by P J Berman
‘What?’ Oprion asked as a cold dread flowed over him.
‘The letter was written by you, addressed to Princess Silrith, my Lord,’ Lyzina stammered. ‘Offering to leave your wife for her-’
‘-Get out of my way,’ Oprion said, already pushing past. He briskly marched through the corridors in the direction of Silrith’s former chambers. His heart was pounding. This could not be tolerated. Somebody was plotting against him. But who? Whoever it was, any evidence had to be removed.
He was panting by the time he reached what used to be Silrith’s bedchamber. He opened the door and was relieved to see no maids there. The room was dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, which was covered in green, white and gold cushions, while the elm panels were decorated with many swirling calved designs which matched the ones around the window frames. All Oprion was interested in though was the dressing table opposite the bed, with its many drawers. Surely that’s where it would be.
He pulled open the first drawer and rifled through its contents. It was full of jewellery and makeup powders and paints along with various other things, but no letter. He did the same with the second and third, but to no avail.
‘My Lord?’
Oprion was about to open the fourth drawer when he was interrupted by a voice behind him. He turned to see one of the palace guards, a helmetless Verusantian in black armour, standing in the doorway.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s your wife my Lord. She’s been attacked.’
‘Attacked?’
‘Yes my Lord. A blow to the head. One of the maids. She got away but my lot are chasing her.’
‘She just got away? A maid?’ Oprion raged. As he spoke he realised that Lyzina hadn’t followed him.
‘Find her,’ Oprion commanded. ‘Go!’
Lyzina just kept running. Hearing the shouting voice of the soldier chasing her, she knew that the guards on every ground exit in the palace would be alerted by now. That left only one escape route – up. As she ran, she ripped off the bottom half of her maid’s dress to reveal the breeches and leather boots underneath. The letter had been seized and the household thrown into chaos. A double success, but now was the time for speed.
She sprinted up staircase after staircase, apparently pulling away from her pursuers as their voices became more distant. Finally, she got to the top floor. Had she pulled enough of a gap on the guards for her to get away? She ran from the stairs and opened the nearest door. The room was a mahogany lounge full of fine chairs and cushions, but most importantly, it had large, openable windows. She ran to the nearest one.
She flung the window open and looked down at the ground. Despite the speed of her escape, she’d navigated the building perfectly. Down below was a bush. Not a large one, but it’d do. She could hear the pounding of the soldiers’ feet as they ran up the stairs.
She wondered if her friend had escaped after distracting and attacking Lady Haarksa. She lifted herself up on to the window ledge. She couldn’t help but look down again. Nothing more than a bush lay between her and death. She reminded herself that if she were caught, she’d die anyway. The door burst open.
‘Stop,’ shouted the soldier; a Hazgorata Divisioman at the head of a combined group of Bennvikans and Verusantians. Lyzina flung herself forward, closing her eyes and putting her life in the hands of the Gods as she dropped through the air. With a searing pain, she crashed on to the bush’s dense branches. She desperately tried to extract herself from their prickly grip. She ripped her clothes free, but she was pivoted forward by the motion and slammed down on to the hard ground. She coughed in the dust and then slowly lifted herself up to stand.
She was alive. Her nose was badly blooded and there was a terrible pain in her wrist, but she was alive. She could hear the shouting soldiers as they became more distant again, surely in an attempt to head her off elsewhere.
Taking heavy breaths, she looked around her. Against the backdrop of the vivid orange sunset, the deserted garden looked so serene. Its quietness, its beautifully crafted hedges and its brightly coloured flowers were in such contrast to what she had just experienced. She knew the guards chasing her could reappear at any moment. She checked inside her bodice to make sure the letter was still in her possession. It was.
She ran to the far end of the rectangular palace and as she rounded the corner, she saw the tall, iron railings of the palace’s east gate. If she could escape from there, it would be a simple, direct run to the River Chathranis and after that, a ship to freedom. That was what the nobleman had told her to do.
