just before he had turned away, he had winked at the pale Argan who had caught it and had smiled weakly back.
Vosgaris had bowed low to Amne and had indicated to her to precede him out of the room. Amne had smiled in pleasant surprise and had led him out. As Vosgaris had passed out of the room Amne had stopped suddenly so that he had bumped into her bottom, and Amne had looked at him as he had begun to apologise in the corridor. He had then stopped as he caught Amne’s slight smile and her coquettish look. She had leaned close to him so that the guards outside the door couldn’t hear. “Careful Captain,” she had whispered, “or you might find you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he had said softly, realising she had deliberately made him collide with her. “I would look forward to it.”
Amne had fought the urge to giggle. Then they’d heard Isbel’s voice through the door, and Amne had leaned forward to hear better. Vosgaris had stood in the marbled corridor, waiting patiently. What Amne had heard had surprised her, and had filled her with new respect for Argan. Just a small boy, not quite eight years of age, and he’d stood up to his mother, but of course Isbel had had her way, at least for the moment.
So now Amne was coming to see her little brother, to see how his healing was coming along. She approached the day study door which was opened for her by one of the palace guards, and Amne breezed into the room which was brightly lit up by the sun’s rays. Argan looked up in surprise, and a pleased look broke out across his face. “Amne!”
Amne waved him to remain in his chair; the boy had been struggling to his feet. “Oh, Argan, stay there, you silly thing. You’re not to spend the effort in getting up if you’re going to sit down again right away!” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Argan didn’t mind. He liked Amne. He wouldn’t let his mother kiss him so readily, although he knew she would have her way, but it was so embarrassing. Amne was different. She was so – bright and cheerful. And a little naughty, too, which he liked. Not naughty in the way Fantor-Face was, but naughty in a kind of I’m-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this way.
Amne sat in the chair next to him. “So what are you reading about?”
“Religion.”
“Ugh.”
“Yes, boring stuff. I’m supposed to be the chief priest of the province I rule, when I get to be a governor. I’m not a priest.”
“None of us are, Argan. What it means is that you are the head of the Temple in your province; you are the leader of the people and the people are supposed to follow the
gods, so you must be seen to do the same because everyone will look up to you.”
Argan frowned. “But shouldn’t the High Priest or the Head Priest of the city temple do that?”
Amne rested her arms in her lap and looked thoughtful. Across the room Mr. Sen was peering at Amne over the top of his small eye glasses. He was keen to hear how she explained the difference. Amne smiled at Mr. Sen, then turned her attention back to Argan. “The priest is what we call the spiritual leader. He calls to people’s faith and beliefs. But we are what are called secular, that is non-religious in our duties. Do you understand, Argan?”
“What – not priests, more like soldiers or teachers?”
“Yes,” Amne beamed, “we’re not part of the Temple. But because we are the ruling family of the empire, we must be both the political and religious leaders.”
Argan sucked on his lower lip. “Do we tell the priests what to do as well?”
“Ah,” Amne leaned back. “That’s more difficult. A strong leader could, but you would have to be very strong to argue against a priest like High Priest Burnas.”
“Like father.”
“Ah-ha, like father. Or like you did against mother.”
“She still said she was going to make Kerrin leave,” Argan’s face fell. “I think she’s rotten.”
“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Kerrin and his father are still in the palace.”
Argan looked confused. “But weren’t they supposed to be gone by now?”
“Hmmmm….maybe,” Amne said, a mysterious smile on her lips. “I told mother that since Kerrin’s father was an old soldier-colleague of the emperor, it should be his decision whether or not Kerrin and his father should be told to leave. I think father would be very cross with mother if he found out she dismissed his old friend, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Amne!” Argan grabbed his half-sister and pulled her to him with such force it surprised her. Laughing, she allowed herself to be engulfed in the biggest hug she’d had for years. “You’re brilliant!” he said, his voice muffled in her hair. She was also aware he was crying. She squeezed him gently and rubbed his back a few times.