She ran towards the gate, surprised to see it unmanned and slightly ajar. Beyond, as was the case on all sides of the palace walls, was a dense group of trees that parted only for the gravel track that connected this isolated place to the rest of the city that surrounded it. Still she saw no-one. Where were the guards?
As she ran through the open gates and hastily closed them behind her, she saw them. There were two of them, either side of the track, though their unseeing eyes would never spot her. The ropes and the tree branches creaked in the breeze as the men’s bodies hung by their feet, their faces covered in the blood that oozed from their slit throats. In the silence, she could even hear the dripping as a pool of scarlet gathered on the ground under each body.
It was a horrific scene.
This job really does have its undesirable parts, Lyzina thought.
She took a step forward.
‘You there,’ shouted a gruff and aggressive male voice.
She turned to see two people standing by the wall. One was a large, muscular, bald man with a beard and brown tunic, whom Lyzina didn’t recognise. The other was her young friend, dressed as a maid and who at twelve, was surely one of Bennvika’s youngest spies.
‘Is this her?’ the man asked the younger girl.
‘Yes,’ the girl confirmed.
‘Do you have the letter?’ the man asked.
‘I do,’ said Lyzina.
‘Good. Come with me,’ said the man. ‘Lord Oprion has sent the city into lockdown. I heard the order given myself. There’s no escape through the city gates or by river. Follow me. I’ll take you to the safe house.’
Zethun had never seen Kriganheim Palace from the inside before, so being summoned there barely a day after Lord Oprion’s arrival made it explicitly clear that he’d got the wealthy Governor’s attention.
He and Hoban had been led into the main hall by a Verusantian guard, who in turn had sent a servant to tell Lord Oprion of their presence.
‘I always did enjoy the understated feel of this place,’ said Hoban in the most ironic of tones.
As Zethun looked around him, it was clear that this room was used as the King’s council chamber. At each of its sides were three sets of long mahogany benches. This was where the Governors, Congressors and any of the King’s other advisors would sit whenever a royal council was called. From the rafters hung the national flag, along with the blue and white eagle of the House of Kazabrus and around the edges of the room hung the crests of all the many great houses of Bennvika.
At the room’s front was probably the most stunning piece of furniture Zethun had ever seen – the throne. Made from solid gold, it was designed solely to demonstrate the power and wealth of the crown. Each arm seemed to be resting on the back of a great beast, each of which had the head and body of a hound and the wings of an eagle. At the sides of the seat itself were a man-sized pair of rampant tigers and above it was a thick plate of gold, the top of which was sculpted into the enormous head of a roaring lion. Such a huge spectacle and made entirely of gold.
‘Such frivolity and all the while the common people live a wretched existence,’ Zethun said under his breath.
‘Quite, but don’t be combative with him, even if he behaves in such a way himself. Only diplomacy will be of any use. Persuasion is the key,’ Hoban said.
‘Oh don’t worry. I’ll show restraint,’ said Zethun, making a show of raising his palms on mock innocence.
/> ‘Lord Oprion Aethelgard,’ announced one of the palace staff and Zethun looked to see the flame-haired man himself enter the room from a door to the left of the throne.
‘A thousand welcomes to you, young Zethun,’ he exclaimed as he approached them, wearing an opulent sapphire tunic. Zethun disliked him already, but he reluctantly bowed his head all the same.
‘And Congressor Salanath? I did not think to see you here,’ Oprion added.
‘Oh, Zethun and I have been doing much work together of late,’ said Hoban. ‘So I thought I could lend my assistance here.’
‘Perfect,’ said Oprion, in a happy tone but with a smile that looked less than genuine. ‘Please, gentlemen, do follow me to the banqueting hall. We have much to discuss.’
They did so and Zethun found the room just as repulsively boastful of its owner’s wealth as the throne room had been. Really, a room with such high ceilings was a waste of building materials and such an enormous table that could easily have seated thirty was highly unnecessary for a meeting that involved three people. Servants appeared as if from nowhere carrying every dish imaginable, but Zethun wasn’t hungry.
‘Now, as I’m sure you are both aware,’ Oprion began, ‘there has been rather a lot of unrest in the city recently. Of course, in the absence of the King, I am tasked with putting a stop to this. But I have a problem. I’m sure it is nothing for any of us to worry about, but while recent riots have been started by commoners assaulting soldiers or stealing from granaries and so on, there are two of particular note. The first of these happened at a public assembly and the second was a direct attack on my person and on my family. Now, I simply wish to draw your attention to the second incident. However, at the first, you, Congressor Salanath, were seen in the crowd and you, young Zethun, were the one making the speech that got the common rabble so energised in the first place. Now, what am I supposed to read into this?’
‘Oh nothing at all, my Lord,’ Hoban laughed affably. ‘I was there merely to oversee the proceedings.’
‘Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?’
‘With respect, my Lord, I was there to see that the dignitaries themselves observed the traditions of the public assemblies in the proper form. It was up to the guards to control the mob.’
‘And it was up to you as a member of the Congressate to see that they are up to the task until the time of my arrival,’ Oprion snarled. ‘I’d say that it is rather clear that they were not and yet you seem untroubled by this.’
‘My Lord, if I may interject,’ said Zethun calmly. ‘Congressor Salanath is not to blame. After all, it was my speech that the people reacted to so passionately. However, the extent of the unfortunate and unforeseen rioting has been greatly exaggerated. You know how people’s tongues spread rumour as if it were the plague.’
‘Be that as it may. Even if starting the riot was not your intention as you claim, this was not an isolated incident,’ Oprion said, relenting a little. ‘As I have said, even when I arrived there was a lynch mob.’
‘I have heard of this incident,’ said Zethun. ‘A hooded man stopped you in the street, yes? While a large crowd looked on?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you not have your army at your back?’
‘I did,’ said Oprion.
‘Then is it not clear that these people were never going to be able to kill you without bringing slaughter upon themselves?’ Zethun pressed.
Oprion sighed.
‘I suppose not,’ he conceded.
‘Then is it not clear what they were aiming to do? They feel threatened. Their new King has done nothing to stop the Lords from all over the Kingdom from taking land from the common people. Some of the people living out in the provinces have no option but to stay and suffer, but many are forced to leave and where do they go? Kriganheim, the city of opportunity.’ Zethun said those last words with a highly ironic tone. ‘They think they will make their fortune here. Start their lives anew. Yet already the city is becoming overcrowded.’
‘There is enough food to go around and extra people in the city means a larger workforce. I fail to see the problem with that,’ said Oprion.
‘The people themselves will not see it that way, especially not those who were already living here before the refugees began to arrive. Starvation doesn’t have to be a genuine threat in order for people to fear it. People have been flooding through the gates for days.’
‘Well there’ll be no more of that,’ said Oprion. ‘The city gates are closed until the King returns. Any more refugees will be diverted to other provinces.’
‘If the city gates are closed, how will the extra grain be transported into the city?’ Hoban asked.
‘If you keep them closed and rely only on the food supplies we have, then starvation becomes a real possibility,’ said Zethun.
‘You are trying to manipulate me and I would ask you to stop,’ said Oprion curtly. ‘I am not convinced by your suggestions. The man with the lynch mob was declaring that I was Godless and assisting in bringing a tyrant to this land who would do away with our own Gods. He mentioned nothing about the grain supply. These riots are nothing more than people being goaded by rumours and untruths and I would thank you not to obstruct me in my efforts to control the situation.’
Somehow Zethun sensed that he’d wanted to say more, but had thought better of it. Clearly something had made him fearful. Something that he wasn’t letting on about.
‘Now get out,’ said Oprion. ‘The recent events have been unfortunate and will be forgiven, but not forgotten.’
‘You coward,’ spat Haarksa from her bed, when Oprion went to check on her. ‘You’re so scared of looking weak that you won’t launch an inquest to find out who those servants were working for. It’ll get out eventually, even if you try to pretend it didn’t happen. What sort of message does that send? There’s been a security breach within days of our arrival and now any would-be attacker knows that if they escape then you don’t have the stomach or ingenuity to chase them.’
Oprion knew she was right, but he had too much to lose by pursuing the girl who had attacked her and the one who had diverted Oprion after evidently stealing the letter from Silrith’s chambers. If he chased the thieves, it would be very hard for him to make the letter look like a forgery if it came to light. He knew the content of the letter by heart and knew it could destroy him. The discovery of a letter in which he declared his love for Silrith, now a known traitor, could cost him his marriage and therefore his estate and fortune and possibly even his head.
Part of him pitied Haarksa as he looked at her sitting up in her bed, her temple still bearing an enormous bruise from when she’d been knocked out in the sudden attack, but the risk was too much.
‘There’s nothing I can do my dear,’ he said.
THE FOREST OF USTAHERTA, USTENNA, BENNVIKA
In the damp breeze of the morning, Jostan’s vanguard, a group of four hundred and fifty armed soldiers and their cargo, moved nervously through the southern area of the Forest of Ustaherta. They were led by Chief Invicturion Gednab Aetrun and consisted partially of a handful of troops from the Divisios. These included one hundred heavy cavalry from Kriganheim Divisio One, as well as two hundred heavy infantry from Kriganheim Divisio Two. These were joined by one hundred spear militia, fifty peasant archers and, travelling right at their centre on a small donkey, Vaezona. Their common nervousness was borne out of what they had seen before crossing the River Ganzig.
The recent rain had made the terrain very muddy and the pace was slow and tiring, so morale was already not at its highest, but their discovery had been a shock. They had been approaching a small bridge when they came upon what looked like the remains of a recent skirmish and, more disturbing still, two Divisiomen were among them.
There must have been about ten bodies in all, two near the bridge, with the others further back. Among the most noticeable was one of the Divisioman, whose armour had been largely stained red by a deep neck wound, though the rain
had washed away most of the blood from the ground. There was even a militiaman who had apparently been both stabbed in the neck and strangled to death with a length of rope; an unusual choice of weapon under the circumstances.
Vaezona had shuddered at the sight, but what stayed with her the most was the sickeningly strong stench of the dead. She saw that it had even brought some concern to the face of that bonehead Etralbard, the Divisioman who she recognised after he had reported her father to King Jostan. The sight didn’t seem to bother Aetrun though and when she heard a worried sounding Etralbard comment on it, Aetrun simply responded by saying that given that they perished in such a small skirmish, the Divisios were better off without such weak soldiers as them.
What a pompous fool, Vaezona thought. The man was so full of his own importance and was never willing to take advice from others it seemed; that much she had learned in the days since they had moved on ahead of the main army. It hadn’t occurred to Aetrun that the bodies may have been connected with the wrecked wagon they found further down the track the very same day and even she knew that normal armed wagons didn’t usually have Divisiomen to guard them, especially Divisiomen who were well away from their home province. Kriganheim Divisiomen in Ustenna? Surely that was unusual? Whatever they had been protecting as it passed through must have been of some importance.
Satisfied with the terrain, Hojorak took up position with the main group of his force. He had taken with him one hundred horse archers, one hundred foot archers and three hundred swordsmen. They had found an area of the forest’s main north-south path that was narrower than any they had found so far and according to their scouts, the enemy was now less than a day’s march away.
To one side of the path there was a fairly steep gradient; enough to make a passing force potentially thin their ranks, though not enough for a horse to be fazed about charging down it. Hojorak deployed his Hentani horsemen and swordsmen at the top of the gradient, where he now sat astride his own steed, hidden within the trees, with the infantry in the centre and the cavalry on their flanks.